whispers in my head

I guess I'm in this dazed "Im surviving!" And "I can't freaking believe the amount of work I have!".

I know it's going to get busier though so I'll grit my teeth and push through it because I have to and it's not even a choice at this point.

But at the same time I'm also like "just how much busier can this get, and just how much more can I take?"

These days I feel so floaty but honestly I think it's because I'm not sleeping enough.

Sometimes I wake up without knowing I fell asleep and that's worrying but I'm working on it 😭😭

Also my poems will be taking a break for now...

My mind is in a mess

My feelings are such pests

Yet all I can do is sit and think that I didn't try my best.

The paralysis of the mind, the body, and time,

caused by thousands of

Itty,

Bitty,

Gritty,

thoughts,

That swarm within my mind.

At this point, I don't even want to question what's keeping me sane.

I'm just clutching at the remnants of my brain.

Clawing at my amygdala, I wanna cut it out.

But I know that's not the right thing to do, it wouldn't help.

I just want a hug.

But I don't want to bug.

But bug I will, for the reactions they give are not the reactions I need.

Or want, for the matter.

I don't want to be told what to do.

How to fix it, nor how to move.

I don't want to be taken for a fool.

I don't want to hear their

"Life's like that, you know, you gotta suck it up and go!"

I know.

I know.

I KNOW.

But can't you just listen?

Can't you just help me?

Help me.

Please.

Don't judge me.

I guess I can find comfort in the fact that at least I'll still be able to admire from afar.

But...

Once you've tasted something like heaven there's no going back.

At least, for the rest of the year.

I'm still young and there's plenty more people and characters I have not met.

I mean, come on, if that was the most exciting thing to happen to me about interpersonal relationships, well...

However, it is still one of the greatest gifts in this stage of my life.

It's just a matter of pulling it off before I start going out to civilization again.

But other than that, the more common term 'head in the clouds' might work as a description.

'In' being the keyword.

I knew that would happen, actually, even if my heart refused to believe so.

I've known since the beginning of March, that I might or rather, would, have a high chance of moving away.

The seating plan changes by the term, after all.

I knew, but yet...

Not sitting next to him is like closing the pages of a book I’ve always wanted to read and setting it back onto its shelf in the bookstore.

But it's fine.

I have our almost beginning immortalised in lines of black pixels, against a sea of white ones.

I'd like to think that the lesson they have given me is learning to let go.

Even though there technically wasn't anything.

But that's what hurts the most, doesn't it?

你是我眼前的梦。

看你时，我心里疼。

我只能希望有一天，

你也能靠同样的眼神看着我,

也能让我变你眼中的梦。

无论多长时间，

我都会接受。

-An-emu/恩妍

Dream

You are the dream before my eyes.

Unreachable. Unreal.

When I see you, my heart aches.

I can only hope that one day,

you will look at me as I look at you now.

That one day, I will also be a dream in your eyes.

No matter how long it takes, I will accept.

- An-emu

Note:

Forgive the English translation. English is kind of my first language and I do score better in it than Chinese but in this case I wrote the Chinese version first and well...it is kinda hard to translate it in a way that gets the emotion through properly without losing meaning or over explaining.

It'd be ideal if you understand Chinese to fully appreciate the Chinese version, as the English translation pales in comparison in the way emotion is conveyed.

Here is a more literal translation of the poem:

You are the dream before my eyes.

Looking at you, my heart aches.

I can only hope that one day, you will use the same gaze to look at me,

And that I can become the dream in your eyes.

No matter how long it takes, I will accept.

It's a bit more stinted this way, but if you've ever read RF kuang's 'Babel' there is a pretty interesting part about translation.

Translating for meaning versus emotion are two very different things with very different outcomes.

In the first translation above (after the Chinese version) i tried to make it more poetic/prose like for presentation's sake.

For the second translation, I kept more of the meaning.

Translation is also one of the reasons I really kinda want to try to learn Italian to read Dante's Inferno because all the terza rima is only readable/seen when its in the original language and honestly YES ITS SUCH A GENIUS PIECE OF WORK.

If we're all different and our differences are a constant then differences aren't unique at all.

Which is technically common sense.

Also isn't it ironic that change is probably the only constant in the Universe?

So by that logic, I can say that there will be a day where my feelings toward them change.

For the better or the worse, only time will tell.

My mind told itself it could not get distracted this year but apparently my heart had other ideas.

In Chinese, 心 means heart. But when we write stuff like "I thought to myself." It goes '我心里想' (我 means me/I, 里 is 'inside' and 想 means 'think'.)

We use the heart character cause...feelings, y'know?

Even though there's a word for 'brain' AKA '脑' we don't really ever say '我脑里想'

Sometimes, when comparing Chinese to English, Chinese is more descriptive.

But English is quite precise.

Cantonese, on the other hand, is even more complex.

And in Chinese we have numbers to represent certain phrases.

An example would be '1314'.

The Chinese characters look like this: 一三一四

Phonetically, they look like this: Yi San yi si

But they sound like: 一生一世 (Yi sheng yi shi)

The 生 comes from 生命, meaning ‘life’，and the 世 comes from 世界, meaning 'world'

Well the only reason I know this is because they told me.

It was during a math class and they suddenly saw the number in a math question and asked whether I knew what it meant.

They told me it meant "love you forever more".

With that exact phrasing.

I think I'm in denial.

I mean, what am I even saying?

And of course, I can't forget the yaps with my friends.

I'm probably not going to do anything about it so maybe it's a bad idea to give these thoughts substance...lest I start to give myself ideas. Or hope.

They say a girl changing her hair means she's changing herself.

Was that what I did back when I was twelve?

Looking back at myself...

I don't mean to judge.

I'm a person too, after all,

And she's an old book on my shelf.

I can say that if I saw her now, I wouldn't judge her decisions.

Her personality, character, moral ambitions.

I'd let her be.

Just another speck in the memories of me.

However,

I'd still give her a hug.

Only I know how much was in her heart,

how much she wanted to stop being tough.

To burst open, apart.

Though, knowing myself, she wouldn't reciprocate.

She'd feel crushed by that embrace.

Touch was something she did not like.

It joined the list of countless fears and frights.

The invisible particles floating through the air,

Infecting and killing millions everywhere,

Made up a huge part of her life.

Every day, she hid in fright.

But now,

Time has smoothened over the gaping hole,

In my memories, emotions, and me as a whole.

Of course, the hole is not gone.

Some days, she is something I mourn.

But time has continued its unrelenting flow,

Returning my glow to me,

The current carrying both happiness and maturity.

However...

even now,

I'm not fully me.

I'm certain there's more to discover,

But of course,

I'll have to be subjected to lessons,

Before I flower.

Some may be tough, some may not.

But what matters is facing it on,

To survive and grow through it all.

So,

I'll take my past to be a lesson that lasts.

Something that reminds me to

"Hold on a little longer, lass!"

For there's definitely worse to come,

But I'll do it for her,

The water from the plants flows to my eyes and leaks out.

...

dy/dx,

More like

What's this,

What's next?

Maybe life is like differentiation,

Where differentiation only takes one line,

But the answer takes longer to find.

Endless algebraic manipulation,

Countless steps for an err in decision.

And so, like differentiation,

Our one tiny situation

Requires manipulation,

To reach a final, contained solution.

Here's the thing:

What if I'm bad at algebraic manipulation?

What if I get the wrong solution?

All's fine and peachy in the question,

But in real life, it's devastation.

So, dy/dx,

Please stop,

Words sprout up in my head.

Not real words, no.

They don't exist.

Made up on a whim while in a brain-drifting haze.

Their nonsense syllables mashed together,

Like marbles rolling in your mouth,

Like making something complicated would make it more...

(Another gibberish word springs up,

A mess of rolling, gurgling sounds.

The meaning is clear, it's exactly what I want,

But the shape of the word remains something that confounds.)

This internal narration in my brain, the product of the something in my veins.

Not blood.

It's thick and concentrated,

more so than blood.

Syrupy and transparent,

It's transcendent.

It pulses and concentrates the most in my heart,

Then it circulates through my body, reaching every part.

Sometimes it congeals in my throat,

Makes me gasp for air.

But other times it nourishes me,

Makes life easier to bear.

Soon, it flows and goes straight to my head.

My mind...

There's an engine in that dark space,

Churning relentlessly except when I'm abed.

Spewing those words that don't exist in this time,

those words that are undoubtedly mine.

Flitting around like birds,

They dart away when I scout.

I don't mind them, they fascinate me.

I want to unspool their mystery.

What is this bizarre language my brain uses to describe?

When I'm trapped here, in English's confines?

I want to grasp the words in a firm grip,

To feel satisfaction as meaning clicks.

I probe a little further,

Pushing forward with fervor.

Then...

The engine starts to slow down.

My heart drops, my hopes drown.

Why can't I catch the words that confound?

The engine stutters and halts,

The words come to a stop.

Soon they start to unknot,

And then they start to melt.

Oozing slowly down my spine,

They convert back into syrupy slime.

Back into the something in my veins,

I've got nothing to reflect,

Time is something I lack.

I've been exhausted of text,

It's like some goddamned hex.

I'm stuck at a crossroad.

And for all I know,

One path forward is another path closed.

A thousand endless dirt roads,

Some of them clear,

Most shrouded, unknown.

I have to choose carefully.

After all,

The tender branches of my tree,

The items to be set on the plate in front of me,

They are all shaped by my decree.

But...

How to decide, when I have to master?

When time is running out, and I have to learn faster?

Looking at the syllabuses on my desk,

The inky lines upon lines of text.

Crowding my vision.

Deafening my ears.

Completely shrouding what to do next.

I just want time to contemplate.

But I have too much on my plate.

Now,

I can't even say I fear too much on my plate.

That was for earlier,

Now it's too late.

So maybe I'll be back in a month or two,

When I've done all the things I have to do,

When I've conquered the tomes upon my desk,

And decided what to do next,

When this weight lifts from my chest,

And I can finally breathe, finally rest.