July 21, 2016

Relevant Costing

I think this is a grave sin to be writing amidst heavy quizzes and pre-boards. I was just testing whether I could still write (and feel). Despite it, I am glad that I have finally made my own strategy to study these past few days, I can finally say I am kind of adjusted, and I pray to God this will work really well. I am excited for this to be over. No, "excited" is an understatement. I am thrilled and galvanized!

I am writing you a letter because I am still quite heart broken by my low score on one of my favorite subjects. I didn't expect it, it still bothers me until now. Well, that is one of my major weaknesses, I am very slow to move on. I hold grudges for too long and sometimes, it becomes self destructive. When you are in love with something and it failed you, what would you feel? How much does it hurt to know that you aren't loved back? Or you weren't given the same level of love you gave? To me, it's easy to say; I got used to it. I've always been an option rather than a priority. Someone would have loved me but only for a short while, when they found someone better, they'd eventually leave without even saying the reason why. I try to be mature about it, I understand their necessity to choose the other over me. That's always okay for me, because to think, who am I really? Who am I for someone to pick me when better flowers grow around me. I am not divulging  in self-pity, I am trying to narrate this story as honest as possible. When I try to voice it and be somehow relevant, there would always be someone who will debunked my relevance, the sad thing is I never fight or when I do, I never win.

When all along, I just wanted to be defined by my passion, courage and love. Now, I'm deeply defined by my school standing, when they could've seen the greater part of me. The part of me who, despite the setbacks from the past, was able to come this far when nobody ever believed I could do it. Some would say, this is the whining of a girl who weren't able to stand-out or have good grades, no matter how she tries. True. If I were an over-achiever as my siblings, I would've written you a letter with grammar admirable, not like this. Also true, I am a whiner.

Sometimes, I have thoughts of quitting, to give this up, to pick the easy choice, to turn my back and never return. Why couldn't I just run away from all these hasty dramas and pretensions? It would've been easier for my heart. No more pain, no more late nights crying, no more hatred. It's something that I am certain, I can do. But, I didn't and would never.

Despite being labeled as an average girl, with over-achiever sisters, I also want to prove that I am not what everybody think, or better yet, what I think I am. I'm made up of dreams, bravery and sparks. Who would've thought so? Once upon a time, a girl from the slums who weren't as bright as everyone else, would ultimately be standing this far. It's not by mere intelligence or skill, I always believe it was miracles and luck that put me here. And, it will also be miracles and luck that will put me outta here. Fate. Why would I turn back and run away, when this story is about to end? Albeit, I don't believe much on destiny before, but lately  it's all that I am holding on to. I will not leave the pages blank. So, despite feeling alone with no one to miss or vice versa, when I have nobody to share my tears at night (and not that it is of importance). I want to believe this is all part of my story. I want to still look up to God, the universe and to the magic of this world; I was born to be relevant. But, not in the manner, people expects relevant people to be - and that would always be fine.

My dear friend, I can't wait to get out of this cage. To finally be able to finish this story with a happy ending, to let everyone know, I am invincible even through failures and mistakes. This will all be over soon and I tell you, this will end great, for nothing great comes easy. I am thrilled and galvanized!

Thank you for reading. I wrote this on my phone during class. I'm hoping you're okay.


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