don't abandon yourself
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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ā
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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if i look back, i am lost
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@phoenix-letters
don't abandon yourself

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write it and write it again and again until it loses its truth
What's interesting about this is that I stopped writing because the more I wrote, the more real it became and I didn't know how to deal with that. And I'm still a bit afraid of it now. But I want to write again... Baby steps
Who told me writing in first person POV is a good idea...
Anyway, hi void or this blog or maybe hi to myself. I kind of want to pick up writing again just for fun. Maybe do little scenes here and there. A friend and I have been writing fics in DM's and I kind of want to properly put them to paper. I'll try it a bit here.
But for now, hello again ā”
from chapter 103 (ExR):
Wei WuXian pressed his temples, āForget it. Itās all in the past now. Letās not mention it again.ā
It wasnāt something he liked to reminisce about. He didnāt want to be reminded again and again of what it felt like when his core was cut out or what price he had to pay. If this were exposed in the past, heād most likely laugh and comfort Jiang Cheng, āItās not that big of a deal anyways. Look at me all these years. Without the core, I still managed to come through, didnāt I? Beating everyone I wanted to beat, killing everyone I wanted to kill.ā But now, he indeed didnāt have the strength left to put up such a confident, nonchalant pretense.
From the bottom of his heart, he knew he wasnāt so indifferent about it after all.
Was it really that easy to move on from such a thing?
Of course not.
In truth, when Wei WuXian was seventeen or eighteen, his pride wasnāt much lower than Jiang Chengās. He once had strong spiritual powers, more talented than others. No matter how much he fooled around, staying up all night pulling pranks on others, he was still far ahead of his classmates who worked so hard.
But every time he tossed and turned as he lay awake at night, knowing heād never reach the stars using proper means, knowing heād never wield his sword with the excellence that was supposed to bring astonishment to so many eyes, he wondered if Jiang FengMiang hadnāt take him back to Lotus Pier, perhaps he wouldnāt cross paths with cultivation his whole life. Then he would have never known that such a magnificent path existed in this world. Heād only be a head beggar who roamed the streets, fleeing at first sight of a dog, or maybe looking after cows and stealing other peopleās crops in the countryside, playing his flute to pass his time. He wouldnāt have known to cultivate, and he definitely wouldnāt have had the chance to form a core. With such thoughts, heād felt much better.
Take it as repayment, or take it as redemption. Take it as heād never received the golden core to begin with.
After explaining things to himself like this again and again, it was as though he was truly as confident and as nonchalant as he made it seem like on the surface, and along the way he could even praise himself for such a state of mind, whether he was lying or not.
But that was in his past life.
Wei WuXian, āUh, I think itās best if you⦠also stop keeping it on your mind. I know youāll definitely always keep it on your mind, but, how should I say itā¦ā He clenched Lan WangJiās hand, saying to Jiang Cheng, āRight now, I do really think⦠itās all in the past. Itās been too long. Thereās no need to struggle with it any longer.ā
Recently, I have had Thoughts and reservations on the internet just calling anyone who is not white a POC. Isn't POC a USA term for the racial minorities there plus the history of the term itself? How are we POCs if we do not live in the USA? Doesn't that undermine the struggles of actual POCs in the USA? Is us being called POCs and just us allowing it kinda like accepting that the english space of the internet is sort of "US territory"? Is this neocolonialism?? I don't know anything, I only have thoughts.

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QUESTIONS AT THE CROSSROADS
When did writing become a burden. When did it become something that had to be just perfect.
I am tired today. I am tired most days. I do not know where I'm going. I am afraid I'm not happy with my profession and that it was not meant for me.
I keep avoiding my mother. I do not know what to tell her.
Fandom spaces make me feel unwelcome and unhappy.
I do not know what to do to make myself happy.
Twitter is highkey depressing. Need to stay out of there for my own mental well-being.
I am scared that my stress-level threshold is too low :(
um, hi
what even is this blog anymore
i dont even write these days
and i think that's really sad.
maybe i'll try to pick it up again.
college is difficult. im trying to stay positive and keep myself afloat though. just two more years and i'll be done. at the same time, im also scared of becoming a proper adult with her own job and all that.
i just try to tell myself that im scared and nervous because i care and i want to do well for myself, for my family, for the people who are going to need my help.
i hope i get through this semester alright. i just want to pass. i dont want to get delayed. please. im doing my best, the best i can give while trying to remain sane.
im sorry for not being good enough tho
push and push
and push it down
swallow and taste
the bitterness in your mouth
wash it away
let it drown
till the acid rises
and you spit it out
3:39 AM
love is letting someone go,
setting them free
it is helping them grow,
and letting them breathe
it is holding them loose,
praying they'll stay
it is letting them choose
while hoping they'll say,
"I still choose you"

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Waiting for the End
I sit fidgeting on cold grey metal chairs. My eyes are dry, my insides empty. Iāve got no tears left to cry. I am helpless. The only thing I can do is clutch my hands tight together. I pray, I pray to God,āPlease donāt take him, please donāt. Pleaseā.Ā
Ā Ā Itās been 8 hours. Heās still in the big white room, the doctors prodding his insides, his heart. I look down and try to see through my skin. I stare at my heart and a thought comes back to me.
Ā Ā Ā A memory.
Ā Ā Ā My eyes are closed andĀ the wind whistles past my ears, the leaves rustling. Itās a nice summer day and I soak up the sun. Naturally,Ā heĀ is beside me, trying to bring me out of my trance.Ā
Ā Ā Ā āStop it! Iām meditating,ā I say, trying not to laugh but failing miserably. I keep my eyes closed. He keeps poking my sides. Iām so ticklish and he makes fun of me for it.Ā
Ā Ā Ā āMeditating, huh?ā I hear shuffling on his side andhe is suddenly quiet. It stays that way for a few minutes and my curiosity gets the best of me. I try to take a peek at him using my right eye and he is there. His eyes and mouth were shut, his brows creased in the middle. His face looked so serene.
Ā Ā Ā I open my eyes and move closer to him until Iām sitting in front of him. I raise my hand and smooth the crease. His lips morph into a small smile. My palm cradles his face and caresses his cheek. His eyes slowly open.
Ā Ā Ā āOh, what would I do without you?ā I wonder, staring at his eyes full of the playfulness of youth and the honest truth brought by growing up too fast.
Ā Ā Ā āYou would be hopeless without me,ā he answers lightly.
Ā Ā Ā āReally?ā my eyebrows rise questioningly but a smile was glued to my face.
Ā Ā Ā āYeaāāhe pauses and his tone turns serious. āHonestly, you are the single most wonderful, most beautiful person in the world.ā
Ā Ā I bite my lip. It felt amazing to hear those words from him. But that wasnāt true. I was neither the most wonderful nor the most beautiful person. It was him.
Ā Ā Ā āAnd without me, I know youād still be that,ā he says sadly.
Ā Ā Ā There was something odd with the way he said it. He said it likeā¦like he was saying goodbye.
Ā Ā Ā āHey, are you okay? I was just joking around andā¦ā I trail off, not knowing what to tell him next.
Ā Ā Ā āI have to tell you something,ā he swallows and lets out a big huff, āYou know I have a heart condition, right?ā
Ā Ā Ā āYes,ā I start to worry about what heās going to say.
Ā Ā Ā āThe doctors said Iām getting worse and thatāthat I needed a heart transplant.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I am speechless. I look at him, really look at him. And I see the dark shadows beneath his eyes, his pale skin, and his breathing. He breathes so heavily, like the weight of a hundred worlds were on his shoulders. How could I not have noticed? Tears start to spill from my eyes and my vision gets blurry. A hand reaches up to catch the tears, but they continue to fall to my cheeks.
Ā Ā Ā Ā āHey, donāt cry. You said you never cry, remember?ā he tells me. He is such a douche sometimes. But I donāt care. He was one of a kind.
Ā Ā Ā Ā I try to slap his hand off. āSorry, sorry. No need to use violence. Iām the one who should be crying you know. Iām the one whoās about to possibly die.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā His words bring on a new set of tears, louder. I sob and he brings me to an embrace, filling me with āIām sorryās and Itās okayās until Iām calm enough to talk.
Ā Ā Ā āI donāt want to lose you,ā I say helplessly. I only have so much time with him, my head starts to spin.
Ā Ā Ā āYou wonāt lose me. No matter what happens. My heart will always be with you.ā
9 hours. I canāt sleep. His family and my own have told me to get some rest but I couldnāt. Not when I still donāt know if heāll be back. So I sit with his younger sister, his mom and my brother. I look at my heart again. And I remember what he said that day.
My heart will always be with you.
Who are they to say What you will and wonāt be able to do They do not know how you Strive to live through each day Who are they to judge What you can and cannot endure They were not there when your Spirit threatened to crumble, yet your Heart and soul did not budge
Because Iām mad at you, Iāve always been. Because I canāt always be the bigger man. Because Iām not a saint. Because I have limits. Because I am human, I have emotions, I have feeling. Because when Iām falling apart no one can hold me together but myself. Because Iām having a hard time. Because Iām trying so hard to figure things out, but Iām having a hard time with that, too. Because Iām a volcano. Because sometimes I donāt know if Iām being real or not. Because this facade is a defense mechanism and I donāt know if itās good or bad, if I should keep it or try to take it away. Because no one tells me that I can fall apart. Because everyoneās always telling me to keep it together, do the right thing, be responsible, be good, be smart, make the right choices. Because no one tells me these days that itās okay to stumble, that itās okay to make mistakes, that itās okay to make bad decisions because you never really know if itās good or bad until you experience the effects. Because there are bad days, days when I canāt reinforce myself and I canāt push myself to do anything but lie down and think and think and think. Because even though I know itās not true, sometimes I still feel like nobody cares. Because sometimes I could easily fall of the face of the earth and nobody would mourn my disappearance. Because I still feel insecure. Because I still get sad. Because I canāt understand half of the things happening in my life. Because right when I was getting comfortable, I had to be ripped off and taken to a new world. Because I have to start over again, and I donāt seem to know how to do that. Because I canāt seem to set anything straight. Because these days Iām so unsure and afraid and confused. And because Iām sad, really sad.
Melody and lyrics by yours truly and arrangement by some of my guy friends (weāre called the M&Mās because we all have names starting with M. My sister came up with it haha.)
Itās not the best recording (I was laughing a lot and I had a cold), but itās the only one I have. I hope we get to do a better recording of this in the future.
I wrote this when I was in Grade 6. I was probably 10 years old at that time. I still played the keyboard which I used in writing this song. It was for a final project in music class and English class. Iāve reused it thrice after that (shh, itās a secret).
The Facets of Bravery
Ā Ā Ā A five-year-old kid watches superheroes fly in the sky and beat up villains; this is his model of courage. The same kid, now 10 years old, learns about men and women dying in battle and fighting for the nationās freedom; from superhumans, his vision of courage shifts to these national heroes. The child turns into a teenager and watches his father work 18-hour shifts and a side job just to make ends meet. He thinks to himself that maybe, his father, too, is a symbol of courage.
Ā Ā Ā Whoās to say that he had the meaning of courage wrong the first time? Or the second? Or the third? Bravery exists in a hundred ways, each honorable in its own. And sometimes, it can be found in the simplest things.
Ā Ā Ā Shy people tend to do everything to not be put in the spotlight. They stand in corners during a party, sit silently in class, do most things alone. So when shy person makes an effort to get to know someone and befriends him, know that it took every ounce of courage in his body. And this, in itself, is a picture of bravery.
Ā Ā Ā When we get in a fight, most of the time, we wait for the other person to apologize, sometimes, even when we know we were on the wrong side. We see apologizing as a sign of weakness. But it is the opposite. It is a form of bravery because it shows that we are unafraid of making mistakes and of owning up to them.
Ā Ā Ā A woman is diagnosed with a life-threatening disease. Instead of keeping to herself and succumbing to depression, she lives life as if every second were her last. She gives and loves with all she has, determined to face death with a smile. She is a model of courage and strength to everyone.
Ā Ā Some people live their lives seeking for a saving grace. Some sit around while others go to great lengths to find that person who is brave enough to save the world. But donāt they see? There is no need to search because bravery is around us and within us; in different forms, shapes, and sizes.
This is also for English class, the last essay I had to do. It is an illustrative essay which is an essay where you use examples to āillustrateā your subject. This was the first thing that came into mind.

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Grades Are Not The Measure
Ā Ā Grades play a big part in a studentās life. It could sometimes make or break a student. It is a sort of measure of excellence in school. So I thought grades were the measure of a person, but I was wrong.
Ā Ā Ā When one is at the top of class, everyone looks up to him or her. But I have realized greatness does not always equal having the highest marks. A teacher once told me that it is not enough to have a brain; one must also have a heart. For without it, the brain is useless. Grades only show scores of aptitude. They do not tell how they were attained. They do not always show how hard a student worked or how many nights were spent without sleep. They do not show the countless fights between group mates, the headaches, and all the sacrifices. Grades cannot cover every aspect of the personās life. No one can put a score on the time you fell and stood up once again nor on the amount of pain you have endured, on the tears you have spilled, and the sweat you have poured. All of these things make us a person. And all of these things, grades cannot measure.
Ā Ā Ā We study not for grades, but for life, according to the facilitator in our retreat. Studying, for me, must involve actual learning and not just mere memorization and forgetting everything afterwards. Grades are important, yes, they are. But I will not let it define me, nor do I think it defines anyone else. So when we get a low mark in spite of everything, just remember that we are not our grades.
This is a reflective essay I wrote for English class. It has some problems regarding the sentence construction; thus, some parts donāt flow so nicely. But I still like it. This idea had been going through my head for a while, and then we were given a prompt which isĀ āI thought ___, but I was wrong.ā And so this essay happened.
November
I close my eyes and take it all in. November is a friend I meet once a year. This time around I wonder if he returns you to me.
āHold my hand, darling, never let me go,ā I hum as I walk down the street. The crisp autumn wind sends chills down my spine.
I am taken back to a time when capes made us fly, when we were partners in crime trying to save a world we thought fit in our hands.
I lost you once, I cannot remember the reason. But I can recall the season. November was my enemy then; I blamed him for taking you from me.
I sit on a bench, remembering your scent. Footsteps crack leaves, and I turn around. āIāll hold your hand, darling, Iāll never let you go.ā Maybe this is why we call itĀ āFallā.