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Made 50% Idiotic, 50% Possibility
So hold on to childhood, I say. Even if you're not on that boat anymore
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Well, I have changed in the past year. More than I myself thought.
How so, you ask.
It's almost time for school to start... so there I was in good ol' Wal-Mart, getting my back-to-school supplies and all that mojo. And I saw a dude from my old school.
Let me explain. I used to go to this private school, from Kindergarten (except for gr.3 and for gr.4 when I went to Taiwan) until this year, when I transferred to a Public school (and moved to another country and back, while I was at it). Yeah, my old school was all fine and dandy, but it was so... unchanging? Same uniforms, same people --- I wanted to get out. So I transferred.
I've always been sort of this nerd throughout my school years. I was sort of just known for being smart and a genius (but trust me, I'm not really a genius, I just have crazy asian parents.)
It's not as if that was a bad reputation to have, certainly not. It just meant that guys had zero interest in me, the "popular" guys (however vague social standings were in that school) at the very least.

So I had this crush on this guy last year, and he was kind of... popular? Yeah, he thought I was lame. (yeah, major blow to my pride and all that right?) But I continued liking him on and off for nearly a year.
I know. So much for being smart, right? 

Anyways,  that was the dude I saw in Wal-Mart. I was so surprised. So naturally, I called out to him, like
"Whoa. Oh my gosh I haven't seen you in ages!"

And we talked for a short while. And he smiled, and we laughed, and yeah.

And guess what? He wasn't as much of a douchebag as I remembered. Not that he was ever a douchebag --- he just never gave crap about me, and we never talked I guess.
I liked him for a nearly a year. And in that one minute at Wal-Mart, I think I spoke more to him than I did in the whole year (that I liked him and) was in his class.
I guess
Does that mean I'm prettier?

Or am I like, cooler?

Or was I just lame before.

Or have I.... changed myself.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you may clap. I am now worth giving a crap.
What did I ever see in him, anyways? He's really not that cute.

Hooray for improved self-esteem.

Well it's 1:22 AM and I can't sleep.
I have a flight tommorow night, and I've got LOTS of stuff to do tommorow so this is probably a horrible idea --- wasting precious sleeping time on my pc, that is. But anyways, the view outside is simple yet kind of pretty. The floral curtains are pulled to the side as usual and I can see Taipei 101 and a collection of other buildings ranging near and far from here. All the stuff is mostly black save some street lights.
And it just all looks so peaceful.
Tricks you almost, into thinking that nothing bad is happening under the curtain of the night. That the owners of those far away motorcycle sounds aren't as reckless and that all is safe in those dark alleys I can't even see from my tenth floor seat. And soem of the lights I can see in the offices of Taipei 101 reminds of me how hard people have it. It's a Sunday and it's 1:30 AM now. And people are working. My dilemnia of insomnia is so much simple then their problems. At least for now, now I'm still without problems, or at least most of them can be solved by my own abilities.

Speaking of all this, I saw one of those ridiculous lovely night views of the city last week. On a mountain it was, and at night. Words can't even do it justice. You could see the whole city, all bright and beautiful and blinking. I could see some of the landmark buildings (such as Taipei 101) become shorter thn a toothpick across the vast landscape. Everything was lit, and in places nearer to where I was, I could see moving lights (cars) going down and up, there and here. It amazed me because all this vastness was one picture to me standing high above. And I was going to be part of that picture once I left the mountain. The car I would be seated in would become one of those moving miniscual lights.
The greatest part was actuallly the closeness of it. It felt like a minature, a snow globe. I felt as if I could pluck the buildings up and take them into my hand, despite knowing they were hundreds of miles away. There were strands of bright lights, the bridges and highways curving and winding perfectly, interlocked and intercrossed between everything else. To me, they were jewerly, strands of necklaces and bracelets that tinkered and glittered far brighter than gold, and if I just had the courage to take them from the city, they would be mine. I would have ropes of beads brighter than gold, brighter than stars.

It's 1:37 AM now.

Oh anyone, talk to me.
Well anyways, I've always posted more stuff on my other journal, since my friends (in school) were friends with me on that one. But I guess there's not really a point for that now.
Since they've all given up on LJ and deleted their accounts I guess I should start posting on this one! I've always used this one more frequently anyways :3

- Iris

A/N: Just typing it out just cuz I really need to get this out of my head or else cuzIcan'tsleepandIhaveinsomnia and this thingisreallybotheringmesoheregoes.

                She gazed at the lovely face in the mirror. As usual, she hated it.

So carefully, with a worn brush dabbed with powder, she patted her smooth white skin till it was a sickly gray-brown. In front of her cracked mirror, she took a pencil, and drew lines across her cheeks until wrinkles started to surface, then drew circles till they resembled sickly spots. Then there were those lips that were like two rose petals. Slowly, using her fingertips and a self-made concoction, she dabbed at them till they looked cracked and worn. She smeared grease into the black locks that adorned the outer contours of her face, and made sure her teeth received the same treatment.

                She took a look in the mirror, a sickly and tattered face looked back at her, the sagging skin almost disgusting. She smiled wide, the two rows of teeth yellow where they were not rotten.


She took a step outside. Stepping on the crumbled cement streets, she was careful to avoid the huge rats that scrambled across the cracked sidewalks. Walking with a perfect hunched back she took a breath of the fowl air. As she walked past a cracked store window, the sign caked with dust, she took a peer into the broken glass and was relieved to see her sickly appearance.

She looked like everyone else now.

After all, beauty was dangerous in a broken world like this. She had seen it herself. Back in those earlier days, when people eventually lost their need for sustenance --- food was a luxury no one cared much for now. Those black withered bodies that roamed the city with lifeless eyes, no, it was not food they hungered for. The sight had made her shudder in unexplainable fear. A crowd of broken souls ravaging over one, single, black market rose. Gnarled hands ripping the other away, ripping each other apart for a closer look, ripping the frail blossom. Their ugliness trying to grasp the beauty they had lost, and the rosy petals were infected black and torn to shrivelled shreds in a matter of instants. Not seconds --- no one cared much for time anymore. And the rose was gone not in seconds, but instants. Those fragile thorns had been no match.

                She was the only one different, and that made her lonely. The others knew nothing about loneliness --- they were all lost now, but she was too. 

Walking on, she tilted her head towards the gray clouds, or water accumulated into dense masses high above until they grew heavy enough to lighten their load. And then it was supposed rain. Except it rarely did --- rain that is, and then, only in small acidic amounts.

She had only ever known these gray clouds. There were myths, of course, of a never ending expanse of blue, and of a bright burning globe of fire that was supposed to exist above.

What had the humans called it? Sky. Yes, someone had told her that. Limitless, that someone had told her. Sky, that person had named her. But that was long ago, years, decades it seemed, sometimes even hundreds and hundreds of years ago, perhaps thousands, but this was all a joke

Funny how one loses track of time after an infinity of solitary years with nothing but ugliness for companion.

Yes, ugliness, she thought, looking around her. Looking at her ghastly, crumbling world. But how else could things be? What else could she be?

She had been an artist, but that too, was decades and years and decades ago. Everything that had been good was now a forever away. Yet, she survived all this time.

Because she was waiting, for what, she had forgotten, somewhere along, those threads of thought had been lost with the track of time.

Still, she kept waiting.

A change will come, she believed, a saviour.

Hair like molten gold
Or so, I am told

Yellow and orange, darting through the red
That swayed with her every step
A curtain of fire, it was
Flaming down her back

Her lips, scarlet
Yet, it was not just that

The fire burned within her
And it shone through bold
Or so, I am told
So beautiful it hurt,

Her eyes burned with passion

For life, for dreams
For all those beautiful,
Impossible things

And so, for the people
A trail of wildfire, she did leave
And it did stay,
Burning behind her

A fire named hope
Or so, I am told
Pulling the kite and letting it run
It shall go where the wind wills
And determind to take me along
I shall go where the wind wills

Take me where the wind wills

Now, my kite pulls me along
Instead of the other way around
Like a lifeline,
I clutch for my dear life
But I declare,

I`ll never let go

No, I`ll never let go

For all I know
Is that it soars high like a dream
This kite, pulling m
To places I`d otherwise
Refuse to go

But I declare,

I`ll go where this kite takes me

And one day, I`ll soar
high like this kite

Like this dream.
Budding over a barren field
Admist the setting sun,
I hear cries of joy

For what?
For my ears
Don't hear
The birds sing

Of victory

No --- the birds don't sing
And my eyes hear nothing
Gone are dandelions
Gone are daisies

No --- flowers, I don't see

Instead, see there?
In the dirt

Lay the faces

Of a son
A brother
A father
A lover

From these

No victory, do I hear
No smiles, do I see

Instead scarlet trimmings 
Weave their way

Over thes beautiful faces
Over these beautiful bodies,

That lie under the shadow
Of this beautiful flag

And on this beautiful field
Planted with bodies.
Sprout scarlet trimmings,
Them the work of bullets, scattered like seeds
There, scarlet trimmings bud
This silence resounds, and

Ugliness covers

In place

Of dandelions, of daisies
And the birds that cease to sing

Here, Scarlet trimmings bloom

And indeed

Who needs flowers,
When we've got
Blossoms like these?

my spring.

On a cloudy day

Marked cobblestone paths
Pave a lonely street
Crowded with people

Yet among these strangers
One stares at me,
Yes, those misty eyes cry at me

Why oh why,
They seem to say
I know

Because once, long ago
That was I
 Was I, who had those misty eyes

So I step up
Treading over
This crowd of heavy gray

Up to the girl
The one who looks,
Like she's about to stray

I wrap my arms around her
I notice she feels cold
She starts to weep

I keep firm my hold
It's okay, it'll be alright
She continues to cry

Oh stranger, tell me
Why are you so kind?
Silence is my reply

Instead, I point towards the sky
I point at the heavy clouds of gray
That are starting to give way

Those solemn masses of sorrows, giving way

Everyone was mesmerized by her.
Her slim body swayed as she moved her hips, wisps of silk made to dance as she curved her body to the flute-player's music. Shells were woven into her long hair, and her lips sang out melodious words.
This was the market-square in the middle of the city Zendin. It was the day of the festival, and skilled crafters and performers of all sorts all displayed their talents.
This performance was by far one of the most mesmerizing, the broad stature of the flutist seemed to contrast ever so boldly against his delicate music.
Yet without contest, it was she captivated them all. The dancer.
Her costume was of flowing silk that seemed to go on for miles, yet the way she moved made them seem as if they were only as light as the clouds, the mists she made them seem to be. Almost like a butterfly confined to a tiny stage, she pranced and danced about, restless, beautiful --- frighteningly charming.
While her relaxed body moved about, the tensed audience watched in hushed excitement, all wondering....

"Who is she?"

Humans have always been vulnerable to beauty --- beauty enchants the foolish, and in this case, it has tricked their eyes to see what they wanted to see. Indeed, she was not a beautiful girl, but a beautiful boy.


So where did Taemin and Minho run to? The neighbouring countries.
For years and years they wandered like nomads in a desert, settling in one place and then another, hiding and disguising themselves.
This life of theirs, the constant changing of identities, of places to Taemin had grown almost to be like a game, instead of tiring him, it challenged him to learn multiple languages, to blend, in, to charm even to deceive.
For the young "prince", life as someone royal had long disappeared into the past, into another life.
He lived in another reality now.                          
Yet no matter how Taemin developed, one thing never changed --- Minho's constant influence.
The older somehow curbed Taemin, taught him to be honest through all his trickery, taught him to be kind, patient, and mindful of others. taught him to be stable through the course on an ever-changing life. 
But there was just one thing Minho hadn't bothered to teach the little one --- who he forgot, was no longer little.
Minho loved Taemin. Unconditionally and unwaveringly. 


Their performance ended, and they bowed.

Right now, I'm in a different country.
A compeltely different place than I've ever been in before.
They do different things, their school is different, their attitude is different, their language is different.
Myself, a Canadian/American, am in Taiwan, so to speak.
And now I'm being shunned. Bullied, for the first time in my life.
And I feel like breaking down,
I want to cry, so badly so badly so badly
Tell me, tell me! What's so wrong with wanting a friend? Wanting friends?

What do they hate me for? WHAt what what?

I'm desperate, but honestly, that's nothing now.

I miss home, I miss my country, i miss my friends, I miss my school, I miss my language.

Somebody, take me home.
God, why aren't you helping me? Someone to talk to, please?

Somebody, help me.


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