Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the
night, feeling my lungs constricting, the bed sheets wrapping around my body,
the darkness overwhelming me. I’m paralyzed and I’m not sure if it’s my body
still waking up or just the fear.
It’s not ghosts, monsters or demons that
scare me. It’s these little whispers in head that make me wonder if I’m about
to follow the yellow brick road straight to crazy land. These insecurities that
I manage to suffocate during the day.
I wonder if I’m good enough. If I’ll ever
amount to something. If this career I chose isn't just a suicide mission. I chose
a path that millions of people take and only a few special persons succeed. So what
made me think I could make it? The little awkward girl from Malta whose dreams
are bigger than the island she lives on. Is it a cruel joke from Mother Nature?
To make us humans want more than we can ever achieve?
Why can I not be happy with finding a mediocre
job that earns enough money to afford a roof over my head? Instead of trying to
find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and risk ending up on the road,
under newspapers, begging for money to be able to buy cheap carton box wine to
forget what we did to ourselves. Are we naturally self-destructive? Can we base
our lives on the exceptions? Because most of those that succeed are exceptions.
There were several other people who were as good but just weren't lucky enough.
And for a girl who’s luck can’t even get her a bus on time, well I’m in big
trouble.
So I hope. I hope that by working hard and
being relatively good, positive karma will reach me back. And let me tell you
if karma is a bitch, then hope is karma’s mother. And I am screwed.
All my life I
have surrounded myself with words. Words I read in books, words I hear from
films and shows. Words I write. I was always fascinated by the power of words.
How a passage from a book, a few words from a writer, a couple of lines from a
movie can make you feel so much when it isn't even directed to you. I know the
power of words. I know what hateful words can do to a person and I know what a
few nice words can do as well.
One of the
reasons I love writing is that you can delete and rewrite whatever you want.
You can think things through. You can place words in a way that they mean
exactly what you want them to mean.
It’s quite
different than speaking, especially for a professional blurter like me. I tend
to say words that sound quite well in my head and sound horrible when spoken
out loud. It could be a cowardly thing to do but I prefer writing. I don’t do well with phone calls or face to face talking especially with
strangers.
I’m awkward. I
have accepted that fact a long time ago and I've dealt with it. But that doesn't
mean that when I blurt something out, that should have stayed hidden in the
folds of my brain, I don’t cringe. Not only do I cringe but I keep thinking
about those few stupidly spoken words. I wonder what effect they had on the
person. I wonder what others think of me because of those words. And vice-versa
when someone says something, I analyse it, I dissect it and investigate all the
possibilities of its meaning
.
I realise that
most people don’t mean half the things they say. Or they do and that’s just
another lie society fed us. But true or not, I do ponder on words. I love
words. I love how they sound. I love the fact that with a few well chosen words, you can make a sentence musical. I like the fact that you can express most
things with words. I love learning new words, hearing new phrases, the many possibilities.
That is also
why, when words fail, I pretty much retreat in my shell. Because there are
moments where words are useless. What do you tell a person who has lost a loved
one? What do you tell someone who just had their dreams crushed? What do you
tell a couple who are going through a break up?
I feel useless
and powerless and well no one likes to feel that way do they? When I’m at a
loss for words, I feel like I've disappointed people, like I've disappointed
myself. Because words mean so much to me and I expect to be able to say a few
nice words. I expect it from myself even though maybe no one else does.
Because when I’m
writing, I feel like my awkwardness disappears. It’s the only place I feel at
ease. It’s my safe haven. And if I don’t have that, I have nothing.
When I was a little girl I used to be
scared of the dark. I used to leave the lamp on at night because I was scared
of what I might find. I was so scared when the electricity was out I would wake
up and lie in bed eyes wide open waiting for all kinds of monsters to creep out
of the corners.
Growing up I have come to embrace the
darkness the night brings, but more so the silence that accompanies it. As the island goes to sleep, I sit in my
study room, the lights switched off leaving the glare of my laptop, music in my ears, a cigarette in my hand and writing stories or
studying.
The silence that comes with the night is
one of a kind. Even with an empty house during the day, the noise still remains.
The city is bustling with activity, the cars, and the people. It can never be
really quiet. Even the sunlight creates noise, bringing to light all kinds of
details. Seemingly pointing out how time is running out. The night doesn't do
that. It is kind to its creatures. Allows them the pleasure of pretending that
time has stood still, that you are all alone in the world, that nothing else
matters. It doesn't last long. But while it does, it’s pure bliss.
The quiet before the storm.
The peace before the war.
The soft darkness of the night before the
harsh light of day.
Grownups
never told me that an adult can feel lost. They never told me that I could find
myself at 21 not sure of what to do. I was supposed to turn into a swan, that’s
what they all said, so why am I still an awkward duckling?
Grownups
never told me that finding friends would be so tough. They never told me why I
should have friends, just that I should. They never said that friends could be
your second family. Grownups never said either that there would be people who
would want to hurt me. They never said that being nice and kind would not always
be enough.
Grownups
never told me what boys would be like. They never said that temptation could be
sweeter than the sweetest chocolate. They said boys will want one thing and one
thing only, they never said that I may want it too.
Grownups
never told me what alcohol would be like. They said that it was bad, just like
drugs, cigarettes, and boys. They never said that being drunk can be the best
feeling in the world. That just by drinking some throat-burning liquid you
could let your inhibitions go. They also never spoke of the reason why I
shouldn't drink too much. I had to find out myself what a hangover feels like
and how bad your stomach and throat feel after it all comes back up.
Grownups
never told me why I should believe in God. They taught me about God and his
son, they taught me about right or wrong but they never gave me a reason to
believe other than because I was supposed to. Grownups never talked about their
own struggle with faith in their life. They handed me a conscience and I was
left feeling guilty for not understanding, for not getting it. They never said that
it would be all right if I had doubts. I was supposed to believe or be damned
to an eternity in hell.
Grownups
never told me that being different would be accepted. They said that I should
be myself, but a version of myself that is like the others.
Grownups
didn't say that it would be all right to want something more than a husband, a
house, 1.7 children and a pet. They told me to find a career but put it in
reserve once I start a family. They always told me that family comes first;
they never suggested that there could be an absence of such family. Grownups never
told me that I had a choice on the family I want; they made me believe it was
just the natural way of life.
Grownups
never told me the many different families that could exist. They never said
anything about the different couples, the different sexuality. They never
mentioned that love is love no matter who gives it and receives it. They never
talked about the strength of this emotion or about how weak it may leave you if
you give it to the wrong person.
Grownups
never said that the grownups themselves might fail me. That the trust I gave so
freely might come back and slap me in the face. Grownups never let me know that
they were anything less than perfect. I had to find out the harsh truth on my
own. They never said that they were not superheroes; they never said that they
had no super powers. I had to find out about their lack of powers the same way
I found out about Santa Claus and the tooth fairy, by stumbling upon the truth.
Grownups
never said a lot of things. They never said that I was allowed to make
mistakes. They never said that I was a human being and therefore by default I
would mess up. They never said that although my age would make me an adult in
the eyes of the law, I would still feel like a little child, lost and in need
of guidance. Grownups never thought to give me a heads-up on the hurdles ahead
instead let me stumble through in search of myself, collecting all kinds of
scars, mementos, and quirky people just like me.
I quit my
old job because I was miserable in it. I figured even though a part time job
whilst in University will probably never be fully satisfying it shouldn't make you want to cry all the time. Besides I reckoned, I'm in University, I have
experience in retail and catering, how difficult finding a job will be
right? Wrong.
Firstly
it seems that being in University isn't as big an advantage as I thought, and
it actually might be a drawback.
Employers want you to be at their beck and call and having lectures and a life besides a job doesn't
allow that.
Also
there's this little thing about not owning a car. most jobs ask that you have transport so they won't have the responsibility of taking you home. Also so that you cannot have 'the bus was late' excuse. I am prone to think that this request increased when Arriva took over. Now I'm still taking lessons
but to buy a car I'm going to need a job. And to get a job it seems like I'm
going to need a car. So it seems I'm stuck in a never ending cycle.
And the
worst part of it all? When all I want is to drown in alcohol and forgot about
it, I'm too broke to buy booze.
I'll sign off with a gif from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. because everything you need to say, they say it better.
Now I
know that to be a winter child you should technically be born in winter and I
was born in May but in my defence I didn't have much say in the matter at the
time since I was still two un-joined cells.
I hate
summer. The heat, the stickiness, the bugs, and the horrible smells. God! I
listen to people saying they love summer and I just snort. I mean seriously
unless you're a mermaid how the hell can you love summer?
I want
winter. I want to wear big sweaters and feel like I'm being hugged by my
clothes. I want to listen to the rain while I'm writing a story with a cup of
coffee to warm my hands. I want to wrap myself in a blanket and sit on the sofa
reading a good book. I want to get into bed after a long day and cuddle in my
many layers of blankets. I want to prepare for Christmas, see houses decorated
in red, green and gold.
I want to
be able to hug someone without getting stuck to them. I want to cuddle up to my
pet without feeling like I'm being hugged by Cousin Itt from the Addams family.
Yes
summer is fun when you finish school and you get to go the first time to the
beach and swim but after that the rest is all too much.
It's
funny how you can feel so sad for the death of someone you never met. Yes I'm
talking about Cory Monteith. Yes I watch glee. That show contained some of my
most favourite things, music, dancing and it's a tv series. Sure I don't always
like the episodes and yes I've occasionally shown my annoyance with Finn as a
character but I loved Cory acting, he was great and his voice was amazing.
And now he's gone.
We'll never see him in another glee episode. I cannot look up the new movies
he's going to take part in. And I can't cry because I feel stupid being sad for
someone I never knew.
It's a weird
feeling. It's the same feeling I had when Amy Winehouse died, and Brittany
Murphy and Heath Ledger. It's weirder still when you see their previous movies,
shows or listen to their songs. You can no longer look forward to a new album
or a new movie. You can only soak up on what they left behind.
And yes I'm sad that
I will never get a chance to meet them. Because I am like any other person and
that little girl inside of me hoped that one day I would get to meet them or at
least have a quick glance at them across the road.
So yes this is a
tribute to all the fallen stars and a thank you for their part in making the
world a brighter place.
Go
on diss me for being corny. Go on make fun of me and my
love for glee. I don't really care. I'm sad today and I guess it's okay.
So yes I
kind of lied last time. But in my defense I had 9 exams and 4 assignments so I
was quite busy.
But
enough of excuses. Summer is here finally. I'm back to working at tal-lira (poor me) after a 2 month break . The problem is that now it's not tal-lira
anymore, it's tal-lira plus jumbo store! And to be honest it's weird. I've been
working there for 2 years and today was my first day back, and it feels like
I've started a whole new job! Prices are totally different, I have no idea were
things are and my boss' son is always somewhere supervising. Gahh he's worse
than the boss himself. He's young, like a year older than me but filled with so
much air that if he were to touch a pointed surface he would burst. Those who
know me, know that I hate this job with a passion, but at least before I knew
how to do it. Now not only I'm back to the job I hate but I also have to
re-learn everything, even how to cash thanks to the new electronic cash. Mehh.
Oh well rant over.
So as you
have noticed this isn't one of my usual posts. It's more of an update of my
very interesting (note the sarcasm) life. I also wanted to let you guys and
gals know that I'm going to start story writing again. I love blogging, I do, but story writing is something that's been in my blood since I was a little
girl. Also I found this site, Wattpad, were people upload their stories and
other people rate them. So I'm going to be posting it there. Bdw that site has
some amazing stories. It also has some iffy stories and some just plain bad with horrible grammar but
that's to be expected. The good stories though are amazing. It's quite
addicting really.
I could
post my upload link if you guys are interested. You don't need to sign up to
read it. I haven't started writing yet though and I'm not sure when exactly I
will. I have to plan it out first etc. But yeah I just wanted to let you know.
Oh and although I'm not the most romantic stories and I don't really believe in
everlasting love, the story will be a love story. I mean romance was meant to
be written in my opinion. I really don't like romantic gestures live, but I
love a good sappy book or movie. Then again, it doesn't mean I'm gonna write a
sappy book/short story. But well I wanted to let you know, because you seem to
like my writing and maybe wanted to see some more of it. Or not. That's ok.
Well I
will try to blog more often again. Probably about my evil boss' son and my
horrible work.
So yes I'm trying to mellow you guys a little by
mimicking the title to the episode titles of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Am I forgiven yet?
Well I could go on about how I've been stressed and
busy and all that but in truth it's just bullshit. Not that I haven't been busy
or stressed but it wasn't the reason for not writing. I didn't write because
well I didn't have anything to write and because I didn't want to write and
because I felt that nothing I wrote would matter so I just didn't write.
So yeah I've been stuck in a funk for quite a while.
And part of that included my reluctance to write. In a world filled with so
much talent and competitiveness a person like me struggles very much. It's not
so hard to believe that there are others that are so much better than you. Easier
still to believe that you'll never be worth anything. That your works are so
mediocre they can't be called amateur's work and that the paper containing your
words isn't worth using as toilet paper.
I've been struggling and losing hope. I could say it's
just a phase, but that's what the vet said about my dog's nibbling habits and
it's been two years and he's running around with my sock in his mouth while I'm
writing this, so I'm kind of scared of phases.
But I know I
need to get out of this self built cage. Fear. That's what this cage was built
with. Fear and self-doubt and low self-confidence. With a handle only I can touch
and a lock only I can break.
So well sorry. Sorry for not writing. And I'm sorry if
I made you give up on me. But I'm back. Sort of. Hopefully. And I'm going to
try and stay this time.
There was
this little boy sleeping in his pushchair as his mother went around the shop,
to well shop obviously. This little dude looked so peaceful oblivious to the
world around him. He looked so innocent, still unharmed by life.
I could
go on a rant about how I wish I was that little guy. How I wish I regressed
back to childhood were your only worry is whether your mother's going to clean
your poop-filled nappy. But I won't. Not really. I mean what is the point of
going into such nostalgia of something that we hardly even remember.
What
worried me though was the thought that the boy and all those children his age
or younger would eventually grow up and have to face the world. And it's pretty
disturbing knowing that in a few years time the child will have lost all his
innocence. He will find out all about the evil and hardship the world contains.
The disappointment and sadness that will etch away at his heart. He will find
out that fairytales never come true, that people hardly ever get what they
deserve, good or bad.
But more
horrifying than that is the thought that this child might turn out to be the
man that makes other children realise that. He might turn out to be the biggest
bastard on earth. Or a tyrannical multimillionaire boss, or even, oh the
horror, the new Justin Bieber.
I wonder
if his mother ever thinks such thoughts when she looks at her little angel.
Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. All I know is that all these thoughts would
drive me crazy. Children are cute, just like baby tigers, but you don't
necessarily want to be near them when they grow up.
Breathless. Her hands wrapped around her body in a straitjacket. The
more she moves the more restricted she feels. The straps seem to get tighter,
hugging her body. Tighter still, starting to bite into her skin. Pressing her
ribs together, reducing the capacity of her lungs. She can't breathe. It hurts.
She panics and struggles to escape. But it keeps tightening, until she feels
her ribs start breaking, one by one. and she thinks she's going to die. She
exhaled her last breathe...
She woke
up sweating. The sheets of her bed a tangle around her body. She takes a couple
of deep breathes and exhales. It was only a dream. She thought. "It was
only a dream" she said out loud.
She got
up ready to start her day. Her tortured soul still entrapped in chains.
Don't
over react to things. Things don't have to be perfect to be ok. People can make
mistakes and still be good. Don't be so judgmental. Don't worry so much about
other people's judgement.
Sweetie
it's ok to make mistakes. Don't be so self conscious. Don't become part of the
furniture. Enjoy your life. Enjoy you're friends.
Darling I
know you feel alone. And I know you think it's the worst feeling in the world.
And I also know you think you'll always be alone, but none of these are true.
You will find people who like you for who you are. And unfortunately you'll
realise that there are worse feelings than loneliness. Also pushing people away
won't help the problem.
I want
you to know that in the future things will look up on you. I also want you to
know that you will go through some dark phases but these will help you to
become a better person. Don't give up. The best is yet to come.
Honey I
wish I could hug you for every time you felt sad but you should know that in
the future you will find friends that do just that.
Also go
slow on tequila, it's not a very good friend. On that note, watch out for wine
as well. Jack Daniel's will be your best friend, just don't overestimate him he
can still hit your gag reflex if you know what I mean.
If you
were to learn how to walk on heels, it would be a great help for present me.
Too bad we're a klutz.
Oh also,
you're gonna find a summer job, that will end up your part-time job for a long
time. The faster you learn how to be tough the better. Also sarcasm will be
your best asset on this job. And try not to die from boredom.
By the
way sweetie, you're going to get a very sweet dog. If you were to keep
chargers, headphones, shoes and biros out of reach, he'd be perfect.
You're
also going to go on your first vacation abroad. Beware of men that want to talk
on the Ponte Vecchio. Well a man. He'll talk about locks and marriage. Just
ignore him. Oh and hit your friends in the head for not wanting to move away.
Finally I
just wanted to tell you, just be yourself. Smile often. Enjoy the tiny moments.
good luck
S
P.S. If
you were to learn how to shut up when you're drunk it will save us lots of
embarrassing moments.
His hands
twitch. His body bent over the toilet. His stomach keeps heaving, trying to rid his cells of the poison.
The sheet of fog that alcohol gently tucks around his brain is slowly being
lifted. He cannot let the clarity come. He will not let the fog go.
Wine. He
needs wine. He goes to the shop. He pulls up four bottles of wine. As he goes
to the checkout the lass behind the counter gives him a smile. "Rough
day?"
He doesn't answer, angered by her tone of superiority.
He wants to shout at her. He wants to slap her. Yes it's a rough day. Every
day is a rough day. But he doesn't.
He knows she's right. He doubled his usual shopping list. It was a bad
day today.
He grunts instead. He takes his change and
leave.
Back home he
opens the cap. Places the mouth of the bottle to his lips and lets the slightly
sour taste trickle down his throat. Slowly at first. Like a crack in a river
dam. Then more until he feels like he's drowning in the red liquid.
And the fog
comes crashing down. And he can see clearly in the dizziness it brings. No
emotions. No memories. Just the bottle of wine.
I love
books. I love reading. I go through books like a chain smoker goes through a
packet of cigarettes. I get excited about the next book while I'm still reading
the current one.
All the
stories leave an impression on me, some more than others. But with every book,
I take away something. Maybe some new knowledge, or some random fact that no
one will ever use in their life. And how different people react to situations,
how there's always evil and good in both persons and how the things they go
through decides which side the balance will take.
And then
there are those few books that do something more. They change you, give you a
new perspective in life, they define you. The Harry Potter series were a set of
those books for me. I grew up with them. Ron, Harry, Hermione, they're who kept
me company when I felt alone. These books are what made me want to write.
And now I
just finished the Hunger Games trilogy. And for me they're as good as Harry
Potter. They're those books that keep you up at night to finish them. They're
what your thoughts stray to when you're daydreaming during lectures. They're
what you're looking forward to go home to after work.
And I
feel a little lost, because I finished them. And when I closed the last,
tear-stained book I looked up and I thought how can things keep going on. How
can people just go on with their lives as if nothing happened? And that's how
you know, that a book, a story, changed you. Because you feel different. You
feel happy to have shared the story with the characters. And you feel sad
because you have to say goodbye to them now. And it's like saying goodbye to
old friends. I'll never read about Harry again, or Katniss.
It's
scary how much of an impact a story can make on me. And it's wonderful that it
does. And I can only hope that one day, I'll write a story that will be at
least 1/1000 as good as those books. And to make one person in the whole world
feel like I felt when I finished these books would be amazing. Because books
can change you. They make you grow up. They make you envision your future. They
make you hope.
It's cold.
It's finger-numbing cold. And it was a long day. And the blood flow has reduced
greatly in my feet. And my back aches. Long days at university. Short span of
sunlight. It's winter. It's second year. It's life.
How do you
find your place in the world? How can you decide your path? Your future? It's
such a big thing. Your future. Your whole future. Every day you're going to
have to wake up and go to a job that the career you chose finds for you. And
what then? What if I wake up when I'm 40 and realize I've made a terrible
mistake? It's not too late to change your path or is it? When I'm already
scared of making the wrong decision now will I have enough courage to admit
that I might have made a mistake? Will I have enough courage to just change
everything and start from scratch?
Sometimes I
feel like I'm way over my head. I sit in class and I feel so useless. It's like
I'm Nemo, a small fish with a bad fin surrounded by great white sharks. There
are so many people that know more than me, that already have a foot in the door
of an overly competitive industry. And I'm there singing "just keep
swimming" with Dory.
And why do I
keep using cartoons as comparison only my subconscious knows. And maybe I know
too. Because I study psychology. Because I couldn't just let things be. I had
to analyse everything. Every tiny emotion so that I cannot just feel sad, or
lonely, or foolish. I had to know the reason why so I can shake myself out of
it. And you might think that's healthy.
And it is. But sometimes you just want to sit on the bed and cry just because,
it's been a long day or because I have a mess of hair and at least three
unintentionally different colours in my hair. But I can't. Instead I mentally
bitch-slap myself and yell at the mirror " Cut the crap you whiney baby!”
It's stress.
And yes this is a ramble. And yes I haven't written something of substance in a
while. And no I cannot promise a good blog soon. I'm sorry. Have patience. It
might get better. Or don't. Because it might not.
I wonder if heaven did exist what would it be like? I think we all have a version of our own. A
little image tucked at the back of the subconscious about a little place where
peace reigns supreme.
My kinda
heaven would be filled with the music. It would have a soundtrack, with music
adequate to each situation. And we get to be anything we want. I would probably
be a hybrid, with fairy wings, witches power and ninja moves. We can travel to
places with a blink of an eye. It'll be like living in a magical place forever.
My kinda
heaven would be one with no headaches, colds, or any other illnesses. It would
have an endless library where you can immerse yourself in it and come out weeks
later. And a big flat screen where I can watch all my favourite series. We'd be
surrounded by our friends and family but we can go away when they become too
much.
My kinda
heaven would be being drinking and no hangovers. We can smoke and not get
cancer. We can take drugs and not OD. Have sex without getting STD's or
pregnant.
My kinda
heaven would be place where I can find serenity. Where thoughts stop flowing
for a while. Where worries are put at bay.
My kinda
heaven would be place where I get to play out different parts of stories and
leave when I don't like how it develops.
I want to
sit in a dark corner of a bar with my friends, a bottle of beer and a
cigarette. I want to talk about nothing and everything. I want to argue about
the philosophy of the world as if we will manage to answer the questions no one
has ever managed to answer.
I want to
have a night where I don't have to worry about the future. Where I don't have
to worry if I'm doing enough at school. Where I don't have to worry whether I'm
wasting 4 years of my life to end up back at the start, without a good job, no
money and still in Malta.
I want to
put on some make up, a nice shirt, nice perfume, and go out and drink some
cheap wine.
I want to
freeze the time for just a few hours. So that neither the past nor the future
exists. So that for a few hours I can be just me.
It is electoral campaign season in Malta. Unlike many
other countries campaigners have no trouble in getting people interested in
voting. While countries like America get around 50% of voting, in Malta the
voting is over 90%. I don’t know if the reason is because it’s a small country
and there’s nothing much else to talk about besides football or if it’s because
we have very charismatic leaders. But one thing is sure, the Maltese population
love politics.
Yet campaigners still go the extra mile to attract
people in their campaign by using billboards, mobile messages and telephone
calls among others. What I find ironic is the childish way with which they go about their campaigning.
The easiest and most prominent examples are of course the billboards. They are
creative and very amusing like these two:
But I
wonder whether they are really effective. Are floating voters really influenced
by such propaganda? Of course it tickles the fancy of core voters, but isn't politics
supposed to be a serious matter? Shouldn't they be more concerned about their
proposals and making sure that if they are chosen they can actually follow
through with their promises?
When asked whether billboards and other propaganda
marketing influenced their choice Maria Debono said that “the billboards I
usually see while I'm driving make me realise that both parties do not make it
about what they are offering, but try to make fun of each other through the
billboards.” Jane* agreed with her saying that “the only thing which may
influence my decision are the debates.”
Chiara Darmanin argued that seeing the billboards
“Made me curious [...] as to what they are telling the public they will achieve
after they win the election.” And Hannah* thinks that “the messages can be
irrelevant sometimes.”
*Names where changed to protect the privacy of the individual.
So this is a short story. I got inspired by this music video. Enjoy.
There was a little kid with a face of a monster. He
grew up hidden away from the world. He was homeschooled and hidden from the
world so he wouldn't be bullied. He was hidden because his mother couldn't face
the shame of having a monster as a child. Though he had a face of a monster his
heart was that of a prince. He was kind and sweet and gentle. He was polite and
well-mannered.
As a grownup he decided that it was time to come out
of hiding. So he went to university hopeful that the world would accept him. He
smiled and went out of his way to be kind. But his smiles were mistaken as
growls and kind gestures, like pulling out a chair for a girl, seemed like he
was attacking her. He was nicknamed 'Monster'. He was either ridiculed or left
alone because they were too scared to talk to him. As months passes he stopped
making efforts and his once high-held head now hid his neck as his chin touched
his torso. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he readied himself to face the
rest of his life alone.
And then one day as he was walking to his dorm he
heard a girl screaming and his inner superhero instincts overcame his hatred
for the prejudiced world and ran to see what had happened. The girl was being
harassed by her boyfriend. Monster punched the pretty boy who got scared and ran
away. He looked into the girl's eyes and was enchanted. Then he seemed to once
again remember his place, lowered his head and started to walk away.
"Wait" she said. He turned and looked at
her. "I... Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"What's your name?" she asked warily as she
took a few steps towards him.
"Monster".
The girl gasped. "That can't be your proper
name?"
"A name is a word with which people identify you
with. I'm known as Monster."
"Well...um...” the girl faltered.”Thanks. I have
to go."
"Bye."
Monster kept waving as the beautiful girl with the
long brown hair walked away from him. And he felt warmth right beneath his
ribcage. And for the first time in months his lips seemed to want to form a
smile. And his steps felt lighter. And his head was once again held up. And he found in the next few days that he
couldn't stop smiling.
And he realised that she was in most of his classes.
And he started to look out for her around the campus. And she'd wave at him and
smile. And that would make his day. His
days seemed to brighten up. And he felt like life was smiling down on him.
And one day he plucked enough courage to go sit near
her at the library. And she didn't stand up and walk away. She just smiled at
him and kept on reading. So he did the same the next day and the next. And one day she turned towards him and
introduced herself.
"Hi, we haven't officially met. I'm Jodie."
"H...Hi Jodie. What a lovely name." he said
as he shook her hand.
"We have classes together don't we?"
"Yes we do. I sit at the back so I don't scare
anyone."
"You don't scare people."
"That's not what their facial expressions
say"
"Well I'm not scared of you." She said as
she patted his hand.
"I...I... thanks. That means a lot to me."
So a friendship seemed to strike and they started
spending more time together. And sometimes she'd sit with him at the back of
the class. And she joined him in the morning run. And she'd go over to his room
so they could study together. But she was always the one to make the first
move.
He never joined her with her friends in class. And he
never sat with her at the cafeteria. And she never asked him to. Because they
both knew that the rest of her friends weren't as accepting as her. And he
didn't mind because all he wanted was her companion no one else's. That way he
could have her attention all for himself. He loved her. It was that simple.
Slowly she was falling for him too. His face no longer
repulsed her. It was just there but it had the added traits she'd been finding
out about him. So his face was no longer that of a monster, but a caring, kind,
courageous young man. And she didn't know what to make of it.
Her friends had
been picking on her. At first they thought it was just a charity case. But
she'd been ditching them to be with him, and they didn't like that. They told
her time and again that he was not for her. There was no future with him. Her
ex-boyfriend called her parents. So now she was harassed from all the people
close to her. Her mother urged her to get back with her ex. He was a nice good
looking lad who came from a nice family. So what if he had some flaws. Everyone
did. It would be her job to fix them.
But whenever she was with him she found she could
forget all their criticism. He made her feel special. Like she was the only
person in the world. He let her talk and vent and hung on to every word she
said. And he always had some little present for her. Sometimes flowers
sometimes a poem or a book she had mentioned. He bought her a little lamp to
attach to her book for when she stayed up at night to read. And he made her
book marks from flower petals pressed in books. And she no longer called him
Monster. Instead she called him Prince, he was her prince in shining armour who
dashed in and saved her.
He almost cried the first time she called him Prince.
He loved her so much more that day. And now he spent all his days thinking of
her. He loved the vanilla smell in her hair. He loved her smile. He loved how
heated she got when she was discussing something important for her. He loved
how she curled like a cat to read a book. How her face lit up when he saw her.
How when he talked she stopped what she was doing to listen intently to what he
said. He loved the little dimples in her cheeks. Her little upturned nose. He
loved her. She was his princess.
They loved each other. They could have gotten their
happily ever after. But society is never satisfied. And she was getting tired
of fighting with her friends and family. And he hated to see her so sad. And
the day came when they said their goodbyes. And she went back to her little
perfect world. While he fell into an abyss of sorrow. They were both very
heartbroken. And even though she was surrounded with people she felt as alone
as he did. But in a relationship there's always someone who loved more. And one
day, she received a note from him. And it tore her heart as she read. But she
was too late.
"I love you so much. I cannot imagine my life
without you. You were the only reason for me to stay alive. And now you're
gone. I hope you'll be happy. Don't waste your tears for me. You're too
beautiful to ruin it crying.
I love you
Your Monster"
He'd said his last goodbyes to the one person he truly
cared about. And he slipped into a painless darkness leaving the world that
treated him so hard behind him.
And she felt like her world had ended. And her heart
shattered in pieces. And she thought she could not move on. But she did.
Because that's how life works.
And no there weren't all the people that he helped at
his funeral. It was just her and his mother and the priest. Because this is not
a fairytale. And the Beast does not get the Beauty. A monster can never be
happy. Because society would never allow it.
