Update

THIS IS A SHORT UPDATE:

I have actually decided not to put my novel up on a blog for privacy and protection reasons.

Thank you.

Microfiction Monday - #55

Broom in hand,

the little witch planned

a night of moonlit flying amongst the stars.

Sunday Scribblings #239 -Intense

            She walked along the sidewalk, lugging her bag full of Halloween goodies. It’d been a good haul this year, all in all. Most satisfactory. Tired, she sat down on the curb and opened the bag to dig out a chocolate bar. Where had Leanne gone? And Andy?

            Crack.

            She whipped around, to see nothing but the old gate of the Manor. She had always wondered who lived in there. People said that they could sometimes see a shadow behind the old curtains, racing back and forth. She’d never seen it, of course. She never saw the things that the old men whispered about in the park, or heard the things that the gossipy old women seemed to think so interesting about the house.

            It was just a house, wasn’t it? She stood up, looking hard, trying to see what the other people said was there. How old was the Manor, anyways? She approached the blackened gate. Grandmother had told her that long long ago, there was a terrible fire in the Manor. Most of the family that lived there managed to get out, but the eldest son was trapped in his room by the fire.

            Of course, that was just an old wives’ tale. She was sure that there were no such things as ghosts. The Dead always passed into the Summerland. Mother had told her that. All spirits of the Departed always went to the Summerland. It was the natural course of things.

            She placed a hand cautiously on the gate, which swung open as soon as she laid her hand on it. Slightly unnerved, she yanked her hand back, but walked in through the rotten wooden gate and made her way to the charred porch. It took less time than she thought it would to walk up to the front door, but once she got there, it took an eternity for her open it. It wasn’t hard to open, no. She just didn’t know if this was such a good idea after all. Maybe…maybe there was something in this house.

            However, the door swung open just as the gate had. Taking a deep breath, she walked in.

            Her heartbeat seemed to echo throughout the entire house.

            Thump, THUMP. Thump, THUMP.

            There was something about this house. Something…sad. She shook herself. There were no ghosts. There never had been. There never would be.

            She walked back to the door, only to see that it had disappeared.

            But, how was that possible? Doors don’t just disappear. Maybe she was looking in the wrong place. She walked to the window, only to see that it wasn’t nighttime at all. The sun was shining and the grass, instead of being withered and dying, was lush and green.

            What was going on?

            She rubbed her eyes, hoping it was just some sort of strange dream, but when she opened them again, it was still daytime.

            There was a child playing in the grass. She was sure that there had been no one outside a moment before.

            The child’s laughter filled the air. Almost as if it were right behind her. It seemed to permeate through everything.

            “What are you doing here?”

            She turned hastily to see a boy standing in the room entrance. He looked to be about nineteen years old, but he was dressed in an odd fashion. As if he were from the early nineteenth century. But, it was 2010.

            “I---I---I---”

            “You…?”

            She looked around wildly. “I…” she couldn’t seem to get to what she was trying to say. What was she trying to say?

            “I…I don’t know…” she whispered, cradling her head in her hands and sinking to the floor.

            She felt him sit down on the floor beside her. “Don’t go crying like that, now.”

            “I’m not crying,” she replied, annoyed. “I’m just…confused.”

            “And what are you wearing?” he asked, looking at her Halloween costume. A pirate wench.

            “Oh…um…er…this is just for Halloween…” her voice trailed off.

            “What is…Halloween?”

            “Oh…it’s…um…look, can you just tell me where I am?”

            “In my father’s house.”

            “But…that’s not possible…I thought no one’s lived here for ages…”

            He looked confused. “What are you talking about? My family’s been living here for a century.”

            She sighed and covered her face with her hands again. “This will seem like a stupid question, but what’s the year?”

            “1854.”

            What?

            “I’m sorry…could you repeat that?”

            “1854.”

I've created a new blog!

Well, I've just created a new blog where I'll be posting up my NaNoWriMo 2010 novel for the world to see. You can check it out right over here!

I'll be posting soon! Let me know what you think. :]

Decisions...

I'm trying to decide whether or not I want to start a new blogspot for my NaNoWriMo 2010 novel...

I think I probably will. It'll be nice to just see what people think of my random rambling novelling.

So, it's a decision made. I'm going to make a new blog just for NaNoWriMo 2010. Woot!

Thursday Tales #31

She walked along the sidewalk, humming to herself and carrying her wares. They were so...pretty. Like orbs of light. She didn't want to part with them, but she had to if she was to collect money for Mommy and Daddy.

She hugged the puffy jacket Mommy had given her from the charity box. "Here, Lila," she had said as she whipped it out. "This will fit you perfectly, my little angel."

Oh, how happy she'd been! It was perfect for keeping cold weather out. She silently thanked the little girl who had parted with it so that she could wear it instead. Winter was coming, and it was a great comfort to have something so warm enshrouding her little body. She guessed this was what it was like to be the child of circus people.

"Does anybody want a balloon?" she squeaked at the passers by, waving her balloons in the air. "Just a dollar each!"

Usually she got a decent amount of money because people always loved the circus. She wasn't old enough to do much for her circus family, but this was all she could do until she could become a trapeze artist like Mommy. So she had to sell these balloons.

"Please buy some balloons!"





The picture used as a prompt can be found here.

First Time

You were standing there,
alabaster brow
under ebony locks.
Just standing there,
yet you caught my eye.

Your beautiful eyes saw
what other eyes refused to seek.
They saw me.
And only me.
And I saw you.

Your white ears
listened past my stutter
to the sweet words
I tried to utter.
I spoke.
And you listened.

Little did I know
how far we would go
along the path of love.
You will soon make me
the happiest man on Earth,
just by taking my hand,
to hold for all eternity.



A/N: This was something I wrote for someone who wanted something to give to his fiancee for her birthday.

NaNoWriMo Time!!!

Well, it's almost the end of October. And that means several things.

One. My birthday is coming up! Halloween night will mark my eighteenth year of being blessed with a life on earth.

Two. NaNoWriMo will begin! For all of you who don't know what NaNoWriMo is (shame on you!) it's short for "National Novel Writing Month."It's basically when you write a 50,000 word novel in the thirty days of November. I tried it last year and failed miserably because I became disgustingly lazy and let it taper off into nothingness. It was rather sad, actually. But I'm determined to succeed this time (or at least not fail as badly as I did last year). This will be my second attempt, seeing as I didn't know NaNoWriMo existed until last October.

So, wish me luck! Let me know who else will be taking part in NaNoWriMo!

Sorry!!

The dog is right. I AM stupid. I haven't been on here for ages, even after I promised to blog quite frequently.

I suppose that's what midterms do to you. They leech all of the energy you have that you could use to do useful stuff like updating your blog.

But, I'm back (to the few people who knew I existed in the first place :P) and will hopefully be posting more writing soon. I have also started a tumblr, where I will be posting random things as well. Creative writing and otherwise, so be sure to check that out here.





WARNING: THIS BLOG WILL SOON BE UPDATED.

Murder by Can Opener

Silver shadows
of cold steel
puncture warm flesh,
fresh blood
spilling out
crimson waterfalls
onto the
linoleum floor.

The tool of torture
clatters to the ground,
its mission complete,
drenched in rubies
of another heart.

Rambling Tongues #1

I sighed to myself. Innocence was bliss. Or is it loneliness that was bliss? It was most definitely better to be alone. Alone so that nobody could hurt me. Then why was I feeling so rotten now? Why did it suddenly hurt to be alone? I’ve been alone all my life. So what’s the problem now?

I traced circles in the sand with a twig, listening to the ocean waves roll in and out. Perfect unison. Perfect harmony. Perfectly together, and yet they separated. Always separated only to come together once more.

Perhaps it is our acquaintances that make life interesting. The people who come and go. How long will each one stay? Will it be life long or just for ten minutes?

Only time will tell.

Haiku Heights #11 - Rejoice

They share the night’s gift

Dancing in oblivion

Rejoicing together.

Screenwriter's Lament

Flash of a camera,

the red carpet beckons

with promises of glory

and renown.

Yet it's an unfair world,

pitting brother against brother

and wife against husband

in a battle for recognition.

And 'tis only the actors,

the directors and producers

that gain the fame

so coveted by many.

What of the writers?

The thinkers? The dreamers?

What glory have they,

save one line in the credits?

'Tis a world of

superficial moonlight

and sea winds from the

giant fans off the set.

Trying to portray

the real with the unreal

until the boundary

is smudged to nothingness.

Carry On Tuesday #73

Where art thou, muse? Where be thy guiding light and thy sweet song? Hast thou abandoned me? Hast thou left me alone in this world of long words and wandering sentences?

Wherefore hath thou left me? Or, perchance, thou were never mine? Thy sweet song were for another, and not for me? Oh, temptress of mine imagination, return to me. Sweet Siren though thou art, I doth need you.

And yet---without thou, I doth feel the wings of freedom arching o'er my back. Without thou I hath once again regained control over mine own writings. Without thou, I am mine own. Instead of being chained and controlled by thy heathen allure.

So, away with ye! I doth stand on mine own. Without thee. 

Microfiction Monday - #51

The wings of his steed

swept her up amongst the clouds,

higher than she had ever gone before.

Sunday Scribblings #235 - Flashback

Sitting on the swings,

she remembers a time past

mixed with the time coming.

Past winters and coming springs,

last summer’s breath still in her hair,

she looks back toward winter.

Sweet winter,

a time of cutting winds

and warm fireplaces

where she once slept

as a little girl, listening to stories

of Christmas past.

Longing to go back home,

yet happy where she is,

she clings to the past,

Looking forward to the future.

Journaling - A New Hobby

I have officially started a journal.

I already have a shoebox journal where I keep all of my ideas and poems that haven't yet been posted (or shown to that many people, to be honest). I keep all sorts of treasures in that shoebox. Pictures, theater programs, tickets and other things that trigger memories for me. I also keep the loose leaf scribbles I come up with and accounts of interesting days. It's probably one of the top ten things I would rescue if my house...well, dorm room was on fire. I keep ideas, emotions, memories, hopes, dreams, and so much more in that shoebox. It's very, very dear to me, and I think it would be fun to go through it when I'm older (much, much, MUCH older) and see what was running through my mind when I was seventeen.

Anyways, back to my journal.

I always wanted to start a journal, you know. I just never got around to it. I'd start diaries, but leave them because I had no time or I got bored.

But I'm determined that this journal won't be a failure like all the rest. I want this journal to be bound (which it is) to protect it from losing anything. Because everything that I put in there (and will put in there in the future) is extremely important to me. It's the start of new stories. Character sketches. Thoughts about the sky. People watching notes. Random scribbles. You name it! Perhaps I'll put excerpts from my journal on my blog. We'll see. But most of it will be for my eyes only.

I love the fact that my journal has no lines. It gives so much more freedom! Now I can write sideways, in shapes, in squiggles, or in a jumble of words that come together to make an image! Just THINK of the possibilities!

Anyways, that's all for now.

Ciao!

Thursday Tales #27

On the edge of the sidewalk,

she takes a deep breath,

bracing herself to move

from safety to adventure.

On the edge of the sidewalk,

she wonders what lies past

the sunset on the mountains

and the hidden ocean.

On the edge of the sidewalk,

she gazes out to tomorrow,

to what lays across the street

and in the world beyond.

Image was used from here

Magpie Tales #34

She snatched up the lamp as she hurtled down the corridor, praying that one of the doors would be unlocked.

The next one…the next one…perhaps the next one… she thought as the heavy footsteps approached ever closer. She dreaded to think what would happen if she didn’t find a hiding place. One of these doors had to be open.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

They were right behind her.

“Found you,” came the soft, hateful voice. She screamed as she dropped the lamp, shattering it and extinguishing any light that she could have used to see her captor.

“Now be a good Earthwalker and follow me,” the voice said. She felt a cold hand grasp her arm, sending cold shudders down her spine. “Or I will have to use force.”

“What are you going to do with me?” she whimpered piteously.

He chuckled softly. “Prisoners don’t get their questions answered,” he said. His face was too close to hers. She could almost feel the cold emanating from his body.

Deciding it was useless to try and escape, she followed him down the dark corridor until they reached a door.

“Now, give me the key,” he told her.

“But---”

“The key, Evangeline.” He fairly growled at her.

“I don’t have a---”

“In your pocket.”

And as he said the words, she felt an unmistakable weight in her pocket. Stunned, she reached into the soft folds of her gown and withdrew an ornately designed silver key.

“Now, unlock the door,” he hissed, shoving her toward the door. She did as she was told and opened the door.

Where there should have been a sitting room, there was just more hateful darkness. But it was a strange darkness. It seemed to seep into the room like some kind of mist or fog. Yet, all she felt was a cutting wind.

“Inside,”

And taking a deep breath, she stepped into the darkness, desperately hoping she would not be sucked under.

Microfiction Monday - #50

She watched the last ship

disappear over the horizon

wondering when she would see him again...

Three Word Wednesday #208 - engulf, imminent, tamper

             I lazily ran my fingers across the ancient leather backs of the books on the shelf as I walked past them. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a complete bookworm and I love the written word. But I’ve read most of these books before. Macbeth, Hamlet, The Odyssey, and so many more. I needed something new. Something I could really sink my teeth into. Something that would completely engulf me emotionally, mentally, and physically. I wanted something to become obsessed with again.

            “Are you absolutely positive you haven’t gotten anything new yet, Dan?” I called down the aisles.

            “Pretty sure,” the old librarian replied, feebly hobbling over to where I stood.

            “All right,” I sighed. “I’m just going to take another look around. Maybe I missed something.”

            “If you want to, Tia.” He said as he hobbled away again amongst the books.

            I made my way back to the first aisle and started to look at every single book I passed. There had to be something here that caught my eye. There always was, after all. It was easier to get into the books here. I mean, really get into them. I'm talking being sucked into the pages of the book. I literally watched Oedipus resist against the songs of the Sirens and find his way back to Ithaca last week. And the week before that, I listened to the prophecy the witches made for Macbeth. So why, why, why couldn’t I find a good book this week?

            I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander until it came in contact with something. Eyes still closed, I followed the call of the book until I was standing right in front of it. My eyes snapped open, only to find a dog-eared volume with no title, author or any other inscription on the faded black leather cover. I eyed it suspiciously. Father had told me not to tamper with suspicious books. Or I’d be sucked in immediately.

            I closed my eyes again, searching for a new book, but all I could hear was the haunting melody of the tattered book I had just left.

            Maybe you’re supposed to find this book, my subconscious told me.

            I took a deep breath and turned back to the book. It stood there on the shelf, taunting me, tempting me to open it’s torn cover and look at whatever treasure lay hidden within. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I snapped up the book and immediately felt a connection. As if it somehow attached itself to my hand. Alarmed, I tried to let go, but I couldn’t. Instead, it opened and I saw that imminent white light as I was sucked into the torn, yellow pages.

Carry On Tuesday #72

It started out as a feeling (they always do, you know). Just a small feeling.

Flutters in her stomach every time he walked by.

Catching herself looking at him without knowing she was.

Suddenly noticing that his eyes weren’t grey, but actually a very very deep blue.

Things like that. Little things. After all, it is the little things in life that make us appreciate it all the more.

Why was this happening, though? How had he gotten past all the defenses she had put up? She had sworn never to love again. Not after Gabriel. She had sworn never to commit the same folly. What real need was there for love? She had done just fine before Gabriel.

But then Micah came along with his warm smile and open hands. With his ocean eyes and sea beach hugs. How could she have let him soften her? How had he wormed his way into her life and nestled himself comfortably in her heart. And why why why wasn’t she resisting? Surely that’s what she should be doing.

Yet, something about him made her want him all the more. He was a good person, after all. Not all men were scum like Gabriel. In fact, Micah and Gabriel were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Gracious, kindhearted Micah contrasted with dark, selfish Gabriel.

Perhaps this was just the beginning. A new beginning. A new story. Or maybe it would come to nothing.

Only time would tell.

Poetry Class Poem #1 - Crash

Metal meets metal.

A deafening roar.

Two bodies entwined together

in blood and in gore.

Crash.

Sirens sound, detached noise,

Paramedics rushing to the floor

where two bodies twist together

not knowing what’s in store.

Crash.

They should have listened,

too drunk to find the door.

Yet they insisted on driving,

And now their eyes see no more.

Crash.

Sunday Scribblings #234 - Love

They walked side by side. Together physically, but emotionally and spiritually separated by an ever-deepening rift. He held her hand loosely in his own but did not look at her, fearing – no, loathing the thought of her fearful, tear-stained face.

In front of them, the dark waters glided as one. A few fishermen boats could be discerned from the darkness. The sun was not yet up, but this did not hinder the hardy fisherman. A single star was visible in the cloudy expanse above the sea. He had told her that it was theirs. The star would burn for as long as he loved her.

He released her hand and strode to a bench. There were so many memories here. Sighing with nostalgia, he turned to her, their eyes meeting for the first time in three days. For the first time since he discovered her secret.

She opened her mouth. “Oh, Ronnie I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching for him. He shrugged away, looking out to the sea.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was gentler than he wanted. Too warm. Too intimate.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But you did.” This time, he could not keep the anger and sadness from his voice.

“If I could do it over---”

“You can’t,” he growled.

She reached for him again. This time, he didn’t shy away from her touch. Squeezing his shoulder, she stood beside him. Just like she did the night they met. He embraced her, disregarding his weakness for her. This time, she held him up. Supported him like he did her that day so long ago. Across the sea, a ray of the sun’s light emerged, renewed.

They would get through this.

Three Word Wednesday #207 - gait, nudge, ripen

She watched him walk through the market. He had a strange, slow gait. Almost loping. Like a lion’s. It was majestic in a way, she supposed. Even he had some beauty about him. A blind beggar. Always there. Feeling his way about, that mongrel always jumping by his feet, barking incessantly. She was a noblewoman, but for some reason she found him intriguing. The way he never seemed miserable.

Why was it that she, a noblewoman who had everything money could buy, felt miserable, but he, a blind beggar, seemed to have no worries at all? How could that be possible? How could he be happier than she? She didn’t understand it. Her maid nudged her slightly.

“Come, Your Ladyship. We are expected back at the fort by five,” the maid told her, leading her away from the crowded market and back to the carriage.

“Just a moment more,” she replied, shaking off her maid and turning back toward the market.

Everyone seemed happy. Except for her. Children chased each other around the stalls, and the general commotion was somehow comforting. Not like the complete silence back at the fort. No, there she had curfews and rules to follow. She must learn Latin. And Greek. And ladylike skills such as sewing and looking pretty. None of the women here at the market needed to waste their time learning such trifling things. They could look at the ripened apples and pumpkins stacked in little towers of red, green, gold, and orange. Fabric from the East, tinted with indigo dye and lined with gold thread. Trinkets and baubles in another corner. There was just so much life here. Life that seemed nonexistent in the fort.

“We must go, My Lady,” the maid said, tugging her arm gently. “The market will come in again in a fortnight. His Lordship is waiting for you in the fort. You musn’t keep him waiting.”

She sighed. “Yes, mustn’t keep him waiting,” she said as she turned back toward her carriage.

Haiku Heights #10 - Sacred

An occasion bright

The bride glides in joyfully,

For the sacred vow

Magpie Tales #33

Amber poison

rushing through our veins

every time we stop

to take a sip.

Amber poison

enticing each victim

with its rich aroma

and elegant form.

Amber poison

dripping slowly from

the glass as they

sip it sophisticatedly

Amber poison

leaving them lying

unconscious on the floor

until they wake up

Amber poison

a slow killer

craftily making its way

until it takes over.

Thursday Tales #26

We sat on the wall, in the same position we were in thirteen years ago. Five years old seems too young. But it wasn’t. We both knew we were meant to be together. Sure, throwing that pecan pie at her during the fifth grade picnic wasn’t the best way to show her how I felt. What can you expect from a fifth grader? Subtlety was never a strength of mine, after all.

But the fact that she didn’t cold shoulder me forever must have meant something. Maybe she remembered that afternoon, too. thirteen years ago. We were sitting on the park wall and she was crying because she’d dropped her teddy bear. I picked it up and kissed her cheek to make her feel better.

She knocked me off the wall.

But then, she laughed. And that was all I wanted. Even back then. I’d rather fall off a wall than see her cry.

And I’ve never truly told her how I felt. I just get so tongue tied when I’m around her. Even thought we’ve known each other almost all our lives.

When I see her at school, with her golden hair catching the sunlight just right, I lose my breath.

When she grins at me mischievously while smart mouthing the teacher, I can’t look away.

She hypnotizes me. Utterly and completely under her control, I watch her.

And the car rides home. I drop her off, and we do our homework together, her Mom sometimes bringing us up a plate of fresh cookies. There were so many times I just wanted to kiss her. Taste her rosy lips. Show her how I felt.

But I never did.

And now it was thirteen years from then. She was with another man. Someone who had the guts to tell her he loved her. But he could never ever love her as much as I did. How could he? He didn’t know what made her laugh. He didn’t know her secrets. He probably didn’t even know that she loves peanut butter on her Oreos. He couldn’t possibly know her like I did.

But he still had the guts to love her openly.

And now, she was his.

Image by: http://putrapipupepo.tumblr.com/post/1130119852

First Ever College Classes

So, yesterday I had my first ever college class. Just one yesterday. That was nice. It was a Creative Writing class for Poetry. I need to write a poem a week for nine weeks, something that I won't have any trouble with. And the best thing is? I'll get to post up the poems I write on here!

I was back from class pretty early. At nine in the morning actually, which felt good. I had nothing to do after that, so my friend and I just biked around, looking for other classes we had to make sure we wouldn't get lost (a feat I have, so far, succeeded in) and we went all the way to Cuarto.

Now let me tell you something. Cuarto? It's pretty far. For someone who hasn't been on a bike for that long, anyways. It was manageable, but MAN am I glad that I don't live in Cuarto. I truly feel for the people who have to bike all the way from Cuarto to campus.

"Did she say to campus?"

Yes, reader. I did. Cuarto happens to be off campus, unlike Tercero and Segundo. Thankfully I reside in one of the latter two. Which one, you ask? Not telling. Don't want a possible stalker now, do I? Let's just say that I can get to my classes on time and leave it at that.

And then today I had two classes. Something I wasn't looking forward to at first. Chemistry and then Calculus. My two least favorite classes. But then I met the teachers, both of whom are very interesting people and are very enthusiastic about their subject. I always think a good teacher is enthusiastic about the subject he or she is teaching. And these two seemed to truly love their subject. I think I'm actually going to like these two classes. I know, I know. Crazy, right? It's true. I guess a good teacher makes for a good class.

And now, I'm going to be going back home for the weekend to see my family and to pick up some stuff that I, being me, forgot at home. I get to spend the rest of today the whole of tomorrow and most of the day after at home, and I'm thrilled. No, that's not sarcasm that you sense. I actually am looking forward to seeing my family. I miss them. I admit it. But life goes on!

I'll update you guys soon.

Ciao!

Sunday Scribblings #233 - Clean

           She breathed in the scent of clean linen. This was how it was supposed to be. Cleansed of all stains and blemishes. Smelling as sweet as the grass, as it swayed in the wind. She could think of only one word. Beautiful. It was like starting afresh. Just like she had when she moved out to the seaside. Away from all the hustle and bustle of the city. It was just so peaceful here. The sound of the ocean waves crashing onto the jagged rocks. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Moving out of the city. It was just what the doctor ordered.

            She had bought a house on a cliff, overlooking the eternal expanse of the ocean below. The entire place looked clean. The white-tipped waves that united with the rocks, only to be torn away again.

            Torn away.

            A violent term for something so sad. Yet fitting for something so painful. She closed her eyes, trying to forget everything from that night.

            The night she packed.

            The night she left him forever.

            The night she came here. To the sea. Almost as if it were whispering her name. It just took her twenty years to hear it. To listen to it. To follow it. And now that she did, there was no going back. She had followed it halfway across the country. Away from all her troubles and worries. Throwing them out to the sea to be washed and cleansed and to come back up, clean and white like the linen that fluttered in the sea wind.

College!

Well, it's final. I moved in, and UC Davis is now my home away from home. My roommate is pretty awesome (we have a lot in common) and I've met a couple of floormates. This in particular is pretty new for me, seeing as I'm pretty introverted. I like the feeling that there are new people to meet. I just have trouble getting up and meeting them. Some of them made it easier. Like these three guys who knocked on our door. I invited them in (surprising myself in doing so) and we talked for a bit. They seemed like very nice people and they told my roommate and me to just drop by whenever we felt like it.

Maybe I'll take them up on that offer. We'll see, I suppose.

I also got a feel for the university today when I went biking with Parichay and Sarthak. At first I didn't intend to go biking, but I met up with them, and they convinced me to bike around with them, so I did. It was so much fun! I didn't realize that their dorm building was so close to mine. I met Pranaya later on, too, and we want to visit the Arboretum tomorrow.

When my family left to go back home, I felt a little sad. I've never been good at showing my emotions or talking about them, so I don't know how I'll deal with homesickness, which has already started to settle itself down in my heart. It will soon be evicted. Thrown out and replaced with a sense of belonging, hopefully. I have two homes now, so I'm happy for that.

Tomorrow is another day, bringing with it new surprises and (hopefully) friends, as well.

Ciao!

Welcome to the World of Technology

Welcome, my children, to the world of technology. I caution thee to severely watch thy step, lest ye get swept away by the new technology wave that doth hover 'bove the nation. Nay! The world! New fangled contraptions like computers hath taken the place of the omnipresent parchment and quill. Instead of the letters we often send to our lovers and kinsmen, we now send cold, unfeeling text messages. The sweet, poetic English language hath been compressed excessively and hath been forced to bend down to the will of the new tyrant.

Wires and cables doth choke the land, and metal carriages race across nations within days. The ways of the old have disappeared to make way for the damnable new. I, too, have been swept, my children, and I have come to warn thee not to commit the same error that I hath foolishly made. I, once naive, believed in that technology could solve many problems that doth vex our world. Folly, I say! For instead of offering assistance, this new tool strangled us and kept us in chains, forever bound to its damnable head.

Yet, I do not say to avoid this new tool completely. Use it, but use it well. Lest you sweep away and drown in the future. And from there, my dear children, there be no return. Once thou hath entered that labyrinth of obsession, thou hath lost thyself to the demon puppeteer which keeps all on a leash, relishing in each usage of its charms.

Sunday Scribblings - #232 Treatment

            Happy birthday, Dad. I thought to myself as I rode on the carrousel. It was a white horse with a pink plastic mane and blue eyes that were glazed over. I used to come here every time the carnival came in when I was a little girl, clinging to my father’s hand as he pointed to the array of boats on the lake, promising to take me out onto the ocean someday.

            It has now been twenty years since he made that promise, and it still hadn’t been fulfilled. It couldn’t. Not when he was six feet under. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer six years ago and died the following year. I went to his funeral, but couldn’t shed a tear. There I was, amongst dozens of sobbing women and somber men, and I couldn’t shed a tear for my own father. I don’t know why he stopped chemo. It was helping him a little. Not a lot, but at least it helped a little. He stopped treatment and went to live at our beach house. I went with him and spent the whole year there. One whole year out of my life for the man who’d given me nineteen years of his. I wish I could have done more. More to show him I love him. More to repay the wonderful years he gave me.

            So I did.

            I made sure that he never wanted for anything during that one last year. I made sure he was happy and content and loved until the moment he took his very last breath. I took him out every day just so he could walk along the beach like he used to with Mom before she died in the crash. As time went by, he would take more “breathing stops” until he finally couldn’t get out of bed to go any more. He made me go, though, and when I came back he’d say “You smell just like the sea, Tillie,” giving me that soft smile that now took up so much energy to make.

            And here I was, five years after he died, riding on the carrousel and looking out toward the ocean that seemed to stretch on forever.

            He was happy.

Sunday Scribblings - #228 View

So, I'm rearranging my Blog (probably not going to have buttons on the top), and this is the first Sunday Scribblings I ever did.

#228 - View

Gazing out the window,

a glorious sunset

graces my eyes.

Hues of red and gold

soon morph into silver

as the sun tints the clouds.

The waves of the ocean

reflect the beauty

ever changing and ephemeral.

Calm settles down

as the stars are scattered

across indigo tinted skies.

The wind sings the night in

with Siren like sweetness,

lulling the world to sleep.

Moving Forward

Well, in ten days' time, I'll be taking the next big step in my up-to-now quite brief and uneventful life.

College.

Most high school seniors regard this word with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. And for me, it's no different.

I'm scared. I admit it.

But, that shouldn't hold me back. SO, I'm going to blog about the things I'm looking forward to to [a] make myself feel better and [b] actually put something up on this blog for once.

Things I'm looking forward to:
1. New friends
2. Learning new things
3. Being independent
4. Going through the exciting and life-changing (or, so I'm told) "college experience."
5. Getting new writing material
6. Trying horse-back riding
7. Trying fencing
8. Trying new things in general
9. Working on the literary magazine at college
10. Finding what I'm TRULY passionate in and pursuing it
11. Discovering new things about myself
12. Discovering new things about life
13. Discovering things in general
14. Biking across campus
15. Being able to visit Sacramento whenever I want (hey, it IS the state capital)
16. Being free to go where I want when I want to
17. Being able to make my own decisions without having to ask anyone else
18. Being able to visit the animals on a regular basis
19. Truly living

I suppose life at college won't be that bad now, will it?

Keeping up with the Kardashians?

So, I tried watching the hit show "Keeping Up With The Kardashians" today, and I have concluded that  it is...a complete waste of time. I know, I know. It's my fault for watching it and yadda yadda yadda. BUT, I just wanted to see why it was so popular.

I still don't know.

Why?

Why do people love seeing how the Kardashian family lives? What makes them so interesting? It just strikes me as pointless. There are so many TV shows like that. Where it's like an hour of "Oh-look-at-me-I'm-so-interesting-I-have-my-own-show-just-to-mass-blog-to-people." It's like...mass vlogging. Except, you know, it's not as nice and "private."

Kinda strange, right?

RIP Pappa Ajoba

For all of you who don't know what "Ajoba" means, it means "grandfather" in my language. My mother's father, whom I called "Pappa Ajoba" died last year from cancer.

When I went to India this summer, I went to a memorial ceremony for my Pappa Ajoba. It was exactly one year (Hindu year, not the 365-day one) since he died. In my culture, we believe that it takes a spirit one year of cleansing to be reborn as another person. We were having a ceremony to acknowledge that Pappa Ajoba's spirit has finally moved on.

When we got the call saying that he had died, I couldn't cry. My sister cried buckets, but I didn't. And I don't know why. Surely I should have cried, right? I feel guilty for not shedding a single tear. Maybe it's just because it hasn't hit me yet. It didn't sem possible for a person to be alive for one second and then just be a corpse, a shell of their former self the next. But it is possible. I mean, it happens everyday. Every second, right?

I suppose Death isn't that scary though. I know it's morbid, but I'm actually curious about what happens when a person dies. Is the white light real? Do you hear voices from your past? Does your life really pass before your eyes in fast forward? And what about after you take the Big Step? An afterlife? Heaven? Hell? Or just nothingness? Does everything just end there? Go blank? Maybe we humans have just added romance to death. We needed something to...spice it up or we just couldn't care if someone died. At least not as much. I know that sounds cynical, but it's true, right? We always need something interesting attached to everything, or we just don't care. Or maybe we do. Just not enough.

A Coffeehouse Vignette

            He watched her from across the shop as he took a sip of his black coffee. She was wearing a blue knit hat today. How many hats did she have? She had her notebook out as usual and was writing in it with a feathery pen. Purple this time. A steaming mug of hot chocolate sat next to her, steaming away, but left untouched for once. Instead, she was writing more furiously than ever, her eyes flying back and forth across the page. She looked agitated. Much more agitated than usual. Maybe he should talk to her this time.

Oh, who was he kidding? He always thought about walking over to her. Saying something witty and perhaps earning a smile in return. He rarely saw her smile. Then again, he only ever saw her in the coffee shop. But she was always so concentrated on whatever she was writing in her notebook that she rarely ever smiled. He’d only see her smile once, when she had answered a phone call. What if it was her boyfriend? She was probably taken anyways. She was so…beautiful. He didn’t even know her and he could tell that she was beautiful.

He was going to do it. He was going to go up to an entire stranger and tell her she was beautiful.

Right after he finished his coffee.

Diving in Feetfirst

Well, this is it. My upteenth attempt at blogging. I've seen the other attempts get washed down the drain, swirling amongst the sewage. Hopefully, this attempt won't end up in the same way. I intend for it not to, anyways. I'm going to try and devote this blog entirely to my writing, occasionally punctuated by rants and random rambling thoughts that roll around in my mind.

I have decided to try doing the Sunday Scribblings every week (starting today).  Wish me luck!

Also, I'm shouting out to my younger, wonderful, beautiful sister. Happy birthday, sweetheart! I love you so much!