Operation Adult: Ep. 2

I'm coming back with another blog post on my life so far. In comparison to my previous update, my workload had quadrupled and I am left with little to no free time now. I always catch myself wishing for a break. But, here I am, writing a random blog post in between the three papers that are due today despite my "day off". I needed to get away for a moment - a little breather to keep my mind off the pressure I've been placing on myself.

Dear you,

You're doing fine. You know you're wearing yourself out but do not forget who this is for. Remember your mom and dad. You love them, and you're doing this for them. Remember that. You're still a young thing, wandering about with little direction but look how far you've gone. You may not seem to enjoy the same luxuries your friends are posting on social media, but that doesn't mean they're living a better life. We all have struggles we do not want to share. They have burdens to carry and so do you.

You're doing okay. You may not have built a house for yourself yet or gotten yourself your dream car, but that doesn't mean you're a failure. You might not have gone to your dream places, but that doesn't mean you're not doing things right. Having a picture taken in Paris or the most exotic destinations cannot be your standard for success.

It's okay to cry sometimes. When you feel like a hamster running on the wheel, do not hesitate to pause and cry. Sometimes we have to admit that strong people cry too. Even God's closest friends cry. You do not have to carry your burden alone. You do not have to keep it all in.

You'll be better. You may feel tired now, you may feel your eyes burn from staring at the computer screen for twelve hours straight but that does not indicate a pathetic life. The dread you feel over the pile of work to be done is not something that lasts forever.

You might have little left for yourself at the end of the day but that doesn't mean it's always going to be that way. You'll reach the end of the tunnel soon enough. You're doing well. It's going to be alright. There's always something to look forward to each day. And even if this little bright star is hidden behind the heavy evening clouds, it's always bound to show up. Always. 

The In-betweens

To the kids in life jackets who wanted the bottom of the ocean. Enjoy.

Her eyes hovered over his wide chest for a moment, trying to evaluate the size, reimagining comfort. ‘Was this the same chest that held her when she cried last night?’ she thought.

As if on cue, he took her clenched fist and kissed it – gently, as if he were holding an infant. As if he actually did love her. She lowered her gaze, warm blood spreading across her face, until she felt a sting from her nose, going up to her eyes. She blinked back hot tears.

“I’m always here, you know,” he whispered, sweeping her hair away from her cheeks.

“I know.”

But she knew she didn’t. At least her head failed to understand.

“Remember when we were kids and we wanted to dive deeper into the reef but we were wearing stupid, orange life vests? No matter how much we kicked the water, it always pushed us back to the surface.”

He was silent.

“Sometimes I feel like the things that keep us from the things we think we truly want are the things that are keeping us alive.”

She saw him picking invisible lint from her hair, twisting the strands between his fingers; only the rhythm of their heavy breathing hung on the air like a gray cloud about to pour.

“Let’s take the life jacket off,” he finally said, his wild, brown eyes bore into hers.

“John – “

“I mean, just this once, Claire. I’m sure the water’s going to pull us back anyway.” A tentative pause like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say some more. “Stay with me.”

She smiled, her head bobbing to the side in an attempt to capture the childlike expression on his face. And as she closed her hands around his, she also thought of the waves closing over their heads, water filling their lungs.

While her head racked itself for words, nothing came out from her throat but a gagged whisper she wasn’t sure was loud enough for him to hear.

“But I can’t swim.”

Better Than The Sun

But who are you to steal the glory of the sunset? How dare you pull my gaze from the orange rays to the edges of your face? How dare you make me forget about the sea and the naked shore, blanketed with rows of sea shells like white stars on a golden sky? How dare you fit my face in cupped hands like I were worth something? Like I were something beautiful you wanted to keep. And here, I try to fit yours in my small hands, like you were the sun itself. Like you were the only beautiful thing left for me to see. Like you were what I said I didn't need but actually do.

She sits now, at the corner of her bed, thinking of the knowing blazing sky while she religiously takes whiffs of your shirt, intoxicated with the smell of you and your perfume, sending tingles down to the tips of her toes. She sits, thinking, 'How is this actually happening? And why are our moments together like a bubble of portal, sucking in time like a day were an hour, and an hour, a minute?' She breaks into a crazy, lopsided smile and shakes her head, wrapping herself around the thought that she might have just found something better than torches lighting up the street. Something better than giant bonfires on the beach. Something better than the sun.

Untitled

To trips unknown. To the ones who had little to no direction and are just now starting to see. Happy summer.

“Water?” I asked him for the third time this afternoon, bringing a bottle of water to his lips. His eyes looked more exhausted than usual but his lips curled up to a smile, showing two dimples on each side of his mouth. Cute, I thought, but I fixed my eyes back on the road, scared the flush on my cheeks, or the smile I was biting in would show. How long has it been? I ask myself over and over again, trying to remind myself of how we met. Of how we ended up being in the same car and me handing him water like I was offering a bottle of champagne. I frown at how pathetic I must look.

“Something wrong?” he asked, raising both eyebrows – a puzzled look starting to brood on his face. “You can change the music if you like.” He started fumbling over the buttons on the car stereo in an attempt to change playlists.

I laughed, remembering how he always over-interprets my responses. Avoiding great damage, he always tells me. But if only he knew that the only problem I had right now was my breathing and the drumming in my chest. Inhale. Exhale. I caught him looking at me. I sucked in my breath, forgetting my breathing exercise, remembering how I always told myself to master the art of pretense.

“I – I made you something,” he finally gushed, like water pushing its way out of the hole from a rickety dam. “Nothing too big,” he continued, “I just thought you’d-you’d like a new playlist. I mean, you don’t have to listen to it. I mean, only if you want – “

I smiled and held his hand resting on the steering wheel, feeling the rough edges of the scar snaking from the back of his hand all the way down to his elbow. A flaw. The result of bad decisions, he chuckles. An interesting engraving of your youth, I remind him back.

If only you came earlier, he once told me. I nodded, thinking how things might have been. Will I have liked the former, innocent, and ungrazed better? Or would I still have preferred the scarred guy driving right beside me now. I wonder.

Arctic Monkey’s I Wanna Be Yours started blaring through the stereo and I jolted up in my seat. Surprised. Confused. Pleased. Like I just started reading the first love letter I’ve ever received from someone. Like how hot water from the shower pricks my skin before I start loving it until I refuse to step out from the bathroom.

“I thought you might have wanted me to play it for you now,” he said apologetically.

“Oh. I do, I do...thanks,” I whispered back. “Perfect timings, yeah?”

And there, I thought, when you want something, you just do. Regardless of scars. Regardless. Regardless. I marvel at the thought like hard candy in my mouth.

With eyes still on the road, he squeezed my hand before kissing the back of my hand. “Perfect timings.”

Chanda's Log. Day 1*

Hello, dear world, reader, or whatever living thing is reading this. Or hello, future self, in case you're the only one who's ever read or will ever read this.

I'm writing this in an attempt to survive my twenty-second year, aka Valley of Death, in which I throw in the yays and woes of a typical life of a baby adult: ME. If ever I don't make it to the twenty-third year, you know what to do. Tell my parents you could check this log for details.

Birthday yesterday was bland. As usual. Cupcake. A candle I've used the year before, and a hundred greetings from Facebook friends I haven't met yet in real life. And so I sat in front of the mirror, and did my face, before snapping a photo with my little cupcake. Pink and yellow with tiny edible purple beads dotting the dollop of cream. Copied a quote from Goodreads about life and living, and uploaded the thing on Instagram and Facebook, before wiping my face off with makeup removing wipes. Whoever invented self photos should be serving a death sentence now for throwing a burden of vanity on to the backs of people full of themselves. I eventually went back to bed and wasted six hours in front of my laptop screen watching a TV series I gave up today anyway.

I used to stand against our old door every time I age another year, although I stopped a few years back after stopping at 5 foot 6. I stopped growing. I stopped getting excited for another birthday, too. And I'm not entirely sure what else to feel now, with my special day reducing to chat messages and me staring at the fridge, contemplating on my lunch. Should I order pizza, or should I get canned sardines from the next corner store?

Ping.  

A message. A late birthday message. From him, no less. And my stupid, reckless lips curl into an equally stupid, reckless grin. Stupid, stupid little girl, I remind myself, slapping my cheeks lightly. Of course a teacher could never like her student back. Even if he's older, much kinder, and taller than her. Even if he stops her mid-discussion because he had a better idea -- an idea they would be talking about even after classes -- she knew that was just impossible.

But, I secretly smiled anyway, and typed away my thanks, thinking, this will be gone in the morning. This will be gone.

*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.

Letter to the Unbroken Spirit

But there was a wall trying to get in the way between you and me.

A guarded thick thing I said I'd break.

Although in the end, I haven't even grazed you. And I don't think I ever will.

That smug look you threw each I time I said I was coming in.

As if you liked it. As if you knew you'd run away again anyway.

In spite of me.

And that thick thing that stood between us still stood.

Prouder than ever.

A haughty stance, gleaming with a nasty air of arrogance.

Keeping you away.

Keeping me out.

Keeping us from killing each other, you said.

Although, I thought, what if vines that meet never really strangle each other?

What if the wrappings are a cling,

while they snake their way to the sunlight -

a cry for love and a hope of redemption?

I thought but didn't say,
so the wall still stood.
It stood there until I forgot your face.
Until I forgot your eyes.
Until I forgot you.