1000

stellaLeave a comment

It took you a hundred days to introduce yourself – hopes, dreams, goals, fears. I fell in love with your songs, the way you played your music. I loved how you always shared jokes, joyful moments of the day. I loved how you tell me secrets, personal things when we ran out of things to say.

It took me a hundred days to realize what you were trying to do, and you smiled when you knew you had succeeded. Your agenda: to love me, and I love you. I loved you. I loved your brown eyes that glimmer even more under the moonlight. I loved the way you held my hands — palms soft, yet fingers tightly clasped mine. I loved your voice that gave out more sweet words rather than bitter ones. I loved— I love you.

It took us a hundred days to decide we weren’t right for each other. We were in love, yet we were told we shouldn’t be. We were in love, but we were forced to conform to the norms – love is for the brilliant; love is for the beautiful; love is for the stable.

We were in love, but I was unstable.

I loved you, but I had to let you go – that is not beautiful.

You loved me too much you let me let go – that is neither brilliant, nor beautiful.

It took me a hundred days to realize I’m not over you; a hundred more to blame myself, to ask myself the inevitable what if’s and what could have been’s, to long for your touch and for your sweetest whispers.

A hundred turned out to be two, three… seven. Seven hundred days. Seven hundred days of incoherent pain for the three hundred of happiness.

That’s a thousand days, of you on my mind; of you in my heart. You have chained me to your being and I cannot escape. You have bound yourself to another, but I can’t detach from the piece of my heart that you have power over. You have forgotten about me, but I’m still struggling to untie this leash you had bound me for a thousand days.

But the thing is, I’d still be here; love you, miss you, yearn for you. I’d continue being tied on this leash, my love, for a thousand more.

– Oct 18, 2015; originally written for Comm 1 assignment, but i guess i poured out too much

hello world

stellaLeave a comment

For years, I have debated with my self whether or not I am good enough as a writer to be worthy of people’s time and attention; whether or not people would like my work. But of course, an extreme pessimist that I am, the latter point of argument wins. every. single. damn. time.

Some days, I think about writing about current issues, beautiful epiphanies, poems that almost always mean nothing, short stories on love and heartbreak.

Some days I do write – and write, and write – and then I’d go over it, over and over until it doesn’t sound much of a good idea, and decide it belongs to the trash.

Some days, I want to write but couldn’t. I’d sit and stare at a blank page, a pen in my hand, or fingers ready at the keys, but nothing comes out of mind.

Some days, I don’t write even when I need to. I loath writing essays for class! I loath writing for school, period! which is probably why I never aced humanities subject even though I like to write, or the idea of writing, rather.

It’s because I’m a perfectionist??? I crave for mind blowing ideas that would make people do a double-take on life decisions; I crave for perfect grammar. I crave for the power to inspire others. I crave for skills I do not have. My mind is composed of tangled strings of love and hate and anger and word vomits that my writing skills could never do justice for.

But now I have come to realize that writing is a way of expressing thoughts, and I have the right to express these thoughts. I know sharing these posts could probably make or break me (you’ve seen my tweets, right?), but I am no longer holding back. I am no longer doubting on posting stuff I’ve written on my personal blog, because it’s my own damn blog.

This, also, is my gift to my self for my 18th birthday:

Be heard, be strong, be proud, Stella! – from your 17 y/o self.

This is me. Hello world. 🙂

p.s. yes, that was a Lemonade Mouth reference.