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OH MY

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Follow me on Instagram @CurlyheadedPrincess_ unter We Heart It.

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Home

Is it a home where you can’t even be your full self at all times? Does it feel like home when there are so many restrictions? Would you ever consider it love when they don’t even trust you with the decisions you make for your life when those decisions make you happy and are not even dangerous?

I feel wrecked in my own home. They judge you by the clothes you choose to wear. They judge you by your music taste and even think of wasting your life because of night gigs that you want to go.

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Body and Beneath

Honestly, no one should feel bad about his body when he is struggling to be fit. But I cannot bring myself to say so because I feel bad. Really bad. I even got to a point where I ask my mama everyday if I lost weight and would tell her I feel humongous. Sometimes, this is an emotional distress that needs a shrink’s help.

I feel ugly and bloated. I feel like the jabba hut. I feel so unattractive. And I am not so blunt about this just because I am fishing for compliments.

This is something for people to ponder about when they think about saying something bad about fat people. Like real fat people and not just skinny people having delusions about their imaginary body fats. (So please, if you’re one of them stop reading this post at this point for this is my own post and I am virtually being as immature as you.) This one’s for people who have the courage to say, "I am fat and I am going to lose weight because I love my body. I want to live a healthy life and live longer."

(okay here it goes)

Whenever I’m outside, I always look at other people’s bodies slyly especially the skinny ones.I am oozing with envy that I could murder someone just by looking at their curves, slim torsos or those legs and knees that don’t touch while they walk.

Look at my legs. They look thin from afar but they’re fluffy one you see them up close. If you were to touch them, they are much softer than your favorite pillow or the queen’s bed. So as my flabby tummy. I can’t help but playfully pinch them and hate them so much at the very same time. I was so uncomfortable having these belt bags that I want to severe my own skin and fats, and just dump them somewhere. My arms! Oh, my arms! They are nevertheless as much as worse. They look like those ancient weapons from Flintstones.If I hold up my arms and wiggle it, they would look like they have their own life twerking their whole body off. Of course, I would never forget my face.Good heavens. Take a good look at my cheeks! I wish I could be Agnes from Despicable Me so I could be adorable and cute though I have fluffy cheeks. I don’t even know if my face is round or heart-shaped. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. But I can’t stop looking at the mirror. Imagining how it would look if I’m skinny. I’m working on it but it seems not enough. I wanna smash my face but that would so hurt so much (and not that stupid to inflict hurt to myself) so I would just think of smashing the mirrors we have in our house or anything that could give me my reflection.

The struggle is real but some people just don’t know how it is. Maybe they should be the one to get smashed in this face, eh? Starving oneself and depriving one’s tummy with mouth-watering food is not the only real deal here. Try to look beneath the surface.

P.S. I SOUND SO HYPOCRITE WHEN I SAID EARLIER THAT PEOPLE SHOULD NOT FEEL BAD ABOUT THEMSELVES, PARTICULARLY WITH HOW THEY LOOK. EVEN I, MYSELF, COULDN’T SAY I FEEL GOOD. UGH.

P.P.S. FUCK. Did this even make sense? My thoughts are all over the place and are so contradicting. My bad, for I have written this at half past one in the morning.

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Intense

Back pain, shoulder pain, wrist pain, or whatever-pain-you-got-from-reading-for-too-long pain it was all worth it.

Earlier this afternoon before I took a nap, I got so hooked and was so amazed (still) by the power of books. No intention of offending those people who find reading books boring but I just wanted them to know how we bookworms feel: that intense feeling of holding your breath while the characters you’ve made up in your mind struggle with whatever problem there is, provided in the plot. These feelings that movies could not even provide. It was a different kind of intense.

Speaking in general, regardless of the book genre, that intense feeling once let out in a form of a long, exasperated-like sigh (most of the time) is such an amazing feeling for me because it is one of the wonders of book-reading. Then when you close your close your close, you savor the moment and let the euphoria sink in. With a smile, you’d welcome reality once you realized you’re just lying somewhere in your house or sitting in cafe or wherever. You get so caught up with the words printed in that book then you get to love fictional characters, you feel like you were part of their life, just standing there somewhere and they would not notice you yet you enjoy what you are doing-just standing there and not being creepy at all because they cannot see you.

Well, in my opinion we should encourage more people to get their hands on a book at least two books a year. I wonder what change it could bring in their lives, and in the long run, its effect to our society, right? It’s another indirect way of helping out Mother Nature, returning the favor by acquiring knowledge from these books yet to be unraveled which she provided through the trees from which the latter came from :)