My Second Year On WordPress!

So it’s been a while since I posted, but for some reason, I decided to check up on this and actually post something. I saw a notification and realized… I registered two years ago on WordPress ON THIS DAY.

I mean, it was completely coincidental. Two years ago, I was bored. Two years later in the present, I was… bored.

I don’t really know what happened on my “one-year anniversary” with WordPress, but… here I am.

Over the two years here, I’ve posted a bunch of stuff. Yes, stuff – a bunch of quite extremely random stuff. So hopefully, I end up putting more stuff. Much more random stuff. 😜

Thank you so much to the people who read my posts, which can either be pretty short or super long. 😁


Love is a weird thing.

To love and to be loved are both different things tied only by name.

To love is throwing yourself at another’s feet, giving up yourself completely, trusting that person to handle you well. To love is sacrificing everything for that person. It is to dedicate yourself to that person so much that everything you do is for them, for that one special person, because all your world becomes that one person.

To be loved is to trust completely in another so that the heart can open and accept love. To be loved is accepting someone and also removing the mask you hide behind, revealing yourself to someone. It is to receive and accept the love given to you by that one special person who means the world to you.

Love requires both of these things of either person in a relationship.

Unfortunately, I do not know how to be loved.


See that picture in this post?

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“The Average Student Worker Human Being”

That’s basically me. 😆 Of course, I can’t really drive yet (who knows how I’ll keep track of my keys), but that’s basically me. It seems that with every passing day, more and more stress seems to come at me, challenging me to reach my limit.

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The Drawing Freak

When I was young, drawing was all about the doodling and creativity and fun. Drawing was a bunch of scribbles and spirals.

Somehow along the way, drawing to me was limited to drawing houses, flowers, grass, clouds, and the sun. There were no people. It was all about a house that lived on its own, admiring how the invisible wind swayed the grass and how the flowers danced. The clouds, fluffy, white, and plentiful, protected the house from an intense glare of the bright and joyful sun.

But I was laughed at by several people or one specific girl, so my drawings changed, and the house disappeared and all the world around it.

I drew faces now. Odd faces. Some people had no eyebrows or no ears or neither. Some I gifted with strange straight-lined necks and the others not.

I enjoyed that – even got praise and admiration from my peers and teachers alike!

But one specific girl glared at me and scoffed, saying I was always absorbed in a notebook and drawing “those people” – quietly, of course, and to her friend. But she made sure I was close enough and that she was loud enough to make my heart break.

My best friend liked my drawings and defended me when she could.

But then one specific boy said my drawings were “good enough,” and that made my heart shatter in millions of pieces my best friend and I could not put back together.

And suddenly, my notebook was gone and so was my passion and love for drawing.

And so it was for at least three years until my best friend decided that it was finally time to bring up a subject she and I had not brought up for so long that I had forgotten it.

And so began the days I taught my friend to draw.

Years had passed since that day, but since then, I could only say the both of us have been getting better with different styles. For the first time in my life on that day, I began to focus on a person’s eyes, eyelids, ears, eyebrows, neck, cheeks, nose, hair, and so much more because now I was teaching someone. Then I had to think of arms, legs, shoes, hands, bodies. And then color. Shading. Costume. Height. Characterization since every person must be different. Emotions and styles. Hand gestures, even ankles and wrists. There were also lips and eye color, skin color too.

There were details to be finalized and perfected, and there always will be because as a good artist, “you are never satisfied with your work. There will always be something you can approve.”


With every breath, with every beat of the song, and with every movement I see or do makes me tremble in fear, aggravation, and joy.

It’s the last time I will ever set foot in my middle school. Just as I am today, I was glad to leave.

It’s there, when I’m about to leave, that a swirl of emotions and thoughts overtake me, making me tremble and shake in a one-time dress as I watch my class dancing merrily.

Seeing him there makes me want to confess all I feel for him, because today is the last day I will ever see him. Today is the day one part of my world will end and be brought into the darkness of memories in order to bring light to a whole new world. Today is the day I promised myself I would speak to him.

But today is also the day I give that fantasy up.

Because one look at him makes me tremble.

Because throughout all of our time in school together from elementary to where we are now, he has always made me feel this way. What happened between us is something of the past, but all the memories come back and force their way into my brain by force, because in all of those years, I have trembled in fear, fear that yes, he does know how I feel. But those trembles and fears soon evolved, and a thought I once forbade came into mind: Yes, he feels the same way.

I don’t know when I started thinking that, but I felt it deep inside. He feels the same way to me as I feel to him, but in a struggle against words and expectations of others, we— No, I don’t act upon those feelings and emotions that make me tremble and shake as I stand next to the door and see him because of the endless amount of memories I had with him and the memories I could have.

Because of the time he called the teacher to take me to the nurse after I fell and tried to hide my scraped knee under my skirt, because of the time he only smiled for me, because of the time he listened to all my stories and worries and fears and regrets, because of the time he took the blame several times for what I did, because of the time he hugged me, because of the time he wanted to say happy birthday, but I stopped him, because of the time he noticed me at a dance despite the fact that I was trying to hide from him, because of the time he confessed to me three times, even when I had rejected him in every single moment because—

Because what?

I stand there at the door, my knees shaking because I know that yes, I will make a decision I will regret.

I look at him one last time before I go out the door and close it, shutting my life away from the boy who said he loved me.