The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

I'm going to Amsterdam in about 103 hours. But for some reason I don't feel that excitement, the one I feel every time I'm going overseas. It's as if I'm here but I'm not here. As if I'm alive but I'm in a dream. As if I'm sad but I'm happy. Is that weird? It's not like how I felt in Italy, where I was on clouds, floating, even though I was stepping on solid ground. I know I'm here, I know I'm writing this and sitting on this bed. I just can't seem to feel the days going by.

Maybe because we're having exams now and it's like my head is always in a book, reading about history and whatever whatever. Okay fine, maybe not ALWAYS. But more than it was before. I guess that also explains why I'm so tired all the time, which makes me feel empty when I am honestly, happier than I ever was before. Really, I am. It's just that sometimes I get a little down when things don't go my way.

Anyway, I wanna be a writer! I want to grow up and have a bookshelf in my study or in my living room with my books on it; books written by Amilah Marzuki; books that talks about my life, my words, my friends, my family, you. I want to go to a writing camp for a week or two or even a month, and be assigned to a writer who will teach me how to write, how to show feeling in my piece of art. I don't even care if there will be people around me who are better than me in everything, I just want a work of my own, a book of my own.

I want to learn how to write poetry. I want to be Shakespeare. I wanna be Emily Dickinson. I wanna be like those poets who change people's lives, who touches people's hearts. I want to make someone cry reading my work, not because it's sad, because it's so beautiful. I want to be able to write that kind of work. I don't know what point I'm trying to make here, but I just want to let it out, to say all these things, because I don't believe that it's ever going to happen. Who am I? Look at my vocabulary, it's so tiny even a pea can't go inside it.

All of this, I hope it's not just a dream. I don't wanna grow up taking English Literature in college and then drop out to become a simple baker. I know, I like baking, but I love writing. Even if I'm not good, you know. It's like how you love taking pictures even if you're not good at it, or how you love drawing even if they don't turn out the way you plan it to. My love for writing is the one thing that I hope doesn't change when everything else is.

Some Things Are Not Better Left Unsaid

I see you now and I feel that my heart skips a beat; it races from Italy to China 200 miles per hour; my mind just go entirely blank. Smiles that are meant for me, honestly I could say, I have died and lived again. The way you give your smiles, the way you give that one smile, it just makes me feel as if I wasn't on this Earth; as if I was in my own world. I mean, yeah sure, maybe you do give that smile to everyone, but that moment when you actually flashed me that smile, I just felt as if it was for me and me only. I must sound so proud right now, huh? Bear with me, so much more to tell.

And then there are walks and talks. I can say that his voice can make me smile, just like that. Even if he's not talking to me. In the car, whenever I am not paying attention to my surrounding, thinking about this and that, and I hear his voice, my mind just stops working for a while. But I do not care about the silence; when you like someone, you don't exactly need to talk all the time. It's enjoying the moment, the feeling. You know that feeling, the feeling of knowing that there's someone there beside you who cares, who is willing to send you home by foot, and then walk back up hill; that fuzzy, warm feeling mixed with ten years' worth of excitement that's just bursting to get out, all of it, it's all just joy and happiness. And when you ran to me, it's like telling me that you want to be there with me, that your feelings are real. When your hands touched mine, how the electricity flowed, making my heart skip a beat, leaving me not breathing for a second. Time stopped. I stopped, though by feet continued to move forward. (Don't say anything. I did tell him after, that we're not supposed to have direct contact).

Then I know. I know that everything is fine whenever I'm with you; when I am where you are, nothing else matters. The parents, the time, the world, they're not significant. We could sit in silence for hours and I wouldn't mind, because honestly speaking, it is not one bit awkward. It is not odd and it doesn't make me think of what I should say next, if I'm being boring or if you're ever gonna leave me if I don't start talking, because the comfort is just there. My insecurities just fade away. I get it now what Will feels in that movie, Waiting For Forever, where he just follows the girl he loves wherever she goes though he doesn't say a word to her. It's because it's more than enough, you just know you're safe when you're with that person. Do you get me?

I don't know if it's too early to be saying all these things, but that's just how I feel. I'm not saying I'm in love, because I don't think I'm in love. Love is just too big of a word to use right now. I understand now why people say that talking in real life is ten times better than chatting on electronic devices, because it fills the emptiness inside, there aren't distractions everywhere, it's your special time with that person. I'm not saying that I hate chatting on WhatsApp or MSN, it's just that, talking to you in person, where I can see your face, your smile, it's just better, way better. But it doesn't change how I feel about you. And I hope nothing will.

I want to tell this to the whole world, but I know I can't. I say it here, even though I know I'm not supposed to, because I want to tell you, dear friend of mine, but I don't want your response, because the guilt that would rise up inside me is just too much to handle. I'm sorry, I know you like him, and I know how it hurts. But I don't know, I just don't know things like you do. I'm not good with people's feelings. I know you don't want to give up on him 'cause you're hoping that one day he'll be yours. I don't blame you, I seriously don't. I mean, right? 'Cause that's how I felt last year, and oh my God, if I don't say this now, I never will. And I could just hope that you read it, and understand cause even I don't understand what I'm doing or saying.

It just sucks. That feeling of knowing that your friend is with the guy you like, and you liked him first, so he's supposed to be yours. And he liked you, you said. And what did I do? Did I just take all that away? Did I change something? Am I bad? 'Cause I'm really, really sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize, but I don't know what to do. I know I'm probably being like the worst friend in history, saying all of this, it's like I'm shoving everything in your face. And in school, when everyone is "ooh-ing" me to go to him, I mean, I don't know, you must have felt miserable all the time. I'm just really, really sorry. It's all I can say. Gah, I feel like crying saying all this. That's really weird, because I don't think I've said anything!

Okay, look. If you really, really want to be with him, then tell me. I can take it, I've been through it before. Seriously you can just go up to me and say that you like him and that you don't want to give up on him, and I'll back away. Because if you don't, I'll just go on hurting you. And you know me, I'm the jealous type, the insecure one, whenever he chats more with you I'll probably feel as if I'm not as important. Don't you guys have more chemistry, anyway? It doesn't matter if I get hurt. There are so many more guys out there, and you seem to really, really be sad about letting him go. Getting over something you've never had is one of the worst feelings ever. And I just can't imagine you doing that for me. Who am I anyway?

If you feel like you can treat him way better, which I'm sure you can, cause I'm just.. me, just go on and tell me. I'm fine, I'll always be fine. I have my Temple Run boyfriend, and I can always watch/read love stories and fall in love with people from there. I don't mind, 'cause they won't hurt me, would they? I can keep myself busy, I've got cousins and homework and Harith, who is always there talking about his love life. I've grown up, I've matured in these things. I've learned more things, on how to handle this and that, and I will survive. Okay, yeah, he won't like you just like that, but who knows, he might. Oh God, I'm not making him sound as if he's a toy, am I? 'Cause I don't think of it that way, it's just, me telling that I'll back off if you want me to.

I just can't go on seeing you sad, seeing you tweeting about how you're sad lahh, I can't. So tell.

You people must think I'm a b*tch now, stealing the heart of a guy that's supposed to be my friend's. Even if you don't think so, I feel like one.

The House on the Hill

This is supposed to be my Scholastic essay, which is awesome (to me) and it's like my best work yet (again, to me) WHICH DID NOT get sent by teacher, sigh :( But I shall share it here :D And okay, apparently the first part is retarded. Oh well, whatever,

“The house on the hill,                                                                                                                                                                                                           Is said to send chills;                                                                                                                                     That of those who came in,                                                                                                                              Are never again seen."

Those were the words I was told by my parents who got them from their parents and so on. Folklores said the house was built a few centuries ago by a man named Ed McCauley, with his bare hands. It was built for his wife who later ran away with a man she’s been having secret affairs with. Mr. McCauley was demented and shot himself.

Every few months, new people move into the house, but we never know what happens to the previous owners. They say Mr. McCauley still haunts the house, waiting for the man who took the love of his life away. He couldn’t pass the light, for he was still having a grudge in his heart.

It was the night of Halloween; I just turned twelve. I put on my Frankenstein costume and met with my two buddies, Jake and Lila. Lila’s a girl, but she’s kind of cool for one. So that night, while other kids were “trick or treating” with their parents, getting candies in their Halloween pumpkins, Jake’s idea was to go up to old Mr. McCauley’s house to check out if the ghostly tales were real. Lila and I agreed to follow.

We set up our bikes right in front of the house. The cold autumn wind gave an eerie sound to the background, branches of bald trees scratching the glass windows of the upstairs bedrooms. “Ready, Jake? Adam?” Said Lila, her voice was shaking; I could tell she was frightened by the sight.

“Yeah, on the count of three, we enter. One, two, three,” replied Jake. We took a few steps forward when a branch fell to the ground making a strident sound that made Lila jump in shock. “You guys, I don’t think we should go in.”

“Don’t be such a baby! It’s just a branch!” said Jake with all his confidence and quickly went inside.

We stood, three twelve year olds on the front porch of the house, when suddenly the door opened. It must have been the wind. The floorboards creaked as we stepped inside, cautious of everything around us. It was all dark, but we had equipped ourselves with flashlights before starting the journey. The corners of the white walls were covered with spider webs and dust bunnies. The furniture was covered in dusty, vast white sheets. Even the entrance hall looked uninviting.

“Let’s go upstairs first, and then we could check out the downstairs,” said Jake.

“Oh, uh o-okay,” I stammered, hesitating.  I wasn’t sure if we should go upstairs first, but then again, I wasn’t sure of anything. My instincts told me something bad was going to happen, but I couldn’t tell them that. I’d be called a coward.

One by one, we climbed up the stairs, Jake was leading the way. We entered the first room on the left; it was a bedroom with a huge portrait of Mrs. McCauley pasted on the wall, just staring at us with her beady eyes. The century-old red velvet bedspread was covered with dust, making it look maroon colored. “Hello! Is anybody here? Mr. McCauley! We’re in your bedroom!” shouted Jake.

I punched him on the side, “Dude! Are you trying to get us killed?” Jake looked at me with an irritated face, “Relax, man. There’s no one here. Ed McCauley’s been dead for centuries. What are you, a chicken?” The anger was building up inside of me, I knew I shouldn’t have done anything but he got on my nerves, so I shoved him to the ground.

“Adam! What is wrong with you?!” Lila was obviously mad.

“Well, he started it!” Without a second thought, I stomped out the door, walking, not knowing where I was heading. I muttered to myself of how selfish Jake was. I found myself entering another bedroom. I slammed the door behind me. There was a full length mirror with a gold frame on the wall. I wiped the dust away and saw my reflection, my face was all red. I threw the flashlight I was holding to the direction of the mirror; I didn’t want to see myself, I hated the coward I was. Tiny pieces of glass were scattered on the floor.

I couldn’t do anything; I was paralyzed at the sight, thinking of what I just did, when all of a sudden, Lila came into the room, tears rolling down her eyes. “Adam, have you seen Jake? He ran away and now I couldn’t find him. I’m so glad I found you,” she said, hugging me so tightly. I pat her back, asking her what had happened. “After you went out of the room, Jake started shouting and cursing someone named Howard. He took out a lighter from his bag and said that he was going to burn him to death. I tried to stop him, but he got out of the room too fast. Adam, he didn’t sound like himself. He kept calling me Jane. Who are those people?”

“Jane McCauley. She was Ed’s wife and Howard was the man she had an affair with. They say Mr. McCauley’s trying to kill the man who took Jane away. I’m guessing his spirit went into Jake’s body. Come on, we’ve got to find him before something bad happens.” I told Lila, taking her hand and rushing out of the room. I called out to Jake, over and over. No answer. I thought hard and headed to the kitchen. If he was going to burn something, he’d need gas, and the kitchen’s the place he might find some.

He wasn’t there. Just then, I heard a man’s voice, laughing so creepily from the basement downstairs. We walked out of the house as the stairs to the cellar was located outside. Slowly going down, the voice of Ed McCauley grew louder, “Jane, my beautiful Jane. I will never forget the day we got married, you were the one who kept me alive.” He sounded so innocent, so harmless. And then he changed, he was suddenly angry, filled with hatred, “But you left me for that sorry excuse for a man! How could you?” (HELP THAT PART, BETUL KE?)

I was right; Mr. McCauley had possessed Jake’s body. He was sitting down on the floor, burning the scattered pictures of Jane and him, rocking himself back and forth, as if he was crazy. Around him were the skeletons of those who had lived in the house. They had all died down there. I braced myself to go over to Jake, and shook him. “Jake, is that you?” He didn’t look at me let alone give a respond. I shook him harder and he clouted me to the ground. As I got up I felt that my hand was greasy, it was petrol, I could smell it.

Jake gave me a glare and a wicked smile as he flicked the lighter in his hand on. “Goodbye, Howard. You took away my Jane, now I’m taking you away!” With that, he set the picture in his hand on fire and threw it on the floor. The flame headed to me as I was covered in oil. I ran, taking Lila’s hand, ignoring her cries about leaving Jake behind. When we finally reached above ground, I quickly shut the cellar door and we ran as fast as we could away from the house. Before I left, I heard a voice shouting, “Curse you, Howard Collins! I will get my revenge on you one day!”

Heart beating fast, I stopped running and let go of Lila’s hand. She fell to the ground, crying and mourning over a lost friend. I just stood there staring at the house that was now in flames. It was the only bright light in the dark Halloween night. Everyone, as I saw, was staring up. It wasn’t a very common sight. I knelt down and took Lila in my arms, trying to calm her down, “its okay, Lila. It’s all going to be okay. We’re safe. It just wasn’t Jake’s luck.”

That Halloween night, three twelve year old kids managed to burn down the house on the hill, a house that was said to have made history throughout the years. And out of those three kids, only two survived. It is a memory I will never forget. I am now twenty-two years old, and I stood at where I stood ten years ago with Lila, looking at the bare piece of land. The place where the house used to stand, the house my friend Jake had managed to burn down. I wonder where he is now, probably up in the heavens, poor boy. He died at a young age. Sometimes when I think about it, I get that feeling of regret, but what can I do? The past cannot be changed.