The Princess who Keeps Losing Her (Frog) Prince

Out of all the things in life, the only thing that pleases, yet irritates me at the same time is probably the way people around me have treated…me. Sometimes it feels like a huge conspiracy when I find out how they treat me exactly in the same way, in spite of the fact that they don’t know each other. It seems they have been in that very secret meeting and eventually, even without asking for what I wish, have decided to stick this personal label so called “The Princess” on my forehead. 

Yes, I am the Princess. One  who must be protected, must be treated well and must be taken very good care of. The one whom you are allowed to talk to, only in the most desired manner. The one who shall see merely the loveliest stuff and hear only the nicest words. The one, when there are million different things to finish, will get the tiniest portion of works. While others, must roll their sleeves and work all night long. My girl friends will offer to give me a ride, regardless that very driver license which has been a permanent inhabitant of my wallet for the past four and a half years. They just don’t seem to trust my ability to ride a bike! And when we walk down the street with both hands full with plastic bags from the mall, they will kindly offer to bring mine. Great, like I’m not able to keep my balance with all those stuff in my hands. When it comes to boys, it is even worse. These most egoistic creatures on earth always see me like, well, a tiara maybe? Which is so beautiful, fragile, transparent, luxurious, dazzling, and of course, pricey. They are being extra careful when I’m around, selecting their words, even to each syllable. They use the softest pronunciation, and the lowest tone. Okay, this arises nothing but one question, what is actually wrong with me? 

But don’t misunderstand! I do enjoy being their tiny little Princess. I love being the object of all those pairs of eyes which stare with admiration and compassion. After all, it’s not like every girl has this divine power over some human beings like what I do. So, it must be a blessing! Yet, sometimes it disturbs me a lot. It makes me feel simply… weak. You know, like you can do nothing properly. Maybe that’s why I tend to love the solitude. In the solitude, I am myself at the strongest version. There are only, me, myself and Dini. So, three different souls, assembled in one body. What is possibly stronger than that?! 

Still, though, very often I get myself feeling so proud for being indirectly powerful. I think I love this idea of “the Princess” more and more now. I feel somewhat secure and pleased at myself. The concept where I will constantly be the most important thing, someone who always becomes the first reason, has given me such a pleasure at its highest degree. I have become over confident and looked up upon myself, though the latter does not actually make me an arrogant person and, for sure, will never! Hence I inevitably take everything and everybody for granted. Oh gosh! How this presumption has turned out so false in the end. And this ‘holly’ awakening just hit me when I meet this, okay, let’s use that term which is likely pronounced by this very friend of mine, a game changer. 

I guess she was totally right. I never once thought it would happen to me; that I would lose my ability to rule. But this guy has screwed me in the most unpleasant way. And guess how I react? I simply watch and let him do that again and again, and again. I know, I am such an idiot. But wait till you hear the worst! I am somewhat impressed. His way of swinging my mood has turned out acceptable. I am impressed at how easy he comes in and out of my life and messes everything up. I did once make several attempts to free myself from this wicked lovely charm he quietly offered, but it never did succeed. And so I thought I had found the one who was worth fighting for. I, Dini, the Princess, for the first time in my life, clearly chases a guy. The idea must be pretty absurd back a few years ago, but at this moment it just feels so right. I have to have this guy. Oh forget that dignity as a Princess! All I want to do is to chase this guy and to stalk him wherever he goes. Well, at least that’s the concept I have about fighting for love. 

Meanwhile, this guy I am chasing appears so out of reach. He constantly ignores me. The faster I run, the farther he moves away. The more honest I become, the more indifferent he acts. Forget this princess idea, he might even never notice my existence. And that’s how the concept finally may come to an end. No more ‘the Princess’, what is left is the…retarded one. 

I am screwed, without doubt. And maybe now I’m getting tired of pursuing him. Or, I’m probably sick of pursuing someone who doesn’t even care to look back, not even a glance. I need a break, a distraction. Something which brings back all those odd pleasant feelings of being wanted and taken care of. After all, I am the Princess. I need people to protect me, to adore me, and to make me feel matter. Still, why is it so painful even merely to imagine my life with him out of the picture?  Why do I feel empty when he’s not around? Why, after months of suffering, I will always crawl back to his feet? Well, I guess I just love this game changer so much, then. This sounds correct. Or, should I find the Frog Prince to marry? Well, either way, so long, Princess. Period.

I am an Outsider

It is quite a charming weather when I wake up. I examine the blue sky in a chilly morning of dull May with moderate expectation of a bright wonderful day. It is such a perfect moment to start another twenty-four hour journey on earth. Without unnecessary noise, and also at the absence of any disagreeable festivity, I feel indescribably full and complete. Although there is actually nothing particular which I would love to do to enjoy this lovely state of nature, I cannot help permitting this sudden feeling of joy and eagerness to flush through my whole body. Perhaps, it is the serenity and the tranquility that charms me the most. Indeed, in such circumstance that I find the sanctity of life itself.  Or, is it my soul that long has been waiting for peacefulness?

 I am completely aware that I have treated my soul like a spoilt girl, feed it with a sweet delusion of love and a fake happiness as it shall never be shared but repressed. Very still, I cannot stop trying to get comfort from those wonderful imaginations. I keep listening to that whisper of splendid future. The pleasure I get from that delusion is like heroin. Even after I get myself disengage, the comfort remains. It is nothing close to sober, only a desire to taste more and lore. 

Oh how I should find such a cure for my ill soul! I have witnessed how unsteady and uncertain my own heart for so long. For your sacred soul’s sake, indeed call me a melancholy, but I should never translate mine that. I am passionate, earnest and sincere. If my existence is to embrace both the delight and severity of loving, I would possess them with full consciousness. My spirit, though, does degenerate for the limit of my comprehension of my own faith.

An ill soul I admit! And it is that very existence which has been the origin of all the disease- uncertainty. What a wicked creature it is! It consumes your security, harms the ease, tarnishes the hope, and yet even with your full acknowledgement of what is happening, you just cannot help wandering around. It is a battle within you which you can barely conquer. 

I am uncertain, beautiful young man. Loving you is either a delusion or madness, either a hope or an obsession. It exhausts me to an extent in which I see no more recovery. And I fancy you to share the sufferings for which I demand your whole capacity to accept me. Yes, I may require too much, but should not love be reciprocal? Should not it be the one that has an inescapable power over two different souls and unite them with affections for each other? Your intelligence, ingenuity, and sensibility should be enough to help you notice. Yet, you are to remain indifferent.

I have long demanded you as you are. My soul is delighted at merely the thought of you. Very often, my darling, I think it is deceitful. As all the efforts I have put into still get me nowhere. Now my sanity is severely attacked, my confinement and solitude are cracked, that I cannot possibly store any charm of being exist outside your world any longer. I require your attachment and protection. But I am to you remain an outsider. And the idea breaks my heart into pieces.