Shatter and Clatter (Short Story)

7:42 pm

"I'm sorry. Please, Jake. Please stop, I'm sorry!"

"NO! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. LOOK AT WHAT HAS BECOME OF US! IS THIS WHAT YOU HAD WANTED, BITCH?!"

Shatter and clatter, I hear sobs and shouts. With every syllable escalating in its decibel, I shudder and cringe.

"I told you I'm sorry!" She sobs. Her voice cracking. "Sarah can hear you. She is only a child. Don't do this to her. Don't do this to us. Please stop, I beg you!!"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I HAVE HAD FUCKING ENOUGH OF THIS HOUSE. I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!"

"Jake, I swear to God I didn't do anything. Ple-Please, Jake, please! DON'T TOUCH ME! STOP IT!"

I hear her gut-wrenching cries from under my blanket. I have heard people say that once you experience something on the daily, you become accustomed to it. I never understood why this particular daily house activity couldn't sink and wear down to the accustomed ones.

2:17 am

"C'mon, honey. Time to wake up," I hear my mum hush to me, waking me from my stupor.

"Mummy it's still dark outside. Why do I have to wake up in the night?"

"We're going to a nice place. Put on your coat quickly, sweetie," she says to me kissing the top of my head.

I can hear her breathing hard and fast. She's almost shaking as she clasps my hand tightly. We tip-toe across shards of broken glass and splinters of wood. Beer bottle glass, whiskey bottle glass, tables and chairs. A shattered photo frame here and there occasionally. All in ruins.

She didn't have to tell me to keep quiet or anything. I was smart enough to understand what was happening even if I was only 5. I'd been dreaming of this moment for a long time now. It's exhilarating to feel that my wishes were finally coming true. Maybe there is a God after all.

Once we are through the gate, mum spins around towards me, grabs my shoulders tightly and says, "Now remember, baby. We have to walk as fast as we can to Rosewell Street. We can't stop at all. I know it's a long way but we can do it. I have a rental there and then we can be free. Sarah, we can be as free as the birds." 
As free as the birds. I don't know why but that line makes me start bawling suddenly. I can't believe it. Our freedom is so close; it's almost like an unachievable dream.

"Mum, I can do it."
"Oh, my little girl, I never doubted it." She kisses my hands.

3:58 am

"I can see it, ma. I can see it!"
"Shh, I know."

It was old beat-up car. Hell, the only other thing I remember about it is that it was blue. That's it. Not that I even cared at all. Though, looking back now, I would like to know what kind it was.

We run to the car with elated hearts. Freedom is so close.

We have been in the car for barely 5 minutes when mum notices something odd in the mirror. Her brows furrow in worry and concentration. I look back to see it what it is.
It's a red Camry. Our red Camry. 
 I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!
Oh. . . .

I can feel all the blood drain out of my body. I have goosebumps on my arms. My heart is racing and it's not from the running. 
Is this what true terror feels like?
My mother is speeding the car to escape dad. She's in so much of a hurry that she all but forgets about the still slick road from the rain. Our car crashes into a tree. Before my eyes close, I see a hint of a smirk in the rear view mirror of the car.

Our freedom is here.

I Can Never Fall in Love

I am a very ambitious person. Mostly it is a good thing, but it has turned out to be destructive for me sometimes. It is a main factor that played in my depression. I admit it has made some things better and helped me keep fighting but. . . .

I can't fall in love because of it!

When I start liking someone and develop a crush, I can't stop thinking about them for a few days. I make some mistakes and act to needy in the beginning; it only stays like that for a short period. I may not be as modest as I should but I can't help but admit that I'm not as bad-looking too. So that's why, I almost always succeed in making a guy I really like falling in love with me. Oh, and also because of my sense of humour and wittiness. *wink, wink* *hint, hint*
Except that one time with 'I'. Arghhhhhh. That guy was something.

Thing is, I can go on forever. There was this guy I was totally smitten for. I spent over 2 years infatuated by him. I got him to fall in love with me. The moment that happened, everything was gone. Poof. 
I had absolutely no feelings for him after that.
Nothing.

This always happens. It happened with my last boyfriend too.

And it's happening again with T. Now that I see how interested he's become into me, I can't feel the same connection. 
Once I achieve a goal, I am higher. Every relationship is a project to be accomplished. I have to move ahead. 
I am so messed up.

What My Parents and Friends Called Me When I Was 11-14yrs Old

Right now, I weigh 50 kgs. I am almost 5'4" feet tall. That's an average height. Neither short nor tall.

I am 11 years old. I weigh 43 kgs. I am not quite, but almost 5 feet tall. My mother worries that I'll always remain like this. She calls me a midget. My father calls me fat and ugly. My mother likes to compare me with girls 7 years older than me in the magazines and on TV and comments about how beautiful they look. She does this intentionally in front of me. Because of the average grades I would get that time (not inclined towards study too much that time), my father liked to call me dumb and said I would die and lead a mediocre life as a sad wife who could never achieve anything.

I am 12 years old. I weigh 48 kgs. I have reached 5'1". I have the undefined body of an early pubescent girl with genes of a plump body. I had boobs that looked weird on my body and always drew attention to them. My mother still fears I won't grow taller. She believes that once a girl has had her periods, she doesn't grow any taller. She draws attention to my thighs and says that I'm so short and fat that because of my thighs it looks like I'm walking on huge pillars. My dad says my body looks like clay. Fat and undefined. My extended family members make fun of me in social gatherings. My parents still think I won't be able to make anything of me in my life.

I am 13 years old. 50 kgs and 5'2" tall. I have a more matured and curvy body than most classmates. They call me a fat slut and say I have a bigger butt than Kim Kardashian. The worst part was that I was in the clique of the popular,  pretty girls. There was an omniscient pressure to look perfect on parties and in school. When you become a known person, there are bound to be some who will pull you down.  Especially in school. People would come up to my face and call me fat. They would constantly make jokes on me and mock me. Part of it was I called it upon myself. I was the class clown type popular. I happily laughed at jokes and acted like it didn't bother me. That's what they say in the books. But that only encouraged them more.

I am 14 years old 5'3" and 50 kgs. I have lost a lot of my baby fat but not all. Not yet. I have plump gene trait. My mother doesn't worry about my height as much but still strings on to me being more taller and prettier and being all that she couldn't be. My family members still call me fat occasionally. My brother has suffered some failures in his career and has been real upset. The buried sadness turns to anger. He starts calling me fat whenever I am just about to go out of the house to some party and all and look in the mirror to check if everything's alright. He knows what it does to me. He will hit me occasionally when he gets frustrated (not somethings that'll hurt. Definitely not domestic violence, but brother-sister banter.). 

My friends aren't that bad now (partially because I diversified my friend circle). But I still had depression.

All this time I would swim everyday, bicycle for hours, try to eat less. Anything to look pretty, thin and fit in.

In a Cave Where The Rest Go To Feel Normal

I have lived as two people in one body. I would adopt a different persona while talking to different people. There was no 'me'. 
Life was a movie. Acting at every corner, every street. No breaks.

But it wasn't a distinguished line. They were intermixing person. 

What happens when the line isn't as hazy? What if it is as clear as a spot on a white cloth that your mum keeps reprimanding you about?

It becomes difficult to decide which person is the real one? Is it the overly friendly and exuberant one? Or is it that sulky, depressed and rude one? Which one is an act? What is true?

I wonder if bipolar and schizophrenic people have a fixed identity about themselves or aren't clear about it yet. I don't know.


PS. I was inspired by Gollum to write this.

I Think About it More Than I Forget (Short Story)

I lay down on the bed with the book once again in my hands. Staring but not reading. Page number 26. The bookmark's been on this page for 21 years now.

 Exactly 21 years.

And she wonders but never asks. Too ridden by my retreating into my shell so frequently. Only staying with me for the sake of little Jake.

Memories are merely instances that fade over the passage of time.

 That is the reason why I agreed. She thought she could heal me. I ought to have forgotten by now.

I try to, but cannot. The time I shared with Amelie was and still is too perfect to be forgotten.

I do not know whether she knows what's on page 26. She still thinks I need time to heal.

I met Amelie at Camp Smith-Bird (go ahead and laugh at the name, but just so you know, the people there were more queer than the name)  when I was 17. She was 16.

She was nothing special. Average looking, but a guy like me was mighty lucky to have someone as unlucky as her.

The only way I can describe her is that she was someone you would keep growing closer as time passed. Like parallel lines; it never ended. 

There was a new thing to discover, a new adventure everyday. Our love growing lovelier as we grew fonder each day.

It wasn't like how rabid young couples get married and grow wearier of each other's very presence by the day.

I still remember how my life diminished to ruins.

We snuck out of our house in the midnight, a bottle of my father's whiskey and our hearts overflowing with love for the world. Two teenagers full of hope and envisioning a bright and happy future for themselves.

We hiked up the hill to our spot, we could see the unhappy town, everyone in the grips of sleep. How we couldn't wait to run away and start a life of our own. 

The stars were twinkling brightly and the pale moon shined bright (for it was the time when pollutants in the air were quite less). Alcohol and adrenaline pulsating through our arteries instead of blood.

Amelie and I were lying on the grass naked, holding hands. We'd just made love and my heart was still racing. She turned to look at me with her eyes blazing with passion and a hint of sadness.

Her family was moving to America in less than a quarter of a year. No one mentioned it in the fear of ruining the Moment.

The Moment was perfect. It was out of a soapy romance film, a heart-breakingly beautiful book, a picture which makes you get jealous and go search for true love. It was what the kids of today would've called infinite. I could not let the Moment get away. I had to memorise it and imprint it into the back of my eyelids.

I had to stay in that time for ever. 

It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't seen the hint of sadness. I wouldn't have remembered. I couldn't let her go away from me. 

Love was for two and I was nothing without her.

She could NOT leave me. I will never let her.

She had to stay in the Moment forever. It was enchanting, exquisite and excitable.

I remember the time. 0026.

I killed her at 0026.

A silver thread of a tear travels from my eyes, down the curves of my face, into page number 26 of Wuthering Heights.

We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve

I would like to start by saying that my post is not the least bit related to the title (maybe it is a little). I haven't even thought much about the that sentence. I don't even think I agree with it. I just thought it seemed pretty.

There is a couple. The boyfriend becomes jealous (obviously) when his girlfriend goes about flirting and kissing other guys. 
Only he has the right to do that with her. He is the only one who can touch her. He has claimed her as his.

Just the way,  there is another boyfriend who indulges in domestic violence. He hits his girlfriend when she forgets to order a double cheese pizza instead of single. But just the same, he cannot bear to see any other man even grip his girlfriend's arm a little tighter than usual so it hurts her in the least.
Only he has the right to hit her. He is the only one who can touch her. 

He doesn't think twice when that blow bruises or the words sting but when he sees some other person hurt her in any way he will automatically become defensive and protect her.

Isn't this funny?

Of course, this whole post is only a metaphor of my father.

It is Only When You Are Lost That You Begin to Find Yourself

What makes a person the way he/she is? How would you describe yourself? What traits of yourself will you say make you the you you (so many you's)? What traits are a part of you but don't describe you?

Too many questions.

There may be a lot I don't know about a person but there's also a lot I don't know about myself. Both in mental and in physical way.
I mean, I have Ordinal Linguistic Personification and I only recently discovered! Who knew?

People go about trying to discover more about their significant other or friend and try to understand more about them but truth is most of them don't know the most basic things about themselves.
They could write 400 page novels on their best friends but not themselves.

I have discovered so much about myself, so much about what I really am. You don't need to go on a pilgrimage trip to the Himalayas to understand yourself.

What I discovered about myself is that I'm a person. (needs hyperlink)

Idolism and Idealism

I like to go around the classroom pestering people with questions about their religious, philosophical and spiritual (very different things, the three) beliefs. Most people are genially surprised. But not too surprised, I'm the sporadic, unexpected girl. People have stopped keeping any kind of expectations from me about tame, polite public behaviour. 

Anyhow, I get to hear very interesting answers (I lie, I hear them rarely). The other group who seem uninteresting to me are people who answer with, 'Gee, I dunno. I've never thought about it.' Ah, you expected me to answer by saying the ones who say they're religious, right? Haha, no. That's more interesting because that shows that person has put some thought, however little in my opinion. I try not to be judgemental. Love all.

I hear (like today) some say they believe in idols but not in religion; some say it the other way round. I hear many variations.

Also, just to add it so I don't forget because we're gonna need it in the conclusion, I usually hate all the hormonal teenage girls who run around crying about how much they love Justin Bieber or that new group One Direction. My mind fills with anguish for the young and astray pubescents. I have a lot of friend that fit like a snug sweater in the category. This is idealism.
 I used to be like that but I never exceeded the crazy limits. I still am some times when I think about Lana Del Rey, but meh. 
However, I would never go and make fun of them (that I NEVER do anyway because I was and am on the receiving end) or say they are stupid and dumb. I could in my mind, though.

So, where does the thin line end between idealism and idolism? 

Personally, I do not like any of the two. Idealism because (as mentioned before) there's too much I do not know about a person for me to follow everything they do. Too many secrets, too many lies. I do like to however, take all good qualities I see in a person and mould them into an ideal person of my choice. Let's name that person Daniel just for the heck of it. I'm feeling pretty silly and emotional today (It's the time of the month). 
Idolism is just a no-no for me. Don't the religions preach to not be materialistic? How can you regard some piece of metal, stone or wood as holy and attach all your feelings to it? Why don't you go nature outside and worship it instead of cutting it up into senseless shapes (reminds me of a new topic, CENSORSHIP!) and decorating your homes with it? Why are you loving (I've used so many brackets in this post. So I'm just posting another. Hehe) something lifeless?

Give love to someone who deserves it.

I'm A Selfish Hypocrite

I enjoy reading, hearing and watching things that teach me about how others live there life. It gives me a thrill to see how people live their lives, what they think about, what their beliefs in life are. I'm a peeping tom in this way. I guess this is why I enjoy things related to life simulation, and please, not in a dirty way. Haha.

I have certain philosophies, rules and mottoes about life. May other people do too-take for example a person whom I've been following. She's a mother of five children and believes in natural, home birthing. She also follows Buddhism and decides to live her life on the outskirts of town beside a beautiful stream. She home-schools her kids and pays the little bills by selling pots and other handicrafts. That is such a beautiful way to live life, the way you want; with family.

Now,  I imagined her as some great intellectual being who would sit around with her family everyday at tea time and discuss about the purpose of life, her kids always smiling in some mysterious way and always answering with "Yes, mother dearie." All the family always happy and gay, meditating and practising Zen in the middle of some forest with all the little animals looking at them in awe.  

Some of that might be true but I'm sure not in the over-exaggerated way I imagine in my head. Well, I do admit that I have an over-active and exaggerated imagination but that's another story.

Now I have plenty things I follow in life, but not always. I try to not hurt and mock people but, I sometimes do, unknowingly and seldom intentional when people annoy me. I try to be peaceful and trust in believe myself but, I sometimes lapse. I try to be positive and keep working but, I turn lazy, procrastinate and then chastise myself. I don't always share and care.

I try but sometimes fail, and then, I try again. I'm not perfect but, I try to be. 
But I take all this and try to strive. I'm improving.

Future Plans For This Blog

Where is this blog going?
I have been AWOL for two months. I've always expressed my intention for making the blog as purely for my benefit. Never have demanded or hoped any views (not that I have many) or money and nor will.
There is a continuous war going on in my head and I see no end to it any time near. It feels like there are two people living inside my head. Though the person I want to speak out more much chooses to ignore me. Gaah I am such a rebel. The shy part keeps chastising the out-spoken part in my head but, to no heed.

I am my worst enemy.

I WILL and SHOULD start posting my poems, paintings, thoughts, stories etc. on here. I need to. I will.
Eh, maybe later.

Why can't I stop procrastinating? All these exquisite thoughts flutter about occasionally in my head before settling right back in some beautiful world where they came from.
Most of my greatest ideas (like the book I'm working on), come into my head in my sleep. Fascinating, hmmm?

Stupid, stupid me. I need to start working again!! Urhhghghhhhhhh.

The Mind Sees What it Wants to See

Self-image. This is what I will talk about today.

I will like to start off with a seemingly meagre example from my own life which might seem, as above stated, really, really meagre and petty and childish and whatnot. But, it's what got me thinking.
Heh, like always.

It was in 8th grade, (very, very long ago, indeed. It's a wonder I still remember it.) I was hanging out with my friends and one of them told me that my top lip was quite small and strange and would tease me and bully me about it. All they had to do (at parties or any event where everyone comes up really dressed up and pretty) was to point out my supposedly deformed lip and I would spend the whole time worrying about how I looked. That escalated to bullying me about my weight and all but that's another topic.

I know, I know, how this might sound, but just wait, it gets better. I promise!

In a way, you could also label it as one of the reasons of my suffering from depression. You know, with the terrible self-image and insecurity and all. But we are not here to talk about that right now.

Back to the topic, what I really want to say is that this society is shite.
Actually, that's still not what I want to say. Gosh, I take too long.

Now, my new friends can't stop gushing and admiring my lips. They think my lips are quite pretty and unique.
Just when my other friends used to tease me about them and bully me. I know, great friends. And I'm just mentioning one of the many things! Asses.

Everybody sees this world differently. Everyone has a different conception of beauty.
When you worry about getting all strands of your hair perfectly straight or that your clothes match perfectly, some other person would be dreaming about how beautiful your eyes or lips are. No one even notices. People spend too much time worrying about unnecessary things. No one cares. No one bothers.

You're perfect the way you are.
Peace out, homies!

Observe

Take a look around and observe your surroundings. Where are you right now? Are you sitting inside of a dark room? Is there anyone else with you? Are you all alone? Most sources indicate that a majority people read tales of horror by themselves. Something about this genre and medium compel you to experience it in a quiet room, all alone. But why is this? Why subject yourself to fright in solitude? What compels you to purposely scare yourself, to fill your mind with visions of the grotesque and supernatural?

Do you enjoy feeling a sense of, what some deem as, “paranoia”? What thrill can come from becoming suspicious of that shadow moving in the corner of your eye? That shadow that you think “isn’t anything”. Listen closely; is there a noise you hear that was or wasn’t there all along? Take a look around. Is there anything you didn’t notice originally? Is there something different? Is something out of place? That feeling on the back of your neck: is it your imagination or is it just too faint to pin-point?

When you read you expand the limitations of your mind. Clear of auditory and visual distractions, it can push your consciousness to perceive at levels you do not normally reach. The longer you read, the more you become aware. Maybe of things you thought weren’t there. There is a reason why your brain would block out these sensations. No one can be sure why. Maybe your mind is warning you. Maybe there are things you weren’t meant to see. Things you didn’t realize were there. Things that cannot be unseen. Things you cannot forget. Things that shouldn’t be.

Take a look around.

Faultry Wiring (Short Story)

It wasn't long ago I noticed a strange noise coming from the air conditioning unit, in the wall of the living room. At first it was almost imperceptible from the other noises such a device would typically make. It started out as a slight clanking sound, only when it was first turned on. I had just accredited it to the age of the apartments and the appliances within. Realistically they weren’t all that old in the grand scheme of things, but without constant upkeep things break down and fall apart relatively fast. Everything in the place made at least some kind of noise. The washing machine shook, the dishwasher sounded like a jet taking off and the fridge would kick on every few minutes and hum so loudly I’d have to turn the television up to hear anything over it. So you can see how it wasn’t such a big deal for the air conditioner to rattle a little. So I put it to the back of my mind as just something that comes with age.

That was until it started making it more and more often. I first noticed it when I turned it on and the rattling didn’t just go away after a second or two.

‘I had better tell the landlord so maintenance can come fix this’, I thought. After about a minute it once again stopped and the thought faded into memory.

A few weeks passed and I began to notice other strange occurrences, scratching in the walls, the electricity flickering in and out, the occasional thump in the night. Again things that could all happen due to the age of the wiring, maybe a mouse had gotten into the walls, or a noisy new neighbour had moved in. All pretty explainable, I thought. Besides, I worked a lot and really didn’t have a lot of free time to do much, so it didn’t bother me. But when things started to go missing in my tiny, one bedroom, apartment, I started to worry.

I hadn’t been home in what felt like a couple weeks, between work and friends, I was barely there at all besides to sleep and bathe. I figured I should do a thorough search of the place and see where my things could have gone. The TV remote, a calculator, several pairs of socks, and one shoe, were apparently misplaced. So I went through, room to room (which was really only 4 rooms) searched high and low to find my things and as I did this I noticed more and more small ineffectual things were also missing.

‘Strange’, I thought. ‘Where could these things have gone?’ I hit the power button on the TV and sat down in my once familiar armchair, now a stranger in my own forgotten home, and noticed something. The TV wasn’t on. I flipped the light switch up and down but nothing.

‘Oh for god sakes this is getting a little ridiculous’

I got up and twisted the knob on the stereo, nothing. I went around and tested all the appliances, to see if they were all still functioning. To no avail as not a thing in the place was still functioning, except, strangely enough the increasingly loud air conditioner. It came on with a loud rattle and ran that way for several minutes until it sparked, I heard a loud pop, and then it too died. ‘Maybe the power’s out and it will be fine in the morning.’ I thought half-heartedly. I had a hard time sleeping that night. The neighbours were especially loud and the being without power made me a nervous. I woke up the next morning to find that the power was still out.

I took a shower, got dressed and went over to my neighbours to ask if they were having similar problems. I knocked loudly several times but no answer. I decided enough was enough and went to the maintenance office to complain and hopefully resolve this issue. When I opened the door the smell of stale smoke swept into my nostrils. The place was a mess, papers and ashes all about the desk, peeling paint, smudges on the windows, and a TV with only static bolted to the wall. Sitting behind the desk was a thin, greying man who looked as if he hadn’t bathed in a week. I told him about how everything was suddenly not working but the A/C unit, until it sputtered its last. He gave me a sarcastic look and with a gruff he grabbed his toolbox and followed me back to my apartment.

“You see I would have called but for some reason nothing seems to be working, and I don’t think the electricity is out because the air conditioner was running and suddenly died.”

“Well let’s take a look at it.” he said. He went over to it and unscrewed the faceplate and peered inside. He clicked his flashlight on and went to work unscrewing and checking different things when he stopped suddenly and pulled out a tiny thing attached to a cord that didn’t look like it belonged. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“This yours?”
I couldn’t even identify what he was holding. “I don’t believe so, what is it?”
“It’s one of those little spy cameras, you haven’t been havin girls over, secretly tapin em have ya?” He gave a sly grin.
“No! What the hell was that doing in my home?!” I was getting a scared, and a little irate.
He shrugged “Well let’s see where this wire goes, huh?”
He followed the wired with his hand and stopped to look inside.
“There’s a little hole in here, it goes into the wall.”
He pulled out his hammer and got to work taking chunks out of the dry wall and following the cord. I was freaking out. ‘Who put that there?’ ‘Was this dirty old man watching me?’ ‘Are there more of those?’ All these things went through my head as I watched him work.
“Well that explains a lot” he said under his breath.
“What? What is it?” I exclaimed.
“Looks like somebody rewired your outlets over here.” He backed away to show me what he was seeing.
“But, why?”
“My guess, stealing your power. You sure you didn’t notice anything?” His calmness put me on edge.
I thought back to the odd noises in my walls, the thumping, the flickering lights. What had once seemed such a normal thing had my heart racing.
“I noticed a few things here and there but I haven’t been here a lot lately. I thought it was just an old place.”

He gave me a skeptical look and continued following the ever expanding bunch of wires and cables throughout the place. Some wires would branch off to more tiny cameras, hidden in vents and just in the shadows, one even wired into the eye of one of my pictures. ‘How have I not noticed these?’ My heart had started beating faster and faster as he discovered more. He kept going and, one by one, found all of my electric had been rewired into one central bunch that led to the bedroom. My heart stopped.

“How long have these been here?”
“Not long I’d say. We check all the appliances and outlets before we rent the places out.”
“Well where does it all lead?”
He kept knocking holes with his hammer and following the dreaded cables until finally he stopped and looked into the most recent hole he made with a flashlight.
“The space between the walls gets a lot bigger here. I think I can fit in here I see something glowing just around the corner.”
He smashed a hole big enough for him to squeeze through and disappeared into my bedroom wall. He appeared a few seconds later with a grim look on his face and his skin had gone pale. He was no longer the calm, apparently fearless, man he was before.

“You aren’t gonna wanna hear this, but there’s a little room back there. Bunch of monitors set up all over and all sorts of crap scattered around. Looks like somebody was livin’ in there but no sign of em now.” He swallowed hard. “This place is starting to freak me the hell out. If I were you, I’d move.”

I packed my things and left for my mom’s that day, not wanting to spend another second in that place. Over the next few days the police came and investigated the whole scene. They found twenty different monitors all linked up to VHS players in that little room in the walls. Surprisingly though no tapes were ever found. And neither was the thing that had been watching me all those nights.

A few weeks had passed and a box arrived on my mother’s doorstep. It was unlabeled but inside was all the little things that had gone missing in my apartment. I also found a dirty ripped piece of paper with a barely legible message scrawled on it:

I LIKE YOUR NEW PLACE MUCH BETTER.

Credit To – Hairy Monster Man

There is So Much You Don't Know About a Person

Every person has a story. Why and how they turned out the way they are, do the things the way they do, think the way they do. Their lifetime and the people he/she shared it with helped to shaped up their character. The most boring person (as you might believe them to be) has the most colourful life sometimes. 
  
 I don't understand when someone says, "I know you." No, you don't and you never can. Not my mum, not my dad, not my best-friend. No one can. There are so many things that affect me mentally and physically, you can't. The way I process my thoughts and actions is different, my life events are different. Also, I don't let anyone know me, so ehh. But this is about me as an individual.
   
My point is, some people-who don't even know you all that well enough-will judge you on the basis of two or more meetings or worse, hearsay. You can't know someone like that, let aside the fact that you judge someone! I could have been in some very adverse situations at some point to make my actions look so weird to you in certain situations. You could never know. Never, ever disregard someone like that. You don't know how some people are affected by the stuff you say, even when it was a joke. You can't ever think that a person isn't worth anything just because their outer appearance and behaviour doesn't interest you. 

I'm jumping topics now. The reason I am writing this post will be explained later. Thanks.

Living in What-ifs and a Customary Intro

My fear has always been of being judged, or rather misjudged, I'd say. I fear confiding in people, I fear the very fact of anyone even knowing the real me or my thoughts. I am afraid to trust people and scared to  tell anyone about what I'm feeling inside. I will waive the topic, do anything to not let anyone know who I truly am, though I must admit I enjoy the limelight. 
The reason this petty fear has caused me much trouble is because I suffered from terrible, terrible depression (does not mean this will be a blog about a whining little girl, mind the stereotypes, again) and no one ever knew. I couldn't talk to anyone about it, not even a counsellor. I spent so much time thinking what others would think that it ended up eating me inside. But, that's meant for another post.

Depending on what you want to believe, I could be anyone. I could be your next-door reclusive neighbour for all you know. Age is just a number, it will only cause presumptuous stereotypes, of which I'm not a part. This blog will probably span the topics of art, literature, writing, reading, music, philosophy, and occasional posts about my life and events. I could not give the least thought about the views or hype I get from this, this is for me.

Coming back to my question, do you ever think what would've happened if certain events or things hadn't happened to you? I ponder about it all the time. What if I hadn't messed up so much in my school? What if I hadn't had to go through the depression? What if I wasn't with the type of friends I have now? What if?
My words in life are "La vie sans regrets." Live life without regrets. I wouldn't change a thing in my life. It has contributed in shaping me up the way I am. And there is stuff I try to make sense of, was it all supposed to happen this way? Or, why is this happening to me at this time? Is it fate or is it karma or is it something my wee brain can still not comprehend? When I talk to my friend D (more about her later) about this, she tell me I cannot be thinking about stuff like that as I'm an atheist. True, but there are things I still believe in. Is atheism merely the disregard of everything? I try to listen and read everything in life. There are so many things. Any information about something new will not be ignored by me. Then, I make my hypothesis.

Gahh, I just don't know life.