The Girl in Pearls

Model: Anne Curtis

when the light touches your face
for a second it melts into your skin;
like molten gold
and the world takes in a collective breath
afraid to break the delicate china of your bones.
you hide behind a curtain of lashes
caged by the pearls at your wrist, draped in twists of silk
that you think are richer than your skin,
and I wonder what you see when you close your eyes,
freedom, fear, or maybe paradise.

you look like an elegant piece of time,
like a soft vision of something long ago, a romantic memory in a weathered novel,
or the inky cursive script of a love letter.
I want to weave these moments into a chain of memories
braid them like flowers into your hair
blend them into the blush of your cheeks before they slip
through my fingers; like feathers in the wind
before you get lost in all your finery and lace,
and blink.

you see, you are a beauty not meant to be forgotten
like a timeless song or the words in a classic
and within this musical, breathless chaos around us
you have forgotten that yourself.

©AnumAziz

Poetry

Sun, after, time, owe, love, happens, even, all, you, Earth, Sky, a, lights, what, this, never, the, look, says, with, the, to, me, like, the, it, whole, that.

Confused? 

Look at the words above. They're just simple, short, everyday words and scattered like that they make no sense. But can you create something beautiful out of a handful of stray words?

Of course you can.

A lot of people shy away from reading or writing poetry because they just don't understand its elegance and versatile ways. You can take simple, discarded thoughts and shape them into something full of inspiration and beauty and call it a poem.

So why don't you give it a shot? And if you're not feeling creative, Google some poems and see if you find something you like. You may find that someone has managed to grab the feelings right out of your heart and has strung them together with a few words.

And if you find something really good, share it with me in the comments below :)

Happy Reading! xx

In My Own Skin

     I envy them. They walk around like the air belongs to them. Like the sun is shining on them. Like there is nothing holding them down. And I envy them because of it. Who do they think they are? Beautiful, mysterious, charming, classic? I envy them so much it hurts, yet I want to be one of them. I want to be who they are and have what they have. 
     Their skin fits them like a glove, mine hugs me like a mitten. Their thoughts move with their bodies in perfect, blissful alignment. When they laugh, their hearts smile and their eyes sparkle with a spontaneous, undying warmth. You can feel it. I know. You know. 
     My skin smothers me like a mitten. It wraps around me in a protective embrace, sheltering me from defining myself. My thoughts race ahead of me, but my body declines to follow. When my heart breaks and all I want to do is cry until the tears make me sleepy, my body does not let me. It tells me to break down inside. To hold it all in because that's better. Is it better?
     When I feel elated, feel like standing on my toes and spreading my arms to soak up all the sunshine there is, my body hesitates. My arms stay by my side and my toes stay on the ground. It is as if they belong there and have no curiosity about the wonders around them. No, my body stays where it is and lets my mind do all the dreaming. I have traveled miles in my thoughts, but only walked a few steps of my dreams.
     We all see them around us, those beautifully flawed and hopelessly natural people. Their presence feels exotic. You analyze every part of them trying to figure out their secret. Is it the hair? The curve of the eyes, the dimple, or maybe its the clothes? What is it exactly that they have and you don't and how could you try and get it too? How are they able to exude such confidence with every word that escapes their lips? How are they able to physically do all the things you would have done, could have done, but didn't? 
     You could have been so much more, gone so many places. Think of all the laughter you could have sang, all the meals you could have shared, and all the people you could have had in your life. In that drama class, you could have been the one everyone admired, the one who captivated audiences. You know you have it in you. I know I have it in me. So then, what is the problem? Why are we so uncomfortable, you and I? We stand at the hearth and let the warmth touch our skin, but we don't let the glow of the fire kiss us too. We shy away, you and I. We hesitate.
     But I want to be like them. To be comfortable in my own skin. To move as one, single being. To think about what I want to do and to do those things. To dance with awkward moves that make me look as if I've lost my mind and to not care, to not think about what I must look like. To stand up for the people and things I believe in with no army to back me up other than the strength of my convictions. I want to sing and not feel as if every note is weighing me down. For the song to come from my soul, synonymous with every breath. 
     How wonderful it must feel to be able to wash your face in the morning and walk out the door loving every freckle and every scar on your body. Smiling at every little thing that makes you happy and not questioning the beauty of your smile, not caring if it elicits anyone's judgement. How insanely electric it must feel to live your day in a messy hairdo and a slouchy outfit not caring how others perceive you because you know you have gorgeous inside. You know you could look polished if you wanted to. But you don't care, at least not today, because this is life. Every day is magical despite your clothes and frizzy hair. Life doesn't care about the brand of your jeans or the shade of your blush. It's splendid for the sole reason that you're living it.
     I don't want insanity. Not a million friends, just to touch a million lives. I want to be remembered by someone as they go to sleep at night and think about their day. I want to be remembered in stories and I want to live in memories. But more than anything I want to live in my own memory. I want to visit a country for every letter in the alphabet, snort when I laugh, and reference everything in life with quotes from Harry Potter. I want to eat Nutella out of the jar on rainy days, speak up and compliment people I don't even know, and to voice my opinions because if I don't, who will? 

     All I want is to be able to spend almost everyday loving the person I spend most of my time with - myself. Why bother being envious? None of it matters when you are all you want to be. Irrevocably and undeniably comfortable in your own skin.

©AnumAziz

Date a girl who reads. Or better yet...writes.

“You should date a girl who reads. 

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve. 

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second-hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn. 

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book. 

Buy her another cup of coffee.  

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice. 

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does. 

She has to give it a shot somehow. 

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world. 

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two. 

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series. 

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are. 

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype. 

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots. 

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads. 

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.” 

- Rosemarie Urquico

Source: http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/show/437516

Class is in session

     So here's the deal. When I was in high school there was no class I ever loved more than (surprise, surprise)...Biology. Okay I lied. The answer's obviously English. Every time I walked into the room it felt like coming home, as cheesy as that sounds. I suppose it was like what swimmers feel when they step into a pool. It's the feeling of being enveloped by familiarity. I was totally in my element. Perhaps my positive attitude towards English class is what would cause it to be my highest mark every year. And every year that I did well, I loved it even more. It was the opposite of a "vicious cycle"; it was awesome.

     But clearly, that's not the case for everyone. I have friends who dreaded English class and would become incredibly anxious whenever we were assigned an essay. I want to be humble, but I have helped many people with their thesis' or essays. The thing is, I love editing. I love creating thesis' and I feel as if it helps me improve as a writer. Believe me I HATE working on my own assignments :P, which makes no sense really, because I find myself constantly doing the same work for others. But enough of me being full of myself, let's get to the point.
     I realized that a lot of people out there don't share the same passion or awe that I do for the classics that are studied in high school English and beyond. Maybe I got lucky thanks to my fabulous and inspiring teachers.  But I know how helpless and anxious people can get when even a simple sentence is hard to form. Writing essays and understanding novels can be a really strenuous and frustrating task. I see that frustration in my siblings and even myself at times. It's sort of like the apprehension I get when having to deal with math so trust me on this...I feel for whoever finds English class difficult.
     My solution is this: In the next few weeks (if exams don't kill me) I'm going to start a series of posts dedicated to the explanation of various Shakespearean works, other popular books, and offer writing tips. You're free to comment/message me and request a certain book or concept. If I can, I will definitely try my best to help you out.

Hope you all had a good weekend!

P.S. I was supposed to be writing an essay this entire time (due tomorrow) but instead I'm here blogging about helping other people write their essays...how ironic. :P

If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it - T. Morrison

     When people ask me why I love writing so much, I find it weird. Why do people walk? Because it gives them access to something in the distance. It makes something that's far away appear in their hands. Why do people talk? Because it allows them to communicate with other people and release the thoughts trapped within the confines of their body. And why do people breathe? Because it's an action that is essential to their survival. It let's us relax and gives us energy.
     It seems like exaggeration but in all honesty, writing gives me all of that as well. When there are fantastic worlds alive in my imagination, writing allows me to walk inside those worlds. It lets me pick up an object that was far away, examine it, and understand what I feel when holding it. I'm able to create something real out of absolutely nothing just by writing about where I've walked to.
     When you watch movies or read stories about places, characters, and a time period that takes your breath away, don't you wonder how on earth did someone come up with this? Different dimensions of beauty, terror, and life exist all around us, but they are not visible to the human eye. The grand hallways of Hogwarts and the roaming hills of Middle-earth would have never been seen if Rowling and Tolkien had not picked up their pens and written about them. Writing is the way in which someone can hold your hand and lead you into a hollow tree they have discovered, introduce you to the curious species of Nargles, or take you pear-picking in the kingdom of Genovia. 
     Whether it's in today's society or a century prior, writing has served the purpose of providing an escape. A beautiful release from the knots of reality. It's a tool; much like painting, playing music, or baking. We do it to let go of frustrations. We do it to take the emotions from within us and push them out of our bodies. If they're good emotions, we want them to make us glow and for world to see. If they're bad, we want to purify ourselves of them. Either way, these tools help us unwind, breathe, and inch towards our emotional homeostasis.
     We have all experienced wondrous magic at the hands of literature. For that we need to thank the writers who did not lose the objects of their imaginations to the realm of nothingness. We need to thank them for the time and effort they spent and all the rejection they faced. Without literature, how would we realize that we are all so similar in various different ways? It's hard for me to explain how much writing is a part of me or how it dragged me out of turmoil numerous times. I can't describe the elation I feel when my pen scrapes a word onto paper or when my fingers translate my thoughts onto a screen. It's one of those indescribable things that can only be felt to be understood. All I know is, if there is a story to be told, I need to tell it and if there is a thought that wants to be set free, this is the way to do it. 
     I love writing; it's a part of who I am. Without it, I would be a shell of a person, with a million thoughts rattling inside begging to escape. And really...who wants to be a human maraca?

Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. - Anton Chekhov