Scatteredfafa

I'm back. It's 2am. And I have things I want to say to everyone. I'd probably regret it, I mean regretting being vulnerable, not the things I am going to say. But who's going to read this anyways? My blog is like my diary, which I secretly hope someone would read but no one will.  I've missed writing. I didn't realise this until tonight. What have I been doing? So preoccupied to the point I've negected what sets my soul on fire. I'm disappointed in myself, but I've just learned a new word:  "Amor fati", it means love of one's fate, and I intend to practise this stoic way of life. It's Nietzche by the way. Is it fate that I didn't write? Is it fate that it just so happened that I had time to write but didn't feel inspired to? I don't know, it clearly stems directly from my choice to not write, but I'd like to blame it on fate.  I should probably write a little something each night. Maybe I should write stories.  Okay ...

The world is vast beneath me. The awareness that I'm just a speck in the universe hightens yet I feel much more alive and seen than I've ever felt. I stretch my wings wide as the fast wind ruffles through my feathers, urging me to leap off the tallest building in the world and trust my wings will carry me somewhere and my heart will soar. Do I trust the wind? Do I trust my wings? Do I trust the place I'm going? Would trust be enough? I turn my head around and squint my small eyes against the torrent of the wind, just enough time for courage to dissipate and self doubts barges in. Do I really need to do this now? What if I can't do it? What if I fall? Suddenly I can't breathe. My heart's drumming in more fear with each deafening beat.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to push the fear down. It is now or never. I will always be afraid, it will still be scary the next time, but each time I survive the jump, I will be braver and stronger. I lift one le...

In a tiny little cottage obscured deep in the forest, with two chimneys and walls made up of twigs and stones, there lives Effie who loves nonsense more than anyone else. She has a head of colourful long hair tied into three ponytails because two makes too much sense and one makes her sad. She has a laugh too loud from a little girl like her and sometimes it comes with tears and a snort that seems to be infectious to those around her.   Her friends live together in the crowded village, because they had said it made much more sense to always be with people you care about. They had frown and tutted at Effie’s cottage when they came to visit, saying it is nonsense to live so far alone. Effie had simply tutted back and ran around her cottage, singing at the top of her lungs.   “Stop it Effie! You’re being too loud!”, her friends had shouted through her singing, but Effie paid no heed because she had moved on to hit on her drums, playing the most impressive beats. When she ...

Ending scene from the movie Background music:  Exile-Taylor Swift and Bon Iver I twist the ring on my finger nervously. A new ring,a sophisticated wedding ring. Not the ring she gave me when we were kids. I can feel its unfamiliar edges, encircling my finger a bit too tight, squeezing my heart. I continue ascending the rickety spiral stairs which I’ve bounded excitedly up so many times before. She, always in the front, me, right at her heels. “I would have followed you anywhere and everywhere”, a melancholy thought, weighing down every step and something inside me. I shrug it off, “This is right, this is what I want. I am happy now”, I said to myself absent-mindedly and put on a bright smile. When I reach the attic, it is more empty than usual. The trace of notes and scripts that used to be strewn everywhere on the floor has been covered up by a thin film of dust.   I can see a crumpled form covered under a blanket, sleeping on the worn-out couch by the attic window. I kno...

"A lifetime ago, my heart tore and my blood dyed my soul black, but on one moon, the emptiness drained and colour seeped in again, and suddenly I saw you, standing there, bright yellow and blue, and I blushed red."

It came from the sea.  The man, but not exactly a man, one who's standing stiffly at the other end of the swimming pool. It shall be referred to as a "he" to avoid confusion, but readers beware, always keep in mind that he was not a human and it is dangerous to forget that he was not, because you'll have empathy, and empathy is a weakness, and such weakness kills. His hair was slick and slimy, tangled with kelps, crusted with barnacles. Lips tinted blue and fish scales at the elbows and neck glistened in the sunlight. Muttering under his breath, he lifted his head up and stared at me with his bloodshot eyes.  "We're...here...Frances. Now you... drown.", he gasped, like he's shocked that he had a voice. Just a slave, a sacrifice and I could see fear in his eyes, pleading for an escape from his fate. But we both know, only the sweet kiss of death could help us both. It would have been pitiful if it wasn't for the death threat and the fact that he w...

Two best friends laid horizontally across the bed, with their legs up against the wall and their hair fanning around them. The occasional sound of lonely cars racing along the dark highway outside, reminding them time has not stopped during their pensiveness. The silence between them was understanding and comfortable, an invisible message hanging in the air: "I'm here for you".  Telulah turned her head to the left and looked at Fiona, who was so still as if she was holding her breath, afraid to disturb the peaceful night. She poked her friend's face, relieved that she was still alive.  "If I'm ever reborn, not that I would want to come to this goddamn world again, I want to be a dog", Telulah said with a deadpan expression, her voice croaking a little at the start. Her delicate eyelashes still wet and crumpled from the weight of her overflown tears. Fiona, continued staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered on the ceiling, afraid to look at her fri...

 I love writing, that’s what I do when I’m happy, sad, (insert every other kind of emotions). Really, any feelings at all. I like to see my soul in words. However, my insecurities have always reminded myself that I’ll never be good enough, ‘Your english is not that good’,’You don’t read enough anyways’, ‘Don’t act like you know things’, but I’m ‘coming out’ today! It’s so scary yet it makes me so happy. Life is too short to not be yourself and flaunt every inch of who you are since no one really cares but you. I love writing cards, letters, structured text messages or random notes. The note in my phone is ful l of conversations that I have with myself. Short stories that I never finish because I’d convince myself it’s not a good idea to waste time on. I was criticised for being too emotional, over-thinking and immature (mainly by myself), and it got to me, so I ran away and locked myself in a tower of self-deprecation. I scribbled all over the walls, thinking it would be enough t...