Ask

I'm leaving because you never asked me to stay.

That's all you have to know

Don't ask me any questions

Just ask me to stay

Ask me to stay

Loving You, Fanfiction

It's almost a bloody miracle, me actually sticking to fanfiction for more than three years already. This calls for celebration, people. =D

Me being so very fickle-minded, have actually continue reading--and even writing (well, sometimes. A very rare sometimes.) fanfiction. This is the power of Harry Potter, I guess, and the flexibility of fanfiction. Especially when Harry and Severus comes together. 'Cause we all want to see the impossible of impossibilities.

There have been a few cathartic moments in my short history of mingling about in fanfiction, I guess you can say. Of course, it all started with Harry Potter and the Enemy Within, which introduced to me the absolute wonder and mouth-gaping awe of Severus-Harry mentor fics. How the characters were kept in character, and yet still melded together to form a completely, refreshingly new perspective. How the plot was twisted and turned, flipped and flopped, so convoluted that I kept asking for more.

And so came Lily's Charm and its sequels, then A Year Like None Other, Never Say Remember, and JaWorley, and Suite Sambo, and Potionsandsnitches.net, and so many many many more.

Of course, Lily's Charm, Never Say Remember, and AYLNO are among the best I've read, and god knows how many I've read.  These fics are absolutely heart-rending, heart-breaking and heart-warming. And JaWorley? Suite Sambo? Never fail to dig that hole inside me.

I guess after three years -- an amazing record-breaker-- of fanfiction reading/writing, I figured I might as well document it so that later when I'm old and grey and whatever they say, I can look back and remember the wonders of Harry Potter, and the worlds it created for so many fans out there. =)

Cheers.

P.s. The event that inspired this bout of writing/babbling was the discovery of Suite Sambo's Moment of Impact's sequels. I've only read one of hers (Remember Remember) and it was positively heart-rending. Not the bawling type, but the ones that digs so deep that you have to stop and remember to breathe through the hole. And from the scanning through of the sequels (meaning the ctrl c and v), I've already caught a few glimpses of absolutely wonderful phrases, some from poems and some from quotes, that catches the eye, with hold your breath and jerks your tears. Am having trouble swallowing, actually, so I figured writing might help.
P.p.s. It did. A little.  

I Love You Last Night

I love you last night

When desire overthrows logic

And darkness concealed what it ought to show

When you give me the kind of feeling people write novels about

I love you last night

When boundaries were crossed

And words were thrown where it ought not to

Just 'cause you gave me the kind of feeling people write novels about

I love you last night

When secrets were spilled

And nobody knew what anybody ought or ought not do

Since you gave me the kind of feeling people write novels about

And when these people write novels about

This kind of feeling felt so deeply

Did they ever thought of an antidote

To the confusion that was brought on, and the suspense so thrilling?

I love you last night

When you gave me the kind of feeling people write novels about

And now it's morning...

When Insomnia Strikes

When insomnia strikes, that's when the mind goes where it doesn't usually visit. Places hidden deep, yet resurface during odd moments in your daily life so often that you don't even register its presence. But when insomnia strikes, these moments replay one by one in your mind, and instead of trying hard to fall back into the world of the undead, the mind whirs back to life, frantically analyzing and reanalyzing every single one of those moments.

I remember once reading about realizing presence. You won't know a person's presence, an object's presence--anything's presence, until you've lost it, or near to losing it. "As contraries are best known by contraries, so is the delight of presence best known by the torments of absence." Is it the torments from loss of sleep that brings forth the delights of clarity of mind; or is the mind even clear when your body craves the rest the brain simply doesn't want to give?

Of course, one does wonder where my clarity has gone with such confusing structures of sentences. Perhaps I really do need that sleep after all.

Then again, what one needs, one does not always gets.

People always ask, why are you not sleeping together with the world? I would have love to answer "because I do not belong with the world," but I'm not sure if it's the complete truth. The world is an odd place; just as you're getting comfy, thinking "ah, this is where I belong", something falls, crashes, burn and topple, and just like that you're in stranger lands yet again. And vice versa. Sometimes I think nobody belongs completely with the world. We;re all living in our own secluded planet.

And my very own planet is half dark half light. People tell me Geminis are supposed to be just that; half of everything. Sometimes I think so too. I'm torn into two, and without these two halves it's like I'm not complete. But I don't think one can be both and still be sane, and so, the darker part was chased into concealment, locked away and stashed behind a smile, diverted with a toothy grin.

And eventually the lighter part became dominant, the mask solidify, and the pretense drops. Constant vigilance and an intense fear of judgment had done their job well, had moulded and shaped both parts--light and dark--to suit you up for what the world wants to see. The pouts and tears and frowns are suppressed, because who wants rain and thunder when rainbows and sunlight is prettier? And so the mask and you become one, soldered together so tightly until you don't know which is which anymore.

Who am I, and which is the mask?

And why am I so afraid of judgmental eyes, when my life is for me to live and mine alone? Who do I have to fear and please besides myself?

But I do care, and I do fear, and I do still want to please. And every time one of those people who have not a care for others walk and talk with minimal fear of offense, I can only admire from afar. For politeness is firmly ingrained, courtesy driven deep, and a strong sturdy chain of longing and wants grounds me, my wings clipped. As Vida Winter said, "Politeness. Now there's a poor man's virtue if ever there was one. What's so admirable about inoffensiveness, I should like to know. After all, it's easily achieved. One needs no particular talent to be polite. On the contrary, being nice is what's left when you've failed at everything else. People with ambition don't give a damn what other people think about them."

Am I without ambition? Maybe I just need something to push me from me safety zone and I'll be flying. A shot of something not completely pleasant, yet unflinchingly powerful.

But for now, I keep my own secrets for fear of judgments, I keep my own wants for fear of criticisms, and I keep my silence (which I never seem to be able to keep nowadays).

Perhaps it's time to go back to bed, and let the mind goes where it wants to.

Familiar Strangers

(Written for Goodreads Newsletter contest;

 inspired by a conversation in the middle of the night )


Fingers flying, clacking keys
Silent conversations, a thousand miles apart
Engaging battles armed with words
Duels of a strange sort
The new era is born


I know you, stranger, yet I don't know you
Never a look in your eyes
Yet,
Lines and lines of filtered pages, words from a heart
Friend, acquaintance, or just another stranger?


If by chance, we crossed paths amidst the crowds
Would you recognize me, bid a friendly hello?
Or would we waltz past, and go home
And resume a conversation in virtual lands
Where I am who I want to be


The new era is born,
So is human's new generation
A species where everyone knows and not knows
The man on the train, the lady in fishnets...


The many faces and forms

Of Familiar strangers.

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