light up the s k y to the second star to the r i g h t

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o1. The name is Moni
o2. finalfantasyx.tumblr.com / equidistant-parallax.tumblr.com
o3. Currently 21
o4. Loves God, band, basketball, singing, dancing, writing
o5. Hates stuff
o6. I ♥ NCSU PowerSound =)
o7. Link me!

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I grew up.

DATE:Thursday, May 14, 2015 TIME:{5:58 PM} COMMENTS:

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I wrote this piece yesterday after I was hit with inspiration while driving. It can be read in a different way than this; this is just the fully-finished work. Maybe I'll post it the way I originally wanted it to be read later.

When I was two years old, I fell in love with the ocean. Atlantic City was right next to Morehead; the sound of North Carolina and its sands, darkening as twilight approached, were my world. The waves tugged at my heart and called me home.

II.

When I was five years old, I fell in love with books and the worlds that lay between their pages. I’ve already moved around the globe and westward to another city. Books were the constant anchor that kept me going and gave me free plane tickets to the furthest places.

III.

When I was six years old, I fell in love with art. A silver briefcase was presented during dinner on my birthday- inside was a full set of markers, colored pencils, pastels, paint and watercolor, pencils, erasers, sandpaper, and a sharpener. At home, a handmade easel with a drawing of my family waited for me.

IV.

When I was eight years old, I fell in love with the PlayStation. 2, at the time. The Gamecube had been the coolest thing- Melee? Check. Zelda? Check. Resident Evil? Sure. Christmas, a giant box waited under the tree for me. My cousins got a brand-new Gamecube, but the black console in my hands opened the door to Kingdom Hearts. I defeated Terra-Ansem’s Heartless and Organization XIII. I defeated Vanitas and stopped Xehanort. I guarded Yuna on her pilgrimage and saved Spira. Two years later, I saved Spira again and reunited Yuna with Tidus. Link may have saved Hyrule a dozen times over, but Spira’s everything lay on the line.

When I was ten years old, I fell in love with the city of Hong Kong. My birthplace had never played a part in my life until the suburban streets of Raleigh were abandoned, replaced by the hustle and bustle of the International City. So many new things to see, so many new things to do. Roads I had never walked splayed in front of me, each entangled with one another. Where would the threads meet? Take your time. Don’t be afraid.

When I was ten years old, I fell in love with basketball. Girls can’t play with us, girls suck, you’re fat, get better at every drill they put you through- all of that, forgotten. Steal that ball and race down that court. Defender? Stop. Deep breath. Calculate. Bend your knees. Raise your arms. Release. Again. Feel the movement of the ball. It and (m)y(our) body are one. Don’t think anymore. This is the second constant that will anchor you through. The feeling of stepping onto a basketball court. The euphoria. The adrenaline. This is how you know. This is home.

When I was ten years old, I fell in love with the trumpet. The beautiful, sleek brass, the so(ul)-fulfilling tone I could only hope to achieve one day. It could be loud, but soft; it conquered both fortissimo and pianissimo. It could be harsh but gentle; it struck the perfect balance between worlds.

When I was ten years old, I fell in love with God. For the first time in my life, I could see him as my God. Not as my parents. Just mine. He held the pieces of everything I am in his hands and had burned my name on his heart as he did mine, for he had chosen me before time. It had taken me ten years to see that, but had given the rest of my life to learn it, the one simple truth- he is everything.

VI.

When I was eleven years old, I thought I fell in love with a boy who had no idea what it meant to drive a car. Instead, he taught me to love myself and my time more when I realized I didn't love him at all.

VII.

When I was twelve years old, I fell in love with the Hong Kong Adventure Corps. Maybe it was something about the way many of my relatives had been involved with what used to be the Royal Hong Kong Regiment, including my dad, or uniform groups, and I was carrying on that legacy and tradition. Maybe it was something about achieving, personally and in a team, that was so appealing. The challenges. The excitement. The friendships. I was good at what I did. Got promoted, officially, less than a year after becoming a full-fledged cadet.

When I was twelve years old, I fell in love with a boy for the first time. He took a bus. He was a grade above me, always playing basketball, always eating ramen after school. When he went to Texas, he brought back a keychain and a stuffed dolphin for me. I wrote a story about him. He taught me that I was still a little girl. He taught me that I was not good enough, and that I was only a substitute for something(one) better. But he taught me that there was always more to someone than their exterior or what they did. He taught me that the people who hurt us have been hurt too. He taught me, again, what it was like to have a big brother, even if immature most times. I have unseen scars on both my arms, his initials on my left hand, just to the left and underneath the knuckle of my index finger, to prove it.

VIII.

When I was thirteen years old, I fell in love with the HKAC Honor Guard. Tell me, how could I not love something that came to me as naturally as breathing? Marching was easy. Marching with a rifle was even easier. My rifle (always number 362 for a performance) was part of me. The guard troop was always changing, had all the people I loved most and cared about. The hours spent practicing into the late night, the nights spent polishing our boots until they became mirrors, snapping the gold brass buttons into the loops of the starch-stiff white uniforms, giving someone else those uniforms to sew our ranks onto our left sleeves, ironing out the navy and red pants. Remembrance Day, the Annual Passing Out Parade, chosen to be part of the Flag Raising Ceremony, National Day Silent Drill performance…among so many others.

When I was thirteen years old, I fell in love with a boy who took the train. He pretended to love me. I called to invite him to my first guard performance. He never responded.

IX.

When I was fourteen years old, I fell in love with the piano. Everything is black and white; no gray spots to puzzle over. Each note has its own significance and meaning in each piece of music. Black and white, major and minor tones, all come together to create the most beautiful dance of all. I gave up playing basketball on the team that year.

When I was fourteen years old, I fell in love with a boy who took public transport. I got a PSP because of him. For the first time, I struck up the courage to confess to him. He and I never spoke again.

When I was fifteen years old, I fell in love with North Carolina all over again. From hill to oceanside, through the slow and seemingly mundane days in comparison to Hong Kong. The sky gave me peace.

When I was fifteen years old, I fell in love with driving. There was a sense of freedom. I could go.

When I was fifteen years old, I fell in love with a boy who drove a black ’98 Corolla. I loved him and he loved me, ever so fiercely. He was my soulmate, every definition of those two words. He showed me what it was like to love someone else through Christ. He showed me how deeply I could be attached to another soul. He showed me people were worth loving, and hope and love were wed, hand in hand. He showed me the fragility of trust and human nature. He showed me love, and he showed me pain. In return, I gave him five years. I loved him so much I let him go. He flew away and left me with bleeding wrists and a bleeding heart.

XI.

When I was seventeen years old, I fell in love with marching band. This group kept me sane; we shed blood, sweat, and tears together. This group was famous all around the world, but that could never compare to the home it made inside my heart. The music, the drill that we learn together, carved deep in my bones. This group gave me hope and a reason to hold on.

XII.

When I was eighteen years old, I fell in love with a boy who drove a yellow Pontiac. He taught me to appreciate country music, and that a stutter was the cutest thing. He taught me that blond hair didn’t always mean jerkiness, beach boys didn’t mean vanity, and blue eyes with their ever-shifting colors were beautiful. He taught my heart to beat again with just one kiss, and whispered gentle promises of safety and warmth in his arms. I called him, and he said he was afraid. But he taught me to stand on my own once again. He taught me that scars fade.

XIII.

When I was nineteen years old, I fell in love with a boy who drove a white 2006 Accord. I didn’t even know it until after I left him. But he taught me that I could be loved. He taught me commitment through my lack of, love through my excuses. But most of all, he taught me to love him when I left him, because I had wasted nine months of his time when I did not love. He taught me that selfishness and loneliness created a poison deadly. He taught me to love myself. Take your time.

XIV.

When I was twenty years old, I looked into the mirror and saw a broken, grotesque lump- but pieced together by ever skillful hands with different loves. I raised my and toward the surface and it shattered, the sunlight refracting through my broken, transparent skin to hit the bottom of the pool. This is who I am.

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