There are three things Marcella fears: a phone call from the unknown, an email replied too soon, and an undeclinable request.
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Personal
Page 19
I believe in names.
Perhaps it’s mostly about the influence of Patrick Rothfuss’ the Kingkiller Chronicles that I have just finished reading in the last two weeks. Perhaps it’s because a dozen other fantasy books who have put great weight upon a person’s name. Perhaps it’s because God decided to change Jacob’s name to Israel, Abram to Abraham, Simon to Peter, and Saul to Paul.
Perhaps it’s because I have always been fascinated with meanings behind the names. With the stories of how one is named.
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If I can read your mind, I think the world will definitely come to an end. Why? There will be unquestionable hatreds in this world. Who would want to know one’s thoughts when he is saying this and thinking something else or when he is pretending to put his mind on the game but truthfully, one isn’t?
See it this way. You are in a meeting with three others and one is doing a presentation. Somehow you are not paying attention, not really because you are disrespectful or bored, but sometimes your mind just wander. You begin to think about your half-finished book inside your bag, begging to be read. You begin to think of what to have for lunch, or the fun you could be doing tonight. You begin to think about the most random memories and yet you are staring straight into the presenter’s eyes, as if you have been paying attention the whole time.
If one can read your thoughts, one will judge you unworthy.
Read more →Beautiful things don't ask for attention.
James Thurber, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
Once upon a time, age is the golden metrics we use to everything. When one turns eighteen, he’s suddenly legal to drink and to get his driver’s licence. When one turns twenty one, she is accepted in the public as a woman, not a girl or a teenager.
As a child, I grew up wanting to be seventeen. Seventeen was the age when my parents started to give me more freedom. It was the time promised to me to be treated like an adult. Yet when I reached seventeen, I felt like I haven’t grown up yet, so I was looking forward to be twenty one.
At twenty one, I was officially an adult by society’s standard and yet deep down, I still felt like a little girl. I made mistakes I was not proud of, and I silently wished to be much older. Perhaps when I am older, I will be wiser, and more adult-like, in a sense.
Now that I am slightly older, at almost twenty two, I long to be twenty five.
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Many writers claim that they love to write, that their whole lives they could do this thing called writing and writing and writing some more.
But writing is torture. So is not writing. The only feeling that’s truly liberating is having written.
When you start on a blank page, you just don’t know what to write. You get distracted, opening your Facebook account and replying to messages. You try to search for inspiration and read ten different articles which consume thirty minutes of your supposed writing time. Then when the lightning strikes and all you want to do is write, you don’t know if whether this would be received widely by the people. You don’t know if what you write about is worth reading.
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Will you ever be able to reach it?
It’s there. It’s there. But it’s out of your reach. As if there’s an unseen force that keeps you down. You try to grab it. Again. And again. And yet all you’re grabbing is air.
It’s useless. It’s like chasing wind. You can only catch the shadow, never the person. It’s like trying to stop time. It can never be done.
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If I were living in your world, I would be the Princess. I would be the one who breaks the curse that entraps our kingdom for ten years, separating wives and husbands, friends and families. I would be the one who goes through it all, putting everything unto my shoulder as I sacrifice for the sake of my people. Not because I have to, but because I want to.
Read more →'In a kinder world,' he whispered, 'one I promise you I've seen, men and women flirt and dance and love with only the fear of what it would mean without the other in their lives.'
Melina Marchetta, Froi of The Exiles
It’s simple. I care about my time, you care about yours. I care about you being late because it’s fifteen minutes of my life waiting on the uncomfortable wooden chair, being lost in the sea of strangers, putting my head down, transfixing my gaze upon my iPhone and playing Candy Crush. That’s fifteen minutes I can spend napping, instead of waiting for you.
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