Storms

Why do storms fascinate me so much?
Maybe because they used to frighten me. Maybe because I am soothed (weirdly) by the sound of the wind and the rain and the thunder. Saying that, however, I think I would HATE storms if I didn't live in a cozy little *dry* apartment. Though I do have an urge to go and wander in the weather.
I think I like storms because I am in awe of their utter power, and ethereal beauty. Poetic, huh.
There is a large one snapping and cracking high above my head at this very moment, the wind and rain lashing against the windows, roads, and trees.
The wind howling low and deep, carrying the coarse rumble from their source, vibrating through the soles of my feet into my center.
I like to sit on a balcony or at a window, looking into the night, the lightning burning into my retinas in white, red, and blue. Like an old 3D movie.
I like to see the rivulets of rain, racing each other to the windowpane.
I like to feel the floor shudder after every bright flash of light, and see the night skyline illuminated for the briefest of seconds, as if day had lent its light to the storm.
I like to hear the sounds of whooping and amazement from the children of the neighbourhood, muffled inside their houses.
I like the feeling of safety and security, warm and dry, guarded by the thunder.
I like storms.

Hannah Williams

You won't have heard of Hannah Justine Williams. That's because she's not famous. It's also because she never got the chance to live.
Hannah Williams was the stillborn baby of my aunt. We got the news today.

My aunt has wanted a baby girl since I was born. That's a solid 16 years. She has a son, but her daughter won't know the world.


I'm sad I will never get to know my littlest cousin.

This post is to say that babies shouldn't die. Its not fair. Or right. It fucking sucks. What the hell, universe?

Realization

My sister and I just got our hair cut. She tried something slightly different, and found something that suited her face and her personality perfectly. As I looked from her to me, and to her again, I realized I was jealous of my little sister. At first I was disgusted with myself for being jealous, allowing something so hateful into my heart.Then I realized I wasn't jealous of her beautiful hair, I was jealous of the fact she had found something that fit her, body and soul. I realized I had been looking for something that fitted me in that way, unconsciously, for a long time now.
Now I wonder, have I found something that fits me without changing myself to fit it? I don't think that even makes sense.

Ahh.. I don't make sense. I wish I had a better hold on what makes me me, rather than just what I am. To have a better understanding of my own self.

Moving

So, if you didn't know, I live in Switzerland. I have been living here for three years, this November. It's a nice place, even though it's mind-crushingly dull. The only break in the tedium that is Swiss life is one of its street parades - one of which, my favourite, is happening this Saturday.
My friends in Australia KEEP ASKING ME WHEN I'M MOVING BACK.
again, and again, and again.
The answer is SOON. and I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW YET. Somewhere in the vague vicinity of November, December, January. Maybe earlier, and maybe later. I don't know.
When I say, "I don't know" I get the reply, "How don't you know?!?"
Because my dad's company is a procrastinating  fat slob. Yes. They haven't decided yet. But we can't stay. For a while there was talk of moving to Singapore. But my dad was like "Fuck that, thats a shit job, quit trying to trick me." So no Singapore. Then there was talk of staying here. Nope, nevermind. Now there's talk of moving my dad earlier than the rest of us, but not actually saying when. We were supposed to move back right about when we moved - approximately 27 November ish. Buut, we dont know.

So, theres a date. I don't know if its the right one, but TOUGH TITTIES.

The Field of Flowers

Short Story - I wrote this because I felt like it. I know it's pretty cliched- whatever. 


She kept walking, with her eyes squeezed shut. Presently she became aware of a warm sensation gently fluttering  across her cheeks, arms, and shoulders. She opened her eyes and took a breath in awe, turning and viewing the scene about her. She had walked into a field of flowers that stretched as far as she could see, right up to the bluish, ice-capped mountains in the distance. Unlike the ones where she was from, she knew instinctively that these were benign. The scent that filled the air was unfamiliar to her, smelling of lilies, and tulips, and apple blossom, and lilac, enriched by the warm sun. The breeze fluttering around her was turning the field into a rippling, undulating sea of beauty and colour. There were songbirds wheeling and dancing in the bright sky, plumage flashing in the light, their song barely audible from the ground, so far below.
She looked down at herself and was astonished to see her feet were somehow bare, and her clothes had transformed into a white cotton shift that caressed her breasts, hips, knees, and ankles at every movement. Her hair had unraveled from its harsh braid, and it was loose and threaded through with flowers.
She continued to walk delightedly through the field, eventually coming to a stop at an apple orchard next to the sea. The trees were swaying gently, their branches heavy with bright, colourful fruit.
"Melissa!"
Turning, she saw her Jonothan running lightly towards her through the flowers, dressed in clean white cotton pants, his face warm and carefree, all his scars gone. She touched his face in wonder as he embraced her, laughing.
"We're home," he said. "Home."
It took her a moment to wrap her head around the idea that the pain and fear was gone, over, and she was not weighed down with the responsibilities that we hers such a short time ago. She smiled again, bright and genuine, truly happy. She was here in this beautiful place, with Jonothan, both of them together. At this thought, a wave of peace, joy, and serenity washed over her, and her lips stretched wider. She dropped her hand until she could clasp in it Jonothans, entwining her fingers in his.
They turned together and walked through the orchard, free and unfettered.


*I know this story starts at the beginning of the end. I'm no good at writing short stories with a beginning, middle, conflict, resolution, end. *

Poem

I wrote this poem for English. 

The Insomniacs

Half closed eyes and cups of tea

Turning and pacing up and down, 

Fingers flitting across a keyboard

Leaving the house, leaving

attempting to calm their mind

Trying to find meaning 

in the world they're already bored with 

choosing to wander when

all is dark and quiet and still

Drift to the shadowed park

Meet a fellow wanderer who

like them, prefers stillness to bustle

Wide eyes and open hands greet 

the newcomer, with slouching stance

Falls into step, meandering

along the quiet back streets

chuckling at the others' sarcasm

Friends, until the next night when

they meet again as strangers, continuing

their solemn march into the young hours. 

Pottermore

So, after curiosity at J.K Rowling's new project, Pottermore, I decided to take a look. Being a die-hard Harry Potter nerd (in every sense of the word), I immediately decided I was going to get the magic quill. 

*By the way, I am an extreme Harry Potter fan, since the age of seven when I first read the books, regardless of  second-rate movies earlier on in the series, despite being "too old to be so into it" (PAH!). I also don't care about the supposed Harry Potter versus Twilight war, as I like Twilight's books too. Harry Potter is just better.*

In the website description, it states that EACH DAY the magic quill will be released, until such a time that the registration limit has been reached. I took "each day" to mean every 24 hours. HOWEVER. I checked at regular intervals, and always, registration was closed. Also, the interval between day 4 and day 5 has been less than 24 hours. *raaaaaage*

Blog- take one

I think I'll skip the greeting. I don't really know who I'm talking to, and until I do, there'll be no greeting.
I'm a little iffy on the concept of blogging, because I have issues with over-sharing. Is this oversharing, when I don't even know who I'm sharing to? The internet as a whole? Myself? Whoever chances upon this blog, one among myriad? I don't know the answer.
I also used an email I don't give out to anyone. So potential employers couldn't get to this. I don't think. I did find   a new way to stalk people on the internet fairly recently, which makes me even more wary of the internet and what you put on it.  By the way, all you do is enter their email address, not their name, into google. It's far more effective. That's how I found out a mite more about a former friend than he wanted me to know about- some "teen" help blog. I did have a bit of a laugh.
I think I'll skip an "about me" in a post for now. Again, because I don't know who I'm talking to.
What I do want to know, though, is whoever, if anyone, reading this will find this interesting, or intelligent, or mildly amusing in some way.