PEDS 250 Writing

Hekilledmehekilledmychildhoodhewantedtohurtmehe'sresponsiblehedoesn'tdeserve to live. I tried my best to hang on to that string of thought. It's the only thing that's making me grip this syringe as I sneaked past the night guards to the patient room. He came in this morning. Apparently his car got slammed by a truck down at the 9th Avenue that lost control because the driver forgot to put snow chains on the wheels despite it being winter. Guess karma comes at its own pace. I looked down at him. They managed to stabilize him, and he's sleeping. He won't wake up anytime soon, the drug they gave him was too strong. This probably will be the only chance I'll ever get. I bring out every ounce of loathing I have for the guy. Every memory, sickening touch, and disgusting caress. When he had invited his friends over, and every time he let them rape me. Every time he demanded for my salary and had me beaten up because I refused to give it to him. Whe...

"MOVE, goddammit!! It's your turn to move! God, why are you such an idiot?" "Just look at her, squirming all over the place. Why'd she even join in the first place, anyway?" "Marie dear, perhaps it would be better for you to...be in the back row, this time." I know I'm not talented. I'm not as flexible as Shea, or as pretty and graceful as Tiana. I dance like a baby elephant who just learned how to walk, and I maybe even weigh the same as one. I stumbled around so much my legs are still bruised three weeks after a practice. And that's why I hate ballet class. Unfortunately, getting out is not really an option for me. My mother will not stop until she can mold me into a ballerina like she was. To her desperation, that's not an easy feat. She has this image of a girl who's beautiful and smart and talented; the girl who amazes people with her pirouettes and grand jetes. Instead she gets someone who takes after the husband she...

Bucketlist.. For some people, it may sound stupid. But for me, this list is what motivates me to work harder so I can save up more money and who knows someday I can check all these numbers out of my list J 1.      I have to witness the ball in Times Square slowly dropping on New Year’s Eve. I know this may sound cheesy and Times Square will be super crowded but who cares lol 2.      All day shopping in Myeongdong. Those who know me must have known why this place is on my bucket list. 3.      Witness with my own eyes the beauty of Lavender Field in Provence, France. This is not for the sake of Instagram post, tho. 4.      Visit that Amazing Athena Parthenon. I can continue to Santorini and Crete I guess. 5.      Take a breathtaking and once in a lifetime hot air balloon ride in Cappadocia, Turkey. 6.      Cinque Terre, Pompeii, and Positano. Rome and M...

It’s been three years since I enter this new phase of life called college. This journey has been a roller coaster for me, with its own ups and downs. Sometimes I feel ok, but most of the times I feel I am never good enough for almost everything that I do. I know how insecure it may sound, but this thought has been lingering for two years now. Being in an environment where I am surrounded with talented, smart, and even brilliant people, I always feel like I am super small compare to them. In my college life, being a student of International Relations major, I am surrounded by those who have super deep and thorough knowledge, either about world history, war, economic policies, foreign policy, law, or current politics. Or, those who have a very awesome negotiation skill, where they can be super persuasive and charming, picking subtle words where it will not hurt people. Or, those who have amazing capabilities in writing very good papers, that those papers can inspire and give you som...

PROMPT:: Making experience-based short stories Hi Axel, It’s been a while since we’ve met. I remember exactly 16 years ago when you stepped into me. You were so small and whiney. I witnessed your first day of school, fourteen birthdays, your first driving lesson (it left a scar on my wall, you asshole). You’re always there. In the front-right corner of me. God knows what you’re doing there. Lollygagging? Studying? Listening to G-Friend songs on repeat? It’s been two years since we’ve met. I miss seeing you trying to park that stupid little blue car in me. I miss you complaining about me being old and haunted or my cracked tiles or even my leaked pipes. But you really had to go, didn’t you? I wish I could blame your parents divorce so you had to leave me. I wish I could blame your ungratefull ass and your high standard of a house. But we have one thing in common. We always blame ourselves for whatever reason. It has to be because of my dilapitated paint. It has to be because I’m...

PROMPT:: Making fictional short stories Dorothy, You’re the 12th woman I’ve ever fallen in love with. I know it doesn’t seem like anything special, but it means you’re my 12th heartbreak. Seeing a woman like you, on her deathbed, smiling as if she’s ecstatic to leave me alone is exactly the reason why I hate God or any fucking deities up there. I didn’t ask to be immortal. I didn’t ask to spend literally 672 years –and counting-watching my friends, my significant others, to die one by one while I’m brokenhearted and in tears. What’s the point of looking for companionship anymore when I know perfectly well that the relationship wouldn’t last.   We didn’t last. Maybe, centuries from now, it would be acceptable for us to be in love. But 1887 isn’t exactly the best year for “faggot” like me to be in love. So here I am, standing beside you, sobbing, pretending that I am so devastated seeing cancer took my sister-in-law from me. Who the hell would be sobbing like crazy for ...