I shut up. I shut down.

I numbed my feelings to the world. I ignored the things that annoyed me because it felt like I wasted to much energy. I silenced myself, my voice, my words.

I shut up. I shut down.

I took a break from feelings. I needed a break from feeling helpless, hopeless and useless. I took a break from sadness, regret, pain. But inadvertently I took a break from happiness, hope and faith. And no I don't have I don't have religious faith. But faith that books, and films, and art and music can really bring a change in the world. Faith that what I'm doing, although will probably never give me job security, can possibly help someone, cheer someone up, brighten their day, bring hope in their world.

All I had left was anger, resentment and cynicism.

I stopped writing. I sit down and stare at my writing journal. I jot down mediocre notes about topics I used to argue vehemently about.

I gave up. I stopped fighting. I lost my voice.

I shut up. I shut down.

Breathe in, breath out

Breathe in, breath out

Trembling hands, antsy and impatient

Angry skin, red and blotchy

Fingers that cannot keep still

A heart beating faster than a bird’s

Lungs unable to extract the oxygen inhaled

Veins allergic to their own blood

A brain that cannot seize thinking

It’s a lost soul wandering among the living

Lovers with no love left to give

A man of god without his faith

A child who doesn't recognise his mother

The sleepless night, in a sleeping world

The vacuum of silence in a noise-filled place

The unsaid words between old friends

The distance of the heart, when two bodies unite

It’s the quiet before a storm

But it’s always darkest before the dawn

And the night withholds all sounds

Breathe in, Breath out

Ma

I am not the most expressive person when it comes to feelings. I’m quite rough around the edges.  I do not know how to talk about my emotions without feeling the need to crawl out of my own skin. I feel awkward and silly having to explain what’s in my heart because for me it’s so obvious, I tend think everyone knows.

But today I will try to use the words I've always cherished, put them together on a paper and hopefully be able to express my feelings in a way my mouth cannot seem to handle. So this is a little something for you, Ma, I hope you already know how I feel, even though I might not show it.

Ma, you are a strong woman, you were my hero while I was growing up. I felt you could move mountains and stop volcanoes from erupting. You were my supermom.

Growing up, like every other person, I started realising that you are human, and that the things you did were even more impressive, because you had no superpowers to help you, it was just your inner strength.

You showed me what it means to be a feminist without ever uttering a word. I grew up proud of being a woman, of our history, and hopeful for our future. You made me believe I could achieve anything if I just tried. You thought me how to fight for what I want, even if sometimes that fight is with you.

And we do fight, a lot. We don’t agree on so many things, that it would be better to mention the topics we do agree on. But I hope you know that the reason for this, is that you always pushed me to make my own way in the world. You taught me to have my own opinion, to not be swept away with the crowd. And yes that means that we clash sometimes, but that’s because you allowed me to be my own person.

Our characters are different. I’m an introvert and you’re an extrovert. We don’t always understand each other. I could never get on stage or in front of a camera and give the performance of a lifetime as you do each time. But you instilled in me the love of the atmosphere, the love of the arts. I won’t go in front of a lens, but I still want to be there, behind the lens, filming talented people like you and my sister. I thank you, for helping me find my passion in life, you led me to it.

I couldn't be who I am today if it weren't for you.  

Ma, I love you.

Fear

I write stories about strong, brave women. My women have the courage of a thousand soldiers. I write about women who can slay dragons and love so deeply and profoundly; women who face their fears. They’re beautiful women, not necessarily in appearance, but in their souls. I write about women with hearts so big they can love the world; the universe.

I live vicariously through these women’s lives. I wish I was them, I wish I had their strength, their courage. Because I’m scared, petrified, frozen on the spot. It’s ironic when you think about it really.

I’m scared of failure and of success. I’m scared of never being enough; for others but especially myself. I wait terrified of being stamped; branded with the word mediocrity, red and bright on my forehead.

I lie awake at night crippled by the fear of what life has in store. I wake up silently screaming, sweat running down my face, terrified of what lies in the depths of my subconscious.

I’m afraid my dad will have another heart attack, or another stroke, or another something that will take him away from me.

I’m afraid of failing in school, or worse graduating and then what?

I’m terrified of loving too deeply, of falling down to never get up again. I’m afraid I’ll end up alone, yet I’m also petrified that I’ll end up married, resentful towards the poor sod who got stuck with me, and mostly towards myself for succumbing to the pressures of society.

I used to see the world in shades of grey filled with possibilities, now all I see is black with specks of white, so small I can barely make them out.

I can go on and on about how courage isn't the absence of fear, but the battling through in spite of it. I know all the words the books say. How heroes are made from the desire to overcome the fear. I can even give you biblical references, like how David, the underdog was scared but still defeated Goliath.

But in reality, when the fear paralyses your very own thoughts how can a few words help. And how can I be a writer, how can I use words to comfort others, when they cease to comfort me?

I want to follow the yellow brick road

I lust after lives I read about in books. I lust after places I see in films. I cry over people I have never met. I miss people who do not exist. I fall in love a million times, I get my heart broken, and I get my hopes up only to be dashed again over and over again. I feel regret and embarrassment and butterflies in my stomach just from watching a show.

How can a simple song throw me so off balance? How can one book make me rethink all my decisions? How can a film fill my heart with so much emotion?

How can I be nostalgic for something I never had? How can I miss a moment I never lived? How can I feel more emotion, more human, more alive, while reading a few pages of a book than I can during the rest of my day? Why am I numb to the real life but so sensitive to the fictional world?

Is it a Wizard of Oz syndrome? Do I switch from the grey Kansas to the colourful Oz? How can I switch back to gray, when I got a taste of colour? It’s like having to take food supplements when you’re used to the delicious powerful taste that colours your mouth at the first touch.

I wish I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.

The magic number

How many times can someone wake up staring at the same ceiling, the same pillow, the same person?

How many times can someone go through the same exhausted arguments?

How many times can one turn a blind eye?

How many times can one say, I’m fine, when they’re not?

How many times can someone force a smile on their face, straining the muscles that should work so easily?

How many times can someone face the same desk, the same boring job, the same people, the same conversations, the same life?

What is the magic number that makes people realise it’s one too many?

What is the infamous number which makes a person snap?

Which number will make a person go out for cigarettes and never go back?

Which number will make a person pretend to get a dissociation disorder?

Which number will break the melancholia we surround ourselves with, not realising until it's too late, the grave we've dug ourselves in?

Pick your magic number, and get in line.

Lumps in the carpet

We live on an island were its society is an expert of camouflage. They are amazing at hiding things. Throwing things under their carpet and pretending everything is peachy.

I’m pretty sure that the game of Happy Families was based on the typical Maltese family. I wonder if one of the things that mothers provide to their daughters as part of their dowry is a carpet. And how do they choose how big a carpet to get? Maybe they start a wedding with a small one and they buy bigger ones as secrets start to come out.

Her husband is cheating. It’s time to buy a new carpet, because their relationship is perfect. His wife is really into girls, who’s in for a carpet ride? After all if Xandru’s married and gay why can’t it work the other way round? Their daughter is pregnant, shotgun wedding it is, with a side of carpet shopping and maybe they’ll find a small one for the new born. They haven’t had a proper ‘family’ moment in years but they’ll join efforts to buy a carpet big enough to cover the elephant in the room.

Maybe I should start saving up for my carpet, maybe a fitted one for the whole house. That should be enough right?

Who I am

When I still believed in god, I used to lie in my bed at night and pray for him to change me. I’d pray for him to make me a better person, prettier, charming and graceful. I used to read the ugly duckling and hope against hope that one day it would be my turn to be a swan.

I spent so many years despising myself. Hating who I was, how I acted, how I looked. I hated that I was shy, but never realised that all the hate I had towards myself made me shy.

I changed. Slowly, I did. I stopped praying, stopped hoping and decided to face myself. I am who I am. I’ll never be graceful, I’m a born klutz. I've fallen more times on my ass than Malta has failed at the Eurovision. I’m not a model, I’m not a princess. I’m me.

I no longer resent myself for who I am. I no longer wake up cursing the person I am. I don’t hate the person I am anymore. I changed.  I just don’t know who I am anymore.

Sometimes I get these out of body experiences as I see myself interacting with people. It’s like I’m not used to this new person. To this changed, hopefully improved person.

And like all other humans I find the need to try and place myself in a category. Who I am? Where do I fit? It’s silly isn't it? When we all know how complicated a person is, how many layers they have, how can you simplify them so as to fit into a box? How can you take something multidimensional and place it into one dimension and still have the same person.

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know in which category I fall in. I just know, I don’t mind who I am anymore.

Word Vomit

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.

Words

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.

The beauty of the night

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.

My little piece of paradise.

What grownups never told me

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.

The jobless student

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.

http://media.tumblr.com/cbeff652f5042e8630f2a1336a34440f/tumblr_inline_ms203o7IRC1qz4rgp.gif

Winter Child

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.

I'm a winter child through and through!

Small tribute to fallen stars

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.

A little heart to heart

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.

Cheers

The one were she says sorry for being away for so long

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.

The vortex

It’s there, it always is

That small voice in my head

Always ready to pounce

It feeds on my uncertainties

My weaknesses give it strength

It is very good at playing hide-and-seek

Lets me soak in the illusion that I have won

And when the moment is just right

When I feel good and happy

When I feel like I belong

It jumps at my throat

And drags me into a whirpool

The strong currents pull me in

And I turn round and round

So that I cannot see anymore

The difference between right and wrong,

Truth and false, friends and foe

It has me just where it wanted

Confused and distorted so that I may not escape

This vortex of the mind 

A child's innocence

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.

Entrapped

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.