【.x// Where the World Began 】
My world now, as I see it through my eyes, as I walk down the paths I take, is as if I'm rushing through a rose garden. Pale and blush petals gathered in bundles are scattered like stars, but instead set in lush leaves, and the pollen dances through the air riding on the wind, as how romance goes. My steps are taken in slow movements without any particular rhythm; yet, the passing time always hurries me along with it, like an invisible wind behind me chasing me forward in urgency as if I were always late--late, for a very important date! But because my life is no fantasy, this garden refuses to measure up to the perfectionism I see when my eyes are closed to the tangible world. The impossible shade of blue I've wished for since childhood will never exist. Instead, in whichever colours the roses do paint, the edges of their petals are bound by time to wilt into a crisp and an unpleasant brown. These things controlled by that unkind fate will remain an unchanging fact no matter how much I yearn for perfection or even perfect imperfection.
Back in my pointless and lifeless childhood without even an illusion of happiness, back when I still treaded on the rose thorns in my path with bare feet, or even further back when my whole world was grey... In those times, perhaps the reason my world wasn't alive was because I never considered it to have ever began. Those times were, at least, not unbearable to the point of being in a void of blazing inferno or destitution, but as any other human, I held the desire for more.
I'm not sure what changed me so much. In the distant past I could remember how shy I was in the beginning, how I was the typically desired “good girl”; cute and innocent and kind. Yes, unbelievable. But that personification of myself, I suppose, was merely a reflection of what I imagined others expected and wanted of me. Yet here I am in the present completely antagonistic and twisted, caring for only a few friends but otherwise with a complete lack of morals, also am I immature and rude. Those things about me, I have no desire to change. I must have realized my own selfishness that I didn't care about most others. Perhaps I grew different because of the world around me had changed, too. Perhaps how I used to be was the result of those around me, my identity being shaped by others as I acted mostly for the sake of the happiness or satisfaction of others. My memories of elementary are vague, but they were mostly spent in solitude, or spent in the presence of those who merely used me. Everyone in the same grade as me hated me, and there was no comfort at home as I grew to absolutely despise my mother. It's not as if I blame the others, since from what I remember of my past self, I would have abhorred myself so much more. Nothing ever changed until I changed schools yet again, but by then I was used to the loneliness. It wasn't as if I didn't try to connect with other people, but most friendships were fleeting and fell apart faster than sand castles made of ash.
So when was my world painted quite so vividly as it is now?
believe it was when I discovered my fascination with the idea of love, and any other emotions pertaining to it that can ever be felt.
My world started to blossom in the latter half of my first year in secondary, when I finally found people that I actually liked and had similar interests with. The three, and eventually four of us used to sit together at lunch as we worked on our drawings at we chatted, or read and discussed manga (Japanese graphic novels) together. The days we all buried ourselves in those piles of Japanese comics or read the newest issues of monthly or weekly releases after an anxious wait each Thursday... "Fangasming," as there is just no other words to describe some of our eccentric behaviour. A repetitive rhythm of 'clickclickclick' was heard commonly as my former best friend and I repeatedly refreshed the pages until someone had miraculously finished translating the Wednesday releases. One of our other very good friends would lecture us on how unhealthy our lunches were, or lack thereof, or on our impatience, and the fourth other would crack us up in hysterics with her jokes. The time I spent with them was quite enjoyable. Things looked up, but I still had my troubles. I had settled into a good group home since the year previous to when I entered 8th grade, away from my mother. I was content.
I've been so lonely and dissatisfied most of my life that these fascinations sprouted like a seed inside me, now reaching into the fresh clouds like a staircase to heaven. The reality of love is usually light years away from how romance novels and dramas write them to be--that much I've always known. The truths are of course dull to me. I've been called lifeless and something of a fool to prefer the fantasies, yet still I don't ever regret making my choice. I'd rather live in a dream than play cupid with or observe most of humanity's couples that are merely infatuated or in lust with one another. I'd rather live in dreams of eternity than watch those who do love each other as their flames die out, as they inevitably fall apart. I do not wish to watch the hands of a clock repeat its repulsive cycle. Thus, I've decided that if any romance can never be so remotely as beautiful, dramatic, or passionate, I don't want it at all. Rather, I have minimal interest in falling in love myself, other than perhaps for the reason of understanding all its boundless aspects.
I want to understand what makes one fall for another. The way they smile? Could it be as simple as that the other brings them joy? Can love exist in the absence of that happiness? Is it possible for the feeling to co-exist with hate or extreme dislike? I want to know what makes it so fleeting or so everlasting. I wish to comprehend its extremities from the most subtle to the most passionate of bonds. What once used to be a hobby of observation for these make-believe relationships has grown throughout my years to a downright obsession. I appreciate beauty in all forms, but most am I enamoured with love.
If was finally when I realized all of this to be part of myself that I really considered myself alive, living a life I finally enjoy living, for myself. This is how my world began.
