First Kiss

"So where are your parents?” Christina asked.

 

  “They went out for supper ‘to give the kids some space’” he mimicked a woman’s voice, “Thank goodness for that; don’t need them embarrassing me in my first week. I’ve barely settled in as it is,”

  “I think you’ve settled in just fine,”

  He laughed and then pulled her backwards before jumping on onto the bed. They lay side by side talking about school and their lives in general. Jacob told her all about his life in Britain, even accounting the time he met The Queen, on a school visit.

 

  “We should get back to the party,” Cristina said, sitting up and glanced at the clock on the bedside table, “Your friends are all here to see you and I’m stealing you away,”

  “Five more minutes,” he chuckled.

  Without warning, he sat up and faced her. He took her face in his hands.

  “You’re perfect,” he whispered.

  She felt her cheeks going bright red, matching the colour of her lips at the beginning of the night.

  “I mean it, you are”

  And he pressed his lips to hers. There was no one left in the world as far as she was concerned. It was just her and Jacob, alone, in the moment. Time seemed to stop, all sounds ceased, bar the sound of Christina’s heart racing. Christina’s eyes were closed and she was captured in for life. She was never letting go.

  Her lips parted and made way for a more intense kiss. Christina felt as if she couldn’t breathe and yet it was so comfortable and pleasant. Too soon, he pulled away from her. She heard him chuckle and then she felt his weight leave the bed. She opened her eyes to see him with one had extended. She took his hand and allowed him to help her off the bed.

 

“By G-d, you’re beautiful,” he kissed the tip of her nose, “’Kay, we can go now,” he laughed.

  The sound was like the sweetest music ever played.

Disappointment

The Oxford dictionary defines it as “sadness or displeasure caused by the non-fulfilment of one’s hopes or expectations”. A good friend of mine states that it is “the look a loved one gives you when you’ve done something wrong.” Personally, I can describe disappointment in a different way. Picture that moment when you’re sitting at school or at work and suddenly you hear the last few words you would ever expect to hear.

The world entered 2013 with the words “it was all one big lie”. These words were spoken by Lance Armstrong to Oprah Winfrey in an exclusive interview on his career after being accused of doping in late 2012. By December 2012, you could not walk a meter in the streets without hearing debates on whether Lance Armstrong was in fact a fake or not. Whether those who argued in his defence or whether those who suspected that the accusations where correct, the shock felt throughout the world when Armstrong confessed was mutual. Fans and supporters all shared the same feeling of utter disappointment at the thought that their idol, the one person who they looked up too, was faking the whole time.

A more recent story with a similar outcome is the current saga involving the late South African model, Reeva Steenkamp and her boyfriend, Olympian Oscar Pistorius who allegedly shot Steenkamp in the early hours of February 14, 2013. Trials are currently underway where the court will decide whether the death of Steenkamp was premeditated murder or whether, as Pistorius has stated, it was an accidental shooting. Pistorius claims to have mistaken Steenkamp as an intruder and had felt vulnerable as he is a double amputee.

This story too caused an up roar in South Africa. Stories are now being uncovered, allegations being made and rumours being started. Although the truth has been distorted due to media sensationalism, one thing is for sure - the entire nation is feeling true disappointment.

Nobody knows who to trust anymore. Nobody knows who to look up too.

If you used to look up to Lance Armstrong, you don’t anymore – nobody wants to look up to a liar.

If you used to look up to Oscar Pistorius, you are questioning that – nobody wants to look up to a killer.

Even something as simple as hearing the fact that Justin Bieber was caught smoking weed is a disappointment. How can we choose role models now days when you feel as if everyone who you look up too ends up making these huge mistakes? Everything in the media is sensationalised to the point that you can no longer believe anything that anybody says unless it is direct from the source.

To me, besides the obvious disappointments of discovering that the person who you idolise is actually a fake, or a “bad man” as some are putting it, there is another, greater disappointment to be realised from these stories.

What kind of a world do we live in that we can’t even have a public role model without the media “leaking” something viscous about them? What kind of a world do we live in that our role models become so obsessed with the idea of fame that they assume that they are above the law?  What kind of people are we that we no longer believe in “innocent until proven guilty”?

Yes, our world is full of disappointments – and that is the biggest disappointment of all.

PS, I Miss You

Losing somebody that you love sucks. And I’m not talking about a loved one dying here. No, I’m talking about those times where you talk to somebody, twenty-four seven, for weeks at a time and then one day, it just stops. Suddenly there are no more late night conversations resulting in either one or both of you falling asleep without saying goodnight, only to wake up the next morning and continue that conversation as if nothing had ever happened. Suddenly life just becomes too busy, too hectic and your relationship suffers because of that. But why does a relationship have to suffer just because of external circumstances such as school, work or a new relationship that has been formed. Why does one person always get left feeling like the other one has simply moved on and forgotten them?

I lost him - to school. It all just became too much with the tests and exams – and me leaving for seven weeks hurt us even further, possibly to the point where it cannot be repaired. But surely, if we both wanted it, we could repair the relationship in a flash, as if nothing ever happened, as if, just like with a late night conversation, we were to ‘wake up’ and continue the conversation as if nothing had ever happened. But in order for that to work, both parties need to be on board, and unfortunately, in my situation and probably in most of these situations, one party is either unable or simply unconcerned with rekindling the dwindled flame.

Now, this I say directly to the person, should he realise that this entire article is dedicated to him. I realise that this whole situation is out of your hands and I do not blame you in any way. But I do miss you and I wonder if you miss me too, or if I’m an old chapter in your life – a chapter that you have long since read, experienced and now forgotten. Have you moved on, left me in the past? I hope not. I understand that you are swamped with work – so am I. but I just need to see something to show that you still care, even if it’s that you still care about what once was, not what will be.

I’m not about to play the blame game. I realise that it was my actions too, that caused the separation. But I’m making an effort now, I’m trying to change. Maybe I’m trying to change fate – and maybe that is impossible.

Just remember, when it’s late at night and you’re falling asleep, that I am thinking of you and that way, you will be thinking of me too.

Non-Conformist Lover

Being a sixteen year old girl there are many clichés that go through my mind on a daily basis; my weight, fashion, celebrity gossip and most importantly, boys. Now those people who have read my poems or short stories will know that I am completely in love with the idea of being in love. But just so that the people who don’t know me know, I have actually never been in a relationship before. How’s that - A sixteen year old in this modern-day society who has never been a relationship and has never been kissed by a boy. Hard to believe that those types of people still exist…

Whenever we are told to write a creative piece we are always told “Write from what you know” or “use previous experiences to make it more realistic”. Well how can I be such a good English student – and I am in no way trying to come off as narcissistic, but my marks do back me up – when I do not have the experience to back my stories? In honest truth, I try and avoid writing about love for school at all costs. Not that I can’t write about it, I just try and avoid the topic of love within the school environment – it’s simply too personal to share with some of my teachers, it just causes and awkward atmosphere with the teachers. 

That isn’t even the point I’m trying to get to, it’s just some background about me and some insight into my mind and how it works. Now to the real point.

I have never experienced love, how can I write love stories? How can so many of my poems, songs and even the book that I am in the process of writing, be based on something that I have never felt before? The honest truth is that I feel things on a different level to most other people. When I read a love story, I fall in love along with the main character. When people approach me with relationship advice, I relate, understand and sympathise – and then I can help them by guiding them and hopefully resolve the issue at hand.

It’s not that I’ve physically experienced it, but I have experienced it, on a different level. I relate to love, I understand love, I have loved and I love today. I love writing, I love my family, I love my creativity, I love my uniqueness. I even loved a boy once – that didn’t end well.

So yes, you have to write based on experience, but who defines what that experience must be. Just because I’ve never had a boyfriend, kissed a guy, been in love and gotten it back doesn’t detract from the other experiences that I have with love. Who dictates that love must be a common relationship, boy meets girl, they fall in love and live happily ever after. And yes, that may be what I do write about, but I’ve never experienced it. I write about the type of love that I write in order to experience that kind of love. But I don't mind that I haven't had those experiences, my day will come. And I’m happy with the experiences that I have had.

I’ve experienced love in my own, unique ways – and I’m proud of that.

 

I am proud of who I am and what I have achieved.

I am proud of what I write.

 

I am proud of being a non-conformist lover.

What Most People Don’t Know

Being a writer and avid blogger, I feel that it is important for people to know who I am and what I’m about. So this is a list of things that I’m pretty sure most people don’t know about me.

I am a writer- a lot of people who I meet will never know just how serious I am about my writing.

I like Justin Bieber, and secretly, I guess I probably liked his all along.

I dye my hair on a regular basis. At the time I am writing this, I am rocking purple hair.

I wish I had an infinity tattoo on my wrist, but my religion says I’m not allowed to.

I’m clumsy. I fall A LOT! I have over eighteen scars just on the lower halves of my legs.

Because I am so clumsy, I have a fear of heights. Not so much the actual height, but more the fear of falling off of wherever the high place is.

I do not fear death, however I do fear pain. But once I have pain, I can cope with it pretty well.

I like Coke, not Pepsi. And Cream Soda can taste like plastic to me sometimes.

I am sixteen and I have barely lived my life.

I can’t wait to get out of high school and finally start studying what I actually care about.

I’m not a fan of big crowds of people that I know. Stick me in a crowd of people that I’ve never met and I’m a-for-away but if I know the people, chances are I’d rather be at home with a book or piece of paper and a pen.

I don’t have a ‘style’ of music – I’ll give anything a try.
I’m scared of spiders… very scared.
I can love easily, but I can also be pissed off easily.
Without writing, I don’t think I would cope with life.

So obviously I can’t fit everything in, and a girl has to have some secrets to fall back on. Feel free to get to know me by emailing me or following me on twitter, username @kezz_w

Ambiguous Acclamations

If you want the definition of popularity, here’s a website that you can go to - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Popularity

Yes, our trusty friend, Wikipedia. But quite honestly, I’m not in the mood for definitions. I want answers. Who defines what popularity is? (And obviously I’m not referring to a literal definition here.) What defines it?  What makes one person more ‘eligible’ than the next? That makes one opinion more valuable than the next? Why do some receive recognition where it is not due and some never receive recognition where they should?

I’ve never been a ‘popular’ child – and that’s fine by me. Think about the typical stereotype of the ‘popular’ school child; thin, pretty, loved by everyone, etcetera etcetera.  But we see such a contrast in the real world. The ‘popular’ girls are mean, look down on others, pitying the fact that others aren’t and never be as spectacular as they are. And regarding the whole ‘thin and pretty’ crap; ‘thin’ generally means an unhealthy dietary plan or an eating disorder – again a stereotype, but sadly, often a true one – and ‘pretty’ can often be removed with a make-up wipe. Popular kids are often the ones who are willing to take risks and go behind their parents’ backs by drinking or smoking underage, and lying about where they are or their plans. They are the poor souls who get caught up by peer-pressure and trying to be ‘cool’.

Personally, I’d rather be healthy than cool, not have lie to my parents and not have to constantly worry about what people think. Even though I am convinced that I have paranoia, that is one thing that doesn’t bother me – I don’t judge others therefore it shouldn’t matter how others judge me. Judging is for a judge, and last time I checked, very few sixteen year olds have their degree in law.

But seriously, why would you want to be that person. What are the real perks of being popular? You’re constantly in the eye of just about every person, being judged no matter where you go. You are constantly being pressured into doing things that you would rather not do, for fear of being thrown out the group. You are constantly looked at by all the perverted boys that are way too beneath the real you and what you deserve. What is good about being looked at and treated like a piece of meat? How does that make a person feel good in any way?

No, I’m not popular. I’m too busy writing this post to take time out to go drinking. I love myself too much to lower my standard because somebody said it would make me ‘cool’. I care too little about people whose only interest is to watch me, judge me and then flaunt my flaws to comply to their ‘norms’. 

I have my own agenda and my own way of living. I don’t dictate what you’ll do and you don’t dictate what I do. It’s as simple as that.

Perfection

  “Oh my G-d! We’re late!” she suddenly said, looking up the digital clock on the dashboard.

  “We’re so dead,” he chuckled, unstrapping himself and slipping out of the driver’s side. He came over and helped her out of the car, just like in the movies. In just a short amount of time, the space of one week, she felt that she had found the place where she belonged. She didn’t care that it was too perfect to be true, she just cared that this is what she had been looking for, for ten years. Somebody who would hold her and make all her troubles go away. Finally, her dreams and prayers had turned to a reality. A perfect reality. The problem with perfection is that it’s like a glass – bound to break at some point or another.

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Alone. That’s how I feel. Confused, angry, unwanted. So many emotions rushing through my head. How can I be so alive yet feel so dead inside. People just don’t understand my situation. They don’t relate. But of course, how could you? How many people have ever been in my situation?

Suddenly, the opportunity that I have been waiting weeks, months for, presents itself. Perfectly of it timed, wrapped in pretty wrapping paper and finished with a bow. He took everything I had going for me, everything that I ever loved, and killed it, in one, cold, hard motion. And I planned on getting revenge.

He stepped out of his car and I double checked to see that he was alone. Yes, I could not have asked for a better opportunity. This is it. My time is now.

Blinded by rage, hatred and anger, I lunge forward at my prey. My arms make contact, my hands

close in like it’s a natural instinct. I can feel a slight resistance, but I know it’s not him. Subconsciously, I know that it is Amy, trying to stop me. But she cannot. Nobody can. And nobody can deny that he deserved everything that was coming for him.

“Let go,” I barely hear her, barely feel her pulling at my arms with all her might and strength, “he’s gone Cas, he’s gone, you can let go now,”

 

I snap out of it, stare blankly at what I have just done. He took everything away from me, took everything that I loved away from me. But now we’re even. I look into his glassy eyes for the last time before I walk away, knowing that it is over. I will never see him again. I have dealt with him. And now he is dead.

 

Revenge is best served cold. Just like his lifeless body.