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I am a girl who has no flaws.

I distance myself a thousand seas away from being perfect, because I really am not.
But I don’t have imperfections either.

There is only one thing I know.

I have scars.
Discreet scars.

I hide them under the unseen shadows only I and God can see.

They’re like doors of memories and secrets about everything and every me. They were made of the lies and truths I verbalized, whether I should or shouldn’t have said them. I might have thrown words like knives out of my mouth without me knowing or told tales that made tears and snickers, regrettably or not, still I spoke; of all the wonderful places I went to with no regrets and the adventures that I had even if it was the best or worst of times; of those people I’ve met and knew, turning empty ‘nonships’ into I’m-gonna-shoot-anyone-who-says-you’re-ugly kind of friendships, leaving a stain in me.

Perhaps it was one of the reason why I am an introvert. I want to keep them safe. I can’t show them to anyone. It’d feel like ripping each of them open. I’d rather live at peace, not in pieces, over and over. Because once everyone knew, I know it would scare them away. I just know.

So I carry these scars everywhere I go.
I grew up collecting them. I live with them. I am not ashamed to be scarred.

A Must-read

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Love Letters To The Dead by Ava Dellaira.

If you’re the kind of bibliophile who’s hung up on letters and punk rock, I think this book might enlighten you. I don’t mean to be some sort of a spoiler so I would try to not type too much details and just let out my feels a bit.

It started with writing to the dead through a notebook and a pen. Telling how you feel about them like they’re still alive but feeling extremely upset about them disappearing not knowing about the life after they were gone. It cuts deep and it reveals a dark past locked up inside you that you need to freed. Nirvana.

Everyone has a part of themselves where they need to be saved from, by themselves alone. Like they needed such change. I might thought about quoting Mahatma Gandhi which once said, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.”

While locking my eyes at the pages and letters and words of the book, I felt like it was the only thing that made sense at that moment. You’d learn the worst and best things that could happen in reality, mostly and would let your mind drift into thousands of questions and would make you overthink. One of the things that I love about it is it was poetic and it has a good music taste. (Spoiler warning, bleep bleep)

The whole entire thing had my heart shot repeatedly. I was trying so hard not to cry while reading it. But when it ended, it brought back  pieces together and it was wonderful, perfect. The author is genius. I’m glad to say this was written already on my mental ‘Best-books-ever-written-forever’ list.

Now, cat has to get my tongue before I tell all. Oh, and this is my favorite part from the book,

“You think you know someone, but that person always changes, and you keep changing too. I understood it suddenly, how that’s being alive means. Our own invisible plates shifting inside of our bodies, beginning to align into the people we are going to become.

Yours, Laurel.”

Kick Off Post

Lunatic Thoughts of An Awkward Nonbeing

I’m still new to this whole blogging thing so I hope you guys would put up with my quirked blogs.

I don’t know, I started reading an Oxford Dictionary and I have no idea I’d be having an affinity with words. Yes. That was how I pretty much felt about them. I’m more of an overthinker and I do unusual things like wander somewhere serene or stare at a blank space where I always get people to think that I’m weird but what they’re oblivious about is I’m being drowned in my own thoughts. Then all of sudden, my absurd side turns up and it got me into writing any stuff that coexists inside my head and I tell you what, I wasn’t positive about this but I guess I could consider my brain as the sexiest thing about who I am. That’s not saying much and you might think I was just frankly blabbering but hey, what do I know? I’m reluctant to admit it but half of most times I record my own voice, not singing but talking over and over. Embarrassing, I know and I often creep people out because they probably think I’m kind of lunatic. You see, I can’t even stop typing right now. Surely I’m boring you and you’re probably wasting time reading this.

P.S. My posts would be about my idiosyncrasies.