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[miaoamore]

#05 - A girl's feelings. Joy to the world.

Happiness has come, Let the girl receive her prayer;

Every time she utters a wish, a marble falls into a wide mouthed jar. At first, the ball bounces, and the dribble echoes against the bottom of the glass container. She says another, and the marble becomes two. Then three, then six, then a dozen, and dozens more. Soon enough, the newest edition no longer bounces, but rather finds itself nested among a sea of other wishes. At what point does this theoretical jar begin to overflow? At the end of a decade? Or perhaps at the end of one year? The girl may reply "At the end of the month? Maybe the end of the week. It might even be at the end of the day." For she alone flippantly calls upon new wishes to fill her jar.

I wish I was prettier.

I wish I was smarter.

I wish I was normal.

And many, many more. But one thing she wished for the most

"I wish I had more friends".

She'd utter it everytime she sat with her two friends at lunch. Her only friends. Sometimes two, sometimes one, but never three or more. She'd utter it everytime she saw a group huddled together, laughter roaring after one of them whispered a joke. If only she knew what they said. She'd utter it every time she found herself scrolling through pages, catching glimpses of other people's lives on the world wide web. If only she were there to witness it in real life.

At first, she was content with Solitude. It was great company in the early mornings and late eventide. It was there when no one else was, albeit uninvited and often overstayed it's welcome. The girl always said, "I don't like people" or "Why would I go outside when I can stay in the comfort of my room", assuming that a weekend in with merely a phone and hours to kill was the ideal getaway from the hustle and bustle of the week. Every week. Every hour. Every minute. No second spared. No one to share it with.

Sure, she speaks to everyone. To most people, of course. But in regards to their ranking in her eyes, only one or two ever make it under that label. Friend. She would always say that she couldn't handle big groups. She couldn't handle more than three people at a time. But she also couldn't handle being alone. She thought she did. Sometimes one gets so desperate that, with whoever becomes her closest confidant, they become the holder of all her being. Her secrets, her life story, the very threads of her soul were intertwined with theirs, knotted and sewed together. But there ate times when the strife between these two people would often end bursting from the seams. The thread unravels, and the girl finds herself tangled in her own regret.

It was funny, really. She was never the patient type. If things took longer than it should, the girl leaves. Problem solved, somewhat. But this wish, had someone told her years ago that it would come true, even for a brief while, she would not believe it. Would it strengthen her patience? Or would it exercise her pessimism?

At the loss of one, two, maybe three close pals, in return was a bountiful trade. She never need know what the humming of Solitude was like anymore. There's not a moment where silence lingered in the air for longer than a minute. They rejoice, sharing laughter and true pandemonium. What does a dull day look like? They wouldn't know. Her presence was finally wanted, even better - expected. In every picture, there's no need for hesitance, she was pulled into every one of them. When huddled together in a circle, they make room for her. They wave back, and smile, and compliment her. She's not made to feel alienated. It was then when she realised and understood something. The girl paused and retracted her statements: "It's not that I don't like people, I just don't like being with the wrong ones, and I most certainly don't like being alone"; "It's not daunting to go outside, in fact I yearn for outings and teenage shenanigans, and I most certainly don't like wasting my years, rotting away in the depths of my dreary cave." Or something like that.

The simple joy of having these people around me was nothing short of absolute bliss. For once in my life, I felt like I was in the right place, at the right time. Have I been deprived of this for so long that, even something as simple as sharing water bottles or the little pokes makes every day a little brighter? I boast about it everyday with child-like wonder, often saying "I love having friends" because truly I do. I have fallen in love with the simplicity of happiness, with the experience of girlhood, and the loveliness of being with beautiful people.

Joy to the world, Happiness has come, Thank you for finally hearing my prayer.

[miaoamore]

#04 - A girl's feelings. Philia. The loss of someone still living.

I take you, my dear, 

Till death do us part;

Notice the vows but the lack of a wedding,

A covenant once unbroken,

A promise kept under lock and key. 

I did not think it would happen. 

I'm not mad that it happened. 

Though, I will miss the days of daisy-mist perfumes and kitchen floor gossip. That heart-shaped mug will always bear your name, your tinted lip balm will leave its kiss stain,

Sometimes I drink from the same cup and place my lips where yours were last, hoping to taste the never ending sweetness you once brought to my life one last time.

But now the magnolias grow again,

and we depart from each other,

I'm fond of the memories you left, perhaps not what you grew to become,

But that's okay. 

Your laugh inspires joy like the breath of a new spring, and I still hear it each day echoing somewhere down the hallway, 

There won't be anyone quite like you.

To Miao, amore

[miaoamore]

#03 - A girl's feelings. Hallway observations.

To gaze upon your face is to indulge in an unspeakable bliss,

Somehow, just by existing, you've cleansed my soul of ugliness. 

Bright child of Apollo, I will gawk at the sun from dusk till dawn,

until your image is burned into my memory. 

Even when my sight is long gone, to have the honour of you being my final clearest memory gives me the opportunity to say that I have seen the universe in its entirety. All within one girl.

A face so delicately sculpted. And it is yours alone. I will never tire of seeing it.

But soon I will forget; fading away from my fingertips, as though I had reached far enough to dance with the sun. If I could just hold your hand, I can say I truly held the brightest star the world has ever known.

[miaoamore]

#02 - Dream log. Unspoken vows.

My sweet nightmares are swaddled with a fantasy yearned for by most little girls. Often it starts when I hear the chimes of bells ringing above me. Against my soft skin, I smooth a skirt of pearl-white silk with trembling hands. With each step I take, a gnawing pain simmers in my stomach. This joyous occasion--a tradition, a sacrament, a duty-- to me, is nothing but the beginning of a decades-long imprisonment.

Till death do us part. Five words sealed with another two. Five years, eight months, twenty three days since those words left the tip of my tongue. A promise laced with lethal regret - "I do." 

I no longer adore the person in front of me. I don't know why, he didn't do anything. Anger boils within my heart when I see that smile - yellowed teeth like that of hay. Fatigue corrupts the nerves throughout me when hearing that obnoxious voice. His words are hollow to me - affirmations and affection. Mere words of distraction. Nothing is more grotesque. 

Every day that passes, I wonder what life would be like had I chosen differently. Is it truly my fault that Cupid himself clipped my wings? Had I been born with a heart too small for my body? Why is it so hard to love when I am finally loved? I wonder if I am even deserving of such.

See through my lens for a moment. Slip into the worn-soled shoes of a poor old beggar who finds himself, after years of roaming cold cobble streets, in a warm banquet hall with grand dishes served on silver platters. Butlers and maids are at his service, only a hand wave is needed to beckon them over. And yet, with all this luxury and fine cuisines, even the smallest bite fails to satiate the hunger. The nausea only intensifies, and every swallowed bite disappears into the void of a soured stomach. He eats with a primal ferocity until the whole table is devoured within minutes. And yet he is still empty. Now that he is 'full', the borrowed satisfaction only wishes to be expelled; he purges and relinquishes the momentary ecstasy of having enjoyed a hot meal. The old beggar returns to the streets, leaving behind what could have been salvation. The prodigal son did not return this time.

His love fills my lungs - it's suffocating. It enters my heart and it stop beating. Affection surges through my blood, a fever soon comes. Why can't I stay? Always running away, always following in the old beggar's footsteps. One foot in front of the other, just like we practiced going down the aisle. Mother and father held my wrists like a prisoner marching to his executioner. It was meant to be a happy day, a happy life.

Only the horrifying realisation that the ring on my finger is a testament to my nightmare being my reality.

[miaoamore]

#01 - Travel Log. Paint strokes of Sin City.

I often said I have a fear of the dark. Not of the darkness itself, but of what lurks within the darkness, prowling around with a bellowing hunger in its belly, or that's what I assume. I assume it's some monstrous behemoth; that is what I fear. But it has never occurred to me just how terrifying the dark can be. Not until now, (at the time of me writing this), as I stare out of a plane window, wondering why the vast plain I look down upon lacks the typical clusters of light indicative of a bustling city. My fear was exacerbated when we flew over the deserts of the middle east that one time, where at night there really was nothing but the dark and the occasional flickers of light from the plane's wings. I cannot discern land from sea, sky from sand, and the outside world from me. But I can see that it is beautiful. I am scared of such a pretty sight. In my opinion, flying at night is the best experience. Early mornings and refreshing chilly breezes, an hour or two of uncomfortable lounging at the airport. Then, followed by a plane ride, flying over a sleepy city, or perhaps arriving at a sleepless city with infinite dazzling lights. Such a welcoming sight, is it not? I believe it's something worth marveling at, at least once or twice in one's lifetime.