Worth

Lately, I’ve met a lot new and interesting people and as with how everyone behaves around strangers, I’m not always entirely myself. Frankly, sometimes I feel like my persona is a little forced, since upon meeting new people, one doesn’t want to offend them or be judged. Only after a little time do you begin to open up more toward those individuals that you get along with best. It’s not always easy to tell who are your true friends and who is just friending you for convenience and I think sometimes we often take those who /are/ our true friends for granted.

This brings me to the question of how friends, family and lovers shape who we are and the degree to which we should acknowledge them for it. Our identities are comprised of two components: how people view themselves and how others view them. However, the question arises whether both of these or neither of them are consistent in representing who we actually are. Is the persona that we often assume around others, the person we truly are inside? Is it possible to have someone understand us better than ourselves? What do you think?

The story below is called “Worth”. The protagonist struggles through an inner conflict as she tries to determine her place in this world.

Edit: Gauging by my work load and the fact that I figured out how to schedule posts on WordPress, I think it’s feasible to do weekly posts at  8:00 p.m. ET every Friday, instead of biweekly posts.

———————————————————————————————————————

You can be whoever you want to be. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind as I rested in arm chair in front of our fireplace. I fidgeted as I tried to position myself more comfortably. Sighing, I untangled my hair from the ridges of the worn out leather. I was becoming too big for this chair.

Mother and daughter we had shared this spot and mother and daughter we would share it again, only my mother was no longer with me. The fire blazed gently and I imagined myself being enveloped in her warmth, but I shivered, for, inside I felt cold. The embers which I had once imagined were tiny dancing faeries amongst the forest of flames now seemed like piercing glares from deep within the depths of hell.

Judging eyes and hurtful speech, the world I was surrounded by had made me lose faith in my mother’s words. Could there ever be a connection between two people as affectionate as that between those who are akin? A parent, a friend, a lover are all supposed to be equal in our hearts but friends and lovers have no obligation to you since they’re separate, unique entities.

Friends and lovers are funny.

Or, at least, my friends and lover were. And not funny in that comedic kind of way.

When I was younger, I was told I was beautiful and  smart, so naturally, people flocked to my side. My life was the image of perfection. But, beneath the shiny surface was a superficial world with people who never really knew me for who I was. Every time I expressed these feelings, my mother would laugh and tell me, “Stop worrying needlessly, you should be as you are with me, when you’re with true friends and a lover. Just be whoever you want to be”.

To which I would smile at and hug her tighter. Even though I knew I could never feel as comfortable with anyone as I did  with her, the soft tone of her words made me feel better.

That’s why, when my mother died, I lost it.

I succumbed to the pressures of society. No one could keep me sane. My life tumbled before me and as I showed my inner distress, my ‘friends’ and ‘lover’ also revealed their true colours. In the end, it would seem that they have won. I ran away,  with nowhere to go and no one to go to.

But, alas, I was not alone. Inside of me, another life was growing, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to expose it to this cruel world…

Nonetheless, here I am, mother and daughter, once again.

And I want her to come save me, but pretty soon, I realize, I must be the saviour.

Gateway to the Future: Walking Down Memory Lane

Hello All!

My name is Pekky and I’m an aspiring author! (:

Everyone is always looking forward to the future, anticipant of what will or might come to happen in a few hours, days, or even years. But the time is now, and now is the time for you and I to start doing what we want and love to do – that is, if /you/ haven’t already done so.

Through writing, I can sincerely express myself, hence the blog title, and share with you, whether you are someone I’m acquainted with or a stranger, a little bit more about me. I’m going to primarily focus on flash fiction and other short works (I apologize in advance if you have to read any uncouth rants in the future).

As for the title of this post, “Gateway to the Future: Walking Down Memory Lane”, this is my obligatory introduction post or the “gateway” to our future, and the piece below is titled “Walking Down Memory Lane”.

On a final note, ideally, updates will be biweekly on Friday nights but you never know when inspiration strikes, so I expect the number of posts may fluctuate as time passes. I hope you enjoy & please feel free to leave comments below. (:

Edit: Gauging by my work load and the fact that I figured out how to schedule posts on WordPress, I think it’s feasible to do weekly posts at  8:00 p.m. ET every Friday, instead of biweekly posts.

———————————————————————————————————————

Every spring I am reminded of her as life peeks through winter’s ice blanket, breaking the cold, lonely atmosphere. She was no one special, but in that way she shared nature’s simplistic charms. She hated how average she was, but deep down, I always believed that one day she would prevail over her own insecurities. Yet she was young, and she was ignorant, so no one could reach her – not even I.

It pained me to know that, unlike the cherry blossoms which bloomed every year, illuminating the path to our school, she would never set foot affront these grounds in that careless manner that she once had. When the flowers perished, new ones would replace them in a year’s time. Though no two flowers share the same shape, pattern or arrangement, another one could provide the eye of its beholder the same joy and pleasure as the original. But once she has lost a piece of her, in no way can the feelings associated with what she once had be recreated.

Pitiable as it was to miss someone who was gone from this world, I still heard her laugh amidst the chirping of the birds. Her smile radiated with the sun’s rays, her warmth enveloped me and occasionally she would shower me with her tears when rain fell as it often did during this season. I didn’t love her; her flaws were apparent and it is untrue to say that she didn’t need to change. But, if God would let her return to me, I would erase all those thoughts.

This spring was no different. I walked slowly up the hill toward the school, our memories strewn across my path; reflections of our past were permanently etched in my mind. The shadows of her friendships were before me, the seeds of her romances sprouting in all directions, and most nostalgic of all, the image of her innocence, which she painted with the colours of the wind, surrounded me.

I almost reached the top and crossed the line where I promised myself I would leave her behind. I couldn’t bring her back from the dead. I had to move forward toward the unknown future that had once awaited us. It wouldn’t be so hard if I hadn’t lost her so soon; if she didn’t leave me in the way that she did. But she escaped before I could get ahold of her, my grasp was too weak.

I lost her to the night; she vanished, disappeared. Before I could reason why, it was too late. I wish I had taken that step. She trusted me and maybe I could have saved her, but she was gone before I knew it. It’s surprising that I can still feel, despite this regret that tore at me from inside. I desperately wanted to turn back the time to before it had begun, but now, I look forward as I finally stand atop the hill we once shared.

Looking at the horizon, a new day was beginning. As much as her memory pained my heart, I let the thought of her go for another year. I stepped forward, smiling to myself, maybe I’ll never forget her, but I suppose there must be a reason. After all, it’s always hardest to let go of your own self.

© Sincerely Pekky