Prospects of a middle-class seventeen-year-old growing at the pangs of a falling country that has forgotten what its children look like.
Author: Chia
compendium on prose
Reading Time: 5 minutes
I thrive on writing. It’s freeing, and it feels as if that since the very beginning, my imagination has been running on the spill of punctuation and the doting tilde of analogies and similes. Coming more naturally to me than anything else and a forever love despite not being the most avid reader; I’ve taken it upon me to push forward with this mess. An angsty teenager with a pen and the Goodreads quote section for Chuck Palahniuk or the HelloPoetry collective of Allen Ginsberg is recipe for crisis.
So, I published a chapbook that contains a collection of my poetry and am in process of continuing a winter novel that has become so much more than I initially anticipated. Read more to find out about them, and stuff.
on savior complexes and self-genesis
Reading Time: 16 minutes
Like a crash course on reversal, this is my story. A year has changed me in so many ways, and the years ahead of me (whatever may be left) become figures to ponder. I wonder what has kept me going, but a better wonder is to seek how I have begun this trailblazing journey that seeks infinity.
Slowly, I get left behind and come in once again, on a rapid blizzard, a perverse blind game to becoming names on paper. This is a summer reflection on the person that I had become, and the person that I will be. Divulging everything out in little blog posts that no one reads but me in the dead of server malfunctions and better-forgotten nights.
And god, indeed — have I changed, have I become so many new people and learned that the world is kind of my plaything. And god, what a living ghost will I rise from as I transcend so ethereal that you won’t know how real everything I will become dares to be. So to the love I hold in no one and to the abyss I hold in myself, may it all be for better days (if they decide to come).