Music is what feelings sound like

Hard to doubt that. I was watching Sleepless in Seattle (yes, I really was) and heard that oldie by Carly Simon, originally by Frank Sinatra. "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning." {❤}
What a small token exemplifying the beauty present in love. The Smiths' "Sheila Take a Bow" is flowing through my ears, and I have writer's block. 


Don't you hate it when the dreary, cold winters roll around, and you have to wait about a total of two minutes before the water in your tap runs warm? You just test the ice-cold trickle with your fingers, while shivers go down your spine. As haughty and privileged that may sound - you smile to yourself - in your mind you know it's undeniably true. Yet you do realize there are people in the world who share a tap of water with their entire village. Live in your wonderful life, be proud the internet is actually a remedy for your pains and sorrows. 


Pointless conversations, I feel as if I could live without them. I mean, who in their right mind anticipates speaking to someone, and then receives meager reciprocation? It makes me sit here in utter disdain, wondering where the appeal went. Where the longing went. Out the window, that's where.


Today, I watched a sentimental UNICEF commercial on the television, and broke down into tears. Is that seriously what I have become these days? An emotionally unstable, overly-studious pessimist. Wonderful. 

I love sleeping with a candle's sweet-smelling glow near my bed.

'Tis all until the dawn of a new light.

Look-- there She goes...

The truth. As feeble attempts come and go, no one is able to fulfill my wishes. My whims go unnoticed, and I stay in a corner, secluded, baffled as to why.

Blah. I don't feel like writing some sort of seemingly intelligent but really utter bullshit today, I want to write, well, me. The life-ruining snow, what it should now be called, led me to cancel about half of my plans this winter break, while leaving some others still in the air. The quiet, accumulating drifts that usually fall are watery and windy this year, which means nothing else than a blizzard, to say the least. The "best" weather reporters on the local channel declared about "2 to 4 inches of snow to be expected," yet about 11 to 12 inches have already stacked up beside my bedroom window. I left my home early this afternoon, eager to embrace the season's first snowfall, yet was disappointed to find that our car could not exceed about twenty miles per hour on a county road.

Winter makes me want to run away from home. I'll do it, I really will. See if your weak arms can stop me. Your cautionary words will fly by me like dandelion seeds, whisked away by the gentle summer breeze. I have a plan, I do! I'll take the cheapest plane down to Timbuktu and live a happy life with an old hermit named Geraldine who owns a tea shop, and we'll gossip about taxes and the best cookie recipes, about men and the corruption that politics has to suffer these days. She'll take care of me, and I her.

Or maybe I'll go to Santorini in Greece, and work as a foreign student. Cleaning up hostels and restaurants and mildly starving on a day-to-day basis, I'll still be searching for my goal in life. Whatever it is, it will be better than here. I'll convince myself that.

Yet deep down, I know it won't be. They say family is all you've got. But you know what, I have always wondered one thing. Who are the "they" that we always refer to when we speak of having morals and doing the norm? Are "they" a group of philosophers? Perhaps the most normal people, "they" are the ones who know all about living in regularity and sticking to the status quo. It has always bothered me a bit that we never really concluded who they are, for these people could be incredibly dimwitted.

After a stressful day surviving the heater in my house, I like to take my cold hands and press them to my eyes. It's a habit that I have. Oddly enough, it calms me. Sure, I look like an idiot who plays peek-a-boo with herself, but after a few seconds of pressing my eyelids, I open them to feel as if my sight is renewed. Yeah, psycho bullshit. Nobody ever really said I was normal.

Ahem, drumroll pleeease.

Rucha's 2011 Resolutions:

1. Fulfill your utmost potential in school

2. Learn to understand people for who they truly are

3. See life with a new, more refined, perspective

4. Be healthier

5. Do five kind things for someone...anyone

6. Smile more than three times a day, and mean each and every one

7. Come to a peaceful understanding with my parents

8. Aim high and be headstrong

9. Expect the best in people, even if they have let you down in the past

10. Live, and let live

In a few short hours I will be well on my way into an exciting and invigorating self-project. It's called... are you ready? "Doing nothing." It's a cleansing process, and trust me, the only thing it will cleanse you of is your sense of living on the edge, and being anywhere near productive.

Oh, winter break. What have you done to me?

P.S.- I love perfection when words intermingle with each other in bittersweet...simplicity.

"What is it about snowy days? The white hue; the warmth of one’s house; or is it the opaque magical beauty of a world as it is gradually painted over by a white brush?

So breathtaking. So utterly delicately breathtakingly perfect."

Official Entry Letter to Hogwarts

As a child, my fantasies never escaped me. I was known as the quiet girl in elementary school who would stare past the teacher's watchful gaze towards the young children in the classroom, towards the ceiling or at a stray fleck of dust wandering about, visible in the rays of sunshine coming through a window. Then, I would connect dust particles to flying, and then to airplanes, then to airline food. The list goes on and on.

What I know for sure was that when I was young, I waited and waited for that acceptance letter that would deem me a witch who was viable to enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had it all planned out, you know. I would be part of Ravenclaw. I would play Quidditch, only because when I was eight years old, the ability to fly was like telling a chocoholic that he can eat that beloved dessert his whole life without getting a cavity in his sweet tooth. I was a child possessed by fantastical revelations and daydreams.

I think this must be a possible reason as to why I can't go through life right now as a high school student. I believe that somehow my life will sort itself out as if a magic charm can be placed on it, and all of the problematic intricacies will smooth out, leaving a peaceful existence for me. Now, what would that spell be called? "Organizimus."


Hahaha. I feel like watching the old Halloween, from 1978.

Now most people would think: no friggin' way. Any movie before 2000? Oh, no. But what I can tell you, my friends, is that by the rolling end credits, this oldie will have you scared shitless. It's a proven fact, at least according to the Rotten Tomatoes reviews.
I, for one, have not seen it, but would love to sometime soon, maybe to mix up the holiday spirit with some horror and nonsense, why not?

I stumbled across these as I was "doing my homework" and found them...actually I don't even know. They just appealed to me. From a music video by a band known as OK Go, performing "Last Leaf." Famous treadmill video, anyone?

I suggest you watch it here. 

These days, my mother has been upbeat, singing "Funky town" around the house and joking around with me. Yet tonight, there were no stories from the 70's and her old disco days. It was hard for me to decipher exactly what was going on with her. She seemed as if she had lost the life from her, like the dead (or so appearing) trees that stand on the icy roads of the east coast. Winter seriously can bring out some of the saddest qualities in people.

You see, how I got from one topic to the next? Creating an incomprehensible chain of interests here? Weird.

I imagine, where will my dreams take me tonight?