It's 6pm on a Tuesday. I'm sitting on the old brown couch in the living room, with slow songs softly playing from Eizza's laptop. My housemates are cooking for dinner and this is our first proper dinner since everyone got back in the UK, our first proper dinner after our house is all cleared up and tidied, our first dinner which doesn't consist of lazy fried rice or plain rice with scrambled eggs. It's nice.
I found that these days I like calm.
I like the ocean, when it’s nearing sunset. I like warm tea before bed. I like how the constant drizzle of rain are now my favourite lullaby. These days my life has been moving at a constant pace. I feel like I know what I’m doing, for once tomorrow doesn’t seem too scary anymore. It’s a comfort I look forward to everytime night falls. Life used to be so fast paced. It was tongue burning coffee and 7am trains, people and faces blur in comparison, a fleeting image painted on the back of my retina, not important enough to commit to memory. I’m 22 this year and these days I like warm tea and weekly walk to the park. I tried smiling at a stranger once and couldn’t stop ever since. It’s nice to slow down once in awhile. Living life high on adrenaline is so fun until it drains you and strips you bare, you forget your purpose and who you are. Slow down, slow down. One day you’ll thank yourself.
The world stops the moment my feet touched damp sand, drowned in the sound of waves kissing my toes, my shoes soaked wet. It's uncomfortable but so nice. The sparkling shades of blue and green stretched in front of me, as far as eyes can see as far as I want it to be. And a sense of worthlessness wash over me. It's so easy to forget your worries when you feel so little so insignificant to the world, the sea does that to you. The sea makes you forget. A kind of drug to numb your pain away, comforting. The sea makes you forget. And forget you will, again and again until it's addictive, until it's done more damage than good. It started with ankle buried deep in salty murky water to barely gasping for air and all you can see is black, a soft blanket of waves drawing you in with the promise of a calm storm.
I wish I will never stop loving the night sky, its quiet black horizon a soft comforting blanket.
I hope I will never get tired of going to the beach, and loving its ocean.
Watching soft waves kissing my feet in short intervals.
Inhaling that prominent smell of salt water and brown sand.
I want to love the summer sun as much as I love winter snows.
I hope growing up doesn't make me forget what I love and what I treasure.
I wish I still look at people and see the good things like I used to when I was 5.
I hope once in a while I still jump into puddles and play in the rain.
Not minding judging eyes and blatant stares.
I want to be able to enjoy eating ice-cream at 3am and not worry about my weight the next day.
I want to love people without boundaries, taking leaps and crossing seas.
I hope in 10 years I will still love my favourite book and listen to my favourite song.
I want to be someone who still appreciates the little things in life and I hope growing up doesn't rob me of that privilege.
I woke up feeling sad. Chest constricting, breathless. It hurts, everything hurts. Some mornings, I wake up with beads of sweat on my forehead and heartbeats faster than my exhale and inhale after a morning run, and today is one of those days. My limbs heavy and it's less to do with physical fatigue but emotional ones. I woke up wishing I'm still asleep, swept away into a faraway dream where a bed of roses doesn't have thorns. I woke up wishing a parallel universe exist, where we walk hand in hand and set the world aflame. It's one of those mornings. The one where I wish I'd wake up to your face next to mine, dark hair fanning soft features. The twirls of morning rays, graceful, casting a soft glow to where you lie next to me. The bed sheet next to me remain cold and empty. Good morning angel, I know you're doing okay.
Hi. It's been a while hasn't it? It's been forever since I actually write about what's going on in my life and don't worry this post isn't gonna break that streak. Just a little hello to say that I'm still doing okay. A little bit out of it honestly, with exams starting tomorrow and I am nowhere ready.
It's May
My favourite month of the year.
Namjoon's right. I've always thought May as the middle of the year. Not June, not July. Funny isn't it. For me May is like a line I'm eager to cross, but nervous at the same time.
Let's hope this month continues to bring me joy and happiness albeit suffering through exams.
And hey, I'm going back home this year :)
It's May
My favourite month of the year.
Namjoon's right. I've always thought May as the middle of the year. Not June, not July. Funny isn't it. For me May is like a line I'm eager to cross, but nervous at the same time.
Let's hope this month continues to bring me joy and happiness albeit suffering through exams.
And hey, I'm going back home this year :)
I wrote you poetry after poetry, I read you stories of lovers falling in love. You have always said that action speaks louder than words. And I have been trying my whole life to do just that, saying "I love you"s without my words but I guess I'm just not your lucky star. When we were little, we used to wish upon shooting stars and each time, I would peeked my eyes open to see you. In my world you are my star, you are my wish come true. I could have infinite ways of saying how much you meant to me, I could have the stars bear witness of my love and but I am not her. The twinkle in your eyes whenever you talk about her reminds me of the 10 year old you talking about solar systems and the vast open space. Maybe you've found a galaxy in her eyes, while I am just a stray meteor caught in your orbit.
Life and death. Black and white. Most things are created in pairs and I wonder if God forgot to create one for me.
If you're reading this, you're probably one of the person she loves most and I hope you know how lucky you are for that. My best friend carries a universe inside her, one where I hope you would take the time to map and explore. It could take you all your life but I hope you're patient. She is the star on a clear night, she is also the gloomy sky when it rains and storms. I hope you can appreciate her when she's shining her brightest and lift her up when she's on her knees having the weight of the world crushing her down. She is an ocean, her tides change with the moon. And you are a sailor in her waters, brave, conquering the raging storm. If you're reading this I know she has found the one, hopefully the love of her life because I will not settle for anything less.
My best friend does not know how to love in moderation because when she falls, she falls hard and she falls fast. She's strong but fragile, she cries easily but she's determine in her decisions, she knows how to stand her ground. She has loved and been loved. She too has been hurt and broken. If you're reading this, you probably have pieces of her broken heart if not whole. I will not ask you to patch her up because my best friend is not some ceramic doll that needs fixing. She is the girl standing next to you now because of her broken pieces. She is more than her broken heart. What I dare ask is to treasure her for all she is. I hope you love her sharp edges even though sometimes she bleeds from it. I hope you kiss her wounds better. I hope you fall in love with the way she laughs at something stupid. I hope you realise how much she loves you when you look into her eyes. Most importantly, I hope you'll love her as much I did, as much as I do.
She has been my world and you will soon be hers. Do not let her crash and burn because I will pour you the ashes and drown you in your own fire.
happiest birthday my lovely Haziera I hope you know you are loved wherever you are <3
You had winter flowing in your veins, the shuddering cold a familiar friend. Never once you tasted summer. So when her fingers touched yours, suddenly spring was blooming and you've never seen so many cherry blossoms in your life. You wonder if this is what summer tasted like, if ever a season could be tasted. She was warm and bright, like summer's heat, refreshing but undoubtedly unfamiliar. She left, leaving autumn in her wake. And you're back into the familiar cold winter but it's not the same anymore. Fleeting seasons but permanent memories.
Postcards
I love it when you send me postcards.
It's a small gesture, but to me it means the world. It's like there's traces of me all over the world, be it in your thoughts or the open sea in front of you. It makes me all warm and tingly knowing that despite being thousands of miles away, from one country to another I'm always there. Maybe not in flesh but definitely in soul. I lie in bed at night thinking which country is it this time. Though I may not know where you are I am comforted knowing eventually you'll come back home to me. The smiley on your postcards is enough to make me smile the whole day. Sometimes it's a long heartfelt confession, other times just a simple
'I miss you'.
Eloquent.
Some time long ago, I told you how much I love classic hand-written love letters, the effort of holding pen and paper, writing instead of typing, crossing out sentences instead of pressing the backspace button. There's something that feels a lot more sincere and genuine to it. You laughed and I know writing is not your forte. So when I received your first postcard, I couldn't stop glowing the whole day. Then, the mailman keeps on coming every week or so and I'm so surprised you remember. Even more surprised that you go as far as scribbling little notes and your thoughts for me. It may seemed like nothing to other people, but knowing you, I know this is a big step. Dissecting yourself bare and open, vulnerable. The little things you do for me, for us. And I'm falling in love with you more and more each day, you surprised me more and more each day. The years I've spent thinking I know you, and you always prove me wrong. We're discovering more of each other as each anniversary pass and I want to love every version of you just like how you've loved mine. We argued a lot, sometimes petty misunderstandings lead to petty arguments. Sometimes we fight about who loves the other most. I've always said I love you more than you love me, but a deeper selfish part of me wants you to love me most. And I hope you do.
Today another postcard arrived. This time from Copenhagen. Your hand writing messy, but I've learned to decode your language enough to understand that you're coming home. You're coming back home.
:)
