T.H Wam's Random Thoughts

Installment #1:

Warning: You might be greatly confused by anything that is written beyond this point. There might be dark, sad, or somber thoughts. It could also be a blank place, a white void, complete nothingness. Speaking of which, it is impossible to imagine nothing, because it is impossible for your brain to process the thought of itself not existing.

Thought 1: God doesn’t care. Or he/she/it doesn’t exist. The evidence of his/her/its not caring is exemplified in the fact that world hunger exists. If god cared, he/she/it wouldn’t have created a surplus amount of beings. He caused strife between these beings that he created. If he cared, there would be a certain amount of beings, and this total amount of beings would never change. Birth would be simultaneous with death. Also, why would he/she/it make death. It must not care, because why would god create such a great and wonderful thing as life and not perfect it into immortality. He makes the greatest thing ever, and its not permanent. It would be like if Van Gogh made the starry night on a piece of paper that disintegrates after a week. “Look, Picasso” Van Gogh would say, “I have created one of the best pieces of art in the world, But it will only exist for 168 hours. After that, no one will know the genius of my creation because it simply won’t exist.” Possibly god is a jerk. He gives conscious thoughts to a thing that dies. It fears death with all of its being, but it is impossible for it to achieve immortality. Even if there were no actual causes of death, any plants or animals physical body would eventually fall apart. So humans are tortured every day of their lives by the knowledge of their own demise. But, God could also not exist. If he/she/it didn’t/doesn’t exist, all of my previous arguments are irrelevant. End of thought 1.

-T.H. Wam

Estella (Part IV)

Okay. The first thing I have to say before you read this is that I didn't write it because I have a love for the novel Great Expectations. Far from it. Honestly, I found the book to be boring as crap; I just really loved Estella’s character. Then I had this project assigned to me in English class. We read The House On Mango Street, and we were talking about a protagonist’s journey to self-discovery, and we had to choose a protagonist from a novel we’d read earlier in the year and write a bunch of vignettes about them. So, I picked Estella. And I wrote these vignettes from her point of view, and I used literary devices and crap (using literary devices was part of the project) and I just really like them, okay?! So, if you’re like me and you were forced to read Great Expectations, I hope you read and enjoy the only Great Expectations fanfiction in existence. Oh, also: SPOILER ALERT. I follow Estella through the entire plot of the book, so if you don’t know how it ends and you don’t want to know, DON’T READ IT. Okay. Cool. Enjoy. This is part three...

Part IV. Choosing

People return to you at the strangest and most inopportune times. People you thought you had forgotten. People you forgot to remember. They hear about the new people in your life and they question you. They ask you the questions that you don’t think to ask yourself.
People like that - like him - make you reevaluate yourself. People who you never realized meant that much to you, and suddenly, they become all you think about and it scares you. He scares me.
It’s not that I think he isn’t safe; it’s that he shows me a different way of living, and it takes me away from what I know. He makes me re-think everything.

At first, he showed me a humble lifestyle, no grandeur, no extravagance. And I scorned it. I laughed at him and his coarse hands and his thick-soled boots.

Now, he shows me that maybe love isn’t all about money and status. Maybe marriage isn’t about taking advantage of other people's assets. Maybe being a lady isn’t the most important thing to be. Maybe there is more to loving somebody than I know; maybe I don’t know anything about loving somebody because I’ve never experienced it. Maybe I’ve only imagined love where there isn’t any.

And then he leaves me and I think about how I think when I’m around him and it’s so different from how I think when I’m not around him and I’m feeling (is that what this is) and if it is feeling and it happens when I’m around him then am I feeling for him and this is not what I know I don’t know what to do I have to act like I know but I am just stumbling through each day blind - I’m so confused.

And then he’s back, and it happens again. Then I start to think again. I become more and more muddled, these new notions creep around the edges of everything I thought I knew. I am a flower, and my petals are just beginning to open, sunlight beginning to seep in and make things clear.

I think I know what I want. I think I know what’s really true. I have to change, but I don’t know how. I’m angry at myself for being the way I am, and I wonder why everything is so hard.

Now I remember. I remember who taught me to be a lady. I have made my choice; I need to go home.

- CinnamonGinger

Estella (Part III)

Okay. The first thing I have to say before you read this is that I didn't write it because I have a love for the novel Great Expectations. Far from it. Honestly, I found the book to be boring as crap; I just really loved Estella’s character. Then I had this project assigned to me in English class. We read The House On Mango Street, and we were talking about a protagonist’s journey to self-discovery, and we had to choose a protagonist from a novel we’d read earlier in the year and write a bunch of vignettes about them. So, I picked Estella. And I wrote these vignettes from her point of view, and I used literary devices and crap (using literary devices was part of the project) and I just really like them, okay?! So, if you’re like me and you were forced to read Great Expectations, I hope you read and enjoy the only Great Expectations fanfiction in existence. Oh, also: SPOILER ALERT. I follow Estella through the entire plot of the book, so if you don’t know how it ends and you don’t want to know, DON’T READ IT. Okay. Cool. Enjoy. This is part three...


Estella - Part III. The Things Ladies Do

     It is a curious thing, when one stands in the middle of a crowd and feels completely alone.
     I watched the dancing couples twirl about, the sliding of their feet against the floor complementing the twinkling ballroom music swirling through the room. They looked so happy in their togetherness, so unafraid.
     I stood near the wall, wishing desperately that I could slouch against it and relax, but knowing that I could not. A lady maintains perfect posture at all times, even if she is uncomfortable.
     Earlier, I danced with Bentley Drummle. We waltzed and glided and followed all the motions. Perhaps I looked happy on the outside; perhaps all the others are only smiling for everybody else. Maybe underneath they wonder if maybe they should be smiling on the inside too. Maybe I'm not the exception to the rule.
     But never mind that. A lady does not worry herself with trivial matters. She must focus on marriage; she must marry well, or she will have no future.
     I have seen what happens to unmarried ladies.
     I hold my dance card, rows of names in my neat and practiced handwriting, stacked one on top of the other. I danced with many men tonight, but I cannot remember who each of them are. I don't remember their personalities or their faces, or what we discussed as we rotated and revolved. All I retain is their names, thanks to the cardstock reminder creasing in my hand. One thing I do remember is anxiety. Tension. 'Will this one be the one to break me beyond repair?'
     No. I won’t think like that. Ladies do not dwell on the unpleasantries; I will not dwell on the misery and loneliness that I do not (I don’t I don’t I don’t) feel. I will not dwell on the ways in which love can ruin you.
     I remember time in a timeless room, splashes of jewels, a future promised and prepared for. My mother taught me well. She isn’t my mother by birth (that mother is unknown to me), but she raised me. She taught me all I know. She explained to me the ways in which the world works; she has allowed me to stray from the pitfall-laden path of searching for love, shown me how to be successful in marriage. How to gain, or, rather, how to cut my losses. That is how ladies find love; they find those who will bring them money and status.
     The other young women ask why I dance with Drummle. They say that he’s self-centered and easily angered, indifferent and unromantic. Their boys give them flowers, but I don’t know why they like that so much - they’re just plants. Ladies like me don’t want flowers from their courtiers; they want jewelry.
     I decided that I did enjoy dancing with Mr. Drummle. Really and truly. He is affluent. His family is respectable. I think this may be love.

- CinnamonGinger

Estella (Part II)

Okay. The first thing I have to say before you read this is that I didn't write it because I have a love for the novel Great Expectations. Far from it. Honestly, I found the book to be boring as crap; I just really loved Estella’s character. Then I had this project assigned to me in English class. We read The House On Mango Street, and we were talking about a protagonist’s journey to self-discovery, and we had to choose a protagonist from a novel we’d read earlier in the year and write a bunch of vignettes about them. So, I picked Estella. And I wrote these vignettes from her point of view, and I used literary devices and crap (using literary devices was part of the project) and I just really like them, okay?! So, if you’re like me and you were forced to read Great Expectations, I hope you read and enjoy the only Great Expectations fanfiction in existence. Oh, also: SPOILER ALERT. I follow Estella through the entire plot of the book, so if you don’t know how it ends and you don’t want to know, DON’T READ IT. Okay. Cool. Enjoy. This is part two...


Estella - Part II. The First Boy

There is a boy.
He is new, and different, and so very far from me that I am unsure of what I am to do with him; why has Mother brought him here?
He is a he. A him; a boy.
Mother warned me about boys. Boys and their promises of love. Boys and their murmured confessions, the impossible offers they procure out of thin air, and she says that I’ll believe them if I am unprepared.
So Mother has prepared me. I think perhaps this Boy is practice; a way for me to experience the lies with Mother standing by to aid me, to remind me of the danger. 
We play cards, but only the simple games. The Boy doesn’t know the strategic games that Mother and I play. He hasn’t been taught our ways.
Mother lets me wear her jewelry, and she whispers things in The Boy’s ear. The Boy is quite infatuated with me. I know because Mother told me so; also because he follows me the way a dog will follow a hand with a treat. Watching, waiting. Eager and hopeful.

---

The Boy has been with us for a very long time. I led him on and pushed him away (always according to Mother’s prompting), and now I am through with him. Mother is very proud of me. She has told me so. She says I am ready to be a lady; ready to go out, ready to make more boys fall in love. Ready to find the one who will bring me the most, and ready to marry him. 

I am to go to London soon. I am to stay with a friend (Mother’s word for the vultures who lurk about her, snapping up any scrap of possible inheritance and shooting jealous looks at me (for my inheritance is already insured, as I am Mother’s daughter)) of Mother’s, in an estate just outside the city. I am to attend dances and be outfitted for new dresses; I am to show Mother that she has taught me right.

Mother has given me her jewels to take with me to London.

I grew up playing with her jewels, trying them on and pretending to be who I am about to become. Now I wear them, just as Mother wore them, and I take the carriage to London, ready to be married.  

- CinnamonGinger