the city lights

When I got my car on my sixteenth birthday, the first thing I did was drive. That’s the only reason I wanted a car, actually. To just drive. To get away from my family. To run. To hit the gas and just steer. Driving was something I could control. I had the control over which way I turned, which how fast I went and when I could hit the brakes and make it all stop.

It didn’t take me long to realize that planes travel faster than cars and I could get to my destination faster with an airplane.

But then I didn’t have the same control that I did when I steered my wheel and hit the gas with my lead foot.

I only loved to drive alone. Because then I could pretend that everything was okay. That I had complete control while everything around me was falling into a great black hole. I had to stand by idly and watch it disappear around me. I could do nothing to stop the debris that was falling around me as I just drove. If I drove fast enough, maybe I could go back in time and catch up with what went so terribly wrong in my life. Maybe I could rewind and fix the past.

Maybe.

There was a time when I didn’t want to drive. When I saw my father leave the driveway in his own car. I had seen the action so many times before, but now, it was a new view, a new action. The way he threw himself into his seat. He turned the key so fast, so hard that I thought maybe he would break it and then I wouldn’t be alone anymore with just Mom. I saw the way he backed out of the driveway so fast that he almost hit the sidewalk on the opposite side. I wanted to run down the stairs and out the door. I wanted to scream at him, the tears already in my eyes. How could he leave me?

But my parents never had any explanation for what they did. It was all a misunderstanding, they would tell me later.

I turned up my music so loud that I could only hear the Beastie Boys as they screamed “Sabotage” over and over. Then I turned on Metallica. Then Nirvana. Then Disturbed. I turned it up so loud I heard my mom knock on my door again and again, begging me to turn the music down. But I couldn’t. If I turned it down, I would have to hear my thoughts. The thoughts about how he abandoned me, how he left me alone to wrinkle and wither up…Those thoughts would resurface. I would have to hear them. With my music turned up so loud, I could at least block them out for a little while.

After I got over the fact that I wouldn’t be seeing my father for months, I started driving late at night again. There was a curfew for people under eighteen not to drive, but I didn’t care, preferring to break the rules rather than to try to obey. Keeping myself in check was not a forte of mine.

Whenever I drive, I have to have music playing. I can never have radio. Talk stations don’t really fit with me. I have always been more of a non-commercial guy. That’s why I don’t watch television, preferring movies always.

So when I am driving, I always play music through my CD player or my iPod when I haven’t broken my adapter. When I download a new set of songs, I immediately make a CD, inserting it after I’ve started my car. I don’t understand how some people can just drive quietly. I always sing along or hit the steering wheel when I need to make a point or hit along with the drums. My breath is always taken away by the sound of the wailing guitars or the voice of the lead singer.

And even thought my thoughts always catch up to me, I still drive, still steer, still hit the gas. Even though my eyes are barely able to make out anything due to the tears.
_____________

written for a novel I am currently composing slowly, but carefully. this is in a guys point of view, just in case you were confused.
thanks for reading,

Anya

happiness

It started at work.
The thing is, I can’t even remember the day. All I know is that this guy came in and sat down while I was on box, trying not to even think about him watching me, which is how I handle every person who comes in and sits down on the benches right inside the doors. I was probably doodling on a spare piece of paper or maybe I was just sitting on the counter (which I am not supposed to do under any circumstances) and leaning my head against the glass, wondering why on earth my life had to be this boring. I mean, why did I have to get a job that allows so much boring time in between movies? Can’t they all just run right after the other, no breaks at all? Nope. Especially when we haven’t had any new movies in a very long time.
Anyway, he spoke first, not even saying hey or any sort of greeting that could be considered the polite way to start a conversation according to those old writers like Jane Austen (actually, I have no idea what Jane Austen would consider appropriate because I have never met her or read anything she has written. I know it’s tragic, you don’t have to tell me twice). “So how do you like Mrs. Koch?”
I was surprised at first, my eyes glancing at him. “What?” I asked.
“How do you like Mrs. Koch?” he asked again.
“Oh,” I replied, my voice trying not to sound as surprised as I was inside. This was a total first. No one ever recognizes me outside of school unless I am friends with them or talk to them on a regular basis like the people in my AP Lang class, which is exactly what Mrs. Koch teaches. “Yeah, I’ve seen you!” The recognition was finally beginning to sink in, but only barely. “It’s okay. I just hate all the deep thinking. I don’t understand why we can’t just read something and take a freaking test on it!”
Yeah, I got very emotional. It’s kind of weird. I shouldn’t have done anything like that because I pretty much marked myself as a freak whenever he thinks of me now. Which is exactly what I want to be remembered as.
Not.
He agreed with me and everything, but even I could tell that I was a freak. But I still wondered who he was. I had seen him before. I just wasn’t sure if he ever looked at me like someone he may eventually be attracted to. I am not the most observant or people when it comes to guys. I tend to avoid eye contact with someone and not indulge into conversations with them as I most frequently end up acting like an idiot. And looking like one too.
Now, I was introduced to someone who recognized me. Me. Anya Kubilus. A no one. An overdramatic sixteen-year old (then, at least) who had nothing better to do with her spare time than read and go on Facebook and MySpace. Let me just point out that no one ever recognizes me. Especially guys. Unless, as I said before, I have talked to them in the past multiple times. And even then, sometimes they do nothing but pretend to not know me at all. But this guy, this nameless guy, he knew who I was. He recognized me. Even though I had never talked to him before in my life. What was I supposed to think of this? Was I supposed to just sit (well, figuratively) there and think about it at the time? If I had been someone different, someone braver, I could have kept talking, asking him about his classes and his name. That could have made things much more clear, but I didn’t. I’m not think-on-your-feet type of person. In fact, I am just the opposite. It takes me a while to write anything and even longer to think of a perfect response for a question. Sometimes, I can get away with a witty comment or sarcastic reply. But mostly, I am stuck in my life, stuck in something I so wish I could change about myself. I’m shy, I know it, but the fact that he asked me a question randomly and didn’t pretend to not recognize me, made me rethink my life and my personality. I wish I was braver that day. I wish I had asked his name. I wish, when I returned to school that next Monday and looked for him after my first hour when he normally comes in to the classroom, that I would have smiled when he made eye contact with me. That would have been a good choice. But being the shy person that I am, I didn’t. I stood there, holding my books close to my chest, my backpack breaking my back in its slowly annoying manner, and saw him break eye contact as soon as I didn’t smile or say anything that had the slightest sort of indication that I was interested. Because I most certainly was.
Now he’ll never know that. Every day when I get to school, I look for him, I look for the Senior in the green-and-gray striped zip-up hoodie. The boy who wears To Write Love On Her Arms shirts, who listens to Underoath and who is into Norma Jean. He plays the drums, he is in full orchestra with me. He has short hair and an amazing smile.
His name is Geoffrey Graham.
And he’ll never know how I feel.

~Anya

Junior Year

I always thought it would be easy. For God knows what reason.

Because I got to school today and this is what I receieved:

Homework.

For every single class.

EXCEPT: Orchestra and Journalism.

I figured that at least I'd get homework in my AP classes, but seriously.

This is just ridiculous.

And time consuming.

Gah!

At least I'm meeting tonight for studying with friends.

And to gaze upon the hot barista guy who serves coffee at HG. Yum Yum.

It will be an interesting night.

If only I didn't have this embarassing haircut to ruin my entire life! It's my fault though. Like the idiot I am, I think I can cure everything. So I cut my bangs because they were getting too long. And now they are just a little too short.

Opps.

-Anya Potato!!!

Yellow

So I'm sitting here at my computer, my hair all crazy and my eyes tiring, but I can't go to sleep. Coldplay's lyrics will haunt me in my dreams.

IF you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you have never heard the song "Yellow."

Or "Warning Sign."

Becuase those songs, my friends, my readers, my fellow bloggers, are more than songs. To some they are life. To others, they are something to pass the time with. And to me, they are what help me write and get me through the day.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, and all the things that you do, yeah, they were all yellow."

And when you get the meaning of that, you have finally lived.

Anya

Miserably miserable

That there is someone out there mad at me. And all I can say is, why? Why now? Why at this exact moment in time did you decide to get mad at me? If I had sat with you at lunch on Monday and talked to you and nodded to everything you said, would this be happening?

So now I'm super depressed. I could barely eat last night and I could barely eat this morning. I don't know what brought on this hostility and all I can say is that I want it to go away. I feel so terrible. Almost as if I want to hurt myself (don't worry, I won't. because I know things will work out in the end). I hate feeling this way. I feel a stupid lurch in my stomach that makes me terrified of what could happen. I have shivers up and down my arms from just thinking about this awful fight.

Casey, I thank you for being there when I need someone to talk to. You too, Jackie. You two rock and will always be there for me, I know this. And Michelle, thanks for making me laugh about the whole situation yesterday.

And the whole problem I'm having is that I know K is mad at me and I know why she's mad at me (well, not the whole reason. apparently, there are about 20 reasons why she's mad and she just isn't too happy to share them all with me at this moment).

And last night, when I got that message, you know, the one on MySpace where she's trying to yell at me online (which is doing a mighty fine job, btw) she hurt me so much that I cried. Literally. Cried. Becuase she hurt me that much. It's almost like she didn't know me as a person. Like the last four years we've known each other have been competely erased. And it hurts. Oh, yeah. It hurts like hell.

She doesn't know how much I value her friendship. How much I love hanging out and playing GuitarHero and listening to music and going to concerts. Or even just planning on going to concerts and never actually going. And talking about books. We do that constantly. Talk, talk, talk. It's a disease, it really is.

So now, tonight. I am going to go either to see Ellis or either to see Prom Night with a bunch of friends (sadly not including K. I am really sad about this, too. Becuase if she were to come, I know that we would have a fabulous time). I sort of don't want to go to see Prom Night though because Ellis is leaving tomorrow for Nashville and I probably won't ever see him again (well, I'll see pictures and I'll see his Facebook and I will hopefully see his CD becuase he'd better come out with one. He is very talented). And no, Ellis is not aquainted with me in that way. I've just seen him play his guitar around the town of Boringville, USA so many times with Mollie and K. It was fun, but now not very likely to ever happen again.

Now I'm miserable all over again, just talking about this stupid fight and why on earth it is happening now! Why now? Might I ask. Why this week? Why on earth is this happening to me? I didn't do anything wrong? Did I?

Oh wait, I forgot that I didn't sit by her at lunch. That is totally worth a terrible punishment.

Jeez.

Later,

Anya

Happy Birthday Rachel!!!!! Sorry I'm a bit late.

It's just so cute....

~Anya

Listening to: "Alive With The Glory of Love" - Say Anything

*Anyaximum Ride* - a maximum ride friend

Howdy

My name is Anya. It's a lot like Tanya, but without the T. I live where music only matters and where books are unlimited.

My life is unfortunately boring...so far. Lots of friends, love to read, love my iPod (or Bert, as he is more commenly known), love to play the violin, love my nice soft bed....I love any kind of music.

No pets, divorced parents, love to write on my computer when I am really bored or just watched Gilmore Girls. Oh, i love that show, too. I love Veronica Mars also. I am in love with Milo Ventimiglia (Jess Mariano).

I love poetry, but not rhyming. Versed is great. I love books. Sarah Dessen, Meg Cabot and Kieran Scott are favorites. I have a myspace, yes, I am officially a geek. I have too many books. I live in a very boring town two hours away from Chicago. I love to browse books at Borders and Barnes and Noble.

I love to shop. I love to write, write, and write. My birthday just passed two months ago. I want a David for myself (only true Meg Cabot fans would know what that stands for). I want to meet everyone from MCMB (meg cabot message boards). I have met Meg Cabot and would very much like to again. I love to play in my orchestra at school and make new friends at Music Acadamy. I love talking to my friends online (IM, is a personal prefrence). I love any kind of music, seriously.

Well, except the rock where they scream at you. I mean, MCR is okay, but not...I dunno any screaming bands, so I'm not the best person to tell you.

That's all I can think of for now.

~Anya

Listening to: "How To Save A Life" - The Fray.....don't judge me. It was on a playlist.








Dedicated to Punk Shusen (Rachel)! Because she knows how much she loves to read!