But there is only so much I can convince myself about how you feel and what you think before I am making a fool of us both. I am not interested in being the person who follows you around, the embarrassing little girl whose inability to control her own emotions makes it okay to treat her however you want. As much as I look forward to your temporary lapses in judgment which allow you to tell me everything you know I want to hear, I know that they are not good for me.
I know that I have been allowing this game to be played for far longer than I should have, and that there is nowhere positive for this to go. So I will fight that instinctive desire to be hurt and walk away. I won’t make dramatic proclamations about erasing you from my memory or wishing I had never known you. I must learn to take away the power over me that I have given to you and put it towards parts of my life which aren’t so dead-set on hurting me. And even if my newfound independence inspires in you a renewal of your desire to exert your control over me, your efforts will be wasted.
Just a more dramatic rendition of my feelings right now, but thank you Charlotte Green, you said it, girl.
Friday, January 4, 2013
bio
I'm not one to play games.
I never understood the concept of playing hard to get. Why do the ones who don't care, get anything and anyone they want? By doing nothing at all, their hands are full; with everything. I am patient and I don't give up on people, instead, I give away second chances to the point second changes into multiples of the number itself. I don't see the need, the glorification of revenge.
I forgive.
You can do anything to me. Manipulate me to do things in your favour. Take my heart to places you will only abandon me at. Bring me flowers and prepare for me candlelit dinners only to spike my wine. Make me believe in the existence of even the slightest smidgeon of affection directed at me when it was always at another person. Make me a part of your ruse, it's what I deserve anyway.
It's what I deserve for always instigating dates and plans. For turning down appointments with friends and family to make myself free just in case you were. For making mental notes to bring you here whenever I stumble upon any place I think you might like. For reserving myself for you. For dressing, wearing my hair, a certain way I know you fancy. For choosing flats over platforms because I know it bothers you when I have to tread carefully. For considering your feelings.
I don't give up on people. Long after the dirt has covered the track, I still find my way. This stubborn belief that the you who once moved me with your honeyed words still exists for me to uncover again is akin to a light that cannot be snuffed, and the knowledge that those words were uttered mindlessly is still rendered useless because I will always find new excuses for that fact. He meant it, he probably just has trouble keeping to his word. He struggles to express himself sometimes. He's going through a rough patch.
Before I know it, I am complaining about you to friends but yet the minute I sense a backhanded compliment or subtle insult directed at you I am suddenly jumping to your defence.
I give too much, and I care too much, I could change. I could start caring a little less, replying a little slower, shortening my texts. I could start acting like every other girl in this screwed up 21st century world that we live in. Maybe I'd actually garner some affection and attention. But of whom? Thrill-seekers who are truth be told insecure, competitive bastards who are only looking to prove something to themselves; to gain reassurance that they still have it in them to make someone who previously could not give a shit, give a shit? But I would be acting, and I would be cheating you of my true self.
I actually like my true self. Call me needy, obsessive, dramatic, emotional, neurotic, clingy or hypersensitive. But I am full of heart, and I am full of honesty.
I will always be real with you.
I never understood the concept of playing hard to get. Why do the ones who don't care, get anything and anyone they want? By doing nothing at all, their hands are full; with everything. I am patient and I don't give up on people, instead, I give away second chances to the point second changes into multiples of the number itself. I don't see the need, the glorification of revenge.
I forgive.
You can do anything to me. Manipulate me to do things in your favour. Take my heart to places you will only abandon me at. Bring me flowers and prepare for me candlelit dinners only to spike my wine. Make me believe in the existence of even the slightest smidgeon of affection directed at me when it was always at another person. Make me a part of your ruse, it's what I deserve anyway.
It's what I deserve for always instigating dates and plans. For turning down appointments with friends and family to make myself free just in case you were. For making mental notes to bring you here whenever I stumble upon any place I think you might like. For reserving myself for you. For dressing, wearing my hair, a certain way I know you fancy. For choosing flats over platforms because I know it bothers you when I have to tread carefully. For considering your feelings.
I don't give up on people. Long after the dirt has covered the track, I still find my way. This stubborn belief that the you who once moved me with your honeyed words still exists for me to uncover again is akin to a light that cannot be snuffed, and the knowledge that those words were uttered mindlessly is still rendered useless because I will always find new excuses for that fact. He meant it, he probably just has trouble keeping to his word. He struggles to express himself sometimes. He's going through a rough patch.
Before I know it, I am complaining about you to friends but yet the minute I sense a backhanded compliment or subtle insult directed at you I am suddenly jumping to your defence.
I give too much, and I care too much, I could change. I could start caring a little less, replying a little slower, shortening my texts. I could start acting like every other girl in this screwed up 21st century world that we live in. Maybe I'd actually garner some affection and attention. But of whom? Thrill-seekers who are truth be told insecure, competitive bastards who are only looking to prove something to themselves; to gain reassurance that they still have it in them to make someone who previously could not give a shit, give a shit? But I would be acting, and I would be cheating you of my true self.
I actually like my true self. Call me needy, obsessive, dramatic, emotional, neurotic, clingy or hypersensitive. But I am full of heart, and I am full of honesty.
I will always be real with you.
relatable
"Yes, you misled me with enough half-truths and vague semi-promises to love me that I filled in the blanks with what I wanted to hear, but that was my fault." -Charlotte Green
Thursday, January 3, 2013
cereals stuff
I'm back to questioning my choices in life, again.
School starts come Monday and it's triggered an entire whirlwind of deep thought and I feel my heart plummet at the thought of having chosen the wrong educational path, especially.
"You want to do Mass Comm? Then why are you in science fac? Why are you in JC?"
"Why didn't you go to poly?"
I don't bloody know okay I have always thought myself to be spineless and aimless and prey to perceived expectations of people. I've always been nudged in the direction of professionalism; law or medicine. I never thought I had it in me to make known the truly saddening fact of the matter: that I have no inclination whatsoever to the two. Field trips to the supreme court and conversations with med school kids never succeeded in manifesting in me more passion.
In reassurances from the people around me that I was still young and there was still time to find direction and figure out my goals in life, I drew comfort.
I was told law was too serious for me, I wouldn't bode well with rigidity and I should seek out something that would complement my bubbly personality(I do not think of myself as bubbly but people seem to think so)
What am I passionate about really?
I guess I'd say, food, fashion and writing. 3 things I wouldn't mind immersing myself into for days at a time. Drowning myself in a bottomless pit of bread and butter pudding and creme anglaise, very tempting no?
I remember wanting to be a merchandiser when I was younger. To a girl that was beginning to know the difference between a messenger bag and a satchel, being paid to shop seemed like a dream.
I know I have a hell lot to learn if I ever want to write as a profession, but perhaps I will only dabble a little in journalism. PR and Advertising and Events Management sound just about right though.
I really don't know. An epiphany soon, please?
Simple needs
What you are is a complicated girl with simple needs. You need your books and time to read, and you need a few friends and you need someone-not to take care of you, but to care for you. If you have all those things, you’ll always be alright.
-“Breakable You” by Brian Morton
-“Breakable You” by Brian Morton
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Love this
"I once dated a writer and..
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things."
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things."
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