Art, Writing and Feelings

Man, I can feel that everyday I’m being tested for my patience. Patience I lack or somehow lost somewhere along my 20 years of being alive. Who knows at this point. I think I’ve either become despondent or generally running on ‘I DON’T CARE’ attitude. Well, some uplifting news is that I’ve re-started doing my arts again and some writing in-between.

From the last few months and the problems that arose, I’ve been afraid to draw or put any thought and effort into it. Just mindlessly doing a flat character then add some fake happy-go-lucky description. The thoughts of never being good enough, failure in my crafts and that I’m honestly just a terrible person kept ringing in my ears everyday. My dear beloved mother didn’t help with it. She keeps bemoaning about the concern about my future while simultaneously insulting me. My repressed anger began to take a toll on me and I wonder if it’s okay to just punch my pillow once in a while.

But, I began to recently draw again. Most are designs for print on demand shops like Society6 and TeePublic. It was a way of just getting art out there and wanting to get a bit of cash. Still gotta make a sale though! 😛

I really like the stickers of my designs. Sadly, they do cost a pretty penny with the shipping especially. Other than that, it’s mostly scribbles, doodles. I’ve been focusing on writing to forget my problems.

Writing has been the love of my everyday life ever since I started to write fanfictions. I wanted to try and write after reading the Percy Jackson series, fell in love with Greek Myths and began to make my friends suffer by putting them in it. They did read all of my stories and enjoyed it. I was happy and I remember wanting to do it for a living.

It wasn’t until Grade 6 of elementary that I realized writing may not be a possible job career but I wanted to keep that option. I fell in love with Art when I wanted to get more audience with my stories. I saw visual means as a pretty outlook so I started to draw. Writing little prompts to big novels is like therapy to me. It keeps my creativity on the rise, lets my brain roll around for words to use and I can see my world better. It’s like playing a game but you’re God and must make everything happen through a simple means of thinking. I wanted to do writing based careers like Journalism but I didn’t want my articles to be opinion based and my writing wasn’t really…journalistic? I also didn’t want to go through a mountain of essays during my post-secondary years. Essays are evil…EVIL I TELL YOU!

Art and Writing go well hand-to-hand. Art lets me create a visual aspect of my world, make it a bit more real. Writing lets me put forward internalise feelings, aspects of life I cannot simply draw. I wanted to be in these fields as I grow because they make me happy and sane.

And also less prone to punching things or people. I manage to beat up a Dorito bag once. Turned the chips to crumbs. At least I used it for good and turned it into mozzarella cheese sticks!

I have…a lot of intrusive thoughts. Aggressive, usually about killing someone, thoughts. They tend to pop whenever someone annoys me or has hurt me. I guess I wanted my chosen careers to help me NOT act out. My anger has been the one constant thing in my life. It’s the most prominent. Whenever I get too furious though, I tend to repress it. I tend to cry because I can’t voice out my thoughts or lash out in defense. Anger for me is not necessarily physical, more emotional and verbal. Art and writing is a front I can paint my anger within. It helps.

Anyway, I’m just feeling so overwhelmed right now. How do you even tell your source of problems that THEY ARE THE SOURCE? They’ve convinced themselves they know you so well- what a lie. Make assumptions, create concerns but then insult the way you look and act. I never say anything anymore of what I do or what my plans are to my family because what’s the point? They only want to see the monetary gain so I’ll just spring up my ‘success’ to bitter cash made from trees.

Art and Writing- my lifeline.


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After and Before

It’s been a week and a few things have happened. Mainly my school having an outbreak of the Norovirus and cockroach escapees! 

No more campus food for me!! …at least until next year. I don’t think I can survive the travel without buying a meal to go. Man, if only Kipling station had like Tims express inside! I know they have outside but that would require getting out of the station….nah. 

Anyway, I didn’t get the stomach bug but I did manage to get sick (a fever riddled with dizziness and occasional groans about dying) during the day it happened. Four days of absence, four class go swoosh. I would panic. I’m probably already panicking since I missed one due date for my assignment and slightly bewildered with the amount of stuff we gotta do for our projects this semester. I’m not ready. 

At all. 

I don’t know! Maybe it’s just that time of year where you look around and don’t like what you see but you just got to push through because it maybe you being lazy. Procastinating and what not. I thought I at least had an inkling of what I want because I don’t know my end goal other than survive life until I die. I want to go to a different program for writing since writing is the love of my life but I wanted to explore.
So here I am. Exploring on the other side of the city. The West end…instead of somewhere closer like Ryerson or George Brown. Exploring the ends of sanity.

Meh. I got one more year left and all I want is to pass. Maybe get a mini fridge as my prize for finishing something that seem to matter. 

I really, really want a mini fridge. It would be great for my secret stash of ice cream! 

Anyway, college isn’t bad as I make it to be. I normally don’t stick to one thing so I don’t end up getting bored of what I do. I guess I’m getting a bit bummed out by doing mostly the same thing. It was the same with writing. The downside with getting bored of is that I tend to either discontinue or put on a long hiatus on my works which sucks because then I’d forget it even exist. Until I decide to venture my archives and find it again! 

Ah well, I’ll push through the laziness and get somewhere.

I do have a future plan but I’m afraid of what will happen afterwafd ‘cuz life is unpredictable sometimes. But I’ll get there. Just maybe not today.

Cuz it’s too cold to do anything and yes, I am being lazy!

On an end note, I’ve been listening to this melody and I’m in love ❤

The Cursed Room

So since nothing really happened during the weekend, (and maybe I got…distracted by Netflix…) and today was just me starving the whole 3 hour class creating monster silhouettes, I shall tell a tale.

A tale of a noise in the night- well, nearing midnight to dawn sometimes-of incomprehensible garbles that made me think my neighbors are Sims…this is a story from next door, an apartment room where many have claimed it as home but in these thin layered walls, the screams tell another story.

                            (It’s not scary.)

I’d like to believe I live in a somewhat decent neighborhood despite having a huge ass park without any lamp lights and a bridge that makes it a prime target for evil deeds. Or just to scare the crap out of you every time you come home late and have to walk in the darkness with semi-visible lights. Seriously, the park is ominous at night especially when the trees create sharp, tall looking silhouettes.It used to be that the homeless would sleep under the trees during Summer because it’s not gonna fun during Winter and my mom would always warn me never cross through the shortcut through the suspicious trees with a sleeping bag underneath. I do hope they found a better place. The tree does give enough space for a small child or teen to have like a camp or hidden hide out.

Anyway, I’m getting distracted!

I live in the basement because it was convienient to just roll our laundry to the Laundry Room that heave it upstairs (that was my exercise haha!). I’m at the edge of the building so my neighbor has the middle room, it looks slightky bigger and I think it’s only one bedroom. The first time we moved, our neighbor was the landlord’s son. Never met the son, only his father. The dude seems okay to be honest. He had a drum kit which he would practice either alone or with other people. He had loud hangouts but nothing too bad. It does annoy my Mom and I from time to time. After a while, the dude moved out and another set of family came in.

Oh hohohoho! This family…MAN.

It was weird. I don’t really remember much of them. My mom does remember them having the same shouting capacity as a banshee or a toddler for that matter. They’d fight loudly by banging. They also pets but their cats so they were quite. The family had two kids, a son and a daughter who looked a bit of like blank faces. I don’t know, something seemed off about them.

One particularly memory stand out that raised alarms. I was coming back home from high school when I glanced people staring down at something in the hallway. I noticed it was a small cage probably for cats and they were probably trying to sell the cats. At this point, the family was getting ready to move out. There was a lot of hustle and furniture. I think they were also selling the furniture but I can’t be too sure. As to why, you’ll see!

So after witnessing a strange meeting, I just ignored them and got inside. A week later I get a knock on the door. My mom has a rule that I will never open the door to people I don’t know. I slowly made my way to the door and was about to check who it was when someone said out loud, “This is police. We would like to speak with you.”

For a moment, I was terrified that I’ve done something illegal, had no knowledge of it, and got caught or something was horribly wrong. So I called my mom loudly so they could hear me and know we’re not ignoring them. My mom quickly got out of the bathroom and spoke with officers. I caught a bit of conversation by hiding near the door to my room.

They were asking questions about the neighbor next door. When they left, what my mom knew about them, etc.

My mom just told me they were probably dealing with illegal stuff. It then made sense to me while they were selling stuff quickly. They needed money to get out and also get rid of their trace if possible.

I never knew what happened to them. That moment when the police came was a bit of a surprise.

The next one which came in the apartment I dubbed, “Cursed Room” is a couple. I did bump into them once when I was opening the door at the same time as them. They seemed nice and had a small dog.

They had problems. A bunch of them.

First of, their relationship fell apart and it was like hearing an audio book of the latest drama book written by a heartbroken, angst teen. The woman had the vocal of an opera singer. She kept yelling, I think its her favourite past time, to her now ex about how their friend is just using them and they were letting them and he should just leave her. They yelled quite a lot and the dog gets yelled by the banshee incarnate because they pooped the rug.

Maybe if you have trained it, loved it, and goddamn take care of it like a good owner SHOULD…it wouldn’t be such a hell spawn.

The woman was clearly stressed out with her ‘lover’ being very shady and her life probably falling into shambles. The last strike was a sad one. They did broke up with her kicking him out of their apartment and not let him in.

That was a roller coaster of a ride. Even so, my mom was furious to the point she’d turn the radio to full blast so they would either stop or won’t hear much of their arguments.

The last one…the currently in the house and I’m convinced came from the land of Sims, is a large family. At first they seemed okay. Then the yelling started.

Then they started to party loud like they own the goddamn world.

Then THEY kept BANGING. THE FREAKING. WINDOWS. AND DOORS!

Not to mention, people would come up and punch their windows for god knows what reason and speak what seems to be Simlish at 3 in the morning with what seems to be megaphones as their vocal cords.

They still do it. They still LIVE beside us. My mom is about to blow the fuse and is looking somewhere else to live.

The neighbors ALWAYS fight, ALWAYS shout. It’s like a never ending cycle, a curse of bad neighborhood etiquette!

This is why I call it the “Curse Room” because everyone who moves in becomes a freaking banshee and they don’t last very long. I think among all the other families who lived here, that room always have a new tenant in a few months.

It’s a creepy, obnoxious pattern that someday I’ll get away from and pray for the poor souks who will occupy my lot.

Well, that’s all I have for the “Cursed Room”!