Grass Stains and Mugshots

Sometimes all you need is for someone to believe in your dreams when the times get rough. Someone who will agree with you, no matter how illogical your fantasies get. Someone who is a dreamer, just like you. Someone who will hold your hand and stand beside you as the currents try to pull you under. Someone who tells you that everything is not alright, but stays with you until things become well again. Someone who can watch you cry and still look at you in the same way. Someone who gives you words of encouragement when everyone else is a bundle of negativity that either intentionally or unintentionally brings you down.

Don't leave me tongue-tied

Don't wave no goodbyes

P.S.: Dear Fazirah, you need to get your ass back from India ASAP!

Lady Mary Crawley

"I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing.

Words are the source of misunderstandings."

Bitter Heart

And suddenly I feel as though everything is crashing down on me. Why is today so hard? Why is it so hard to believe today? Too many vulgar thoughts, too many useless and foul imaginations being concocted by mind. It's driving me nuts and literally giving me a headache. I can't even sleep properly at night because of this nagging reverberation in my skull.
I wish I just knew that this is going to be in my favor, so that I didn't have to worry about anything anymore. I wish she would just disappear from our lives; so that everything would return to normal and we could just pick up where we left off like nothing ever happened. Tell her to marry someone else and move to another universe. I mean it.
I feel like crying myself numb until everything becomes okay again.

Emergency Sadness Kit

I don't want to drift off. I don't want to float away. I want to stay anchored, moored to one place. I don't mean that I want to repeat the same damned things day in, day out, but I don't mind structure either. Having a change in routine would be nice once in a while. Reading Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood upon Ray's advice is something I don't regret. I'm not even half-way through the book, but as far as I can tell, it's a damn good read. I can actually identify with all the characters of the book with the living, breathing people I know in real life. How does one get so deep? How does one be able to identify and describe human emotion so intricately without being sucked into the void which the fictional characters are thrust? How does life get so complicated? I mean, some drama is fine but to live a soap opera? I wouldn't be able to handle that kind of pressure, although my life is tainted with some form of melodrama.
I have come to realize that I am slowly developing a fear of re-reading novels that I've finished. I wonder why. This is a phobia that would prove to be a pain in the ass because it would, in a way, deprive me of the small pleasures I derive from a separate world I dive into everytime I lose myself within the pages of a book. I never used to have this sickness. As a matter of fact, I've read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire exactly twelve times without getting tired of it. But given recent developments, I doubt that I would bring myself to turn the front cover of the book in a very long time, or even worse, ever at all. I sincerely hope that this is just a minor setback. All this psychological bullshit is just too much for me.
Please, I need an escape; I need release. So help me God.

Incapacicated by Default

Every child is born with a pair of wings; wings that enable them to fly and ride on the currents of life. With those wings, a child is able to do anything and he believes so too, with solid, undivided conviction that no dream is unreachable, no obstacle too big, no task impossible. Belief is the key. So pure, young and innocent, a child is not yet tainted with the worries of the world.
Unfortunately, the path to adulthood is full of thorns and brambles. Before you know it, the child is fed with copious amounts of poison that  would influence his thinking and mentality. Slowly, little by little, the child starts believing these lies and begins to limit himself, killing the inborn magic that is inherent within his being. Gradually, the magic is covered, layer by layer, until the child does not feel it anymore. And as he grows older, he forgets altogether that he was once someone who believed in miracles and endless possibilities. This process is the clipping of a child's wings. Now where is the justice in that? To be taken for a fool and duped into believing that he is something he's not, unworthy, undeserving, impossible. Pure injustice. To the adults who take the upper hand and lie to these gullible souls, don't you feel ashamed of yourselves?
"You haven't lived until you've gone out into the real world, and the world is a big bad place..."
How can you bring yourselves to say that? Is your life that screwed up that everybody else should be doomed to the same fate? No. Our worlds are what we make of it. We decide to some extent what happens in out lives. We may not control every aspect, but in most things, our say matters.
Life is not a prison. Life is what you want it to be, what you make it to be, formed by your beliefs and thoughts, materialized through your will and actions. Nothing is impossible. Possible and impossible are mere concepts conceived by the human mind. And a pathetic notion at that. Never limit yourself. No matter how big and crazy and improbable a goal might be, never doubt. Believe. Believe. Believe. You see, because when there is hope, there is faith and when there is faith, miracles can occur.