I turned 13 on April 14th, 1999 in a new school.
I moved to the new school with a group of close friends from my old school and we were in the same class.
So, I wasn’t really alone or unloved.
But when I and them started to grow up, I began finding difficulty connecting.
Yes, there were classmates who were mean spirited, but we all walk through that door; the door of being mistreated, and being the ones mistreating.
However, the reason I met her, my depressed self, was because of my inability to fit in.
I was lonely, even though I was loved.
Yesterday, we laid on the very thin mattress which was covered with a wrinkly yellow sheet and gazed at the ceiling.
We laid on a grassy ground in the forest and looked up the starry sky. You wished upon a shooting star, which I -a realist- called a falling star.
You wished for astronauts and rockets. My cynical mind chuckled at the simple common beliefs.
You prayed for Pokachino and Munchkin. You laughed at my interjection, asking about Dayeh, which you realistically said was a mere rabbit. Prayers go only for horses.
You said there are 100 Hayas, and we began counting the Hayas.
At night, while you were a few rooms away rising in high sleep, I thought of this;
You will come against so many good things and for sure, unfortunate things. Every time, you will unconsciously consider the 100 Hayas. You will even use a good number throughout your life.
I just wish you’ll always go back to the wrinkly sheet of grass and the painted white starry sky and connect to the small dreamy girl who believes god is “the man” and there are a 100 happy versions of herself floating in the sky, next to all the stars.
It kept haunting me; the words I said.
I guess it was the anger stage of grief. After a day of work, thinking and then a short nap. I have a clearer head of thoughts, which as shown, lacking in pretty deep choice of words.
I’m just going casual in this one, for I felt the guilt my previous angry words have moved in me, and I wanted to fill the dark void of better words.
I know of a man, who ever since I first met him, learned one fact about him;
He was a burden to his family.
His old photos show a handsome ambitious youth.
His siblings’ stories rendered a genius who was to become big, but lost it all in a classic tale of mens’ envy and one woman’s ropes of hope and despair.
I’m back from a convention trip to Dubai and I’m trying to settle and find myself again. I’ve been so unlike myself for the past 2 months and I’m collecting the pieces now.
Overall, the convention wasn’t so good and it was the straw the broke the camel’s back and I’m now hibernating.
I am not an outgoing person by nature, but the current state of interacting makes me feel like I’m in a never ending series of decisions and reactions that tests my core principles.
While that is a good way to grow and full develop frontal lobe. I leaves me in a state of mental fatigue that projects on my well being too.
It’s making me withdraw more from society.
o the only person who can make me take a selfie– Or a photo in general.
I miss our hangouts, long creative philosophical talks and silly imaginations. May you be happy wherever you sail towards~
I started replying to this question saying “I can think of 3 reasons…” but I couldn’t put it into short descriptions, so I thought I’d write it down here.
I’ve just finished drawing Grey is… Volume 7 and I don’t feel like I’ve worked for so long on it, but I think 8 years under the belt might give me some place to talk about the things you need to commit to a long series, since the story has just reached its mid point… I think.
From my humble experience, here are a few tips I found helped me in how to find discipline to work on a long series.