Day 363


3:04 am

I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the air being sucked out of me and my lungs weren’t cooperating as well. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. And I don’t know what to do. I was grasping for something, anything – gasping for air, just something to make me breathe again. But it seemed like nothing worked. Like the world was against me somehow.

“Sam?! Sam!” My vision was blurry and I couldn’t see you. I was momentarily blinded by the tears that had somehow piled in my eyes. They weren’t falling, though. I tried to answer you, but I was choking, choking for air so I could breathe again.

I shook my head, trying to grab ahold of you, but you were too far already. “Hello? 911, yes. I need an ambulance right now,” you pause.

“My…Sam…she can’t breathe!” It was hard for you to tell her what we were exactly. I wasn’t your girlfriend nor was I yours, but you were always mine, Luke. Even when you hurt me, unintentionally or not. You will always be mine. You pause and listen again then you finally hung up. “Sam, baby, it’s going to be alright, okay? Help is on its way. Please, please stay with me. Breathe, baby, breathe.” You say in such a rush that I almost didn’t catch on, but I did.

It was hard to do what you wanted me to, Luke. It was hard for me to breathe. Don’t you understand? It was so damn hard. “They’re here, baby. They’re here. Stay with me, please.”

I felt myself being hoisted up. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anyone but you. They weren’t important. At this moment, all I could think about was how you were holding my hand tightly while we were at the back of the ambulance, people trying to save my life. “Why isn’t she breathing normally yet?” You were frustrated on why it wasn’t working. Why the oxygen mask wasn’t somehow cooperating, but it was this stupid lungs, Luke. It was my stupid smoking habit which gave me my sucky lungs that suck at being lungs, and for my stupid self for letting it get worse.

“We’re doing everything we can -”

“Try harder.”

I squeeze your hand ever so lightly and I could finally see your sparkly blue eyes again. It was like I was looking up at the sky on a warm spring morning – cuddled up with you on a picnic blanket while we talk about nothing and everything. “Sam, sam, baby.” You cooed.

“You’re going to be okay, okay?” I shook my head. Already feeling the thinning of air in me. I knew I was a goner from the very first time we met. And now, I’m proving myself right.

“Sam. Sam. Look at me goddammit!” I couldn’t. I couldn’t look at you because I didn’t want to see the look on your face. Can’t you see I’m trying to stop you from being sad over me, Luke? I wanted to save you from all of this. I told you at the beginning that this will all blow up and I’m only going to hurt you. But no, you didn’t believe me. Three hundred and sixty three days later, look at us now.

“Don’t leave me, Sam. I don’t -” I hear you sob into my shoulders. My eyes already too heavy for me to force them to open again. One last breath, I could feel it coming. “Luke,” I whisper.

You didn’t look up. But it’s okay. I didn’t want to remember you crying over me. I wanted to remember the Luke that tells me lame jokes and makes me laugh. I wanted to remember awkward Luke, not sad Luke. And so I thought back to every moment we shared together. The laughs, the playful insults, the pick-up lines, the sob stories, the pranks. I try to remember everything at once and I know that at this moment, I was deeply and madly in love with you.

“I love you,”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“Sam?” I didn’t say anything. Instead, you were greeted by silence and the weak beating of my heart. I could feel it, Luke. I could feel myself slipping away. At least I got to say what I wanted to. I know I never did even when you tell me you love me every chance you get. I never did say it back. Did you know why? Because back then, I wasn’t sure if I did feel the same way, but now I am. And here I am, probably dying in front of you and I didn’t get the chance to tell you that yes I love you. I never got to argue with you and tell you that I care about you more because I’m a selfish person, Luke. I didn’t deserve you, that I knew since the first time we kissed. But you still stayed even when you saw the worst parts of me, and maybe that’s why I fell for you every single day.

Promise you’ll never forget me okay? But if you want to, I don’t mind. Just never forget that I love you, Luke. Present tense.

an excerpt from a book I will never write.





Let’s Talk about This Leia Thing

Adventures of a Geeky Vixen

Leia finds your lack of her merchandise at the Disney Store disturbing.

So this story is a few weeks old, but I just heard about it on Facebook a couple of days ago. And it’s been covered at The Daily Dot and The Mary Sue, among other places. Still, as much as Leia means to me, I’m compelled to stick my two cents in here. If you haven’t heard, the Disney Store pretty much admitted on Twitter that they’re not pursuing carrying any Leia merchandise in their Star Wars sections.

Readers of this blog (or anyone who knows me relatively well) know that I have a longstanding relationship with Leia as one of the holy trinity of self-rescuing princesses (the others being She-Ra, Princess of Power, and Wonder Woman, princess of Paradise Island). I’ve written before about my Endor Leia action figure that I loved so dearly.


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The Double Casket of Thomas & Mary Souder

The Chirurgeon's Apprentice

PM15I remember rummaging through an old trunk in my grandmother’s house when I was a child and coming across what seemed to me at the time a very unusual photograph. It was a monochromatic image of a beautiful, young woman lying in a white casket (not dissimilar to the photo on the left).

Curious, I plucked the photo from the trunk and went to find my grandma, who was parked at the kitchen table sorting through the piles of mail that inevitably found its way into her house everyday. She told me that the woman in the casket was a distant relative of mine named Lena, who had died tragically at the age of 17. “You know, people used to take photos of the dead back then,” she said, taking the picture from me and studying it closely as if she had never seen it before. “Imagine that,” she remarked…

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Pretend less, read more

The History Woman's Blog

nerd-glassesSince being a nerd has become cool I don’t like it any more. Big glasses are no longer the indicator of a visual impairment caused by too much reading, and pasty skin is less likely caused by long hours spent in libraries, archives or labs. It’s more likely the result of an overpriced holiday in Finland and cleverly applied make-up.

It is now socially acceptable, even hip, to be seen sitting by yourself in a murky café reading Camus. It is even more so if you’re wearing a baggy jumper you found in a charity shop, while frantically scribbling notes into your Moleskin notebook or are indeed staring into your MacBook. Not even questionable personal hygiene or unkempt hair are a safe indicator that the person next to you is a borderline genius.

On the other hand, real nerds are now heading to the gym to fight the pen pusher’s…

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Text convo || Den and Me

Den: I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable,and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you. [Quoting Augustus Waters]

Me: Words of a dead boy.

Den: Exactly.

Me: I can’t get over the fact that Augustus is dead. No, actually, I have gotten over the fact that he is dead. I just haven’t gotten over the fact that my friends haven’t gotten over the fact that he is dead. Sure we can still relive the past and read what he was before he died. But when you closed that book, he is dead. When you read a book with someone dying, in the end they still stay dead. Because they aren’t real. Isn’t that how we are too? When we die, we stay dead because in truth, we are all but a fiction of someone else’s imagination.


Maybe, someday.

Maybe, someday I’ll actually be able to forget. To forget everything you did and we could start all over again. Maybe, someday it won’t be at all awkward for both of us. Maybe, someday we could talk the way how we used to. With no pausing for thinking up of new things to say, but to just talk and talk for hours – not one of us over thinking too much. Maybe, someday we could act the same. Friends – bestfriends even like how we used to act. Maybe, someday I won’t regret the day I met you and the day I told you everything. The day I let you in out of anyone I knew, it was you who got to see this side of me; the vulnerable one. Maybe, someday you’ll forget what I did and I do yours. Maybe, someday all the pain and hurt could be overpassed by happiness and maybe even forginess. Maybe, someday I’ll find someone to finally open up to and trust, but right now – I don’t think that’ll ever happen. Maybe, someday could be today.