Forgetting Me

[ t h o u g h t s ]

❝Unedited❞

June had resorted to the sanctuary of fictional literary. It was not like she was far from being a bookworm herself; it was more that she read stories from humble people that aren't really heard, in a rather much humongous way, globally wide.

It certainly meant she read stories from a certain little app that was colored orange with a trendy 'W' logo.

She disliked reading stories from her local- or what used to be- authors. She found the extreme similarities of each story laid in every one of them: the man's rich, the girl's witty and stubborn, the boy's part of some gangster group and not to mention too much drama when the story started very light hearted. I mean who'd plot their ex's girlfriend's death in real life? Yeah, not much.

It was very exaggerated, she believed.

But despite of saying that she disliked reading so, it did not meant she doesn't read them. She does but from certain authors that can execute proper drama needed with the right exposure of details.

Like how a boy from a province loved a girl who was rich as hell and made everything possible to turn the tables and snag her to marriage for the sake of the girl's family ancestral house until it gets heated and makes her stay with him?

And how a girl can make a boy be a man by simply following certain rules. And it just so happened that roadtrips and outings made everything better and more memorable for them to fall inlove together.

Or how a girl can get lost ten states away from her home and travel through hell with a boy she calls stranger- then turn to the man she falls in love with.

Maybe perhaps like how a heiress made the duke of the Italian society her partner in crime towards a revenge she craved 'till she gives it all up for love?

All of these stories made her adore her local authors.

She disliked the stories that laid similar stories from another to the point that finding a unique story from a local author made it hard. But now it seemed like she missed the usual snarky attitude those other authors had.

Her fellow Asian authors loved comedy and mixed drama, romance and comedy too much in their story that she can't take it seriously.

And there she was, flipping through the pages of a story about a girl who kidnapped the man she 'used' to love when it turns out she was the one kept locked and not her hostage.

It didn't matter when the girl was bratty. It didn't matter when the guy was too controlling. It didn't matter at all.

For she missed her country. Her home.

The home sickness began one night when she woke up with cold sweat, craving for anything linked to her old life. After desperate search through the boxes she settled to her favorite whale plush. The little navy colored whale was kept in a box under the impression that she would like to bring it with her to Manhattan. She had given the plush to herself as a congratulatory gift for completing years of painstaking experience of high school.

She remembered how she showed it to her mother, telling her how much she had fallen inlove with it at first sight. Her mother nodded at her dismissively, knowing her daughter was one piece of art. She found it no point of asking why she had spent roughly eight bucks, which caused four hundred in their local monetary value, for a sarcastic looking whale. Her oldest brother, Rowan, found relief that she found a new thing to bite on and not him. Though he asked why such a sardonic looking whale. While the other older brother- younger than Rowan- John Mark, JM, said that she merely wasted money for a judgemental looking whale.