Frenzied

It's been a long time. Too long for my liking. I've been so busy with school that I haven't gotten chance to write a sentence until tonight! This is a short piece inspired by a song. Hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~

I loved him.

I loved him so much that sometimes I thought the feelings inside me weren’t love. They were some sort of an obsession, desperation to be loved, or loving. They crept inside of me like a fire, burning me whole, and erasing every possible logic and rationality in my mind. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was him. All I saw were his eyes, the vivid green I had committed to memory. All I could feel were his hands on me, the passion behind his warm gaze, his lips on my skin. I felt him. Felt him as if he was part of me, as if he was another half of me, as if he held onto the other side of my heart. I remembered everything about him. Remembered his voice, the low whisper in my ear as he trembled in my arms, as he broke over and over again while I drowned in a high that I never wanted to sober up from. He was everything to me. Every step he took, every breath he took, every word, every touch.

Sometimes, I feared these feelings would be the end of me. I felt empty when he wasn’t there; as if he had taken my soul to wherever he was going. I felt as if my body didn’t belong to me anymore, as if every part of me was his. I was his. Everything, everything was his. I loved him to a point of destruction, to a point that the thought of him being gone would kill me.  Life without him wasn’t life. Life without him was a meaningless path, a dead end.

I knew it wasn’t normal. I knew the insanity and self-destruction behind these so-called feelings I had for him would one day really kill me. I knew that being so attached to someone would bound to get me hurt, to break me to millions of pieces with a point of no return. I knew but I couldn’t careless.  Nothing mattered but him. Nothing mattered but his hands, his touch, his gaze on me. He could kill me, could lie to me, yet it wouldn’t matter. Nothing but my love for him mattered.

There were moments where I questioned myself. Questioned whether I even existed. Whether everything in my head was some sort of an illusion, where I was not there and that it was a dream that I just couldn’t wake up from. I waited, wanted to wake up from the insanity, from this addiction, from a nightmare that depicted a dream. Yet, no matter how long passed, I swam in the sea of him and he never let go of my hand. My eyes were closed in bliss, in a calm that only he could bring me to.  I never wanted to open those eyes again. I started to believe this nightmare like dream as if it was reality. I smiled, laughed, cried, and burned with happiness I never felt in my life.  He was my reality. He was real. Everything about him was as real as it could get. There was no way it could have been a lie. I’d never survive if it weren’t.

But my eyes opened one day. They opened and he was gone. They opened and I stood a shadow of myself. They opened and I felt an empty hollow. They opened and I no longer felt anything at all.

~H.~

Shopping

This is probably one of the most girly, if not the most girly topic I had ever written about in my life.

I have seriously developed a love-hate relationship with this activity and I cannot make up my mind which one to choose.

I mean, shopping is actually therapy to me. I usually find myself going to the mall after my midterms, after handing assignments, after writing quizzes, after a stressful day at work, after wiring my finals...you get the point. I feel brain dead and the only thing I focus on is what's going to match the pair of shoes I bought last week and wether or not the shirt I was trying on would fit this party I am going to.

Literally, stupid and brain dead. Nothing about the world bothers me, I could careless of what is happening around me. I could care less about school, boys, being single forever, and even the fact that I should probably lose some weight to fit into those black pants.

I can feel my IQ levels dropping in a speed I cannot even comprehend as I continue to walk through every store and analyze each and everything that touches my fingers.

Let's now get to the other side. To reality, to how much I hate it.

Let me start with one thing: I am a broke student. I have a nice government loan that I am going to be paying back with interest when I finally graduate next year and I have no idea if I am going to score a job at the accounting firms that I've applied to. I am trying very much to save my money so that I can afford to be jobless for a couple of months after graduation.

When I see clothes, I swear to God, I can hear them talking to me. It's freaking strange and creepy and I can't stop the voices in my head. Buy this, buy that, you need that, you must have that, you can't live without this, it would look so good with that new blue shirt you bought...it's a never ending conversation and a battle I always seem to lose.

In the end I come out spending more than I can afford and it makes me so depressed and unhappy that I start binge eating and feeling sorry for myself. How fucked up is that?

Don't even get me started with how much I hate how I look in some clothes that I start being so angry at the store I hold a grudge for a good couple of months. Take La Vie En Rose for example, stupid ass Lingerie store doesn't have a bra my size. I wish I could just sue them for being discriminatory towards big bobbed girls. On top of that, they have the cutest outfits too. It just makes me cry inside when I can't find a matching bra to the sexy lace attached to it.

I no longer shop at La Vie En Rose indefinitely.

So not only am I a broke student who clearly can't afford all the shit I am buying every couple of weeks, but now the stores that I love don't even have my size. Seriously, it's not fair. It makes me feel fat even though I am not.

I am not the only one in this sinking ship, am I?

The Writing Process

I find myself being asked this question multiple times during the time when my updates are extremely slow and non-existent. How exactly do I get myself focused on writing another emotionally capturing and intense chapter?

This question always gets to me. I mean character development and plot come easily to me, especially as I find myself imagining a certain scene in my head. Everything starts to flow really nicely. But the process itself, before I even get to the imagining, is quite long and frustrating. My latest story deals with mature subject matter, which isn't all happy and full of high school comedy. 

It's raw, intense, at times evil, and downright gritty. Violence and hurt are key emotions and feelings that my characters experience and it's not something easy to write if one does not see these things on a daily basis.

The first answer to this question is music. 

Yeah yeah, I know everyone probably gives this generic answer, but music is a true inspiration to many great writers out there. Sometimes it's the artists' words and sometimes is the haunting melody that really gets inside your veins that you quickly find yourself needing to get the idea out of your system. 

Most of my music on my iPhone is depressing, sad, and downright gloomy. That isn't because I am some depressed individual who escapes into the world of darkness to relieve her pain. No, the music is largely based on the emotions I need to feel to write scenes that I otherwise cannot. 

I am a generally happy person. I read, I crack jokes all the time, I am happy, sad and always all over the place. I am not depressed and I don't lack any love from my family. The idea of the dark story came up to me back in 2005 when I watched a movie about human trafficking. 

Still a freshly new immigrant in Canada, I struggled to understand the language that was still so foreign to me. With great difficulty, I managed to sit down and understand the brutality of the subject and it got to me, so deep the subject still haunts me today. In High School, I advocated the topic and things just went down from there. 

There was something in me, something that was bursting and itching its way through my skin, begging to be let out. At first it was just a small one shot of a woman who is kidnapped. Then it involved a young man trying to save her, and then slowly it was a villain who turned her life around.  

The story kept changing, the characters began seeing other lights, and I began to mature along with my own ideas. And it was all through music that I began to feel everything my characters felt and experienced. I forced myself into darkness and pain so I could write and feel the hurt they did. 

I know it's sounds quite sad and sacrificial on my part—to put myself in such a situation—but it helped me a lot. It helped capture emotions I couldn't even come to understand if it weren't for Damien Rice and Chopin. Pain doesn't have to be something physical to be understood, for me the emotional part that came with it was worse than any beating I could get. 

My second answer to the question would probably be the public. yeah, people. 

I know it's sounds strange, but the only reason I even had the guts to sit down and write something was because I watched others did the same. I was in love with Inuyasha when I was 12 and started reading fan fiction at that time. I encountered and read many stories that gripped my imagination and expanded it to a point that I could see myself creating something as well. 

It continued to Twilight a couple of years later when I physically saw young amateur writers who I had the pleasure of talking to on fan fiction get published right before my eyes. It was truly an inspiring sight and writing almost became easy then. If it weren't for fan fiction, I'd probably never have the guts to sit down and write on paper, let alone post it on a site where millions have access. 

Music and aspiring writers were and still are a true aspiration to my writing process and I will forever be grateful to them for this chance to write a story of my own.  

Mondays

Work Problems Mondays are my biggest death wish. I hate them with passion and I literally sit and count down the minutes till my lunch break and until I am finally free from this hell. It’s not like I am hating on my job, I just hate this one co-worker who I have the displeasure of working with every Monday.

There’s only one word to describe her: she’s a bitch. A high class bitch who is so fucking insecure about herself she has to make others make feel bad to make up for her unhappiness. She’s my assistant branch manager who is in charge of all the representatives. Usually she’s in charge of watching your performance, creating monthly schedules, taking care of admin issues and resolving customer conflicts.

Her job is as depressing as her, I am sure. Maybe that’s why she is so bitter and takes out her anger on us. She has two favorite people for whom she will basically do anything. It’s so freaking annoying. Anytime they need a day off or if they have some kind of a problem she always makes sure to resolve it for them. But when it comes to the others, especially me, she’s downright rude.

I don’t know what I did to her but she doesn’t even say hi to me. I mean fucking seriously? You’re 25 and you don’t have the basic manners learned yet? On Mondays I am in charge of the lobby and making sure everyone’s problems get resolved. We are also required to take down survey’s regarding client satisfaction.

Those surveys are probably the most useless thing made on earth. No one actually bother with them unless a manger is around. When I work however, she constantly asks every single time a client leaves why I haven’t completed the surveys and every time I move from my spot she shoots me dirty looks. It’s so rude and disgusting; I am fighting the urge to walk up to her and slap her across the face. She needs a wake up call; the world does not revolve around her spray tanned face.

She gives me shit all the fucking time. For no reason at all. She’s jealous because the manager is nice to me, she’s jealous because I am performing well and she’s fucking jealous because I freaking exist. She doesn’t even let me take a personal day for religious holidays. I am so upset and hurt by her and I know I shouldn’t let this effect me, especially since I am not at fault. She’s on constant PMS and it makes me wonder if her boyfriend isn’t doing it for her anymore.

I’ve tried being civil to her, tried to greet her regardless of her attitude and even tried to make a conversation. But I refuse to let her step over me like this. If she’s rude, I’ll be rude just as well. I am actually enjoying my job these days but she’s ruining it for me and I refuse to let her get to me.

Please tell me I am not the only one in this ship.

University is Overrated

This is something I wrote last year when I was going through a tough time at school. Somehow reading this now, is very much how I feel like right now. 

I usually don't vent out on school work and stuff like that, but I've become really sick of it lately. Yeah, I get it, I am in my second year, I should be used to this already, I've gone through 3 semesters of the same crap, but seriously, I need a break.

I am sick of the midterms (I've had 5 already in a mere 3 week period), assignments, and essays that prove absolutely nothing to me. I am a business-accounting major but I am starting to hate every single course I am taking. And it isn't because the material is boring or hard to comprehend, I wish it was.At least that was t would make sense that I don't belong in the field but this is something completely different. These midterms are sucking the life out of me. I hate them. I hate the concept of cramming. It serves no use whatsoever in anything. What's the point if I forget everything two weeks later. I'd rather do an assignment in a group or something, where I'd actually learn something, not just memorize the shit of it. 

I wish school was somehow different. I wish it wasn't all theory based. I wish I could go out there and practice the things I learn. But I can't because I haven't earned the degree yet and I have no eperience.

And sometimes, I just wish I went to college instead of university. I am a practical person and sitting and memorizing organizational behaviour, or cost behavious or stock behaviour is just bullshit you learn while you practice. Fuck University  and its stupid overrated reputation. I am better off working making money and learning something while at it, rather than paying thousands of dollars towards courses and content I'd never see again in my life.

H.

My Latest Addiction

So lately I've been obsessed with everything Turkey. And I mean everything. Language, culture, dramas, celebrities, music, and did I forget to mention dramas?

This always happens to me at the worst time. Right when I have three huge, important exams coming up, I remember that I haven't watched this episodes or that I need to catch up with another show and check up on the not so personal life of Kerem Bursin. I mean, seriously? Why? I can't get enough. I've started learning the damn language and speaking it to my parents (who speak Azeri which is thankfully similar so they don't think I've completely become insane).

I can't get enough. I've even started translating dramas into English, which is so hard if it's not your naive language. They have Russian subtitles which I later translate to english with great difficulty because my Russian is equivalent to a 5 year old. It's a long tedious, boring, difficult talk and I really wonder why the hell I do that when my accounting material is easier than that.

Please tell me I'm not the only one in this boat.

H.

Continue, Modify, and Change

So I decided to try something new mixed with a touch of old.

I am going to start writing again, but this time its going to be random. This time, I am going to quote things that I find interesting, hilarious, happy, sad, and anything in between. With that, I am going to also to share a bit of my writing that I had abandoned in the past couple of months. I am going to review books, share a song that took my breath away, and talk about the nonsense that sometimes crawls up in my head. I am going to stop trying to impress my readers with killer long chapters, and write for myself. I deserve that chance. I deserve to write however, whenever and whatever I feel. And this time, I am going to stick to it.

H.

"You're an asshole. That's a permanent personality deficit."

This one is going to be short.

I stumbled upon a quote that grabbed my attention when I was reading a book the other day. Taken from Jenny Penn's Mating Claire, the quote was said by the heroine directed at the hero: "You're an asshole. That's a permanent personality deficit."

Am I am the only one who thought this quote was hilarious? I don't know what it is, but maybe it was the way she said it or maybe the way the author worded herself, or maybe I just find the tiniest things funny. I had to stop for five minutes just to laugh it out. I was seriously thinking something must have been wrong with me. I've never, ever, in my life have read such a line in a book. I've had my fair share in comedy, romance, mystery and not once have I spend minutes studying the eight word sentence like I had a couple of days ago. 

Anyway, just wanted to let out a little bit of the nonsense that's been in my head. 

For those who are interested in reading this book, I don't really recommend it. I admit I gave it a good rating (4 out of 5 stars), but only because it had a decent plot, good romance, and werewolves. Yeah, I'm a sucker for romance, what else is new?

H.

Change is Difficult

So I heard that one of the ways that a person can change their living style is if they start a fresh page from today. Not tomorrow, not next week, not next month. I keep saying that to myself. I keep saying that I'll start to exercise more often, eat less, and focus on school more.

But as each day pass by, I fail every damn time. It's sad and embarrassing to admit how lazy I've become, how unmotivated and boring my life is. I've started noticing disappointment in my parents' eyes and I feel like a total failure. There's nothing worse than having your loved ones lose their belief in you. It makes you feel like crap and you realize how terrible and awful you've become. 

I want to change, I really do. I need to lose more than a few pounds, feel more confident in myself and apply to a new job. I want to be happy with myself. I want to go out and not feel like the ugliest girl in the group. I want guys to check me out and talk to me. I want attention, as shameful as it is to admit. I want to feel like a young woman. 

I've told myself countless times that I am going to change, to show everyone how I can do it. How I can become someone. My sisters both do it in a seamless manner, hell even my old fashioned dad whose too stubborn to know better, has more motivation than I do. 

The worst thing is that I feel unattractive. No matter how many new clothes I buy, or how much makeup I've invested in, or how fashionable I've become. I feel ugly. It's something so virile, so dark inside that it suffocates me from the inside. I cannot look at the mirror and smile at the woman staring right back at me. 

I wish I was 15 again. I wish I could go back in time and change things that I was too stupid to notice what big mistakes they were. If only I'd listened to my mother then, if only I'd look past the computer that was glued to me and start looking around me. If only...

This isn't a letter that I am writing towards my steps of changing. This is just something that I've been feeling for a while now, something that had been heavy on my shoulders. I just wish I had enough will power and determination to do something about it.