there goes the world
looking back, i realize how contrived my writing has
become. sometimes i miss the days where i can just sit
down and write what i feel regardless of what the person
who would read it might think.
now i just write. in an attempt to be deep. intelligent.
fake. really. i try to conceal my stupidity with my words.
i try to hide the fact that i have no ideas...with ideas
that seem to be so ambiguous and profound.
but they lap it up. my uni tutors lap it up. and my ego
laps it up.
there were times that i actually convinced myself that i
was smart. there were times that i actually thought that i
could go very far. do very well. and just excel in
absolutely everything i do.
who am i after all. i'm this girl. with a clean record
behind her. high grades. supposed talents. awards. i was
an achiever of some sort. a pretty unconfident
achiever...but still an achiever.
but now i realize that really, there's nothing
exceptionally great about me. i'm simple-minded. naive.
normal looking. short. and basically, i'm just a girl.
i do get tired of trying to sound like socrates. i do get
tired of trying to be an ivan klima. i do get tired of
attempting to paint like picasso. thinking like justice
kirby or dawson. writing like neruda.
yes i do get tired. in the end, i'm just candice really.
stripped of anything that makes me who i am when i'm
around other people.
i'm just candice. alone. in my red pyjamas and my laptop.
i'm just candice. listening to songs that i feel have
souls. dreaming about breaking free from anything that
holds me down. imagining about flying. touching the
clouds. falling to my death only to rise up again.
i know where my heart lies. i don't need people telling me
what to do. i don't need people predicting my future. i
know that i deserve to be selfish and selfless too. i
know. i just know. that i don't have to be great to
fulfill whatever task that the gods have given to me.
i can smoke. i can drink. i can fuck. and fail my degrees.
i can kill myself and leave my body hanging.
i can also build my own little heaven. get through uni.
help the weary. guide the old. feed the starving.
encourage those who share my ideals to rise up. rise up.
one day, my little paradox will come alive on earth. my
heaven and hell will simply be one place. one day i'll
step into a world where suffering preys even in
the smallest corner. one day a week won't go by without me
crying. but one day, i'll find beauty in the smallest
things. and i'll laugh. and i'll rejoice. and i'll stay
there. in between happiness and despair. i'll walk the
tightrope. live in fear. but live in courage. live a
seemingly meaningless existence. but only then will i find
exactly how meaningful one life -- one simple life -- can
i don't deserve to be labelled. i don't care if you call
me foolish. or slutty. or intelligent. or gorgeous.
because really, who are you to measure who or what i am.
you don't know me. you just know that i'm candice. and
that i write. and you think you know me through my
but you don't. because you can't know who the real candice
is. it's impossible. every real thing is subjective. every
truth is bent. reality does not exist. it's just a
construct: a mixture of relations and supernatural
there's no real candice. because realness and reality
constantly shift through time. there's no real you. no
real meaning in any of the language that hits us from all
and this is where my tightrope comes in. i'll walk.
whichever way i fall, i'll end up in heaven and hell. my
heaven and hell are no longer separable. they exist
together. they complement and contrast one another. this
is what my world is. this is the reality that i've