What It Takes To Believe

Ok guys, you might be asking, "When the hell is DK going to write the continuation of Of Blood and Rain?" I'm really very sorry, but because of the gigantic heap of papers and laboratory reports that I need to work on, I still can't find the time to think of my plot for the next installment. Please bear with me! I promise I'll finish Of Blood and Rain! Soon, I hope!

Anyway, this is going to be the very first horror/mystery/suspense story that I'm going to be posting on this blog. Actually, this wasn't completely my work. My partner and I wrote this story for our English paper. I hope you guys would like it!

He never believed in werewolves.

The sun commanded power over the vast empty sky. Heat reigned. Even in the forest. Hot winds wafted through the thickness of Firs, Cicadas, and Pines, taking fleets of leaves into the brown dampness of the forest floor. As if startled by the intense heat, brittle twigs crackled—snapped—collapsed into the ground. The day was rather fair for him though. It was a fine day for hunters…for him and his father—skilled hunters both.

Rivulets of sweat trickled down the contours of his manly countenance as he helped his father load their bountiful catch of rabbits into an old, worn-out flour sack. He carried the sack upon his right shoulder, the back part of his vermilion-stained arm exposed to the sun. There must be something about dried blood glistening under the sunlight, for when the vermilion stains caught his eyes, they evoked a clandestine desire in him, which was absurd and unexplainable. Perhaps all hunters were meant to feel this desire, he mused. “You know, son, the werewolves in this village are always in urgent need of blood and flesh to feast on. So you better wipe the bloodstains off your arm,” his father said in a low, warning tone that broke his thoughts. “Werewolves are but myths concocted by old wives in their hours of sheer boredom. You needn’t pay any heed to them,” he replied nonchalantly. “Oh but they ARE real, my boy. And should you come upon one of those beasts whose eyes glimmer a deadly scarlet glow under the silver light of the full moon, you mustn’t hesitate. Kill him! For though he may be a man, he shall lose his humanity to the lycanthrope’s extreme lust for flesh and blood. Therefore, at all costs, don’t let him inflict any wound on you!” The young hunter could only snicker at his father’s warnings.

He never believed in werewolves.

If at day the sun is domineering in its regal stature, at night the moon is king. The dark sky, which held hues of black, violet, and gray, could only bow so low to the moon whose majesty illuminates the heavens. Cool winds whistle melancholic tunes into the serenity of the night. The evening air is icy. Even the forest trees shiver from the cold, cold reign of the moon.

He found it very ironic that the proud hunters of his village, though completely geared with their loaded rifles and sharpened daggers, would easily be overwhelmed with fear upon hearing the ghastly howl of a lone wolf at night. As they made camp deep in the heart of the forest for this week’s evening hunt, he could clearly see, with the sharp, watchful eyes of a hunter, how fear would taunt with their features. Brows creased in a frown that showed panic more than vigilance. Beads of sweat trickling slowly down their contorted faces as their bodies grew numb. Burly warrior hands trembling like that of a sick puppy as they clung desperately to their weapons. Dark, raven pupils dilating as the eyes widened in pure horror. It was as if the pride and reputation that they have been trying to uphold over the years suddenly crumbled like leaves against a harsh autumn wind.

“Even you guys are afraid of werewolves?” He asked, breaking the stillness of the night with a voice that held both exasperation and disbelief. When the men remained silent, he decided to continue, “My father also believed that there are cursed men who transform into werewolves when touched by light radiated by the full moon. According to him, they lust for nothing more than flesh and blood…I bet he was also the one who convince you guys into believing that werewolves exist!” Suddenly, one of the hunters spoke, “You never took your father’s warnings seriously, did you?” Upon hearing this, he smirked, his dark, green eyes gleaming with the precariousness of youth as he replied, “Why would I? Unlike you older people, I believe only in what I see. And even if these beasts really did exist—which I seriously believe is impossible—there’d be nothing to worry about. I’ll just have to kill him.” The middle-aged hunter narrowed his gray eyes into slits as he cautioned, “You should know better, young man, than to think that your hunting skills are enough protection against lycanthropes. You can hunt well like your father, but that alone isn’t enough. Don’t get too cocky. Remember that the reason why your father lets you go night hunting with us every week is to hone your still unpolished skills…to prepare you for the evils that lurk in the forest.”

Then, there it was again. The ghastly howl of the wolf. The fear that overwhelmed them. And his voice, once again breaking the silence ensued by fear, “Where is my father? He should be back here with firewood by now. I’ll go look for him.” And before the others could stop him, he’d already ventured deeper into the woods.

The forest air was humid and stale. The icy winds were ruthless. As he hurriedly ran through the gigantic tree, which were like shadows looming over him, the leaves’ guttation in the night had dampened his clothes. He stopped in his tracks. When he heard the crackling of leaves and twigs behind him, he knew. Someone had been following him. No, no, certainly not his father, for his hunter instincts told him otherwise. He turned around, only to look into the eyes of a beast. The color of blood! Dangerous. Deadly. When the werewolf leaped on him, he barely escaped. He scampered away to hide behind a fir tree. With panic swelling inside him, he loaded his rifle with quivering hands. He could hear the werewolf’s furious growl getting louder and louder, rhythmically pacing up with his unsteady heartbeat. Just a little more, he thought as a plan formulated itself on his mind. Just a little nearer and I’ll be able to…! Then, when the horrid face of the beast emerged into view, he swiftly held up his rifle and aimed the bullet right into the beast’s chest. A loud unnerving BANG reverberated across the forest.

On the ground, his father’s body lay, sprawled in a pool of blood. His chest was heaving laboriously for breath, his once clear emerald orbs turning cloudy, his once strong hands limp on his sides. “F-Father?” He couldn’t believe it! All this time, the werewolf that for him only existed in tales was his own father. The village’s greatest hunter. The one who never failed to end his day with warnings about lycanthropes.

His father, mustering all the remaining strength he had, whispered, “I’m glad…that your hunting skills have now improved. I…wouldn’t want to die in the hands of other hunters. To die in your competent hands—in my son’s hands—was the only thing this cursed man could hope for…! Thank you, my son, and forgive me for this curse…” Then, closing his eyes, he succumbed into eternal sleep.

The young hunter could only weep. He had killed his father, a werewolf, but his own father nevertheless.

Suddenly, the truth of his father's curse weighed down on him. He looked at his arms , now darkening with thick rough hair. Then, he raised his hands in the air and under the gentle glow of the moon, he saw that his fingers had turned so calloused, his nails so long and claw-like. Exactly like that of a beast whose eyes glimmer a deadly scarlet glow.

And that was when he started believing in werewolves.

My Own Private World!

Hey ya'll! It's been so long since I've last updated! Well, blame it on the tremendous amount of homework and long tests our teachers have been dumping (literally) on us. I know I should be posting the second part of my story, "Of Blood and Rain," but this idea kept on bugging me that if I didn't post it, I know I'd go crazy! Please bear with me! Thank you so much! :-)

In the farthest right corner of the house lies my own private world—my bedroom. Whenever I set my feet onto its cool, wooden floor, I would always feel its warm, cozy aura enveloping me, relieving me of all the stress and fatigue that came from a long, exhausting day in school. I would always be greeted by the two amber-colored bookshelves that proudly hold my collection of novels, volumes of Japanese comic books translated in Chinese, and educational tomes. Somehow, they would always motivate the aspiring writer in me to discover some other unique ways of expressing feelings and weaving stories.

Then, the queen-sized mahogany bed that once belonged to my parents would always be there, stretched across the heart of my room, beckoning me to just lie down on its soft mattress and drown all my problems in deep slumber. The rows of stuffed animals, figurines, and picture frames displayed on each of the two bedside tables that flanked my bed, meanwhile, have never failed to rekindle memories of childhood, of friendships forged in my elementary and high-school days, and of the countless quality times spent with family.

The burnished narra furniture facing my bed, which consists of a cabinet and a chest of drawers, and the wooden dresser (complete with a mirror) standing in the farthest right corner of my room, complemented perfectly with the light salmon color of the walls. It is in them where I kept all the things that are of value to me—they are like treasure chests, each holding something that can reveal a part of who I am!

Then again, I would always find myself loving my gray study desk the most! The reason for that lies in the fact that the study desk pretty much defines my artsy, creative side. It is in its drawers where I placed my journals, scrapbooks, photo albums, sketch pads, art materials, and collections of beautiful artworks by manga artists. Also, with its position facing the window to the right of my bed, it can always give me a glimpse of the outside world while I am studying, writing, or drawing. Even the Panasonic television set on top of my narra furniture is no match for the beautiful, cerulean expanse of the sky at daylight and the silver glimmer of the stars at night.

With all these comforts offered to me by my own bedroom, I can simply be myself. I can laugh myself silly; I can cry my heart out; I can sing gibberish…I can do just about anything, and nobody shall have any say about it, since this is MY room. MY world!

It is my very own sanctuary of peace and comfort. It is the keeper of my memories and secrets, the realm of my hopes and dreams.

Of Blood and Rain Part 1

The clash of metal against metal reverberated sharply across the village as the war between the Iga and Koga clan began. Shinobis from the two opposing forces started slaughtering one another with an unparalleled brutality triggered by the intense animosity that has been pent up in their hearts for centuries. With the peace treaty nullified, the Koga clan had decided to wage a war against their rival clan not only to bring about its complete annihilation, but also to gain the staunch support of the Tokugawa shogunate for the next thousand years.

The horrible, nauseating smell of blood, smoke, and gunpowder was getting worse as the number of the dead increased. A thick, dismal fog seemed to have engulfed the whole battlefield hours ago, though neither side cared. All that mattered to them was tearing one another apart.

For honor and pride, they'd fight. For hatred and retribution, they'd kill. For glory and reputation, they'd win.

"Only one will be known as the most dominant ninja clan in Japan, and that will be the Koga clan!" An enemy ninja shouted as he jumped to deliver one powerful blow on Setsuna's shoulders, but when his katana came into contact with his target's body, it only puffed into smoke.

"Shit! It's just a fake!" When he turned around, he felt six shurikens piercing through diferrent parts of his torso. I can't believe I fell for a simple Kawarimi technique...!

Setsuna looked apathetically at the Koga nin's body, which was sprawled lifeless on the ground. If he did feel a tinge of guilt for killing, he didn't--wouldn't--show it. As one of the elite, top-ranking ninjas of the Iga clan, he mustn't exhibit any form of weakness or let emotions get the better of him, for doing so would lead to none other than his demise, as well as the clan's. Now that a war had ensued, there would be no turning back. He would fight to the finish, even if his callused hands would end up soaked in blood once again. Even if he'd have the same fate as his other comrades and die in action.

Heaving a sigh, he looked up only to find forty more ninjas heading towards his platoon's direction. "Iga-Sempuu team! Get ready for a counterattack! On my signal!" Setsuna ordered, earning a shout of affirmation from the ninjas under his command. "GO!!!"

His best friend Raiha, who is the vice-captain of the platoon, gave him a backslap as he smirked and said, "It appears that your reputation had made our platoon a favorite target, Setsu."

"Just shut up and help, Raiha," Setsuna mumbled grudgingly, his dark brown eyes narrowing into slits as he glared dangerously at an enemy ninja whose katana clashed with the kunai he held in his right hand. When the ninja aimed for his head, Setsuna bent his head slightly to evade the attack and with godlike speed, he charged against the Koga-nin and slashed his abdomen in one sweeping stroke. When blood splattered on his right cheek, he barely flinched.

"Did you actually think I'd let you have these goons all for yourself? You've got to be kidding! I need some warm-ups too you know," Raiha said as he planted an uppercut on his opponent's chin and knocked him out-cold.

'If only someone knew how much I hate all this fighting...' Setsuna inwardly thought as he did rabbit punches on the two kunoichis who attempted on attacking him at the same time with their nunchakus.

After a few minutes, all forty ninjas lay on the blood-soaked ground, most of them dead.

"That was easy and boring," Raiha remarked, turning to Setsuna for agreement, but his friend only frowned and pointed at the raven soaring up in the sky that now held dark shades of gray and a few tints of blue. "That's the signal. "

"Yes. It's time." Setsuna took off the black cloth that concealed his head and face (except for his eyes), revealing short, dark-brown hair that perfectly matched the tinge of amber in his orbs. "I didn't expect that in the end, it would come to this."

"This is war after all, Setsu. It should come to this, so that we'd see once and for all which clan deserves the support of Tokugawa Hidetada. Or rather, which clan is more powerful," Raiha pointed out matter-of-factly as the whole Iga-Sempuu team jumped from one tree to the other and headed towards the Iga mountains where the battle between the head team of both clans is taking place.

"Is that the only thing we're fighting for? Glory in war? Power? Feh, what load of bullshit!" Setsuna balled his hands into fist and gritted his teeth. Is this the only reason why I kill and lie to myself that what I'm doing is making justice prevail?

"Then what is it that you're fighting for?" Raiha's question caught him offguard. "If it's to make ends meet, then that reason's bullshit too."

Ever since the day his parents died, he did nothing but train, fight, and eventually, kill. Yet he never asked himself why. Assassinations, espionage, war--they all make up his livelihood, his identity as a ninja, but as to why he chose to live this way, he didn't know. He never really contemplated about what he should be fighting for. Always, he told himself it is for the sake of the Iga clan, but it's all but a lie that he cooked up for himself in an attempt to stop the restlessness that haunt him every night. He isn't that heroic, nor is he that selfless.

"I...don't know." He finally answered, guilt and shame washing over him.

The vice-captain flashed one of his trademark smirks yet again. "Good. I don't know either. Let's figure that out together as we beat the living daylights out of those Koga-nins!"

Setsuna smiled. Raiha's right; they should just look for the right answer. "Then there's no turning back now. Bring it on!"

To be continued......

Just Myself

For me, it feels good to be needed, to be appreciated for what you do. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I'm walking alone to my next class, I couldn't help but feel the horrible, lingering pain of solitude numbing my senses, and before I could even realize, I'm starting to pity myself again. I couldn't be with all my course blockmates, because I was placed in a different Math and Filipino class. It's like being separated from the warmth and comfort of my home!

But then, during Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, my course blockmates, especially those who have become very close to me, are always there to remind me that I'm not alone. Yes, they would tease me about the way I laugh, or about the way I tend to exaggerate my actions sometimes, but I really don't mind at all. Because they made it perfectly clear that they acknowledge my existence--they made me feel loved and appreciated.

They say that they're very fond of my laughs because it's infectious. The way the sound of my laughter seems to resonate through the entire place, according to them, makes it so funny that they'd end up laughing with me. It gave me enough courage and confidence to think that I can also make them happy. And during those days when I'm not around, my close buddies say that they actually miss me!

Nobody has ever said that to me, even during my elementary and high school days. It made my heart flutter and my cheeks blush to hear that. Suddenly, I find myself wanting to make them happy...to make them laugh themselves silly even if that would mean making a fool of myself.

They made me see the world and its people in a different light. They were able to revive my already dying faith towards the inherent kindness that people held in them, thus encouraging me to explore the world more and make new friends. And so...even during Tuesdays and Thursdays, I'm not alone by myself anymore...

That was when I realized that I love them all! So much that perhaps I'd do anything, even the most idiotic thing, to see hearty smiles grace their faces, to hear their laughter, to rid themselves of their problems, and most of all, to set them free so that they can continue on loving the life and the world that they have even before I've entered into them...

Whether they love me or not doesn't matter anymore. They make me feel giddy with happiness with their crazy jokes and antics. They make me feel like I belong...that I have a place I could call my own. They appreciated me as who I am, not as who I can be.

With them, I can simply be myself. Without boundaries. Without pretenses. Just like my love for each and every one of them.

I love you, BS MAC Block QQ1!

Inner Musings

When I first entered the gates of the prestigious Ateneo de Manila University to undertake the four-year journey towards self-discovery and maturity that only college life can offer, I found myself feeling nervous, scared that the road ahead would be too rough and too cruel to bear. The fear of experiencing a fall suddenly came to me like a wave crashing on rocks. When I fall, will anyone from that sea of unfamiliar faces be there to help me up? I couldn’t help but barrage my mind with questions of doubts and insecurities, yet there was this one question that managed to drive away all my uncertainties and bring out the stubborn streak in me: if I kept on feeling so unsure of myself, how will I able to pursue my goals?

Then I realized something. Achieving our goals is but a matter of choice. It is really up to us whether we want to reach for the stars no matter how far away they are or to simply dream about the beauty they held in them. In the end though, only those people who went out of their way just to be able to get hold of the stars that held their aspirations will be deemed successful.

With this newfound notion in mind, I balled my hands into fist, and shouted with all the confidence I could muster, "I can do this!"

I don't care if it's hell that would break loose. All I know is that, I'll try my best to vanquish all the fear that may cloud my judgment, all the obstacles that may get in my way! Hell yeah!!!

Song of Truth

When I found myself standing on the cliff overlooking the village once again, I closed my eyes and sang my heart and soul's refrain...

Every night, I sing the words I couldn't say,
Hoping that there would come one day
When you'd just listen and hear me play...
This song of truth wherein my heart lay.

Though the leaves have already turned yellow
Falling endlessly on the meadow,
I'd always sit there singing in sorrow...
This song of truth as I waited for tomorrow.

Do you think of me as you wander about?
Are you willing to hear me out?
Do you know that I sing even in times of drought?
This song of truth saying "I love you" without a doubt?

If only...If only...

If only I could be brave and strong,
I wouldn't have been here all day long.
I would've looked for you as I sing this song...
This song of truth telling me that giving up is wrong!

Every night, I let my feelings travel the speed of sound, hoping that somehow, they will be able to reach you. Everybody deemed me foolish for wasting my time, for waiting for someone who would never come back again. But they didn't know anything about the promise made under the old cherry blossom tree, the ring that bound our hearts together as one. That magical moment, witnessed only by the gleaming stars in the night sky, made me feel like a bride melting under the intense gaze of her beloved, and it gave me enough courage to hope that I have a special place in your heart.

I remembered seeing you blush slightly as you placed a beautiful gold band on my left finger and whispered, "That diamond ring was my mother's. It's the only remembrance that I have of her, so I...want you to know that I'll be back for it." Your voice was unusually thick with emotions, and your onyx eyes looked into my hazel ones with an intensity like no other. It was as if you were afraid that I'll misinterpret your words, and that I won't be able to see what lies underneath them. Yet I have always understood you, because whenever you speak, your eyes tend to give away everything that your ego and pride wouldn't let you say out loud.

I gave you an assuring smile, and promised, "Don't worry, I'll take good care of it." The ring that held the memories of your mother, as well as your unspoken vow to come back to me.

It has already been four painfully long years since that beautiful night. There were times when I regretted not begging you to stay by my side, but I know that it was only right to let you go, to set you free so that you can look for the answers that you longed to seek. Only these answers will be able to get rid of the nightmares that haunt you every night, the restlessness that made your teenage life a living hell.

After taking one last look at the oldest cherry blossom tree in the whole village standing just a few feet away from me, I heaved a sigh and started to walk away, back to my cabin. Back to the place where I reflect on my sadness and solitude.

For four years, I've been alone, waiting, anticipating. There were a few friends who visited, but it was all because they only wanted to stop me from believing what I steadfastly did. They wanted me to leave this cabin and the cherry blossom tree, both of which held so many precious memories of our days as twelve-year-old swordfighting trainees, yet I never listened.

I titled my head upwards to look at the night sky. I caught a glimpse of a shooting star, its tail scintillating tiny sparks of silver and gold as it started to fall down. Closing my eyes, I clasped my hands together and wished silently. If only my song can make time open its unyielding gate, I'd go back in time and change the fate that has befallen upon us.

Suddenly, I felt tears falling down my cheek. I thought I told myself that I'd never cry, that I'd never be weak! I tried to wipe them away with the back of my hand, but the tears still continued oozing out of my eyes like waterfalls.

That was when I realized that I couldn't bear to wait nor hope any longer, for it hurts so much to be alone and be separated from the one person that has stolen away my heart. When you left, it was like you deprived me of all the warmth and happiness that I have inside me.

Pulling myself together, I headed towards the front door of the cabin and found it slightly ajar. If I remembered right, I did close the door properly before I left. I stepped into the cabin in stealth, a katana in my hand. Whoever he or she is, that person will pay for tresspassing into a swordswoman's territory, for intruding into my private world of silent mourning and isolation. I checked the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen, but there wasn't any sign of an intrusion--or the intruder. Perhap, in my desperate wish to go out and feel the evening zephyr against my skin, I really did forget close the door properly.

Slipping my left hand into my pocket, I fumbled for my keys and climbed up the stairs to my room, only to find its door unlocked. Bracing myself for a fight that might occur, I kicked my bedroom door open and demanded, "Who are you? What the hell are you--" I stopped in my tracks when the figure walked a few steps forward to reveal his face, which was, a while ago, cloaked by the shadows of the room. My whole body quivered with mixed emotions when he smirked and asked, "Were you crying?"

It was his deep voice, his handsome smirk. It was none other than the one who I've been trying to reach with my song. "Y-You're back. I-I can't believe it, you're back!!!" Without thinking, I threw myself into his arms, and let the tears that I've been suppressing earlier fall freely.

"Didn't I tell you I'd be back? You have something that is important to me, and you promised to take good care of it." Tentatively, he slid an arm around my waist.

"Oh...the ring! Here..." But just as I was taking the ring off my finger, he stopped my right hand and held it firmly.

"No, that's not what I meant." He frowned slightly, as if contemplating about what he should say next. Then, out of the blue, his dark raven orbs flicked with emotions that I've never seen before.

"But I thought you--"

"Listen to me. I've finally found the answers to my questions. I finally knew who killed my parents. I fought with that bastard...and I realized that revenge didn't really drive away the restlessness inside me. I didn't feel any accomplishment or satisfaction; just emptiness. I continued my journey after that, to understand something that I couldn't explain."

"What was that?"

"Actually, there was a voice in my mind that kept on nagging me to go back to the village because I'll be able to find the answer there. That was when I heard you sing...and it dawned on me that what I'm looking for has been right there in front of my eyes for so many years, but I was so concentrated on figuring out the identity of my parents' murderers that I failed to notice that." His eyes softened a little as he pulled my body even closer to his.

"What do you mean?" No, I didn't dare hope. I have to hear it from him.

"The song that your heart sings...is the same as mine, Kyoko. You have something that's important to me, and it's not the ring; the ring is a fragment of my past, and I learned that dwelling on the past is no good. It's your song of truth...your feelings...your love...that really keeps me going. It's like the light at the end of a tunnel, the thing that'll bring light to my future." Did he just say what I think he did? I can't believe it! It's like a dream come true...

Before his lips captured mine, I heard him murmur the words that I thought I would never get to hear, "Ai shite iru..."

It really does pay to wait...

DK's note: Hey ya'll! I can't believe I just wrote that! I was really in a good mood today, but somehow, my story turned out melodramatic. And the ending...yeah I know...it's kind of lame! :) I promise I'll do better next time! To those who don't know what "Ai shite iru" means, it's "I love you" in Japanese. :P

Oh yeah, I want to dedicate this story to one of my close friends. Her great, unconditional love for her special someone has never failed to inspire me to love and cherish what I have wholeheartedly! Just wait for a bit longer...and I'm sure he'll realize just how much you're really worth, girl! Otherwise...I'll be glad to personally give him a one-way ticket to hell!!!

My Alter-Ego

Back in my high-school days, when nothing seemed more important to me than undertaking the journey to self-discovery, I chanced upon a girl who had magically shed light on my inner self, which, ironically, was someone I find so hard to understand and explore. When we first met, she happily related the story of her life in middle school. It turned out that like me, she was also a teenager who couldn’t help but barrage herself with questions about who she really is, how she should run her life, and other anxieties that easily find themselves in a young, adolescent mind. She was like my own reflection in the mirror, and as I see more and more of myself in her, I suddenly find myself listening to the tale of a life that is just as much mine as it is hers. Time passed, and it was only after she had finished that I realized that we came from two different worlds: I have been living my everyday life in a world of reality for nearly fifteen years; she had going through hers in a comic book.

Shizuku Tsukishima is the main character of Mimi wo Sumaseba, or Whispers of the Heart, a manga (Japanese comic book) created by Aoi Hiiragi. When I first read the first few pages, I was so amazed by the striking resemblance in our interests, goals, values, and principles in life. Her ardent passion for novels and other works of art, her dream of weaving her creativity and imagination into words that could touch people’s hearts, her way of exploring her own forte and weakness, and her determination to find out her own definition of life completely parallels my own. Then, as I went on further, I realized that Shizuku and I happened to have the same personality—shy yet outgoing, cheerful but discreet, down-to-earth but creative, stubborn yet sensitive—thus making me feel like the author had delved deep into my soul first before she started working on the manga. Rather than doing extensive research on the latest fashion trends and celebrity gossips, we both reflect much about everyday life as how we see it and write stories in our spare time. Like any typical teen, we hate being pressured to do something we don’t want just because we are expected to, even though sometimes, we couldn’t help but just “go with the flow” simply because we either lack confidence in ourselves or wish to avoid trouble. Like her, I am the type of girl who considers libraries, bookstores, and trinket shops as better hangouts than malls, discos, and arcades; the kind of student who gives her all to excel even if that would mean going through sleepless nights and jeopardizing her health. She has been her close friends’ good listener and sounding board, and coincidentally, so was I.

Then again, the fact that her obsession for literature, her persona, her preferences, and her way of thinking were just about the same as mine didn’t really matter all that much as these are, for me, just superficial qualities that can be overlooked. It was the doubts and insecurities she had felt, the obstacle and challenges she had faced, the adversities and struggles she had overcome, and the life lessons she had used to build her character further that really brought me closer to her, because all of what she had experienced were like reminiscences of my own. I could almost feel the pages of the manga coming to life, turning my reading experience into a trip down memory lane.

Just as how the life of a student isn’t just about showing a good persona, making friends, finishing one’s homework, getting high grades, and having fun during weekends, the time came for Shizuku to confront and fight her own demons. While she reveled in the courage and dedication her friend Seiji had in pursuing his aspiration to become a master in violin crafting, she felt shame washing over her for not having enough guts to discover the extent of her capabilities. She has always been so unsure of her own abilities, and she hated herself for that. Then, like the flick of a switch, an idea struck her. She should try penning a novel of her own to know if she had what it takes to become a writer someday! She knew it was going to be very difficult to devote much of her energy and time to write since it would surely affect her studies; nevertheless, she must set aside all her worries and push through her writing project despite her parents’ and her friends’ protest.

Well, something like that happened to me too. It was the time when I decided to join the English and Chinese essay writing contest held in our school annually for the third time.

Like Shizuku, writing is my ruling passion, and even though I have failed to garner first, second, or third place in the contest for two years straight, I still wanted to give it a shot. For some reason, I needed to prove to myself as well as to everyone that I have a potential in creating beauty and meaning out of words, or else I’d keep on berating myself about why I didn’t grasp the chance and let some minor setbacks get to me. When the teacher decided to let me represent the class together with the second placer of last year’s contest, I tried to drive away all feelings of uncertainty and managed a small smile of relief and gratitude. But I wasn’t prepared for what would happen next. Some of my classmates started casting weird glances at me, and I accidentally heard one of them muttering about how a girl like me who hadn’t won a single recognition award in writing shouldn’t even think of joining. I know that I shouldn’t let her harsh words get the better of me, but being the sensitive fool that I still am, I couldn’t just let it pass. What she said hit me hard, shook my whole system, and before I knew it, I was already blubbering and blaming myself for not backing out. It was at that moment when a voice somewhere deep in my heart screamed for me to pull myself together, give the incident little or no thought, and set my priorities straight. As I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand, it suddenly dawned on me that it was pathetic of me to wallow in regret and self-pity, because there was nothing wrong in wanting to prove that I can now write better essays than before and to learn more about myself through writing. Nervousness and insecurities aside, the stubborn streak in me was determined to show them what I’m really made of.

After finishing her debut novel, Shizuku finally learned something about what she should do with her life. For one, she still needed to get high grades in middle school to be able to enter a prestigious high school where she could hone her still unpolished writing skills even further. Suddenly, she felt herself gaining a new level of confidence, because now, she had already left the crossroad of her life to set her feet onto the same path Seiji took when he went to Italy to study as an apprentice under a professional violinmaker for two months—the road to ambitions and dreams.

Likewise, I was also able to get my happy ending—I was awarded the first place for my English essay and the third place for my Chinese. Even before the results were announced, I had already felt like a winner—not because I was sure that my essays would be chosen as one of the three best works, but simply because I listened to my heart, just like Shizuku did. I was able to discover the fact that my writing skills have improved but still needs a lot of polishing; moreover, I was able to get to know the writer and the artist in me who finally had enough confidence to step out of the shadows to show everybody that memorizing and studying aren’t the only things nerdy honor students are good at. The only difference was that, instead of having someone like Seiji for inspiration, I got my classmates’ unpleasant glances and insulting remarks to thank for.

By the time I reach college, I would have already outgrown Shizuku, because just as life in her world becomes stationary every time the book is closed, life in mine will still go on its natural course, and growing up is part of the whole process. At least, that was what I thought two years ago.
Two years have already passed, and even as I am already living the first year of my college life, I could still find my alter ego smiling back at me whenever I look at myself in the mirror. I realized that I haven’t fully grown up yet, and we are still the same rough, ordinary-looking stones that need several more meaningful years of careful polishing and refining just so the gems inside would surface and glimmer in a beautiful variety of colors.

We do differ in one thing though: just as the story of her life ended when she had already chosen her path, mine simply opened up to a new beginning.