Random Diary Entry - 10 April 2023

How To Give Up?

Maybe I am being dramatic, but I have nowhere else to vent this. I just cannot go on like this. I am in a constant state of pressure and urgency. And I feel as if this is making me an annoyed and mean person towards everyone. I feel like slipping into a black hole.

But the thing is, my parents are not at all supportive of me going abroad to study, and they are constantly trying to sabotage my plans with demotivating talks and taunts. And even my friends keep telling me not to move away like that. I am not even selected anywhere yet...

I really thought graduate school would be my way out to leave. To leave the country and go far, far away. At least for a year. I really love studying. But, here I am, struggling to even find jobs.

And to top it all off, this application process is so, so, so... draining. Part of it is my fault because I overestimated myself, I guess. I thought I was qualified, but I don't feel very qualified anymore. My LOR process for the applications and scholarships was a complete mess, starting from looking for LOR writers to technical glitches in LOR submission to professors not uploading references in time, resulting in application expiration. I could not even take one of those English tests, because first, they cost a lot (I spent most of my money on application fees), and there is no test centre in my town, so I'd have had to go to another city to appear the same, hence the added cost. Some universities did consider waiving English proficiency proof, but some didn't. At first, my parents said if I got a partial scholarship, they would assist me with the remaining funds. Now that I am on the waitlist, they have outright denied that they won't help me at all. And there are so many things that one can't even write down to share.

I feel like I am just cribbing a lot, and I know that this is something everyone is going through in the application process. But I am just in a perpetual state of anxiety with no affirmation around me. I feel very lonely and scared all the time even though I read all of your posts here and so many people are having it worse than me I guess. I do nothing but wait all day for what I do not know, and yet I get tired as if I have done some hard labour.

The question is, is it even worth it? Should I just give up and look for jobs instead? Is mentally and emotionally overpaying so much worth it? If I don't get selected, would it all be worth it? Because I don't think I will be able to apply again next year. Maybe a few years later, if the situation permits. So, is giving up my present time, peace, and sanity for this worth it? What if I get rejected? What if I get selected but don't get enough funds? I won't be able to go. I wish there was a way to escape, and I wish I hadn't gotten so obsessed with my top-choice universities. I wish I hadn't dreamt. I fantasised so much, and now that the reality truck is hitting me, it hurts much more than it should.

I'm just so tired. How do I give up?

 

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 10: Melody of Legacy

Prompt: Write a sea shanty.

Quietly we sailed across the sea,
A band of sailors, strong and free,
Our ship was small, our spirits too,
But now we're lost, with naught to do.

Our shanty's soft, a mournful sound,
For we are lost, and can't be found,
Our ship is small, our crew is few,
And now we bid our last adieu.

We sailed the seas with hearts of fire,
Our will to live, our one desire,
But now the winds have turned on us,
And left us stranded, without a fuss.

Our shanty's soft, a mournful sound,
For we are lost, and can't be found,
Our ship is small, our crew is few,
And now we bid our last adieu.

We fought for freedom, we fought with pride,
But now we're lost, and can't abide,
The thought of never seeing home,
Our hearts are heavy, we're all alone.

Our shanty's soft, a mournful sound,
For we are lost, and can't be found,
Our ship is small, our crew is few,
And now we bid our last adieu.

So here we are, a subtle end,
A band of yatch, lost friends,
Our legacy will live on though,
In the hearts of those who know.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 9: Odennet to Oizys

Prompt: Write a sonnet.

Oizys, goddess of misery and woe,
Whose shadow darkens every troubled mind,
With every step we take, your presence grows,
And every pain and sorrow we must find.

You whisper doubts and fears into our ears,
And make our hearts heavy with despair,
You fill our eyes with tears, our souls with fears,
And make us feel as if life is unfair.

Yet, in your melancholic embrace,
There is a truth that we cannot ignore,
That joy and sorrow, in life's endless race,
Are both necessary to our very core.

So though we dread your touch and your embrace,
We know that you are a part of the human race.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 8: Aurora's Analogy

Prompt: “Twenty Little Poetry Projects”
 

A heart of stone, she said, was all she had
Yet she claimed it beat like a hummingbird's wing

The hummingbird heart, a paradox that lives
Fluttering with love, despite the weight of stone

The scent of burnt sugar filled the air
While she tasted the sound of a symphony

The symphony's notes, a feast for the tounge
And the scent of burnt sugar, a feast for the skin

The touch of ash against her skin
Felt like a whisper in her attic

The whisper of yarn, a touch so light
It lingers on the nose like a memory of love

Colors tasted like placebos
And the name "Aurora" smelled like mist of iridescent bubbles

Pills of color, an illusory of love
And Aurora's name, a scent of stardust and soot

Kaleidoscopic beetles whirled in her stomach
As she gulped the happiness of her laughter

The laughter's melody, a nocebo of joy
And the beetles, a jubilee of love

The brittle softness of her love was the seed of her pomegranate
A sudden thought took hold and sprouted wings in her belly

The rose's thorn, a symbol of redemption
And the sudden thought, a challenge to get grip on

As she spoke Láadan, a language unknown
"The planets align, the path is dark
But the future is on the make"

Láadan's words, a language of unsung
And the future, a discovery of the unknown

The flickering candle was sanguine
But darkness chewed the wick

The candle's light, a symbol of hope's fire
And the darkness, a reminder of god's gluttony for fire

And as the night sauntered into the chalet
The moon shone as a mirror of her own heart
Whispering secrets to the stillness of the night

Until she finally let go of her own fight
And the stone shattered into a million stars

The heart of stone, a symbol of love's edge
And the shattered stars, a hope of love's transmigration

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 7: The Hooded Tapestry

Prompt: By NaPoWriMo, write a poem that plays with the idea of a list. Try to write a such a non-list, but a couple of other ideas would be to create a list of ingredients, or a list of entries in an index. Another way into this prompt might be a list of instructions.

The Hooded Tapestry

Girlhood

Womanhood

Ancestresshood

Godhood

Personhood

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 6: Seller of Muse

Prompt: Today’s prompt is also from NaPoWriMo. Take a look around Poetry International for a poem in a language you don’t know. Now, read the poem to yourself, thinking about the sound and shape of the words, and the degree to which they remind you of words in your own language. Use those correspondences as the basis for a new poem.

I chose the poem “Poem Without an End” by Yehuda Amichai. It is one of my favourites and I hold it close to my heart. As I had mentioned in the triolet post, I rarely have a sense of sound and rhythm. So, I have tried my best here (and maybe, miserably failed) to encapsulate my emotions and thoughts of the chosen poem in my own crafted poem.

Barefoot muse and passion
Bait, fate or reflect,
any?
Bitterly?
Or, lively?
Or, bitterly and lively?
Muse!
Echo harmonious
Beats of mystics
Betoken
any?
Bitterly?
Or, lively?
Or, bitterly and lively?
Muse!

- Oizys.

For reference, following is Hebrew transliteration of Yehuda Amichai's poem, Poem Without an End that I used for sounds:

Betoch muz'aon chadash, beit knesset yashan.
Betoch beit haknesset
Ani.
Betochi
Libi.
Betoch libi
Muzaeon.
Betoch hamuzaeon
Beit knesset,
Betochan
Ani,
Betochi
Libi.
Betoch libi
Muzaeon.

P.S. - I really like the choice the words in my poem and it gives a very poetic feel. So, one day, I might enlarge and polish my poem to give it more structure and concrete.

NaPoWriMo Day 5: Grief's Unexpected Guest

Prompt: Juxtaposition by NaPoWriMo

In a quiet range, suffused accompanying tears,
A gathering assembled to announce their last goodbyes,
For dignitary dear had abandoned this existence,
And the air was weighty accompanying upsetting sighs.

The range was understood, except for a whimper or two,
As lamenters rewarded their conclusive devoirs,
The air was difficult, the character controlled,
As the experience about bureaucracy appeared to indicate.

The unhappiness in their hearts,
But therefore a sound destitute through the silence,
A guffaw, limited and clean,
A snicker, so filled of disobedience.

The lamenters retired surprise,
Wondering what take care of cause specific levity,
But therefore they proverb a parent accompanying her teenager,
A teeny baby, so new to this soil.

It was the baby's first snicker,
A sound that caused a laugh,
A sound that illuminated the weighty attitude,
And fashioned the lamenters ignore their while.

For on account of importance, they evoked,
That growth continues, even following in position or time obliteration,
That skilled is still pleasure expected raise,
Even when we draw our definitive break.

So allow the baby's amusement ring,
And fill the range accompanying clean delight,
For because importance, they earned,
That love can overcome even the the most evil midnight.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 4: Trying A Triolet

Prompt: Triolet format by NaPoWriMo. So, for years, I would never call myself a poet (I still don't sometimes!) because I was never able to write poetry in structure, rhythm or rhyming words. I would try hard but I succeeded. Sometimes, the form would be right but the poem would not make sense or vice versa.

So, for this prompt, I tried to write two triolet about trying to write a triolet. Please tell me, even if the poem is ish, the form and rhythm is correct.

Triolet 1:

I sat down with pen and paper in hand,
My mind set on trying a triolet.
I wrote the first line, my heart did expand,
I sat down with pen and paper in hand.

I searched for rhymes that were grand,
My creativity I couldn't forget.
I sat down with pen and paper in hand,
My mind set on trying a triolet.

Triolet 2:

Trying a Triolet, a form to explore,
Eight simple lines, but so much in store,
First, fourth, and seventh, the same as before,
Trying a Triolet, a form to explore.

Rhyming and repeating, what could be more,
A structure to follow, a challenge to adore,
Trying a Triolet, a form to explore,
Eight simple lines, but so much in store.

I Wish To Just Be But I Am Doom

 

Oh. My. God. It feels like someone is making me vomit and then forcing me to swallow it. The constant nagging. I am on the verge of exploding. But, I guess, I do not even have the privilege to even poof a little bit. All day long, my brain keeps yelling at my eyes, "Do not cry; they are around." "Do not freaking tear up even!"

I wish I had the resources, the courage, and the ability to just break away and survive somewhere else. Every morning I wake up to survive this unstable lab where every aspect of my livelihood is tested dangerously. Every moment I break down a little more in the hope some angel would appear out of nowhere to take me away to somewhere heavenly. I wish I could just pack some things and exit. I wish I could. But I cannot. I am nothing but a body chock-full of fears. Nothing but a hole of anxiety. I know nothing of the real world. I would drop dead if I picked up a bag and left. I have no means of survival. No job. No money. No skills. No connection. No friends. There is no will to live, even. What do I do? Day by day, I feel myself deteriorating. I feel myself chopping up my parts of sanity to exchange for an unstable shelter and some food made up of taunts and mockery.

It is as if the system is built that way for us. They subjugate you in such a way that you can only survive when you follow their marked goalposts. Even if you choose to have your own thoughts, emotions, opinions, and individuality, you are shown the door. They tell you, "The door is wide open; leave if you don't like it!" But here's the catch: It is not a statement they are making. Rather a taunting remark. Because the door may be open for you to escape, but your legs are tied. They completely emasculate you from the beginning. They keep you grounded. They keep you sheltered. And when you show a hint of resistance, they mock you with sentences like that. The open door is a mockery of your helplessness. They ask you to leave because, deep down, they know you won't be able to. Your legs are chained by codependency and financial constraints.

And all I want is to be. Just be me. Maybe go to that park next to my house and read a book there. Without them constantly breathing down my neck. Maybe sit on that bench and talk to my friend. Without them blasting my phone every five minutes, asking where I am. I would like for it to just be. Please. I am just a run-of-the-mill fool. I am no believer in God. Yet I sit here with my bruised sentience waiting for some kind of magic. All I do is, while I wait, squeeze my pain with my bare wrists to get some drops of poetry and words for my parched soul. I sit and scribble all day in the hope that someone will listen to this muffled cry for help and rush in order to save me. This is just a mere act of cowardice. I hide behind this foolish, wistful thinking. Because, deep down, a part of me is aware that no one is coming. No one can hear me. No one can see me. I am insubstantial. I hold no sound, no reality. I am, but doom awaits. 

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 3: "Despair" is an fantasy with scales

Prompt: Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. For example, you might turn “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” to “I won’t contrast you with a winter’s night.” From: NaPoWriMo

“Hope” is the thing with feathers
By Emily Dickinson

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."

Despair is an fantasy with scales
That shelters in the mind,
And silences the world with harshness,
And just stops all,

And bitterest in the stillness is heard;
And indolent must be the serene
That could never daunt the vulture
That turned so many blue.

I've never heard it in the sunny land,
And on the ordinary lake;
Yet, always, in the beginning,
It plucked a fistful of me.

- Oizys.