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Nic.c

"my thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations." [Apr. 11th, 2030|12:00 am]
Nic.c
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(no subject) [Jan. 9th, 2017|05:59 pm]
Nic.c
i shouldnt be ungrateful like this without it i wouldnt hv any of this today i wouldnt hv had the opportunities i would hv had in the last couple of years and had the means to attempt other things and expand my horizons i shouldnt be ungrateful like this but it sometimes, often comes back when things seem to go badly, when i become skeptical and doubt my own choices wonder what would have had happened if i didn't choose it it would have been a lot more difficult and a lot fewer opportunities at my fingertips but i cant help but think about if all remained ceteris paribus then right here right now, without that choice things would perhaps look more hopeful and i could have easily given up a month, or even forever but maybe im just being me reckless and easily ignorant about what even brought me here there is no ceteris paribus and the truth is even if so how long would it last because after all the longer u prolong the more painful it gets esp when u have to rip the bandage out and maybe i just want to hide and i just want to dream that things will be ok for me, ok in my terms and not other people's that even when my previous choices will play out better than if i hadnt had chosen them i want to believe that i would have still be fine either way but the truth is this may not even have happened and i shouldnt be so ungrateful i have more than enough maybe it's time to stop dreaming maybe it's time to stop playing
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as trashy as the one on tc [Dec. 7th, 2016|07:26 pm]
Nic.c


dont fall in love with me, because there are days i cannot deal with myself. those days are the worst, with guilt and regrets gnawing at my back. i will feel inadequate, for myself and for you. bad memories haunt me and i can only love you in pain. those are the days i want you to hold me close, but i reach out my hand only to retract because i ask myself if anyone can love someone with calluses on the palms of her hands? those are the days i want you to tell me it's ok, in spite of, but the itch of self-defense crawls on my skin and falls out of my tongue like acid. i dont need to push you away and you'd have already known (but you never really know). those are the days that obscure you from me like overcast. i think sometimes maybe you have the potential of lightning, to burn them to the ground, and save me from myself. but other days i think you two conspire to drench and burn me. after all, you cannot fall in love with someone who cannot forgive herself and hangs her mistakes like a noose around her neck. you will grow tired of trying to fix her because she will always be broken and keep breaking. the truth is you cannot fix her, and that is why you dont fall in love with someone like me. you cannot fall in love with someone who cannot love herself. you cannot.





(maybe you cannot love me, not because i push you away, but because you choose not to)
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for you / for me [Nov. 28th, 2016|11:36 pm]
Nic.c


You will look back on this, on everything and it will seep in like lukewarm coffee into the gaps of your brain: oh, they’re a mess now, a tangled mess of knots where they all fall into place, (a schedule in faded ink perhaps?) but to you it seems a mess. Do you understand what I’m trying to say? That when I scroll past endless entries of supposed us’s, and see dates that used to make me smile, thinking, please please remember this beautiful moment and etch it in your mind forever, or dates that used to make me cry, because it (you) made me cry, and I would think, forget it, please and sometimes I remember vaguely the times I tried so hard to claw them out of my head, I thought I would never have forgotten. And now? Now dates are dates, all the endless numbers, useless algorithms, and it takes me awhile, sometimes never, to understand why I would have written something like that, and perhaps it relieves me a little, that we do get better.

There’s a girl who sometimes gets mad at my sentimentality, perhaps not understanding what it takes for someone to grow: that growth is the sad inevitable formula of adding all your bad pasts to a present decision to be strong and hope in a future, to minus all the regrets and leftover hurt shame and resentment, and multiplied by the people who don’t desert you when your demons divide you up at night. The addition comes in waves sometimes, and tries to toss the formula off balance when it adds on to your existing fears and doubts about everything else, and you start to wonder if you can actually do it. Can i? Have i? I try to believe so. The same girl wants me to forget, and sometimes I think I can. After all, they have muddied themselves in my head with time, the same way the waves eat away fossils to become sand.

Grains. I will be left with grains, and they will slip through my fingers.

They say you are never healed from your brokenness, and I think that's true, but more so because you’re healed in a way that brokenness cannot hurt you again. You’re a broken but new whole. That’s enough, that’s enough. To the girl who wants the best for me but doesn’t know the best way how, and despite the shit circumstances that is life: time will never be enough but at this moment, you are.
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please dont forget (me) [Jun. 21st, 2016|01:01 am]
Nic.c







as usual i get too caught up (& bothered) with the notion of transience, wonder how it cruelly wrenches what is precious to us then straight out of our hands & flings it far from our reach. yet without it, i wouldnt have known how it felt like to fight against borrowed time, with wooden swords and flimsy shields and i know now it doesnt matter if we have lost (we always did we always will), crying and soaking sleeves as distance is imposed and normalcy returned. because, afterall, i did it with you, i did them all with you, & i'd do it over & over again if i could.

(i am so happy i met you dont stop smiling & i will find a boyfriend for you dont worry ^^)
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i like you in the way i don't know how to say goodbye [May. 19th, 2016|11:45 pm]
Nic.c

almost 3 weeks into this familiar yet new country and the word transience continues to pervade my mind. it's funny because from the time i signed up for this i knew what i was getting into - the novelty of meeting new people i would hardly get the chance to meet again, the hopes of keeping in touch when reality does not always keep those promises for you (neither do you too), exploring new places new people new new new and yet i still find myself falling into the arms of familiarity that cradles me like a child. it's not the familiarity that heals my homesickness (i do not feel that 3 weeks in still), the familiarity that shuts me off from putting my foot across that comfort zone but a familiarity that i find in new faces and thoughts and experiences and feelings (and shadows of your past that flicker as you motobike past yellow saigon street lamps)

it's how i am welcomed warmly into a house accommodated by people far away from home,yet try so hard to make me not miss home too much (i dont) it's how i crash vacation trips because my arrival coincides with their travel plans and i see glimpses of my family in that province in the central highlands - the bulging belly of a father who brushes it off as a "1 ab", the mother who insists she is the flower on a pile of shit that is her husband, how they wake up at 4am to ensure we leave safely packed with enough essentials... hear the crunch of stones by wheels on the dusty roads, the free roaming chickens waking everyone at 5am and small houses that get renovated into bigger newer ones from sheer hard work and it flashes before my eyes like sounds in water: simplicity all around and unceasing familial love.
in the city there is a grandmother who chose to move there and live alone and praises me for taking that step to travel and make new experiences on my own, a large house where 5 kids stayed up all night playing murderer despite the language barrier trying hard not to wake the house up and get caught for staying up and drinking beer

back in saigon it becomes a habit where i am a piece of furniture and she lays on me, slings her arms/legs over my back/stomach as playful banters are heard throughout the night. her housemate is generous with food and meals are always delicious and all tell me a piece of themselves back at home and here in saigon and change is all around before you even know it your blood flows in your body is made new and suddenly you aren't the same person when you were back home or a mere 1 year ago

and there's someone who reminds me a lot of everything, and yet nothing at all. no butterflies, no gazes that linger too long, or embraces to remind you that time is short feel it in all now. i see you everyday, and we just want to (even if i get burnt on the motorbike engine i still want to see the saigon city landscape at dusk, and hear you talk about how you come here to scream it all out) because there's no surging or anything more but a tranquility that comes with your company and incessant anecdotes. there're the inevitable promises of the future, but also the inevitable fear that comes with the possibility of forgetting, and the hurt that comes when the time to say goodbye draws near... the hurt that comes when i tell you not to come
(how do you even say goodbye)
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(it has to go wrong for it to be ok in the end, right) [Mar. 31st, 2016|01:48 pm]
Nic.c
it comes as quickly as it goes: i woke up read something on brokenness & how we misread people thinking they're ok, when they're otherwise and they reveal it in their sleep, in the strain of their lips shut tight and eyes that stay too long on the ground, on cheeks stained with salt... this is not about me convincing myself it does not matter anymore, or it will always have a hold on me, that some things will never be effaced from the face of the earth, from the walls of my mind. i don't know why it stays i don't think i'll ever truly know why. i remember that one time i told myself to let go, with a steady voice (did you notice the tremble in my vocal chords, though, no, no.) told you so, that somewhere along the way walls were build up and other hands you found warmth in and you forgot the beauty thrill & comfort in things that weren't necessarily part of the paradigm for the world. & among the very few words you uttered, you said ok, & i said i still feel the same way (but i couldn't keep on hurting, couldn't keep convincing myself that you would choose me for a long time to come, because you were very good at showing how happy you were someplace else, with someone else). i don't remember but perhaps i heard the bitterness in your words, you thought i was doing fine (you never did hear the tremble in my voice). i had lain at the edge of my parents' bed, an arm slung over my eyes, pressing so hard against them so i wouldn't have to feel them slide down my cheeks (they disappeared as quickly as they came, with a hard shove against my eyes). for days after inside my heart was the throb that came in aching pulses no one noticed if i tried (i did try very hard) to conceal with an upturn of lips & i don't think you know or understand how long that went on while the spaces of your fingers were filled...

we never said goodbye but you disappeared as quickly as you came
(or was it me)
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the truth about love [Mar. 28th, 2016|11:23 pm]
Nic.c
my mother told me a story a few days back, ending with how "a mother will always help the child who needs more help." and i went on to tell her, knowingly and fully aware, that it wasn't fair to her other children. taking off the shoes of a mother with endless love for her children, i marched up this moral lesson shielded in full armour of what education has equipped me with: the value of meritocracy. this comes across as apathetic, selfish and self-righteous but i do this with full consciousness, mainly because this will always be something i find difficult to grasp (and hopefully will diminish when/if i become a mother). i told her an individual works hard to reap what he/she should sow and likewise a child works hard and grows up accordingly to please his/her parents. & she replied a mother never wants to see a child suffer and when one suffers more than the other there is an inclination to steer his/her direction to mediate, no matter the age.

in my childhood years, i remember doing many things to please my parents simply because i wanted their attention. i didn't do it for the extra money or for new phones/cool gadgets (i didn't get them, by the way, my family does not believe in material rewards). growing up as the eldest, i had it subconsciously ingrained in me by myself (i don't think my parents brought me up to make me think as the eldest i should be perfect) that i should be the exemplar for my siblings. this disposition marked me out from my siblings, more significantly it increased the distance between my parents and i: they were confident i was independent enough to grow up on my own, & i thought i would not burden them with trivial matters and leave them for my siblings instead. nonetheless, the rift was what drove me to work hard in everything just to hear a compliment i hardly received because well, they didn't expect that of (or forced it on) me anyway. they simply left me to develop in the way i wanted to, thinking i didn't need their compliments to grow (true, and false). but there was always that attention and affection a child craves, no matter how much she/he hides/hates to admit. & i thought going beyond their standards would remind them i still existed.

childish-teenage-angst aside, we are close now, there is something that sprouts within you like a seedling when you become an adult-child, a kind of maturity that bubbles inside you warmly, a maturity with acceptance for an unexplainable natural order of things: a mother's unending love that caters to all her children, but more so to those in need. it doesn't hit me like a truck, this realization, but again one that comes as my mother paces about the home, doing housework making breakfast making sure she doesn't wake my siblings with all the noise despite it being 11am, and i'm in the kitchen just drinking tea and eating the congee because she remembers me craving for it for "donkey days already". it comes when my mother ends our conversation saying, "i know you're capable. i can see that." and she doesn't know the times i feel fallen and broken, but that's ok. because there's that kind of love that i cannot grasp, a kind of love to remind this world that meritocracy isn't everything, that life is really unfair, but in the most beautiful way possible.

how can you say otherwise when a mother continues to love someone who lets her down time and time again?
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rambling 161215 1704 [Dec. 22nd, 2015|09:28 pm]
Nic.c
there is a certain ambivalence within me as i stare at the ice beneath my feet. ambivalence, or withheld surprise & awe: the quiet moment when you know you've taken trips out to embrace the wonders of mother nature and finally, finally, youre here at the land of ice and fire. ive never seen snow before, & touched them with my bare hands the moment i had the chance to. i felt the ice seep into my skin, as i patted them together, a sort of ball coming together. it's numb for awhile, and then the numb starts to hurt. im here, im here, i see snow with my own eyes i touch it with my bare hands. snow capped mountains are so close, icelandic horses tread near volcanoes. there are no trees, vegetation, the white blanket stretches to the horizons, kisses the cloudy skies. the sun is too shy to say hi. i hope the northern lights wouldnt be, but who am i to coerce them to come out to play? im not even the small flicker of light in the aurora borealis, im not even the perfect snowflake that sways to the ground. a different species altogether, myself reduced more so to a mere atom, without a single power to effect the kind of wonder nature has. and im so jealous, so jealous. seeing the white mass of land makes me pensive, sad, sometimes. to be out alone here, i wondered, would nature crush you or embrace you?

i was water, they said, and i looked at the snow — i thought about the way my feet suddenly sank in despite the crampons (it looked so sturdy), i thought about climbing behind selfoss saw the water gush from its peak felt the water droplets splash out from the rocks & prick my skin; freezing. i thought back to black beach and it's savage waves, it could swallow me whole with its thick foamy waters; merciless and unforgiving, it will take what it can get. i thought back to the lake, the seemingly calmer entity of all, but the guide reiterated the unrelenting force of its undercurrents. i thought back to the ice beneath my feet, i slipped and fell and thought i knew what lay beneath (it's not always so clear). am i all of that? will i always be bitter and cold and remember how people get sick of snow after the first day? annoying – soaking boots and melting on dirty tar-filled streets... it's best friends with the wind that scratches at your face like knives and i wish i could be more. when will i see less of myself be ok with being little when will i








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occhiolism (kind of, not really, positively maybe) [Nov. 27th, 2015|11:08 am]
Nic.c
[day trips out to natural scenic sights by bus & car] - cliffs of moher / connemara national park / peak district national park (stanage & ladybower)












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there was once a girl who lived in the house of her heart. she pruned the garden of her emotions separated & gave them all a name: happiness, sadness, anger... the blood, she felt, always pumping through her arteries, never ceasing. the little cottage house burning embers of fire as she sat reclining in a chair all she knew, & she didn't need more. but blank canvases are always bound to be painted (tainted?). would she end up a masterpiece or a spoilt piece ravished by the world? she stepped outside the wooden cottage door, the way eve left eden. it came rushing to her all at once, bouts of waves crashing, breaking upon her once calm, crystal white shore. she ventured into the woods saw new flowers: the ones that would kiss her eyes open in the morning, new birds (the small one that would sing her to sleep at night), new trees that would hug her as monsters lurked beneath her bed (inside her house prior to this were only nightmares). monsters, though, the new kind in the forest, werent just nightmares with sharp teeth & claws to rip her to shreds, scratch her canvas until it bled dry, the epidermis unable to heal (only scars remain). she will learn the taste of iron, of salt in copious amounts that some flowers are really poison ivy, venus fly traps. adam could name every animal in eden but she now realized her garden was miniscule compared to the world out there, bursting; her rickety gate threatening to splinter if she were to do the same. for she has learnt a multitude of things when she decided to get her boots muddied the euphoria alongside melancholy & immense hurt. she will tread through, trek up to the mountaintop, scarred, bruised in every way possible & still reach the top smiling. she will realize she is small & will always be susceptible to thorns (but also to rosy petals & warm rivers). she will learn that everything in the world can hurt her, but everything can also heal.

she must be small to understand how much the world can offer.
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