Writing is fun! (eh... y'know)

19yo, INFP, cabin 12 girly. Absolutely DONE with people (yet talks about humanity a ton anyway). Also an ATINY (rawr).

[asyawrites]

INTRODUCTIONNNN 🧚🏻‍♀️✨

Finally! An introduction! ...yeah okay let's just get this over it.

This is gonna be a long ride, so buckle up.

THE BASICS:

First point: I'm insane. Not.. chronically insane, no, but I'm pretty sure that there's no other way to explain how confused I am about myself. Not in a bad way! ^^ More of a "oh my god can you please make sense for once" way. Extremely normal stuff. I'm just insufferable during the day and an absolute chatterbox in the night.

💗🦇 I'm basically batman 🦇💗 (if he had too many cups of matcha and a severe condition called "being the eldest daughter in the household.")

Second point: My name is Asya! But I also go by Nisya on the internet. Why? Because sometimes, I just need to believe that I can be more than the identity my parents gave me 🥰 Lmao, yeah, okay, it's not that serious—I just like to have an online name (although I rarely use it).

But here in this heaven (or hell), you can call me Asya 😃👍

Third point (very important): Please put your expectations of me exactly 6 ft below the ground, thank you. Let's be honest, whenever I decide to write, it's either during the after affects from watching something potentially harmful for the mind or after I stare at the walls for too long. Might get a work or two from that, but they are wayyyyy off to be considered proper. Or fun. They're not fun (imo).

It's basically just me spiraling for a couple of hours (aggressively) and then sticking that stuff in here. I mean, if you enjoy watching girls question their existence 24/7 then, hey! I'm your beacon of light! But if you enjoy clarity, then my writings will probably make you want to send a complaint letter in the form of an email. Whichever side you stand on, I don't check my emails anyway.

WHAT I FW (my likings):

MATCHA: As mentioned before (via my batman analogy) I'm a sucker for matcha. I'm a vampire... but for matcha. Matcha drinking monster. A feral gremlin who survives under the brewing of dead green tea leaf—dried to their spines and abused to powder so badly that their silent scream is what fuels my very being everyday and night until I feel the power! THE POWERRRRRRR!!!!!!

I usually like it sweet btw.

Reading: Oh look! a girl who likes matcha and reading! How... original. Y'all I'm so sorry I'm not the type to perform tap dances in front of my pet turtle and blow people's mind at unnecessarily complex calculations like figuring out the number of steps an ant does in the distance between my bedroom to the house porch 😮‍💨 I'm a big downer fr (no shame to those who do tho, even if it's a little concerning).

Anyway, several of my favorites include:

"My Brilliant Friend" by Elena Ferrante.

"Project Hail Mary" by Andy Weir.

That one ATEEZ fanfiction about being Z's daughter that suddenly vanished from the face of existence... I'm still upset about this.

Chris Hemsworth: No explanation needed.

EXTRA STUFF (don't skip if you can):

Posting schedule: There is no schedule 👍 Heavily depends on my mood and whatever I have going on irl. Tho for the most part, I usually start writing when I'm either stressed to the brim or ecstatic about something. Or just... Bored. Either way, I write when my heart tells me to. Writing is a good coping mechanism, y'know.

General warning: Some of my writings include pretty unconventional opinions on... sensitive topics (like religion). But no worries, all is done with respect and written when I was fully aware (as aware as I can be at midnight).

Just let me know if I'm crossing the border a little farther than needed.

I'm a pretty stubborn person, and sometimes my thoughts can come off as cynical rather than casual sharing. So do tell me when that happens. And uhh yeah! Don't be too surprised if I challenge many things on this blog ahaha.

However I'll never write anything that intentionally hurts others, so let's be civil and treat each other with respect! Yay! 🤸‍♀️

BAM. WE'RE DONE.

This introduction might change from time to time so just keep that in mind. But overall, I think we're done here!

Have fun being aboard on my ship! 🚢 🌊

We're going straight to writings that will show little corners of my mind, heart, soul, and—yeah, okay, you get it. A lot of feelings. A lot of questioning.

But most importantly... A whole lot of signs that show I need to reunite with nature. (Oh how I miss the beach 🥲)

Thank you for checking in, see you in the next chapter.

[asyawrites]

Oh So This Is Love ❤️

"Gut wrenching" was one of the few terms I never knew were true within the human's mortal experience. It sits like fiction on my tongue, a sort of hyperbolic torch used to enhance writing. I never knew that it exists, scorching with truth. Oh how resilient our kind is... to swallow patiently and keep on walking. 

My father—my papa—was picked up by God's assistant to a better place. To everyone's first home. Before the earth, before the womb. For what felt like a tickle sleeping by his side, in just a couple of hours, it began to feel like what it actually was; years. 

Residing on a land famously fatherless, I thought myself to be invincible. We were merry and our discussions flowed like rivers. Although never spoken aloud, there's nothing more exciting to me than to face each other and engage our like-minded thoughts. 

His warmth; a neverending hearth in the house of my soul. So when fate had driven him elsewhere, physical form underneath soil, the fire inside me churned with unfamiliar heat. A symphony of longing and knowing—still connected yet so far away.

+++

The boundary between us now stretched like candy before it's molded. It won't ever break or return to dust of sugar. Let it be—I'll watch with a smile. It'll shape itself as time continues, and by the end of mine we'll meet again...  with a sweet treat in our hands. 

However, I hope this delicacy's making will need almost a century or more. He understands. I still have many connections to maintain and build, a whole aisle of love to witness and hold. 

I accept this gut wrenching chapter.

I'll acknowledge every laugh, tear, and discomfort found from simply standing without him by my side. He had shown me every method to string a loving bond. To assure when we've graduated—from caterpillar to butterfly—we'd arrive not just with one, but a whole basket of genuine, delightful treats. 

A sweet life and future afterlife. 

Oh how resilient I'll be... to swallow patiently and keep on walking. 

[asyawrites]

Porcelain heart dropped to marble floors.

My trust that you'd catch me is all that matters.

You did.

You absolutely did.

So now my porcelain heart is stronger than steel combined.

Warmth of our hearts still beating nonetheless.

Yours in a realm beyond imagination—mine on land.

The last embrace isn't the end.

The only thing frozen is the truth and it thawed.

Because without a doubt, forever more... I've always loved you. And I know you love me too.

Note: This is my love letter to my dad. Not the last—although we won't be able to meet eye-to-eye anymore on this lifetime. So it's less about sounding great and more about just... Putting my heart out a bit. Thank you for looking, even if just a second <3

[asyawrites]

Dull Me Not With Your Silent Lullaby

Dear death, are you a limp away?

I remember fondly of how your feet stepped into my thoughts.

Laying on the hospital bed, I was.

My blanket from home felt uncomfortable.

I was sinking in guilt, sinking in worry. 

Oh how terrible I was—I can't possibly flee now!

Death, you might've heard; my silent queries. 

How puzzled I was, how stupid. 

Thought you won't faze me but it's proven untrue. 

Don't look! Don't spy! I'm still the same girl. 

Only: my troubles now are farther away from you.

But, dear death, how we've become acquaintances. 

The lost I've felt made me stand next to you, secretly. 

When I wished for you. 

And even when I don't. 

Will these present pressures be trivial? 

Will you knock on my bedroom door lightly

Each appearance of you in my dream is a brush.

Lest you let me hold it for once, if I may. 

So you can rest, and my hands will paint the cautions themselves. 

But no, dear death, I'm mistaken. 

You never paint negatives. 

Your entire purpose is to serve outcome, however it looks. 

They've bullied you too much, too cruel. 

You are no enemy, only a tool. 

It's okay, I'm also a fool.

An architect of calcium wrapped in skin.

Dear death, please keep watching at bay. 

But don't come closer. 

Don't be a reckless friend. 

Someday, in terms and time I rather not know—I'll say more than "shoo" and greet with hello.

[writingblus]

i dont "go on walks," i dont "use character sheets" and i dont "plot before writing," i raw dog it, and if it doesnt flow, I FUCKING CRY.

[asyawrites]

Story of my life, I suppose 😂🤭

[asyawrites]

Let's Intertwine With Our Eyes Averted.

Torn-winged angel. My only savior. 

How far we've gone, relying on the other's fingers.

No matter how foreign and different our home. 

Drawn we both are to the comfort of song. 

You are no god, I cannot worship.

I am no knight your crown is worthy. 

But if sand turns to water, I hope that you'll see—that without knowing each other, "you" still have "me".

Greasy, our palms, holding souls that slip. 

Lush, our voice, in sounding them a grip. 

Your throne higher, my saddle left dire. 

Yet kingdoms lose once horses refuse to cross fire.

Although you're no god and I am no knight.

Although connections made were crafted delight. 

Let me hold the spear, to cherish your light. 

So melodies: you can birth, to save us all from fright.

[asyawrites]

What does being a girl do to me?

Raging that my life is different from others proves there's only one distinction that sets us apart from each other—and that is how we perceive it. Everyday, I think of myself as wise. In the bathroom, whenever everything catches up, I smile and mutter self-assuring words in front of the mirror. The way I hide so quickly from myself... It's almost laughable. 

I didn't think I was the worst. But sometimes I feel like it. And I've been so accustomed to decorate this horrible version of myself with analogies that I started to feel detached. 

It's almost annoying. The fact that I've turned 19 but everything is still a blur. That I'm still the same girl who grew up unable to do anything, grew up, can now do something—but does nothing, anyway. I lie so many times. Being observant isn't a punishment to me but somehow in every sentence written it becomes the villain. 

People say life isn't fair. But maybe I had planted these seeds long before I learned about the metaphor. I was never a hero. Not even a princess. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm afraid I can't speak truthfully from the heart, ever. 

Forgive me, if these words confuse you. Or offended your day. Or remind you of somebody else you'd rather not think about. Because I can't keep them anymore. I'm not sure I'm still here. 

Writing is something I use to express myself. 

Till this point, it is.

I'm just afraid I'll never figure out who I am underneath the fancy talk. 

Being a girl is a privilege. But to tie a rope around your ankle and run, knowing a heavy anchor is on the other end, is not. Not when the anchor is yourself. Not when you feel stranger of her, no. 

I want to feel myself tonight. Please let me know myself.

[asyawrites]

Have we lost it?

The chandelier, hazy memories, decorate the ceiling of my subconscious. Line between truth and imagination swept in havoc; one that terrifies richness. Or perhaps had cherished it so much it disappeared willingly.

I'd look at my hands, ordinary but so strange—as if it weren't mine but of an alien's, mix of reptiles and raw sausages combined. I convinced myself as well: anxiety lives across the ocean. However, what if all this time I've done nothing but swim?

Ruinous: this charm, woven by a caress too afraid of itself. Never felt that I've sat so deeply with the question marks of my existence. Scriptures ironed by half assurances, reading them becomes unpaid labor. Taxing me—blocking spaces that were available, crafting wonder as if I'm aimlessly wandering.

Nonetheless, it's not foreign—this stir. The wooden spoon gripped by leftovers. Ingredients are gray unlocked levels.

Intensified, my aroused will continue to bruise spots in the invisible. Lists of fairytales bordering real, toppling reality into quiet imbalance. My ears ring, earth calling, but hunger from inside swallowed all chances to pick another's.

Hmm maybe I've lost it.

Indifference to majority, fixation to identity—less saturated, replaced by where to stand in this groundless void of ambiguity. Manic it would be to push when it's to pull; rummage over boxes piled years ago.

Ceiling torn and confused, yet confident, I am, in containing this self-apocalypse. Ticking metronome halted momentarily, washed line of clothes over-dried by sunlight: my patience.

Have we lost it? Perhaps not for infinity. Perhaps not even a millisecond. But a splinter, caused by rose's thorn—a prickle of scarlet that runs like river all alone.

[nondelphic]

the concept of "canon" is fake anyway. if you write a fanfic with better emotional arcs than the original you win. i said what i said

[asyawrites]

Facts. Although this means getting slightly disappointed every time I consume the original and not feel the same depth from the fanfics ahaha... :')

[asyawrites]

Overwhelmed is an understatement of my current position. 

My stomach churns continuously, similar to how boiling water dances. Difference is; the liquid feels as if in tumble—twisting and turning—rummaging the home that is within. My vision, tranced to a degree of unwillingness, escaped all chances for fleeting elsewhere but the walls. When I close my mouth, allowing the upper and lower row of my teeth to meet, they'd shiver as if my being is freezing. 

It feels as if I've fallen.

It feels as if I've risen.

A strange choreography of both worlds, returning me warmth but also dread of knowing its existence without clue of its reason. I want to run. My entire chest heaves in need of air. Nevermind the fact that my lungs are perfectly fine, nevermind logic of how irrational the action sounds. 

Now laid on my stomach, I've noticed how it wouldn't leave, no matter how hard I tried. Its riddle-like charm a dangerous liquor to my thirsty heart. Feels ecstatic—explosive even. What is this? How did it convince my being till I desire the melody attached to last longer than the concept of time?

I wonder how many pages left until I survive its entirety. With quiet prayer, I wish for it to never end. It may be killing me—however done in fashion of the grim reaper. Pulling my soul close to divine whilst reminding it to realization of still being alive.

[asyawrites]

Risih rintikan hujan terus mengisi dunia.

Basah, tumpah seperti serpihan kaca vas bunga. 

Dalamnya berserak ke lantai kristal.

Mengecoh sementara; realitas tak kekal.

[asyawrites]

Wrote a little something while I was sitting in silence

"Rivers become throne of temporary things, for each current carry bodies and blur age with its movement.

Before mirrors we see nature's glass, used it to watch our temporary, for what stays a while becomes eternal better than faux man-made infernal."

[remanence-of-love]

[nunsongici]

decided to finish this old sketch but i like the sketch version so much more but i want to have finished drawings what do i doooooo aaauughhhhwwaaghhh

[asyawrites]

This is adorbsss (need to see them reunite in season 3 so bad 🥹)

[baguettenjoyer-deactivated20260]

tw: slightly suggestive

they’re weird

[asyawrites]

He'd definitely say that to troll her 😭😭😭

[asyawrites]

The Present 🕰️

How wonderful the present is, to hold world's creations within our palms.

How wonderful the present is, to see our loved ones beyond their due time.

How wonderful, to hear and understand all tongue as if our own.

How wonderful, to speak and have it stored forevermore.

Ruin became art, art become ruin. Silence became norm, and the norm become stillness.

Who knew oh how the future unveils, who knew why trouble filled. Who knew why wonders we delected turned against us, firing mock after mock of our humanity, our truth.

They hide traces, characters, places—till new blood no longer believe in justice. Till new blood lives in injustice.

However should we do?

However should we continue?

Is there truly no end to this maze of misfortunes?

Burned in negligence, the books proved its worth. Wisdom, once teeth now turned to gum, can't change the millions lost, soul nor heart. We can only mourn. Then move on. Then mourn again.

We'd find thousands of diaries, stained by tears or worse. Birthed from expression, the form of remembering turns into sacred temples of pure, unrestricted pleas—with indifference on each word washed by their honesty in ink.

Yes.

Oh yes.

How wonderful the present is.

[asyawrites]

Not a proper writing piece, but I just learnt something about storytelling today ^^

Long story short, I have this high fantasy story in the works since middle school. It's not written yet or anything but I always come back to add its world-building. For years I kept going back and forth with how the characters should behave—thinking "what's realistic enough?"—whether towards other characters or when facing their own internal conflicts. And recently I realized that imperfections actually work BETTER.

Instead of trying to fit characters into boxes of "good" or "bad"—let them breathe in both rooms. Acknowledging that BOTH titles can be appropriate for the same character, depending on who's seeing them.

Of course, this is no news, but for so long I was stuck with multiple parts of my characters that just felt... forced. Turns out, my "good" characters can create mistakes that hurt others physically, mentally, or emotionally (or all from above). And my "bad" characters can try to redeem themselves or have acts of kindness bloom out.

For example, I have a character whose relationship with their sister is a bit distant. At first, I wanted him to still carry a huge amount of understanding and care for her. But after reconsidering his position—especially by the context of time they were away from each other and different POV to the same big problem—I thought to myself, "hold on. He doesn't have to. People can understand WITHOUT forgiving. Humans take time. He doesn't have to face immediate clarity."

Humans are complicated, after all.

We can be mad at each other forever but still willing to spend time together.

We can understand others but take a century to forgive them.

And we can love someone yet consciously feel uncomfortable to express ourselves.

Our flaws can be ridiculous, sure, but isn't the point of storytelling to give that sense of familiarity? So yeah. Perhaps let your protagonist say the wrong things, take the wrong steps, all without worrying about their role to be taken from them. Good people can hurt. Bad people can heal. But in the end, I believe great characters don't only move stories—but the souls who read them too, all while staying true to the tangled, imperfect nature of our mind's architecture.

That's it from me, see you in the next chapter ♡(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。