A Few Paragraphs ~

Jun 30, 2012 22:01



I'd like to apologize on how serious I wrote this entry. LOL.
        Don't bother reading it. XD
        Instead of today's events, I'd rather share what happened last Wednesday.


Ito. Japanese word for thread. What brought this on?
Our first activity in one of our majors class.

Since sensei didn't show up for the second time, she contacted the block's officers and ordered us to write something on a piece of yellow paper. What to write about? Our class president put the question on the board, it was something like this,

If you were an object, what are you?

Minutes passed and all the time I was just staring at the blank paper, pen in hand, tapping it on my desk. What am I if I turn into something? To what can I compare myself with? I really find it hard, answering a question that  was seemingly simple (I suppose). Still, I had trouble putting words. My mind's empty, pondering.

Who am I, anyway?

I don't know myself.

It's the reason I couldn't start anything.

It was frustrating, having no idea what significance you have, unsure of your own identity---and it's disadvantageous since I couldn't answer our activity! For sixteen years of existing, I still don't know who I am. Neither have I a concrete idea on what I have become. Or better yet, I'm just lazy to describe myself. Or maybe the dictionary's not sufficient enough to have an adjective suitable for my personality.

I am a stranger of my own identity.

With the wasted time put into thinking and staring into nothingness, I found myself scrawl this on the yellow paper . . .

I used to be a budding flower in my high school days. I don't know what made me think of myself as such. It may be because of the sensitivity I have since I was a kid---crying over a dead pet, getting hurt at the smallest criticisms, easily swayed and influenced by people surrounding me; a young girl who's always been emotional on trivial things. Weak. Delicate.

But growing up and being exposed to circumstances I may or may not expect, and pulling myself out of the shell I've been so cautiously sheltering myself in before, sooner did I realize something. I am not a budding flower anymore, neither am I a bloomed one. Perhaps it is something different I turned into---lifeless as it may be, small as it may seem---, but definitely has an essence in its own way of existing.

With everything that came my way, I think of myself as a thread.

I am a thread, my life woven depending on the way I live it, the way I stitch it. There are days when I spin it the wrong way; thus, having to start all over again. As years pass, the stitched thread slowly turns into a cloth. Struggling to make it perfect, unfortunately failing at times, but never giving up. No matter how the woven cloth looks so smooth on the surface, found beneath are messy stitches---a proof that life is made of bad and good days, bumpy roads and roller-coaster rides.

A thread patches. A thread connects. It may have the inevitable tendency to be easily cut by one swish of a blade or a pair of scissors. However, in spite its vulnerability, it has the ability to heal, to strengthen. Similar to relationships, the behavior of a thread links, people to people, cloth to cloth.

And in spite of it being usually unnoticed, unseen in made dresses, still, a thread is what makes such apparels possible. Like myself. I may live a life usually unnoticed, but with my little efforts, stitch by stitch, I can make something possible.

I find it lame and rather pointless. But having no choice, I passed the now un-blank paper for the activity.

After the massive brain-bleeding session on our majors class, we headed straight to our friend's house to hang out.

I am blessed to have this day a fun, beautiful and epic one. No words are enough to describe how many times I rolled on the floor laughing like an idiot with the awesomest pals in the world.

Definitely a day more than worth remembering. ヾ(●⌒∇⌒●)ノ

"Writing is easy.

All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper

until drops of blood form on your head."

--- Gene Fowler

Journalist and biographer

---
Waving at yuichan03. (o^^o) I already warned you.
This is a work of an abnormal human being. HAHA.
I didn't like much what I wrote. XD

buddies, school, aaatashi no inochi

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