One out of Twenty Five

[Redacted]: Did you know?
Me: What?
[Redacted]: [  ] and [  ] have broken up.
Me: What? Why?
I thought they were doing well
[Redacted]: I don’t know. [  ] doesn’t know either.
She just met up with him over the break and that’s it

 

Here’s a statistic: Only two of the twenty-five or so couples who were together back in high school are still together. Sorry, no, only one couple is left. You know why I know? I know because I keep track. I keep track of every single one of them.

The statistic I had told you has been poked, stabbed, and drilled into my head by teachers, parents, and older people alike. A reason for teenagers not to spend time with these silly rubbish things and focus on the real things; like school, career, college, and being the son/daughter they could brag about to their relatives and neighbors. These things which I couldn’t give a shit about.

I didn’t want to believe in it. Not a whit. Why, you ask.

One was because I was one-half of one of those couples. I mean, who the fuck wants to hear a prediction that their relationship would end?

The other was because I didn’t want to give in. To believe in that would have meant that the adults were right. The adults, with all their smugness and proud adult-ing, sacrificing time for the capability to consume. This naive belief that somehow it would be different, was my version of Santa Claus.

I didn’t grow up believing in Santa. I just never did. My parents treated it as nothing short of a joke, and frankly, I never understood the need to lie to your offspring about the gifts; how a fat guy in a red suit climbed down the chimney to bring several things to a kid he has never met. But I did grow up on books. Stories encompassing genre of genre from sci-fi to mystery to the occasional romance; from Shakespeare to Charles Dickens; to Maya Angelou. I’ve read on space battles, science experiments, wizardries. I’ve read of and about childhood friends. I’ve read about love. I see love in every single one of the books i’ve read, whether it’s a love for an ideal or an inanimate object; whether it is filial or eros. I grew up with these. I grew up believing that love will endure.

To see the statistic, like a doomsday prophecy, almost fulfilled, broke my heart.

I don’t think anyone wanted to believe it, back when it was said in homerooms as I doodled in my notebook. To believe in it felt like every feeling, emotion, and even the thought of loving someone isn’t real. That’s what the statistic is saying: a romance between two people at this age isn’t real. It can’t be real. It was just a cocktail of hormones; a result of puberty. It means that the love I felt isn’t love after all.

So now, as I stare at my computer screen, I mumble a quick prayer for the one out of twenty five. If one, even just one, survives then at least I’ll know that it’s possible; even if it’s not for me.

 

 

Not Too Sweet Chocolate Chip Cookies!

I have been making chocolate chip cookies these past few days, tweaking my favourite soft cookie recipe from Sally’s Baking Addiction as my family (+ extended family) doesn’t understand the concept of chewy cookies and they’re also a bit too sweet for their taste. Hahahaha. For the perfect chewy cookie please go to her website! It’s an amazing and awesome array of recipes and it’s where I get most of the stuff I make too. 🙂

My face while baking these. Hahaha!

My face while baking these. Hahaha!

Ingredients

  • 170 grams (1 and 1/2 stick or 3/4 cup) room temperature butter
  • 150 grams (3/4 cup) packed brown sugar – I prefer dark brown sugar as the molasses are amazing
  • 30 grams white sugar (1/4 cup)
  • 1 large egg or 2 medium eggs
  • 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
  • 260 grams (2 cups + 1 tablespoon) flour
  • 2 teaspoons cornstarch
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/2 teaspoon salter
  • 225 grams (1 1/4 cup) semi sweet chocolate chips

Now if you compare mine and Sally’s recipe, you can see the only real difference here is the amount of white sugar and the amount of flour. I find that flour dampens the sweetness of the sugar quite a bit. In another version of this recipe which is less sweet I used 275 g of flour.

!! note !! Chilling is mandatory for this recipe !

If your butter isn’t room temperature yet cut it up into smaller cubes; this makes them soften faster.

Instructions:

  1. Cream butter with mixer at medium speed till smooth
  2. Add both sugars and mix into butter until it’s completely incorporated and fluffy!
  3. Add eggs (If 2 eggs mix the first egg completely before adding the second egg.)
  4. Add vanilla 😀
  5. imageWet Ingredients + Sugar mix!
  6. In another bowl mix all of the remaining dry ingredients except for the chocolate chips.
  7. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ones and mix until no more packets of flour are seen.
  8. Mix in chocolate chips until evenly dispersed.
  9. Chill batter for 1 hour to 2 days. Once you want to use them, use a table spoon to measure out the batter then roll into balls. Preheat to 350 degrees Fahrenheit or 175 degrees Celsius.
  10. Line baking pan with parchment paper or a silicone mat. The dough should be at least 1 to 1.5 inches apart. Cook for about 13 minutes or to the desired crunchiness of the outer crust.
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What they look like, melting in the oven.

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Out of the oven!

And there you have it! Chocolate chip cookies! 😀 Yay! They were a huge hit with my family and I hope it will also be with yours.

Comment what you think of them below and what tweaks you did yourself. Happy baking!

Cookie jar is already half empty! hahaha

Cookie jar is already half empty! hahaha

summer memories -short

I am mystified as I play with a single eyelash I found on his shirt. I fiddle with it as much as I can, coddled up in his embrace on a couch much too small. You can see dust fairies dancing in the single ray of light that found its way between the curtains; flowing this way and that with no real destination at all.

It’s nice here; nice and warm. I gaze at the man sleeping beside me and I am happy. I am well and truly happy.

Letters from a long time ago

To be given to any possible future children I might have, provided I ever even seriously consider having them, on the 7th of their birthdays and again when they then 18.

To my dearest son/daughter,

I hope the day never comes when you hear me and your father, or me and you, or anyone and anyone shouting at each other. It’s not a good feeling. It usually happens when people are hurting and they throw words to the other to make them hurt as well, to make them feel their pain. You may think that words don’t hurt as much as rocks do but they hurt even more. When a someone throws a rock at a person they don’t remember the particular rock (it’s a round rock with a tiny point in its underside and sorta flat, kinda reddish but that may just be the blood stain) but when people throw words at another to hurt them they stay in your mind; those hurtful hurtful words. Sometimes when said to a person of young age they stay longer; they stay for years, decades, and sometimes even the person’s life time.

Words can shape who a person will be. I know that. I learned that. When you’re told as a kid that you’re a burden you learn that. I started young, looking for a job, looking for a way to help, a way to get away so I won’t be a burden anymore. Even now I remember and even now I struggle to prove to myself that I am not a burden.

But I am not that strong dear; I quake at fights. I quake at shouting even when it’s not pointed at me. I feel scared and worthless and angry and disgusted all at the same time and I can’t help but cry. I can’t do shouts I don’t like them. I hope you never hear them like this from me or from anyone.

I am scared. I really truly am, that’s mostly it. When these things happen I am scared. I hope you won’t be.

I learned something when I was young, lost it when I was a bit older, and finally really learned it when I was well, even older than when I lost it. You decide your own value. The way you value yourself is all that matters because in the end you’re stuck with yourself and no one else is. Everyone at one point goes away except for yourself and that’s why you have to learn to live in your own company. When you know what your value is it doesn’t matter what other people think. It’s good to have your own back. It’s good to know that your worth isnt based on other it’s based on yourself.

So my dearest be careful out there in the world. “For the night is dark and full of terrors” as a TV show once said, but you’ll make it if you believe in yourself. I believe in you.

Love,
Mama

Hugs

I think the best kind is the one where you’re both together on the bed and one hugs the other from the back. I like those. I like those a lot.

I’m lonely a lot of the time, but then again, what is loneliness? Would i have been lonely if the word hadn’t been invented or if people hadn’t continuously told me that being an only child is quite a bit lonely.

I really want a hug now, I can’t sleep. Please. Please hug me.

I have cried so much. So much in the past 6 months more than I have in the five years before that.

When I was younger I used to hate people. To see all the bad, almost none of the good. I kept alone, shrouded myself in books. Then I transferred to a new school and I decided to change. Cut my hair changed uniforms, decided to be happier, more optimistic, more open, more friendly.

And now I’ve lost two people that I genuinely care about and its all my fault and I’m scared. I’m scared and I’ve been crying and I just hurt even though I know I shouldn’t because it really is all my fault

I’ve been crying, and crying and crying and crying and crying.

Please help me I don’t know what to do.

I think I’ll go back. I don’t want this. I don’t want this anymore

Frustration

She buried herself in her hair, against his chest sobbing spasmodically and uncontrollably. Sometimes she gets strands of hair in her mouth but she’s too tired. She is much too tired to care. Pounding her fists against him she screams so much that she feels her heart rise up to her throat, threatening to leave her body through her mouth.

There is no one beside her, in front of her, near her. There is only this wall, lovingly painted in a time when things were better. When things were right. The person she used to cry against when times were low is gone, and so far this is the worst of them.

I think I’ll burn the apartment down.