Tales

I Love to Hate, I Hate to Love

Assignment: Comparison/Contrast Essay

I could not stop thinking about him.

He consumed my thoughts. Every morning during Chemistry, I stared at the back of his sleek, combed brown hair and watched his habitual pen tapping while he paid attention to the teacher’s lecture. Every band session I listened to the rhythm of the music enforced by his drum set, the thump-thump-thump of the drumsticks coinciding with the pounding in my heart. During lunch, his spirited laughter could always be heard from my table several rows down. At night, he invited himself into my dreams, always present with a smile.

But these dreams were more like nightmares…

I hated him. Absolutely detested him.

My friends always joked about my obsession over him. “Just admit that you’re in love with him,” they would say as they winked at each other and giggled. “Your eyes follow him like hungry puppy eyes lusting for a delicious dinner.” But they were wrong. All of them. Yes, I did lust after him; I lusted for his demise.

Yes, I did appear to love him if judged by my outward actions. I always smiled in his presence and spoke to him as I would with any other guy friend. But inside, I seethed. I had reigned in this school before his arrival; fellow classmates had always approached me for homework help, and I had starred in every musical performance since entering into the school. All this stardom belonged only to me – until he appeared two months ago; he with the fancy car and “charming” smile and “incomparable” brain.

There is a thin line between love and hate. Everything in this world has two sides, one to balance out the other. The yin and the yang, as you might refer to it. There exists a delicate balance between the positive love and the negative hate, an almost indistinguishable line that separates the two emotions. It was this thin line that my friends failed to notice during their analysis. The similarities between the two emotions overshadowed the differences.

When you love somebody dearly, the image of that person constantly lingers in your mind. When you hate somebody bitterly, the image of that person also haunts your thoughts.  His presence never fully departs from your side. When you see somebody strangely muttering to himself or constantly flipping her hair back, you recall the similar idiosyncrasies of the one you love or hate. The habit may seem cute or detestable depending on your feelings toward that person. For me, I felt severe aggravation as every morning the pen went ta-ta-ta on the wooden desk. Every. Single. Morning.

The feelings of hate and love consume the entire mind and body. Your body reacts whenever you see that person; whether you’re writhing in the hot fires of deep loathing or aching with the loving desire to embrace the person tightly. These passions drive people to the ultimate lengths to accomplish the ultimate deed. Rape, murder – they can all be accomplished in the name of love and hate. Consumed by these emotions, all rationality seems to be of utter unimportance.

However, I controlled myself though. In hate and love, one must learn to suppress her emotions until the appropriate occasion. Possessing such a strong emotion makes one especially vulnerable to losing self-composure. Even though I felt that sending a punch to his nose would have been an efficient way to release some of my dislike, I suppressed those desires and smiled at him instead. Having desires is also a part of love – desire for union with the beloved’s heart and body. But those desires must also be suppressed until a more appropriate occasion as to preserve the respectable reputation of both parties.

Yes, I scorned the inability of my friends to understand what seemed so clear to me. How could they confuse the negativity of my hatred with the positive feeling of love? Yes, the characteristics of the two are similar, but different facial expressions and tone of voice accompany the two different emotions. I had learned how to lift up my eyes to create the perfect fake smile and transformed my wavering, bitter tone of voice to a more pleasant sound.

No one could have ever guessed.

Closet Inside Out

Assignment: Convey a Tone

I slowly gazed around the little space allotted to me with dread. Miscellaneous articles of clothing littered the floor, making movement extremely difficult; a white sweatshirt tainted with red tomato sauce blatantly positioned itself by the door; socks lay underneath the bed, filthy, pungent socks that had not seen the light of day for many weeks; sweat-drenched t-shirts now dried still retained their powerful stench-there was no escape. A pair of grass-stained jeans reclined lazily against the dust-filmed base of the floor lamp; a pair of long-forgotten slippers from a previous dance lay by the window corner.

As I hesitantly advanced into the dwellings, something cold and slimy slithered across my bare feet, and I recoiled quickly in alarm. I gaped speechlessly as the green monster indolently made its way to the pile of musty-yellow newspapers, documents dulled by the constant sunlight glaring down. It hissed menacingly as its twisting, pliable body settled among the muddle of papers. More newspapers and posters enveloped the wallpapered walls, obscuring the original floral etches; the papers hung and taped to the wall irrationally and in no clear order; several black and white portraits that hung askew looked precariously close to plummeting to the floor.

The heavy, dreary pea-green curtains were drawn open, allowing the lights to play around on the opposite wall; one stray ray shone upon the leather loveseat sofa in the corner-people were not the only ones enchanted by its allure. Thick woolen skirts and silky dresses struggled in a constant fight over domination of the couch, flagrantly spreading themselves out on the leather field; each day brought more wrinkles to the two opposing armies; baseball caps and cotton bonnets and felt derbies struggled to be seen among the suffocating sea of multi-colored scarves, relentless pieces of woven cotton and wool that crowded around in large gatherings. Even the brown wooden chair and the brown wooden desk were not spared; black and white nylon stockings wrapped themselves around the back of the chair, while highlighters and markers and crayons and note cards and 12-inch rulers and Elmer’s glue and mechanical pencils and erasable pens and paper bag-covered textbooks and loose-leaf notebook paper sprawled the premises of the desk.

A gust of wind blew in, lifting several sheets off the top of the pile and scattering them onto the grubby t-shirts below. As I watched the papers float to the floor, I heard something rattle overhead; I raised my head and came across a vast model of the solar system concealing most of the ceiling, with the sun and the planets and even the moons making appearances. Adjacent to the sun dangled a six foot long cardboard skeleton and his female companion, both with wide grins.

Somehow the owner forgot the meaning of a “closet”…

je t’adore

An trimester final assignment – write a boy meets girl story using characteristics of your time period, in our case, Romanticism.

On a clear, blue day in the spring, they held the funeral. The birds did not cease their song as the warm breeze flowed through the tree branches, gently shaking the newly formed leaves. Pink mingled with green as the giant cherry tree let loose its blossoms onto the freshly-cut grass below. The sun, unblocked by any clouds, merrily reminded the people approaching the wooden chairs that they were alive and indeed felt the warmth on their skins.

I lingered around the entrance to the ceremony, slowing breathing in the sweet fragrance that hung in the air. The wind attempted to tousle my brown hair that had been combed back with a fine tooth, but it failed to conquer the gel that kept it firm. A rainy day with storm clouds looming overhead would have been more appropriate for the occasion. Instead, Nature showed a face that contrasted with what I had expected. I almost felt guilty as I enjoyed the sensual pleasures of smell, sight, and touch. It was a sin to feel anything but grief on this sacrilegious day, but I could not stop myself. I had always been sensitive to the aesthetic beauty of my surroundings. One cannot help but surrender to enjoyment when surrounded by such loveliness.

Nodding to random strangers that walked past me, I took note of all the outfits worn. Of course, they attired themselves in black, the only respectable color for such an occasion. What if one was to arrive dressed in bright red clothing? That simple action would cause a scandal whispered about for weeks. The color should not matter so though. If the person has arrived to pay his respects to the deceased, he should be judged by that act of kindness, not by the garments he decided to wear. Hardly anyone here knew me, but if I was to show up in red or yellow with a congenial smile on my face, my name would spread like an uncontrollable fire throughout the entire town.

The official ceremony had not yet begun, so I did not feel obligated to take my seat yet. The hard wooden chairs did appear rather uncomfortable, and the people shuffling around on them were proof of it. I am no stranger to feeling uncomfortable, for my occupation often requires my presence at odd hours. I did not feel the inclination to subject myself to such discomfort just yet though. Those whom had not yet taken their seats scattered themselves about the grass in mini clusters, whispering in small voices as if to avoid disturbing the girl in the coffin. I amused myself by creating imaginary lives for the people I saw. That woman with the abnormally large front teeth who was pulling the little girl along reminded me of a grade school mistress.  She probably had a reputation of acting cranky and becoming angry when her students did not do exactly as she instructed. That man who was slightly balding in the black suit gave off that aura of an elite businessman. I would not want to cross his path in the competitive game of stocks. As I looked around and made my observations, I felt slightly isolated. I had yet to speak a word to any of the guests, and they all shared a sorrow I could not understand. The girl who rested in her eternal bed had no real connections to me, and we had never met before. My feelings for her were no where as intense as those of the other guests. Her mother was some distant cousin of my father. I reckon her invitation for me had been extended out of politeness. I had not planned on coming until business coincidentally placed me in the adjacent town. After pondering my choices for a bit, I decided to make an appearance at the ceremony.

Such were my thoughts as I made my way to the chairs. As I finally took a seat, another guest sat down in the chair beside mine. I glanced over to see a woman with tears profusely streaming out of her eyes, which she furiously dabbed at with her handkerchief. Sensing my eyes upon her, the woman nodded at me.

“She had such a wonderful future ready for her,” the woman managed to say in-between her tears. “Such an intelligent, beautiful young woman. She never took things for granted and always tried to make those around her feel loved. Her smile dazzled her onlookers like the bright sun above.”

What caused her death? I wanted to ask this question, but I had a feeling she might consider me rude to not even know the cause of death of the person whose funeral I was attending. I responded with the best comment I could muster.

“It is a great shame. I remember feeling shocked at the news.”

The woman nodded again. “Lord, we all did. She kept talking about some mysterious pain in her heart. The doctors never found anything wrong though, and she continued her life until death caught her in his grasp. Praise God that she suffers no more now in death. If you were to look at her, she looks like she’s taking a peaceful Saturday afternoon nap. It’s right eerie, and I tell you what, she—”

Her words were interrupted by the priest’s announcement that the ceremony was ready to commence. She turned around to face the front as another sob overtook her body. I soon fell into a slight stupor as the traditional funeral rites were carried out. My mind began to wander, though I kept my eyes dutifully focused on the priest. As the priest said his final remarks and the string quartet began to play some doleful music, everybody stood up to pay their final respects. One by one, they slowly filed past the coffin. A mysterious feeling overtook me and called me forth, though I did not quite understand why I felt such eagerness to go up. I took my place at the end of the line. As the line grew shorter, the feeling grew more acute. I felt something calling out to me, a string wrapped around my beating heart and pulling me closer and closer to the casket. I moved forward as if in a trance. Finally, I arrived at the edge of the coffin, and then I understood.

I took a sharp intake of air when my eyes fell upon the portrait that leaned against the vase of white roses. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized those emerald green eyes guarded by thick, long lashes. They were the same eyes that once revealed her love for me. The eyes that promised she would never abandon me. Eyes that told me she would always be there to support me. The eyes that gave me a final goodbye on that cold winter afternoon many years ago. Such strong feelings overtook me, and I clutched the edge of the table in efforts to prevent my shaking legs from failing me. The rich brown tresses that framed her face differed from the golden curls of the girl I had loved, and the nose was slightly more Grecian. But the eyes. The eyes had been what haunted me most since her death, and now they had returned.

I swiftly looked in all directions to ensure that no wandering eyes were upon me. Confident that no one was watching, I cautiously drew out my trembling hand and touched the glass that covered the picture. My fingers traced along the contour of her oval face, lingering on the area below her nose. She had such full, luscious lips; red lips that I would love to taste. Her small shoulders were perfect to place one’s arms around and embrace. The sobbing woman was right in her statements. One look at this girl’s smile made me feel light and comfortable. Her smile was slightly mischievous and spoke of untold secrets and desire. I felt that I could control the world with her beside me. Those eyes and that smile told me I could. I knew some mysterious force connected me to her. [read more…]