Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Ha. I’ve read a good book. Might as well just curl up and cry…

Adventures never fail to capture my interest. Maybe it is because I like heroes. Maybe it is because I like stories of the impossible, stories far from reality but still close to home. They give the bittersweet tragedies (which I like best) and offer the worst heartbreaks. Sometimes they left me broken longer than I have expected. And then there are stories that still left pangs whenever I remember them. But despite this, I crave for more. I continue to search for that one that will leave the best impression.

This kind of stories never fails to give you more. They have this obsession to detail, as if to show you that you cannot object its possibility even though how much you reject it. They also have this certain pull that tries to make you go on further.

The action, the turn of events, the magic, the sacrifice..

Oh, man. They love sacrifice.
                   
In these parts I know I cry most. It is like my weakness. And whenever I sense one coming I want to stop everything and just leave the story hanging; but I always do otherwise. Then after that I am into pieces. Unfortunately there have been times when I am in this state and I am in the presence of people who could not understand. I try to interpret their actions and words and realize they found me childish, even for having the interest in this kind of things, like I’m some gal losing her sense of reality.

But I shrug it off.

Real life isn’t as far from the adventures I’ve read, listened or watched. Though it has far less exaggeration and tragedy, it has its own dose of obstacles and monsters and villains. It also has heroes. They could be the people around me and they could have powers and abilities. Some are bad and some are good, some are torn between.

Life is an adventure, even though how much you live it as boring and as normal as you could. You should just see things differently and I am very grateful I have the sense to appreciate it and see it in my way. It makes you think of all-time lows as major plot twists, horrible people as gorgons you just have to defeat, your teachers as mentors teaching you moves for your next battle. It makes you think you are a hero having your own quest.

Still childish?

Hmm.

Well, I think it’s a problem if you ever let the child in you die (which in my case I really see it won’t). But if you really see me that way you leave me no choice. Please forgive me if I blast you off with the Elder Wand, cut you into pieces with my light saber, burn your mutilated body with Greek fire, and see the dust disappear into thin air, which are then probably on their way to the depths of Tartarus. I will then touch the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and hold it out, and continue with my quest to search for the 39 clues while I eat cake with Four.