WHERE THE OCEANS MEET

CHAPTER 1

        “So much for trying to be the wallflower”
                                                                  Dedicated to Huzaifa Khairi

I was never sure when it all started, but I felt it coursing through my veins, running like wild fire, scorching everything in its expanse, but never leaving its remnants behind…. the aftermath of its destruction would be my new beginning, trying to pick those destroyed missing artifacts would be a game I was entitled to lose. I lived in its epiphany till it became euphoric to me. I played it partially, thinking I could save myself, yet it somehow destroyed me wholly, now there’s nothing left to be saved anymore.

Bravery is an anchor, helpful only till you’re holding on to it, once you let go………. darkness consumes every periphery of your being. But holding on to something, would only drag you to its never-ending dependency, AND SO I LET GO.
Drifting into a land of melancholy and uncertainty, it ripped me bare of every chance at bliss and felicity. It’s a mystery how life at times is all about perfection and eccentricity, yet other times it strikes nefariously, without a warning. But I was ready, for I knew the stars were all aligned and watching me this time and oh boy, wasn’t I relying on them.

Rage is a weapon, they say, don’t use it on unworthy opponents, they say………. But I ask, who are they that they always know. Every picture has a backdrop, every person has a flip side, every flower has its wilting days, and just like that every anger has a cause, at least mine does. And the site of this building was really not helping my case when mother nature was already raining on my parade.

GREENVILLE RIVERFRONT HIGH SCHOOL, firstly, how does a building determine my future that’s already dilapidating to its core, paint chipping off its ancestral walls but of course, none of these over excited hippies who so shamelessly are playing tonsils hockey would notice their bleak future, which oh-not-so-surprisingly is darker than my hair colour and that’s something saying. Secondly, how did I even manage to land myself here.
Now no, don’t get me wrong, this is a temple of knowledge, a shrine for stupidity to bang itself against, but sadly, also it’s the dwelling for my RECREATIONAL MAKING…….. the idea of an excellent reformation program detailed and executed by my very own daddy dearest who not so subtly hoarded me in his decade old Range Rover and deported my over spilling brainy head to it’s mass slaughter house AKA, my NEW school, no not that the school is new, in fact this ancient architecture looks like its already on UNESCO’s  top priority list of conserving falling heritage, it’s me who is the brand new parcel that just got delivered to it’s not so welcoming doorstep and with the retrieving roar of my dad’s or better, my delivery man’s car, looks like I’m on my own and very very very much alone.

WELCOME TO TARTARUS SEA. WELCOME HOME.

And yes, I’m Sea, although I’ve heard my fair share of demeaning name calls, but then again, my momma did not carry me nine months in her cooch for you to call me by a name that’s not on my birth certificate. So, call me Seam, Seam Regina Maddison, woah mouthful…. I know, so how about you just stick to Sea. Now it’s the biggest irony of my life that my eyes give off the most calm and passive sea current vibe ever yet my insides are raging ocean water brimming with uncertainty, overflowing with anger, craving every night for that tidal moon to pull off it’s veil and allow my waves to crush and crumble and tide off every being in its expanse.

I crave for that destruction, I long for that apocalypse, and I’m going to make sure all hell break loose when I bring my wrath upon those who are physically able to bear, with or without the willingness.

No buddy, put down your judgmental caps, hide away your knives…… oh wait, is that the sword of honor, tut tut tut… back off, I’m not a bad person, oh wait…. I beg to differ, I’m the worst. I did not open my eyes and gave my first cry in a rose-tinted world, I squashed and squirmed and pushed myself out of my still mother. Yes, even my first grace into this bubble wrap of a world was a curse for my own mother and here I am after 17 years, breathing with a beating heart but please don’t let the rise and fall of my chest deceive you of my living, it’s a mere sign of my survival.