We have a bit of a habit growing here.
It's those nights, when you feel emotional all of a sudden for no particular reason.
Sadness washes over you
Like waves beating
To and fro
To and fro
To and fro
It throws.
I don't want to think. I want to immobilize my brain with pretty pictures, meaningless sitcoms and just food that stays in your everywhere.
You know that feeling, when you have a million thoughts zipping across your mind, but you cannot even grasp one thought to be put in paper?
Yes. Exactly.
I feel like a failure. Perhaps I am.
What is this... Work hard? To exert a certain amount of force and energy and patience and time and space and matter and E=mc^2.
I'm not gonna try to even grasp a thought. I'm gonna just open my hands, and catch whatever fleeting thought that decides to humor me.
I've made new friends. Surprisingly. These friends I made. They're... Different. Perhaps living next to a New Village all my life has exposed me to people. But with this Journalist thing, I'm exposed to a whole new level of people. I'm not saying they're higher up, they're richer, they're better. All I'm saying is that they're more... Intelligent.
Do you realize how frustrating it is, for me. To turn on my social networks, and have it choked, yes choked with brainless updates. People updating their statuses, just for the sake of updating their statuses. People taking a photo of basically nothing, or people taking a photo of themselves, adding a meaningful caption that has nothing to do with anything, spamming instagram 'just so they can'. I'm sick of it. (Let us leave twitter out of this.) The thing is, you can't unsubscribe or unfollow them because you are meant to be their 'friends' and you're supposed to be 'nice'.
But, making new friends. English speaking friends. PJ people. Educated people with their own opinions. I can assure you, conversations with them are much more interesting than just posting-a-pretty-photo-of-yourself-with-an-extremely-deep-out-of-context-quote-and-expecting-people-to-call-you-pretty-just-because-you're-pretty. These new friends actually use their brains before they speak and give good suggestions. Which is a relief.
Who am I to say this? Well, to be honest, I am usually impulsive and hyperactive when around strangers, but I know how to differentiate serious matters and fun matters. I can sober up and be serious too. I find such joy conversing with them. Not that my usual friends aren't good enough. Just that it's a breath of fresh air. My mother used to say: 'You're just a PJ person born near a New Village.'
Your thoughts are leading you nowhere.
Then there is me. My body.
NOEL IS FATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFAT
out of shape
I eat too much. I don't eat healthy enough. I don't exercise. I exercise the wrong things.
I wasn't supposed to roam free. Lock me up. Starve me.
Cry alone.
Then there is inside of me. My soul. My faith.
Confirmation is coming. I passed. A relief. But I expected it. But of course it took my by surprise too. Which makes this statement redundant. I'm redundant.
No you're redundant.
I can't wait for camp. Not just the people. But to be with God. To inch closer and closer to Him. I want to wrap myself at His feet. Listen to His aura. Sing with His angels.
Sometimes, He may be the one who keeps me sane.
I don't fight with you. Even though I want to. There are always a hundred million things I could shout back at you but I don't. I was taught not to. But I can't hide my tears. The tears always come. They're always there.
I'm about to turn 17 in less than a month and I feel that I am still a child. Incapable of things. I don't know how to cook, how to drive to the city, how to purchase groceries. I am a robot, programmed to do what my master wishes.
Brother is leaving in September. I wish him all the best. Personally I want him to leave. So he will come back, a better man. But the Parents are worried that when he leaves the house will be in shambles.
The second child is useless. And ornament. Makes a mess, never cleans it.
I'm trapped in my own bubble
Pop
and I'll crash land
to reality
where it might kill me
once and for all
I don't like it, when people question about what I write here. Even my parents. I can't explain. All I will say is: 'I don't know.' Shrug. Smile it off.
Everything is here. My thoughts. Directly translated into this mass of words on whatever my current background is.
I don't beautify my thoughts. I'm not even trying to be subtle here.
If you know where to look, you will find it.
I will continue to write regardless of what direction I pursue.
Art cannot be contained.
I do not claim to be an artist. Just perhaps an imaginative, fierce child with a strong pen in her hands.
I actually do want to keep a journal. Writing all my thoughts, recording, testing. But. I can't. I wont. I don't.
Don't ask me why, I don't have an answer.
I want 33333 views. I want it. Not because I'm an attention wh*re, or anything. But I want to see, if people actually want to read what I have to say. Even if they're just uninteresting photos and things.
Nobody wants to read this pathetic thing you idiot.
Hmm. Well. Seems like it's not going to come true.
To make things clear a bit. This is not a post. This is a phantom. I can delete this anytime I want. I don't care.
This generation is all about ME ME ME ME ME & I I I I I.
I truly agree.
I tire of myself.
Farewell once again.
It was coincidence that brought us together. And it is fate that will draw us apart.
It's not up to me to bring me back. It's you. 33333 views. Almost there but not quite there.
Silly child.
Watch out for the stars. Cause I'm still roaming amongst them.
Noel. Laptop. Internet. Sleep. 3.29a.m.
Lost Angel
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