Uncategorized

Who Knew?!

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

Dear Self

First of all, I am surprised you made it this far.

Frankly, I doubt that staying alive this long was really your choice. At this age maybe you are incapacitated and maybe some of your requests and wishes have not been respected.

Anyway, if you did choose this, why?

What on earth made you change your mind? Who or what convinced you that life is worth living? Are you satisfied with how things turned out? Did you end up having a good and healthy relationship with someone, and how did you contribute to that relationship?

What do you enjoy doing? Did you find meaningful work or something that you are good at? Did you learn to accept yourself the way you are, or did you succeed in improving yourself?

Are you truly happy?

Stories

“Stuff I Tell My Therapist”

Email two: 24 January 2022, 23:30

Jane

I don’t know what a loving relationship is supposed to feel like. Maybe my expectations for how our relationship is supposed to be are unrealistic.

But aren’t we supposed to be free to talk to each other about anything? I feel like I can’t be honest with my partner at all. I am afraid  he will judge me as he always does.

I want to be myself around Nohim but whenever I do, I get judged or my motives get questioned. I can’t live like this. 

Is it possible that choosing to be with this person was a mistake? 

Maybe we are not compatible. 

It makes me extremely anxious to see him angry or disappointed in me.

To be honest I didn’t get into a relationship with him because I fell in love- I’m still not sure what that feels like- I got with him because I felt like I wasn’t worthy of someone else (someone better). I said to myself; “well, at least someone wants me” 

It was a stupid decision, I know. And I regret it especially when I see couples who seem to be “truly in love”.

I feel like I ruined his chance of being happy with someone who would be compatible with him and would make him happy. 

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I am afraid of being unwanted by others if I decide to leave him.  

Please don’t judge me, I already have to deal with that at home.

Depressed Patient no. 55

Poetry

“The Last Man Standing”

He is standing there . . . still like a well-crafted statue.

Loyal to his assignment, never moving.

A faithful witness, dependable and true.

A reliable timekeeper, he is never late.

The rains never faze him. The winds never shake him.

His face as pale as white ash glimmers through the darkness of the night.

His stark features make him stand out from others of his kind.

Clad in classic all-black attire that carefully wraps around him like a meticulously woven cloak.

His countenance slightly changes with each passing night but his exuding beauty still humbles me every time.

I marvel at his presence, I stare just for a little while longer before I walk away.

He basks in the attention of his audience.
Young and old, they are all captivated by his spectacular image.

Cool, calm, and quiet.

Composed even in the face of the dangers of the night.

He rests his eyes on me, and I feel safe under his protective gaze.

His bright silvery eyes reassure me.

He stretches out his hand to help me find my way home.

Stories

“Call Me by My Name.”

Her heart was pounding, the wind blowing against her thick coily air, and her feet almost levitating off the ground, all those hours of training seem to have finally paid off. She is racing through the sports field. Sprinting passed her competition. She is almost there, almost at the finish line.

That was three weeks ago, and today she is still running, this time not toward the finish line, but toward safety. Running from that sweet lady from the flower shop, instead of lilies, she has a machete in her hands. That librarian who always shushed her and her friends for making noise in the library is the one shouting out the loudest “Get her, they must all die!”. And that postman who used to greet her every morning with a smile is now on the frontline of the crowd, the instigator.

She had been dodging bullets a few days ago, but it looks like people have run out of ammunition, and now they use whatever they can find as assault weapons. At first, it was fear in their eyes, but now it is pure rage and hate. They just want her dead.

This disease has changed many things, but the worst it has done is take away her precious memories. She can’t even remember her name.

As she runs passed the park, a sudden image crosses her mind like a vision. it’s of a man, familiar but strange. He is teaching a little girl how to ride a bike, a pink bike with sparkles on the paddles, and a small white basket in the front. She could hear his soft voice, so soothing, so encouraging as the little girl fell off her bike over and over again. “Never give up, no matter what okay? now go on dear, go on…try again, I’m here for you” he says. Determined, the little girl picks herself up and gets on the bike again. After paddling for longer than she did before and making it to the other side of the park, with the man running right beside her, she shouted out “Daddy, look I did it!”

She slowed down while trying to savor that moment. Tearing up, and looking back at the park she then slipped and fell over a toy, probably abandoned there during the chaos of people trying to leave town when the disease had started spreading.

The mob was coming closer and closer toward her, more determined than ever to be rid of her kind, the infected ones. As she tried to pull herself up, waking from the daydream of what seemed to be a memory of her past, a young man suddenly appeared from the side of the street, took her by her hand, and pulled her up to run. He took her into his white van and they drove off.

Wait…who are you?” she tried to say but her words come out all scrambled and chopped. She is losing her speech now. She is changing faster than she expected. The young man turns to her and says,
“Don’t worry I won’t hurt you, I’m taking you to a safe place, it will all be alright, trust me.”
Did he hear what I said?
She is confused but feels safe enough.
She has no more energy left to fight anyway. Maybe he is her last hope of finding out who she is and finding her family, if they are still alive.

She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror, she is not an attractive young athlete anymore. The disease has added a few years to her face. Her beautiful golden-brown glow is turning to a pale grayish tone, almost transparent. Cold to the touch. Dark dilated pupils are looking back at her, she no longer has that pleasant hazel gaze that the boy from Geography class fell head over heels for.
She looks to her rescuer in the driver’s seat and notices how handsome he is, with clear skin and dark curly bangs that hung over his big brown eyes. She is jealous of his youthfulness. He is wearing a grey hoody, some faded blue jeans, and white sneakers.
Typical white-boy swag.

She sees they are leaving the city and going into the countryside. The more she tries to speak, the less she is understood.

Twitching and ticking have set in now, a sign that she is almost completely changed.
Her rescuer notices this and offers her some food as a distraction from the thought of her terrible fate. A stale tuna sandwich, and bottled water. She accepts as she hasn’t eaten in days. She didn’t even notice how hungry she was. As she bites into the sandwich the taste reminds her of something, but she doesn’t know what. She struggles to hold on to her fading memories but they are quickly slipping away. The disease is close to killing her, well the old her.

They make it to their destination, a massive
mansion in the countryside. Inside they are greeted by a young couple and an old woman with money and authority written all over her. She could have been the mayor or a town councilor, but she couldn’t recognize her anyway. They seem to be excited to see her, relieved even.

“Hi, my name is Leo and this is my wife Cassie, I’m sure Jonathan took good care of you, right?” The man said smiling, dressed in matching cargo pants and black t-shirts with his wife.

She didn’t realize that her savior had not introduced himself. She glanced back at him.
Johnathan, that sounds familiar.
They lock eyes. The old woman interrupts the moment and says in an authoritative voice, “I am Victoria, nice to meet you.” stretching out her hand for a handshake.

“My…name is…well, I don’t quite remember, I was hoping you would help me with that. I…uh”
She remembers that no one can understand her.

“Don’t worry dear, no need to explain,” Cassie says, she looks a little frightened but tries to hide it with pseudo-confidence.

They pull her into a room set up like a lab.
“Sit down dear” Victoria says.
Who are these people? Are they scientists? Am I their next experiment?
She is uneasy and hesitates to sit. She looks around for Johnathan, he is standing leaning against the door with his arms folded. He looks calm and tries to reassure her with a smile and a nod.

She sits, Cassie tries to strap her in the chair, but she resists.
“Stop! (Hissing)… no, (mouning) stop it, please! (Snarling)”
Everyone froze, she could tell that they were afraid of her but they were still
determined to do whatever it is they meant to do with her.
Johnathan comes closer, kneels beside the chair, and holds her hand. For some reason she trusts him, and without a word spoken she calms down and lets Cassie finish what she started.

Victoria just watches from the corner of the room like she is the one in control of the whole thing, whatever it is.

Leo then appears with gloves on and a needle and syringe in his hands. “This will sting a little.”
Oh well, that’s it for me then. I had a good run.
Taking one last look at Johnathan, she squeezes his hand. He looks into her eyes and says “It’s okay Aisha, you’ll be alright.”
Ais…Aisha, that’s it! that’s my name!
Wait, don’t…how do you know me? how do you know my n…
She falls into a deep sleep.

Poetry

“This is not a Love Letter”

To my hopeless love

This is not a love letter, rather, I write you with a heavy heart because I know we can never be together. Even so, I am gripped and can’t break free from your charm.

This is not a love letter, but I am incarcerated by your gaze. The truth in your eyes sees right through the lies in mine. I try to hide it, but you are all-knowing. Just a glance from you melts away all my defenses and chokes away all the words from my mouth. I can’t seem to remember how to speak or breathe.

I promise this is not a love letter, however, your rare touch, insignificant as it may be to you, leaves me longing for more. My hands and body quickly free themselves from your embrace but my soul can’t, and won’t let go.

This is still not a love letter, but the sound of your voice leaves me paralysed I lose my sense of self and I scramble to pick up the pieces of my scattered mind. That is what you do to me.

This is certainly not a love letter because we both belong to someone else, but I cannot ignore the passion between us whenever we are together, and the emptiness I feel when we are apart. Tell me what to do in this desperate situation, in this tug-of-war where the battlefield is my heart. How do I escape you or forget you?

This is not a love letter, but it might as well be because my heart belongs to you.

From your secrete love

Poetry

“Chloe”

She was planted on the cold hard ground.

Stomped on, stunted, just left behind.
Suffocating in a dark, cramped space, feeling confined.
The only voice of comfort was her own, her own mind.

She was scattered along the concrete sidewalk.

Expected to take root, expected to flourish.
Neglected, unwatered, unnourished.
Will she ever grow or see the light of day?
Or will she perish and just wither away?

Yes, she was forsaken. Yes, she was shaken. But she was never broken.

Against all odds, she began to sprout.
Shunning all doubt.
Shooting out, aiming for the sun.
She is chosen, yes she is the one.

Budding, flowering, blooming!
Soon all will see her rare beauty, so consuming.
They will hear her song unsung.
Be mindful, her journey has just begun.

Stories

“A Letter to My Yesterday”

315 Regret Ave
Lost Angeles, CA 90015
September 5


Dear Yesterday,

I hope this letter finds you well. As well as you can be after what I did to you.

I write you this letter while looking at a lovely photograph of us together at the fair from three summers ago. I don’t have to look too long at this picture to notice the beaming happiness on both our faces. September 26 (a day I will never forget) is the date marked on the back of the photo.

I was wearing a short black pleated skirt with those sneakers that you liked, and you had that classic plain white t-shirt and blue jeans look that I was crazy about.

In one hand I had that pink stuffed teddy bear you won for me after playing three brutal yet hilarious rounds of Whac-A-Mole, and with the other, I held on tightly to your waist. My head was cradled on your chest, and to this day I can still smell your alluring scent.

There was a tenderness in the way you looked at me, and my heart was so full due to the abundance of your pure love.

But that was years ago. A lot has changed since then. I like to go over those times in my mind because they give me a sense of comfort that at least there was a time when I made someone happy. A time when I made you happy.

Lately, though, the thought of you has been keeping me from sleeping. I keep recalling the look on your face as I was leaving. Almost every night I’ve been dreaming about you. Dreaming about us reconciling, but at the end of every dream, I still break your heart.

It is no secret that I have moved on, but have I truly? Have you? Do I ever cross your mind?

Each year when September comes, memories of you flood my mind. A part of me keeps holding on because I still care, I hope you still care.

Old friend, you were like my home. It hurts to think that now you are just someone I used to know.

I know that meeting up with me is not even an option for you. I don’t blame you, because the last time we spoke you told me you loved me, and all I said was nothing. I regret it because now I have so much to say to you.

I apologize for breaking your heart and I hope you are happy now wherever you are, with whomever you are with. I hope she treats you better and makes you throw your head back in laughter like you used to with me.

I don’t know what will happen after this letter reaches you, but just know that the words of our favorite song will always be true. At least to me:

“Whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better
We belong, we belong together.”


Sincerely,

Your first love









Poetry

“You have one new voice message”


A note? Really?!

You didn’t have to stoop so low.
Could have just told me to my face.
Well, I guess you’re just slow.

I loved you for real.
Instead of loving me back,
You just made all my mistakes a big deal.
Endless nagging and whining
In front of friends and family, you always had the worst timing.

Good riddance!
That’s all I can say.
I hope you never come back my way.

I guess we were never meant for each other,
Because we were never good together.

I don’t care if I hurt you, because you hurt me too.
Don’t act all innocent, you know very well that “it takes two.”
I wish you all the best too.
As long as I never hear from you.
Next time someone mentions you,
My response will be “Sasha, who?”

Poetry

“The note on the Kitchen Counter”

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve already left.

The act is over, no more pretending.
We both knew from the start that we would never have a happy ending.

Loving you doesn’t feel right anymore.
It feels more like a chore.
Believe me when I say you hurt me to my core.

I wish I could say writing this was hard.
But the truth is, all your “love” ever did was leave me scarred.
No love allowed, I am like a wall. All emotions are barred.

I can’t decide what hurt the most, your actions or your words.
But that doesn’t matter anymore
I’m good, regardless of what you thought or heard.

I want to fall in love again, but this time with no regret.
What you and I had is over, I just want to forget.
I’m leaving you, and no, this is not a threat, not a test.
Despite everything though, I wish you all the best.

Poetry

“What I’m hoping for”

I never knew loneliness until I met you.
I never knew pain until I felt you.
I never knew fear until you looked into my eyes.
I never knew sorrow until you rejected me and never held me when I cried.

I am not asking for too much.
Please don’t judge, or hold a grudge.
I just need a little attention.
That’s why now and then I give you a little nudge,
For you to look at me, just look at me.

Is it that hard for you to express your feelings for me?
If I was different would you treat me differently?
What do I need to change please do tell?
I will do anything, I’ll try to break out of my shell.

I’m tired of fighting for a portion of your heart.
Either you give me your all, or you’ll watch me depart!

What if I meet another
Who will treat me like no other?
With one look, he will know exactly what’s in my heart.
And he will accept and love my every part.

But that’s just what I’m hoping for.