hello! I’m Ai Jia and I’m currently 17 years old (as of 05/09/2018). so, here’s a short introduction on who I am and what writing is to me~
How did I get into writing?
So, I started writing after I read my first novel when I was 12. At first, I attempted to write teenfic romance on wattpad (i mean, are you surprised?) but soon after I tried to get into writing fantasy mainly because it’s my favourite genre to read. It didn’t work out that well though, haha. So, I took a break from writing anything for quiet some time. I got into writing poetry in year 10 of high school. We were starting to prep for our IGCSE’s and my literature class had just started lessons on poems. This was how i started reading poetry in the first place (I stumbled upon one of my favourite poems of all time [One Art by Elizabeth Bishop] in the poetry collection we were studying). I started writing poetry after a friend of mine sent me and some other friends a poem she wrote and asked for our opinions. There was this one Alice in Wonderland reference in her poem, and somehow this one reference inspired me to write a whole ass poem based on Alice in Wonderland (and unsurprisingly, it was really bad lmao), and then my journey in poetry just continued on from there. I only started writing prose recently, and there’s not much to it other than I just felt like it. That’s it lmao
What do I write?
Now, I mostly write poetry and prose (which is what I post on this blog). but, I am trying to write a novel… although, I wouldn’t put it past myself if I were to give up on it midway. So, no guarantee that I’ll ever finish writing it huhu
Favourite books/poems and authors/poets?
My favourite books include the ToG series by Sarah J. Maas and The Witches of Eileanan series by Kate Forsyth. For poems, my favourites are One Art by Elizabeth Bishop, To a Lady Seen from the Train by Frances Darwin and Acquainted with the night by Robert Frost. I don’t really have any favourite authors or poets in particular.
Other social media accounts?
My main: Twitter & Instagram Poetry: Instagram & Old blog
Feat. a picture of me for those who were wondering~
A hundred and two clouds setting with you,
As you splatter beige onto my horizon.
A thousand and five sandcastles de-ruse,
As you sculpt the stale paint onto Typhon.
Another thousand or so heads emerge
And devour my colours of white smoke.
Alive and tinted, their voices diverge,
Allowing my sky to dim and recloak.
A few hummingbirds fly west of the wind,
Aligning with the quacking rebirth of
A million and twenty-five whirlwinds.
A few infinities softly disperse
And dissolve into a chest of silver
Applause. Never to be seen or heard of —
— Again, | 30/09/2018 [a. jia]
There was nothing to report,
it was just a loving squeeze.
Like how boyfriends knot their
butterfly words around their
girlfriend’s neck and swindling body.
There was nothing to report,
Because there was nothing to see.
Like how boyfriends solidify their
cemented thoughts onto their
girlfriend’s breasts of black out poetry.
There was nothing to report,
Because it meant nothing to me.
Only one memory to account for
a soft shove down my slippery coffin,
is not enough to mull over
and write over, again and again.
— Why I didn’t report. | 29/09/2018 [a. jia]
The satin wounds around her docile frame
in glasses of spilt champagne. The train is
too long for her feet to pitter-patter
along the aisle with ease, but it doesn’t
matter. Her hair is a spiral of pink
ribbons and delicate care. In front of her,
Father sits somber and uncaring while
Mother weeps into her clear hands. Father
clears his throat when he sees her, and Mother’s
sobs come out louder and her screams fall flat.
Father offers her an arm. She straightens.
The aisle seems longer and wider than
it did before the ceremony. For
once, she’s glad to hold his hand. There, she sees
him, standing tall in his rugged glory
of youth and apathy towards her near
future. The wedding music plays and she
wills herself from tripping over her own
two feet. She doesn’t want to be made a fool.
She reaches the priest and Father drops her
arm like a sack of shit. She tunes out the
inconsistent speeches and non-existent
noise from Mother, and before she knows it
the vows are being spoken. But before
she speaks, she sends a prayer to the god
that abandoned her and left her to rot,
and to be given a childhood filled with
only a marriage to account for an
ounce of flowery pink and champagne white.
She accepts the bullet carved for her: I do.
— To wed a child. | 27/09/2018 [a. jia]
as child marriage has yet to be fully banned in Malaysia, I wanted to write something on the topic since I was getting sick of writing love poems all the time 🙂 hope y’all enjoyed~
1. Clouds shift through me whenever you breathe;
They whisper water vapour into my
fractured bones and swirl strangled spots onto
my ruptured skin. With arms stuffed from watered
down hail and diluted wind, I can feel
their breeze on the inner folds of my knees.
2. The trees sway lower whenever you speak;
Autumn leaves play childhood card games while they
swish-swoosh in sync to your vowels and beats.
They pop and lock to the uneven speech
running through your teeth, as your tongue fails to
secure them in your lips’ cherry knot grip.
3. Stars soar higher whenever your eyes blink;
11:11 heartbeats shroud me
in hibernation as the moon glistens
in the shining afterglow of falling
meteorites. The night sky embraces me
in a never-ending dream of quiet.
4. Mirrors reflect light whenever you sleep;
My image ripples in response to your
soft snores and twitching toes. The blankets move
in skips along the ocean, and my arms
ache to swim in search for island treasures.
5. Clouds allude me of feathers but leave me
in peace when I scratch for comfort. Autumn
leaves erase their presence on contact with
me. Stars escape their cages when no one
thinks to see. The song of dreams erodes me
into a ceramic vase of chopped rose
stems and gardened cactus leaves. Hidden gold
are unspoken wishes and (what if)’s left
dripping on the tips of my swollen lips.
— 5 things you should know: | 23/09/2018 [A. Jia]
Cinema lights are too dark for me. It hurts
To watch everyone mill about in queues.
Their noises are wretched and filled with overt
Ignorance. I’ve only watched a few movies after you.
Cinema temperatures are sickening,
My chest still burns as if caught with the flue.
White t-shirts won’t protect me from anything,
I’ve barely worn any t-shirts after you.
Cinema seats make me claustrophobic,
I couldn’t get far away enough from you.
My purity and skin, you have stolen
From me. I’ve only cried thrice because of you.
My breasts are ringed in dust and smudged from dirt;
I’ve never let anyone touch them before you.
— A letter to my ex. | 21/09/2018 [A. Jia]
Smoke filtered balconies shroud me in sleep,
As cigarette butts illuminate clouds.
My eyes slit so thin, they dug into my skin,
my iris withered and blew to the South.
Empty beer bottles and crushed wine cans sit
revived next to my floor-ridden homestead,
with two-thirds of a movie left unfinished
and front crawl swimming in salt-water bloodshed.
Honest mistakes dissolve into my grave
To purify and save the crumbling earth.
A letter of youth spills pus in concave
Circles of intoxicating rebirth.
Flower petals in my lungs, ash on my mind…
The world dimmed lower than I remember.
— Alcoholic redundancy. | 16/09/2018 [A. Jia]
A silver orb and his golden
Companions, embracing softly
As they lay across the sky;
A whimpered howl and a
Glance, not short
As Pink Camellias bloom;
A moment of quiet,
A hare gently sprung
Passed the setting moon.
— Ware | 29/08/2016 [A. Jia]
(an old poem written wayy back when I first started writing poetry :p)