Yesusth - Oh...

Jolyne Cujoh - Official

r o s e w a t e r 🤍

Murphy’s law, applied to fanfics.

- The fic starts out great, nice style, language, captivating summary. It’s unfinished and has been abandoned since 2013.

- The fic is complete, nice style, language, tons of kudos speak for themselves. It’s about your NOTP.

- The fic is about your OTP,  it’s complete, it’s kinky as hell. The plot is absolutely dumbass.

- The plot sounds great, it’s about your OTP, it’s complete. The characters are horribly OOC.

 - Everything is perfect in this fic, starting from the first letter and ending with the last full stop. It’s exactly 800 words long.

- The fic’s word count is a six-figure number, it’s about your OTP, characters are compliant with your head-canon. It’s dull and boring as seven hells.

- The beginning is enthralling, everything’s great, the plot, the style, it’s long and it’s even about your OTP. It features something that makes you close the tab as soon as you open it, like father/daughter incest or mpreg or some other squicky thing. 

- Everything is perfect in this fic, the length, the characters, the language, the style, you forget you’re reading fanfic, thinking it’s a masterpiece of true literature, you cry tears of joy and write a huge review full of gushing love and then rush to the author’s profile to read every other thing they’ve written. It’s their only work.

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

Shinjuku, Tokyo

I grew up very sheltered. 

I had to be home before dark, couldn't have a single drop of alcohol before I was legal, my friends needed to be approved by my dad. 

Wear extra socks, conservative clothing, limited time indoors, plates needed to be cleaned of all food, no wasting.

It was a life which raised me to make me more dependent but, to me it made me more independent. But regardless of the independence I learned, I cannot deny that I was sheltered.

Living on my own made me realize all of this, where almost everyone in my college class has tried mushrooms at least once before graduating high school. Everyone is a stoner in some way, and are either high when you meet them or smokes a joint and won’t hesitate to offer you a ride home. And some of my closest friends talk about drugs as some fun activity they do on the weekends. 

It started making me curious. 

“I want to try. At least once.”

Well, I just experienced my roommate’s sister having an overdose in the hallway. And all thoughts of drugs now make my skin crawl.

I believe I was raised right. Which is not to say that my friends who do decide to use substances like these weren’t. 

Her name’s Sarah, and she is 17 years old, currently in the hospital after overdosing on a type of drug which I have no idea about. 

I was sheltered by today's standards, but now I think I was just protected. Because I know for a fact that my dad, who was in his prime in the 80’s, had probably tried every type of drug available under the sun. 

And drugs are a secret popular thing, they don’t talk about it publicly. But ask a friend, and they will probably tell you “Yes, I did acid before.” and tell you all about their life altering experience like it's a must have lesson one must go through. Not a lesson in “don’t do drugs” but a lesson in “do drugs”.

I hate it.

I hate it so much I don't want to make friends anymore. 

Despite the fact that they are all okay with your choices to do or not to do drugs, it's there…

It’s insanely accessible. And that’s what scares me. Because all I have to do is ask.

㋡🥀

Kiss me under the moon