#jaslina

[414graffiti]

East Side Milwaukee (Black Cat Alley) - November 7, 2024

[iinkheart]

❝ I’ve lost too much. I’ve given up too much. I’m not even a person anymore. ❞ [ jaslina ]

Liquid gold melding into themottled calm of a well-deserved bruise, sunshine and heat fading into whispersof mauve and sapphire and lilac – twilight is beautiful. Thinking as much maybe a cliché. Alina realises this, yet she doesn’t think people realise quitehow true it is. There is something very Europeanto the beauty, after all; the calm and quiet it instils a wholly westerncomfort. ( The beauty her parentscome from is too stark for this land, all exploding rainbows of saffron and vermillion,colours that are as much a part of culture and tradition as they are beauty andcelebration. ) And loathe though herparents would be to admit it, it is to a European beauty that she belongs: aquiet like hers would only be cause for concern in their vibrant Punjabihometowns, but here, it is a subtle way to blend in.

Considering how well it suits herchameleonic tendencies then, it is almost betrayal to note how thoroughly itcan turn ugly. But twilight is symbolic of death; of days fading into thedarkness of nothing. Perhaps thatalone was enough to ensure that this interaction simply couldn’t bode well.Alina has to firmly assure herself that she does not believe in that. She doesnot. Because once she starts, there will be no stopping it. The implications oftwilight in her life belong to a section of Pandora’s Box she has no interestin unleashing.

Yet, on some level, ignoring allpossibilities seems impossible, considering who shares the garden bench withher. It doesn’t matter what she wants when it comes to him, not in this manner.If it had, there would have been no possibilities to begin with. No, Alina hassimply come to realise that, in the grand scheme of things, the Mulciber boyshe had grown up with was simply destined to make different choices and nothingin the world could have changed that. Certainly not her.

Still, it hurts. The knowledgethat he had chosen to be who he is,chosen every single act he committed and was incarcerated for, despite all thegood in his life burrowed under his skin a long time ago. It is a splinter shehas had so long she scarcely remembers it; it hurts when she pokes it, ofcourse, but it barely even matters otherwise. Jasper has made his choices. Itis time for her to stand by hers.

If only life were that simple.But no, it revolts almost as much as her heart does, begging to beat again alongthe rhythm of a man she has not seen for the better part of a decade and ahalf. At times like this, it is most inconvenient. At times like this, sheforgets that she told herself he was as good as gone a long time ago.

Because he’s not, is he? JasperMulciber is right here: on the left side of the bench, the half before therosebush, shoulder brushing hers, knee idly bumping into hers, fingers steepledtogether. It’s where he has always been – bar the past few years – the place hehas always belonged. Only his hands entwined, knotted together as if in half-prayer,are different. ( The boy she knew rarelyhad prayer by his side; too intoxicated by the prospect of living to waste time regretting it. ) At least, that is how it appears.

Appearances, apparently, were alwaysa little deceptive when it came to this boy.

Despite that, his answer jars herout of her silent introspection — a vehement answer to a quiet plea. Won’t you leave it all and go back to theway things were?

“I’ve lost too much. I’ve givenup too much. I’m not even a person anymore.”

Perhaps what surprises her mostin his answer is the bitterness that carries through; these are not the wordsof an anguished man but those of one who has lost all hope. Home is not aconcept for Jasper anymore. Neither is hope. She knows it as surely as she didthe day she watched his mother’s last rites performed; the day she stoodsubstitute for a woman’s last living child as she was laid to rest withoutopportunity to see him free and his sins atoned for. His opportunities havebeen last. Or so it must certainly seem.

Alina’s arm curls around the one brushingher side. The limbs laced together are something delightfully reminiscent ofchildhood, when he would tug her along in exactly the same way and coax her outof hiding. At least, Alina hopes that is what he thinks of. The motion is halfsqueeze, half anchor — either way, it represents support.

Her quiet tone is no different,aiming for somewhat reassuring but mostly honest. It lands firmly in the landof earnest. “I know,” she agrees, “butyou haven’t lost me. You didn’t give me up.”

The next words are harder tofollow, but this is the question of his life.Nothing could possibly be more important. “Sometimes, you don’t feel like aperson to me either. It feels like a mask, the face of a waxen figure whobelongs in a museum. But other times, I remember that even death cannot un-becomeyou. You are who you are because of your acts as a human as much as those ofthe monster. And I, for one, will remember a boy I have loved and likely lostlong after the monster’s horrors have faded away. I always remember the person.Even now.”

[muna-maliamellia-blog]

📮10/10/2017 Tuesday 🚚 NAZIHAH MUSTAFA 060301626573559 SHIDA ROSLI 060301626573558 PN AISHAH MOHAMAD 060301626573557 NAD ZAINUL 060301626573556 LIYANA MARYANI 060301626573555 NORHAYATI 060301626573554 NOR ZALEHA HASHIM 060301626573560 PN JASLINA YAHYA 060301626573561 HAMIDAH TALHAH 060301626573562 RICA FITRIANI 060301626573563 QURYAKIN MAULAD 060301626573564 KHAIRIAH ZAMIMI 060301626573565 MUHAMMAD AZHAR 060301626573566 NOR FATEHAH 060301626573567 NURUL FATIHA 060301626573568 #maliamelliamakinmenawanmakinmengancamauww #nakkurus #kuruscepat #cikguseo #cantikselamat #kkm #bestfoundation #carakurus #kurusdalam2minggu #kurusmurah #ubatkurus #tipskurus #kopikurus #xxs #sayangketatsendatrapat #naturalbeauty #ubatjerawat #ubatjeragat #jerawathilang #jeragathilang #rawatjerawat #rawatjeragat #rawatkulit #kulitputih #kulitcantik #sihatcantik #lemakhilang #foundationmurahmalaysia #codKuantan #codgambang

[iinkheart]

‘when i grow up, i want to be enough.’ [ bb jaslina ]

“when i grow up, i want to be enough.”

shadowsflicker against her closed eyelids, chasing patterns of light and dark evenbehind shuttered lids, and she wonders how that is, how you can tell where itthe world tries to cast shadows and where the sun cuts through them even whenyour eyes are closed. she’s wondering anyway, when the soft warmed honey cadenceof a voice floats up next to her.

              alina loves it like she lovesthis english summer, all canopies of green trees rising above them and theheady scent of a dozen different flowers around them drifting over likegossamer wafts of perfume threaded through the light breeze cooling theirsun-warmed skin. it’s nothing like the indian summer of her grandparents’ homethat cloys and sweats and threatens to roast her to the core like a well-heatedoven, but light and gentle and sweetly coaxing them out from their homes andinto the gardens to savour it to its best.

the analogyis befitting current company: jasper mulciber is, to her well-loved mind, thecomfort of a favourite season, the balmy rays of the afternoon sun soaking intoher skin and painting it browner, warmer, where it falls, as she lies in itsfaithful embrace, utterly content. most other people are like the summer closerto the equator, too hot and bright and heavy to not leave her skin feelingtight and suffocated, but he is as his voice is in that moment, low and softand feather light.

she hums inquiet consideration. “who says you’re not enough now?”

              maybe it’s not the same. maybeit only counts when you’re enough for the whole world – or, at least your whole world – when you’re as enoughas the rest of your family is, maybe even more so. with her smaller set, alinais not quite sure how it works, but she issure that it feels right to let her hand slide into his where they lay brushingagainst each other between them, fingers slotting together as their shouldersremain touching still, steady points of contact bonding together where theytouch almost as firmly as the years of friendship between them. it’s almostlike spider silk, what lies in the space between them, light and diaphanous butstrong enough to build cobwebs boasting enviable strength.

“i think you’re enough already, foranything and everything.” her eyes, when she opens them and turns her head tolook at him, sparkle with fondness, enough affection in the gaze that it almostoutshines the syrup thick note of it that underlay her tone. sometimes, shestill feels heady with it, overwhelmed by the pure intensity of the emotionthat is almost akin the distinct scent of the fresh summer grass they lay upon,bright and sharp and almost overwhelming in how clean and alive it is.sometimes, their friendship seems just as alive, quiet and ordinary but crispand comfortable and reliable.

it iscomfortable enough, at any rate, that she rises up to lean on one elbow andgrin brightly down at him when the shadow she casts over him makes him open hiseyes, objective achieved and silent plea for attention answered. she turns topicking the periwinkle blooms that pepper the estate’s gardens, tucking theminto the winding twists his cropped curls are springing into already. it willbe humid soon, she thinks, and it might frizz, but for now, it is the perfectcanvas for a flower crown. he is theperfect canvas for the flowers, and alina smiles when he lets his eyes driftshut again and allows her to arrange the tiny blossoms in his hair.

              she has to swallow before shecan say more, not as difficult as it might be ordinarily to attempt humourbecause of the flowers and her focus on them, and because it’s summer and lightand beautiful out, and because it’s jasper and he’s safe and gentle and homelike nothing else, like his hand in hers as if they’re spinning whirlingswaying still among other beautiful children in some ballroom from theirchildhood. when she speaks, therefore, it is with all the easiness that shefeels with him and all of the lilting whisper of laughter in her tone,following the pitter patter of her fingertips down his arm before she squeezeshis hand again, once, quick and reassuring.

“andactually, i think some people might say you’re grown up already. grown toomuch, even. like a spaghetti man, with spaghetti legs.” she twinkled at him alittle, unbeknownst to herself, as she surveyed his changing frame, that seemedto have shot up several inches out of nowhere only recently. puberty was weird,really, because it had hit her younger and faster and there had been a fewmonths of being taller than him, awkward and gangly, before he had shot up pasther and into a frame even taller and ganglier than her. at this point, theymight just have been a tangle of limbs, really, and she flung herself back ontothe grass with a flourish of hers, lying back and letting her eyes slide shutagainst the late afternoon sun again, grin still curled on her face.

she thoughtof the kind face and lovely eyes of his mother, whom she thought of almost asfondly as her own, and his brother and sister, who clearly loved him at the endof the day, and even of herself, quiet but steady and loyal and unwavering. “itsounds weird to think of you as notenough, actually,” she divulged, entirely too honest. “you seem to be thecentre of the universe, sometimes, like you need to be no older or wiser, nomore different really, to be anythingand everything. you know what my mum says? you are not a drop in the ocean, butan ocean in a drop. everything, just in a person.”