As The World Walks By

Imagine how many people you walk past or lay eyes on each day. You may know some of their names, but you may not be entirely aware of their story. The average person will come across hundreds of people each day and in such a populated area such as a mall, concert stadium, or city sidewalk, I wouldn't be surprised if that amount doubled or even tripled.

That young, blonde girl whom tells you the cost of the wool sweater you decided to purchase; the business man in the Fedora that bumps into you on the street, hurrying to some location unknown to you; the fat guy in the apron whom swipes your evaporated milk and canned bread across the scanner; the sad, old man huddled against the wall on the sidewalk, unshaved and dirty, asking for coins. Who are they, really?

It's enthralling to think of how I can see or meet plenty of people each day and I may never come across them again for the rest of my life. I probably won't even notice. Just like that, someone has beed disregarded and forgotten. You may not have known them, but they've been pushed aside all the same. Fascinating? Sad? Shocking? Confusing? All of the above?

Sometimes I like to watch people. Not in a creepy way, if that's even possible, but in a fashion strictly reserved for observation. I take note of how they walk or how their facial expressions change with the sights they see. I'll even allow my ears to catch fragments of conversations I'm not even a part of just to see what's going on in someone else's life. It catches me off guard, occasionally, the things one can pick up on when it comes to human behaviour. Some regular humans don't notice how some people's faces or eyes can give away the emotion of a thought they are having or how the shoulders of a stranger suddenly tense when they walk into a crowd. I find it interesting to see how someone can be comforted by something as small as holding something in their hands as they walk.

Still find it all a little peculiar? I don't blame you. I'm a peculiar person.

They say, whomever "they" may be, that every single person has a "twin" somewhere in the world; that there is another person out there living a normal life, completely unaware of your existence. My whole life has been spent wondering if this statement is true or not. There have been claims of people meeting their supposed twin and realizing how similar they are in appearance or personality, but then again, there have also been alleged sightings of dragons and unicorns. You never know what to believe these days.

My goal in life is to find my "sister-from-another-mister" and give her a high-five. That way, I can say I high-fived myself and not sound like the loser I usually come across as. Who knows? Maybe she's right where I'd least expect to find her…

I Am Broken

What happens when

You forget how to love?

Am I supposed to move on,

Or maybe give up?

Do I throw in the towel

And lay down to rest?

Or pretend it's alright,

Place my head on his chest.

If he doesn't know,

Can he really get hurt?

Then again, I shan't lie;

It just makes things worse.

Do I fake it and act

As though my heart is one whole?

Should I make myself an actress

And take on that role?

When your life is a mess

and is falling apart,

Survival is priority,

Forget my lousy heart.

What happens when

You forget how to love?

I just can't move on,

So instead I'll give up.

I've Nearly Forgotten

It's funny how fast some things can change. One minute, I'm sitting all alone in math class laughing at the jokes some guy I've never met before keeps cracking, the next I end up texting him for three and a half hours straight. I'll be thinking about how he probably doesn't even know I exist and in a blink of an eye, I find out he likes me.

Now this is where things get difficult:

1.  One of my best friends was just making fun of him with another one of our friends the other day, and it just makes her knowing about how I feel all the more awkward. I don't want her to laugh at me or make fun of me because of who I like. Her being my friend and all, I probably have nothing to worry about; but being the paranoid human being I am, I can't help but approach the situation with caution.

If there is one single thing in the world I hate to be insulted about besides my body, it would be about whom I find attractive. To be honest, I don't think anyone but myself should have a say in who I like since they aren't me. It really irks me when she's basically pretending to be all excited for me when in reality, I know she thinks it's weird.

2.  I am both socially awkward and challenged and I'm definitely not the smoothest person around when it comes to guys. I'm used to having the guy I like end up laughing in my face and getting my heart broken in the end. For me, it's normal to have the only guys whom actually like me become creepy and want to follow me home even thought they know I don't feel the same. In no way am I actually used to having the guy I'm smitten by actually like me in return. In no way do I actually view myself as beautiful or pretty, or even worth the time it takes to get to know me. I think of myself as a helpless screw-up that anyone in their right mind would stay away from. I've gotten used to it.

I guess what I'm terrified of now is just the fact that I'll probably mess it all up. I've had two heartbreaks worth crying about so far in my sad excuse for a life and both of them were almost all my fault.

I was just trying to be nice because I didn't want to hurt him.

All I wanted was to find out the truth and to hear him say he was sorry.

And then it all came crashing down on top of me, leaving me with just enough room for the tears to slowly trickle down my face and disappear into the pile of rubble that is now my life.

The point I'm trying to get across here is that I'm scared. Scared to date; scared because I don't know how to date; scared to be happy; scared to love; scared to be loved; scared I'll ruin it all and make him hate me; scared of breaking his heart; scared of him breaking mine.

This is no proper way to live, but it's the way I unwillingly choose to. Cowering under the sheets, waiting for someone or something to make it all better and worth while. Now I may have possibly found that for the moment and all I want to do is go back into hiding.

3.  My heart feels so mixed up inside. It's almost like a vehicle that has been sitting in the garage underneath a thick layer of dust getting dragged back out onto the open road. The brittle gears, rusted with all the complicated experiences they've ever had to endure, slowly start to move. Fresh oil is added and for the first time in a long time, the antique starts itself up again and takes the risk of breaking down just to venture out into the great unknown.

I feel as if I have nearly forgotten what it feels like to have that space in your heart occupied once again by someone new — someone different. That "fuzzy" feeling you get when you see him, the way it sometimes feels like there's no one else in the room except for you two when you talk to him, the feeling of possibly being wanted. I welcome it all back like I would an old friend: Openly, but with extreme caution, as if what I just did may come back to haunt me in the future.

All I can do now is hope that the chance I'm taking will pay off, at least for a little while, resulting in happiness. With him entering my life these past few days, I finally remembered what it felt like to have a real smile crawl upon my face. I can now recall the sensation of having a rosy blush spread throughout my cheeks — one that was not caused due to some embarrassing incident — simply because he asked for my phone number. It truly is funny how fast things can change.

Because I Feel Like It

I write words. I don't know how many or what point they will be forced into proving, but I write them down anyway. Sometimes they go on my laptop, sometimes on a full sheet of loose-leaf, but most often they happen to appear on little scraps of ripped paper. I have quite the collection of those all over my bedroom. Song titles and their designated band or artist, poems, mere reminders, or perhaps even lyrics I've written for a song I plan to compose. I don't know. They're just there.

Letters turn into words. Words turn into sentences. Sentences turn into paragraphs. Sometimes it goes on like this for quite a while. For me, writing helps me overcome whatever emotional pain I'll be experiencing at the time. That being said, I write a lot.

It's sort of become a kind if uncontrollable impulse. Once a pen is grasped within my ugly little hands, you never know what words will flow through me and onto the paper. You can probably imagine how awkward it is for my math teacher to be sitting at home, watching Scooby-Doo or whatever it is teachers like to watch and marking my homework only to come across a little depressing poem sloppily hand-written at the bottom of the sheet and having to deal with the look she gives me as she hands it back the next day. Said expression is not exactly one would want from the person determining whether you'll make it to the next grade or not.

An abundance of all my mindless creations never even get to reach anyone else's eyes. The main reason for this is mainly because the majority of what I write is too personal and private to share. So they sit, saved on my computer, thrown in a drawer, or stuffed in my backpack, hidden from the rest of the world. Their mere existence is unannounced to every passer by. Only my mind contains the knowledge needed to find them in their little hiding spots.

Sometimes I get the urge to write and it simply cannot be ignored. And sometimes I want to go to Starbucks, curl up with a cup of hot-chocolate and write the day away. But I can't because Starbucks is too expensive and they'd probably kick me out after lurking there for more than half the afternoon.

I don't imagine myself to be the best writer in the universe, but it makes me happy so why not?

I Am A Mess

You self-conscious fool,

Look at what you've done;

Without someone to love,

You loose all the fun.

Give up, go home,

And never return;

Your mind is a witch,

So I'll watch you burn.

No Better Thing Or Word Than Spelunking

Today I was watching a television show on caves and spelunking. If it were my decision, caves would be considered a wonder of the world — even the tiny ones. Truly gorgeous. Whilst viewing this show, it made me think of all the caves I've been to during my short, worthless life. To be honest, I've only been in two, but that's not the point. The point is how amazing they truly are.

A few years back, my family and I took a vacation to the wonderful province of British Columbia (we go there a lot). During that trip we visited a mountain that happened to have a cave spelunking tour and being the completely extreme, adventurous family we are, we decided on the easiest beginner route. The only part of the trip that was difficult in any sense was the virtually vertical hike up the mountain to where the caves were actually located. Utterly strenuous. After about an hour and a half of the trek, we eventually did reach the top and readied ourselves for the descent into the damp darkness.

I must say, from the few lights that were conveniently located on the tops of our helmets, I have never seen anything so amazing. Underground, you see things and shapes made by nothing but water and the minerals it contains. I find it hard to believe that it takes years for them to form such creations and that something as simple as a human touch could bring it crashing down, leaving nothing but regret with the person whom caused such damage. Luckily, nothing of that matter happened when we were down there.

The single detail that I remember the most is when our guide led us to the bottom of the small cave and told us to turn off our helmet lights and witness complete darkness. She asked us in her striking Australian accent to wave our hand in front of our faces. Being the egotistical group we were, almost every person out of the twenty or so that came along for the trip scoffed in her face and directly stated that they could see their hands perfectly clear. The guide seemed to be expecting this, however, because she merely laughed and told us to grab a partner and hold up a certain number of fingers in front of their faces and then see if it wasn't so dark. The scorn within the group soon turned to shock as we realized that we couldn't see anything at all and listened attentively as our Australian guide explained that our brains know what they're supposed to see when we wave our own hands in front of our faces, and fool us into believing that we have vision.

Image credit: http://www.hotnaturally.com/img/img_man-in-caves.jpg

That cave was probably more riveting since it was less influenced by man than the second one I visited. Still in B.C., my family then travelled to Ainsworth Hot Springs Resort. Here, the luxuriously warm water runs in a loop that goes into one cave and out another. I love visiting hot springs as it is, but the caves seemed to give the whole atmosphere that extra something. It gave me that same sensation that makes me want to curl up in a warm blanket next to a window spattered with rain drops and read a good book whilst listening to some sort of ambient music. Wonderful. Despite the crowds, it was a pleasant experience and I would love to relive every minute of it.

I have many absurd dreams and one of them is to discover and explore a cave that has never been found before by anyone. How exciting that would be. When I'm in a cave it feels as if I've entered a whole new world full of unique findings and endless adventures. I plan to go back to the mountain that contained the first cave I'd ever entered and take a more challenging route that will hopefully go deeper and darker than I've ever gone in one. One day…

I Barely Noticed

Only three more years. Three more years of being whatever I am now. A kid? A teen? A hopeless romantic? A loser? I don't know. All that I know for sure is that I'm suddenly so desperately afraid of loosing it.

This feeling all started last wednesday, as that day signalled the first day of high school. Yes, high school. Those memorable three years that everyone from fresh graduates to parents to seniors still recall and reflect upon whether it be good or bad. Call me crazy, but as soon as my feet crossed the threshold of the school, it felt as if my whole childhood flashed through my mind.

I saw my first trip to DisneyLand, the view I had from the naughty chair in kindergarten after I put Playdough in my friend's hair (and how she still gave me hugs after that), when it was still socially acceptable to use the facilities with the door wide open, the day in grade five when I lost the elephant charm on one of my necklaces, how I had the first and only fight to this day with my friend when we were in junior high, that stupid fight between my group of friends over a picture frame, the first day I laid my eyes on his beautiful face in grade seven, and how he still managed to break my heart in grade nine even though he wasn't even mine.

And then I was back beside my friend, laughing to hide the pain. The pain of the realization that I'm growing up. Obviously, I've always been aware that I'm getting older and it's not like I expected to stay nine years old forever, it's just that it all happened so fast. So remarkably fast. One minute I'm having the time of my life playing with Barbies with my brother, and the next I'm trying to block "his" face from reappearing in my mind as I'm trying to figure out trigonometry for the hundredth time. The contrast is obvious and so entirely sad.

I could go on forever about the changes, the memories, the pain of growing up, but why write seventeen novels when I can state everything I need to say in one sentence: I don't want to grow up.