POSTED ON: Friday, January 27, 2012 @ 4:58 PM | 2 comments
23 December 2011, 4:35 - 6:29 a.m.
My three had-beens, one what-happened-between-us, two had-almosts and a couple of had-not-but-wished-it-hads; my grade school closest girl friend and my high school best friend: all either in a relationship or a part of the impossibly possible world of mutual understanding. One dating for more than two years; one just starting out; one in a complication but hanging on; one with a baby; one in a long distance relationship; one single but might be in love. They truly had found love in somebody else, maybe even in a hopeless place (it’s a love I’m feeling, I just can’t denyyyy).
Me? The introverted, weirdo and boring
me? Here. Writing this in a very inconvenient time, when everyone is still lost in the unfathomable wonders of dreams, when it isn’t even the crack of dawn but I already had consumed a cup of coffee (which isn’t really my thing), when it’s so serene and pleasantly quiet that I just had to think things over and achingly write it down at the back page of yet another customized notebook of mine. Feeling stupidly alone – literally and figuratively. Feeling so alone to the depths of missing my family. Alone to the depths of having the unwelcomed feeling of not having friends. Alone to the depths of unhappiness. Unhappy to the depths of loneliness.
It’s just... hard to understand.
Why, that after two years and ten months, do I still haven’t found love in even the most hopeless of all hopeless places?
Why, that after two years and ten months, am I still not ready for a relationship?
Why, that completely moved on, do I still feel that nobody loves me, a love in all its wonderful forms?
Why do I want and/or need love and
don’t want and/or need it at the same time?
Why do I think that I’m ready but still so afraid?
Why are my whys still
whys?
And why, why
freakin’ why, do I still feel a tiny bit of pain and jealousy when one of my had-beens had found love? It’s seriously annoying that I feel like it’s all so wrong and an act of pure selfishness – a selfishness that couldn’t be accepted, that is frankly immoral in the book of dating, that is always a bad thing in all its entity. I honestly can’t and don’t understand the aching stir of my emotions when I learned that he isn’t in a “Status: Single” anymore. I know – oh, how I know – that there isn’t romantic between us, completely nothing. No flicker of feelings that would spark up when applied with a little friction. No switch for affection that could be turned on and off through the course of time and civility. Nothing. Just a little care picked up and gathered from the amiably awkward past and years of shared platonic friendship. I know in my heart that I had completely moved on from the feelings I once had for this particularly funny, sarcastic and gentle of a guy.
Or maybe I haven’t. Maybe I once had the longing, the yearning desire for his time and his presence. Maybe I once thought of our short or maybe long time together when the second shot on love comes. It selfishly occurred to my mind that maybe there’s still a second chance and an endless hope for both of us. I once wished of having him back – which was
unacceptable, which was
impossible.
Maybe I just miss him. Maybe I just want someone to listen to my drama. Maybe I’m just used to having him around – physically or not – whenever I feel like nobody else is there for me. Maybe I grew fond of his late night phone calls. Maybe I took him for granted. Maybe I looked at it beyond the line, pushed unacceptably too far, falsely hoped too high, which frequently happens to me. Maybe I still like him but won’t consider it. Maybe I still haven’t moved on, albeit all the convincing I took like a bitter pill every waking day. Maybe I want that first ever millisecond hug we shared to last for more solid seconds, for more pleasant minutes. Maybe I felt that pull of my heart again, but he didn’t. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe he will never love me again like he used to. Maybe all we’d ever have and need is a special, harmless, caring friendship.
Just friendship: such a painful fact.
Maybe I should stop feeling this way and start moving on – for real. Because if not, I would just be living in a glass case of a past, blindly preferring the amiably awkward but cannot be undone memories; blindly disregarding the other world of the present and the future that are only half-gratifying but still awkward and can always be maneuvered and leave with no dash of regret and bitterness. Maybe I should stop relating my life to a Lady Antebellum song
“All We’d Ever Need” and start living with
“Ready To Love Again” as my mantra. Yeah, maybe I should. Maybe I should stop writing drama this early and
not drink caffeine anymore.
I sincerely hope I won’t be hurt and affected again had my had-beens, what-happened-between-us, had-almosts and had-not-but-wished-it-hads found love in the hopeful and hopeless places. And I hope I won’t feel alone to the depths of unhappiness and unhappy to the depths of loneliness anymore.
THE FLYEST.
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
Accounts.
FACEBOOK TWITTER TUMBLR FORMSPRING PLURK CANDY
POSTED ON: Friday, January 27, 2012 @ 4:58 PM | 2 comments
23 December 2011, 4:35 - 6:29 a.m.
My three had-beens, one what-happened-between-us, two had-almosts and a couple of had-not-but-wished-it-hads; my grade school closest girl friend and my high school best friend: all either in a relationship or a part of the impossibly possible world of mutual understanding. One dating for more than two years; one just starting out; one in a complication but hanging on; one with a baby; one in a long distance relationship; one single but might be in love. They truly had found love in somebody else, maybe even in a hopeless place (it’s a love I’m feeling, I just can’t denyyyy).
Me? The introverted, weirdo and boring
me? Here. Writing this in a very inconvenient time, when everyone is still lost in the unfathomable wonders of dreams, when it isn’t even the crack of dawn but I already had consumed a cup of coffee (which isn’t really my thing), when it’s so serene and pleasantly quiet that I just had to think things over and achingly write it down at the back page of yet another customized notebook of mine. Feeling stupidly alone – literally and figuratively. Feeling so alone to the depths of missing my family. Alone to the depths of having the unwelcomed feeling of not having friends. Alone to the depths of unhappiness. Unhappy to the depths of loneliness.
It’s just... hard to understand.
Why, that after two years and ten months, do I still haven’t found love in even the most hopeless of all hopeless places?
Why, that after two years and ten months, am I still not ready for a relationship?
Why, that completely moved on, do I still feel that nobody loves me, a love in all its wonderful forms?
Why do I want and/or need love and
don’t want and/or need it at the same time?
Why do I think that I’m ready but still so afraid?
Why are my whys still
whys?
And why, why
freakin’ why, do I still feel a tiny bit of pain and jealousy when one of my had-beens had found love? It’s seriously annoying that I feel like it’s all so wrong and an act of pure selfishness – a selfishness that couldn’t be accepted, that is frankly immoral in the book of dating, that is always a bad thing in all its entity. I honestly can’t and don’t understand the aching stir of my emotions when I learned that he isn’t in a “Status: Single” anymore. I know – oh, how I know – that there isn’t romantic between us, completely nothing. No flicker of feelings that would spark up when applied with a little friction. No switch for affection that could be turned on and off through the course of time and civility. Nothing. Just a little care picked up and gathered from the amiably awkward past and years of shared platonic friendship. I know in my heart that I had completely moved on from the feelings I once had for this particularly funny, sarcastic and gentle of a guy.
Or maybe I haven’t. Maybe I once had the longing, the yearning desire for his time and his presence. Maybe I once thought of our short or maybe long time together when the second shot on love comes. It selfishly occurred to my mind that maybe there’s still a second chance and an endless hope for both of us. I once wished of having him back – which was
unacceptable, which was
impossible.
Maybe I just miss him. Maybe I just want someone to listen to my drama. Maybe I’m just used to having him around – physically or not – whenever I feel like nobody else is there for me. Maybe I grew fond of his late night phone calls. Maybe I took him for granted. Maybe I looked at it beyond the line, pushed unacceptably too far, falsely hoped too high, which frequently happens to me. Maybe I still like him but won’t consider it. Maybe I still haven’t moved on, albeit all the convincing I took like a bitter pill every waking day. Maybe I want that first ever millisecond hug we shared to last for more solid seconds, for more pleasant minutes. Maybe I felt that pull of my heart again, but he didn’t. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe he will never love me again like he used to. Maybe all we’d ever have and need is a special, harmless, caring friendship.
Just friendship: such a painful fact.
Maybe I should stop feeling this way and start moving on – for real. Because if not, I would just be living in a glass case of a past, blindly preferring the amiably awkward but cannot be undone memories; blindly disregarding the other world of the present and the future that are only half-gratifying but still awkward and can always be maneuvered and leave with no dash of regret and bitterness. Maybe I should stop relating my life to a Lady Antebellum song
“All We’d Ever Need” and start living with
“Ready To Love Again” as my mantra. Yeah, maybe I should. Maybe I should stop writing drama this early and
not drink caffeine anymore.
I sincerely hope I won’t be hurt and affected again had my had-beens, what-happened-between-us, had-almosts and had-not-but-wished-it-hads found love in the hopeful and hopeless places. And I hope I won’t feel alone to the depths of unhappiness and unhappy to the depths of loneliness anymore.
And why, why freakin’ why, do I still feel a tiny bit of pain and jealousy when one of my had-beens had found love? It’s seriously annoying that I feel like it’s all so wrong and an act of pure selfishness – a selfishness that couldn’t be accepted, that is frankly immoral in the book of dating, that is always a bad thing in all its entity. I honestly can’t and don’t understand the aching stir of my emotions when I learned that he isn’t in a “Status: Single” anymore. I know – oh, how I know – that there isn’t romantic between us, completely nothing. No flicker of feelings that would spark up when applied with a little friction. No switch for affection that could be turned on and off through the course of time and civility. Nothing. Just a little care picked up and gathered from the amiably awkward past and years of shared platonic friendship. I know in my heart that I had completely moved on from the feelings I once had for this particularly funny, sarcastic and gentle of a guy.