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.