Last Friday was my initiation to this somewhat Secret Society in school (OHMYGAWD, I GOT IN! I GOT IT! I GOT IN! I ACTUALLY FUCKING GOT IN. ADADHADALFKSKLFSJFLSKFLKFKSKFKJLSKJFSKLFKLSKFL). Secret Society that basically turns us into ambassadors of the school. We officially represent the school and are involved in all its activities and help volunteer within the school and promote it and yadda, yadda.

Initiation that involved having seizures on the floor, running shirtless in front of the school, clammy hand-holding and mucho, mucho greasy, cheap, and guiltily good food. Yum.

The whole evening was a blast, really. But the best part of it? Was the pleasant humming in my chest when come face to face with greatness.



( you just have to humbly bow down )

DAY NINE OF RAMADAN.

I have to say not eating for 15 hours is not as difficult as it sounds. Once, you get used to the sometimes uncomfortable swirling of emptiness in the pit of your stomach, the sticky dryness in your mouth, the inoppurtune stomach growling in the midst of a heated lecture and the overall lass and sluggish mood induced by lack of energy. I suppose it's all in the beauty of psychology. Normally going over four hours without food, and I'll be weak in the knees, bitching and moaning for food. You have to understand, food and I have a very intimate relationship. I am utterly in love with it. Give me food, and I'll adore you until the rest of my days. FOOD, FOOD, FOOD. FOOD IS SHINY. FOOD MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND. Food is not just a cluster of chemicals and energy-storing molecules, it's a culture!
I suppose that is the beauty of psychology. When you're deprived of food because you have no other choice, because you feel like you must fast and there is no other option, then suddenly it seems less... painful? Difficult? But when you're depriving yourself of food with the full knowledge that it is available to you right at your fingertips.

Also, nothing makes you more appreciative than being deprived of something. I may not always act like it, but Ramadan has a funny way of reminding me just how lucky I am. Lucky to have a roof over my head, lucky to have food on my plate, lucky to have parents who love me despite them being odd creatures, lucky to have such sweetawesomecaring friends who actually choose not to eat in front of me out of respect.

I'm counting my lucky stars tonight.
I am content and satisfied.
I am humble and grateful.
I am unbreakable tonight.

This is it.

This is time suspended in space.
This is it: the birth, the death;
the beginning of it all,
the end of all of it;
this is Everything
(foolish girl, this is nothing)

This is being lifted to Heaven's sweet embrace,
This is being shot down to the fiery pits of Hell.

This is dreaminghopingpraying
This is wanting with every fiber of your being,
every ounce of your soul,
every inch of yourself.

This is waiting by the cursed forked-road;
palms sweating,
heart racing,
knees quivering,
jaw clenching,
throat clasping;
This is waiting for Fate
with her scythed-tongue to seal the
                                                         Verdict.

This is your life in Her hands.

This is your entire life,
your eighteen years
                 amounting to this moment in time.

This is Life.
This is Death.
This is agonizing misery.
This is euphoric ecstacy.

This is your one shot in a million, baby.
It all comes down to this.

This is it.

Disclaimer: Random fact of complete relevance: I make some awesome cheesecake. Oh, and characters not mine.

Pay my respects to Grace and Virtue
Send my condolences to Good
Give my regards to Soul and Romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to Devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well…
You've gotta let me go
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

“Human” by The Killers

Disenchanted

By

JD01 (Emerald Lies)

CHAPTER FIVE:

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This is me walking back home.
This is me on the gravelled, uneven sidewalk.
This is me trying not to wince because those pretty shoes kindofreally hurt.
This is me ignoring the pain of the blisters invading my feet, singingburninghurting.
This is me with the purse full of old napkins littered with mindless doodles and Palahniuk's books borrowed from the library.
This is me stealing glances on the windows of the parked car thinking, cogitating, analysing, weighing.
This is me thinking my face is too fat, and my love handles are droopy and my boobs are too small and my thighs are way too hippo~ish and my hair is messy and I look unnattractive.
This is me looking away because it kindofreally hurts to be slapped in the face with my own mediocrity.
This is me shamefully hiding the cup of smoothie that had all that whip cream glazed all over it.
This is me selfconciously rounding my shoulders and biting my lips when pedestrians pass by- they must be thinking "Oh, look at that fat pig gobble up all those calories like she's inhaling oxygen"
This is me staring longingly at those lovey dovey couples strolling through the streets, hand in hand and so in love, and so perfect.
This is me wincing from that stab of a whisper, "I want that too"
This is me looking away, "Will I ever have that?"
This is me, my guts wrenching, "Not pretty enough for love"
This is me, inserting the key in the keyhole, walking back into that familiar hole of doubt and loneliness.
This is me closing the door behind me, shutting the door on all those happyperfectamazing people, shutting the door on the images of everything I could be, but am not and will probably never me.
This is me, not depressed, but just a bit... lostconfusedalone.
This is me.
And this is also you.

You went to Chinatown looking for a cheap watch. But you know, the funny thing about Chinatown is that it's not cheap, right? Like, I mean, you'd expect it to be cheap, right?

But it isn't. It's like real expensive.

And you're like "But this isn't real Rolex! It's a Ro-lex, so like it can't be a Rolex! You think we're stupid, don't you, you damn Chinks! Just cause we're white and you like giggle and point and like talk that damn ching-chang-pow and you think we're real stupid. But we ain't!" And you're like crazy mad. Not just mad. But like, crazy mad. Like rage, man. Your eyes are blazing, and there is this vein on the top of your head that's like uber big and bluish green- not totally green, but not totally blue. Just a nice combination. And this dude passes by, and he's all like "WOAH GUY! GUY! WOAH! Like that thing on your forehead! It's huge! It'll explode man and torpedoe out of this world!"
 
But you don't hear him, because you're real mad at that 'Chink'. But it's not like you're a racist. I mean, fine, you say Chink. But you don't mean it like "dude, we should like rampage your race, i hate you Chink" Chink. You just mean it like, "oups! i'm so used to saying it that I don't really see anything wrong with it. Like woah, it's a nono word? Serious?" Chink.

But then the seller is looking at you. And you're in Chinatown, so it's like real crowded. But then everyone's silent. and they're just staring at you. Even those Asians that like don't get a word of english, cause like you said this big bad word, and then even those Asians that don't get a word of english know what it means. So you're like sweating and bumbling and like trying to explain man that this fake Rolex 'Ro-lex' was like wayyy overpriced, so you got mad and carried away and all vein~y and bumpy foreheaded. But it wasn't your fault. And you see the hate in their eyes, and you're like "woah! shit! i screwed up!" and you're trying to fix the mess.

But there is nothing you can say to like make it all better, cause they're all staring at you with evil eyes and they already have this image of you being like this big hater guy, right? And they're devouring you with their hate, and not a sexual-rawr type of devour, but the i'll-crunch-your-bones-and-you'll-be-in-agony type of devour.

So you slink away, pride all gone and you feel like an ant or something really small and gross. Not that ants are real gross. I mean they can like lift ten times their weight, which is like major muscles and woah! Imagine if you could like lift ten times your weight! Man, your biceps (or like is it triceps?) would be crazy like hard. And big.

So yeah. You're slinking away, and you never got that Rolex watch from Chinatown, and you're like "man, i fucked up so hard".
And like you have some shitty gas station gift for her birthday. Well not really shitty. I mean, TV guide has like these pretty cool interviews and pictures and all that glam. So, you like give it to her and she was really like "I want a Rolex watch!", but she's a kid and she wouldn't even know what's a Rolex anyways! Or like what it looks like! But like you gave her the Tv guide and wrapped in some nice newspaper, you know? But like she looked down, and was like "oh", and not a "OHMYGAWD YAY!" oh, but just a super dejected oh. Like, oh- you ripped my heart apart oh. And she wouldn't look at you. And you were like "you're welcome", cause like what do you say to "oh"? But she wouldn't look at you. And you sat awkwardly on the puke green couch and bit the inside of your cheek, cause that's just what you do. And you felt like someone stabbed you on the inside, and you don't really know why. And, she just wouldn't look at you.