An autobiographical poem, of self.

I came from a decent family, raised with so much love, music, sacrifices and joy. Grew up loving everyone around me more than I love myself. Always knew my heart was never for myself, but for the world instead. Mum always reminded me of how I was born to be a fighter for the toughest days arrived when she was about to give birth to me back then.

I inherited dad's passion in sports and mum's interest in arts. My face doesn't look like either of them, but I'm okay. I was the kind who would wake up really early in the morning just to read a book and get back to my sleep just because I can. Mum told the discpline got loose eversince but I guess that was just one of the perks of growing up as a teenager. Some said I'm a self-employed comedian for anything you ask me, I have the capability to make the answers sound so inappropriate, or probably - inappropriate.

My favourite music is anything melancholic. For melancholy speaks the truest of thoughts we hold onto dearly in our mind. If you could befriend my deep thoughts, in the middle of me cracking jokes in the crowd, you would often find them lingering somewhere in an empty room. I like the fact that though they never fall into place, I could always gather them together on the right track.

Arsenal is my football club, since I was eleven. They are the reasons why I've become such a hopeless romantic, despite I'm never quite lucky when it comes to my love life. For when I fall, I fall hard. And I will stay, through whatever. Often people see me walk away, they simply dismissed the efforts I portrayed. I don't speak lies. When it doesn't work out, let's just call it a time out.

So hi. I'm Elli. I'm a lion-hearted with round face and a weakness for cats, and good books on rainy days. I love mountains and lakes and I would usually be up almost on every single night due to my struggles with the restlessness within me.

I interact with people in a language they don't understand. You might see me as an active talking machine on social networks and in reality but truth will remain truth; I am best as a listener rather than a talker. Pretty much having the time of my life, waiting for someone to come along to tell me I try hard enough, I'm already good enough and I'm all they need. Self-proclaimed as an unfinished poem, song, a storybook; stubbornly and steadily convincing myself that I'm all I'll ever need.


Tadaa.

The first, after a few.

The fear said,


Don't publish this new blog.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the joy and grief inside your bones.

They have to be spoken. They have to be shared. With those, who can relate.

Hence, why I give it another go.