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.