Disturbing Dark Shadows
A friend once said, “Worrying is stupid. It’s like walking around with an umbrella waiting for it to rain.” She said it came from Wiz Khalifa, a famous rapper artist nowadays. I would have agreed with this since it was my friend who told me about it, and hello,
Wiz Khalifa – amazing Wiz Khalifa, but realized that maybe worrying is not
always stupid. Right now, I’m worrying. It bothers me so much that I feel like I’m one of the characters in a fictional novel – with the dark past and a hovering shadow in the soul, and that the only way to erase these vagueness and disturbance is to stay away from people as much as possible or to slay the demons from within. (I’m reading
Clockwork Prince right now, so please understand.) I worry about a lot of things, from petty to serious ones. And I don’t know why I’m blogging about worrying to start my September, but this is what I feel right now, so I am.
I worry about my friends. To be honest, I can never really be the perfect friend: I don’t give a damn much about everything; I once said that I’m not emotional with interpersonal relationships; I don’t have a lot of friends since, I don’t know, maybe I tire them off with annoyance, so they eventually leave me. (Yep, I can be annoying most of the time.) I feel like I’m taking them for granted, that I only commune with them when I need something or when I feel like a shit in the middle of nowhere: unnoticed and alone. I can be alone, but at times, it feels so sad that even a company of books in a library is still not enough to make me feel okay. A friend told me that I kinda annoyed her because of my snobbish attitude, that I gave her one-word answers (this happened when I was covering books), and last night it just
bothered me that I even started crying a bit. Sometimes I don’t care about what my mood swings bring to people around me, but maybe sometimes it should be taken drastic measures. My mood swings fucking
hurt them. I guess I should really change for good – it would take massive effort and time for the transition to be successful, but if I’m really committed to this, effort and time wouldn’t feel a thing.
I worry about my hormones. Don’t even get me started. I still feel like my hormones act like I’m still an adolescent. Meh.
I worry about my reading. Of all the things I could worry about, I worry about my reading. My
reading, ladies and gentlemen. I’m such a slow reader right now, caused by a lot of distractions in all forms. I have resorted to reading two novels at a time to be able to reach my 100 reads goal by the end of the year. Aside from
Clockwork Prince by Cassandra Clare (which gives me all the feels – gasping and laughing and gasping all the time), I’m also reading
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (and so far it’s crazy shit). I can do this, can’t I? (Insert dubious emoticon here.)
I worry about the Earth. This may sound like I’m a hypocrite, but I do. It’s scary, all these natural calamities and wrath of Mother Nature. I watched the news last night and the aftereffects of the earthquakes in some parts of the country are both devastating and alerting. I haven’t any idea how we can avoid an earthquake since it happens in our tectonic plates (and as far as I know we can’t swim down to and repair these plates like we own them). There is this forecasted trembling that would have a magnitude of 7.9, and it scared the shit out of me. I’ve seen a lot of movies featuring natural calamities like this, but I don’t know if I can handle it like a bad ass heroine. I worry about the safety of my family and friends (I always do), but I can’t rip my shirt off and act like Superwoman to save all of them. I don’t have super powers; I have awful reflexes and more awful eyesight. Since there are no written remedies to these disasters, I guess we can all only resort to the power of praying and vigilance.
I worry about my feelings for FCC. I’m still confused whether what I feel for him is just a crazy teenage infatuation or if it’s love already. It’s just so perplexing that I can only survive the thought of it
without actually thinking about it. But a lot of times I
can’t stop thinking about him – he’s always there, tickling me with memories that only give me hot blood all over and another crap of uncertainty. And the most annoying thing is that I can’t stop
talking about it: I always confess to a friend what he’s like, what he always do [that I know of], the little words we exchanged from our little time, and his adorable sweetness that led me to this damned, uncontrollable, maddening feelings. I remedied into liking other boys in our school but that only proved futile; I can’t help comparing him to them. I’m so stupid: I know – oh, how I know – that he won’t
ever like me because,
duh, I’m
me, and that this is hopeless since there’s not even a dash of little hope to begin with.
Stupid stupid stupid stupid. I can’t stop being stupid. Ah, I’m smitten by this wonderful guy – and it’s both delighting and upsetting at the same time.
They say we should always expect the worse (I won’t say “expect the unexpected” because that’s just utterly senseless), but I say we should expect the worse while still holding the keys to Happy Land. Worrying, for me, isn’t always stupid; umbrellas, for me, are one of the best things invented throughout humanity. Maybe I’m holding an umbrella not because I’m waiting for the rain but because the sun is blazing outside. Maybe I have an umbrella because I’m just fascinated with umbrellas. Umbrellas are good: you can also use them to hit someone when necessary.
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Disturbing Dark Shadows
A friend once said, “Worrying is stupid. It’s like walking around with an umbrella waiting for it to rain.” She said it came from Wiz Khalifa, a famous rapper artist nowadays. I would have agreed with this since it was my friend who told me about it, and hello,
Wiz Khalifa – amazing Wiz Khalifa, but realized that maybe worrying is not
always stupid. Right now, I’m worrying. It bothers me so much that I feel like I’m one of the characters in a fictional novel – with the dark past and a hovering shadow in the soul, and that the only way to erase these vagueness and disturbance is to stay away from people as much as possible or to slay the demons from within. (I’m reading
Clockwork Prince right now, so please understand.) I worry about a lot of things, from petty to serious ones. And I don’t know why I’m blogging about worrying to start my September, but this is what I feel right now, so I am.
I worry about my friends. To be honest, I can never really be the perfect friend: I don’t give a damn much about everything; I once said that I’m not emotional with interpersonal relationships; I don’t have a lot of friends since, I don’t know, maybe I tire them off with annoyance, so they eventually leave me. (Yep, I can be annoying most of the time.) I feel like I’m taking them for granted, that I only commune with them when I need something or when I feel like a shit in the middle of nowhere: unnoticed and alone. I can be alone, but at times, it feels so sad that even a company of books in a library is still not enough to make me feel okay. A friend told me that I kinda annoyed her because of my snobbish attitude, that I gave her one-word answers (this happened when I was covering books), and last night it just
bothered me that I even started crying a bit. Sometimes I don’t care about what my mood swings bring to people around me, but maybe sometimes it should be taken drastic measures. My mood swings fucking
hurt them. I guess I should really change for good – it would take massive effort and time for the transition to be successful, but if I’m really committed to this, effort and time wouldn’t feel a thing.
I worry about my hormones. Don’t even get me started. I still feel like my hormones act like I’m still an adolescent. Meh.
I worry about my reading. Of all the things I could worry about, I worry about my reading. My
reading, ladies and gentlemen. I’m such a slow reader right now, caused by a lot of distractions in all forms. I have resorted to reading two novels at a time to be able to reach my 100 reads goal by the end of the year. Aside from
Clockwork Prince by Cassandra Clare (which gives me all the feels – gasping and laughing and gasping all the time), I’m also reading
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (and so far it’s crazy shit). I can do this, can’t I? (Insert dubious emoticon here.)
I worry about the Earth. This may sound like I’m a hypocrite, but I do. It’s scary, all these natural calamities and wrath of Mother Nature. I watched the news last night and the aftereffects of the earthquakes in some parts of the country are both devastating and alerting. I haven’t any idea how we can avoid an earthquake since it happens in our tectonic plates (and as far as I know we can’t swim down to and repair these plates like we own them). There is this forecasted trembling that would have a magnitude of 7.9, and it scared the shit out of me. I’ve seen a lot of movies featuring natural calamities like this, but I don’t know if I can handle it like a bad ass heroine. I worry about the safety of my family and friends (I always do), but I can’t rip my shirt off and act like Superwoman to save all of them. I don’t have super powers; I have awful reflexes and more awful eyesight. Since there are no written remedies to these disasters, I guess we can all only resort to the power of praying and vigilance.
I worry about my feelings for FCC. I’m still confused whether what I feel for him is just a crazy teenage infatuation or if it’s love already. It’s just so perplexing that I can only survive the thought of it
without actually thinking about it. But a lot of times I
can’t stop thinking about him – he’s always there, tickling me with memories that only give me hot blood all over and another crap of uncertainty. And the most annoying thing is that I can’t stop
talking about it: I always confess to a friend what he’s like, what he always do [that I know of], the little words we exchanged from our little time, and his adorable sweetness that led me to this damned, uncontrollable, maddening feelings. I remedied into liking other boys in our school but that only proved futile; I can’t help comparing him to them. I’m so stupid: I know – oh, how I know – that he won’t
ever like me because,
duh, I’m
me, and that this is hopeless since there’s not even a dash of little hope to begin with.
Stupid stupid stupid stupid. I can’t stop being stupid. Ah, I’m smitten by this wonderful guy – and it’s both delighting and upsetting at the same time.
They say we should always expect the worse (I won’t say “expect the unexpected” because that’s just utterly senseless), but I say we should expect the worse while still holding the keys to Happy Land. Worrying, for me, isn’t always stupid; umbrellas, for me, are one of the best things invented throughout humanity. Maybe I’m holding an umbrella not because I’m waiting for the rain but because the sun is blazing outside. Maybe I have an umbrella because I’m just fascinated with umbrellas. Umbrellas are good: you can also use them to hit someone when necessary.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
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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.
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