memoirs xvi of capital w

for daily prompt and writing 101. im too lazy to do make one post for each, so i combine it, and here’s the result. 


and you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
 or the moment of truth in your lies


I’m originally not a person who likes to brag over something. But, sometimes I give my pride a moment to express its desirability to be shown. I’m not often to give it, because every time I do it something bad would happen. Like the bible said; for all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.

Anyways, ignore those two sentences on the top. It really has no business with this post; I just like the lyrics so much so I put it there. It’s from Iris song. I have only a song sung by Sleeping with Sirens. I highly recommend you that, it’s good.

Ah, where were we? Sorry, I got a little distracted earlier. Right. Here you all go.


ii.

memoirs xiv
sugar-loaf, tenderness and memory of childhood—


When I was not-too-little, approximately six or seven, still pure and innocent and as awesome as always—right, sorry for the narcissism—I always went to a bakery next to my elemantry school. It sold many kinds of bread, from mozzarella sandwich, club sandwich, crouton, brown bread, bun, sugar-loaf, hot dog, milk bread, etc. I always bought sugar-loaf, in case if you want to know. Hey, kids like sweet, right? The sugar-loaf was always tasty, and I ended up buying it nearly every day—spending much of my pocket money. It lasted for many years until I graduated from elementary.

The bakery is still there—next to my alma mater. The sugar-loaf is as good as always, and I am remembered by the bakery’s employees, being the faithful consumer for nearly half a decade. As I’m growing up, get older and have to continue my education—which is unfortunately getting further and further from the bakery—I rarely visit that place now. But still, that place is a part of my childhood, the bakery of sugar-loaf and memories of childhood.


i.

capital w
—where everything’s meant to be started again—


“What do you mean about this ‘capital w’?” Fineena peered over my shoulder, so did Alex—her six-months boyfriend. I inverted my head so fast I could even break my neck.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, hurriedly minimized the Microsoft Word I had been using for hours. “Sneaking to my house, eh? When did you consider changing your occupation from astronaut to burglar?”

Fineena huffed, her expression rather hurt because accused to be a burglar. And I suddenly felt guilty. “I did ring the bell many times but you didn’t answer it. I checked the door and found it unlocked, so I entered with Alex.” She explained, and then looked at Alex. “Right, Al?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. It seems like you are rather absorbed in ‘what-you-are-working-in-your-laptop-now’.” He added after a while.

I sighed. “Alright, sorry, okay? As you said before, I’m rather absorbed in things I’m working in my laptop now. I’d prefer you two don’t disturb me, anyways.” I said, “you can wait in the living room while I prepare drinks for you two.” I got up and made a beeline to kitchen, but Fineena stopped me.

“No, no. We are here for a while, no worries, Flee.” She said cheerfully. “Just sit, and talk.”

I shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” Then I sat down again, looking at the two suspiciously. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you have something you can be proud of?” Fineena said quickly. I looked at them, bewildered, because what kind of question is that?

So, I did what a normal person would do. “What?”

Fineena rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you hear the question? Do you have something or anything you can be proud of?” She repeated once again. She held a paper and a pen—where the heck did she get it? I was sure there was no pen nor paper in this room, and neither she nor Alex showed any signal that she brought that—and stared at me seriously. Suddenly I was getting impression that they were interrogator and I was accused to commit a crime.

This is creepy, I thought. “Well, there’s something I can be proud of.” I replied. Fineena raised her eyebrow, and making a silent question ‘what-is-that?’

“I’m quite proud that I’m thin and not easily gain a weight. So I don’t have to worry about diet and things like that.” I answered nonchalantly then returned my focus to the things I had been working for hours and ignored both Fineena and Alex who face palmed.

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2 thoughts on “memoirs xvi of capital w

  1. […] the girl who thinks an awful lotStrange Plants on My Vase ybecause you make me ybecause you make me asterretha d.memoirs xvi of capital W The Wandering PoetDaily prompt – Pride The Wandering PoetWhat nature teaches Life’s […]

  2. […] the girl who thinks an awful lotStrange Plants on My Vase ybecause you make me ybecause you make me asterretha d.memoirs xvi of capital W The Wandering PoetDaily prompt – Pride The Wandering PoetWhat nature teaches Life’s […]

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