"Translated"

There is an essence of time that causes humans to forget,
to conjure a false memory or to eradicate the long forgotten,
to the extent of utter delusion,
like nothing happened,
disremembered,
obliterated,
as though a complete removal would translate the present
into a fairytale,
with damned happy endings,
with a beautiful prince and a handsome princess,
with a brick house constructed by their unfailing love, that tumbled
when the wolf went down the chimney,
and when the princess shrieked in fear,
and the prince died of shock and
left her yet alone.
These are the happy endings we all yearn for.
Don't we all?

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"Roleplay"

If life were a stage,
and we were all her clowns,
who manipulated the audience's emotions
with our carefully crafted scripts,
who are the real clowns?

If life were a stage,
and the ticket for the perpetual performance were a dollar and half cents,
with our personal selection of scenes,
would you have stayed to watch?

If life were a stage,
and I knew you were watching me,
would you still have done what you did?
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Haha, I am gonna be really random now but the poem prize I won last year was commendation one, not a consolation! ): Haha, so I am not in a sports cca, and I don't take part in competitions and stuff, so winning something consoled me slightly. (:

Yeah, thanks. Haha, yeah, and I submitted all the soppy sad stuff which I composed when I was bored, which amounted to a lot. Poor teachers!

I suppose writing is an outlet whereby we verbalise what we usually store up, in case we explode because of frustration one day. Yet I filter out tons of info, and I alter it to please the internet.
I have always abhorred the phrases that declare lovey dovey emotions and stuff, and I really dislike writing "I miss you" on blog posts and stuff. Everyone writes them everywhere!

Yet, we are all human and we all will miss someone, friend or lover, but the mere act of proclaiming it on websites and stuff only makes you appear desperate for love, but we all need love.
Yet, missing is normal, and I miss so many people and things.
I miss the people who have left the world, the friends who have deserted me, the state of being free, the opportunities I had, the youth we all had once, and the very pleasant memories.

I am so weird. I am just rambling on and on.
I wish I loved writing as much as I used to.

Last year, I could just write on and on without feeling false.
Now, I just write on so that I can feel better.

I am happy.

Oh, I wanna get perfect score for NAPFA man.
This is my last shot at it.
Have carried weights and stuff since last year. Hope it pays off. I'm a strong girl!

Infatuation is merely a cover. It gets you over other things.

Do you know, that we can manipulate ourselves easily?
If you keep feeding yourself with the statement that you can't get over it,
you shall be stuck in quicksand and be drenched by your self-fulfilling prophesy.

Hence, we shall live on.

"Infatuation"

Those first few glances irked me
but when you drew closer, I saw that gleam in
those eyes, those understanding windows,
a turbulent rush of emotions,
sorrow amongst many, windows
to another entity altogether.

You remind me of someone
I once knew.

But people tend to like the same kind of people,
not for the people they once knew.

Those defined jaws of strength, and that
euphoria and those moments of sheer joy.
That period redefined the list that made the mark.
That late afternoon, when you wore that simple shirt,
nothing to distract me from your kind smile.

Or was it the attention you gave that drew me?
Those understanding windows.
Repeatedly, until we were attuned to each other.
Distinct individuals with small moments of eye contact.

I saw you again.
And that friendly smile,
and a reciprocal smile.

If I only I really knew you.
And if you knew what my smile meant.

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Hahaha! This is such a super mushy poem.
It is my first blissful poem if my memory serves me right.
I have not done posts in that dreary manner in a pretty long time.
Just read a reading that many writers suffer from depression and mental instabilities.
It is probably due to the perpetual need to be sorrowful in order to compose an impressive piece of work.

I should be studying!
I love to study. I am a bookworm.

I feel so formal.
Hahaha.
And yeah, I just read the "Yes, Now I remember" poem and I do realise something.
Yeah. (: Haha, be glad for good memories.

What is love actually?
There are countless kinds of love, and the greatest of all is Agape love that God gives to us.

Is Lust love?
Hmm.
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Little actions.
Your reactions.
Humans!