Hello again! I've returned.

I'm back! So. When I first started my blog, I admit it was pretty ambitious for me to try to post something every single day. This time around, I'm going to try to post something at least every week, hopefully with a little more meat to it than my earlier posts.

So to get back on track, this is something I wrote just now. I'm not really sure what it is, but it's about my own childhood and how I feel and think about past friends I've missed a lot.

I believed that they would return, all of them. I had this idea in my mind that no matter where we were, how much we had aged and all the changes we had gone through, we would all be reunited. Eventually, I would see them all again, at least once more, to relive the happiest days of my life.

Although, I admit, it's not saying much to claim that the happiest days of my life occurred before puberty, but I think it's better that way. There was no drama, no hormones raging all over the Richter Scale; it was just simple. Life was simple and it was fun. The only things I had to think about was school and what I was going to do with my friends after school.

I think it's safe to say that they were all my friends, despite the two-year difference. “The Boys,” as my mom would say, were all in the same grade as my sister, which is how I knew them in the first place. For me, it was like having the older brothers that I always wanted‒all 7 of them. They all would come over to my house and play video games, eat snacks, watch TV. It was like summer vacation every day after school, around three o'clock, five days a week.

I cherished the days when they'd take me to the basketball court to teach me how to shoot and do tricks with the ball. I could skateboard by the time I was eight because I wanted to do everything they did. We would ride our bikes around the neighborhood, going from one of our houses' to the next, just goofing around and doing nothing important. I basked in their presence as if surrounded by Greek gods. They meant the world to me.

Then one day, they stopped coming by. None of them showed up one afternoon, to my surprise, and I was alone that day. I played my Nintendo games quietly, having the entire bowl of popcorn to myself, instead of sharing it with a group of boys. I waited until the sun went down, hoping they'd eventually bike their way to my front door. The street lights flickered on, the sun went to bed, and I was still alone in front of my TV.

They never came back and I haven't seen any of them since I was ten years old. I suppose I should've realized that they were growing up and they didn't want to spend their afternoon's with a little girl, playing video games. After all, there was a world of malls and preteen girls out there waiting for them. But I was only ten, I didn't understand why they no longer wanted to be my friend. I hadn't done anything wrong or made them upset. I just wasn't who they wanted to hang out with anymore, and that killed me inside.

I've always thought about them, years after my childhood has passed. I wonder what school's they went to, where they work, if they're still friends with each other or not. I want to get in touch with them, somehow, to see if they'd still remember me and the days we spent playing together, wasting away each afternoon. I will always hope that they remember me, because those seven boys gave me the best childhood I could've asked for. So like most people‒especially those with a Peter Pan complex‒I wish that my childhood lasted just a little bit longer.

the sun is fading away

For November 7, 2009

it's getting late
the sun is fading away
across the sky and beyond the horizon
some days i want to follow it
chase after that ball of energy
be its shadow
i want to go where the sun always shines
no darkness
no lost hours of a day
to feel free to explore
and adventure off into uncharted lands
it's getting late
the sun is fading away
the sun is gone

Cry

For November 6, 2009

Cry.
Let out all the pent up emotions,
the feelings unsaid,
every last tear.
Cry.
That wall you put up
is finally being broken.
Cry.
Keep weeping until
you're exhausted.
Use all that energy
and strength to let it all out.
Cry.
Don't hold anything back,
because this is the last time
you will cry for me.
So cry.

Writing on the wall: My sister contiuation

This picks up right from where I left off in an earlier post of my Writing on the wall story.

For November 5, 2009

I closed the front door behind me, knowing that by the time I tried to inch my way up the stairs Aidan would be calling me back down into the living room to give me her life updates. Sure enough, she was home, and in a talkative mood.

“Zoe?” she called. I decided not to fight it and walked straight into the living room. “Is that you?” Her voice was perky, she knew it was me and she was happy.

“Yep, it's me,” I replied, plopping down on the Lay-Z Boy chair adjacent to the couch she was lying on.

Aidan sat up, crossing her legs. She smiled, clasping her hands together. “Good, I really need to tell you about what happened at work today.”

Unconsciously, I sunk a little in my chair, propping my elbow onto the arm of the chair and leaning on my hand. Aidan was like the Energizer Bunny: she could keep going and going. Once she started it was hard for to her stop. I listened to her begin telling me about two of her co-workers that were upset that another co-worker just got promoted to assistant manager—she worked at a clothing store at the local mall—and they thought the promotion was unfair. The last I heard was that “Justine totally didn't sleep with Greg, but they all think she did” before I zoned out and slipped into my own world.

I was standing in front of the bathroom sink again, staring at the eerie phrase scribbled on the wall. The room was empty and silent, no water running this time. My eyes were just glued to the wall, unable to look away or even blink. That image was displayed so clearly in my head, I couldn't get rid of it.

“Zoe. Zoe?”

I jerked my head up. “What?”

Aidan crossed her hands over her chest. “Did you even hear anything I just said?” she asked, her voice whinny.

“Um, no. Sorry. I'm not really feeling that well today,” I told her, rubbing my forehead.

“Are you okay?”

I let out a deep breath, very slowly, and tried to put on my best “I'm okay, really” face. “Oh, yeah. Don't worry about it.” I stood up, clearing my throat. “I'm just gonna go up to my room for a little.”

“Okay,” Aidan said.

I knew she was was watching me as I walked away, so I tried my best not to move too fast and rush up to my room. Once I was clear from her view I hustled up the stairs, slipped into my room and shut the door. Dumping my backpack on my desk, I turned to look in my mirror. My reflection was never something that scared me or made me uneasy. There were people in the world that had a phobia of their own reflection—as bizarre as that sounds—but thankfully I wasn't one of them. I saw a five-three, Japanese-Irish girl with thick black hair that I had always seen. Bangs swept to the side, earrings, no make-up. Same like everyday. Yet I looked at myself differently that time, curious as to whoever wrote that message on the wall, and if that person was really directing it to me, Zoe McCarthy.

All that glitters

For November 4, 2009

Bright lights,
big cities,
that's where we all want to be.
In a dreamland
of excitement and success.
A surreal place of existence
where it's never time to sleep,
only a time of nightlife.
Names on the big screen,
flashing neon signs,
a street named after you.
With fame and fortune,
in this town,
all that glitters is really gold.

Dear Leslie

For November 3, 2009

Dear Leslie,

It's hard for me to sit here, writing this letter to you. I wish I could say all of this to you, face to face, but you've made that pretty hard in this situation. I guess you were feeling pretty positive about leaving, weren't you? I mean, you just got up and left, without saying anything to anyone...which I think is pretty damn selfish of you. You've acted as if no one in this town cares for you. As if you don't have anyone to turn to or that wants you here. And you know that's total bullshit.

There are TONS of people that care about you, love you, but it's like we're not good enough for you. You have this desire of finding other people more suitable for this new lifestyle you got going for you. You're such a city girl, aren't you? It makes me cringe to think of what you think of our town, the place that we all grew up in. Are you embarrassed about being from a small hick town, is that it? I know we can't compete with any big city that you're always going off about. But is this place really all that bad?

I don't think it is. You didn't to either. But then everything changed that one Christmas.

You know, I thought that it was gonna be you and me facing the world together each day at a time: Leslie and Laura, till the end. But I guess you've moved on from that.

Look, I don't wanna make you pissed or anything, more than you probably already are. But I just wish you talked to me like you used to. I wanna know what's going on with you and why you left. That's all I really wanna know. So, that's why I'm leaving this letter at your house. You said that when you leave this town you wouldn't be coming back. But I also remember that you believed in that saying, “Home is where the heart is” more than anyone I know. And deep down, you know Grayson will always be your home.


Love,


Laura

Writing on the wall: My sister

With the past week being real shitty, I didn't update at all. But I did still write something for each day. I'll try to get caught up this weekend.

For November 2, 2009

This excerpt comes from the story I started last semester, Writing on the wall. I initially didn't really have any plans for the story, but the more I thought about it, I wanted to see where I could take it. So this part is when the main girl, Zoe, is talking about her older sister, Aidan.

My older sister, Aidan, was in deed a force to be reckoned with. Not only was she the bold, outspoken older sibling, but she made it a point to live up to the meaning of her name: fire. Once she began dressing herself, Aidan chose to wear warm colors, like reds and oranges. She took up salsa dancing in middle school and continued through high school, winning a few awards during those years. People didn't think she would be that good at salsa dancing, but boy did she prove everyone wrong. Aidan was a five-six, curvy little ball of energy that was always the life of the party; but being the life of the party wasn't an easy job.

Aidan had to “keep up appearances” with the numerous social crowds that she ran with. Barbeque's during the summer, movie nights once a month, and countless nights clubbing. She was always cycling in and out of the house, changing clothes to blend with the group she was going out with and ranting about so-and-so talking shit about so-and-so. It was hard to keep up with all the drama that went on with her friends, but over the years I had perfected the skill of ignoring most of what Aidan dished out. Yet I still paid enough attention to repeat to her that Julie from high school auditioned for Broadway but didn't make it and that Dustin and Brian from the swim team she met over the summer both hooked up with Becca in the same week.

I was almost the complete opposite compared to my sister. I behaved more toward our Japanese genes than our Irish ones. I upheld the “traditional” quite, Asian girl stereotype, never speaking out of turn or raising my voice unless necessary. Granted, I did look more Japanese while Aidan had stronger Irish features; and because of that, I feel as if I fell into my personalities to match my looks.