Amortentia and Pumpkins

Human's have approximately 12,000-50,000 thoughts a day. I'm just trying to get as much of mine out as possible.

Home Alone

by amortentiaandpumpkins

A lot of young people look forward to moving out of their homes and living by themselves. This is what I am doing now, at age 19. Well, I’m not entirely alone. I have two wonderful flat mates who are also in my university. When I say living by “themselves” I meant living without your parents, in your own place, perhaps with other people who are not your parent/legal guardian. Now I guess I could count living in dorms during my first year of university. But there, I did not have to worry about things like bills, and groceries. Everything was so nearby, so familiar. But now, on the 58th floor of an apartment building, things are different. I have to worry about paying electricity bills, the WiFi bill, making sure to lock up (in university, my bedroom door was always open, and I didn’t have a care in the world). I have a kitchen, from which I feel this echo, whispering “Use meeee.” So there comes the groceries. I’m cooking! I’m bloody cooking! No more mum to whip up a meal that took what felt like 5 minutes to make and looks like a dish you’d see on Masterchef. Nope, it’s hello slightly burnt pasta or slightly undercooked fried eggs.

I’ll tell you one thing. It feels liberating. I can go out to my balcony, light a cig and not give a fuck. 

But, that’s it really. I can’t always rely on having my flatmates as company; they have lives of their own. It’s not like I do. But at the same time, at least 2 buses in every direction to see anyone I know won’t be sustainable for long in terms of both time and money. Truth is, I miss being able to just walk into my parents room, looking for some sort of comfort (even though it usually ends up in a lecture). I miss those late night walks around uni with a friend or two. 

But I guess, that’s part of growing up, right? Your surroundings cannot always be familiar and cozy. Sometimes, you’re going to have to be far away from people, whether you like it or not. It’s ironic, because right now from my window, I can see hundreds of lit up windows, with silhouettes of human beings. But they’re just that. Human beings. Not my friends. Not my family. Not people I know. Strangers. It feels exciting in a way, wondering what they might be doing or thinking right now. I wonder if any of them are looking out of their window, thinking what I’m thinking.

I guess freedom, in any form, has it’s price. It’s just up to us to figure out how long we can hold on to that freedom until it becomes too much to bare. 



by amortentiaandpumpkins

I have been the victim of vicious rumours for as long as I can remember.

When I started high school around 8 years ago, a girl who I considered a friend started a rumour that I was cheating in all my exams, and that was the reason why I did so well in school. Apparently, she considered herself a top student, and could not stand the fact that I was beating her in all the exams. She turned everyone I considered as friends against me. I was nicknamed “Fork.” People would post MSN Messenger statuses about me using this nickname. Things like “Spoons are better than Forks.” “Fuck Forks.” I caught on only a few weeks later. I was lucky that my parents had told me that we were moving away from London to Hong Kong within a couple of months. Otherwise who knows what could’ve happened.

I thought I was past all that. But then a new high school meant new people. New people meant new tormenters. I’d never had a boyfriend before, and when I moved to Hong Kong, many girls judged me when I said I had never had a boyfriend. I was only 13. Give me a fucking break. 

High school wasn’t a beautiful experience. I know a lot of people would say this. But you’d think that after high school, people grow up. People would stop this shit. But they don’t.

I heard a rumour about me. Two rumours in fact. One was that I had sex with one of the older students at my university. That was bad enough. Another was a rumour that I had sex with someone I was actually really into, when in fact, during the night in which he claims we had sex in, we actually spent most of the night talking, and part of the night kissing. Sure, he came back to my place. But that was that. It really hurt to think that he was telling people we went further than we actually did. I trusted him. I would never have expected that of him. But I guess my naivety got the better of me. 

Of course I cried. That’s the rational thing to do, right? When people are saying you did these things when you didn’t do them, it made me feel degraded at the very least. Is this what people really think of me? I wanted to confront these people. The ones that made the rumours. The ones that consumed these rumours with relish, believing those lies, having something to do in their otherwise pathetic lives. But what good would this do? I wouldn’t come across as righteous or dauntless or anything like that. I’d just look insecure. I’d just fuel their fire even more. 

I guess one thing I’ve learnt is that rumours will never stop. Also, it’s not like I haven’t given them any reasons not to believe these rumours. I have been promiscuous, at times more so than I should have been. I haven’t been the most sensible person sexually. But why do people give a toss? I guess people just need something to talk about.

I suppose… no publicity is bad publicity. At least not all bad. 


by amortentiaandpumpkins

I don’t like to think of myself as an attention-seeker. It has always had such negative connotations for me. The word suggests that without all eyes on you at all times, you can’t function; you’ll go beserk or some shit. I really like to think of myself who is independent: someone who doesn’t really need anyone’s compliments or encouragements to survive. Of course, they are much appreciated. I’ll feel wonderful if someone compliments my new hairstyle or my newest blog post. But I don’t need it to keep me going.

However, these few days, I’ve been realizing that perhaps I DO have some sort of attention problem. It hit me when two of my cousins visited. Now these two cousins are younger than me, but not so much that literally all the attention goes to them. Everyone in the house paid attention to them, but not in extreme doses. I was still noticed. But I just felt like I was noticed during the wrong times. Only when I was doing something “wrong.” I decided to take advantage of the fact that a large proportion of the attention was removed away from me during their stay and decided to stay out until close to 5 am with my friend. When I walked in home at this hour, I didn’t hear the end of it from my conservative parents. My mother told me I was a disappointment. My father called me irresponsible. I was home safe, sober and in one piece, so what was the big deal?

But I think what really got to me was the next day. As cousins who were closer to my age than my parents, I was expecting sympathy from them. I was hoping they’d come, stroke my head and tell me everything would be okay. Instead, they just ignored me all day, even though I looked like I was on the verge of tears all day. I realized it was more because I felt no one seemed to care about me rather than because my parents went ape shit on me earlier that morning. 

I used to think the reason I did not enjoy having so many people in my house for an extended period of time was because I liked my solitude. I liked having me time. But really, after this, I get the feeling it is because my spotlight gets more split up than it already is. The light only shines on me during the worst times, and never when I actually need it. 

This has translated into my use of social media. I noticed that the average number of days I change my profile picture on Facebook is only about 2 weeks, as compared to many more weeks or even months that others take to change theirs. I think that, as I dig deeper, it seems that I am constantly in need of some sort of attention. 

I guess attention is not always a terrible thing. In fact, it is a wonderful thing. But like most wonderful things, it is only good in small doses. I think more than an attention-seeker, I’ve turned into some sort of attention-junkie; I thrive on attention. The feeling of being noticed excites me more than most things. 


by amortentiaandpumpkins

If someone asked me what the best gift someone could give me would be, I would reply with Freedom. 

I have grown up in a household where I have always felt that I have never been able to be who I really am. I feel like every single day is another day on set. I have to play a certain characters and meet the expectations of the director, otherwise there is no place for me at home. 

I had to listen to my parents tell me today that if I don’t comply with their set of rules, then I better get out of the house.

I’ve never been myself around them. Never been able to tell them my true desires. Never been able to make the jokes that I feel free making around anyone else. They keep going on about how home is one place where you can be who you are and not worry what others think. I feel the completely opposite applies to me; I am more myself when I’m in university, in a shopping mall, at the doctors, on the street, in a different country, than I am at home. It sometimes leads me to believe I have never really had a true home. Never felt comfortable in a place that I should be calling home. 

All I have ever wanted is freedom. Nothing has ever mattered more. You would think, at age 19, living AWAY from home for most of the year, I wouldn’t have to worry about this shit anymore. You’d be surprised. The feeling of belonging AT home and having the freedom of being who you are AT home is a gift worth sacrificing something for. Being understood by the people at home… if you know what this is like, you are incredibly lucky and blessed. 


by amortentiaandpumpkins

Even though it sometimes seems

That I don’t really care

You don’t know how much I wish to redeem

The moments that we could share.


It feels like I am still just a child

In an adult world of responsibilities

Never able to be reckless or wild

But always to you a liability.


Sometimes I get this terrible feeling

That my well-being isn’t your primary concern

More so that your reputation will fly out the ceiling

And that is why with me you are so stern.


You’re scared of what people will say

About your silly little girl

Because at the end of the day

Your status is what’s important in this world.


One time you even called me a whore,

I can hardly let those words sink

Simply because of the short skirt I wore

You said “What will people think?”


I’m too afraid to ever open to you,

Too terrified of how you will judge,

Too anxious to ask to go someplace new,

Too scared that you will not budge.


That’s why I act out the way I do,

That’s where all those cigarettes came from,

The reason I sometimes snap back at you,

The reason why in my head I drop the F-bomb.


I feel like I lead two separate lives

That are polar opposites of one another,

One where I am myself, where I feel alive,

Then the one where I follow the ideals of my mother.


You gave me the breath of life,

But are you really my life-savers?

Because when I’m on the edge of the knife,

I can never count on you as my saviours.


I wish to death we could be closer,

And at home there was freedom of speech,

I wish to have the courage to say “No sir,”

And for my own choir I start to preach.


But it seems like no matter how much

I try to follow your path, your ways,

I won’t always succeed as such

But know that I will love you always.



by amortentiaandpumpkins

Today, I had some new furniture come into my place, and had to get rid of some old furniture. This meant moving things around, and also, since I live in Hong Kong where storage space is a luxury, it meant that I had to get rid of a lot of things to fit in other, newer items that I recently purchased. 

Towards the end of it all, I filled up a suitcase full of old clothes that my mum wanted to donate, as well as three large bin bags full of “crap.” This “crap” consisted of old teddies and other gifts that I has received over the years, jewelry and make-up that I don’t wear anymore, books that have been lying on my shelf inviting nothing but dust and old cards and letters from so many people over the years. I only kept a few at the end.

All these things had one thing in common. When sorting them out from everything I ended up keeping, I had to maintain one type of emotion, one state of being throughout the entire process: heartless. I had to leave my heart outside my bedroom in order to have even the slightest ounce of courage to start dumping clothes into the suitcase or books into the bags. You don’t realize how much you actually adored a piece of clothing until you have to part with it. Take for example this grey T-shirt with Aztec patterns that I formerly owned. I never thought much of it while I owned it. Just wore it if it caught my eye in my drawers. However, as I put it in the suitcase, the T-shirt’s life span under my possession flashed by my eyes. How I wore it on the first week of university. How I wore it when I attempted to dye my hair (leaving a few dye stains on the bottom of the back). How the cotton felt soft and comfortable against my skin. It’s when I was putting it in my suitcase when I realized it’s true sentimental value. 

But when throwing things out, you can’t let emotion cloud reason. Remember that episode in “How I Met Your Mother” when Ted makes Marshall and Lily throw out things that they had not used in over a year? You need to have that Ted mentality. Not let your emotions run wild. Just keep throwing shit into the bin bags.

I guess some good comes out of all of it though. Rather than throwing it in the dump yard, donating everything makes it all feel worthwhile. It’s going to people who not only want the things, but really need it. So you feel a little better in the whole process.

Selfish – A Poem

by amortentiaandpumpkins

A million dots of light illuminate the city,

Millions of lives behind the curtains.

But only on myself do I take any pity,

But only towards myself I feel uncertain.

As strangers walk past by where I sit,

I try my best to appear reserved.

Even though I feel as if my heart’s a pit,

I try to understand whether this I’ve deserved.

I try to remember his face exactly as it was,

The calming effect of his voice.

But all I really recall is the loss,

As he didn’t leave me with much choice.

So as I sit here on this bench,

That very bench he once sat on with me,

My eyes tear and my jaws clench,

Pondering on my pain’s degree.

An explanation is all I ask for,

Of why things occurred the way they did.

So that on this chapter I can close the door,

And not think about you, God forbid.

So just like those people behind the windows,

I can only hope that my life goes on.

And just like both my friends and my foes,

I can be carefree if on you I stumble upon.


by amortentiaandpumpkins

My first experience of closure was actually through a film. “Love Actually” to be precise. Remember that scene where the guy from The Walking Dead goes up to Keira Knightley’s door and holds up those cards, on which he had written about his undying love her? And then he walks away and she comes running after him and gives him a kiss and leaves, after which he utters the word “Enough”? That was when I realized what closure was.

Let me first of all tell you what closure (in my opinion) is not. It is not getting over someone. Closure is, however, the acceptance that you will never be with someone the way you want to be with them. It is knowing, deep down, that there will never be a time where you and that other person will be together, because that’s not what the universe, or destiny, or God (or really, whatever your belief in the determinant of occurrences) is leading you towards. Because if one thing is for sure, I don’t believe that the guy from Love Actually/Walking Dead was over her after the kiss, or ever got over her ever for that matter. He simply accepted the fact that they will never be more than what they are currently: just two friends. 

The ways in which you can obtain closure is vast. For starters, simply communicating with the other person, in any way. It could be in the form of cue cards, like Love Actually guy. It could be a song. It could just be a normal conversation. Then there are things like signs. Signs that are telling you that even though the person you are into is wonderful, you just are not a right fit. It could be something as trivial as the fact that you do not have the same taste in music. It could go a little deeper I suppose. 

I believe the difficulty lies in actually obtaining that closure. Because there is a difference between need and want. You know that you need to obtain that closure, because it will help you calm the fuck down, you will make time for other things in life because you will not be thinking as constantly about the other person as before. It will give you the opportunity to move on a little in life. But do you want to accept the fact that there will never be an opportunity to be with that person, no matter how much you want it? Of course not! It’s too damn difficult, when there is something as powerful as hope blocking all rational thought, Hope really makes you lovesick. You keep sticking to that little bit of hope, thinking that maybe, just maybe there is an insy-winsy teeny-tiny itsy-bitsy little tiny bit of a chance that you may wind up together and live happily ever after. 

I guess hope makes you better off in a way. It fools your heart, by satisfying yourself with the thought that anything can happen, you never know what surprises lay in store for you. But not all surprises are good.

Back to closure. I guess it’s a powerful thing too in itself. As in, once you get it, once you’ve accepted everything that is to be accepted, there really is no going back. 


A Narcissist’s Love Letter

by Thought Catalog

Really got me thinking…

Thought Catalog

When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I love the way I feel when I’m with you. I love myself through you. I love seeing myself through your eyes. I love seeing myself through my eyes imagining how I look through your eyes. I love having someone new to tell my stories to, to express my opinions, and to share my profound theories and beliefs about the important things in life. I love hearing myself say these things as I imagine how they sound to you, and how enthralled with me I imagine you are.

When I say I’m in love with you, I love having someone beautiful to wear, like a new outfit. I love the way you feel on me. I love the way I feel about me when you are with me.

When I say I’m in love with you, I love not being…

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The Oxygen Mask Dilemma

by amortentiaandpumpkins

Imagine you’re on a plane, and there’s one of those emergencies where the oxygen masks pop out from the ceiling, and you need to put one on. According to the flight safety cards and videos, as well as the demonstrations conducted by the air hostesses, you are supposed to put on your oxygen masks before you assist anyone, even if you’re sitting next to a child.

I used to think that was ridiculous: what parent or, just in general, what human being would think about their own safety and well-being before thinking about a child’s safety or well-being? But then I got thinking: if the plane really was in a serious crisis, it wouldn’t exactly help the child if you pass out due to lack of oxygen whilst putting an oxygen mask over their mouth. Better to quickly and efficiently put the oxygen mask on your mouth, so that you are at least in a comfortable state to put one over a child’s mouth.

This got me thinking of another principle: helping others in any other way. No, I am not saying you need to literally provide yourself with oxygen to help someone else. Rather, let’s replace oxygen with something a little more abstract: happiness. Think about it: how on earth are you supposed to help someone in a way that will result in them being happy with some aspect of their life (whether it be love, making amends with someone or even something like getting a job) when you are not in a good place yourself? I’m not saying you can’t help them if you’re not happy; rather I am saying that you can’t truly feel happy about helping someone if you’re not feeling good about yourself. 

What I guess I am trying to convey here is the fact that in order to help anyone else in your life, you need to first make sure that your own needs are satisfied. You need to feel sure about yourself to some extent before you can help someone else.

I am aware that, on the other hand, you tend to make more rational and realistic judgements about situations when you are not feeling so good and happy about yourself and life in general. But remember, this is about YOU. This is about how YOU’RE feeling, not anyone else. And let’s face it, unless the person you are trying to help, for some bizarre reason, is someone you resent deeply and they aren’t so fond of you either, no one that you are trying to help will want to see you upset or struggling to help them. They would want you to be happy too, while you help  them out with their predicament. 

Back to the plane: what kid wants their parent to pass out while they try to help them out?