You look at some people, at their outward appearances and you judge them to some length. It think it’s instinctive but I also think it’s important to treat it as a hastily scrawled sticky note. One can’t fully ever know a person, no matter how long you’ve known someone, heck, they don’t even know who they are half of the time. I can attest. I want to kick the habit of insta-judge but that doesn’t mean I’ll make friends with any and all. I believe it’s instinctive, this measuring up, for the purpose of self preservation for at some level whilst meeting for the first time (for however briefly) you try to pick up vibes, peaceable, proceed-with-caution or run-the-frak-away. That said, everyone fights invisible wars. Ugh, what I’m getting at is … how to put it?
This has a meaning. I’m sure it has.
Here I am. Great things are expected of me and such, you know how family can be (if yours is like mine), supportive with bright eyes and two thumbs aggressively up. Here I am, a chronic-insomniac who is slowly gaining ground in the battle of accepting myself, my fat lazy ass self. I subject myself to self-hate sporadically for various reasons. Sometimes I am so mad at me to the point that I am afraid of what I transform into.
Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!
via Ermila Blog
Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.
I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.
If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.
I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.
Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading
What do you treasure? What’s most important to you?
IN A NEW POST CREATED SPECIFICALLY FOR THIS PHOTO CHALLENGE CAPTURE SOMETHING YOU TREASURE.
When I think about treasure I think of them. They’re little people now but I can’t wait to see what kind of grown ups they’ll be years from now. It’s a privilege to be their big sister, I get to influence them, to make them be good and kind. I love them missing teeth, scarped knees, weird giggles and all. They fill my days with screamed warnings and annoyance but at the same time make me laugh and feel better when I’m stranded. They anchor me in a world that’s bent on challenging my will. Such days will come for all of ‘em and I’ll be there to get them through it. That’s what we do with our treasures, we protect them.
via Pinterest, click to see
Yesterday I was on a pin-athon and I made a board for the Avengers, because let’s face it people they are freaking awesome, but are they more so than moms? That might be a trick question but seeing that we all have met a real life mother than a real life super hero with mad ninja skills and wicked powers, yeah, I’d say moms are pretty fantastic. I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like to give birth to and help raise five children, and live through the grief of the death of a new born son as my mother had. Don’t you forget the house work, my mama doesn’t let me.
There were times when I swore she couldn’t understand me and never will, but I’ve grown up and saw that she knows a lot more than she lets on. She can be really silly and thoughtful, I could tell her almost about everything but I don’t sometimes because I don’t want to add more to her pressure. Over the years she’s given me advice here and there, preparing me for the time when I have to go out on my own (whenever the hell that is because over here kids live with parents for years).
Via Pinterest, click to see
This morning I hadn’t much sleep, but unlike most this was with good reason. My grandma wasn’t feeling well and I got up to test her sugar and pressure a couple times. She took her pills. I worry about her. I followed her to the washroom least she falls and hit herself again. She insisted on going with my father to the city, ordering my mother and I not to tell him anything. I usually do tell him, but I suspect if I did today she’d end up getting mad at me and stressing her tired heart even more. I love my grandma dearly.
I’m always told that I’m her favourite, and I always smile because I could see that I was. For the most part of my eighteen years I slept by her side and as each year sprints away I wonder how much longer do we have with her. Well, her and my granda. I wouldn’t handle it well at all should something happen to them, and I hate to say this to sound biased, especially her. That woman is the most hard working person, next to my dad, who I had the honor to know, I would cry if I were to recount what the both of them have been through. My parents will be around for a while yet but I hope to God that I get to squeeze as much time with them.
I set my phone to wake her up a 2:30 AM. I got up again at five, opened my favourite window and cloud gazed. Mornings are for … I forgot this already, let me try … Mornings are for positive thoughts and good energy. Think about it; they aren’t there just to look pretty (if the weather feels fine), it has a purpose and if you look hard enough and far enough you’ll see it.
Here’s my piece for the other week’s Ermilia Blog’s Picture It! and Write photo prompts. I hope you like it.
- (via ermiliablog.wordpress.com)
I sat cross legged on the comfy old couch, the still resilient cushions sag a little under the memories of the worries and joys it’s past owners had confided in its warm welcoming embrace. Perhaps mine will be added to the burden of the emotions it so silently carries without much complaint. What I felt now, as I curl up with my knees held tightly to my chest, was hurt mixed with confusion and betrayal. I had to get past this. I can’t ignore it any longer, because if I want to put this nightmare behind be I have to face it. I rocked back and forth a few times before I made up my mind completely, unfolded myself and reached under the couch, feeling around for the pouch I hid in the upholstery.
My had returned with a plain looking leather scroll purse, nothing special about it other than it had to be unrolled. My fingers ran over the spots where it began to peel, released the clasp and watched it unfurl. I unzipped the zipper that ran along its length, my hands were shaking as I eyed my progress like if its contents would sprout poisonous fangs … it came close. My breath caught as it always had when the black pure velvet lining reveals itself, with the small sparkly diamonds cascading until they come rest silently. Arrogantly. Beautifully. Coldly.
Buenos dias amigos! I haven’t posted since last Sunday. The funny thing is that when I’m not supposed to be writing as I normally do it’s then when I come up with some really good ideas to post about and I usually forget to write some of those those ideas down. Anyway I’ll be returning to normal posting after the 12th due to, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, my AS exams. After having finished Biology and English paper 2, I’m left with English paper 1 (which I’ll be writing tomorrow) and Biology labs on the 8th and finally Biology multiple choice on the 12th. I’ll fill you guys in more details later if I remember.
Hurricane Sandy: 10/30/2012 (Photo credit: ccho)
And that’s cheerful news as compared to the terror that goes by the name of Sandy. I don’t want to miss saying anything about this because I’m compelled to write about it yet I don’t relish lingering on the carnage she left in her path so I’ll try not to. I am terribly sorry for all those who have lost loved ones, homes and business that were utterly destroyed after years and years of hard work and risks. My being sorry might not help much or at all but I hope my prayers do.
I see New Yorkers slowly picking up speed again, as I’m confident others are too, and I want to let them all know that my heart goes out to them. I really admire their courage for getting up after this disaster and move on, Continue reading
This is the photo for last week’s Picture It and Write! hosted by Ermilia Blog! What we’re supposed to do is make up a story or a poem based on the picture that’s provided each week. It’s a pretty sweet chance to be random and let your creativity loose! I prefer to do the stories.
Via Ermilia Blog
Hi there, I’m Jolie Nolan and if you’re up to it I’ve got a story to share. There was a myth, or what many considered a myth, in my family concerning my father’s younger sister, Eliza. Only the few that were there couldn’t deny the stark truth, save for the one that couldn’t believe it to this day. The others, what they doubted, what they thought was a God awful tale spun by our ancient looking Aunt Maude, was something I knew as a fact, something I’m tied to for as long as I live.
Being the eldest child of the eldest child (my father) I inherited Aunt Maude’s house on Shamus St. and I will tell you – the adventurous reader – the notion of baring this burden in solitude is nowhere near simple, the mere thought of it threatens to drive me insane. It’s up to you weather or not you choose to believe me.
Eliza, along with the other children, was forbidden from entering the last room on the corridor in old Aunt Maude’s pretty home whenever she was there for the holidays. No one for that matter wanted to step foot beyond that door, which was a rather peculiar sight in such a neat and proper house like this one.
Upon turning, the knob creaks with this eery metallic grind and as you can imagine, the hinges did no differently. The lilac patterned wallpaper surrounding the door’s frame were lightly charred, if you’ve ever lit the edges of a page with a lit cigarette before you might have an idea. It’s once caramel brown coat of paint must have beckoned generations of curious souls, one of which was poor Aunt Eliza, thirty five years ago, she was only ten. This was her story ….