ryuserev | Entries tagged with writing

Happiness is ephemeral, respect is a privilege, peacefulness is a dream and anger is a persistent feeling. Those four things rule the daily life of one specific person.

To have something, you must give. And whatever you lack, somehow you’ll get it.

A person who was never bullied in school will be bullied somewhere else. A person who was never disrespected will eventually taste the sour taste of mockery. Somewhere one wouldn’t expect, some day that has no significant meaning.

Kind souls are rare in a world where the worst is assumed everytime. Understanding is hard to achieve when others are self-focused and don’t want to see the other side of the coin.

“It hurts me,” one person says, but the other grimaces.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” with no regret, as if to say ‘you’re a liar, I didn’t hurt you’.

And so, plenty of tears fall.

Disregarding someone else’s feelings of discomfort and sadness equals invalidating their suffering.

“Stop saying that, I don’t like it,” one person says, but the other grimaces.

“It wasn’t ill intentioned, though,” with no regret, as if to say ‘you’re a liar, don’t exaggerate’.

And so, another plentiful of tears fall.

When this someone is close to others, be they bonded by blood, friendship or any other relationship, they instinctively seek sympathy, empathy and concern; compassion, tenderness and considerateness.

They don’t like to scream. They don’t like to be angry. They don’t want the relationship to break.

‘Stop’, for some, means the opposite.

A person isn’t born to cry easily when they grow up.

One decade in, and most form a decent wall of character that’s half-way made. Yet still easy to shatter, for they are a kid, for they are weak.

You punch every day, and by tears they will fall to bits.

(She is a sensible person anyways, she always cries with every movie! So it doesn’t mean anything.)

It wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t always like that.

A person who lives a pleasant life in their house doesn’t expect that everything will change after some months. Someone playfully hits their head every day, and they tell them to quit it.

(I barely touched her! She’s making a fuss over nothing.)

(I remember she scared me when I was little by telling me there’s a ghost inside the closet. She deserves it for being mean!)

(Why are you crying…? I’m sorry… Don’t tell dad… Hey, stop…)

(You’re fat and ugly!)

(You didn’t know that, did you? I’m better than you!)

(Shut up for once.)

(I just barely hit her knee pits… I didn’t even kick her with force! She’s just dramatic…)

(Why am I at fault? I’m not annoying her! She’s the one who gets annoyed at everything!)

[She’s crying, don’t you see you’re being a pain in the ass? Apologize.]

(...)

There’s only so much a person can handle. There’s only so much a bond can put up with until it’s never the same. A person who used to cry with series or movies now cries for themselves.

You’ve changed once I started getting angry at your bullshit. Did you think I was going to stay quiet forever? I’ve endured it for how long? What the fuck did you expect?

Now, you didn’t stop annoying me, but you’re also playing the victim.

(Fuck! She gets angry whenever I talk to her, she’s unbearable!)

And whose fault do you think it is?

(I step into her room and she already tells me to go away. It’s impossible to talk with her!)

And why do you think that is?

(She doesn’t even wanna talk with me.)

Why would I want to?

(Crying again…? It seems like everything I do will just piss you off, it’s like you hate me. Fine! I’ll never talk to you once again.)

That’s not fucking it. That hurt. I cried. I cried so much. Is it that hard to stop telling me jokes I don’t enjoy? Is it that hard to stop trying to make me agree with things you know I don’t agree with? Is it that hard to not hit my fucking head, to not fucking touch me? Is it that hard to ask you to stop blocking the way whenever I want to go upstairs? Is it that hard to stop talking about topics I’ve already told you to leave behind?

Is it that fucking hard to respect me and treat me with kindness?

But the next day, despite how many harshful declarations, nothing changes, and some pillow is wet with recurrent tears once again.

(You’re lying. I’m just doing this.)

(You’re a liar. You’re trying to get dad to scold me.)

(You’re a liar.)

(You’re mean.)

(The only thing you know how to do is to get angry.)

That person asks themselves, do you actually think like that?

(Learn how to take a joke.)

(It’s literally not that serious. It was just a joke!)

Everything is a joke. The jokes were so funny, so funny, that somebody’s eyes wet again.

It would be much easier for this someone if this kind of person was just a toxic friend that could be cut off by firms, “I’ve grown to hate you. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

Healing would be much easier.

When someone you genuinely love (who cannot go away) doesn’t want to understand, when they don’t show empathy, when they are not considerate – It hurts deep. How has it come to this? What prompted you to act like this?

I’ve come to dislike you. I love you, but I resent you. You’ve stressed me so much. You made me cry so much.

So much, so much, so much, so much, so much, so much.

(...)

There’s only so much a person can handle. There’s only so much a bond can put up with until it’s never the same.

Someone who’s now soaked in tears gives up on this bond.

Happiness is ephemeral, respect is a privilege, peacefulness is a dream and anger is a persistent feeling.

It may be a waste of time to get sad over it, as well as it may be the wrong way to approach this. But when someone cracks a rebellious smile the more angry you get, one can only do so much.

P.S. Dear brother, congratulations. You gave your sister anger issues, self-esteem issues, even more crying issues, and… Isn’t that a record!

Current Mood: gloomy

It comes as a surprise, never realizing it until it was coldly stated aloud. Even if sick, under bothersome circumstances, or similars, it seems that it can only come off as “burden”. Not a slight peek of worry through their eyes, and it hurts, if not to dramatically say it cuts deep into me. Selfishness is imminent to face in any situation, but as they make frustrated faces and some “tsks” are heard, showing no remorse, no pity, no understanding nor concern, it reveals how much I mean to them. Is blood the only relation we have, I wonder? Consideration is but a given, and some times sacrifice is but a show of unconditional love in family. How is it that I do not seem to find any of these? Crawling back, hands twitching every so often and pathetically retreating, my back hits a dead point, finding a corner in my head, deep inside, hidden as if it were a treasure, while instead, they were just thoughts I tried to escape from. Mumblings, whispers, sentences I myself forbid me to listen to. Draining was to think, tiring to pretend, and even more, it was incredible stressful to keep on with mean looks and words coming from dear mouths, familiar eyes. Keeping the memories, the emotions, and related feelings locked on there, when I find myself reminiscing, it's hard to stay still, unemotional, or even annoyed. It's hard to brush it off, as if to say, “they didn't mean it”, even when they expressed themselves so resentfully angered towards me. Although their lips didn't articulate that much, their eyes told explicitly what they didn't say out loud. Making it complicated for everyone, burdening and no more than that, it appeared that I was seen as a nuisance of that kind. My precious siblings, it is not as if I could change my weaknesses and heal myself as if it were a magic I could master; it is not as if I wished for this or that to happen just to inconvenience you. Then I wonder, why are those pupils of yours glancing with that much disdain? As if to blame me, as if to make me feel bad for it. I apologize, then, for your well-being is more important than mine, for your comfort is above my health. I apologize then, for I will keep on burdening you with existing, for I can't step down to depart far away from this life. May you forgive me, yet all you caused will not be forgotten. Thank you, for gifting me so many self-esteem issues, from the bottom of my heart.

Current Mood: frustrated

It's true that it's never too late to try and change, but I do not wish to stumble against my own words. Those who I pronounced and vowed to, publicly declaring myself loyal to them. To rebel, and to fight, a must in one's duty in life; but I went against what should be normal, sticking to my own beliefs that I thought so righteous in old times. They were certainly not wrong, but to do as everyone says, to do only what seems to be necessary, cutting my wings to freedom and creativity, I eventually reached a deadlock– Oh, what was it like to feel youth? The ability to act careless, to be social, to be mistaken and to struggle against triviality; I lost it all the moment I decided to be “correct”. To fill the need of friends and pointless laughs, I shut myself in, closed myself to everyone, and instead found comfort in another world behind the screen. Ah, when did I lost sight of my own words, though? The so righteous decision, who was at fault of me drifting apart from happiness, at the end, vanished just like fine air. Yet I can't retract, for the “me” everyone thinks I am. As lost as I may be, I can't find myself to ask for help. Pathetically, I became unable to be a “correct” robot or a joyful and laid-back teenager. I couldn't fulfill my ideals, and turned into a purposeless person, slothful, and even indolent. Idling around, somehow left with the weakest of wills to fix myself. I shrivel, just like autumn leaves, as I hold my breath, convincing me that I will do better. The mental strength to actually improve, no mattering how much my hands try to grasp it, even a little, it always goes further away. I can't stand stoic, and I don't have the courage, let alone the braveness, to become the type of person I admire. Drained, I just want to rest, but I hadn't done anything deserving of such act, so I guiltily close my eyes, uneasiness consuming me through my sleep. Another day rises, nothing changes. It is truly never too late, but... The person I've become, it has been troublesome to deal with. Be it because of my bad decisions, my environment, or other's involvement, who I am now can only change with my own determination. How, and when will I take action on that, I wonder. Frustrating. It's... certainly, frustrating.

Current Mood: gloomy

Concerns aside, running away for a few moments seemed selfishly right. Even if it wasn't. The calm atmosphere seemed to turn into an injection of peace, traveling from the veins to the brain, like a pleasant poison. Ah, those sweet piano touches, soothing even the wildest of beasts. Eyes nearly closed, yet open. Loneliness was not necessarily harmful, under such circumstances. The music warmly enveloped everything that needed to be hugged. Even the lack of sleep seemed to vanish, ah, just how much was the magic of that melody, that of that charming instrument. The noxious words that daily floated around oneself, for once were far enough away that you did not feel their pricks in the so exhausted heart. A break, a breath, something that sounded so out of this world. Guided by the melody, continuing to search for reasons to live became a banal mission. Something so trivial, so futile. A passion, something to fall in love with, something that is so strong that it makes your heart beat - Such thoughts as "I have to get that," all came to be worthy of the adjective "superfluous." There, freedom had a captivating flavor. There were no chains with strength to make one sob, no responsibilities hammering at one's will until everyone became “lazy.” It was then that the eyelids surrendered to the melody, losing themselves in that intoxicating and kind music, in the notes of that sweet piano. “I wish all of this never disappeared. I wish this moment was eternal.”

Current Mood: sleepy

Locked words, those that you can't really speak up. Wanting someone to hear, to listen, yet as if under a spell, they don't come out.
It feels dry, and even dryer every time you try to force them out, as if your throat ran out of strength to let out sounds, as if your mouth muscles required much more of what you had to be able to move.
Frustrating, frustrating, frustrating. You want to shout them out loud, those locked words. A secret that shouldn't be one, a secret that you don't want to keep, yet it stays there.
Even if just for once, you wish to scream until your voice breaks down, until your hands feel the same ground your feet touch, until you fall apart.
Frustrating is to feel this weak. Sighs won't solve a thing, not only that, but tears neither. The grip in your hands to make you retreat, they are useless. That angered grip encourages the lock to grow stronger. Yet, yet, yet, even yet, you still hold hard those hands of yours, clenching your nails into your flesh, gritting your teeth.
Oh, the so called lock. Oh, that damn weakness of yours. Speak up. Speak up. Speak up.
Yet, you still hold onto that grip, so that those unwanted to be locked words will remain where they are.
Enduring the silence shouldn't be an option, as those words can be unlocked, and for you who knows deep down how, enduring shouldn't be an option.
But if only... All you wanted was for it to get accepted beforehand, to be asked about it. Even if you knew, deep down, how to unlock said words, pointless it was. Even if you wanted them to be heard, pointless it was.
It truly was pointless, if nobody wondered about it, and if nobody showed any more than rejection to it.
Oh, those locked words, for them who would probably be forever under that spell. For them who'd be forever under that curse. The curse of silence, for them being locked up.

Current Mood: anxious

Threads coming together, as someone watches them fold. Lifeless and careless touches aproach that someone, who seems reluctant, but helpless against what would appear to be inevitable. Getting some sense into him, he could just undo them; once he does so, those mere threads that were getting thicker wouldn't make as a menace anymore, after all. However, as this someone remains still, threads start unfolding themselves and then, they start elegantly tearing apart from each other. As thin as you wouldn't notice if it was one alone, a single thread slightly joins another into wrapping around the slender, powerless figure.

Silent gasps; mouth open yet no sounds come out. When they are many, to the point where they feel like chains, a way out was hardly possible. Breathless, when they tangle around their neck. After so long, a nervous was hit. The realization of the problem, after it became dangerous, suddenly hit. A hoarse scream, barely audible, was shouted. Tensing his feet, tensing his hands, his arm and his body as a whole, wanting to escape. He could have done so sooner, when those threads weren't a threat, but rather harmless beings who gave him an opportunity to avoid this situation. He could have undone them, at first, for those threads were folding themselves, the power to undo them within his grasp. Why, then, did he stay still until it got unbearable, until they got around him, until he couldn't do anything.

The problem, not a hard one to solve, just got bigger and bigger as he didn't do anything. No one else more than him was to blame, yet was that clear to him, whose despaired face was as if he was drowning in an inevitable struggle, as if fate decided to make him endure such agony out of malice?

An answer was, maybe, nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found, for he truly believed it. For he, the helpless one.