Note to Self # 3: Claustrophilia

I am a claustrophile. Yes, you read that right, claustrophile. If you would ask my trusty friend, Wikipedia, a claustrophile is a person that is claustrophilic (duh) or someone who loves closed-in spaces. Most people I know are claustrophobic, the total opposite of my condition. To be honest, I’m not as comfortable in wide spaces as compared to closed spaces and right now, in my gigantic room (well my whole flat is my room right now so…) im not as comfortable as I was in my old room back in the old house, but worry not, I can still live with wide spaces.

As to the reason why I’m like this… it’s probably because of my introvertedness which I would talk about some other time, and a personal past. To be honest, i don’t want to talk about it because of reasons. Let’s just say it made me this way. And for the past few years, (basically nearly  my whole life until now) I’ve lived in small places, be it a 20 sq. meter condominium, a bed spacer, a small room in a house I didn’t own, you name it. I guess I just got so used to it that it became a part of who I am.

Getting in closed spaces makes me feel secure. It makes me feel assured that I am safe and that I have a grasp at the immediate surroundings. It makes me feel that I know what I am looking at and what I can work with. I can control what happens in this small area that marks my territory, since I’m not a risk taker. I don’t like being unsure whether thing will turn out this way or that way. As I probably have stated in my other blog post, I’m a perfectionist. I like things prim and proper. I want things to go the way I like them to, and if it wouldn’t, then I’d rather not do them at all.

For those of you who are claustrophobic, I don’t know what you feel. If you’re kind enough, can you share your experiences to me? I’d like to know about what you experience being in closed-in spaces. You could probably message me or comment down below so I could read it. For those of you who are claustrophilic as well, whether you felt different or the same, tell me about it okay 🙂 .

Random Creepy Shorts # 22

unique_cabins_in_the_woods_640_45

There is always this one time when we see a house and we want to enter it so bad, in other words trespassing. I was told by my cousin that it’s bad and she went ahead and told me a story to somehow scare me off. Just so you notice, my family loves telling creepy stories and here I am, spreading them to you. It goes like this…

There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached, and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning.

As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the hunter awoke — he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.

Random Creepy Shorts # 21

It has been a while since my last Random Creepy Short (RCS) since as a self-proclaimed writer (yeah, right) I also need inspiration in my writings. My teacher told me that I have no right to write if I don’t read. So I read a bunch of stuff to get my engine up and running (hah see what I did there, engine, you know… cause my profile name is SteamEngine… anyway, enough with the funny stuff, besides it’s a random creepy short.) So I decided to give a little bit more effort than usual on this story. Anyway, it goes like this…

I am a loving father, a faithful husband, and a righteous person in my own right. Obviously, I’m a father to my only daughter Cassie. She is my jewel, my diamond, my Mona Lisa, my Eiffel tower. In short, my greatest and most loved. Since she was born, the love I’ve given for her is more than anyone else had. I loved her so much, I think I loved her too much.

It was 10 years since I last played with my little Cassie. She has grown up now, she is no longer the innocent girl who I used to scold for picking up a knife, playing with it and accidentally cutting herself. Another year and she is already an adult. Oh, how I miss the old days, when Cassie would just walk up to me, say

“Tag! You’re it!”

and we would chase each other around the house for the whole day. I miss that feeling, and before she finally leaves behind her childhood, I would like to spend a few more moments to play with her.

She made a playful squeal as I tagged her. It was clear she was enjoying herself, she was laughing herself to tears.

“Daddy, stop it, my sides hurt!” She continued to laugh.

Her joy was contagious, I smiled, for once in years, I smiled. I dare say I’ve smiled more that day than I have in my entire life. Alas, all good things must come to an end, she was tired, and fell asleep shortly after.

My wife soon came home. She was so glad to see me, she yelled my name, again, laughing to tears. She hugged me, still laughing. I continued to smile. She looked down and saw my tagging tool, quickly shooting her focus back to my eyes. I continued to smile.

“Michael…” Tears continued to stream down her face in excitement.

“How could you have done this to our little angel?” She tried to run, but she was too slow.

“Tag…” I smiled wider. “You’re it.”

I guess you’re wondering what my tagging tool was. You see…

it was the knife Cassie used to play with.

Note to Self # 2: Perfection

aaeaaqaaaaaaaabhaaaajddindlhzmi4ltizzdmtndvhnc04nda3ltkwmjhjmdcyzdvlyq

I am a perfectionist. I think I am. When I do something, I want them to come out exactly as I envisioned them. Sometimes I may slack off, but it’s part of what I envisioned things would go.

At night I often think about what im gonna do for the whole day with precise timing. For example, at exactly 7:15, I will start to write this blog post. At 7:30, I shall eat dinner. Yeah, I know  it’s kind of normal, but I do this all the time. I’m quite a busy man… or teen, as you can see. And it is difficult because to be honest, it is very frustrating when I don’t achieve the perfection I envisioned.

Yes, I know, “Stop being a perfectionist then.” Easy to say, hard to accomplish. Why you say? Because whenever I think about no longer being  a perfectionist, at the back of my mind, I’m always in doubt. You can probably say I’m insecure of the future. I’m not a risk taker. I’d prefer to walk on a red carpet to the destination rather than taking a hike. And if such does not exist, then I’d rather not take the path at all.

I know, a lot of you guys are also perfectionists as well. I know that the slightest errors make you cringe. The urge to fix everything and put things in its place. I know I cannot apply  this to myself, but this might help you:

Think of perfectionism as a leash. A leash that secures you so you won’t get lost. However, it is also a leash that will keep you at bay forever.

 

The Cold Embrace

When I touch my heart

where no other soul can reach

I see a silhouette

diving into the abyss

 

My surroundings get darker

As I go deeper and deeper

My body begins to detest

the longing shadow knows no rest

 

I start to feel numb

my fingertips deaden

I succumb to the cold

and my eyesight darkens

 

As I embrace the dusk

a voice in me whispers:

fall into the shadows of despair,

and begone