The Eternal Notebook of a Silent Man

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Flashback

Hannah stands in a small, sunlit room staring at herself in the mirror. She tries to count the scars on each of her arms but can’t keep track. She is thirty years old today, but no one calls or texts. There is no “Happy Birthday” or card to joke about getting old. Just a woman standing naked in a mirror, staring at scars from all the times she’s dragged a sharp enough object along her skin. ╌ Hannah stands in her bedroom, surrounded by pink walls and posters of boy bands. She stares at herself in the mirror, she tries to count the scars on each of her arms, but she can’t keep track. She is sixteen today, but no one calls or texts. Her parents are gone again, another ‘business trip’ to god knows where. ╌ Hannah stands on a step stool in the bathroom, she tries to count the freckles on her face, but she can’t keep track. She is seven today. She is wearing her favorite pink dress, and her mom is taking her on a shopping trip to the mall with her friends. She calls herself beautiful.

Goodbye

- 7.2.23

Ice, slamming onto concrete. Shattered, irreparable. You lied, told me the wound had healed. And yet still, you turn from me You feign ignorance of my existence. Ignore my calls, texts, and attempts. I can freeze too, freeze you out. but I won't, I choose to forgive. I let you go, let your unkindness go. I have to move on, you will never truly forgive who truly was in the wrong Perhaps no one, perhaps both of us. I have apologized, I forgive myself even if you do not And I forgive you, I promise I forgive you

Sam Smith

- 2.2.23

I’m alone, I don’t know how to handle quiet. So, I listen to Sam Smith. “Sit with Sorrow.” Lying in my bed, tears warming my cheeks. If “I’m not perfect,” am I “worth it.” Worth your love, I ask myself, over and over and over why do I hate myself so much? There’s never an answer, just music. Sam Smith, “I'm gonna try to (love me more)” Deep breath, then sigh. again. again. again. Close my eyes. say it. SAY it. “I’m worth it.”

Ohana

- 13.11.22

You may have seen my story before, through the eyes of another storyteller, but here I will tell you, in my own words, how my little sister and I stitched our family back together. I am Nani Pelekai, the eldest daughter of Makuakane and Makuahine Pelekai, and a determined defender of my family. A few days after my nineteenth birthday, my sister Lilo and I lost our beloved parents in a fatal car accident; that is where the story began when it was first told. The true story, however, begins before their death. Because my parents were good people and are a part of who I am. Makuakane, my father, was a kind man with a loud, infectious laugh. A hard worker and incredibly talented ukulele player, he made everyone smile. He had the kind of laugh that made even the worst day perfect. My father was the one who taught me to surf. I became one of the foremost surfers on the island, with shelves of awards left over from my years spent on the waves. My mother, Makuahine, was just as comp

Interpreting Blanks

- 3.11.22

"And not any [ land not visited] nor any holy place [ not prayed at] nor [life] from which we were absent [forget us, just as] no grove [unseen,] no dance [not performed,] no sound [not heard can be remembered]." (Sappho)

Personality Quiz

- 28.10.22

Your Freudian Personality Style is: Retentive hysteric: Polite, gentle, and unusually placid , you have comparatively little interest in interpersonal relationships with others and can be alone for long periods of time without feeling lonely . Having from an early age found that your own perceptions were at odds with those of others , you have retreated into an internal world of imagination and private perceptions . When others come into contact with you, they perceive you as having an asexual presentation, often with stiff and effectively constricted, child-like manners (which may come across as attractive, encouraging fantasies of domination in others). Metaphorically, your personality style may be likened to a teenage girl whose uterus is so afraid of impregnation that it shuts off every mating signal that the individual can produce, including charm and emotional presence. In the same way, the actual you may have marked difficulties with gender roles, giving others the ps

Blackout Poem (Original - excerpt from Ovid's Metamorphosis)

- 27.10.22

her head becomes the summit of the tree; all that remains of her is a warm glow. Loving her still, the god puts his right hand against the trunk, and even now can feel her heart as it beats under the new bark; he hugs her limbs as if they were still human, and then he puts his lips against the wood which even now is adverse to his kiss. " Although you cannot be my bride," he says, "you will assuredly be my own tree, Oh Laurel, and will always find yourself girding my locks, my lyre, and my quiver too– you will adorn great Roman generals when every voice cries out and joyful triumph along the route up to the capital: you will protect the portals of Augustus, guarding, on either side, his crown of oak; and as I am—perpetually youthful, my flowing locks unknown to the Barber shears— so you will be an Evergreen forever bearing your brilliant foliage with glory!" Phoebus concluded. Laurel shook her branches and seemed to nod her summit in assent. There is a

Creation Story

- 27.10.22

Millions of years ago, before humans and animals, plants and water, the earth was nothing but gray, colorless dry land. Covered in debris and dust from the void of space and surrounded by billions or trillions of twinkling stars. At that time the earth was inhabited by two very different types of beings, daemons, and apparitions. The daemons were eight-foot-tall beings with monstrous appearances; sharp teeth, yellow eyes, and grey skin made them horrifying to look upon. They spoke in deep, scratchy voices and a language only they and the apparitions understood. The apparitions were unlike the daemons in every way. Phantasmic beings with light airy appearances, so faint you could barely see them. The apparitions were delicate, wispy beings, and they spoke with light, airy voices. The daemons and apparitions lived on the earth for many years, coexisting despite their differences until one day the argument sparked between the two groups. For many years the apparitions had been t

Henry's Rabbit

- 26.10.22

Thunder rolled across the pitch-black sky as Henry stared up from his bedroom window. He longed to see a shooting star. He wished he could go back to the way his life was before the war. He remembered the endless nights he spent as a child staring at the stars and searching for planes. Now there were no stars to shed light; instead, he sat silently in a pitch-black room. Henry felt alone and scared, scared to close his eyes because he knew the nightmares that awaited him. Sometimes he wished he had never joined the army and never gone to war, and other times he still felt a sense of pride for serving his country. It was hard for Henry to balance the fear and pain he felt due to all the suffering he witnessed with his pride. How could he be proud when every time he closed his eyes, he had to relive the sight of his best friend and fellow soldier dying in his arms. Watching him bleed and suffer repeatedly and remaining helpless. How could he feel accomplished when images of inn

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The Eternal Notebook of a Silent Man

Posts

Fifth Grade

Flashback

Goodbye

Sam Smith

Ohana

Interpreting Blanks

Personality Quiz

Blackout Poem (Original - excerpt from Ovid's Metamorphosis)

Creation Story

Henry's Rabbit