phoenix-letters

[phoenix-letters]

don't abandon yourself

[phoenix-letters]

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

write it and write it again and again until it loses its truth

[phoenix-letters]

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 ♡

[phoenix-letters]

from chapter 103 (ExR):

Wei WuXian pressed his temples, “Forget it. It’s all in the past now. Let’s not mention it again.”

It wasn’t something he liked to reminisce about. He didn’t 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, he’d most likely laugh and comfort Jiang Cheng, ‘It’s not that big of a deal anyways. Look at me all these years. Without the core, I still managed to come through, didn’t I? Beating everyone I wanted to beat, killing everyone I wanted to kill.’ But now, he indeed didn’t have the strength left to put up such a confident, nonchalant pretense.

From the bottom of his heart, he knew he wasn’t 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 wasn’t much lower than Jiang Cheng’s. 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 he’d never reach the stars using proper means, knowing he’d never wield his sword with the excellence that was supposed to bring astonishment to so many eyes, he wondered if Jiang FengMiang hadn’t take him back to Lotus Pier, perhaps he wouldn’t cross paths with cultivation his whole life. Then he would have never known that such a magnificent path existed in this world. He’d only be a head beggar who roamed the streets, fleeing at first sight of a dog, or maybe looking after cows and stealing other people’s crops in the countryside, playing his flute to pass his time. He wouldn’t have known to cultivate, and he definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to form a core. With such thoughts, he’d felt much better.

Take it as repayment, or take it as redemption. Take it as he’d 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, “Uh, I think it’s best if you… also stop keeping it on your mind. I know you’ll definitely always keep it on your mind, but, how should I say it…” He clenched Lan WangJi’s hand, saying to Jiang Cheng, “Right now, I do really think… it’s all in the past. It’s been too long. There’s no need to struggle with it any longer.”

[phoenix-letters]

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.

[phoenix-letters]

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.

[phoenix-letters]

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 :(

[phoenix-letters]

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

[phoenix-letters]

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

[phoenix-letters]

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"

[phoenix-letters]

Waiting for the End

I sit fidgeting on cold grey metal chairs. My eyes are dry, my insides empty. I’ve 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,‘Please don’t take him, please don’t. Please’. 

    It’s been 8 hours. He’s 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.

    A memory.

    My eyes are closed and the wind whistles past my ears, the leaves rustling. It’s a nice summer day and I soak up the sun. Naturally, he is beside me, trying to bring me out of my trance. 

     “Stop it! I’m meditating,” I say, trying not to laugh but failing miserably. I keep my eyes closed. He keeps poking my sides. I’m so ticklish and he makes fun of me for it. 

     “Meditating, huh?” 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.

     I open my eyes and move closer to him until I’m 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.

    “Oh, what would I do without you?” I wonder, staring at his eyes full of the playfulness of youth and the honest truth brought by growing up too fast.

    “You would be hopeless without me,” he answers lightly.

    “Really?” my eyebrows rise questioningly but a smile was glued to my face.

    “Yea—“he pauses and his tone turns serious. “Honestly, you are the single most wonderful, most beautiful person in the world.”

   I bite my lip. It felt amazing to hear those words from him. But that wasn’t true. I was neither the most wonderful nor the most beautiful person. It was him.

    “And without me, I know you’d still be that,” he says sadly.

    There was something odd with the way he said it. He said it like…like he was saying goodbye.

    “Hey, are you okay? I was just joking around and…” I trail off, not knowing what to tell him next.

    “I have to tell you something,” he swallows and lets out a big huff, “You know I have a heart condition, right?”

    “Yes,” I start to worry about what he’s going to say.

    “The doctors said I’m getting worse and that—that I needed a heart transplant.”

      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.

     “Hey, don’t cry. You said you never cry, remember?” he tells me. He is such a douche sometimes. But I don’t care. He was one of a kind.

     I try to slap his hand off. “Sorry, sorry. No need to use violence. I’m the one who should be crying you know. I’m the one who’s about to possibly die.”

     His words bring on a new set of tears, louder. I sob and he brings me to an embrace, filling me with ‘I’m sorry’s and It’s okay’s until I’m calm enough to talk.

    “I don’t want to lose you,” I say helplessly. I only have so much time with him, my head starts to spin.

    “You won’t lose me. No matter what happens. My heart will always be with you.”

9 hours. I can’t sleep. His family and my own have told me to get some rest but I couldn’t. Not when I still don’t know if he’ll 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.

[phoenix-letters]

Who are they to say What you will and won’t 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

[phoenix-letters]

Because I’m mad at you, I’ve always been. Because I can’t always be the bigger man. Because I’m not a saint. Because I have limits. Because I am human, I have emotions, I have feeling. Because when I’m falling apart no one can hold me together but myself. Because I’m having a hard time. Because I’m trying so hard to figure things out, but I’m having a hard time with that, too. Because I’m a volcano. Because sometimes I don’t know if I’m being real or not. Because this facade is a defense mechanism and I don’t know if it’s 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 everyone’s 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 it’s okay to stumble, that it’s okay to make mistakes, that it’s okay to make bad decisions because you never really know if it’s good or bad until you experience the effects. Because there are bad days, days when I can’t reinforce myself and I can’t push myself to do anything but lie down and think and think and think. Because even though I know it’s 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 can’t 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 don’t seem to know how to do that. Because I can’t seem to set anything straight. Because these days I’m so unsure and afraid and confused. And because I’m sad, really sad.

[phoenix-letters]

Melody and lyrics by yours truly and arrangement by some of my guy friends (we’re called the M&M’s because we all have names starting with M. My sister came up with it haha.)

It’s not the best recording (I was laughing a lot and I had a cold), but it’s 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. I’ve reused it thrice after that (shh, it’s a secret).

[phoenix-letters]

The Facets of Bravery

     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 nation’s 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.

     Who’s 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.

     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.

     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.

     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.

    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 don’t 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 “illustrate” your subject. This was the first thing that came into mind.

[phoenix-letters]

Grades Are Not The Measure

    Grades play a big part in a student’s 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.

     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 person’s 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.

     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 don’t 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 is “I thought ___, but I was wrong.” And so this essay happened.

[phoenix-letters]

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.

“Hold my hand, darling, never let me go,” 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. “I’ll hold your hand, darling, I’ll never let you go.” Maybe this is why we call it “Fall”.