Swifty, Writing

Right, it's sellout week, so it's time for me to go all personal and emo, revealing my private lives for some laughs and dumbing down my blog to appeal to the masses. I just fucking love crass commercialism, don't you all? So what now? I have done enough whining about humanity like most angsty emo teens did during my past two entries, it's time for me to start whine and bitch about my personal love life, after all, shouldn't stuff like this be more interesting, than, say, my NanoWriMo efforts? (to the 1-2 people who cared, it's halfway point, I'm targetting 25000 today, but have only done 23000+ thus far).

It all happened in a chatroom, you see. I will not reveal which chatroom because I am afraid that all you Swiftyholics will start stalking me in the only place where I can get sanctuary. Recent events have already shown me how scary and malicious the Internet can be. *once again points at the Dawn Yang-->Plastic Surgery-->"Let Us All Hunt That Witch!"-->"Swifty, you think Dawn Yang is beautiful thus you and your webcomics suck!" fiasco* And how irresponsible the press can be when some teacher was accused of being a sex tease online or something on some tabloid, which resulted in her having a hard time, though I have no idea whom to really believe. Some people are vultures of controversy, craving for strife so that they can profit from disharmony. I am definitely not such a person. My tale of romance is certainly a sad one, and a personal one. But to continue keeping it would be a pain, thus I have to speak out.

I met this girl on a chatroom two years ago, I shall name her Y. It was random, we spoke, and all of a sudden, we hit it off well. She was funny, elegant, poetic and eloquent. She reminded me of myself, except she was a female. And within half an hour, I knew she was the one. I fell in love with her. But I had not the courage to tell her that, thus we only left each other email addresses.

Two days later, when I went home, I received an email from her, I was so joyous that I wept unashamedly. I replied to her, every single word I typed was infused with the boundless joy and adoration I felt for her. We dared not show each other our photos, but appearances mean nothing for I am not a superficial person, I have already grown tired of beauty after always staring at my own reflection everyday.

We added each other on MSN, and we started chatting everyday. I found it increasingly difficult for me to contain my feelings for her anymore, I had to reach out for her, and reached out for her I did, as every time we spoke, I would start touching the computer screen, to touch her MSN login name, to trace a pattern around the avatar she used, a picture of a pink elephant.

This went on for months, as I had ceased to have any interests in other women I meet in real life, after all, how could any of them compare with my dearest beautiful Y? In my mind's eyes, Y was perfect, nay, beyond perfect, and I loved her for her perfection. She was indeed a very funny girl, and many times my parents would wonder why would I sit in front of the computer, laughing so very loudly suddenly. Even when they asked me to sleep, I would go into my bedroom, and then snuck out minutes later to resume our MSN conversation. For the very first time, I discovered what love was. Love was what I felt, the sweet and lingering feeling that washed over me whenever I saw her popping out on MSN.

We were a couple. Even though we have never met. And even though we have never shown each other our photos. Physical appearances meant nothing, we both loved each other for the methods we used our words to wield illusions around ourselves for our internet personas.

Yet everything changed. She told me she was in a hospital, and she needed to see me as soon as possible. After receiving the phone number from her, I left. The hospital wasn't as far as I have feared, I only needed to take a taxi there to meet her. And there Y was, more beautiful than I have ever expected despite the ravages of illness that marked her face. Her parents were there too, faces streaked with tears, they have expected my arrival, telling me that Y had wanted to see me.

They left the room, and I spoke to Y. She didn't have long to live, all she wanted was to have one last conversation with me before she left the realm of mortals. And thus we spoke, just like we usually did on MSN for the past few months, I couldn't keep tears from running down my cheeks, and gently she would rub them away. There were things she wanted to give me, next to her bed was a stuffed pink elephant who had been with her ever since she was a child. She wanted me to take it, she wanted me to look after it. The pink elephant is called Elly.

When she smiled, I realized I have never seen a woman more beautiful. And all I could do was promise that every single movie I've made, every single story I've written, I would infuse my love for her within them. So that the entire world can understand, they can feel the depths of my feelings I had for her.

She died the next day. I was with her, I felt life slipping away from her hand when I was holding it. Tears blurred my vision as I kissed her cheek, fair like the snow of Hokkaido, even in death, she looked as if she was slumbering. And thus I left with the stuffed pink elephant, a lone figure walking into the darkness, not knowing what direction he would go. Behind me, I heard the sounds of her parents crying and screaming. I could still remember her funeral, held shortly after the rain had stopped, when the rain within my heart couldn't cease.

I still dream of her now. With Elly the Pink Elephant by my side. Everytime I wished Elly could speak, so I could know more about this girl I was in love with, I wanted to know more about her childhood, her teens, her dreams, everything. Yet the stuffed elephant, being a stuffed elephant, could only look back at me silently.

She loved Care Bears. That's why I used their pictures for my banner. As I am typing now, I am filled with tears, I hate going so emo, but that's the way I am.

I know. It's just such a sad tale, man.







or maybe I can't fucking believe that I've wasted my time writing such maudlin crap when I could've been working on my NaNoWriMo. Hmm, maybe it's time for another photoshoot, mine, of course, not Dawn Yang.