O heartbreak - fare thee well

they walk past me;
methinks love hast made me a fool.
      eyes of pity;
      tears - thin as tulle.

thou art my compass
      giveth me much comfort, but -
O, 'tis thee?
      nay, I beseech; wilt mine eyes hath failed me -
      just as my heart
which, at last, hast broken.

still, I pardon thee;
thou need'st not be sorry.
'tis fate - cruelly
showeth me that it shall never more be love,
for it never has been.

I shall pardon thee,
      pain hath befalleth us, I doubt it not;
            dost thou weep thus?

if thou could'st, thou wouldst hath loved me
as much; 'tis not in thy capacity.

      ay, fare thee well

the silent death

       a piece of creative writing

         by Victoria Chwa

     

The Forgettable and The Insignificant

Spring. 

She sat, alone, atop the hill beside the lake, watching as a single Redbud tree grew in full bloom. It's beauty captured her completely; she had not broken her gaze upon it.

abnormal

What was there to not love? It was a magical sight — the simplicity of the little heart-shaped leaves as they rested alongside the delicate clusters of flowers naturally tinted in ombré magenta, all planted on a cleverly twisted trunk and outward spreading branches. There and then, the Redbud seemed to have enhanced the allurement of the whole scenery - the vibrant green of the frondescence, the soft blue shade of the sky surrounded the moieties of pure white clouds; its beauty was infinite. 

fool

Yet, there and then, tout de suite — she was overwhelmed by dolor. Solitude hadn't bothered her before until its impendence sunk into her mind and heart. The quiet indulgence of every hint of peace and happiness that often came from innocent reclusiveness had become a sign of social suicide and, as the universal apperception would have it, there would be no survivors. Admiring the Redbud tree still, she screamed and began to tear. 

not good enough

The day was fresh, with a lively spring wind, but it was horrible to be among such amazing company without a heart to truly savour every bit of it. You see, pain was as simple as it looked - you had to cry and try to let it all out before you are silenced by the voices inside your head. 

unworthy

But she stopped, remembering that screaming was not normal. You had to understand that eccentricity was a deformity. There were no positive connotations in being bizarre, and it certainly was nothing to be happy about. fall She stood, silently and slowly, as the pain gradually took control of her every subsequent move and thought. She forced a wry smile that pinched her face instead of smoothing it. As their words turned, repeatedly, in her mind, she began to realize that her life was one of experiment. lose The search for herself was entirely internal and she was fighting a losing battle against society. 

prisoner                                                                                                                                                    be free

Reality has it that you had to be normal to be accepted, which is subconsciously always being harped upon because your acceptance determines your survival. It was a social rule; non-conformity means death. Your thoughts didn't matter to society, neither did your feelings. Only achievements that are socially deemed as successful would acknowledged as 'true success'. It didn't matter whether or not you were beautiful, much less unique on the inside. Image had always been secondary to her, but not to society. You had to look the part to play the part. You had to be perfect. The irony - so much said about being yourself when not a soul was brave enough to stay true; fear her - especially. 

just...

fade                                                                                                                                                          stay true

The vibrant flora, ardent blue sky and flawless white clouds became increasingly blurred.

The Redbud tree, once alive, dimmed into a dusty shade of gray.

Those who wandered - disappeared.

All that was once authentic - now a mere product of society.

Smiling, sincerely (for the first time in forever), she shut the windows to her soul and said to her beloved, "when we become forgettable and insignificant, always remember - we had today; then fade away and be happy."

away

The Existence of Magic

♥

I dedicate this (part) to you in particular.

In all my life, I never thought that something as magical as this could happen to me.

Then, you showed up and you proved me wrong.

Thank you.

♥

When she was there the first time, she hadn't actually considered that it would be her second home for the next two years of her life. Before she knew it, she had to face the reality that she had never thought she would. With her old, reused, black-and-pink coloured backpack, her hair pulled back and tied in a single, simple ponytail (that did not compliment her) and her fear overwhelming her (which was no surprise), she stood by the concourse, lost and clueless...

♥

There he sat, quietly, beside me. I could hear him breathe slightly heavily; perhaps it was the result of rushing into the hall just a while ago. As we waited for the commencement of the Orientation, the thought of taking the first step to make some new friends had turned in my head for the millionth time. After all, that was what this whole week was about, wasn't it? 

Yet, the only thing that was holding her back was the apprehension that had crept inside her ever since this whole thing started, and something told her that it wasn't planning on leaving any time soon. Still, as the saying goes - "if not now, when?"; and that was when she decided to take the risk. She looked around her and tried to look for a possible 'target', but everyone else seemed to have had a head-start. Just when she was expecting things to take a turn for the worst, she realized that the only other person that seemed to be "lagging behind" from others in this struggle was that boy sitting beside her. 

"Here goes nothing," she thought to herself - mustering as much courage as she could possibly have had inside her at that time - she turned to him and said "hi". 

While that was happening, she was also contemplating about how the next moment would end up like, and she came to a conclusion that it would be awkward. Little did she know that the denouement would be far from her prediction, because at the very instance of her making an attempt to start a conversation with him, he did the same thing, at the same time.

Wow. 

Is it possible for something so simple to be so enchantingly serendipitous?

The weird thing is, though, the concomitance did not culminate there. Just as they were laughing at what had just happened, they both turned to each other and asked "what's your name?" at the same time as well; that was when she realized that, perhaps, this wasn't a mere coincidence. 

Perhaps, this is the existence of magic; and, perhaps, this whole journey would prove it.

♥

Overthinking | Death of The Outcasted

A while back, I posted my thoughts on over-thinking. I've decided to turn this into a series of posts because one post is just not enough to express how the pain of being and over-thinker through words.

So here goes.

Perhaps one of the more frequent derivations of over-thinking is from feeling like an outcast. I say this because this has been happening to me a lot lately. Without a doubt, it is becoming incessant; but then again, that isn't the real problem. 

Everyone is bound to feel like an outcast once in a while. I think we've been made to think that it's okay, and that is where the real problem comes in. You see, it is because we have been made to comply to 'what's right' and think that feeling like an outcast is 'normal' and 'okay', close to no one will think about caring when they see someone looking like they feel like an outcast, even if that person is someone they know, because no one would care enough to observe and see if anyone is feeling like an outcast. It is also because of this that The Outcasted will then feel like because no one seems to show any concern that what they're feeling is wrong and they shouldn't speak of it or they would be, as some would say, 'abnormal', which makes them feel more outcasted than they already feel like now. This is where over-thinking comes in, which inevitably leads to inner-death.

For some reason, I have been feeling like an outcast a lot lately. I think it's growing on me - into some kind of phobia; because of this, I am perpetually afraid of being hated or alone and especially of being ditched by friends, because it's kind of like an indication of my inadequacy of being a person, let alone friend, that pushes them away from me. And it's scary to be living with this fear.

Scary. 

I'm beginning to realize that the scary thing about overthinking is that it kills you, slowly, from the inside. It is the constant turning of all the negativity and angst from being outcasted that makes us victims of this silent, invisible murder. What's scarier is that all this will lead to a never-ending internal war between us and them. The moment we lose our sanity - they've won. Perhaps that is the most common and often unsaid cause of most people's death.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone else can relate to this...

"What is wrong with you?" they asked her repeatedly and apathetically, but unfortunately, not rhetorically. 

What could she do? 

Nothing. 

Nothing but stare blankly at the ground and ponder over all the possible causes for her abhorrent, and possibly indubitable, abnormality. What was wrong with her? Why did she fall into the untouchable category of the out-of-the-norms? She could not find an answer and it seemed as though they were waiting for one - one that will serve as an explanation for her asininity. 

In hopes of coming to a conclusion, she questioned herself - what was right about her? To her dismay, that was harder to answer, and she came to realize that there was no answer to the latter, because the answer to the former was and always would be everything. 

At that instant, enmity grew within her - bitter, agonizing hatred for herself and everything erroneous about her. There was sadness in her eyes - the worst kind; the kind that resembled scars, the kind that would never disappear. Even then, the torture had only just begun. Perhaps, she thought, this internal struggle was a sign. At this point, there was no doubt that, in all that is evanescent, it was time to end the pain. There was absolutely no point in living when you had to be constantly reminded of how inadequate you are, especially in a world that is in perpetual pursuit of perfection. 

Still, she felt like a stupid weakling, defeated and tormented by just a few words. 

No, they were not just a few words. 

They were daggers. 

They were stabbing and slashing her from the inside; they have not stopped and she was certain that they would not stop. 

Still, she tried to stop them. 

She tried to ease the pain by letting the blood escape from her internal wounds. 

She took pills to silence the haunting voices in her head that have put those two deadly questions on repeat. 

She was tied to the bed in a dark corner in a place for special people like her. 

No, nothing was working, and she knew that. 

Her heart stopped beating. 

She lost touch her soul.

They were taking over her.

She could no longer think, they thought for her. 

They said she was only normal if she thought that way.

She could no longer speak, they spoke for her.

They said she was only normal if she spoke that way.

She could no longer move, they moved for her. 

They said she was only normal if she did what they told her to. 

She began to believe them. 

It was the right thing to do.

Overthinking | The Eternal Curse

I am quite sure I've been cursed. This torturous blasphemy has become so much a part of me that it defines me, and I hate that it does.

I'm an Overthinker; and it is, in a lot of ways, a horrid reality. It has become so severe for me that it is impossible for me to go a day without thinking too much into even the most simplest affairs. I'm not even kidding. Even seeing a friend close to someone else makes me feel like I'm not as important to them as they are to me, like I'm just a backup plan. Being alone makes me feel like a reject. Hearing people around me laugh makes me paranoid that they're laughing at me. I know it's stupid and crazy, but I can't help it, and I hate that about myself.

In my struggle to maintain my sanity, someone once told me that "it only matters to you because you make it matter". That phrase resonated with me to the depths of my soul. Ever since then I've been wondering — why is it that we tend to wonder off into the unknown, digging up the worst memories hidden in the darkest corners of our minds, when we clearly don't want to recall it?

I don't know if it's the same for you but, whenever I overthink, one thing leads to another; my head ends up in a twirl, my heart feels like it's been stabbed countless times and is about to give way, I can't think and then – BOOM – tears burst out of my eyes like water gushing out of a broken dam. It is at that very moment of affliction when all those recurring thoughts become questions — haunting questions that will never be answered, ones that force us to redefine ourselves and our purpose in life. At this stage, the curse would have already set in, and once it sets in, there is no turning back. I'm not alone here, right?

I read somewhere that life is about moving past the past and going towards the future. But because the future lies in the vast unknown, fear steps in, and the only thing that we can fall back on for support is our past experiences. It's not as easy to let go and move on as people in movies and television shows make it out to be. Thence, I'd like to believe that at the end of it all, our minds will be the cause of our own psychological suicides. No matter how hard we will ourselves not to succumb to this kind of self-torture, it'll never stop, because it isn't something that can be cured overnight. In fact, there really is no cure at all. I can't just ask you to stop overthinking. You can try, but it rebounds, doesn't it? Things don't work that way, not in this case at least.

I think it's time to admit the truth. Overthinking is the reality. It's a curse, it's eternal, and it's here to stay. Are you going to do anything about it?