#personalwriting

[randomishz]

Limerence

The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings but not primarily for a sexual relationship. Below are the three articles that uses the word "limerence" creatively.

By Marina O. Villegas I October 2024

[sunnyanddumb98]

The day I moved to Santiago, my sister was diagnosed with HPV 16. I’ve seen her cry before, but this time she was broken, convinced beyond any reassurance that she’d never have kids again. What was supposed to be a big change for me suddenly became all about her. I dropped my things and cooked dinner, but the new place, the new city, the new world—everything was in the back of my mind. I guess that’s how change works. You keep going, and maybe in a month or six, it’ll hit me: those beach days feel so far away, like another life altogether by then Fernanda will be either just fine or in treatment and will be my time to move again and cook dinner in a whole new place.

[thoughtsicouldntsend]

1st Day of Thinking Her

I was willing to stay, but your silence told me to leave. You're too beautiful for words, and maybe I was just an uninvited presence in your life - someone who never truly deserved you.

[nimit-blogs]

"Goodbye"

“Goodbye.” I said in her ears, with a gentle distant but warm hug. A moment before the hug was something i clearly remember still, as she was standing with her friends and looking at me with a smile, clueless of the thoughts in my mind. Clueless of my resolve. Clueless yet of that word that i just spoke. She went back to her vehicle with her friends. Kept looking over her shoulder once or twice and thrice when she was already in the car - this time around with a face of worry as the realisation had hit her. We made slight eye contact one last time - and i was already on my vehicle, and i left without a single expression, sign or gesture.

A goodbye was for sure something that either of us - oh wait - at least what I wanted. But there comes a time to change the page over to get to the next chapter of your life. One would be burdened with the consequences for sure, but a mere realisation that had materialised had brought him to the choice.

What would have been and what is supposed to be has only got a single line of “it is what it is” separating them.

I enjoyed the high noon, knowing that the sun would set soon. It was time for me to pay up in sorrow of solitude.

[inka-is-a-stinka]

Me rn because despite all the terrible, awful, shit he's been through, his favorite color is still yellow

[undergroundarling]

Part of April, May, June, July and August: A summary of getting high on life.

I’ve been meaning to write nonstop about everything, but for one reason or the other I couldn’t get past any of the simplistic thoughts I created on the daily. My muse drives on failure, or the negative feelings I often stumble upon. I always come back when misery runs me over and leaves me gasping for air over the concrete. It would be disingenuous to paint my life as this constant pain and struggle to find a scrap of happiness. In May and June I felt the most alive I have ever felt, my body fueled by joy and the adrenaline I’ve been craving my entire life. I was floating through life, gravity didn’t apply to me, I wasn’t like the rest of the mortals, my feet couldn’t touch the floor, my body was as light as a feather and my dancing hair exuded floral smell day and night. I became gentle, my words, touch and gaze were as soft as a bed made of daisy petals. I was full of tenderness, couldn’t get any higher. I was constantly running from one place to the other: bus, train, subway, work, subway, workshop, train, home and repeat. I was in love with the turbulence of my little dreamy life.

From April to June I was attending a filmmaking workshop, met tons of talented people, the best teachers I ever had, got to be part of the creative process of multiple short films. I acted in a few, helped with the clapperboard in others, assisted and wrote some improvised dialogues and finally saw myself on a screen for the first time. Made incredible friends with whom I was able to have conversations, I only had with myself and my reflection. I also connected with others in a more superficial way but still important. Everyone was so passionate it made my soul vibrate to the rhythm of the cadence of their words falling from their lips. I didn't take long to realized I had found my people.

In one of the short films I played a deranged character, someone who gets crazy over a carpet and makes a full blown scandal. Very on brand if you know me. In another one I played a chainsmoker late teen who breaks a boy’s heart while wearing a vintage leather jacket with a shirt of The Smiths. At the end of the workshop I got to play a little role in another short film. I danced around with extras and then said one line. It was the best one we made. Everything was perfect to my eyes, from the lights to the camera’s movement to all the kids acting and setting the beautiful tone. At that exact moment I knew I wanted to feel like that for the rest of my life. I reassured myself “this is my path and I shall not derail from it.”

That day I met someone and developed an innocent crush, I don’t have much to say about it. Hang in there, there's a chance I'll become delusional or maybe this is my first time falling in love. Either way it will be interesting. (October’s correction: nothing happened and I think I’m no longer interested)

In the midst of it, more precisely in May I found a job after months of searching, I became a salesman for Chevrolet, it wasn’t what I wanted or even something I would enjoy but it was better than nothing. In the beginning I tried to avoid the obvious conflict of interests this job had on me. On one hand I had a book on the climate crisis and on the other I had a speech designed to convince people to keep on burning oil. I decided to play the part and do as I was told, to not rationalize it that much and take the money I needed. Turns out I’m great at convincing people to buy a car. Who would have thought? Not me or anyone who knows me. Everything was perfect, I was good at my job and the workshop was beyond everything I ever expected. 

It was in July, when sickness came around to remind me how much of a human I am. Days in bed flying in fever were the sign life was turning on me. The workshop had ended, there was nothing to be excited about, and now my body was suffering the withdrawal of the adrenaline creativity carries with it. I couldn’t sustain that elevated state and I fell to the ground, my hair didn’t smell like flowers and couldn’t dance with the wind, it was a brown mess, my body felt stiff and heavy as a piece of marble, and my words, touch and gaze went back to their furious state. I went through life raising fire in my surroundings , fighting, screaming and hysterically crying. It was then, when everything was painted red, that I remembered I used to have convictions and principles I was actively betraying everyday by going to work for a multinational that profits from the destruction of the planet and the end of humanity. I was part of the problem that not so long ago I was so passionately talking and warning people about. 

There was nothing able to calm me, my bed felt like it was made of thorns and my brain didn’t have a night of decent rest. Each night when the moonlight shined in my face I wondered: “Am I heading to eternal destruction?” I emphasize on the concept of eternal, because I can only hurt myself so much while still alive, but I can perpetuate the hurting with these words I’m writing beyond my last heartbeat. Will my soul keep on being torture every time someone reads the past and paints me in their head as this crying kid? I hope not. Either way July was the cruelest month. 

Now it’s the end of August and the workshop began again. I’m trying to reconnect to the original feeling without frustrating myself. I also shot a music video of someone I met while shooting one of the short films I mentioned before. He looks and sounds like a character that escaped the pits of my mind. I hope he can stick around and become part of my life. On a personal level I’m transitioning from cynical to delicate, I'm caressing the edges of my personality until they become softer to the touch. I'm filtering my words and choosing peace even in the cadence of my speech. I’m becoming more rational and patient with myself and surroundings, turning my back to envy and fury. I still cry, but not out of rage, rather sadness and logical frustration. I cried in front of others for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t humiliating, I felt validated and supported. I hope by the time we arrive in September spring also flourishes inside of me.

[owlandsword]

my therapy notes.

keep healing, friends.

love, coco💜

[charlesangels03]

Disembodied Identity

Does the disembodied identity really separate you from yourself? Does it show the monster you really are?

We don't show others our vulnerabilities or our "real selves" when we are in the "outside" world. We try to mask our emotions by stilling our faces when walking on the street. People don’t know if the person you are right now is just a façade to hide your true colors.

My experience in this online chat platform called ChitChat made me realize that the anonymity that these platforms provide can be used for bad. Unlike in the real world, people can see you, hear you, smell you, or touch you, that's why you are careful with your actions.

It was this instance that while I was assuming an identity of an Indonesian girl, I encountered a Spanish guy . We started with the usual exchange of pleasantries like "hi" and "hello". He asked me "Why are you here?" and I plainly replied "Just trying to socialize here." He cannot believe that I am just in the platform trying to socialize. (In hindsight, saying that you are there just to socialize sounded so vanilla and boring that it makes you question "why am i really here?")

Now it got to the part, where I asked him what his hobbies are. To which he replied, “gym, movies, hiking.” Before I get to reply, he added “guess you were having dirty thoughts?” And to my shock, it took me a minute just to process this sudden escalation. “What dirty thoughts,” I replied. "U tell me haha," he said. It got weird that I said to him, "Nooooooo... I don't have any haha." ?Are u sure? haha" "Yes haha." "Sad" He said sad because he wished that I had.

Afterwards, he replied “Ahh okay. I guess, I should get going” Then he exited the chat, or he skipped me.

Afterwards, I started to experiment with other identities. Most of the people using ChitChat are men in their 20’s. Whenever I assume a female identity, they get excited and would ask for my SnapChat or Instagram. But when I assume a male identity, they would skip me. Most of the times It led me to this realization that the Internet is a medium for these guys to find someone to talk to. Usually chatting with someone would imply to hook up with them or to be in a relationship or whatever. And I find it uncomfortable or even alarming that these people would just assume me trying to find someone to like hook up with.

Although, this is not always the case. Not all people you meet in the Internet are bad or would expect something from you. But this disembodied identity experience made me realize that our selves is separated in the physical world and the digital world, and both selves exhibit different symbolic markers. We mask parts of ourselves in the real world, while we unmask those parts in the digital realm. At the same time, we mask parts of our identity in the digital world that only the physical world can see.

Elijah's 6th Week Blog Entry: Personal Writing

[heartstrings-and-hauntings]

In Every Unspoken Word

Instant. Electric. Connection.

A vibration, words I never knew I needed, a feeling completed.

Scary beyond all reason, because it was only chance that led me to you— or was it fate, knowing that one needed two?

The effortless way you stay on my page, finger under each new word, listening to every unspoken word I say, bringing me comfort and peace in ways unknown to me.

Keeping your heart within arm’s reach, whispering in a way I almost hear your doubts, like you’re trying to sort your feelings out.

But they spill, overflowing, with every time you speak to me, with all the effort you breathe into me, with all the silent laughs and hard smiles, with how, with you, everything slows down for a while.

All the while, my heart races every time you say my name; a breath hitches in my chest when I say yours. I’m overwhelmed and anxious, but you make me a choice, not an option.

You speak of me like an old book you’ve read over and over, like you’re waiting with bated breath for the next chapter— because you want to be it.

You want to hold me gently in your hand, knowing, understanding that the pen in my hand is shaking, that the previous pages had my heart breaking, that the old pages are torn and bruised.

Yet, you treat each one as if they’re shiny and new. You don’t put me on the shelf; you don’t hide me in a box or closet. You display me coyly, so others can see my beauty but never hold me the way you do.

For there are secret pages within that, if others could, they would covet. You know they’d love it.

So you hold me close to your chest. I feel the warmth, and I forget how afraid I was to say the words I couldn’t bring myself to say, how I held back too long—they’re overflowing in every way, and how I keep praying to God you’ll stay.

How I pray every day you’ll keep choosing me, and I’ll keep my heart open to you, because things are just beginning.

But damn, do I want you— want you in whatever form you may come: slowly, thoughtfully, patiently, growing, feeling, everything, all at once.

But even these words will never be enough to express everything you make me feel.

Let’s be real.

[randomishz]

One of my favorite quotes doesn’t come from books or movies—it’s something my parents taught me. They said, “The biggest failure isn’t failing; it’s not trying.”

As a child, I didn’t fully understand their words. I let them pass from one ear to the other, not realizing the depth of their meaning. But as I grew older, I came to see how true they were. Failing isn’t the worst thing that can happen—regret is. My father always said that regret is the most painful feeling because it’s rooted in what could have been.

You can fail after trying, but at least you’ll know you gave it your best. That kind of failure is different; it teaches you lessons and builds resilience. But not trying? That leaves you with endless "what ifs" and a lingering sense of loss.

Now, as a second-year college student, I’ve decided to take risks in every situation, no matter how daunting. Life is too short to be ruled by fear. Failure isn’t the end of the world, but regret can follow you forever. So, I choose to try, because even if I fail, I’ll know I gave it my all—and that fulfillment is worth everything.

By Sidrich Sorila | November 20, 2024

[stringbeansstuff]

A 2000s baby perspective

I had an mp3 player, VHS, CDs, DVDs, a blue d.s. I got my first phone at 12, being the oldest had its perks. Every 2-3 years I got a newer phone and in high school I got a laptop.

I spent lots and lots of time during my adolescence on social media. I was bullied, took way too many Snapchat selfies, had a secret Instagram, and stalked my exes. And everything else in-between.

Then I turned 20 and all of a sudden it changed. I started stepping away from social media and my technology.

Deleting mass amounts of pictures, simplifying my social media, and going without my phone. It was slow but the more I stepped away the more I didn't want to go back.

As I continue to be in the present I find peace in my life. I find myself not being strung to my technology. Maybe it's just me, but I hate to say it. Technology is overrated, and being here in the moment is so great that I invite you to join, maybe you can find peace too.

[thoughtsicouldntsend]

2nd Day of Thinking Her

I want to hug you, so my heart can reach yours. I want to hold your hands, so my pain can dissolve. I want to see you smile, so I can feel alive. But I’ll suffer alone, so you can stay yourself.

[ancientroyalblood]

Finding Your Voice: Embracing Individuality in Writing

Each writer possesses a unique voice—a distinctive fingerprint that sets their work apart. Your writing voice encapsulates your style, tone, and personality, imprinting your narratives with an unmistakable essence. Discovering and embracing your voice is a journey of self-exploration that leads to authenticity and resonance in your writing. Let’s embark on this quest to find and celebrate your…

[inka-is-a-stinka]

Fawn

Glowing yellow eyes peer down from the trees. From the grass. From the horizon. There's no counting how many pairs of eyes can see the same thing. A small fawn. Lying alone in a vast grassy meadow. Looking down at her just like the eyes in the trees is the moon. And so it is. A vibrant life to be lived hidden in the trees, overlooked by the ones that gaze upon her now. And so it is a fragile, naive thing lying in the dark, focused on tomorrow rather than what could be the end of today. Perhaps she was born something else and given the wrong legs to stand on. But perhaps it doesn't matter because her flank is peppered with snow-like spots. And even when those spots fade, she'll be the same thing she was as a young one. Prey. But where is the shame in feeding the hungry?