Bad Feelings

Dear lonely isle,

I have a bad feeling.

Actually let me rephrase that; I had a bad feeling just now.

Maybe that's still not entirely correct, the bad feeling has not yet passed.

Therefore, I am having a bad feeling. Sounds about right, no?

Okay lets start over.

"..at the end of the day,

its what you do and say,

that makes you who you are.."

Dear lonely isle,

I am having a bad feeling.

Of all the feelings I could be having about anything in particular, this has got to be the worst feeling I can have about this particular thing.

Maybe it was the bad dream I had this afternoon. Maybe it wasn't what I thought it was about.

Maybe it was the strange dream I had two nights ago.

Do you believe in foreboding? Do you believe in premonition, precognition, clairvoyance?

Do you believe in bad feelings?

But its only the start of the year. It should not start with a bad feeling.

Please let it not start with this bad feeling.

I am trying to be hopeful, but..actually I dare not say it. I'm afraid that if I'd even admit it to myself it might come true. And then when it did, I'd have to say that it really did happen.

I don't know what am I doing. I'm starting to see warning signs but I'm still charging full speed ahead.

I know I need to stop but I cannot stop myself.

Maybe I haven't been trying hard enough.

Truly, this has gone on long enough.

I must do something about this. I must.

I have ceased trying to be hopeful. Hope does not run events or get things done.

Hope does not get from trying to accomplishing.

Correction; I need to cease trying to be hopeful.

Hopefulness was what I hoped was enough.

So in myself I must place my trust. I will get things done.

So, even in the event that this bad feeling has a possibility somewhere in the future of coming true, I will snub it out by changing the course of actions starting from this very moment.

Truly I need to have more control of myself than what is currently happening to my willpower over my appetite.

I will be able to.

Honestly, I can't help but feel that this blog is truly, entirely and only for myself. The rambling monologue is nothing but a series of confusion for anyone else who tries to understand it.

I have gone from analogy to abstract to vague to currently, just indecipherable crap.

But it is something I need to get off of my chest. It would be nice to be reassured that its just pre-holiday jitters or overanxiety or whatnot, but since that option is not available to me, I guess this outlet will just have to do for now.

Bad feeling, please go away.

Love, Joyce.

Lost

"..Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep

and doesn't know where to find them

Leave them alone and they'll come home

bringing their tails behind them.."

Sometimes I feel like one of her sheep. Despite the fact that I have herd mentality I also have this insane and annoying ability of getting lost.

Yes it is true. I have the sense of direction of a bat with a broken sonar.

Uncanny knack for getting lost in the literal sense aside, I also tend to get lost in all sorts of other ways as well.

Lost in thought, lost in emotions, lost in decisions, really, the list can go on.

I must have been born with a broken compass, in every sense of the word.

How is it that some people are always so sure of themselves, no matter what, how or where they find themselves to be?

How is it that some people are as sure-footed and as stable as cats, always, always landing on their feet whenever they fall, no matter the height?

Why is it that most of us are born without the natural grace and elegance of a gifted few?

I, for one, have always managed, with a hundred percent success rate, to fall flat on my face every time I trip. It's somehow like Murphy's Law. There is an unwritten rule somewhere that says whenever Joyce falls down, its always facedown, preferably in a puddle of mud. Probably because she tripped over her own feet.

If at anytime at all, should you delight in watching me go to pieces, the answer is simple; give me a choice.

Its a surefire way to watch me unravel at the seams and slowly come undone.

Its quite simple, anyone will tell you choices are better than none. People always want to choose. At anytime you want to distract someone, make them feel like they're in power; you give them a choice, and let them choose.

I've always felt that choices are double-edged swords, and either way you're going to get cut. Its sad to say, but its probably true that I've always preferred to follow than to lead. Whenever it came to the choice between the greater good or to let everyone die nobly, I will probably go down in history as the most useless leader, by allowing voting to happen.

Even when I know what I want I can barely make a decision, when I don't know what I want, a simple choice can reduce me to tears.

Confidence, confidence. I seem to be missing you lately.

Wherefore art thou?

Love, Joyce.

The Show

"..I'm just a little bit caught in the middle

life is a maze, love is a riddle

I don't know where to go, can't do it alone

I've tried, and I don't know why

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment

I'm so scared, but I don't show it

I can't figure it out, it's bringing me down

I know, I've got to let it go.."

Dear lonely isle,

The other day I overheard something I wished I didn't.

Okay, maybe overheard was the wrong word, because it wasn't even overhearing in the very least.

So let's amend it.

The other day something was spoken in my presence which I wished wasn't.

Because if God pitied us he'd have make it possible to unhear things.

To say that I'm bothered by it would be an understatement. It's starting to worry me more and more. I try not to think about it, but its just never far from my mind.

Sometimes I wonder why I have to work. Now I wonder no more.

It's not something I can do anything about, so it seems rather silly to let it occupy my thoughts. But alas, paranoia and needless worrying is something I'm rather inclined to do.

These days I worry more about the future. I wonder if its got to do with growing up.

I've been blessed a hundred times over, growing up in the environment I did. Maybe its time to give back.

Just the other day, the most worry-free girl I know at work turned to me and said, "You know, I woke up this morning and thought about quitting at the end of the month. This job is really quite stressful."

And then I sat up a little straighter in my chair.

Sometimes I don't know if I'm doing something wrong, or if there must be something wrong with me.

It's true that there are days that going to work seemed more painful than being drawn and quartered, I don't deny.

But at the same time, I've just never considered quitting. True I do sometimes imagine what I'd do if I didn't have to work, but no I've never given the idea that I'd decide to stop much thought.

Sometimes life is just a lot easier and less complicated when there's just the work in front of you that needs to be done. But at the same time, when you find yourself the only person who feels that way, sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with the work or if there's something wrong with me. Everytime someone tells me that they're thinking of getting another job, its like a slap in the face, because I again wonder what am I doing here.

I don't think it matters much either way, because whether I stay or I don't it doesn't make me think less about what I heard that I wished so much I didn't hear, neither does it make things better if I do stay. Leaving might make things worse, but then again, nothing I do seems to matter very much in the scale of things.

I'm just one person, and I'm supposed to do what I need to do, and I should do what I'm supposed to do till I can't, and as one person doing something is better than one person not trying at all.

So I'm still sitting on the raft in the middle of the ocean, not quite sure if I should paddle with the current, against it, or if I should paddle at all. Clearly I'm not going anywhere, but I don't have anywhere to go.

I really wish I weren't so lost.

Shima, where are you? I need to talk :(

Love, Joyce.

21 Guns

"..your faith walks on broken glass

and the hangover doesn't pass

nothing's ever built to last

you're in ruins.."

Dear lonely isle,

Notable thing of today: spoke so much chinese speaking in any other language felt pretty foreign for awhile. Oh, and I actually thought in chinese for awhile too.

Somehow, it seems pretty small.

Everything seems pretty small after awhile, when you've had enough time to get away from it and look at it from a distance.

Somehow, its all I've been feeling.

Gosh. Is it that time of the month again?

It sucks to be the girl always associated with this affliction, but what sucks even more is that it somehow seems to be true.

I think I need to do something with my life.

The other day as I watched season 5 of Desperate Housewives, I mused as I watched Tom and Lynette fight because the tired wife had fallen asleep during a sex session. The next day, Tom had said, "Do you know why sex with you has become so important to me lately? Its because the only thing that I'm passionate about in my life right now, is you."

And I think I understand truly.

I am all for and always with condoning living life with passion, but somehow, just like how Tom felt silly about sharing it, so do I; I don't have anything I'm passionate about.

Sometimes I wonder if there are people out there who feel this way.

Because all the other people I've known and met aren't like that. Everyone has...something that they're passionate about. It could be their job, a pet, animals in general, a hobby, an idea, a culture, the environment, something.

I don't even have anything imaginary to the passionate about.

Some people are passionate about living itself. Striving, pushing forward, and always wanting to improve.

Sometimes I wonder if being a lazy person has anything to do with it.

I mean..I understand that I am a lazy person. But to the extent where I am passionate about nothing because I do not put in enough effort to be passionate about something? If that is so then I guess I have never felt so ashamed in my life before.

Most of the time I feel like half an adult, like a child not fully grown, because even children are more passionate than I am.

Someone once told me that this is a syndrome of people who are too well endowed in the upper regions; note: brain. If such is true I'd give away my grades for half the passion that any normal person has.

Sometimes, on days like these I feel like my life is one long, straight line from point A to point B. And much as I'd like to pretend how interesting point A and point B is, and how eventful the journey from former to latter was, I'm afraid I'd only be lying. My life is just as eventful, and just as interesting as 2 points on a sheet of plain white paper, with a ruler-straight line connecting them. And that was very painful to say.

Perhaps its better to be boring and uneventful than to be filled with sorrow and pain. And perhaps, I agree, yes that is better. But honestly, what would I know?

Yes, on some days I feel very small indeed. Tiny in fact.

And I wonder if its because of the change of hormones taking place in my body.

And secretly, I think it isn't true at all, because there are some things you just can't lie to yourself.

I know I need to find something to do with my life.

Because people only usually feel this way after experiencing near death, or after they're forty and hitting mid life crisis.

I can't imagine how I'm going to be like when I hit forty. I'm probably heading for a nervous breakdown.

Did you stand too close to the fire, like a liar begging for forgiveness from a stone..?

Sometimes, when I take a look at my blog, I realize, it is, a very long, and very personal diary. I say very personal, because whenever I come here, its always because, I have something to say...about myself. Does this make me a self obsessed person?

And to make things even sadder, I'm now going to try to explain to myself why I always and only write about myself. There are a lot of other things I can write about, and I know this to be true. There are a lot of other people I can write about, but yet, I tend to write exclusively about my feelings.

If I were poetic I'd say the biggest puzzle I've always tried to unravel was myself.

If I were an ass I'd say I'm just plain narcissic.

If I were a realist...maybe I'd just say that it doesn't really matter, because your biggest audience is yourself, and I need to remind myself that even though I started a blog for someone else, I need to keep it going for myself. Even if it does make me seem self absorbed.

Hell. In every blog post I am essentially writing to myself *facepalm*

There's just days like these every month.

Maybe they just happen to fall near that particular time of the month.

I know my life is one long, painful search to find something I'm passionate about, because at each and every stage of it, I thought I'd found it, only to find that it wasn't true.

And in every stage of it I hid behind the mundane routine hoping that one day I'll bump into something and it'll say on it on big, red, capital letters with neon signs "PASSION". And then I'll finally know what its like.

And until now it hasn't happen yet. I thought this was something people just were born with, or something they just like or love with all their hearts. I didn't know it took finding.

And even with finding, it still eludes you after 23 years.

I always envied people who went out and lived in the jungle to research animals and plants for National Geographic. I still do.

When I was younger I wanted to be just like them, because they loved something so much, they were willing to spend their lives doing it.

I envy Christians, even though I'd never admit it, because they believed in something so much, they were willing to spend their lives following it.

Which, I note, is probably why, religion and I never really got along. I couldn't believe in it, like I couldn't believe in anything else.

Do you think perhaps when God made this little girl he left out a great chunk of Passion in her heart?

She must somehow be defective.

Love, Joyce.

Blue Sunday

"..raindrops keep fallin' on my head

and just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed

nothing seems to fit

those raindrops keep fallin' on my head, they keep falling.."

Dear lonely isle,

Out of desperation, I turn to you.

Something, is really annoying me.

And like a vague itch on your back which you can't see, it drives you crazy, even more so because you can't seem to find that exact spot to scratch.

Yes. Something is really annoying me.

I feel it like I feel something stuck between my teeth that I cannot seem to dislodge with my tongue and yet I find myself without toothpick, floss or toothbrush.

Maybe its the damn period.

Maybe its because I'm feeling like a whale. A leaky whale.

Maybe its because I fell asleep and woke up with the map of Australia on the back on my pants, and a matching motif on my bedsheet.

Maybe its because these cramps won't leave me alone, and can't quite decide where they want to settle down. I feel them everywhere.

Maybe its because I'm leaking worse than a dripping faucet you can't seem to turn off no matter how tight you twist the tap.

Maybe its because falling asleep seemed like a good idea at that time, when I shouldn't have, because waking up is like spinning the Wheel of Fortune.

You'll never know what mood you might find yourself in when the dial stops.

Maybe its because I feel this slight pain in my nose, the kind you feel when you've breathed in water in the swimming pool. And I have no idea how I woke up with it.

Maybe its sleeping with the lights on, because lights mess with your internal clock.

Maybe its just falling asleep before 9, and waking up before tomorrow.

Maybe its the prospect of waking up to an unexpected but very much needed call.

Maybe its the unexpected way it ended, leaving you feeling like something is wrong again.

Maybe its the fact that you just think too much, feel too much, and care too much.

Maybe its that twang you feel in your heart when you hear something you didn't want to hear.

Maybe its because you're so easily affected by his response.

Maybe its because you noticed how easily it affects you.

Maybe its because you're quite fed up that it changes how you feel faster than you can say "Shut up"

Maybe its because even after everything you've tried, you're still annoyed.

And you don't know why.

Maybe its because food comforts you, and you want nothing to do with it at the moment. Whether its because the confounded ulcer just at the side of your mouth makes movements like speaking, pronouncing clearly, chewing, and maneuvering food into the mouth not only a time consuming hassle, but also a slow and painful process, or because you feel like the aforementioned whale earlier, and know you are, against your worst fears, putting on in mass.

Expanding in volume. Increasing in weight. Gaining in size. Becoming fatter.

And maybe its because one of the few things that make you feel better is going to make you feel much worse tomorrow, and perhaps its because you know this to be true.

And quite frankly, you're just too fed up, and you can't stop sneezing, and nothing seems to function the way it should.

And the worst part is, you don't seem to have had anything unpleasant happen today. For everything you've mentioned earlier, nothing seems to have been really bad. In fact, nothing was actually even remotely unpleasant.

Sometimes, when you're looking for that itch to scratch, you end up finding that you have no reason to itch at all.

I don't know. Something is wrong somewhere.

I don't know what, I don't know why, and I most certainly don't have a reason.

And quite frankly, I feel even worse now.

Love, Joyce.

Sleepwalking

"..I can't turn this around,

I keep running into walls that I can't break down.."

Dear lonely isle,

Let the sleepless nights begin.

Much as I should be in bed by now, and fast asleep, I'm not.

Much as my body is very tired, my brain seems to have found the strength to go on.

Much as I would hope for a good night's sleep, I believe that tonight is not that night.

Do you believe in destiny?

I'll always believe that we make our own destiny.

That even though something may be written in the stars, its up to us to pick up the pen.

And also up to us to continue following the writ to the letter.

I'll always believe that we fight for what we have today, here and now.

Because if there is something such as a destiny, and fate, that dictates the lives of men, I'd probably convert to one of the numerous faiths we have in the world, and pray that my destiny will chart me a course close to the waters I hope to tread.

Because if truly we were always 'meant' for something, then perhaps there is no place left for hard work, and determination, and dedication, and honesty.

I think this would be the closest thing I have to a belief.

So what do you do, when life yet again, presents you with a choice?

When it doth again, places before your plate, two selections?

When it yet again, shows you a place in the woods where two paths diverge?

Two roads from which there is no reverse or return.

Maybe they lead up to the same path, maybe they lead down to entirely different circumstances.

You don't know. You can't know.

There's too many 'if's.

And too little 'how's.

Plenty of 'what's.

And too few 'why's.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Robert Frost made his choice.

Somehow, I'm going to have to make mine.

And I have no idea how.

All this thinking cannot be good, if nothing comes out of it.

I've taken out all my cards, even the ones I hid in my sleeve, in my pocket, and down my collar, and laid them out on the table.

Perhaps right now its still a rather private table, but nonetheless, I'm being honest.

And I've taken a good look at all of them, and tried to stare them down.

But yet, like a poor tarot reader, I still can't make sense of what I see.

I stare and I look, and I try sorting them into different piles.

I tried flipping some over, to uncomplicate the picture.

And still I've arrived at naught.

I know what I want. But what I want is wrong.

Is it?

Despite everything, I feel like I'm back where I started months ago.

Somehow, even though I've traveled, I haven't progressed.

I realize that this is probably an easy decision to make, but I'm still hesitating at the crossroads.

Until now, you're still such a sore loser.

You're afraid to take another step, for fear of what you might lose.

Coward.

Love, Joyce.

Day Eight

"..are you desperate to find something more

before your life is over?.."

Dear lonely isle,

Sometimes you feel the dread of the confrontation even before it happens.

Conflict solving, regretfully, isn't one of my strong points.

The weight of the problem hangs on your shoulders, but yet you daren't unload it, for fear that it may cause a dent, or worse yet, a hole in the floor.

And everyone'd have to stand around staring at the hole feeling awkward for a few days while you wait for the repairmen to come and fix it.

But at the same time, you wonder why is it so hard to face.

And sometimes, you find help when you didn't expect it, in the last place you thought of looking.

And you are grateful.

To say that I am worried is probably an understatement.

It's ironic how we were always told to do what we didn't want to, or what we should do, even if it made us unhappy, because it was 'for our own good', and then growing up and learning that you shouldn't do it anymore. As a matter of fact, you should go as far as to do what you want to do, and make yourself happy (within reason an without hurting others, of course).

The inconsistency, or should I say, the breaking of the routine, the normal, the consistent, is driving me up the wall. Even worse because its a state of being, a mindset.

It was always what I should do, rather than what I want to do.

Now, I'm revising that line of thought.

It took a long time to get here.

Now that I am here, I'm left wondering what can I do.

And more importantly, am I making a mistake?

Love, Joyce.

Day Two

"..hearts break, hearts mend,

love still hurts.."

Dear lonely isle,

Reality is like a slow, cold wash of dirty water, thrown into your face as you alight from the steps leading from your house of refuge.

So you stay in.

And pray that everything is just you being paranoid, and that the worst is yet to come.

But what you fail to realize is that the worst was already over. And that was the part about acceptance.

Now comes the part of living with consequences.

But the full realization of your loss has yet to hit you. Perhaps in days, weeks, months to come, the ghosts of the dearly departed past would come back to haunt you, but for now, you're just glad that you're not alone.

Sometimes in losing one thing, we gain...something else.

Sometimes we gain more than we deserve.

And the little person in side wonders if there is karma and retribution at the end of this.

Because after everything wrong you've done, you wonder if you did something right.

What if you did?

Oh, but what if you didn't?

Still.

When your gut tells you you're on to something good, do you believe them?

I do.

Breathe. There's so many more days to go.

love, Joyce.

Day One

For those days we felt like a mistake

Those times when love's what you hate

Somehow

We keep marching on

For those nights that I couldn't be there

I've made it harder to know that you know

That somehow

We'll keep moving on

There's so many wars we've fought

There's so many things we're not

But with what we have

I promise you that

We're marching on

We're marching on

For all of the plans we've made

There isn't a flag I'd wave

Don't care where we've been

I'd sink us to swim

We're marching on

We're marching on

For those doubts that swirl all around us

For those lives that tear at the seams

We know

We're not what we've seen

For this dance we move around each other

There ain't no other step

Than one foot

Right in front of the other

Right right right right left

Right right right right left

Right right right right marching on

We'll have the days we break

And we'll have the scars to prove it

We'll have the bomb that we've saved

And we'll have the heart not to lose it

For all the times we've stopped

For all the things I'm not

You put one foot in front of the other

You know that we ain't got no other

We go we go where we go

We're marching on

Marching on.

One Republic

Marching On

Run

I'll sing it one last time for you
then we really have to go
you've been the only thing that's right
in all I've done

And I can barely look at you
but every single time I do
I know we'll make it anywhere
away from here

Light up, light up
as if you have a choice
even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you, dear

Louder, louder
and we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak, I understand
why you can't raise your voice to say

To think I might not see those eyes
makes it so hard not to cry
and as we say our long goodbyes
I nearly do

Light up, light up
as if you have a choice
even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you, dear

Louder, louder
and we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak, I understand
why you can't raise your voice to say.

Run
Leona Lewis

Irrational

Dear lonely isle,

Sometimes we need to know when to let go.
This is me, without tear stains on my cheeks, and without the swollen puffy eyes.
This is me, without my mask, and without a smile.

These days, I find the more it hurts the wider I smile, and the louder I laugh.

You take the pain and put it into a box, then you put the box at the corner of your heart.
It numbs the feeling somewhat. Maybe one day when I do this I really won't feel anything anymore.

Then you cry because its the only thing you can do, and because you wished you could do something more.
Then you pull the covers over your head and sleep it off. Because someone said not to worry about things that you couldn't help.

Waking up is like trying to find your teeth in the dark after having them punched out the night before. You stumble for awhile as you try to figure out who you are, what are you doing, and why the hell can't you open your eyes properly.
When you've gotten down questions one and two, you find the answer for number three.
And while you're still in the interim state of not fully understanding anything, something in your subconscious picks up the box of pain in the corner of your heart and hides it somewhere out of sight.

Some days are too important to leave to the spoilt child running the operation tower.

And against all reason and logic, the day goes well. And you appreciate it that the big guy up there still seems to care.

Perhaps you do get time off for good behaviour.
But not today.

Sometimes we need to know when to let go.
But I usually find out too late.
It's not today. Maybe tomorrow.

love, Joyce.

Firestarter

Dear lonely isle,

Sometimes, when we feel really brave, we take out matches and play with fire.
Maybe we feel like we have something to prove, or just call it folly.

Maybe, sometimes just maybe, you have to ask yourself, do you want to get hurt that badly?

Children who play with matches get burned, children who play with stoves burn down the house.
Children who play with fire crackers lose an arm.

So, if we did want to hurt ourselves, why do we stop at matches?
Might as well take out the building while we're at it, and who needs two arms anyway?

Some people like to cut themselves just to watch themselves bleed.
But they are not to be confused with those who slit their wrists and go have a lie-down in the running tub.

So why?

When you've lighted all the matches in your hand, and are trying very carefully, to not burn your fingers, feeling perhaps a bit invincible, you often find you end up burning your skirt.
Which you then try to put out with your hands, and upon failing to do so, jumped into a pool of mud.
And at the end of the day....really, why did you put yourself through all that?

It hurt, didn't it?

Even when you expected it, it still hurts, somehow.
And like the foolish general in a losing war, you throw your remaining troops against the unstoppable tide of the opposing force, thinking it would somehow, when you got to the bottom of it, in a deep hole somewhere, it would matter.

But does it?

A little chicken once thought it was the end of the world.
But the sky never fell.
Possibly, long after it dies and even when its bones become bleached by the ground, the sky still wouldn't have fallen. Yet.

Sometimes, it feels like everything will somehow always be alright.
When in fact, it isn't alright.
Its only alright, because you've accepted what will be, and that...is alright for you.

Someday, when I die, they will write on my tombstone;

Here lies a person who did things just to be proven wrong,
for rest she could not, be satisfied she could not, till she was proven wrong.

Here she lies, for at last, she felt it was not possible that she was mortal,
and stood in front of a moving bus,
just to be proven wrong.

Incidentally, maybe she played with matches, thinking she couldn't get burned.

love, Joyce.

Yellow Shoes

Dear lonely isle,

This is a story about a girl who lived with her dog Toto on a farm in Kansas belonging to her aunt and her uncle. One day, a tornado came and lifted away the farmhouse, with the girl in it, and blew it to a faraway land. Upon arriving in the aforesaid faraway land, the girl realised that she was no longer in Kansas, when she discovered that the flying farmhouse had indeed landed upon a witch. The witch wore yellow shoes, upon which she took up and put them on.

But wait. Dorothy didn't wear yellow shoes, she had ruby slippers.
But wait. This girl was not Dorothy.

So she followed the advice of the good witch, and travelled along the yellow brick road, hoping to reach the fabled emerald city of Oz, at which, she was told, the all-great powerful wizard could send her home. Along the way, she met three girls, each of whom had also an unexpressed desire to call upon the famous wizard, in need of a brain, a heart and courage.

But wait. Dorothy met the scarecrow, the tin man and the cowardly lion on the way to Oz.
But again, this girl was not Dorothy. She was the girl with the yellow shoes.

So why did each of the three girls require something from the wizard? The first wanted to be rich, and needed a brain to think of how that specific position could be achieved. The second wanted to love someone, and for that, she felt she needed a heart. The third just wanted to be happy, and courage would help her to overcome the sad things in life, and put the sad memories behind her. The girl with the yellow shoes, she only wanted to go home.

So they set off together with the emerald city in sight. For what they wanted, there was no journey too far.

But a wicked witch was determined to not see them succeed. She littered their path with despair and sorrow, and forced them to gaze upon greed and suffering. But still, they preservered. After all, everything they wanted awaits in the emerald city. Scorning her efforts they thwarted her schemes, and she melted into a raging pool of boiling tar.

And so thus, they continued their journey.

Finally alas, the yellow brick road had come to and end, and just beyond the last line of bricks, were the shining, smooth, high walls of the emerald city. High and sheer as steep mountains. The last barrier to breach, the last test to pass, the last challenge to overcome.

And so they scaled the walls.

Awaiting their arrival, long before they had reached the walls, was the great wizard of Oz. He lived in the heart of Oz, preserving the city as a heart preserves the body. Surely, they thought, surely someone such as he has the answers to it all.

And indeed he had.

To the first girl, he said, No.
I cannot give you, what you already have. Your wit, your cunning, they are but what will carry you through life, and keep you alive. If you were but to use them more, they will surely bring wealth to your doorstep.
And she went away, realizing that what she needed was not a brain, but confidence. And his words spoke to her soul.

To the second girl, he said, No.
I cannot give you, what you already possess. Your love for your friends, for the people and things around you, they will form the purpose of your being. If you were but to use them more, they will surely bring passion to your life.
And she went away, like the first girl, realizing she erred in her ways, and lacked not a heart, but a will.

To the third girl, he said, No.
I cannot give you, what you could not possibly contain. The seed of power grows within your heart, and with each step you force yourself to take, you have put a smile on your own face. If you were but to try harder, surely you will find happiness had always been there.
And she too, went away, dawn in her heart that she required courage like she required a third foot, because she had had it all along.

To the girl with the yellow shoes, he said, Never.
I cannot send you back, when you have chosen to come. I cannot stray you from your path when you have set out on this journey, like I could not have sent you back to the past, and to times before. There are oft many times we would like to turn back, but alas, this is not within the powers of men. The most we could do, is to move forward, and maybe in time, forget where we have been. But the wisest never forget, indeed they may choose not to, because, while forward is the way to go, sometimes it is necessary to look back. In time, you may find that the way home, is right up ahead, but only if you keep walking. And sometimes, this is true, because you will make decisions to bring you back to where you came from, from whence your path first diverged.

And the girl with the yellow shoes wept. For she knew she could never go back.
And she wept, for a time lost, an age faded, a memory she could never relive.
And still she wept, as she struggles to lift her feet, with the yellow shoes that seemed to carry the weight of the world, for if she chose to move forward, she would leave everything behind.
And it would be the hardest thing she would have to do.

And still, she weeps.

love, Joyce.

Lopsided

"..and it rains in your bedroom,
everything is wrong,
it rains when you're here,
it rains when you're gone.."

Dear lonely isle,

Life is unfair.

For all its symmetry, the world is almost positively made to be lopsided.

Everyday, everywhere around us we are constantly reminded of how things always are and how they are likely to remain being.
Some are born with everything, while many are born with almost nothing.
Some are lucky enough to be very aesthetically pleasing, while some aren't quite so well endowed in that area.
Many of us lament at the amazing lack of brain space we're given, even as we envy those with upper regions so vast and knowledgeable its unfathomable.
And the list goes on.
And on.

Every damn day, the world screams at us; life is unfair.
And that's just what it is.
There's not much that can be done about general and universal injustice, but like all things that seem to good to be true, the fine print always reads something like this.

So what do you do when you know that life is unfair?
You suck it up, like horrid dosages of bitter antibiotics you know you have to swallow.
Because, somehow, horridity makes you better in the end.

Except that the bitterness of the unfairness of life is supposed to make you a better person.

Today it rained heavily.
Could barely see the road on the way back.

I miss you.

It's just so unfair.

Love, Joyce.

The Aftermath

Okay.

Holidays are over.

Back in hellhole.

Not happy.

Black Heart

"and I began to believe,
that the consequences of your actions really are just a game,
that your life is just a chain reaction taking you day by day.."

Dear lonely isle,

There are some days you retreat into the shell that is yourself and try to hide inside the tiny hole in the wall.
There are some days the world feels so unpleasant you wish you didn't grow up.

Virtues that we learn through bedtime stories, values we see in our parents, all the things you were taught when you were a lot shorter and a lot happier, you keep in your heart. Like well-wishes to keep you going, prayers to keep you safe, principles to see you through in life.

But as you adapt to the gray, smoky air which is our world, you wonder how you could have ever thought the sky was blue. Like obsolete computers and Nintendo games consoles from the past, you find the treasures in your heart have long been cast aside by society. Virtues you keep and uphold have no place in the world.

Because there is no such thing as truth or justice or mercy in the world. You can grind the world into the finest dust and examine every atom, but you will not find a grain of truth, or an ounce of justice.

They are lies we tell ourselves, and later on, to our children, with the hope that they will grow up into the kind of world and the kind of person we wished was and that we could be. We sometimes try, stubbornly, to stand against the corrupt of society, like a rock stands against the beating waves on the shore. And like the rocks we find ourselves slowly eroding with time, until we are nothing more than pebbles on the beach.

Maybe that's why we love heroes, because they represent everything we wished we were, and that virtues are not just myths of the generations past. The people who're bigger than they are, with a heart for everyone else. But there are no heroes in the world. Not the perfect ones we hope for, anyway. There is no Hercules to fight the three-headed demons of our time, and like the myth we know so well, chopping off one head just brings to life another. There is no end to vice, corruption and the stinking, repugnant, contamination of the earth known as mankind and society.

There are no rewards for the soul who lives by virtues, because there are no consequences for those who don't. There is no redemption at the end of the journey, or salvation at the end of life. Despite what faith may tell us to believe, sometimes you can't help but to know better.

And like the bitter person you are, you can't help but to feel foolish at the notion of trying your best, because the only person it matters to, is yourself. The world works on a different system that what we believe, where the only winners are those who dare to take all, and those who start running before the whistle blows. There are no rules in the world, save for the ones you make yourself. And who's to say you're better off living by them, than those who break and bend all the ones they come across?

The world is one rotten oyster indeed.

And I can't help but to feel frustrated opening it, even though I noticed the smell.

Tomorrow is another day I find so hard to get through.

love, Joyce.

Rainclouds

"..My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I
got out of bed at all.
The morning raincloud's up my window,
and I can't see at all.
Even if I could it'd all be gray, but your picture on my wall
it reminds me,
that it's not so bad,
it's not so bad.."

When I opened the box, the first thing I thought of was..

Wish you were here.

Goodbyes are so hard.

Clumsy

"..going, coming,
thought I heard a knock
who's there?
no one.."

Dear lonely isle,

I think I fell back into the hole.
But I'll climb back up.

I'll be okay.

Just....not now.

It's gonna hurt when it heals too,
It'll all get better...in time.

love, Joyce.