Writing Aficionado on Wordpress

I do not feel like I am having much success using Blogger. For that reason, I have stopped posting my works to this blog. If you want to read my writing, you should definitely check out my Wordpress blog. There, I post frequently and feel much more welcome to the blogging community.
The link to my Wordpress blog:
http://thewritingaficionado.wordpress.com/
Hope you visit soon!

Fear

It hits you like a train,

And you’re left running—

Running

To the point of no return,

And it’s coursing through your veins;

You’re trembling,

Shaking—

Tears are streaming down your eyes.

It’s coming for you—

You know this

With a certainty

That’s sharp as a knife.

Sharp as the knife

That’s piercing

Your mind,

Slowly but surely.

And you’re in the dark,

Alone—

No one to save you

Or to understand,

But no one would understand

If you tried.

You’re crazy.

No, no! It’s real—

Then you’re lost

In a maze,

And your shadow

Becomes a monster.

And it’s chasing you

On your heels.

A dead end—

You can’t turn back.

Trapped,

Nowhere to go.

You wait

For the end.

When suddenly

It all goes away,

And you’re left

The same as before,

But different

Because in the dark

You look back

Over your shoulder.

There will always be

A drop of fear

Still lingering

In your blood.

The Music Box

The Music Box

When she was a child, starry-eyed and enchanted by the world, she had a music box propped up on top of her dresser. It was a simple little thing—made of dark wood and embellished solely by a design of golden flowers on the top. But once it was opened, a tiny ballerina was revealed, rotating in a lovely yellow dressed bedecked with roses. She danced in perfect accompaniment of the music—a melody of whimsy and nostalgia and lost dreams. The little girl became enthralled by the magic of the box every time she opened it. She spun around her room, keeping in time with the song and pretending she was the ballerina—full of grace and poise and a beauty that could only be described as timeless.

Now the little girl has grown into a woman, not-so-starry-eyed and disenchanted by the world she has become accustomed to. She does not know what happened to the music box, but it is not sitting atop her new dresser in the new home she lives in. At night, however, she hears the song—a melody of whimsy and nostalgia and lost dreams. In her sleep, she is the ballerina, and she twirls around with a beauty that is timeless but reminds her of time and how quickly it can slip away.

Splendidly Simple Strawberry Balls

Ingredients

1 tablespoon butter

1 can sweetened condensed milk

1 teaspoon strawberry Jell-O powder

½ cup sugar

Directions

Mix the butter, condensed milk, and Jell-O powder in a pan over medium-low heat. When it boils, mix for 8 to 10 minutes until it thickens and you can see the bottom of the pan while mixing. Be careful so that it does not burn; you may need to lower the heat.

Remove from the heat. Butter a medium-sized plate and pour the mixture over it. Let it cool completely. Rub butter onto your hands and form the mixture into teaspoon-sized balls. Roll the balls in sugar.

Makes about 20 balls.

Dreams, Human Nature, and Revelations

     Last night while I was asleep, I drew back my curtains and saw the planet Saturn drifting by. I had a certainty that someone was about to bomb the Grand Canyon. Oh, and it was doomsday.

      I used to think dreams possessed some kind of meaning—they predicted the future, or they were a reflection of your subconscious desires. But if all that is true, then what was my most recent dream trying to tell me? I’m going to be an astronaut? I want to go to the Grand Canyon, but someone will try to stop me from doing so? Science never was my strong point, and I’m not exactly yearning to see a huge hole in the middle of the desert.

      So I’ve come to realize that people overanalyze their dreams. When you’re asleep, you don’t become a psychic, and your secret, innermost longings aren’t going to reveal themselves to you. Dreams are just random thoughts that float around in our subconscious minds—something we saw or thought about that day comes back to us in a different form. Nevertheless, it’s easy to hope you were given some kind of sign in your sleep—a bit of guidance to put you on the right path, or a hint about events to come.

      And it’s the same for most situations in life. People scrutinize the most trivial matters, hoping to realize something they didn’t notice before. It becomes much easier when you take things as they come, without the endless questioning and investigation. Life isn’t about trying to know things beforehand. It’s about surprises and making mistakes so you can learn more about yourself through them.

Brilliant Banana Upside-Down Cake

For topping
¾ stick unsalted butter
1 cup packed light brown sugar
3 large just-ripe bananas, cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces

For batter
1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon salt
½ stick unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
¾ cup warm milk

Special equipment: a well-seasoned 10-inch cast-iron skillet

Directions
Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle.
Melt butter in skillet over medium heat, then stir in brown sugar and simmer, stirring, 4 minutes. Remove from heat and arrange bananas on top of sugar mixture in concentric circles, fitting in as many pieces as possible.
Whisk together flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt. Beat together butter and sugar with an electric mixer at high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. In a separate bowl, mix warm milk with vanilla. Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture in 2 batches, alternating with milk, mixing until just incorporated.
Spoon batter over bananas, smoothing top. Bake until top is golden and a wooden pick inserted into center comes out clean, 40 to 45 minutes.
Let cake stand in skillet 15 minutes. Put a plate over skillet and invert cake onto plate (keeping plate and skillet firmly pressed together). Replace any banana pieces stuck to bottom of skillet.
Serve cake slightly warm or at room temperature.

Youth

Youth is the island

Where we forget about

The rest of the world.

Youth is the kingdom

That is ruled solely by

Carelessness and joy.

Youth is a memory

That shines like a beacon

In everyone’s heart.

Youth is the place

The gray and the wrinkled

Wish to return to.

Youth is a mirror

Of what we dreamed to be

And all we once were.

Youth is a candle—

It glows bright as the sun

But quickly burns out.

The Orphanage

This is not our home,

Yet it is here that we are raised.

Within these gray walls

We spend our woeful days.

What cannot be forgotten

Here we try to forget,

But should the memories escape us

We would become filled with regret.

We think of what we have lost

As we play under cloudy skies.

Sometimes we may smile

Though it will never reach our eyes.

At night we cannot sleep,

For we fear what lies under our beds,

But the most terrifying monsters

Are the ones in our heads.

The Fisherman

            I remember clearly the day I was standing upon the pier, watching the sky burn with the colors of sunset. The water glistened as if there were thousands of diamonds floating on the surface, allowing themselves to be carried with the tide. At the horizon, the sea seemed like it had caught on fire, for it was so bright that I had to squint to look at it.

            Behind me, the shore was deserted. The only audible sound was that of the waves, gently lapping against the beams of the pier. Such a breathtaking sight—it was like the world had erupted in flames, yet I was the only one present to witness it.

            I sat down on the end of the pier, my feet dangling off the edge. The water was a long way down; nonetheless, I wished I could dip my toes into the drink. Somewhere above me, a seagull cawed. I leaned back and closed my eyes, but just as I was about to drift off into sleep, I heard a sudden voice.

            “Beautiful sunset, I’ll say.”

            I turned around. It was an old fisherman, tan and wrinkled like a raisin. He had a long white beard and blue eyes that still seemed to sparkle with youth. Behind him he carried his long fishing pole, and in his other hand was a ratted net that looked as if it had gone too many years without being replaced.

            “Have you ever thought that somewhere on the opposite shore, there’s someone doing the same thing we are now? Staring off towards the sea?” he went on, smiling at me with his collection of golden teeth.

            I blinked. Never had the thought hit me before. The world suddenly seemed much, much bigger, and I—who had felt so alone just minutes ago—realized that I was one of many.

            For now I knew there was someone on the other side of the sea, countless miles beyond the horizon. Someone with hopes and fears—with worries and dreams for the future. A real human being, gazing out at the water exactly as I had been. Although this person obviously couldn’t have been watching the sunset wherever they were, they still could’ve been marveling at the beauty of the world.

            The beauty of life, which I now believe is often revealed through nature.

            “No,” I replied at last. “I have never thought of that.”