Charm Me

Meeting you was looking at the full moon in a starry sky. Your light hypnotized me. Under your gaze, my soul trembled, and your mouth captivated my heart with its lips and smiles and laughter. Suddenly, I was an ocean wave and gravity made sense. Adventure called. You were a wonderful forest waiting for a daring wanderer.

Then I sensed the warm depths of your bosom, and I knew I wanted to drown inside of them. Better yet, as our plainness washed away with knowledge, I learned how to breathe in your infinity. That was when I asked you to tell me the most crucial secret.

“Tell me, how can a man win your heart?”

Your look was one of mischief. You grinned and rolled your eyes. “The gentleman should charm me, of course.”

“And how could he do that?”

“For one, he should be charming. Goodbye, I am running late.”

Like that, you left me alone with your smell, that sweet scent of pearls. And, of course, a quest. One that took me half a decade to complete, but now we are here: you, me, and this rose.

And death i think is no parenthesis

The paperback was shut and beside me were a pair of dewy, fluttering eyelashes. Was my lady upset? I knew she was not when she sat up and went straight to my lips.

A slow, miniature dance of softness. You taught me how some kisses should be whispered. Your heartbeat against my chest, and you tangled your fingers in my hair. Then, with my hand cupping the back of your neck, I turned you over and gave you one last, small kiss.

The sun’s rays hit your eyes and they melted into pools of honey. Your cheeks were a faint shade of pink. Once again, I understood how beauty was invented.

When I produced the rose from behind me, your plump lips curved discreetly into a crescent. I held it to your sweet button nose, rose smelling rose. Then I tickled your lips, making you chuckle. Your rosy cheeks followed. Suddenly, the flower was an explorer in lands of milk and honey. As I gently outlined your figure (breasts, waist, navel), your laughter chimed like a bell announcing service. I answered the call, a devotee to your sighs, and kissed you again.

Once the dance was over I looked into your chamomile eyes. You raised your hand and cupped my cheek, caressing it with your thumb.

“I love how the afternoon sunshine kisses your face, darling,” she said.

I knew that in her eyes I was also full of wonders. Her look assured me that, as she was the queen of my every lovely thought, I was the ruler of hers. Oh, to be loved as much as one does.

“Can I assume, then, that I have successfully charmed you?”

She giggled. “Consider me charmed.”

*****

Hello, humans. 

Started writing again because we're being held captive by COVID-19. This piece was inspired by Heath Ledger because I love that guy to pieces (specifically A Knight's Tale and Candy). It also contains a line from ee cumming's poem since feeling is first.

Yes, this is very cheesy, I know, but cut me some slack! I'm trapped in my house, thinking about Heath (and others hehe sshh). Writing is my only escape, even if it is fan fiction-esque. Hope y'all like it.

Love, 

Nan.

Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity

“You should have seen the food, mister. That glorious, juicy pork and turkey with the best gravy I’ve ever tasted. Oh, the softest rice, the buttery potatoes, the squash, the carrots, the baked eggplant, delicious. I’d never made a feast like that. Damn, I was so proud of it. And I would’ve been prouder if he had been there, but sadly, he didn’t get to enjoy the wine. Actually, nobody did. You see, I don’t drink, mister. Well, and I guess the guests didn’t enjoy it, right?” she laughed.

That was such an eerie gesture, knowing what one officer had testified a few months ago. I played back the recording of that afternoon for her to hear.

“Your Honor, the scene was gruesome. It kept me up at night for weeks.”

“Can you please describe it to the Jury, officer?”

“Sure. Well, the bodies had their heads down on the table. They were left there just as they had dropped. Their mouths and the area around them was covered in, uhm, vomit. Their eyes were still open. She hadn’t touched them. As I said before, they were still in their chairs, and that woman was sitting right in the middle of the table, crying and eating a turkey leg. Around her were about thirty corpses, Your Honor. She minded them as much as a child minds a broken toy. She’s out of her damn mind!”

“Objection, improper lay opinion!” she shouted as she paused the recording.

“What?” I asked her.

“That’s what my lawyer said next. Come on, I obviously remember the trial, mister. You don’t need to play it back to me. Yes, I left a mess, but I was heartbroken. None of them turned out to be him!”

I looked at her, astounded, because she clearly showed no signs of remorse. She had confessed to murdering thirty men that night, and many others on different occasions.

“But, listen, you killed a lot of people.”

“Yes, but it was all in the name of love.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have the recording of my trial; I bet you must know what I said!”

“I don’t remember that, though.”

“Let me refresh your memory,” she replied.

“When I was ten years old I had the dream. There, lying in the arms of the man who I knew was the love of my life. How did I know that, mister? Because of how I felt. It was passion, mister, a warm and overwhelming passion. He would love me forever and I would too. The connection could never be denied!

“We were on a hammock at the beach, watching the sunset together. I couldn’t see his face because I was facing away from him, but my hand touched his softly. Then, all of a sudden, lightning crashed down on the sand and I felt as if my soul had gone out of my body. I dug my nails into his hand. Right after that I repeated again and again that I was sorry, and I didn’t notice that the man hadn’t even winced. I looked down and saw that there was no sign of a scratch. And then I understood: we were both made from the same mold, so we could never hurt each other physically. I instantly woke up and knew that all of that was true in real life, beyond the realm of dreams. Mister, that’s when I made it my mission to find him, because we were meant to be. And I knew that when I found a man I couldn’t hurt, he would be my soulmate.”

“And you didn’t mind killing people because of it?” I asked.

“Mister, it was all in the name of love. Of course, the first few times it wasn’t deadly. I remember my first accident: a brown-haired, sweet-eyed boy. We were in the fifth grade, and one day I got him to play alone with me in a forest that was close to our school. I took a tree branch and pretended to scratch him by accident. He bled, and I was, oh, so sad. Mister, I felt so desperate that I exploded in rage and hit him on the head with a stone. He stopped breathing, the poor thing. I threw the rock far away, wiped my hands on my dress, and went back to school because recess was almost over.

“You see, mister, I was a well-behaved and excellent student. When the boy went missing, no one suspected me. They found his body, but the case was never solved. Couldn’t find a person of interest, they said. That’s what always happened. It’s incredible what a good reputation can do.

“From then on, I had similar experiences with every boy I had feelings for. As time passed, mister, I figured that it would be faster if I just chose a random group of men and tried to hurt them all at once. That was until the banquet, my beautiful, genius banquet, went wrong.”

I watched her in awe as she narrated her story without the smallest of flinches. It was obvious that she felt that every death was a mere casualty in her quest for love. Her aura pulsed with madness and restrained anger, and I seemed to gravitate towards her incredibly consuming energy.

I now understood why she was sent here. Though honestly, at the same time it all felt like destiny— like all her small actions, her quietness, her calculations, everything had led us to this same single cell. A shiver went up my arms.

“You are not like the other patients,” I stated, “because I can still see someone in your eyes.”

“Yes, that’s because I’m not crazy.”

“Of course, a woman as smart as you would never go to jail. That story sounds so believable.”

“Excuse me, are you saying that I lied, mister?”

“Well, people would surely believe it. Female serial killers are rare, and they are easier to explain if their reason for killing is a man. A woman’s nature isn’t violent, unless love is in question.”

“Shut your damn mouth!”

“Sure, but when I look into your eyes, you’re still there.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. I’ll never find him here!”

“Quit it, you know he’s not real.”

I wished those words hadn’t left my lips, because as soon as they did the devil was set loose. The room darkened, the air around me got cold. Her eyes were fire, her expression a shadow. Her shoulders went down and it seemed as though all the hairs on her nape stood on end. She was a black cat curling up. I ran towards the door of her cell, hearing her feet hitting the ground behind me.

A couple of guards tried to help me out, but her nails were already on my arms, on my chest, on my face. She was foaming at the mouth, clawing like a rabid, hungry rat. I shut my eyes, and not seeing her was a relief. Actually, it was too much of a relief, because I couldn’t feel anything.

My partners pulled me back and shut the door. I landed on my bottom, heaving for air. The apparition and I both looked into each others’ eyes, then down at my arms, then up again, and the fury in her complexion suddenly melted.

There was not a single scratch.

*****

Hello, humans.  

This is a little piece I wrote using a Tumblr writing prompt. It's been a while since I've done one of these, and the last one SUCKED. I'm sorry.  

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this snippet. I've been accidentally starving you hehe. Even though I should ~technically~ have a lot of time to write, I don't. Writer's block rocks. If you have any ideas or requests, I'm completely open. See you in 388493 months. 
 

Love,  

Nan. 

Unreal

In this world dreams don’t come true and continuity is the only constant until the only certainty- Death.

Breathe in to fill your insignificant lungs with empty oxygen. Do it. Travel aimlessly through Time, your coveted jailer. Shackled to Saturn’s swift rings, you might as well enjoy the view.

Well, only if the dark void that existence really is could be called a “view.”

There’s no other remedy, use your imagination. Collect some cues from your environment and interpret them as well as you can. Reality is nothing but the waste product of neural processing.

Begin to worry when your brain realizes that the information that you receive from your surroundings is not realer than the one from within your own mind. In your head both sources are tangled to produce perception. Of course what’s considered “normal,” or “functioning” is when the quantity of processed information from the outside is greater than the one from within.

The problem arises when your psyche adds more than allowed to the mixture. Then, psychosis proliferates within consciousness. You are locked inside the plane that your own mind created. In there the rules change, and what is considered impossible is now happening.

You don’t need food, no water, no sleep. That’s amazing, really. Here you finally have the time to hear nothing but your own voice. The internal monologue that rips you apart.

Inside the void, your shredded remains float violently. The kingdom of physics is far away from here. Like guts in a hurricane, you fade away.

That was the long way of saying I don’t feel real.

*****

Hello, humans. How's life going?

In my case life is good, but I'm depressed. Yes, usually by this time of the year my beloved Holiday Depression© subsides, but due to the fact that life has decided to repeatedly punch me in the face for a while now, it has apparently been elongated. How great. I wrote the text above in a moment when I felt like I was losing myself. Actually, it's been quite long since I wrote this one, but I don't really have the will to do much lately. Proofreading and coding and posting seems so daunting. Yeah, and I'm working on a longer story now, so expect it sometime. Hehe.

By the way, don't worry about me. My disorder is being treated professionally, and honestly, even though my mental state is a disaster, I'm coping. I'm even talking about it, which is a HUGE thing. It sucks, but it's there. I have no other choice than to deal with it bravely, as hard as it may be. I hope that all of you ill nuggets are at peace with your thing, too.

Love,

Nan.

Thunder

Ask people what they’re afraid of. Spiders? The dark? Heights? Or perhaps thunderstorms.

Rain pouring down, lighting crashing and thunder booming. The wind threatening to blow the roof off your head. You, lying under your blanket, terrified, even though you’re perfectly safe. There’s a very low chance of electricity frying your brains here, inside your house. Even outside in the open, you’d have to be pretty darn unfortunate to get hit by lighting. But still, you shiver on.

I think it’s the noise that frightens people. Not seeing the lighting first, only hearing the loud crash that rattles through the bones in your skull, shocking the iron in your veins. You still jump when you see it beforehand.

A flash of light. Hands flying up to cover your ears. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Boom.

Come on, dear, calm down. It’s three Mississippis away, it can’t hurt you. Think of it as a teacup falling. A tiny-bit-too-loud heartbeat.

But whose heart would roar like thunder? Only a spirit with enough friction, the constant action of hatred against passion, courage against cowardice, morals against desire. A soul so conflicted that it stirs up the electrolytes inside the chest and shocks the heart back to beating. Yes, they were dead before. Cold raindrops froze their entrails, and only danger could wake them again.

Reactive beings. An individual rubbing its feet against a carpet in an air-conditioned room and shocking itself with electrons transferred through touch. Or rather, parts of a collective violently exchanging electrons when there’s friction between them. Thunder heartbeats resound inside every ribcage, after all.

Great power wasted against ourselves. A force of a trillion watts directed at our own, shared body. If your right hand loathes your left eye you wouldn’t let it pluck it out, would you? Yet we’ve maimed ourselves to insensitivity, thinking our limbs belonged to another. The deal was working together, wasn’t it? Each part with a different function, making a common body grow, prosper, or at least thrive. We’ve surely carried out the the task impressively. Foolish, stubborn beings.

Darling, don’t be afraid of our thunder. Fear our spirits, for their friction results in lighting.

*****

Hello, humans. How's life going?

I wrote this little piece in the bus while I was on my way home. It was a flash of madness and creativity. Yeah. There's no explanation, really.

I've been really tired because, you know, IB. Life's been good. I got some new diagnoses to deal with (might open up about it someday). Oh, and I'm co-writing a book. So that's that. Expect it sometime.

Love,

Nan.

Fall

As he waited on the bench, he tried to describe the different hues of the leaves that flew past him. Deep reds, sober oranges, dark yellows. He knew she liked it, and wanted to leave no empty silences that would make his coffee taste more bitter. He hated it, but nowadays he often forced the unsavory excuse for a hot drink down his throat. Why did he do something he loathed so frequently? The answer was simple, the denial complicated.

    His reason arrived on a silver bicycle as usual. Light brown eyes, dark brown hair, large brown coat with big brown buttons. Draped in brown, just like the coffee he gulped out of duty. Yet when he saw her he didn’t recall its bitterness or the acid taste that it left on his tongue, but its warmth- the one thing that made coffee bearable. Yes, she was warmth, brown like home and hot cocoa.

    She dared burn him with the sweetest of smiles. “Hey, how are you?”

    In bright flames, red like autumn, his mind replied. “I’m alright, you?”

    “I’m great, thanks,” she answered, caramel-eyed, flashing another grin.

    His cheeks were scarlet, “Uh, shall we go?”

     “Sure, let me lock my bike.”

    He stood there, jumping on his heels and looking at the back of her head while she locked the bicycle next to his. Her short, straight hair partially covered her little black backpack while it shone in the golden sunlight. He remembered the day when he had to untangle a hair tie from it; her nervous laughter rung in his ears again and he recalled the smoothness of the strands under his fingertips. He snapped out of his daydream and found her standing in front of him, mimicking his hypnotized rocking.

    Her laughter anchored him to the present. “Good, you’re back. Let’s go,” she said, wrapping her arm against his. Like that, and with his stomach in knots, they crossed the road and walked into the café.

    “The table beside the window is free!”

    “Yes, let’s sit there for a change.”

    His teasing was met with a gentle push and a pout. Adorable. No. Remember it’s not.

    By now he knew how much she liked to look out the big glass window. After all, he always watched intently as the outside world entranced her; cold fingers wrapped around the hot cup as she drank the sight in like nectar through slightly parted lips and squinting shiny eyes. That’s when he stayed quiet on purpose.

    “Hello, glad to have you back.” the waiter greeted them, already writing on his notepad.

    “Hey, nice to see you. The usual, please,” cinnamon girl answered.

    The waiter gave her a quick, unbelieving look. “I know.”

    She chuckled and replied with a thank you.

    Her eyes turned to blushing boy. “When the employees memorize your order is when you know it’s time to visit other places.”

    “Sure, as if you’d ever go to another café besides this one.”

    “Yeah, this is the only one that serves real coffee, comrade.”

    “Comrade?”

    “Anything wrong with that?”

    “Nothing, it’s just odd.”

    “Most things on Earth are odd, comrade. For example, you’ve been oddly quiet this afternoon.”

    “I was just thinking...”

    “Good job. Keep it up.”

    “Thinking about the trees. They’re actually generous, you know? They give us a lovely green to look at for two seasons, and after that you’d think they’d simply leave. Instead, they say goodbye in deep reds, sober oranges, dark yellows, and warm browns. Then you think how we’ve done nothing but destroy nature since we got here, and she still gives us these simple gifts. It’s sad that few people notice, though.”

    Entranced girl’s look was puzzled. She giggled. “God, you’ve been reading my stuff, haven’t you?”

    Burning boy’s hand went to the back of his neck. “Maybe,” he said through taut lips.

    “I’m sorry, then,” she laughed. “Hey, don’t blush. That was really nice. I’m just being my sour, sarcastic self. Might even steal it some day. Watch out.”

    “Did you really like it?”

    “Oh, don’t make me say it again.”

    He smiled, muscles relaxing. “Did you just compliment me?”

    “Shut up and get used to it. You’re pretty easy to compliment.”

    The waiter arrived and set two spoons, two cups of coffee and a big piece of chocolate cake in the middle of the table. As the boy sweetened his drink, he watched her sip her coffee.

    “Have I told you why I adore it black? People have a habit of filling their coffee with milk, sugar, cream, or whatever spices they choose to saturate it with, and the true taste is gone. You can’t savor the bean anymore. The whole essence of coffee is lost, and all that’s left is a sugary bomb. Drinking it black is refreshing, simple, to the point. However, my palate is not that sophisticated, so excuse me for sweetening it a little.”

    The girl added a bit of sugar to her drink, and after mixing it she put the spoon in her mouth to lick the remaining coffee. Then she went straight for the cake, closing her eyes as she tasted it.

    “This cake, I swear- oh, I love it,” she stated.

    “I’d enjoy it too if you me left some.”

    “Hey, I always leave a piece for you.”

    “Yeah, a tiny, meager portion. We’re supposed to share it. If you don’t like that, we’ll have to order two pieces.”

    “No, I can’t eat a whole piece! Consider my figure, please!”

    “What figure?” he retorted, although he considered it quite a lot.   

    “Stop talking and eat.”

    The terrifying silence settled between them, but she didn’t seem to notice as she slowly chewed and swallowed her treat. He began to tap his fingers on the table and scratch his head. Soon his knees were jumping.

    “I don’t like this,” he shattered the silence.

    The girl froze with the cup on her lips. “What?”

    “I don’t like awkward silences like that one. I get anxious.”

    “Oh,” she put the cup down. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll try to make them comfortable for you, then.”

    He chuckled. “I don’t think you can do that. I mean, I really like talking, as you’ve probably noticed, but of course sometimes I run out of things to say. It’d be nice if you could speak a bit more, too, say what’s on your mind. I don’t really care-” he stopped when he noticed she’d gotten lost again.

    Her head was on her hand and her eyes were glued to the window. One of her fingers softly scratched her hair. He listened to her constant, soft breaths as he stared at her parted lips. They curled into a small smile and then quickly relaxed just before she ran her tongue over the lower one. Then she put her other hand under her chin and started caressing her cute little nose. Eyelashes slowly brushed squishy cheeks. The sunlight hit her  irises and made them look like two drops of caramel. Minutes, or perhaps centuries, passed as he stared at her in that beautiful captivated state.

    “See, we’ve been silent for a long while and you’re fine.”

    The boy blinked. “What?”

    “Silence is wonderful when you learn how to appreciate it. I personally love it. The universe is too loud and active. Black holes swallow stars in one corner and galaxies are being born in the other. Oh, and even when that’s happening humans are accountable for seventy percent of galactic noise. It’s been scientifically proven.”

    “Two monologues in one afternoon. See, you can also speak.”

    “Sure I can, but I love listening to you. Your voice is the one sound that doesn’t annoy me.”

    The girl quietly stared at him as he took a sip of his coffee. Even though he tried to conceal it, she noticed the disgust in his complexion.

    “Cut it out.”

    “Cut what out?”

    “Pretending to like coffee.”

    “This is a coffee shop. I’m free to drink whatever I want.”

    “That’s true. I can’t stop you from torturing yourself, but at least let me ask the waiter for some milk. It’ll make it less strong.”

    She did as she promised, and he soon had a small kettle with milk in front of him. He poured it into his cup, watching the black abyss turn into a much less menacing cream-colored liquid. Indeed, the milk softened its taste and made it better. Almost passable.

    The girl looked at him as he finished his bigger-than-usual piece of cake and his coffee. He cleaned his mouth with a napkin.

    “You’re a nice guy,” she remarked.

    “Uh, thanks.”

    “But not just nice in a polite way. You’re nice to look at.”

    He raised an eyebrow, looking absolutely clueless, and unendurably cute.

    “Yeah, there it is,” she stated.

    “What?”

    “I knew you’d prove my point.”

    His confusion immediately increased with that statement, and she raised her hand and asked for the bill. The waiter brought it, and the girl firmly refused to let the boy pay. It was her turn now, after all. Then they left and walked towards the bench on the other side of the road.

    “Why did you ask for the bill so soon?” he inquired.

    “I felt suffocated.”

    “Oh, okay.”

    “I’ll be leaving, then. Nice to see you.”

    The boy’s heart sunk. He hated watching her go because he knew that as soon as she was out of sight another week or two of longing would follow. A time period consisting of watches that would tick away too slowly and texts that left too many thoughts out.

    “Are you okay? You look like a sad puppy,” she asked.

    “Oh, it’s nothing. I just remembered an assignment.”

    The next thing came as a surprise, for he was too busy mentally wallowing in his own pity to notice that the girl’s expression was also broken. She got on her tiptoes and threw her arms around him. She hugged his neck tightly, her chin on his shoulder. The boy, completely baffled, hugged her waist. There they lingered, eyes closed, noses taking every particle in. She smelled like green tea sweetened with honey. Yes, she did. That crucial detail was finally his.

    Without letting go, she whispered, “Please, let’s see each other soon, and in another place.”

    “Where?”

    “Wherever you’re not afraid to speak the truth.”

    “Uh, sure.”

    She laughed into his shoulder and they let go. She still had a smile on her face. “You’re fascinating. Tell me when you get it, please.”

    Then she turned around, unlocked her bike, and rode away.

    The boy couldn’t move as a million questions rushed through his mind. Where did she want them to go? Why couldn’t she just say it? What did he have to get? At least she’d just called him fascinating. Yes, she just did! Wait, did she really mean that? He could only stand there, frozen, trying to process the recent events. However, one thing was certain: for all eternity he’d safeguard the sensations of that afternoon.

    An embrace warming him inside while it trekked into his tummy.

    A mellow voice softening the bitterness on his tongue.

    The sugary aftertaste of a meeting in the fall.

*****

Hello, humans. I really didn’t want to post this.

    As you can see this isn’t my usual style. Most of the time my stories somehow turn out to be depressing after I write them. This time, I was determined to write something soft and comforting, but not this soft. Excuse me while I throw up. Oh God, a friend had to “force” me to do it (she actually just proofread it and liked it). I am blushing, oh Lord. Haha. I do hope you like it, anyway.

    A little disclaimer: I know I use a lot of food-related language. Please note that I in no way intend to objectify women. They’re just metaphors to represent warmth and sweetness. It doesn’t mean that the male is trying to swallow her or something. He does want to be very close to her (as if they were one and all that romantic bullpoop) but he doesn’t intend to own her completely. Plus, she loves coffee, so I’m comparing her to something she loves. Also, most of the food is dark-colored, but I don’t promote a fetish of any ethnicity. The main metaphor is “brown=warmth”, so I used sweet, brown foods.

Love,

Nan.

2017

Hello, humans.

2017 is coming to an end, and I believe that it was better than 2016. Even though it had hurricanes, horrible terrorist attacks, and Maryam Mirzakhani's death, many good things happened, too. It was a particularly good year for women. The Women's March happened, we had trends like #MeToo and Nevertheless, she persisted, females are now allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia, and Malala Yousafzai started going to school at Oxford. In other news, the world economy is growing, teen pregnancy is falling, and the Islamic State's territorial base was destroyed. Also, the aid that victims of terrible tragedies received proved that solidarity still survives in the world. Humanity's boldness was represented by the millions who stood up against injustice in many ways, like resisting unfair laws and bills and publicly speaking up against sexual harassment.

Boy, this was an exciting year for me! I traveled abroad, to Switzerland in April and to Argentina in September, to participate in international math contests for the first time. I had the honor of being part of the first Costa Rican delegation for the EGMO, and it was quite thrilling (haha). I also had to give a talk and a few interviews because of that *hair flip*. On a national level, I won two medals, one silver and one gold. Winning gold in the National Olympiad was an extremely unexpected but hugely magnificent blessing.

At the beginning of the year, I went to my first Young Life camp. I met wonderful people through it, and even though I haven't been able to go to as many reunions as I'd like to, I'm glad to be part of that group.

Oh, and I finished my first year of the IB. Wow. That was another roller coaster. I don't understand how I made it. I was pushed past my breaking point multiple times, and I'm both surprised by and grateful for my survival. It really shaped me as a person by helping me build character and develop many new skills, like time and crisis management. Next year will be worse though (kuddos to everyone who has told me that), but at least I'm already more than halfway through in regard to time.

Honestly, this wouldn't be a good recap of 2017 if I didn't mention that this was the year of Finally Giving Into K-Pop. Boy am I hooked. I discovered a whole new universe full of art. It has everything; the music, the dancing, the singing and rapping, the concepts, the visuals,... every single detail is amazing. I am constantly learning more and more about it every day, and I hope to continue doing so (to my family's dismay) in 2018. Through it I also rediscovered my hidden passion for dancing. It had always been there, but I kind of repressed it until this year. Having a couple of dance presentations with my awesome friends was loads of fun, and I look forward to do more if we get the chance.

On a deeper level, 2017 was a year of growth. I built my character and developed new skills, like I mentioned before. I really grew in the area of interpersonal relationships, even though I still have a lot more to go. I became more loving, affectionate, and wise. I honestly feel like I'm a very different person than I was at the start of the year, which is weird because I've never felt that way before. I know myself better. Most importantly, I've made the decision to address my health in 2018. In other words, and speaking like a writer, I successfully overcame conflict, resulting in ample character development. If this part of my life was a story, 2017 would be the year of exposition and rising action. That means that 2018 will be the year of climax, falling action, and resolution. Great. I'm totally not terrified.

Really, I can't believe I'm still alive. Man, what a year. I completely loved it.

2018 will be a very challenging year for me. It's my last year of high school, and the grades I get in the IB will most likely define my future. I'll have to start applying for college. If I want to get into Cambridge, I'll have to get excellent grades and win a couple of international awards. I'll also turn 18, which legally makes me an adult in a lot of countries, including my own. No pressure, really. Haha. I'm sure everything will turn out incredible, even better than in 2017. Yeah. God is in control.

At the end of last year's post, I asked 2017 to come at me, and God did it do that with a terrible strength. However, I rarely learn from these type of experiences, so I'd like to test my luck again. 2018, come at me, bro.

Best wishes for 2018. May it be as lovely and fruitful for you as my 2017 was for me.

Love,

Nan.

Here are some pictures of my best memories of 2017.

PELOS PELOS.

Look, we're in Switzerland.

Oh, and in Argentina.

What a pro (shes obviously not scared to death).

Girl Meets Evil.

7eens (they'll hate me for this caption).

My chiquitos (thanks Juli).

Silver and gold.

A special segment for awesome people

My friends.

They're all so-

I love them so much I'm-

I MET MY INTERNET FRIENDS TOO-

(I also love my familia but I won't post their pictures here).

Todas unas chicas BI.

I'm going to cry because I love everyone (even if you're not in these pictures). Happy New Year.  

Spring of Jericho

Pigat wets the cloth and sets it on the girl’s forehead softly. Her night fevers have gotten worse since last week. As drops of water trickle down her temples, Pigat brushes Talliya’s hair out of her eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

The girl replies with a coughing fit. She has to stand up, making the cloth fall off of her head. Pigat takes Talliya’s hand away from her lips and gives her a dry cloth to cover her mouth with instead. Then she slowly rubs her back as the coughing persists.

As soon as Talliya stops, she falls back on the bed, heaving for breath. Pigat takes the cloth from the girl’s hand and examines it. Blood, again. With a sigh, she picks up the cloth that had fallen on the blanket, dries the sweat on the girl’s face, wets the fabric again, and then sets it on her forehead. The cloth had left a dampened spot on the blanket. Pigat considers whether she should go get another one, but she doesn’t want to leave her side.

Pigat still remembers the day when a little baby was laid on her arms, about ten years ago. While she was only a teenager, she was assigned as the attendant of the new noble girl. The baby gurgled, smiling, and then wrapped her small fist around one of Pigat’s fingers. From that day on, an indestructible bond was created.

She had been there when she learned how to crawl and when she took her first steps. When Talliya’s unintelligible mumbles became words for the first time, they’d been Pigat. She had fed her, changed her, and cleaned her up. After a while she was taking her on walks around town to entertain her unquenchable curiosity. She loved to go near the springs where the land was full of life with birds and small insects that she surprisingly wasn’t afraid of catching with her little hands. Uncountable mornings were spent chasing after butterflies and eagles that flied high up in the clear blue sky. To Pigat’s discontent, she loved to lie on the ground, either on her back to make out shapes in the clouds or on her stomach to wallow and crawl. Her mother was furious when they returned to the palace, Talliya covered in dirt, and would often send them both back to the spring for a wash.

It was on one of those afternoons that Pigat had made a terrible mistake. Talliya was sitting on a rock with her arms crossed after reluctantly washing herself when she spotted a group of older boys playing in the distance. Her pout turned into a smile and she turned around to look at Pigat with sparkling eyes.

“Pigat, Pigat, may I please play with them?”

“They’re farmer boys, you shouldn’t.”

“So what? Please, Pigat, I’m bored.”

“Your mother won’t be happy.”

“She doesn’t need to find out,” Talliya suggested with a smirk. “Please.”

Pigat looked into her pleading eyes and her heart began to melt. She knew she shouldn’t, but Talliya really wanted to play. There were no kids her age in the palace, and that often made the girl feel very lonely. Only one day wouldn’t hurt. It’s true, her mother wouldn’t find out…

“Okay, go ahead, Talliya, but be quick, please. Don’t go far away either; always stay in sight. And please don’t get dirty again,” Pigat said, giving in.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you!” the girl exclaimed, jumping up and down and hugging Pigat before running to meet the boys.

Pigat laughed and went after her. The boys were nice and soon included Talliya in their game, being gentle so they wouldn’t hurt her. At first, she was the referee for a small wrestling tournament. After that, they ran towards the fields to explore them. They went back down to the spring, and Talliya surprised them there by catching a grasshopper. The boys climbed up a tree and the girl carried the fruit that fell down. Pigat told Talliya that it was time to head back home while they were sitting on the ground in a circle, eating the fruit that they’d picked. Amidst the echoes of laughter, Pigat didn’t notice that one of the boys had been coughing during the whole session.

A month later, Talliya was woken by a coughing fit in the middle of the night. Pigat heard her from the adjacent bedroom where she slept, and ran to her aid. From that night on, it progressively got worse.

Now Pigat watched the girl let out ragged breathes while she slept. She has been so weak lately, and sleeping was all she ever did. Her little body wouldn’t be able to resist any longer. She’d soon be gone. Tears began stinging Pigat’s eyes as she realized that it was her fault, this was all her fault.

A moment later she’s crying desperately, not holding anything back. Her face is swollen, red, and drenched in tears. She bites into a blanket to not wake her little girl up as a sob escapes her throat. Her eyes are closed and her nails scrape her knees and legs until they leave bloody trails behind. The muscles in her heart threaten to burst. She’s heaving for breath now, but silently. Please don’t take her, please don’t. Take me instead, she begs to the Heavens.

She manages to calm down after a while, and presses her hot cheeks against the young girl’s abdomen. Like that she drifts off, trying to forget this excruciating reality.

In the morning, Donatiya, another servant, shakes her awake. She’s holding a platter with breakfast for Talliya. Immediately after registering the situation, Pigat softly puts a finger under the girl’s nostrils to check if she’s still breathing. She sighs when she feels the warm breath against her knuckle.

“Good morning, Donatiya. She hasn’t woken up yet, but you can leave the food here. Thank you.”

Donatiya nods, leaves the platter on a nearby table, and walks out of the room. Pigat proceeds to change the girl’s blanket and cloths. Talliya is already awake when she returns with the new fabric. Pigat sets everything on the foot of the bed and rapidly seats back on her stool next to the young girl.

“How are you feeling? Are you hot? I was going to change your blanket, and if you wish I can put another wet cloth on your forehead. Are you hungry? Here’s your breakfast. Please eat, it’ll make you stronger.”

Talliya tries to sit up, but Pigat has to help her. Pigat carefully brings the spoon to her lips and the girl swallows with trouble. After a few more spoonfuls, Talliya shakes her head and lies back down.

“Come on, Talliya, you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need strength.”

“I’m going to throw up if I eat more.”

“Talliya…”

The young girl rolls over and gives her back to Pigat, who calls Donatiya to take away the platter. After she leaves, Pigat hears Talliya’s soft whimpers and notices that her shoulders are weakly shaking with sobs.

“My dear, what’s wrong? Please look at me,” Pigat asks.

Talliya faces her attendant again, her eyes big, red, and full of tears. Pigat gently wipes her cheeks dry with a cloth.

“I don’t want to die, Pigat.”

Pigat’s eyes get wide and she bends down to hug the young girl. She slowly runs her fingers through her hair.

“I will miss you a lot. An awful lot,” Talliya whispers.

Tears begin to build up on Pigat’s eyes, but she can’t cry right now. She needs to be strong for her little girl. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

“Don’t say that, dear. Soon you won’t suffer anymore.”

“Won’t you miss me too, Pigat?”

Pigat discreetly wipes a tear with the back of her hand. “You have no idea.”

“I love you very much, Pigat” Talliya says.

Pigat sits up and kisses the young girl’s forehead. “I love you too, dear. Like a daughter.”

She takes a cloth and dries Talliya’s cheeks again. Then, she kisses them both. It’s getting harder to hold back her tears.

“Darling, you should sleep. You’re very tired,” Pigat states.

“I want to see you.”

“Please.”

Talliya tries to fight it, but soon her drowsiness takes over and she’s fast asleep. Pigat watches her chest rising and falling, and admires the peace in her complexion. At least when she’s sleeping, her eyebrows relax, making the wrinkles on her forehead disappear. The pain goes away momentarily.

They stay like that for a while, Talliya asleep and Pigat tending to her, until the sun sets and dusk brings about an awful coughing fit.

It starts like usual, and Pigat only comforts her as she coughs. However, Pigat soon realizes that this fit is nothing like the ones before. Talliya’s lungs scream for air. Her coughing gets louder and louder until she can’t contain it. Her eyes are red and her forehead is covered in sweat. Pigat starts calling out for help, and a group of servants rush in. She’s pushed back into a corner of the room. Soon, Talliya’s mother and father arrive.

“My baby, my baby, what’s happening to her?” her mother shouts as she pushes the servants away.

Her husband grabs her and holds her tight to prevent her from hurting anyone. She’s crying and screaming. Although her father tries to maintain his composure, tears trail down his cheeks.

Pigat is paralyzed. She can’t cry. She’s only standing there, watching the scene unfold as she shakes. Nothing is real any longer. She can only hear Talliya’s coughing and her loud, panicked breaths. Soon she doesn’t hear anything anymore. Her mother lets out a hideous shriek. Pigat faints.

In this dark night, the wheat fields dance with the cold wind. By them, the waters in the spring remember their origins. They fell from the clouds as rain and joined a fast-flowing stream. Both animals and humans drank from it. Children bathed and mothers washed their clothes in its waters. Then, along its trek it picked up rocks and fallen leaves. Most of the stones left the flow after they were made smooth and round by the stream’s action. Everywhere it went it brought life and refreshment and renewal along with it. However, when the time to join the spring came, the waters had to be filtered. Everything that they were carrying, all the leaves, the branches, the rocks, had to stay behind. Nevertheless, the freshness that they had gifted the world with would linger, continuing to bless the universe eternally.

When Pigat wakes up, she’s still on the floor. Donatiya is folding Talliya’s blankets. Although she isn’t fully conscious yet, Pigat staggers towards her.

“Where’s Talliya?” she asks.

Donatiya looks at her with heavy eyes. Pigat sits down on the bed, frowning and trying to remember how to breathe.

“I’m so sorry, Pigat,” Donatiya states.

Pigat puts her face on her hands and begins to cry horribly. Donatiya sits next to her and wraps her arms around her body. She rubs her back in silence until Pigat is done. Then, she hands her a cloth to clean her face. Her complexion relaxes as she looks into space. She knows what’s coming.

“Donatiya, please let me go to my room, and then I’ll follow you,” Pigat asks.

She stands up and goes to her bedroom next to Talliya’s. She washes her face and dons her best clothes, which aren’t exactly stunning, but acceptable for a servant like her. She puts on a little bit of Talliya’s eyeliner and brushes her hair. Then, she braids it and puts it up into a beautiful hairdo, just like she used to do with Talliya. She looks in the mirror one last time and decides that she’s ready.

Donatiya leads her through the palace, where she can recognize most of the mourners’ faces. She sees Talliya’s aunts, her cousins, and her uncles. The women are all walking after their husbands, red-eyed and with swollen faces, looking for Talliya’s parents. They’ve probably been woken up with the bad news, because it’s still very late.

She turns a corner and goes into a quiet room lighted with candles. On the far side there’s a table with Talliya’s body lying on it. Pigat looks at Donatiya with gratefulness in her eyes, and she quickly smiles back with a nod. Then, she walks towards the table.

Talliya’s eyes are closed. She is draped in an exquisite rob, held by a bronze pin on her shoulder. There are bronze bracelets on her little wrists and she is wearing a pair of beautiful, round earrings made of the same material. A wonderful necklace with a lovely carnelian surrounded by beads and rock crystals decorates her delicate neck. One of her tiny fingers has a signet ring with protective signs on. A scarab with an image of the sun rising over a hill behind a crouching lion, her father’s title, and the name of the city rest upon her chest. She smells like incense and ointment.

Pigat admires her for a while. Don’t worry, darling, we’ll be seeing each other soon, she tells her with her heart. She’s firm, trying hard not to cry. When she’s ready, she turns to face the girl’s parents, who are also watching their daughter nearby.

“Pigat, thank you very much for all that you did for Talliya. You were an excellent attendant, and I’m sure she loved you very much,” her mother says before her voice breaks and she’s weeping.

Her husband hugs her tighter, and says, “Thank you for your service, Pigat. I’m so sorry, but this is customary. A shame, such a shame, to lose such a valuable servant.”

“Don’t worry, I understand, my lord. I’m also thankful for how you’ve treated me all these years,” Pigat replies and looks at Talliya. “Your daughter was an amazing girl. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Talliya’s father answers, and his face darkens. “Goodbye, Pigat. May you be rewarded well for your service in the next life.”

“Farewell, Pigat,” says Talliya’s mother through tears.

“I thank you again, my lord and my lady. Goodbye, and may your future be full of blessings.”

Pigat turns and walks back to Donatiya. She thanks her for letting her visit Talliya, and then follows her out of the room. This time, they walk through a more private part of the palace, and the guests are nowhere to be seen. Their footsteps echo through the vast halls. Finally, they stop before a tall set of doors and face each other. Donatiya hugs her.

“Goodbye, my friend. I will miss you,” she says.

“I will miss you too, Donatiya. I hope you live a long and happy life. Thank you for everything.”

Donatiya hugs her for a while longer and they stay quiet. Then, she lets her go and opens the door. She wipes a tear and signals for her to go in. A big basin full of water waits for her between two bulky men. Pigat goes in, stops, and turns around to look at Donatiya one last time. Donatiya sees the peace in Pigat’s eyes when they exchange a smile. Pigat continues, and Donatiya closes the door.

The next day, the tomb under the palace is ready. It has a sweet smell of perfume, and adornments made of radiant jewels. Pigat’s body is also there, waiting for Talliya. A group of men carry the girl in a litter and lay her next to her attendant. The place is silent except for the sniffling and occasional sobs. After a priest’s blessing, the tomb is sealed. Pigat and Talliya would rest together for eternity.

*****

Hello, humans. I hope you enjoyed this short story, even if it came out sadder than I expected haha. I got the inspiration for this piece when I was reading National Geographic. There was this article that said that a noble girl’s tomb from ancient Jericho was recently found at Tell es-Sultan. You can read the article here.

I hope you all have a nice rest of the year.

Love,

Nan.