And then, life happened

So it seems writing is the only way I can clear my thoughts. I always wondered why I thought in 3rd person, as if trying to describe what's happening as if I were imagining what to write for a story. As if my life was merely words on paper. Come to think of it, that'd make my life miserable.

Life doesn't seem to like me at the moment. I wander around confused and alone. Always alone. It seems like some things don't change, I'm still a loner no matter what I try to do. I just can't seem to make close friends in my cohort. My housemates though.... they've quickly become my most important friends here in college. They mean the most to me and they're my best friends here. It's just bizarre.... And the thing is, the one who has the most in common with me isn't the noisy, opinionated girl or the kind, sensible girl. It's not the jolly if kinda closed one or the happy-go-luck, blur one. It's the quiet, shy one who also knows what its like to be so lonely that you cling fiercely to the those precious people who you call friend. They're all kinda like me but she is the one who has the most in common with me.

I feel displaced here. Starting from scratch is not uncommon but this is so hard and I don't know why. I'm cut off from the things I love: I don't draw, I don't write, I don't read. I'm bereft off the things that make me sane and I have to deal with new creatures - boys. I never was very good at handling their teasing and I generally give out such a serious vibe that people don't laugh with me.

So many things I wish to pour out, yet when I start typing I can't seem to gather them all. A hundred things, a thousands things that I can't express and don't know who to tell to. Fate, y u hate me so much?

A little pocket of Heaven

When I think of Heaven, I see a field that goes on for miles and miles. There is no border in sight and the line between the earth and the sky is blurred as the grass reaches up as if to touch the heavens. Somewhere in the distance, in a way that is impossible, there are trees. In the midst of the field I will walk, and the warm sun that burns bitingly on my skin is relieved by a breeze.

No longer do I dread the feel of soil between my toes or underneath my feet. Nor do I fear the thought of bugs crawling over me, for here there can be no hate or fear. All the petty little things of Earth do not matter anymore and I fear not opinions or people or concepts.

I can walk or run or skip or jump. I can dance if I please or sing on the top of my lungs. And for miles and miles on end, there is not a single person in sight. Just me, the sun, the breeze and the grass.