#20.

dear Nineteen,

i write this as your alter-ego, Eighteen, on the eve of your birth. it is about two hours before midnight, before i become you and you become me, and we are one. right now, you are listening to your favourite song--i'm yours by jason mraz, which has been played a total of 20 times since the rebirth of your computer. i wonder how many times will you have played this song by this time next year?

this year, you have suffered and triumphed. you have lost friends and in doing so, have had your Heart broken into pieces. the people whom you've thought were to reside there forever, have evacuated both suddenly, and permanently. let's not tell lies--you are still a little hurt. however, i have faith in you: you will get over it and will look back on your memories with them happily.

and remember: you have also met new people. they are slowly moving into the vacated apartments of your Heart. it is as though your Heart has placed an ad, 'for rent', on kijiji or craigslist, and there are many responders. this year, you have been naive. so please conduct thorough interviews before letting them in--not everyone is as good as you think they are, and it is best to be cautious. i just don't want you to be hurt again, and neither does your Heart, because it is a rather cowardly organ and is most scared to get hurt. picking up the pieces and re-assembling them is not easy either.

this year, you have re-discovered the power of love and are reminded of it everyday: through your friends, your sometimes bothersome family, music, your pets, and youtube videos. appreciate it! it is a flickering light that dims and fades but never dies. and i hope that you will always try to find love in the darkest places but always remember, save a little for yourself. because you cannot love another before learning to love yourself.

this summer, you have tried to write again. some things you write are overily sappy and cheesy but have no fear--this is your space to control and write. let the cheesiness of your art coat every letter, every word, every bold and italicized header... and i love it; i hope you do too, because it is yours only. this year, let's read more, get more inspired, imagine and daydream more. sleep more, and visit the foreign lands in your sleep more-- let them bring you to a land that cannot be accessed by most.

this year, i hope that you will have more faith in yourself. take more risks. get rejected. rejoice. flounder in rejection because one day, you will be floundering in success. but most importantly, i hope that you will love more: love yourself, love your family, love your friends, love to learn, love to read, love science, love conducting experiments--find ambition and motivation and do things. these are my hopes for you.

let me tell a little about the person whom you are right now. you might be afraid to read it because some of it might be harsh. you are naive and cautious. you are scared of the future and responsibilities. you secretly wish that you would die young so that you would not have to face the consequences of your decisions. but this cannot be: you must live with conviction in your life, and take risks. you only live once and when it is gone, you will regret it.

you are afraid to fall in love, because you believe that your Heart is fragile and cannot be repaired once broken. this is not true because the Heart heals irrevocably, and you will have strength to love again.

you are lost, and you don't know what you want to do with your life. don't be scared; this is normal. don't listen to what your parents are telling you and follow where you want to go--your aspirations, your dreams, and act upon them. one tiny step can open up new paths.

you care too much about what other people think. this is a simple truth but who cares? you are you, and you cannot fake being you all the time because it is too tiring. so just open your arms and accept yourself as you are, imperfections and all.

so i pass the torch to you, dear Nineteen, and remember, i love you. i don't feel as though we tell each other this enough. but i love you. have a good year.

bisous,
Eighteen.

#19: a true optimist.

hi, my name is pat.
and i am fat.
some reckon i ressemble a rat.
and they treat me as though i were their personal doormat.
how sad is that,
they snicker and chat,
how did she get ever so fat?
such a sad existence is 'pat the fat.'

some days i am so very sad,
that i always wear my own personalized hat,
which pays tribute to my existence ('pat') in big bold letters, and was given by my dad.
it's rather big--bigger than i, how glad am i, that there is something bigger than 'pat the fat.'

but what they don't realize,
while they're busy idealize-
ing the skinny and cautiously counting their dumb calories,
that i am quite happy, and keep busy by observing the galleries
of life in transition,
the 'dynamo in volition,'
all the while keeping a well-adored nutrition.
i am a magician;
as well as a musician.
i can be whatever, as long as i have ambition.
so screw the popular definition,
of perfection and the necessities of dieticians,
i am pat and i am fat, but no way am i in bad condition.
so beware the power of my cheerful disposition.

#18.

through a dark and raving crowd, she dances wildly--arms thrashing, legs twisting, and hips girating around, around, and around. delirious, dizzy, and almost giddy, she feels powerful in this form. the heavy beats envelope her body, catering to her addiction; and all around, the bright lights are flashing. she catches the eyes of Lust, swelling Hearts, and racing Pulses. Heart, it beats: rapidly. Heart, it throbs: wantingly. her soft hair brushes against the bare skin of another, a fellow contender in madness. she smiles knowingly as they touch and exchange brief conversations: a common courtesy. and then, they go off.

in a room of mirrors, she can see her reflection: hot, flushed, and slightly sweaty. but she takes no mind and steps forth first. lips to lips, hand to hand--pressing against each other, feeling warmth and closeness that they so desire.

and she feels it--that inexplicable allure in each passionate breath, that makes her feel as though she were belonging but free, contradicting but simultaneous. but only for a moment. because this will be over, it always ends. there is an obscure beauty that lies in this basic connection, and she relishes in it, tracing back to her personal haven.

#17.

closing chapters are endings; the ending after the ending is an epilogue--
what should continue after the 'happily-ever-afters,'
dramatic finales,
tragic farewells,
i'd like to think:
after all this trouble,
we would return to our beginnings,
and exist simply as,
"dust in the wind."

#16.

Heart, it beats.
consistently.
Heart, it swells.
occasionally.
Heart, it races.
specifically.
Heart, it loves.
blindly.

Heart, it
b
a r
e
a a
k
a s.
inevitably.
Heart, it heals irrevocably.

#15: you-and-i.

you-and-i, holding hands, we skipped stones by the stony creek.
(leaping,leaping,sinking.)
you-and-i, swapping kisses, like eager merchants at a farmer's market.
(mine were cheaper.)
you-and-i, arm-in-arm, dancing the night away and accompanied by an orchestra of cosmic fish.
(you looked at me, starstruck eyes, and said: the moonlight, it made me lovely.)
you-and-i, two-in-one, perfect pieces of a complex puzzle; when i cried, you held me gently, patted my hair, and told me i-love-yous aplenty.
(loveyou,loveyou,love...)

you-and-i, not so happy, bitter silences crowd our meetings: teardrops freefalling, marking defences, but nothing, you said, nothing.
(why,why,why?)
you-and-i, as time goes by, fades and passes, like shadows saying goodbyes when the day is ending.
(bye,bye,good bye.)
Heart, it shatters; millions of pieces to be gathered.
(b r o / k e n)
you-and-i, no longer there, instead there is, you and i.
(you blahblahblah and blahblahblah i.)

#14.

joy is sitting, stewing, in the simplest things: the warm invitation of a hot chocolate, the crinkly lines your face makes when you smile, and the sunny rays that beats down on your bare shoulders on a hot summer day. beauty is everywhere; but often lost in translation. i wish that i could lock it in a box and keep it with me forever, if only to save it for a rainy day.