The sky was like a big blue dish, lighted up by an warm orange glow from the rising sun - an orange that picked up on the pinkish tinge of the clouds. And the clouds themselves, they were thick swirls of vanilla ice cream with strawberry sauce drizzled generously on them, large and overwhelming in its sheer size.

And there was a plane, so small against that huge blue dish of ice cream, and as it flew, it seemed on a short time before it would be swallowed up, eaten by the giant ice cream, instead of the other way round. So small, so small it looked indeed, more like a little myna, if not for the fact that it had the distinctive angular shape of a plane. High up in the sky it represented the realisation of Man's dream to fly, to conquer the skies, and yet, its mere size against the vastness of that great expanse of blue, whites and pinks suggested that Man yet are king of the skies.

It flew, the plane, as the girl sighed. It flew, it continued to fly, off to its new destination, while the girl walked to her old. And in that split moment it did not matter whether the plane had really conquered the skies or not - that had become of little importance. What mattered, was that it was an instrument of getaway. All the lofty thoughts faded, the perspective of the girl's mind descended to now, the present, and once again she saw herself in a place enclosed by fences, walking to a smaller place enclosed by four walls.

Almost, almost like a jail it was, yet not. For within this enclosed space lay the bulk of her social circle, a great deal of fun, a wide expertise of knowledge. Such conflict of physical space and intangible ideals - which in itself was, at times, not a hundred percent fulfilled - held such irony that it appeased her raging thoughts and emotions, and cooled her down, for just that little while more.

Just that little while more.

The parents had a bicker. She heard it, heard them; voices escalating, volumes rising, words fast-paced and snappish. Heard them, voices carrying on into the bathroom where she was, walled up. Heard them, even as water fell on her, their words turning into accusations – mild accusations perhaps compared to some, but accusations all the same.

And walled up alone she was silent, and she was silent when she got out. She was silent, physically, but her mind was noisy with a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. What does it say, about a child, when the slightest of tension between her parents stirs up perhaps an unjustifiable, irrational excess amount of conflict within the child? A sensitive nature? An over-active imagination?

Naivety perhaps, but this child has never liked shouts and yells, heated words said in a bad mood. She cannot imagine what happens at night, when they have to then go to sleep on the same bed, for the whole night, and wake up to see each other. How do they resolve the conflict before nightfall? Perhaps through a peace offering: a note, a treat laid out on the table, a gentle touch on the shoulder, a verbal sorry. For both to put pride aside, one to initiate a peace offering, the other to accept it, and not trample on the laid down pride by ignoring it. To look beyond one’s own hurt to the other’s, may possibly be a long, long lesson.

And her heart hurt. It hurt. Hurt for all the people who constantly faced this inconsistency, of bickers and arguments and quarrels. Hurt for all the quivering hearts, the fear, the loneliness in thinking one have to face it alone. Hurt for the broken-hearted, the cynic, the child with her ideals shattered. Hurt for those who are insecure, who grip on jealously, who feels their faith wavering at the slightest difficulty.

At least, she did not have to face these questions and pain often. Yet somehow, that thought in itself was pain enough.

Suddenly all seems to be running out of control again. All. Things piling up one on another, news revealed, tasks after tasks. Of, if only this could be some highly lethal potent intoxicating illusion that one could still actually wake up from. But, it isn't. In a society that actually still focuses on grades, it's hard not to get a little influenced. Especially in a prestigious elite class of talents and high capabilities. It may possibly be quite a shallow way of thinking, but that's the world we're thurst into. Not that I'm very concerned about grades myself - no one in the class really talks about it too anyway, only beholding those with good grades with some esteem. Life goes beyond that. But the nagging sense of inferiority, the conscious thought of being one of the lower spectrum, there's something about the awareness that throws you a bit off-balanced, leave you tottering unsteadily between the brink of depression and sanity.

Times like this I feel as though this world really isn't for me, that I am a little kid trying to act like an adult, wearing too big stilettos when I supposed to be shod in sensible playing shoes...

When school ended I walked out. I walked with steps quick. I ignored the guy who directed the f-word to me. But it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I guess in some way, I had been prepared for it, I had been desensitised when another first used it to me, and actually saying it once, be it not purposefully.

Funny that it took me so long to get used to it, but I guessed it only really meant it's going to be harder to keep to not using it. Control, I told myself. Control.

I had duck noodles when I got back home, the noodles springy and slightly spicy, the duck meat a nice change of taste, and warm soup. A good meal.

I came back home and changed, then went to my mother's room and took her bottle of perfume. I bring it back to my room, and sprayed a little of the fragrance on the inside of my wrist. It is a fresh and light floral, a scent that I like. I go to sleep with my wrist up, smelling the fragrance from time to time before I drift off to sleep.

I indulged myself, and surrounded myself in things I love. A good meal. A nice fragrance. A cup of orange juice. A cold drink.

And then I woke up, and I took a shower, and I sat down to type, and then, and then,

I yelled at my sister.

Sometimes, this seems as though it's all going nowhere.

random short pieces I found in my phone-

1.

A single rose ain't gonna patch up anything. Neither would a dozen or ninety-nine. The scar still stays, livid and ugly, long after the wound has closed. Scatter those large blood red petals onto the floor. I care for it, I care for it not. Leave it on the cold grey cement floor. Don't imagine I would care, don't imagine I would care. Leave it, leave it, to be trampled, subject to
decay.

2.

Seems like all that we can say to each other now, is take care of yourself, and nothing more. I remember a time where we stayed up long to share our woes, that plagued us so, that plagued us so. You were the most beautiful dream, a wish I never thought could be fulfilled. And now like a dream, you're passing so quick. Tell me this doesn't have to end. That's what you told me once after all...

Crying-

In the night.

The room was dark, curtains drawn - the only light in the room those myopic eyes saw was a red blur of light from the fan. And that was the only light. The only light.

Just minutes ago tears had started pouring down her face, almost gently, hanging delicately from the corner of eyes the way dew does on the tips of leaves at first, before a blink of an eye sent those warm, slightly salty drops down the countour of her cheek, some going further down to the corner of her lips. The gentle pain in her heart was soothing, the way soft melancholy blues strangely enough.

In her bed, she pondered. "I have grown up," she said in her mind, "I am still a child, but I have grown up, experienced enough of life. Made friends. Lost friends. Broke my heart."

"We have separate paths," he said.

He said, "Truth is, I'm selfish and I don't want to take up the burden."

Some friends drift away gently - they float like a boat on the sea, heading out towards the horizon, on and on, to greater dreams, to bigger things, and before one knows it, the distance is too far, the waters a bluish glassy pane of uncrossableness, and all you see are the sails trembling just that litle for a while more, then it's gone, really gone. These kind, they do return at times, sometimes. For a while. A short while. A friendly chat, some light-hearted jokes, and they depart again. But some others, they pull. Pull apart. Pull out. Out. Out like, like it's some kind of dammed spot. The weak bonds snaps; the strongest one are pulled, broken, torn apart. Pulling - they're the type that hurts the most.

The cries turned into sobs, heavy. She sobbed. She cried, ragged muffled cries under her blanket. The pain seemed to intensify, weighing heavily on her heart, wounding tightly round it, an unseen physical force that made her cries even shorter, even more ragged.

This is probably one of the best things I've read in a while.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be. Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die, or fade into anonymity. Sometimes circumstances dictate that they go in another direction leaving you to wonder; sometimes they walk away, uncaring and unwilling. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand, hoping that enmity hasn’t reared its ugly head. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done. Reasons can go against you…but when it does, all you can do is assess it for what it’s worth, monitor subsequent correspondences, make your decision and now it is time to move on.

Some people come into your life for a SEASON. They may only be there for a short period of time based on premeditated agendas; they may have motives that are not condoned by you, or because your turn has come to share with them in growing or learning new initiatives for the future. If all things are good, they may bring you an experience of peace, or make you laugh. They may introduce you to new routines and techniques that you have never experienced. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it, it is real. But only for a season -- they move on. Seasonal tidings with this situation usually deal with those that are going through changes, can’t cope with certain situations that cause them to step outside of comfort zones, or are unwilling to take chances. Other seasonal fold readily recognizes their own kind, and will not hesitate to cut you loose.

LIFETIME relationships are harder to recognize for the moment, but with time can be the best choice you can make. But how many people do you know are willing to persevere for the long haul? Find one and I guarantee you will have him or her as someone trustworthy. Life timers teach you lifetime lessons, things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. They accept you for what you are, do not prematurely judge you, do not have any inhibitions about taking chances for the betterment of the relationship, and surely feel that compatibility is something that is assessed as you go, not at the spur of the moment. They don't adhere to conditions and will be there during the zero hour. There’s GOT to be something that you can learn from this type of person. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life. This is Agape Love at it's core..the type of love that God is.

It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant. Silence doesn’t suppose to be as ominous to cut deep like the sharpest knife. To be cut loose dangling trying to fathom how it went south is to understand that directional change does not have to be defined by ill winds and misplaced logic, but by common sense and discernable options working for the best. I thank all the people I’ve met in my lifetime who have lent me their ears, allowed me to belong, gave me love and let me love them back. I’m all the better because somewhere, somehow, and someone have given me hope that friendship is not fleeting, integrity is intrusive, and that good intent coupled with works can be a true embodiment of comraderie for as long as it is deemed necessary to embrace a true friend! And for those that I’ve called a friend at some point in my life, you will always be one…but know that you will not be forgotten.

-a personal analogy on the cause and effect of true friendship by Alvin C. Romer. Based on an original idea by author, Jean Dominque Martin.

I won't deny my heart hurts now with all the memories and recollections, and yet, there's a kind of relief at having someone express thoughts I found so hard to pen succinctly enough.

I'll be fine, I guess.