Of Love and Sounds

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Whenever I’m alone with you, I begin to hear sounds I usually don’t notice.

Like the sound of raindrops when we were waiting for the rain to subside on our first date.

Or the sound of a truck’s horn when we kissed sloppily in the dark alley, giggling our worries away.

Also the sound of a crying baby next door when we started talking about marriage; about convincing our parents and raising a child.

But among every sounds I have noticed, there were sounds I could never forget, even if I wanted to. They rang true and clear that day, and they ring even clearer now.

Like the sound of your laughter when you were having fun without me–the sound of them making jokes, and the sound of you responding in glee to every sentence.

Or the harmony of violin strings when you took her out to the concert, without knowing I also went to the same performance.

The sound of my own cries when I realized you were doing fine without me.

The cracking sound of threatened hopes and dreams–nurtured with and forsaken by love.

And the sound of my heart, breaking beyond repair, when you told me we couldn’t be together anymore.

 


I dedicate this post to L,

my true love, my broken Valentine


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The Black Dwarf

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A dead star–that’s what I am.

Just like a star that ran out of fuel–destined to wane in the dying universe. A star that shrank in size so greatly it couldn’t even turn to black hole. Like a solar system that lost its core; a hollow space populated with planets no longer bound by celestial gravity. I was left adrift in the boundless ocean of negativity.

And on the edge of the observable universe, there I stood by the entrance to my heart.

There was the door you once opened.

It is now closed.

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[PROMPT] HOW TO SURVIVE A BORING CLASS p.10

This is just a very fun prompt I discovered on Tumblr. I hope the lighter tone and theme would balance out the melancholy and drama of yesterday’s post.

The most important thing to remember is to keep your eyes open.

The lecturer in front of the class can be anything from a saint to a jerk, but that does not mean you are exempted from paying attention. Now, the definition of paying attention itself has a branched meaning: you could either be a teacher’s pet and really pay attention in class–occasionally taking notes while absorbing everything you can, or you can simply pretend that you are paying attention.

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Image by: lhueagleeye.wordpress.com

There are literally 5 ways the lecturer would judge whether you are listening to them or not:

  1. Whether you look at the whiteboard (or in some cases, the projector screen) or not.
  2. Whether you are talking to your friends or not.
  3. Whether you are obviously staring at your phone for more than one minute (or for even one second, if your educational institute prohibits carrying a smartphone into class).
  4. Whether you are in your seat or not.
  5. Whether it is really you on your seat or not.

Of course, more modern approach has been sporadically adopted by more and more lecturers around the globe, but those five on the list are the golden rule that teachers, lecturers, and seminar speakers alike hold on to more than anything else. It would be wise for you to at least fulfil three out of five, lest you will be judged as not paying attention.

Now you might be saying, it would be easy to complete three out of five: you just have to attend the class on your seat (which will complete two out of five by itself), and not talk to your friends. Even if you are staring at your phone the whole time, you could just make an excuse that you don’t bring your laptop or notebooks with you, and you are forced to take notes with your phone. Easy peasy.

The real challenge comes from actually staying awake.

And by staying awake, I mean by keeping your eyes open.

It is harder than it sounds. Imagine if you had gone to a drinking party the night before the lecture. You would barely have any energy to drag yourself to the class, and although you know you would be receiving a divine punishment for falling asleep in the class, you just can’t resist the numbness and the drowsiness. You would be coming to class not to pay any attention to the lecturer, but rather, to sleep. (Although it is quite debatable why would you come to the class in the first place instead of pretending to be sick).

It isn’t a myth: keeping your eyes open will save you more than any other tips covered in this book. If surviving a boring class would have a golden rule, it is to not piss off your lecturer. And if there is one traffic-free highway to not pissing off your lecturer, it is by paying attention. By keeping your eyes open. By staying awake.

We will be covering most of the art to stay awake on classes on the next chapter. There we will learn the tips and tricks to stay awake even when you barely had any sleep the previous night. We will learn how to play DOTA the whole night before a 4 hours long lecture and still be deemed as paying attention for at 95% of the duration. We will also learn how to trick your lecturer into forgiving you in case they find out about your tricks–all of that in Chapter 3.

Prompt: Write a page from the book “How to Survive a Boring Class”.

Alicia Lidwina – 2017

Of Growing Apart

Recently I feel that we have drifted

a  p   a    r     t      .       .        .         .          .

And while everyone says that it is a good thing, I couldn’t help but to feel like the whole world is conspiring against us. It’s like preventing the sun from setting; the sky from fading, and the ice from melting. What they do not understand, however, is that the more we grow

a  p   a    r     t      .       .        .         .          .

The more I think about you. The more I feel you inside my head. The more I long for the day we meet again. The more I remember your touch, your caress, and your voice.

The world might be conspiring against us.

With you over there, slowly drifting away. With me over here, slowly sinking in.

But what they do not understand is, the more we grow

a  p   a    r     t      .       .        .         .          .

the more we are

c         l        o       s      e     r    .   .  . .

than ever.

Last Glow

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You asked me once:

Do you know what the last flicker of flame before it dies out is called?

I shook my head in confusion. As we lay down in silence for the next few minutes though, you muttered what you thought was the answer.

Love, you told me. What else dies glowing like an ember?

Well, I replied. There’s firefly.

Because if glowing is all it takes to prove love, then all the fireflies in the world would rejoice in happiness the moment they die.

Exactly, you said. Exactly.

And then as we drifted off to sleep, I had a waking dream of us holding hands, surrounded by a glowing ocean of fireflies.

Of Jealousy

Actually, it’s not about how you love her more than everything else in this world combined. It’s also not about how you cover for her, care for her, and be her ally in every possible chance. It’s also not about how she is detestable in my eyes, and how everyone is talking behind her back because she couldn’t keep a secret she said she would.

It’s just about me in my loneliness, and a story of longing untold. Of someone who has to be content being number two in someone else’s priority list.

And how I always picture if it was me in her place.

In Your Eyes

People will start talking and grow tired of what they spout during moments of wake.
During the times when hope is but a somber promise of false salvation, the bleak and benign skies would collide, melting in an abrupt condensation near the place two horizons meet.

Moments later I would drop to my knees and look at the solace I found between the green shades of your eyes. No matter how many months or years or centuries that would pass in between the seasons of dry, parched earth and the wet, solemn downpour of foggy summer splashes.

But because I looked into your eyes and I found an entire galaxy to unravel. A whole continent to explore on a journey, and a vast ocean to roam. A placebo I could never explain in words, or prove, or leave, or grow tired of. A serendipity that propels me forward. A flame that burns slowly near the ridge of consciousness. A single trickle of tear that fades into reality in a lucid dream.

Because in your eyes, I finally felt whole.