English was my second language.

I found myself not being able to properly express my thoughts and ideas by using my mother tongue, as I couldn't also talk without using it.

I wouldn't even call myself a bilingual, though I also know one more language, which I unconsciously use when I'm emotionally uncomfortable.

So the thing is—my vocabulary sucks.

HAHA. Somewhere along my disorganized journey to live, I stopped reading. I couldn't properly read, the books I opened few minutes ago was left behind after flipping through 3 chapters since my mind wondered off elsewhere, then proceeds to read a random book which I'll abandon halfway and forget that i've been reading it.

My attention span is shorter than a goldfish's, perhaps it's even dead.

Sometimes there was this sudden gush of ideas, it was so brief that grasping it with my hands only slips away since I wasn't fast enough. Those kind of creative words were only left to rot somewhere within my unconscious mind.

My memory is decaying eversince the time I couldn't even remember.

I actually noticed how stiff I was when using my second language.

And how much I tried reading again, half of it couldn't process since my rusted brain couldn't properly function but somehow randomly starts functioning normally, unexpectedly at that.

So much for this self deprecation.

So like... when can I actually read books like I've used to.

Bleed

till there's no left

to hollow

Crimson and amber

like fire running through

this light, this soul,

this life I borrowed

Drip, drop,

splatter

Slowly crumble, like dust,

like ashes,

set to be freed

and still,

still we shatter

I beg

I plead,

stay, stay within me

for this hands,

this mind,

this dreams I draw

be seen by many

Drip, drop

we bleed,

It flows and scatter,

from the words formed

to the letters written,

behold

a creation we deem worthy

Still,

and still it scatter

from which I bleed,

I tried

to recall, to reach

what was left out

to remember

But still

I'm left hollow

She didn't know why she felt like that. Myriad fragmented memories flowed endlessly to her mind upon sitting next to a windowsill.

It was a lovely day, but she didn't feel like appreciating it. Recently, she had been thinking a lot, she couldn't stop being feeling confused.

Another vivid memory played like a film strip.

There was laughter, a high-pitched velvety voice, glittering eyes looking past her. Time seemed to slow down and there was a feeling of content. It was a recollection from the time she and her friends were having a meal gathering after class.

Then there was another scene barging in.

Flushed cheeks were slightly covered, whispers and giggles ringing past her ears, unconsciously bumping shoulders in a hot summer, sitting under the shades in a small park. Explicit secrets were being exchange between the two and she felt a bud sprouting, an inkling to always be close to that person.

Suddenly there was dog barking past her fence gate, then there's a snap, as if waking up from a dream, she realized she had been holding her breath again.

Thinking again, why she had been feeling confused lately. Rationalizing that she just treated that friend differently to her other circle of friends, as she felt closer, like a family, to that very person.

Standing up from her seat, she headed to the kitchen trying to find some water to ease her sudden thirst.

Then started wondering why she liked hugging that person, when she herself usually doesn't like hugging at all.

One glass of water, drank hastily, as some memories popped out of nowhere again.

So soft, it felt soft hugging that person. Sweet scented perfume lingering to her nose. Like milk and honey infused, she felt intoxicated. Their frame was smaller compared to hers, and she liked how she could cover them within her embrace. It was warm, so damn warm, it gives her enough security that she could cherish. She liked that feeling every time she hugs that person.

‘Like...’, Second glass of water was consumed. Yet her mind was elsewhere.

'Like? No, that's not right'

'That feels off, I had ex boyfriends, that's not it'

She suddenly felt bloated and realized she had already drank more than two glasses of water.

Her phone abruptly rang from her pockets. The one who was calling her was the one she had been thinking all day long.

Thump, thump

Without notice, her heart started beating wildly. Maybe she felt guilty, maybe anticipating something, seeking some kind of closure to what was those feelings entrapping her but overall perplexed to her instances as she answered the phone.

"Hey Maya, what's up?"

There was a low sobbing noise on the background,

"Sophia, what should I do? I caught him cheating... He.. he was doing it with another girl. Am I n...not enough?"

"What?? Where are you?"

'No... this feeling is not right, It's definitely not it'.

(Kinda chaotic rant. Mostly unedited. Read with caution.)

I realized adults didn't give a damn about childrens.

Okay hear me out first.

Adults set the rules, they set their pace, which were strictly followed, generations after generation. An obsession, that's what it is. To set everything in path, never get astray from what was given to you, to a youth within this destructive, chaotically world where adults tried keeping it intact (at least they tried).

We keep chasing like adults do.

Adults were always running ahead, running to where a path, tattered and common, which always leads to desolation.

I said hear me out!

Growing up, surrounded by tall adults which I always looked up with my neck aching, just to see their silhouette faces.

Their back faced against me,

walking,

jogging,

running ahead never stopping for a second to breathe.

And my puny little legs, keeping up, trying to run, trying to overtake, trying to surpass what was ahead.

And then I tripped.

More than my 18 years of running ahead, I tripped.

I damn tripped, scrapped my knee, my heart, my soul, my every being. The wounds started scrapping what was left to me, what was unwounded. The bleeding couldn't stop, and I was left hollow. (Please make this stop, make it stop)

I tripped and no one saw.

Cause no one gives a damn when your slow in life. When you couldn't keep up to what was everyone doing.

The suffocation, the eerie silence of scattered footsteps. I thought of thinking about getting up and start walking again but I didn't, I couldn't. Tell me, what was it that I had been trying to achieve?

What was worth it?

What was the worth of this neverending chase— of this neverending ending insanity?

Stop looking ahead. What have you all been chasing so hungrily, so obsessively for?

I just sat there, quietly watching ahead. Quietly looking at those blurry silhouettes scurrying, hurrying to where everyone else's at.

And I stopped. My time stopped, my path suddenly disappeared, it dissolved into dust, into nothingness, into a void swallowing everything else. I couldn't see what was ahead anymore. Nothing is worth the effort for.

Hear me out...

What was it?

Why did I thought about running like the adults?

I stopped. I damn stopped my track.

What do I do?

What do I have to do now?

I'm lost. I gave up. I didn't gave myself a chance. I didn't properly gave myself a damn chance. I couldn't see myself anymore.

Someone...

Anyone...

What to do... ?

What do I do?

Hey, hear me out!

We dream, as a vast galaxy there is.

We, as a light of our own, become each sun's of a planet,

for shall we brighten what we believe of what was ours.

I once wondered,

Looking beyond the surface, gazing to where those little lights lead to, for whom they brighten their own.

We became a phenomena, a tragic ballad echoing in an abandoned stage.

A lonely star, dimmer than what they are from yesterday,

But it seems, those who had planets kept being their light.

How I wished, I could be a light of your own

And it seems, as how much I tried, I'm dimmer from who I was yesterday.

A dream, of course it's only a dream.

How I wished, this could have been true.

I was a lonely child growing up but I wasn't aware of that.

I would always go to my neighbor's house to play all day, pick a fight with some boys with the same age, quarrel with some kids in our village plaza, borrow a stranger's bicycle because I didn't have one, the list goes on as my unruly self was being molded.

But I always felt lonely and I didn't know that word at that time. It was a foreign but familiar feeling as it accompanied me in my youthful adventures.

Waking up from our once tattered house, roof filled with holes, hearing the rooster's crow wasn't enough to arouse my childhood self but someone was already up, preparing for breakfast and preparing for work.

And just like that, my morning would come and go as quickly as it began.

I always followed my grandfather together with my brother every morning to stroll around the village as we walk our dogs. The same routine happens in the afternoon.

Grandfather was always lost in thought, in daze, everytime we finished our routine.

I always see him like that,

him sitting before a vegetable field,

him sitting under the shades of trees,

him standing always looking beyond to what I couldn't perceive,

his shoulders always looked droopy but his back was straight,

It was still a foreign feeling looking at him like that but still familiar, if only, I knew what loneliness was at that time.

Then would there be a difference?

My mother was a highschool teacher but during my youth, she was still a practice teacher.

In my 3rd grade, I was a hot tempered child, quick to use fist but quicker in shedding tears. A very unruly girl indeed.

Because I always felt lonely, I learned how to seek attention from my parents, especially from my mother.

I always craved her warmth. And raw emotions were rampant within me, steadily flowing out and urging me to be out of control. It was a terrifying feeling.

I once thought,

"Why does she always spend time with her students and not me"

And from those thoughts turned into this,

"I hope mom won't come home anymore so I can play more".

A child couldn't understand how their parents suddenly lose their time to play with them just like a parent who couldn't understand their child's desire.

But then looking back,

My childhood self probably wanted to say,

"Mom, I was lonely and so is grandfather. So look at me, look at us, properly see me so I can see you too".

(A prose made by my younger self)

The night was more peaceful than the day when the youth's radiance echoed throughout the neighborhood. A glimpse of happiness was a thing I once discovered.

Slowly...

The moon was sleeping and the glittering stars pulsated its color as it gradually fades in the galaxy.

Slowly...

A ray of light, a heart-pounding feeling, a discovery, started disorienting itself and dissolved its meaning.

It looked like an old film to me,

Continually repeating,

Like a never-ending limited story plot.

A filmstrip which kept itself in a tiny room.

Waiting to be discovered, waiting to be seen by your hopeful eyes.

It keeps on playing until one day, It burns out and lost its color.

The night was peaceful as ever,

The serene wind whispered through my window,

Just like how I was supposed to remember.

Just like a film, designed for you to remember.

But we also chose to forget its purpose,

Even as much as the filmstrips convey what you and I had discovered.

Splattered shades of green was the first thing who greeted the peeking sun as dawn was coming on its way.

Mist covering the sprouting emerald greens in the paddy field, dew drops forming like crystalized tears, and the cheering birds were welcoming a new morning.

A farmer was seen walking towards the field together with his 3 months old puppy, joyfully bouncing around with its tail wagging in delight.

Fresh green and earthly scents greeted the two as cool winds blow in every direction.

Accompanied with a splatting mud, the farmer treads in a slow accustomed rhythm. Looking beyond the seeds of his labor waiting and anticipating for its fruitful hardwork.

Breathing in, It was a good day to start.