My father.

I'm worried about him. This is his second divorce and while this one is definitely for the better... I still feel bad. I have never been so happy about a failed relationship than I am about this one. It sounds cruel, yes, I know. But it's what you don't know. You probably don't know that my step mother tortured me in every single day. It was never physical, but as close as she could get. She made me feel true fear. Fear to visit my father, to visit that house. Fear to say or wear or eat the wrong thing. Fear to enter a room that was forbidden for me, yet a safe spot for her children. So yes, now I am stronger, but she still destroyed a little part of me. I remember sitting  in class in third grade and crying and crying while begging one of my friends to let me stay with them to avoid having to take a step near that house. I never gave her a reason to hate me, but she sure gave me many to hate her. She destroyed any relationship I had with my father and my brother and sisters; she destroyed my self-esteem, and my father's everything. Now he has nothing; no one. And it's not to say that it wasn't his fault. He was the one who stayed with her all those years while watching his children suffer under her hand. But, I still feel sorry for him. It hurts me to hear him say that he'll never be happy again. It hurts me that he doesn't laugh anymore. It hurts me that he's hurting, and yet I can't bring myself to wish that things were any other way.

Why?

Do I act so stupid? I can't even help it anymore. And on top of it, I've got to worry about my bloody eye twitch. Thanks.

Perspective.

How do you define your love for another?
Will it be like a cage holding in a bird?
To never let it take flight and risk potential injuries and predators, thus not learning the truth about the real world?
Or will it be set free to roam about, and eventually knowing where to return home, growing and learning more each day? Suppose a young man crosses his path with an enchanting lady and falls head over heels. His friends ask him to profess his deep love for her. Should this be labelled as love? Can this be defined as love? And the three words, 'I love you'. I believe that there is no need to say it in words. They should be spelt out with actions. And I am not referring to expensive dinners and gifts, or standing in the rain with a bouquet. Since love is a conscious decision made every single day, according to one of my good friends, any moves made that will possibly wreck a relationship would not be salvaged using the un-magical 3 words. That is how far deep I believe these 3 words extend beyond. So when people throw those words around like a casual hello, how can they possibly have any understanding of what they are dealing with? 

Dream.

Dreams confuse me. See, most of the time, if I think hard enough, I can figure out each and every part of the dream and why it was there. My subconcious and I are becoming better friends each day. Except for last night. How in the world my brain could possibly fabricate such a story baffles me. Not to say it wasn't wonderful, because it was, but now it's all I can think about. And I hate that. I hate that because it gets my thoughts messed up. My new goal is to make sure that this particular dream comes true. Part of me says, hey, this is plausible, but maybe my erratic thoughts just haven't caught up with reality yet.

When it rains...

It sure as hell pours. 

When lost inside a book...

You don't have to deal with your own problems, only those of the character inside the book. Maybe that's why we read. To be completely absorbed in something that we have no control over, and yet there are not consequences.

Chinese and Late Night TV

Ordering chinese takeout on a Friday night while watching House on TV, waiting to get home to listen to ridiculous music, drinking crisp orange juice in the morning and never finishing it like I always do, eating sushi with chopsticks, watching sappy love movies and having sweet dreams after them, sitting outside in the dark just to take in the overwhelming scent, dancing like a complete idiot when I'm home alone or driving, daydreaming of living at Hogwarts and sitting with Hedwig on the Astronomy Tower, obsessing over New York and the city lights, curling up in my bed with a fuzzy blanket and my favorite book, reading by only the soft light of my bedside lamp.

Things that make me feel like me.
Little puzzle parts that help to make me who I am.

Double Vision.

Don't we just love double standards? In order to be 'right' in book sense, we judge and condemn those whom we come across that are in the 'wrong'. The spoilt, the wilful, the traitor. How is it some people don't see themselves committing the exact same crime, while criticising another of similar actions. If someone says you're wrong, you'd prove and defend yourself to the last illogical statement before dismissing the discourse as something not worth your time. How then would the population mature? With all the hype and hidden propaganda, it all seems like a severe misfit. And I'm not preaching to say that I've never been at fault, because I definitely have. Who hasn't? It's just a worrying thought.

The ticket.

I now possess it. It's in my hand, and it's all becoming more real. Eight days from now, the excitement will ensue. Tears will flow, chills will arise, and a mix of fear and happiness will cloud our minds. It's going to be a long eight days... but I hold the ticket as my heart already pounds from anticipation.


I like being a geek. 

"The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are."
-Sirius Black