“But how can we heal with all these tragedies flowing in our blood?” She asked.
“We don’t,” I replied as I held her hand. “The reality of life is that some storms end while some storms don’t. Some dark clouds will follow us all our lives. Dark clouds that remind us of our failures, our inner mental demons and our powerlessness over some things that make it extremely difficult to get on with everyday life.”
“So how can we survive?”
“We survive in moments. Moments when someone who we genuinely care for gives us a glimpse of their own darkness, and that’s when we begin to remember that there’s light, so much light to be found in revealing our own darkness to someone who chooses to embrace it.”
Confessions of a Wallflower is my first poetry collection. I published this tender part of my soul when I was nineteen. I am 21 now, and a lot has changed for me. Confessions of a Wallflower is a really sad piece of literature but at the same time romantic, hopeful and deeply personal. It’s simply about surviving severe depression which until this day is not an easy task. Confessions of a Wallflower is really cheap for 300 pages, and it’s very easy to read. I only receive half a dollar for every person who chooses to purchase the book (it costs $9), and it’s not really about the money for me to be honest. It’s about something much greater like spreading hope because sometimes that’s the most powerful thing. So yeah this might be the last time I’ll promote Confessions of a Wallflower, and I suck at advertising or marketing or whatever. And if there’s only one thing I can say about this piece of literature, it’s this: it has been loved all over the world, and I am deeply grateful for everyone who has read it. The next collection I’ll be releasing soon will be very dark, simplistic and personal. I love you all. ✿
You can purchase Confessions of a Wallflower here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1542396859 ✿
This my writing problem: I’m indecisive with the words I want to choose. There are so many possible ways a piece of writing can manifest itself. I don’t know if I want to choose the word beautiful or lovely or gorgeous. I don’t know if I started a piece right or ended a piece wrong. I don’t know if I wrote something too early or too late. Feelings are so hard to put into words. That’s why I think it’s important to set deadlines so when it’s done; it’s done. There’s no need to play with it or jolly it up. There’s only the next poem or prose. Moving on to the next big or small piece of writing is the only way a writer can stay alive in the art of creating. It’s both simple and complicated like that.
The best day of your life might be you spending it alone and finding that everyone all around you is fundamentally alone. It is when you feel a sort of euphoric loneliness that you as a human being have struggled all its way into existence finding love in all the wrong places and acceptance in all the wrong people. It is when you’re sitting at a café drinking black coffee near the house across your street that you realize that everyone is going to die. Whether they’re rich or not. Whether they’re popular or not. Whether they’ve finished college or not. It is when you no longer care about people’s opinions about you. About the kinds of clothes you wear. About the types of songs, you listen to. About what you really want to do with this small little life of yours as you choose to follow your heart. And you realize that there is no reason not to follow your heart because from the moment you’ve been born you’re already dying. So you quit wasting years waiting for that certain phone call, letter, or kiss to make everything feel alright again because everything will never be the same in your life again. Every choice you made in life has both created you and destroyed you into the broken but resilient person that you are today. And you realize that you only have one chance to play everything out until it’s gone and absorbed into oblivion. And you realize that you’ve been so fucking hurt for so fucking long because no one but you has cared about you all along. And you realize that loneliness is so fucking universal because everyone’s got their own misery and everyone’s got their own pain, and everyone’s going to leave everyone sooner or later just because that’s the nature of things. And you realize that you’re not special and neither anyone is. Everyone is just everyone in their own silly costumes in this silly joke party called life. And you realize that loneliness isn’t that a bad thing after all because everyone becomes everyone. Like how you’re also your mother’s first heartbreak. Like how you’re also your best friend’s mental health issues and how she tends to isolate herself from the ones she loves from time to time. Like how you’re also your father’s last breath as he slowly but silently slipped away from this sad existence that’s surprisingly as similar as yours. And now finally, finally you realize that you’re going to die as this tragic and fragile being back into the dust of the earth of which you came from. So you finish drinking your black coffee, and you just walk as you think of how you’re slowly shedding your youth second by second. As you think of how you’re slowly losing people from your life because each of them has to die and you forget about them just like how people will forget about you once your turn comes to die. And now you realize that you’re just walking and walking and walking. Just passing time. Just trying to find a place or a person to call home but there isn’t going to be one, and you know it. And you’re just walking. Just passing time. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Day by day. Moment by moment. You’re just walking. And you reach a point where you feel tired, but you still keep on moving and living with no destination. You’re just walking now for the sake of walking. Just passing time. And now it’s your time. Your shining moment. Your curtain call. It is now the best day of your life. It is when you die and laugh and realize that none of it really mattered, but still, you never gave up. And you lived.