Novus

Albeit being the shortest month of the year, February is surprising in its capacity to hold so many experiences in such a limited amount of time.

It’s so rare for me, a notorious homebody, to be outdoors experiencing things. I’ve been really stressed this February for a lot of reasons (e.g., pulling my grades up so that I can still get a full scholarship next semester, and generally trying to survive the Biology life—which isn’t rainbows and butterflies, I tell you). On top of that, I’ve been engaged in a string of sleepless nights, which was really terrible. The fatigue really hollowed me.

Beyond all the academic humdrum, however, life is unfolding. 21-year old me is very happy, and tired in a good way.

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You are here.

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My maxim for 2016 is this:

Go for the things that matter.

May this 2016 be filled with adventures, with new experiences and lasting memories. I want 2016 to be spent with the people who mean the universe to me, to be spent doing relevant things. I want to be able to transcend this superficial society and its standards. I want 2016 to be the year I find myself and appreciate my own person. I want kindness and love; I want to continue becoming.

This year, I hope not to let the exhaustion cripple me. I hope to finally learn how to manage my time wisely and efficiently—enough for rest, work and play.

I want to take better pictures and write more, to be healthier and actually do something proactive about it.

For more sunrises and sunsets.

Cosmos, I will do my best to be good.

Grace

When I was younger, the words came to me more freely than they do now. I could write about the most mundane of things, like a trip to the library or a day spent cleaning my room. I was too eager to write about anything, about everything, that I lacked filter and the words just poured through my fingertips like drops of water.

Now they pour out like drops of blood. These days, writing about things feels somehow like slicing my flesh open so that I can extract what’s within me: the joy, the ache, the fear and thrill. It is more difficult now than I’ve been accustomed to, and everytime I try—and goodness, do I try—I end up getting frustrated because the roaring thing inside couldn’t get out in peace. A big fraction of this year has been spent facing the glow of my laptop, two to three lines in, and then blank. Perhaps this is one reason I’ve been so erratic this year: I lacked my one vital outlet, my saving grace.

And so, for the last time this year, I scratch and claw and dig for all the words that I’ve kept caged for so long. For the last day of 2015, I open up the prison of my mind.

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Loop’s End

It was in between waking and unconsciousness—that slow, inevitable descent into the inky pool of sleep—when a quiet epiphany encroached upon me. Long months of helplessness and lack of motivation, months of crises, months of living short of oxygen, suffocating inside my own bell jar. All because I wouldn’t allow myself to let go of the reins, to let my person be free.

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Canis lupus

A wolf the color of snow pads silently, leaving a trail in its wake. It is on the hunt. The ground is frozen white, with barely any hint of the vegetation underneath. A twig snaps in the distance and the white wolf lifts its head, its ears pricked. Even from a distance, it catches the scent of an outsider—someone who doesn’t belong to the pack. 

The white wolf shifts, its muscles tensing, ready.

It tastes the unmistakable metallic tang of blood in the air. 

A steady growl pierces the thick atmosphere and red eyes light up the gloom. From a thick cover of trees, a dark wolf emerges, its coat the color of coal. Out of place in these gray lands.

The dark wolf bares its fangs. Dark liquid trickles from its canines and stains the immaculate whiteness of snow.

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Study Saturday: Echo

Saturday commenced at roughly five minutes before eight in the morning. Despite wanting to sleep in, I begrudgingly lifted my weary head from my pillow and managed to extricate myself from the bed—which I barely slept on this week.

Oh, the joy of exams.

This week has brought me to highs and lows, and despite all the growth and maturity I’ve been claiming to have achieved, I still couldn’t prevent myself from being frustrated at not acing every academic requirement and from chiefly placing my self-worth upon grades. It’s a conditioned response I couldn’t unlearn easily, as majority of my life has been persistently occupied by academics. (I know, it’s a sad story. But I also had an angsty teenager phase, spent trying to write my heartbreak into songs and listening to OPM, then to the likes of Secondhand Serenade and Paramore.) Good thing I have Roi to basically knock some sense into me, whenever I’m worrying unnecessarily and thinking unhealthy thoughts, and he reminded me that it’s not just about the grades. To an extent, yes, but they do not define a person. They should not define a person.

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