torment or be tormented

"Envy, jealousy, agony, they seemed to fill me up, so full yet I could not throw the infested emotions away."

This is a few paragraphs of a story I adapted from another narrative I wrote that intended to show self loathing and anxiety at the world. We are forever being asked things of us, and many of us are often sensitive and fearful of what those requests may be. Some people get scared to order at a local cafe, much worse when having to ask someone to help you in a clothing store. Although it isn't finished, I hope you can understand that the man may be perceived as a lunatic, laughing at his interactions with others yet disappearing into his emotions when alone but many of us live like this everyday. 

I had no presentiment it would all end differently and began to feel somehow terribly sad at that moment, like laughter was beginning to stir in my soul. An incredulous kind, for what else could a man do but laugh at difficult moments? A discomforting response, only a thin veil stitched over the truth. No, my ruminations remained tucked beneath my ribs, fluttering in the deep hollows of my chest, its breath caught in the threads of my reluctant smile. I fear my insides will cave within, buried musings gnawing and gnashing, relentless in pursuit yet fearful of rejection. For what else could a man do but mock his sorrow and smile at the weight of his anguish?

The sky splits open and the gods of heaven battle, with their acid tears scalding the quiet purity of night with their hands twisting in furious grasps, clashing like old lovers turned enemies. Their war songs beating, drowning the earth beneath the weight of their madness. My heart very nearly seems to claw out my chest, the trees shaking and shuddering, bones breaking. 

I am a tangled knot of burdens, my mother ruefully prophesied staring at the same water that beheld at my feet, the jagged edges of my own heart pressing into my ribs. The sharp sting of grief creeped in, curling around my throat and choking the air from my lungs. Goodness in the universe did not seem to find me. Envy, jealousy, agony, they seemed to fill me up, so full yet I could not throw the infested emotions away. They grew within until my heart seemed blackened with contempt and anger, until the mere glance of a stranger seemed to rise a frustration that little could quench. Why was I angry at everyone? All the time?

Before I perceived what unfolded, the woman not far in front of me, kneels over, wheezing and coughing but her laughter rang atop the bucketing of rain. A hysterical smile had grazed her face and her body shakes with insanity. She unleashes a guttural scream that was sure to awaken the monsters of night, pacing the bridge, her chest heaving with every sob, and her hair flung carelessly to one side, appearing forlorn and unkempt. Salted tears fall upon from the heavens above, staining the ground beneath our feet. She stares at me, her tears growing fiercer as the rain fell faster. She seemed to wait for something. 

My heart slams against my ribs and I seem to have quickly forgotten my past musings. It is a frantic rhythm that can not keep time with what's occurring. Laughter echoes from within, sharp and hollow, a brittle thing that slips from my throat. The world has stilled and my laugh is a splintering crack in the air, a sound torn from the gut, twisted with fear and disbelief, it claws out, torn from a place too ugly to name. This ringing laughter does not make sense yet I cannot silence it. 

The woman was waiting for something, why was I laughing at her silent request? It seemed natural to respond with laughter as anxiety filled me. Could I fulfil her request? Would she silence me and go on her way if I kept laughing like a lunatic? That seemed more viable than to converse with her. 

made cookies!

I did some baking this month and I thought I'd show you some behind the scenes. I had a little kit that included a pan to make a chocolate chip cookie and I took some photos. While it did taste like a chocolate chip cookie, it definitely looked more like a pie. Enjoy!

before the cookie got put in the oven

i put it in the oven!

its cooked!

a yummy slice!

It tasted very good! Nutella was smeared throughout the middle although it could do with a bit more chocolate chips but since it was a box mix, I didn't think to get any more chocolate chips. 

:)

a tale of rejection

Hello 2025,

This is definitely one of my most favourite scenes that I've written, so enjoy:

The heavens beckoned forth water, thundering down until man could only find composure in the warmth of light, moths to a flame. He stood, a deformed and unusual creature of the night, water pouring down his back, drenching his clothing and he stared blankly upon his reflection. The scene contrasted itself. He stood near joyful instruments, yet could not summon one ounce of joy himself. Swings and slides sat beside him and if the man closed his eyes, could hear the exhilarated screams of children with their wars consisting of the struggles of stuffed toys and action vehicles. He could not return to that round oak table where he spent plenty of midnights pouring over pages, arrogance etched within the scratchings of paper. 

For he pursued a role of critical importance, and perceived he would obtain it by end of week, so assured of his achievement he cast aside his fellow competitors carelessly. His unchecked smile engulfed his wearied face upon completion and his worn out shoes tapped beneath the forewarned desk, revelling in his joy. His assurance became his downfall, for they frowned upon certitude and exiled him to humiliation to mortify the poised. The man had spent the hours succeeding in a blinded craze, contemplating his chances to deviously announce his accomplishment within domestic entanglements but with modesty and humilty, of course. He spun at his chair with childlike exuberance, sat through dinners with his family grinning wildly but kept his mouth woven shut in a constrained countenance that seemed vulnerable to implode. And implode for seemingly improbable answers he did. 

At the reflection of these harrowing notions that seemed so foreign to the miserable man, he so crammed of suppressed resentment and self loathing, closed his eyes and reached into his pocket. Rain continued to fall in an intense rage, reflecting upon the misery of its companion. The scene unfolded within his mind. He had gripped the laptop with his hands, shaking in anticipation. He was alone, his wife had left him for a cross country retreat, his children enclosed in their respective schools and he could not halt his eagerness. But when the screen had lit up and the answer awaiting was displeasing, it wasn’t disappointment or anger that engulfed him. The man had only felt fear. Frightened, that denial of the worst had escaped him and was now ill prepared to face the selfish unseemly. Panic raced against his skin, his arms becoming ice cold and his fingers shook against the cold metal of technology. His body could not move, and he could not even attempt to reread the lines succeeding his failure, instead he sunk into a state of torpor, idle and apathetic.

Out from his pocket, he procured the letter for of course he had it printed. His resignation towards his fate was alarming to those he loved. Where was the drive that had once seemed insurmountable to overcome? His failure became the culmination of his existence, like dominoes the rest of his life fell. His wife never returned, and he discovered she was having a tumultous affair and was left to raise his offspring by himself. His children detected visible signs from their father, for they were perceptible to one who encompassed their world so dearly, and started to act out to gain favour and attention. 

But perhaps his spite was most felt in those that he had fallen against. Hands of allies often wrapped themselves around necks of the revered in a spiteful pit of envy and hatred. A coward’s shield, of sorts. Jealousy had emerged from his void of frustration, rising as naturally as humanity could repress. It stemmed from the inability to truly express his anger, tied by society’s custom, to admit praise and laud champions of peers, and consider the feelings of friends. Yet, the incessant loathing of man’s mind whispers at him in the depths of dawn. And the thoughts that he tries to bury into the open grave, wrap around one’s soul until the mere glance of friend is corrupted by perception and your heart blackened by contempt. His friends had sensed his gradual disappearance from social life, unable to comprehend but unwilling to extend attention. 

The man was utterly and entirely alone. Holding the paper aloft to an audience of none, the rain fell and in a few agonizingly slow minutes in the thunderous weather, the paper was reduced to nothing.

And the man allowed the water to wash away his miseries. 

Reflections on 2024

As 2024 draws to a close and 2025 is nearly upon us, I've decided to look back on some of my New Years Resolutions I created this time last year, click for New Years Resolutions for 2024 and see if I have accomplished any of them. 

The first one was publishing my solo book and I'm so grateful to say that I've achieved this resolution. It took me a few years to write and many people put a lot of hard work into this creation but I'm happy to say its out in the world. If you've been following along, I published it in my birthday month and for more information, go to "The Sword" Release. If you are still wanting to order, you can reach me through my email, which can be found if you click on "my complete profile". You can also always comment down below :)

My second New Years Resolution was to be more active on Goodreads. I tried to refresh it nearer the start of the year but eventually forgot about it and it became something I pushed aside until it faded. But on a more positive and unexpected note, The Sword is available to add on Goodreads! I always imagined what it would be like to have one of my written works on Goodreads especially as it is a platform that readers use all the time. For more information, go to "The Sword" is on Goodreads to discover how to find my book on the website. 

Another of my Resolutions is to start writing more and this was definitely a resolution I was expecting to not really occur. Writing has been more pushed aside as I focus more on school and marketing for my book but I'm glad to see that I pushed through some writer's drought and managed to write a few stories over the year. Writing stories is the reason I started this blog and I'm glad that I managed to return to my roots.

Finally, my last resolution was to drive and yes, I got my license! 

Some other amazing things happened to me this year. I got my first job, and I'm really enjoying it so far. Its been nice to earn some money and makes you feel really independent. I also got a prestigious award, where I earned Dux, which means top of the year in terms of academics. The award really validates all my hard work this year, through balancing publishing my book, working for the first time, writing stories, social life and still keeping up with my schoolwork and assessments. 

Next year will be a year of lasts where I actually have to decide my future path. I will definitely still be updating as well as writing stories and wishing everyone a happy holidays!

See you in 2025 :)

the old cafe

The fog curled around the edges of the cobblestone street, and the muted hum of chatter echoed outside the dimly lit alley, circling the place. A small bell could be heard amongst the breeze but it hung like a forgotten charm, merely a reminder of countless patrons that had passed in another life. The sound of the door was muffled by the rich scent of espresso and aging wood that had faded fingerprints at every corner, of curious children, of impatient young people, of the tired elderly, all had scraped their hands over the weary wood to grab a coffee before breakfast, during midday or even a few rare night owls. 

The cafe was a relic from another era, though it seemed timeless in its quiet glory. It was a victorious investment, the only remaining building that had withstood the trauma of life, from wars, divorces, petty robberies and financial crises. The dark wood paneling on the walls bore the marks of decades of life as much as the entrance - rings from long-forgotten teacups, faint ink stains that told stories of writers long gone, marks on the floor of the many footsteps that had wandered through and scratches from purses that had been thrown on the tables in a morning rush. The air was thick with the weight of souls and their history, as if every wall had absorbed the tales of those that sought refuge here and every chair had wrapped themselves around every patron in an effort to placate. 

Past the corner, a lonely figure sat, glancing at the window beside him, hunched slightly over an empty mug of coffee. His face was fatigued with old age, of worries that had long escaped but weighed heavy, his hands were tapping idly on the rim of the mug, calloused and rough of hard labour and his eyes were downcast, permanently tired but observant. He wasn't searching for anyone in particular, rather judging the passer-goers quietly and just gazing into the distance. A soft trickle of rain had begun, streaking the window, running down like forgotten memories. 

The man did not pay attention to any of the other members of the cafe. Some rushed in, eager to escape the rain and looked rather annoyed, some came in laughing, the rain soaking them and the man knew they would probably be sick the next day but he suspected they didn't particularly care. He was envious of them, their youth and ignorance of life's hardships and would rather they not flaunt their joy in his face. Some sat at the table beside him, chanting and chugging their coffees at speedy rates so they could depart to their jobs or their loved ones. It was always one of the two. Life was labouring away to earn income or partaking in engagements with those you loved. He had neither.

The man didn't answer when the waitresses asked if he wanted another cup, if a woman brushed past him and whispered a breathy sorry in a hurry or if a curious neighbouring child loudly asked if he was okay as he had sat, unmoving for a while, before their embarrassed parents whisked him away, throwing him apologetic gazes as if their sheer presence would evoke an unnatural reaction from him. His gaze drifted from the window towards the old jukebox in the corner, where faint echoes of a jazz tune played, something from a happier life. The tune was familiar, but like the cafe, untouched and its memory slightly out of reach, only half formed. 

The man visibly half smiled half grimaced at the tune. It was a faint taste of the past, something to treasure but knew he could never return to. Conversations floated throughout the cafe but the words seemed to blend in with other sounds - the soft clink of spoons in cups, the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine, the bags placed on the seats and the footsteps of souls entering, then leaving, coming in and departing again. 

Always arriving and then exiting. Over and over again. 

But he stayed. Alone.