Like The Books We Studied, and Before Long, Forgotten

 

"Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
Is Time long past"

~ P.B. Shelley

It's been a while I've sat my arse down and finally do something productive *coughs ashamedly*. This ecstasy high I'm riding now is rather conducive to another bout of excessive blathering and meaningless chatter.Why am I soaring happily, joyfully, exultation shining in my eyes, you ask.

Why, dear, I've just finished the last paper of this semester's finals!

This semester had been surprisingly short, and yet infinitely long. I've grown much, and regressed even more. I've broke rules I'd never dared before, broke traditions that used to define the very essence of me, invited changes like rain on dry lands, and most of all, looking back and wondering how, and when, did I ever get to where I am now. Everything in this semester was the perfect balance of opposites; a tenuous balance.

I' don't think I really have the state of mind to blather on about goodbyes and whatnots like I used to last year. I blame the physick's high. I guess I'll get that feeling someday this week, of time past and goodbyes unsaid, but not today.

Today's a day for celebration!

And, if there's a rational part of me left, reflection.

What to celebrate, some may ask. Why, the most obvious one is the papers finished and the semester gone! God knows how many hours we pored over the books, battling vainly against the temptations of evil *coughs tetris cough* and merciless time. Tests followed tests, like starved dogs after juicy tenderloins, and what else could we do but clinging on to the eleventh hour asking it not to leave us? The semester might be short and scattered with holidays, but when it comes to the time period between tests... Let's just say I'd rather have a longer semester.

Then the finals. The comforts of home far out of reach, it's hot and stuffy and ice-cold showers (if you call that trickle a 'shower') that accompanied me through the study-week-from-hell. But at least I managed to do a little of studying, and well. I can't say it paid off, 'cause I don't think it did, what with my tenuous thread of resistance against temptations. I did read one hell of a fanfiction during that time though. *Cackles*

So when the final paper ends, it's rather easy to understand why I, like the mainstream college society, would like to get a little wild, rebel against the bars that'd caged me in for so long, and do a little celebrating of my own.

But there are other reasons to celebrate, if you look closer.

Friends that got even closer, new acquaintances that I've come to know, family members that got even more precious; new places to explore, old places to reminisce; times of laughter and frustration and all those small little moments I'll soon forget. Moments where a single comment set off a chain reaction of laughter and embarrassment, a sudden change in topic tests' schedule that gave us a first-hand experience of CVD, lectures that gurgled with lameness.

All those things to celebrate, I doubt I can finish celebrating in one semester break. *grins*

I'll admit I've grown a little more... *aherm* for lack of a better word, wild. I blame both Hannah Chen and those fanfictions with their "innocent" innuendos. But if youth doesn't get you crazy, what does? And if you don't get crazy and wild when you're young, when else? I don't want to be dancing in a pub with creaky bones and arthritis wearing my polka dot granny miniskirt. Not that I won't be as wild as I am now when I hit sixty. *Winks*

I've also got a little bit bolder, I hope. I used to admire those who did what they want however they want it. Within reason, of course. Those that speak their minds and show their hearts, fearing no judgement from others. I've tried to emulate them, but I can't say it's been a success. I'm incredibly vain, and I know that. *Sheepish grin* But I guess I'm still learning. Rome wasn't built in one day, though that's probably because there's weren't any ultra-cool machines back then. However, I'm still hanging on to that small hope that I'm progressing. However small that progress is. Maybe if you use a microscope.

And of course, my introductory phrase of a poem. "Like the ghost of a dear friend dead, is Time, long past." It's been a year. A year since everything was overturned, and my daily routine of school-tuition-comfy-bed-hot-showers collapsed. A new routine had to be constructed again, and like a bricklayer, I had to lay it down one brick at a time, waiting for it to harden, to stabilize, to familiarize. Still, I've only settled down and the end is near. One more year, and everything will be over all over again, a cycle with no end. *sighs* Ah, we'll deal with that when that comes knocking me flat.

*glance at watch* Oh shyte. I need to hurry up. Bus awaits my arrival, Malacca awaits my homecoming. *swoons*

I guess my high's coming down pretty fast after all that mushy spew. I hope your lunch didn't make a reappearance. Though if it did, I'm flattered. Be sure to tell me though. It's past time I stop and bid adieu, though with utmost regret, I must say I will be back with another story to tell, another time. Let's cross our fingers that the next story will hold a little more twists and interesting events, shall we?

Enjoy your holidays, for those who are enjoying it now, and all the best waiting for the holidays, for those still awaiting. *Smiles*

And here's to Time long past, a walk to be remembered, a journey to be recorded, a dream to never be forgotten.

"Like the ghost of a dear friend dead

Is Time long past.

A tone which is now forever fled,

A hope which is now forever past,

A love so sweet it could not last,

Was Time long past.

There were sweet dreams in the night

Of Time long past:

And, was it sadness or delight,

Each day a shadow onward cast

Which made us wish it yet might last-

That Time long past.

There is regret, almost remorse,

For Time long past.

'Tis like a child's beloved corse

A father watches, till at last

Beauty is like remembrance, cast

From Time long past."

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learning To Stand Again

Sometimes I feel that the older we grow, the more we have to learn.

It's funny, actually, what prompted this bout of creative (my @$$) writing. Remember that time when we were in love with Mia and Michael from Meg's Princess Diaries? Remember how I used to write in my diary every day every minute every second? Remember how I wrote about class was boring and me fantasizing about Zac Efron and my heart stopping during competitions and stuff? How I used to read back then laugh at the preposterous things I spewed?

The times when we were young.

I stopped my last diary entry at approximately 24th of September back in 2010. it wasn't a sudden stop; no, nothing ever is. It was gradual, and I knew it was gonna stop, but I simply couldn't find the determination to continue. To preserve every moment and the innocence (if there ever was one) of being young.

So it stopped. And my blog started to rot and decay as well.

Well, that day, I went grocery shopping, and there was this bright yellow journal which came together with one of my groceries. There was a huge "CHANGE" in the middle of the cover. So I thought, why not, since I didn't bring my original diary with me, and my blog is beginning to look like a poems' page instead of an online diary.

I started to write again.

Or should I say, I started to learn what writing feels like again. Learning to write again, learning to breathe again.

I don't know, ever since I got to this school, all I seem to write is short answers for biology, formal-tin-canned essays for English and Facebook statuses. Every time I open my file where all my past writings were kept in, my mind goes blank.

Even now, I'm facing troubles to find topics to write on, here in my blog.

Learning to write again, not intimidating words or stiff formal writing, but creative writing. Now, one of my favourite past-times is to reread what I had written all these years back, be it bored doodles during classes, or blog posts, diaries entries, even Facebook statuses.

Since when did I become so... boring?

Trying to write my first entry in my new diary was... hard. I didn't know what to write beyond "saw this diary in Giant today while shopping.Decided to start writing again." I couldn't think of a single thing in my day I remembered and wanted to tell the future me. Of course, I'm sure there was thousands of little things worth mentioning, but i was just... blank. My mind went empty.

So I flipped through my mental archive of my past diaries. I remember them being filled with giggly stuff, swoons and thousands of happy and furious memories. Then I went through the stuff I wrote in previous essays, fanfictions and stories. Where did that whatever-ness go to?

Writing needs practice. Even now in school I struggle to form a single coherent sentence while writing the formal English essays. After that, I'm at a loss. What else is there to write? What more can I elaborate on? Unless someone provides the point, I'm useless. I'm only good at editing nowadays. I'm no good at writing anymore, so don't even ask me to write a story.

I'm no more the girl who loves to write anymore; I'm nothing but a shadow of that.

My new diary. It has now a total of four entries--one per day. And it gives me a shadow of the joy I used to feel when reading back my old diaries, back when I was fifteen, sixteen. This is my last teen, I want it to mean something. We used to have time to observe and just observe the world, then put it down on paper. But now... I don't know where all my time goes.

Only time can tell if I can find it again, that old me who could see a simple thing and have lots and lots of inspirations which resulted in lots and lots of memories--colourful, interesting, funny, precious memories. I know it's still there, but maybe it just needs to wake up.

Growing up takes up too much time. People say time is what you give yourself. I agree, I know. But being a kid and having nothing else to do but study and play gives you more time than enough. I know that now. Growing up brings more responsibilities and jobs that take up more time. Time is no longer what it was. Now, to read a book, I have to take the risk that I might not finish my homework today, or tomorrow's test will be a disaster.

People used to say growing up helps you learn more things, to learn more about what you are, where you belong, what makes you tick and what makes you fume. Learn more about how the world works, how everything in earth goes the way it is. The truth is, Yes, I do learn all that--and I love it all--but what's the price? I know I don't have to give up anything I've learned and loved, but something's gotta give. Something's gotta make place for the new things coming in. I'm only human; not a bottomless pit.

Growing up. I don't even know why I wanted it in the first place. I guess everyone just wants what they cannot have.

So I'm learning to stand again. Not actually standing, but stand for those I love. Stand against the current of events sweeping away these things I love. I don't want them to leave me. I don't want them to go away. To keep this part of me close at heart--my new year resolution.

AND yeah, I'm blabbing nonsense again. Shut up, Wart.

P.s. Goodbye February. It was nice meeting you, especially your elusive end. :)