Flights of Fancy

I’m back! If you missed my last post, it’s because I forgot to put any tags. Yes, I’m an idiot. As usual, the short piece – this time a poem – is at the bottom of the post but I would appreciate it if you could all stick around for the entire post, as it will be pretty short and it will include some recommendations.

I have a love-hate relationship with rap music. I am naturally more inclined to listen to rock/punk/etc so rap isn’t always the first thing on my mind. Recently, that changed. My love for punk and rock remains but I also discovered some Korean rappers. I already knew about the great RM, Suga, J-Hope, etc but then I found Outsider. Holy shit. If nothing else, just give his song Loner a shot. I promise it’s amazing.

Then, yesterday, I found the iconic duo LeeSsang (리쌍) by chance and fell in love with their profound lyrics. My first introduction was their Tears of Pierrot trilogy, which I greatly recommend, though it’s very sad so be warned, as well as Painter/Song of Fire (화가), all of which can be found on Daechungpower’s youtube channel, with English subs.

Finally, today, I ventured into Big Bang’s territory and found T.O.P’s Doom Dada. It’s wacky and confusing and weird but also kind of funny and creepy and awesome. There are lyrics vids available for it, which I highly recommend, though they won’t clarify much, but the MV is worth a watch too. In fact, this song was my main inspiration for the poem in this post. Outsider made me feel; LeeSsang motivated me to write and change the world; and T.O.P inspired me. They’re all wonderful and deserve recognition.

Interesting fact: I came up with the title Flights of Fancy months ago, knowing I wanted to write something with that title. It’s the first time ever I came up with a title before I had an idea. Now, without further ado, I present to you:

Flights of Fancy

Flights of fancy,
on a spur,
whimsically this,
fancily flying,
fancy flights.
From day one
he beats a drum
freely, fearlessly
‘fraid of none
he beats his drum.
On a whim,
jumping up,
flying high,
burning bright,
burning out.
This and that,
zus en zo,
여기저기,
tu i tamo,
free to peruse.
And so he flutters
from one to the next,
always looking,
stuck with second best;
I wish this were the end.

From flowers to masters
to cheeses at night,
beers to piñatas,
no end in sight,
his endless plight.
Painting and sculpting,
even karaoke,
jumping and running,
fierljeppen out of spite,
never quitting.
his next pursuit,
forever forgiving,
singing lullabies to
crying babies
of the human variety.
Finally he found
a passion that stuck
and started writing
your favourite book.
These flights of fancy,
moments of spur,
looking lonely,
abandoned and dull.
And so he ends with
one last word.

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Imagine: how I kept my promise

So last time I wrote a post without adding a short piece to it, with the promise I’d post one before year’s end. Here I am keeping that promise. As usual, scroll down for the story. It’s an experimental piece; the first and only time I’ve tried writing from the second person point of view. That’s right, the ”you”-pov. I must be insane. Enjoy. (It’s called Imagine, hence the title.)

First off, it’s Kim Taehyung’s birthday! That might not mean anything to you but I personally am glad he’s out there being happy, celebrating with the people he loves. I hope he knows how much he means to all the people he’s made happy over the years.

This post will hop from topic to topic pretty randomly, as I just want to let everything out that’s stuck inside of me, so if it seems unhinged, sorry. You can just skip this bit and go straight to the short piece.

Yesterday they showed a segment on TV of the important people that died this year. I hadn’t heard of most of those yet it greatly saddened me. So many people died this year. The problem with this kind of thing is all the people that died in anonimity. They didn’t even mention all the famous people that died, and there were already so many. The hundreds of thousands of others that died this year are kind of skimmed over, whether they died ‘peacefully’ in their sleep or were brutally killed in a suicide bombing. I just hope other people saw this segment too and thought ”if this is just about the famous people who died, think about all the regular people who aren’t showed”. Makes you feel really tiny.

Btw, speaking of feeling tiny, have you guys seen that little video thingy illustrating how deep humans have dug so far and how long it would take to get to the center of the earth? It was really cool, though humbling, and I recommend watching it. It’s only a minute long at most.

Other cool things I watched include the drama The Bride of Habaek (I always say Haebak), which has a pretty shitty description so I’m glad I decided to watch it anyway. It’s not at all what I imagined it to be. Other great stuff to watch: IRIS, Tunnel (the drama, not the film), Witch’s Court (seriously, if you don’t watch anything else for the rest of your life, watch this one), and Loving Vincent (the film about Van Gogh’s death, excellently executed. The film, not the person..).

Book-wise this year was pretty bad, not because there were few good books that came out but because I hardly read at all and the things I did read were kind of disappointing. The only books that didn’t disappoint were the ones by Harlan Coben and the final installment of the Banned and the Banished series by James Clement. The middle of that book was a bit slow but the ending more than makes up for it.

The greatest disappointment was Camus’ Stranger/Outsider. The only reason I finished that book was because I was on a plane with nothing else to do and reading anything was better than imagining all the different ways in which the plane could crash and kill us. It’s not even that the main character was unrelatable; it’s just that the writing style was so boring and blegh. Very disappointed. It’s probably a minority that feels this way, but still. Read it if you want, I just won’t be re-reading it.

Speaking of disappointments, let’s talk Kruidvat’s Colors To Play wash out hair dye. The bottle says ”best effect on bleached and naturally light blond hair” but I didn’t expect to see no effect whatsoever on golden blonde hair. Literally the only thing that was dyed was the scalp, and that lasted only until the next day. Yeah, not buying that again.

Also, TTMIK books. I am in no way disappointed by TTMIK, as they, and their podcasts in particular, have proven quite the blessing, but the prices! I saw a deal on all the books today, with 10% off. It was still over €350. I know that it isn’t that expensive for so many books (25) but the truth is that I cannot even afford a single one. That’s right: I currently don’t even have €10 to spend and January hasn’t even started yet. I have to survive off of this until the 20th. This is why I moved back home with my mum. I don’t even know how I’ll pay for taekwondo. Ugh, money.

On that note, let’s end this.

Imagine

Imagine being born. You live your life happily as a baby, your parents love you. They struggle but you’re little so you have no worries. They teach you how to walk, speak, to use the potty. Life is good.

Imagine one day they take you somewhere. You think you’re going to see that nice old couple you refer to as your grandparents. Instead, you are taken to a place with other little people like you: pre-school.

You get shy. You haven’t been around this many people before. On top of that, they speak a language you don’t understand. You’re two years old and you’re all alone in this crowd of people. You observe. As the days go by, you understand more and more of the language. You don’t start speaking it, as you are still very shy, and you are not good at making friends.

Two years go by like that and you are ready to leave this place. You are about to enrol in elementary school, but your old teacher expresses her concern. ”Your child might get in trouble. She hasn’t spoken at all since she started here. Be aware that she might fall behind.”

Your parents get concerned. They don’t understand. At home you speak really well, be it in your own language, and you’re a fast learner. You go to elementary school, and your parents are prepared that you might fail.

You do your own thing in elementary school. You listen to the teacher, you perform all the tasks. You even manage to make some friends. One day you were minding your own business when the teacher asks you to perform all kinds of tasks, over and over again. She looks surprised but you don’t know whether she thinks what you’re doing is good or not.

Your parents get a call. They have to come to school to talk about you. They are concerned. What if the pre-school teacher was right and you’re falling behind? They go, expecting the worst. They will love you no matter what.

When they reach the principal’s office, your teacher is there too. Both women are smiling. Your parents don’t understand. ”We took some tests with your child. We believe she might be of above average intelligence.”

Your parent don’t know what they’re hearing. ”Above average?” they ask, eyes wide. Deep in their hearts they had known you were smart. You take more tests and you get to skip a grade.

From here on, your life in elementary school is great. You kind of suck at gym class, but you excel in everything else. You take all kinds of tests, year after year, and pass with flying colours. You are constantly within the top 3 of your class.

You turn eleven. You start thinking about high schools. You have one final test to take and you get a near perfect score on it. You apply for the highest level of high school. You expect to get in easily because you’ve always been smarter than the others. When your letter finally arrives, you open it excitedly. You read it and your dreams shatter.

You got accepted into the second highest level. You’re confused, but accept that maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are. You show the letter to your mum. She explodes. You have never seen her so angry. You want to go apologise for not being smart enough. You try but she is on the phone. She’s angry. You leave the room.

When she is done, she comes to find you. She called the school and asked why you hadn’t been accepted into the highest level. They told her they thought you’d have trouble with the language. You are confused. All the tests you have ever taken were in this language. You understood it better than most of your peers. Your mum explains she told them exactly that and they decided to accept you. You are relieved but you still question your intelligence.

Your first year in high school goes by and you pass easily. You are somewhat bored because part of it all is far too easy and part of it is told so monotonously, you lack all motivation to learn. You pass class after class, year after year, without much trouble. You study an average of 2 hours per school year, but no one believes you.

In the final three years, things get a bit more difficult and you start studying about an hour every week. In geography class, a guy tells you that you and your people are to blame for his father not being there during his childhood. He was a soldier during the Yugoslavian War.

You don’t understand what your role in this was. You had been born a month before the peace accords. Your parent had fled to this country at the beginning of the war. You’re confused and hurt, you feel bad for what your people did. You don’t exactly know who your people are supposed to be, as you only know your close relatives, but you take his words to heart and feel bad.

You try to get a job, but no one even bothers to respond to your application. Your friend applies for the same position and gets it.  Exact same credentials, curriculum vitae virtually indistinguishable. You hear a Moroccan girl complain about discrimination based on a foreign name. You start thinking and you realise that might very well be the case. You want to give people the benefit of the doubt but still no one responds to your applications.

Geert Wilders becomes a well-known figure. His racial slurs grow more popular every day and you feel increasingly unwelcome in the country you were born in. People who you thought were your friends start yelling for less foreigners. He makes the adjustment saying the well-adapted ones are okay. You feel slightly less bad but you still worry.

You get into the university of your choice. You have grown weary of people and you find it hard to trust people but you manage to make friends. University turns out to be a much more open and accepting environment. You’re enjoying yourself but you still feel different.

You don’t think the way these people do. They are smart and so are you, but your way of thinking differs so much. You try to think their way but fail. You struggle with accepting yourself as you are. You have some personal issues, as does everyone else.

In your third year, a partly Moroccan woman gets a high position in politics. You think to yourself: yes, this is a well-adapted foreigner; this is the direction society should go towards. Wilders, however, is less than pleased. People are calling for her to swear off her second nationality. They seem to think someone cannot be loyal to a country if they have ties to another country. You find this silly, as her cultural heritage has made her who she is, and a person can be loyal to more than one person, so why would that not be the same with countries?

You hate the fact that so many fellow-citizens support such xenophobia. You struggle to find your place in a society that doesn’t want you. You’ll always be that lazy foreigner, with no work ethic, who adds nothing to society, and who should go back to their country.

You were born here, but this is not your country. You go on holiday to the country your parents were born in, but you feel like a foreigner. You don’t belong there either. You have a double nationality but neither matches your identity.

 

I’m a mess

Let me tell you the story of how I royally fucked up so you can avoid similar mistakes in the future if you’re like me or laugh at my misery if that’s more your thing.

A while ago I managed to land me a new job. This was job number 2 and I was super excited for it even though the circumstances weren’t great. I diligently went three times, in-between getting sick and taking a short trip, before I ended up quitting. Through Whatsapp. Yes, I was that rude.

We all know in theory that it’s unprofessional to deal with your employer that way and that tone of voice and formalities are very important when it comes to dealing with business and keeping a good reputation. I, too, know this and knew it back then, yet I did this stupid thing regardless.

Why?

Because I listened to the fear inside me and my self-destructive tendencies. That voice that isn’t really a voice but more like a feeling or a wall inside of my body that prevents me from doing things I should be doing, that holds me back, that makes me do ridiculous and idiotic things to avoid doing the things that scare me, screw the consequences.

Except now the consequences have caught up to me, like I knew they would. While I was writing the whatsapp message I knew it was going to mean that bridge was burnt and I would not be able to rely on this person in the future. It was all my fault.

The truth is that this was a lovely man who treated his employees well and I mistreated him. I was unprofessional and rude, brattier than I’ve ever been before, and I deserve to face the consequences of my actions.

I have since apologised but I’m not sure whether it reads half-assed. There is a tiny chance my former employer would come across this but if he does and he realises it’s me I hope he knows I truly regret my actions but completely understand that he lost all respect for me and isn’t going to get it back no matter how remorseful I may seem online, under a pseudonym.

It’s hard to own up to your actions and even harder to do it under your real name. I’ve done it recently, on Quora, and it was awful and liberating at the same time. I cried so much but I’m finally more or less at peace with the thing I did that I wrote about. (Completely unrelated to this screw-up, btw.)

It’s important to make amends and apologise to the people you’ve wronged but it’s equally important to realise it is all in the past and forgive yourself because dwelling on it forever isn’t going to make you more productive or a better person. I write this here in part because I dont know how to make amends, in part because I cannot bring myself to own up to it under my own name, but mostly so I can move on, even though it happened recently, and go on to improve myself as a person, to learn for my mistakes and do better next time. I can continue wallowing in guilt – there’s plenty of it – or I can continue living, learn to fight off the wall/voice/feeling and do better in the future.

I am already a much better person than I was seven years ago, yet I also know that I still have a long way to go. Last night, in a moment of intense honesty with myself, I realised that I’m not okay and I probably need help. It doesn’t mean I’m going to get help but I do now have the insights required to make an attempt to deal with this on my own. I finally know what I’m facing and it’s going to be a hard battle against myself but at least I’ve identified my opponent, which is going to tremendously improve my chances. Hopefully.

Now I know this wasn’t what anyone hoped for and on top of that there is no story or poem attached to it and I apologise for that. I considered putting one but none of them seemed to match what I was going to write about here so I chose not to put anything. There’s no way in hell I can write a short piece right now, not with the amount I’ve been writing lately. (The answer is 0. Zero.) So you’re left with this mess that I’m not even going to proofread because it’s all raw thoughts and feelings, straight from my mind and heart. (I’m not even going to post this on Twitter so its exposure is limited.) I will, however, leave you with the promise of a story before the end of the year. I will not start 2018 without having posted anything.

Thanks for taking the time to read this.

P.S. Would you like to see me continue to focus on short pieces and poems or would you be interested in reading a slightly longer work (10,000-20,000 words approximately) in several installments over a short period of time, say a month?, provided it doesn’t intefere with my ”updating schedule”? Let me know. I don’t have anything ready to go right now but I do have some works in the making that might be interesting to share this way.

Sleep-deprived poem

Sleep

Words look silly

Coelho seems deep

Thoughts run wild

Body’s adjusting

Time’s run out

Teddy bears can talk

Music on repeat

Bed not comfy

Pillow too warm

This sleep-deprived poetry

Eyes fall shut

Mouth drops open

Drool trickles out

Subconscious keeps fighting

Dreams all around

Lights turned off

Your goodnights said

No quick kisses

Right before bed

Or those kisses will undeniably lead to more, i.e. sex, which is bound to destroy a perfectly good night’s rest, not to mention how it will disturb your neighbours and children and scar them for life or at least until the next celebrity break-up is announced because evidently such shocking revelations have precedence over the dull reality of flooding and landslides and the inevitability of deaths of thousands of individuals due to wars started in the past, wars fought in the present, wars left to future generations because clearly having flying cars will reduce all human suffering exponentially and the world will be a better place even though most of the bees will have died and the birds will have followed until it’s a wasteland of cockroaches and humans because that’s an acceptable goal we’re collectively working towards, as mentioned in the Bible, which is undeniably the work of God because what else would he occupy himself with but telling men it’s okay to stone their wives but not to mix fabrics, isn’t that common sense, because even though there is only one shade of black clothes seem to have the ability to not match based on the fabric your black clothing item is made of, so unpredictable, exactly like their human counterparts which are all different shades of black but should nevertheless be generalised and preferably be shot preventatively in case the grime in their jeans pockets could be weaponised and innocent lives would be lost, like the sweet old man who shot all those people in Las Vegas, which is probably a conspiracy by the Leftie libtards because how could a sweet old god-fearing man who loved country music and once helped an old lady cross the street do something bad, which was an isolated incident that shouldn’t inconvenience him too much like that darned rape case did to his neighbour whose forced community service ate away at his precious baseball practice which was a total set up by that little minx who deliberately got drunk and asked in her sleep to be undressed, and who enjoyed it because she screamed no so loud she must’ve been close to orgasming when that little Jewish punk interrupted but it’s okay because he was taken care of by some very fine people, like it should be because Hitler was obviously just misunderstood as he’d been so fervently discriminated against by the gypsies and homosexuals, which are currently even allowed to get married, which is a disgrace because the tax benefits that come with getting married are clearly reserved for Johnny and his cousin, I mean wife, and his second cousin who is also his second wife but the sister-bride to his third wife, though soon their daughter will be old enough to get on a lift with all the big men in Hollywood because being a star is something she always dreamed of and practices while in the shower, which good ole Bobby the friendly drunk supervises with gun in hand in case any robbers would come to harm his niece while she soaps her tiny little titties under that hot stream which he gladly would’ve enriched with his own hot stream were it not for the fact that his bitch of a wife threw out his Viagra the day her birth control stopped being free and he hadn’t had time to get a new prescription between beating her half to death and watching a rerun of F-

Sleep

Winter blues

Okay so it’s not technically winter yet. So what? My body doesn’t seem to know the difference. It’s cold out and my body is responding to that by making me sick. The fact that it’s still only November is wholly irrelevant. As such, you will find a depressing poem at the bottom of this post. Enjoy it or don’t, I’m so sick and tired that it’s all become irrelevant to me.

I went to Portugal for a few days with my mum last week, which I thoroughly enjoyed because Lisbon is a wonderful city I long to return to and we were lucky because it was 20-22 degrees while we were there. (Celsius, obviously. I’m Dutch, so I’ll refer to temperature and other measurements in the only way I know.) I would recommend it to everyone, though I’m also strangely possessive over it, unwilling to see it run over by tourists. Yeah, I don’t know either.

As for my prolonged absence, you’ve got my new job to blame/thank. The work itself is fun enough, though I’m not great with physical work, much preferring the use of my mind, and my bosses are quite alright (I think I have about five, though the hierarchy eludes me), but my coworkers are awful. A few of them are quite alright; some I can tolerate for the duration of the workday whereas I actually like others.

My problem lies with a select few, who haunt my nightmares even on the weekends. They are loud, obnoxious, stupid*, judgmental, fucking slow, complain a lot, too damn nosy, rude, and plain disgusting. They suck all my energy and motivation from me. They’re the real-life dementors.

Me being who I am, I hardly ever talk back. You need to really piss me off, while I have confidence or when I’m completely indifferent to the world around me, for me to explode. As a result, I kept quiet. I hate that I am this way. My neighbour kid – she’s 14 – has the biggest mouth, is annoying af, and a little stupid too, but at least she stands up for herself and loudly proclaims what she believes is right. I dislike that about her because her opinions are often bs but I envy her for it too because I would like to have the same ability.

My energy levels are low, I am sick and tired, my mood is unstable, and I haven’t had the mind to write. Good thing I have a bunch of pre-written stuff waiting to be read.

Bye.

*by stupid I do not mean ‘slow learner’ or ‘less bright than me’ but those who are wilfully ignorant, proclaim their ideas with confidence, assume rather than ask, aren’t willing to listen to other opinions, and will use nasty remarks and actions to prove their ‘superiority’. You know the type.

N.B. everything below this point belongs to the poem, including the post-script (title in bold)

Searching For My Will To Live: an attempt to capture the zeitgeist

“My bag is larger than my will to live,”
said the girl on the train.
I look up and check the size:
a small backpack. Not bad.
A meme forms in my head
with her words and the tiniest bag.
I laugh to myself though I should cry;
I’d lost my own a while ago.
Looked on the train, searched at my job,
even checked at school: the place where I lost it.
Nothing. A failed attempt. Futile.
Relationships; marriage; kids; mortgage; travel; money; fame; success; sex.
None of it can fill this gaping hole.
Humour. Laughter.
What’s left when nothing’s left?
What’s real when reality seems absurd?
So we laugh.
“Amazon key to bring sweet relief of death… to your HOME!”
“Timberland: perennial labour for us ánd our boots.”
“Only twenty mental breakdowns until Christmas break.”
Our mass embrace of nihilism.
Life is absurd.
Lmfao.
P.S. I still haven’t found my will to live

Cancer is a bitch, and so am I

Now before you all get outraged, the title of this post has nothing to do with me. The only person in my vicinity who had cancer is my grandmother and she recently beat it! But I did write a short piece called Cancer is a bitch and so am I, which you can find at the bottom of this post. Enjoy.

Now, to explain my absence: my life sucks. Good thing I made no promises about updating because my life took a turn for the worse and I am not dealing with it all very well. So what happened? First off, I failed my bachelor thesis for the 5th time. Yeah, fifth time. Consequently, I have zero confidence. Really, I would drop out had I not already wasted 4 years and nearly €10K on this bachelors programme.

I am currently in search of a job to fill this spare time and pay some bills, but that’s not going well either. I had a job but had to quit it to focus on school. My lovely boss told me I could come back after I was done, so I called him and he told me to email him. So far I have heard nothing back. It’s been two weeks and I am stressed.

To add to all that, pretty much everyone in my life has been nagging at me, telling me I should do more, that my failures are all because I didn’t try hard enough, because I am too lazy, etc. Stress levels through the roof. Not to mention the health scares this stress has brought me. I am currently in denial that anything is wrong with my body and will hold onto that tiny sliver of hope with all my might until either my mind or body gives in. Let’s blame it all on my weight and hope my problems will disappear once I lose some. Hahahahahahahaha, yeah.

Then, the true nightmare: my dad had a stroke. He doesn’t live near me, so when the police came to my home I was shocked, to say the least. It was a highly unpleasant experience and for a full day we didn’t know about his condition or whether he would make it. I was literally in shock for most of those 24 hours and remember them as if they were a nightmare. He is now fine, mostly, though his left side is partially paralised (hopefully temporarily) but he’s still abroad and none of us have seen him yet. We talk daily though so we’re up to date with his progress. The thing is, he has no insurance. His life has been turbulent this past decade so aside from being poor ourselves we might be facing more financial difficulties.

Though no excuse, these are the reasons I haven’t written a thing in two or three months now. The story posted below, then, is also at least 6 months old. This is the first time I am truly discussing everything that’s been going on, aside from my conversations with my best friend. Maybe I needed this, maybe I didn’t. I wouldn’t have needed it were it not for my elbow injury (sustained during an intense taekwondo training) which isn’t healing the way it should be, and which is the reason I’m not allowed to do taekwondo for a while, on physio’s orders. This sucks because I need taekwondo to clear my mind, stay sane, and be happy.

I will do my best to get my life in order again but I still make no promises with regards to writing. Hopefully I’ll get some done but I expect nothing. I’m mentally in a really bad place right now, surrounded by negativity and criticism, which I readily face on my good days but which are crippling when already in a bad mindset. Sigh.

But I’ll be okay. No worries, I am fairly resilient and tend to bounce back. Which reminds me how much I miss my former friend, even though he was a jerk. I will focus on the things I can change and improve rather than what’s out of my sphere of influence. And since I cannot come up with more positive things, have the story now:

n.b. everything after this point is part of the story

 

Cancer is a bitch, and so am I

That morning Kristy found herself clutching the toilet seat, watching her blood splatter all over the pot. She had been in this position for 45 minutes now, afraid to get up. Each time she had tried, a coughing fit brought her back to her knees.

She knew her situation was bound to worsen; she just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

She had been diagnosed less than two months ago. Lung cancer. The doctors had used some fancy terminology but it didn’t make a difference; she was terminally ill.

It hadn’t been her fault. She had never smoked a day I her life, made sure to avoid smoke as much as she could, yet she still got cancer.

And people judged her for it. As if she wasn’t angry enough that she got ill while some smokers lived until 90, people automatically assumed it was her fault.

‘’It’s lung cancer, she must have secretly smoked,’’ they would say. Not even her own mother believed her.

Her family had been slightly kinder about it, suggesting that she may not have known she was harming herself. Did they think she was stupid? She knew very well what cigarettes did.

Did they not know her at all? She had done everything right in her life. She ought to have been healthier than most of her generation. Instead, she was here, all alone in her apartment, slowly and painfully dying.

Alone. All because she refused to be happy. They expected her to be ‘brave’, ‘keep hope’, and act like those pesky cancer patients she saw on TV and described in books, making bucket lists, living their last moments to the fullest, being kind to others because life was short. Phonies.

She resented them all. Those with cancer who managed to stay positive, those without cancer for being lucky. It wasn’t fair; she did not deserve this disease. And she wasn’t going to be a fucking ray of sunshine about it either.

Tears ran down her face. Why had they left her? She didn’t want to die alone. Wasn’t friendship through good times and the bad?

Why was it so frowned upon to feel horrible about impending death? She could not and would not see it as a trial of God. Surely He wouldn’t be so cruel.

*

The next morning someone came knocking on her door. She had missed her appointment at the hospital, she knew, because she hadn’t been able to get up the night before and had fallen into a feverish sleep on the bathroom floor.

Now it was even harder for her to move. The knocking changed to pounding, or maybe it was in her head.

She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness.

*

The next time she woke up she was in a hospital bed, all alone. She tried lifting her hand to call the nurse but lacked the energy. When rounds came, a nurse finally checked up on her. Noticing the patient awake, he told her the bad news.

‘’I’m afraid all we can do right now is make you as comfortable as possible.’’

She sucked in some air. ‘’Fuck… you,’’ she managed.

There was nothing comfortable about dying and they could all go to hell.

If only there was someone to hold her hand…

 

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This piece has not been written to belittle anyone. Those who can still see the good in life even when suffering from cancer are admirable. But it is perfectly alright not to feel optimistic. Feelings aren’t rational and people can’t help but feel them. Telling people they shouldn’t feel a certain way is unhelpful and should be avoided. It is okay to feel however it is you feel, even if no one understands. It’s how you act upon them that is important. Still, it would do people good to try to empathise a little more now and then.

Kristy, too, deserved someone there for her on her deathbed. She made some rash decisions based on feelings, and now she regrets them. Unfortunately people don’t always get a happy ending. Sharing Kristy’s story with the world is my way of being there for all the Kristies of the world who have no one. They’re in our thoughts.

 

To all the rebels, and those who can’t

This is a quick blog post without any fiction story attached to it. Still, it’s worth reading. In case you need something clickbaity to convince you:

Shocking: THE reason why people fell for Trump’s politics.

There, now read on. It’ll only take a minute.

I’ve seen people outraged over the gullibility of some, who blindly accept that whatever’s on the internet is true. Why? From a young age we’re told to blindly trust authority and those older and wiser than us, the experts. Are we ever encouraged to fact-check what our teachers tell us? No.

I remember in high school I had an art teacher who explained to us the proportions of the human body. When me and my friend followed our natural instincts and started measuring each other to see if it was true, she called us out in front of everyone and assured us she was telling the truth and ordered us to sit still. I felt so embarrassed. I must’ve been 12 maybe.

Now I realise she expected us to blindly trust her based on her position. And life is full of these instances. It’s really not surprising in the least that people would be gullible. We’re taught to be, like Pavlov’s dogs we are conditioned to believe. Not complying, rebellious behaviour, is punished. So ask yourself who really is to blame.

So to all the rebels (including myself, I’d say): rock on, continue to fight authority, never give up. But don’t blame people for being stupid/gullible. Fight the system, improve education, and hopefully we’ll see a change.