This blog is to keep track of my writing (from Oct. '14 onward), saving tips and tricks I find, little rants or raves, and so on. If you don't like it, kindly leave. I am a fangirl and reviewer, so do tend to post on that note as well.
Draft from what may or may not go into my writing of both my Senior Memory Book and my lameass story on Wattpad.
I am a bundle
of emotions and contradictions and nothing less.
And most of the time I continuously
ask myself what my younger, past self would say about who I am now. What would
I say about this me? Would I smile or
judge or question everything? I know I probably would… I would also probably
notice how sad my eyes are and how there’s something off about me. Because even
in the mornings, when I get in the bathroom and see myself in the mirror, I
question why I can’t just break out
of this and feel better… get better… be better to myself. I’ve learned to not
hate on myself as much, and I’ve changed in that sense. The only thing I do is
point out what flaws I have and stick with them and blow them up in my own
face.
…I’m a
teenager that way.
Numerous cats. And by “numerous” I
mean “more than anyone could ever count” – that’s basically all I ever cared
about as a kid. I mean, even in the days when I got my first computer all I did
was type out cat facts and play games. No ten year old could ever defeat my
amazing factual skills over any type of cat you could imagine up. I thought I’d
grow up and be an A+ student, Valedictorian, and become a vet. I wanted to work
with cats and other small animals because they were all I knew growing up. And
that's all I cared about – it was such a burning passion that I did everything
in my childhood to maintain a motherly image to my little, ugly kittens that
came every other month. And they’d die, I’d get upset, and I’d have to move on.
Life worked that way and I knew it. But the older I grew, the more the impacts
really and truly affected me and it wasn’t only cats dying that became the hard
points I’d face… I faced so much.
Even when I was a baby and had no
remembered conscious thoughts of life back then, I learned so much about those
around me – but from who? Those around me, but years later.
Let’s clear the air really quick
though. I’ll tell you who is who, because if not… you maybe be confused.
I have two
parents, like any child begins with. A father and mother who, at points, were
junkies with a love for drugs and a love for… love. They were artists and
music-lovers and crazy kids who couldn’t have had more pain come from a love.
As a result, I was born. I was born to a woman who had had two children before
having me, but she didn’t marry their fathers. I was born to a father who had
plans but abandoned them because life went crazy.
My mother wasn’t a mother complex.
Never should be, and never had to be. Why she went through with the
pregnancies, I have no idea. But something happened. Somehow, someway, she got
mixed up with a guy. This druggie decided to threaten my dad, he threatened to
tear me apart and mail me back in pieces. And though from all accounts of my
father’s journals, my Meme’s words and stories, and my mother’s journal…
Seventeen years after whatever day that was… my father is a whole different
person. Not saying that he’d openly let a stranger murder his child, but my
father spoke of times then as him wanting my mother back and wanting his
daughter to know when she grows up that he never stopped trying.
Draft from what may or may not go into my writing of both my Senior Memory Book and my lameass story on Wattpad.
I am a bundle
of emotions and contradictions and nothing less.
And most of the time I continuously
ask myself what my younger, past self would say about who I am now. What would
I say about this me? Would I smile or
judge or question everything? I know I probably would… I would also probably
notice how sad my eyes are and how there’s something off about me. Because even
in the mornings, when I get in the bathroom and see myself in the mirror, I
question why I can’t just break out
of this and feel better… get better… be better to myself. I’ve learned to not
hate on myself as much, and I’ve changed in that sense. The only thing I do is
point out what flaws I have and stick with them and blow them up in my own
face.
…I’m a
teenager that way.
Numerous cats. And by “numerous” I
mean “more than anyone could ever count” – that’s basically all I ever cared
about as a kid. I mean, even in the days when I got my first computer all I did
was type out cat facts and play games. No ten year old could ever defeat my
amazing factual skills over any type of cat you could imagine up. I thought I’d
grow up and be an A+ student, Valedictorian, and become a vet. I wanted to work
with cats and other small animals because they were all I knew growing up. And
that's all I cared about – it was such a burning passion that I did everything
in my childhood to maintain a motherly image to my little, ugly kittens that
came every other month. And they’d die, I’d get upset, and I’d have to move on.
Life worked that way and I knew it. But the older I grew, the more the impacts
really and truly affected me and it wasn’t only cats dying that became the hard
points I’d face… I faced so much.
Even when I was a baby and had no
remembered conscious thoughts of life back then, I learned so much about those
around me – but from who? Those around me, but years later.
Let’s clear the air really quick
though. I’ll tell you who is who, because if not… you maybe be confused.
I have two
parents, like any child begins with. A father and mother who, at points, were
junkies with a love for drugs and a love for… love. They were artists and
music-lovers and crazy kids who couldn’t have had more pain come from a love.
As a result, I was born. I was born to a woman who had had two children before
having me, but she didn’t marry their fathers. I was born to a father who had
plans but abandoned them because life went crazy.
My mother wasn’t a mother complex.
Never should be, and never had to be. Why she went through with the
pregnancies, I have no idea. But something happened. Somehow, someway, she got
mixed up with a guy. This druggie decided to threaten my dad, he threatened to
tear me apart and mail me back in pieces. And though from all accounts of my
father’s journals, my Meme’s words and stories, and my mother’s journal…
Seventeen years after whatever day that was… my father is a whole different
person. Not saying that he’d openly let a stranger murder his child, but my
father spoke of times then as him wanting my mother back and wanting his
daughter to know when she grows up that he never stopped trying.
Name: Zoe Patterson
Known as: Cat Lady - jk! KissDromeda, KissDromedaGirl, Juliane (rp), Hyunchul 현철(rp), Sohee/소희.
Age: Nearly two decades old!
Lives at: Tumblr, AFF, blogspot, Twitter, and currently Evexia.
Country: USA
Favorite Colors: Pastels, Lilac, lavender, any shade of purple basically, white, silver, black, any shade of gray (however, Christian Grey isn't one), clear, any shade of blue, teal, coral, salmon.
Language: English (native), Korean (good enough), Spanish (good enough), intros in Italian, Japanese, Greek, and tagalog.
Hobbies: Writing (ofc), browsing the web, taking care of my cats, drawing, thinking up ideas, playing either Sims or Star Wars, reading, reviewing, dancing, singing, composing.
Favorite Quote: "If you believe in yourself, you're unstoppable."
Likes:
♥ Cats [this is a cat basecode so ofc this is here]
♥ Anything artistic
♥ Korean stuff, and many more cultures, too. I wanted to be an Egyptologist.
♥ Rapping and dancing; composing or choreographing
♥ Tumblr, Twitter, ifunny, etc.
Dislikes:
✖ Haters and fakers
✖ anxiety and depression [suffering from both]
✖ dealing with a lot of stress
Exchange Links
The current linked as "Zahra, Tsabbita, and DianeeyA' are the basecoders for this blog, so they get the creds! The rest are ones I like, my friends, and so on.
Random things since this is already here from the basecode. Check it out, and if it's empty, head on over to my Tumblr tags and browse around. eue Scroll down to the Others section!
I found myself in Wonderland, got back on my feet again - Alice by Avril Lavigne
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