I Guess This Is My Life Now

Eyes fluttering open before dawn,

Continuing the endeavour till way after dusk,

I sometimes forget what that fire looks like,

How much it burns,

It’s so odd how the memories feel so distant,

What if this isn’t the life I wanted?

 

 

But am I

smart enough

strong enough

bothered enough

to break out this perpetual circle of disdain and futility

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The Loss of Innocence

I remember back in the day when I first started to write, my mind would wander and go to the same grotesque and predictable story line so would often just go to a random word generator and use these words to create a story. With the lack of inspiration but need to write lead me to try this once more. The words were as follows:

  1. achieve
  2. proper
  3. glimpse
  4. swarm
  5. retired
  6. temptation

The golden years that I once lived were now dead and buried. The words echoed in my youthful ears: untapped potential. Layabout. Nothing to achieve. No reason for being.

I remember being young. I remember the colours and the hope. Everything was once so vibrant, so new. With plenty of experiences to look forward to. Even the most mundane people were interesting. The teacher the kids would run up to and hug. The family friends who used to come bearing gifts. Even a simple passerby. There was no past, nor a future. It was the now. I lived in the now. I lived.

Those were the times of innocence. The times of purity. When no one could fault me. Even as I grew and learned to be proper with age, I knew that innocence had not left me. Not yet. The feelings were still wrapped in purity, in the form of stolen glimpses and passed notes.

The end of the innocence came too soon, in that moment I finally realised nothing would be the same again. It involved a car, carrying my loved ones but before they could leave it,  it began to fill with screams and fear instead. I remember the blood and the smell of a smokey metal. The men in the neon uniforms which now looked grey, they found me clutching the corpse of the people who protected my innocence for so long, who prayed that I never grow up without them. Those people were never to be seen again by a freak accident or God, or any higher force beyond any comprehension.

Therefore a child of only eleven stands with a suitcase of the few belongings and the weight of the world on their shoulders. I stood at that doorway expecting a swarm of people who used to greet me in my old life but instead an empty room with strangers filled with empty promises. Those people who once bore gifts, only offer hollow apologies. They remind me that I am alone.

Finally at the door is another chance of a place to call home. A promise for the future. A newfound innocence. A family that promised a home after so many declined.

There was the moving from the life I knew to become the new person they want. The abandonment of the past, of the possessions, of myself. Assuming a new identity as a thinly veiled attempt at a new start.

When finally I settle in. The parties start. The memories gap. Those weeks that just become a blur. And these strangers are the ones I call my family. Even though I don’t remember them without a cloud of smoke. The visits with the man with clipboard stop because they don’t seem to care. He has retired or most likely died but like many things I guess I will never know.

As the number of cigarette burns increase, the number of empty bottles scattered around the mattress on the floor. The number of places I have called home has diminished but the places I’ve slept have increased exponentially.

Finally not long after those teen years end in the fast lane, I am used up and broken from the life I now live. The amount of intoxication couldn’t blind me from the hurt or the inevitable self destruction. As I look over at the last bottle of pills on the 23rd floor of a strangers apartment complex and the temptation for the end just intensifies.

October Writing Challenge: Day 13


What inspires you? My goodness, I’ve exhausted this topic but here we go… 
I don’t have a specific person or thing which inspires me. I get my creativity in bursts from different factors.

Usually while I procrastinate maybe watching a TV show or even listening to a song, I get an odd spurt of inspiration. I had so much motivation while reading Bakuman (a manga) a few years ago, the guy in there was so admirable. While in highschool a classmate got him to team up to become a mangaka. As a result, he had to keep up with education  (the exams in japan are an actual craziness) and still spent most of his days aspiring to be a mangaka. He was constantly working to his goal and it inspired me to do what I love.
Another time was when I was watching a kurt cobain documentary and seeing nirvana rise to fame really inspired me.

Other than fictional characters or people I don’t know, my family. They constantly inspire me. Like I know them so well but they can tell me something about themselves which surprise me and make me respect them more.
My mum’s unconditional love.
My dad’s jack of all trades personality.
My brothers determination.
They all inspire me.

So while I can’t guarantee one thing to inspire me, I have many things that do. And many things in the future that will.
Without doubt, my inspiration comes down to me trying to better myself. I’m not the person I want to be, not yet at least. 

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 1

I’m a pretty lazy person, and for many reasons but that being the main contributor: I cannot commit to writing on this blog. Therefore, the only option to write is to force it. I’m subjecting myself, someone who blogs literally once every two months, to write 30 blogs in 30 days. That’s right: the 30-day writing challenge. The one I’m doing is from the scribendi website, so if anyone else is up for doing this challenge with me, just let me know so I can read. To be completely honest, I’m going to try hard to get until day 30 but my last 30-day writing challenge ended with me on day 8.

Day 1: Take us through a written walk down your street and to your favourite place through the eyes of somebody else. (Disclaimer: I really don’t have a favourite place but I am going to write about the park I walk through and where going to sketch).

 

As I paced down an unfamiliar street that seemed ever so homely. The kind of street you would never read about unless for its unwavering regularity. It being quiet and still, almost as if no one really lived here. Despite the fact it was surrounded by houses and those houses were surrounded by houses. It was still too quiet. However every now and then after that thought had occurred to me, I would see a person pass me. They never really saw me, they just ignored obstacle in a rush. Rushing to get somewhere. There was nothing to see here, no reason to slow down and appreciate it.

It was like a normal street, it had those small trees planted about two or three metres away from the last. In between them was a cluttering of cars. For some odd reason, there were a ridiculous amount of stationary cars. It’s like every house had a family of four, where all four could drive. This is a problem when even the houses are too close. Like true London fashion most of them are terraced and a few lucky ones get to be semi-detached. This led to the inevitable clutter.

As I turned the corner, there was a bustle of cars speeding down the road, a bus stopped and went. It again all seemed so rushed. Maybe because even on the busy road there was still nothing worth seeing. No sights. Just a simple few houses and then a row of shops. Small businesses, nothing exquisite. A grocers or two, a hairdresser there. A place for them to settle down and remain, so for them nothing changed. They looked old and grew to be part of the background, clearly nothing here has changed drastically.

Now I approach a roundabout, with cars forced to stand at a halt while others crossed where the lights changed. There were five different ways to go, one going back, the other would show a restaurant along with a few more and the old library that definitely does not own the book you want to read. The third simply just more road, walking down would just take me to another borough, same with the fifth. I walked down to the fourth, leading to again more road. There was a bus stop, more grocers and of course more restaurants. As I walked further down, I could see gates to a park, surely the scenery should be better there than what I see. So that was path I chose and was immediately proved wrong, as there were two small ponds with a swarm of ducks. It was dirty and looked ancient, again nothing worth any value to see. However there were still people sat down enjoying the pathetic view.

I only wanted to walk further to be were there were no people. Simply sit alone where it didn’t smell like unwashed animals and be in peace. I walked further down past those families having barbecues and loud kids, until there was a patch of grass where I could sit.

When I finally sat, it didn’t seem so horrible. It was ordinary and normal, but the world was still and I could hear the quietness. I could look up and see the sky. Even though there was nothing worth seeing, I could see that this was worth seeing anywhere in the world. Under the sky the world seemed vast and that’s what I will share.

Underneath normality there must still be beauty. It is just question of you wanting to discover it.

Too Young To Give Up, Too Cynical To Dream  

One of my closest friends is experiencing the first time in her life a lack of ambition. She has no plan and her dreams that once were are now gone. In order to battle her lack of morale she asks others what they’re dreams are. Insight, motivation, any would do for her. 

When she asked me and it dawned on me I have no dreams. It’s never bothered me. I’d rather be stuck in the now and worry about the future when it comes. I simply told her, “I have no dream. I’m just trying to get by.” At this moment of time just living is hard enough so I’ve never looked to the future. It doesn’t bug me that I dont have a dream. Either way, no matter what we do we are gonna wake up at 40 thinking that we haven’t achieved anything, so why set myself up for failure?

For me, I’m looking for a job. So far I’m unsuccessful but im still in university. My lack of dream doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. My dream will come to me. Maybe. Most probably not. 

At this moment of time I still don’t really care. 

Chapter One

A young man stood tall over the mountain side, dripping with sweat from his trek. The light clothing could not help him with the unforgiving sun beating down. The only thing he had was the tattered clothes on his back and the bag slung over his shoulder. Not to mention the small girl running behind him shouting. The strange thing about this pair was not that they were travelling together nor was it the vast age gap. It was the fact that even though they were both exhausted, looking almost dead, they had lacked food and water, and they had not bathed in a week, despite all this they still smiled. “Brother,” the small girl laughed. “We are here.” The man messed up his sisters hair, “we did it, kid.” They looked over a small village just by the river. “Brother we can make it today if we hurry. Let’s run.”
The girl carrying a small bag, not knowing the burden on her brothers body from carrying most of their things. “Stop being a child. You’re 18 now. We can continue in the morning.”
Just as she was getting ready to complain, she saw her brothers exhausted face and the toll that the day had on his body. “You’re a dumbass. Like you said I’m 18, I can carry my share.” She took their things and helped her brother walk. With his arm round her shoulder for support he couldn’t help but laugh. “I did this for you not long ago.”
“My brother is a dumbass.”
They walked silently together until they reached a place to set camp for the night. As she didn’t want him to walk that much she stopped before the sun went down, in fact they still had hours before the sun set. The summer was not kind during the day but helped them at night. She quickly unpacked a sleeping bag for her brother and set him down on it. “Now sleep.”
“Kanna”, he shouted, “thank you.”
“All I did was carry you. You’ve been carrying me everyday for 11 years.”
“It’s not just that. You’ve done more for me than you know.”
“You and Reya have done too much for me. You miss her of course.”
He scoffed, “that crazy girl. I don’t think about her everyday or anything.” He glanced down at his wedding ring, “Damn I miss her.”
“I miss sister too.”
Kanna left. He never cried in front of her and he never wanted her to see him cry so it became a habit that when he looked like he was about to cry she would leave.
She saw a rabbit and started to chase it like a child.

 

Betty

I don’t know how many people are familiar with the show Ugly Betty (and if you aren’t then shame on you).
I absolutely loved it, I mean Betty was fucking hilarious, the idea was bloody brilliant. A heroine with thick rimmed glasses and braces- now that’s a plot.
An “ugly” (note the air quotes) girl who went to work for a fashionable magazine. She didn’t fit in (I’m pretty sure everyone knows how that feels). Shows like that aren’t really on, usually tv shows are about pretty people complaining about their lives. With Ugly Betty, I don’t know, I just feel like I could relate. Besides the poncho *face-palm*

I know it may sound stupid to have an emotional attachment to a fictional character but I don’t care.
My all time favourite quote from her-
“No I’m the jerk for thinking that clothes and a new hairdo would make a difference on someone like me.”
To me, I never really saw Betty as ugly, beauty IS in the eye of the beholder and to me she was beautiful. Honestly, she was an inspiration. I think more girls should try to be like Betty because she was a strong, independent woman, who was successful. Yet people still try and be like the models in there.

I’m not going to lie even the superficial characters had there moments. Honestly have you ever heard truer words-
“A word of advice, be who you are, wear what you want, just learn how to run real fast.”
~ Marc St

I even think Betty introduced the idea of blogging to me.
She was a real person; she had bad hair days (a lot of them), she snorted when she laughed, she embarrassed herself (once again, a lot!)
But she also stood up for what she believed in, she had experiences and had morals.
Which is why I refuse to call her ugly.

Thanks for reading
^___^
(=^.^=) (hey look a cat, since that has your attention—> leave a comment about your favourite heroines from books or tv shows)

Who inspires you?

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”
— Marilyn Monroe

People with stories. People with a terrible past. People who live.
Writing has made me wonder who inspires you? Maybe a tv character, an athlete, a celebrity, anyone. Some of them I don’t understand, some I do.

The people who inspire me are my family. They are great people, they will be behind me always and despite everything. They haven’t had everything but they rise above it. They are fighters.

Really, the smallest things can influence me.
These guys on YouTube was another thing inspired me to also write these blogs. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s there videos they’re amazing. It’s the sort of videos you could watch over and over again. (If you’re wondering- these people are called Wong fu productions- you should check them out.)

Even with the smallest things that inspire me, my family always have some influence. We all have it- my mum, dad, brother and sometimes that aunt who you realise is so brave, my grandma who you just love and has always been strong, that immature uncle who can just make you laugh.

Now, who inspires you? Leave a comment below 🙂

Thanks for reading