Winter Trees.

The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees,
Seem a botanical drawing,
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.

-Winter Trees by Sylvia Plath.


I know it's unhealthy for me to keep dwelling into Sylvia Plath's works. I have re-read her book, The Bell Jar for the 5th time. Now I can really relate to her poem. This is a only the first stanza, I remind you although the meaning is otherwise if you read the whole poem. I feel so helpless sometimes. My parents have been encouraging me but at the same time, seemed to pave a road of return and forbid me from going through the walk of shame. They're protecting me, I know. What's the point of staying in UK for post-study work if they expect me to return home if I'm unhappy with work? They want me to be happy, to be ready for BPTC next year but mum, dad, I'm going to be just fine.

I know I cannot foresee the future or the outcome of my decisions. But I am sure I won't be caught dead living in hell. There will not be "a series of weddings" for me. Don't take the phrase literally. I will not fail. Not in a series of failures, at least. The Bell Jar talks about this young writer who had a bright start in her life; scholarship to New York but later on, she found out that her writing works just don't cut it. Depressed, she attempted suicide over and over again. Her family was there for her, all the time, pouring in love and money to cure her. Thank God I'm not relating myself to this, for I had passed my IELTS =)