Austere Paradise
The words “I love you” are the hardest to say. It has the most beautiful meaning, and the simplest and yet greatest gift a person could receive. Saying “I love you” is
grand; loving is
grander. But these words, albeit very essential to be expressed, are probably the hardest to say and mean.
I have a very complicated meaning of the word “love”. When I associate it with my hobbies, I call it “passion”. It’s passion when I should be doing my homework now, but instead I’m blogging. It’s passion when I stay late at night and read with the littlest source of light. But when it comes to people, it’s hard for me to say how much they mean to me and how much I’m grateful that I have them in my life. People are
weird beings. We are the most complicated but are in the highest hierarchy under God and every holy life form. Hobbies are the easiest to love but you wouldn’t feel if they love you back; people are the hardest to love but you’d feel it once they do too. But people are still complicated; they would still be even after a meteor falls on Earth and I become President of the Universe.
Fact #1: I’m not verbally romantic and expressive. As far as I can remember, I haven’t said “I love you” to my mother or to any of my family members. Rather than saying it, I show them how much I appreciate and love them. I go by the mantra, “actions speak louder than words”. I show how I feel; if I can’t, I write about it. So all that say-how-you-feel-before-it’s-too-late thing is bull. Fact #2: I can’t explain what composes my views and virtues, but then some things are really unexplainable.
In all of my ex-boyfriends (which isn’t a lot, I tell you), I didn’t say these words to them. I write them down, I blog about it, but that’s as far as I can go. My first boyfriend and I kept mum about it. All we did was talk endlessly on the phone about endless things (but not about us), and we’d see each other in school and still talk. No romantic gestures (except for his roses-for-all-occasion episodes) passed between us. We were so
normal that you’d never mistaken us as a couple, but just friends. Now I’m dubious if we really
did love each other back when we were young and innocent. My last boyfriend (which was three years ago) was the one who first said those words to me. It felt weird hearing them for the first time: my heart bloated and my mind went all haywire. My brain shut down for a millisecond and I had to immediately recover before I find myself in an awkward situation. But it still ended awkwardly. He said those words and I had to think if I’d say them back. I didn’t. I didn’t tell him that I love him, too. It felt bad, but I wasn’t ready yet. I thought maybe time would make me say it, maybe a few weeks/months would prepare me. It didn’t. The relationship ended and the words were left unspoken.
I got into a conclusion that perhaps I can’t say these words aloud because I
really love them. I can’t say it when I really mean it. I can say “I love you” when I’m just kidding around. But is that the case with my friends? I always say these words to my friends. I always tell them that I love them every time I feel like doing so. If I do, then does that mean I don’t really love them? Was I just
flippant all this time? I hope not. Fact #3: I love my friends; I love my best friend more. They’re aware about it. I let them know; I let them see; I let them inside. With my real friends (pitiful number of friends), I always mean it. I mean it when I say they’re awesome and I’m proud of them; I mean it when I say their dress looks good on them or that they’re not fat. With my friends-who-I’m-not-sure-are-real, sometimes I mean it, sometimes I’m unsure. It’s hard to navigate your way out in a maze when you don’t even know what kind of maze you’re in. Maybe I haven’t tried to understand them yet; maybe I had and it was futile; maybe they don’t understand me. But if you’re willing to win in this maze and find your way out before you die of claustrophobia or paranoia or lack of oxygen and food, you’d try and try again.
Fact #4: It’s hard for me to love because I’m
infinitely confused. It’s harder for me to say it, once I got around my confusion, because my heart – and several other things (e.g. apple, door, hippopotamus, windmill, etc) – is in my throat. My world would crash and my heart would be blown like ovaries if ever FCC isn’t single anymore, but if that happens, I’d just kill myself and say “it’s your fault” because I didn’t tell him how I feel… which is
impossible since I don’t know how I feel in the first place. I’d feel
hollow if the people I love don’t love me back. I’d resort to loving books, but that’d only be short term since books can’t answer questions instantly unless I look for them myself. Fact #5: I don’t want to be forever alone. I want to love and be loved and say it out loud without hesitation.
Saying “I love you” is hard; loving is harder… but it’s
paradise in the end.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Austere Paradise
The words “I love you” are the hardest to say. It has the most beautiful meaning, and the simplest and yet greatest gift a person could receive. Saying “I love you” is
grand; loving is
grander. But these words, albeit very essential to be expressed, are probably the hardest to say and mean.
I have a very complicated meaning of the word “love”. When I associate it with my hobbies, I call it “passion”. It’s passion when I should be doing my homework now, but instead I’m blogging. It’s passion when I stay late at night and read with the littlest source of light. But when it comes to people, it’s hard for me to say how much they mean to me and how much I’m grateful that I have them in my life. People are
weird beings. We are the most complicated but are in the highest hierarchy under God and every holy life form. Hobbies are the easiest to love but you wouldn’t feel if they love you back; people are the hardest to love but you’d feel it once they do too. But people are still complicated; they would still be even after a meteor falls on Earth and I become President of the Universe.
Fact #1: I’m not verbally romantic and expressive. As far as I can remember, I haven’t said “I love you” to my mother or to any of my family members. Rather than saying it, I show them how much I appreciate and love them. I go by the mantra, “actions speak louder than words”. I show how I feel; if I can’t, I write about it. So all that say-how-you-feel-before-it’s-too-late thing is bull. Fact #2: I can’t explain what composes my views and virtues, but then some things are really unexplainable.
In all of my ex-boyfriends (which isn’t a lot, I tell you), I didn’t say these words to them. I write them down, I blog about it, but that’s as far as I can go. My first boyfriend and I kept mum about it. All we did was talk endlessly on the phone about endless things (but not about us), and we’d see each other in school and still talk. No romantic gestures (except for his roses-for-all-occasion episodes) passed between us. We were so
normal that you’d never mistaken us as a couple, but just friends. Now I’m dubious if we really
did love each other back when we were young and innocent. My last boyfriend (which was three years ago) was the one who first said those words to me. It felt weird hearing them for the first time: my heart bloated and my mind went all haywire. My brain shut down for a millisecond and I had to immediately recover before I find myself in an awkward situation. But it still ended awkwardly. He said those words and I had to think if I’d say them back. I didn’t. I didn’t tell him that I love him, too. It felt bad, but I wasn’t ready yet. I thought maybe time would make me say it, maybe a few weeks/months would prepare me. It didn’t. The relationship ended and the words were left unspoken.
I got into a conclusion that perhaps I can’t say these words aloud because I
really love them. I can’t say it when I really mean it. I can say “I love you” when I’m just kidding around. But is that the case with my friends? I always say these words to my friends. I always tell them that I love them every time I feel like doing so. If I do, then does that mean I don’t really love them? Was I just
flippant all this time? I hope not. Fact #3: I love my friends; I love my best friend more. They’re aware about it. I let them know; I let them see; I let them inside. With my real friends (pitiful number of friends), I always mean it. I mean it when I say they’re awesome and I’m proud of them; I mean it when I say their dress looks good on them or that they’re not fat. With my friends-who-I’m-not-sure-are-real, sometimes I mean it, sometimes I’m unsure. It’s hard to navigate your way out in a maze when you don’t even know what kind of maze you’re in. Maybe I haven’t tried to understand them yet; maybe I had and it was futile; maybe they don’t understand me. But if you’re willing to win in this maze and find your way out before you die of claustrophobia or paranoia or lack of oxygen and food, you’d try and try again.
Fact #4: It’s hard for me to love because I’m
infinitely confused. It’s harder for me to say it, once I got around my confusion, because my heart – and several other things (e.g. apple, door, hippopotamus, windmill, etc) – is in my throat. My world would crash and my heart would be blown like ovaries if ever FCC isn’t single anymore, but if that happens, I’d just kill myself and say “it’s your fault” because I didn’t tell him how I feel… which is
impossible since I don’t know how I feel in the first place. I’d feel
hollow if the people I love don’t love me back. I’d resort to loving books, but that’d only be short term since books can’t answer questions instantly unless I look for them myself. Fact #5: I don’t want to be forever alone. I want to love and be loved and say it out loud without hesitation.
Saying “I love you” is hard; loving is harder… but it’s
paradise in the end.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
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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