Rejected Rejection
Rejected Love
“Dash [love] from your soul, gather your scattered pride!”
Oh, that I could!
Is it possible to believe that beneath this wooden, practical head lies a soft, romantic heart?
I believed I had heard the delicate harp strains of love, played by an angel. Alas, it was only a man, drumming a keyboard with his toes.
Oh, rejection.
"Conquer the barbarous Hippolytus, who mocks the graces and the power of Venus!"
God Almighty, death and volunteer centers accept all.
Unlike Life, who, akin to a university, rejects, and rather harshly, I must add in personal pique. The great trauma I have undergone, the extreme torture, makes only a small eddy in Its vast ocean.
Mine is a world, not the world.
At seventeen, I am bitter.
I loudly protest the appearance of such flippancies as school dances, at which I cannot make an appearance for fear of humiliating myself.
And yes, yes, I cry out against Girl Date, that loathsome monstrosity, that remnant of a sexist era.
It was in this room, this room that I received my rebuff. May the paint fly off the walls, the couch fling its cushioned behind out the window!
Forgive me for mouthing ejaculations; I do not exaggerate. Acute pain lances every word of this letter, which, by-the-by, is also a flexing of literary muscles long unused.
However, that is beside the point. The point, as I gesticulate wildly and blindly with a pen, must pierce the hearts of my listeners.
At times I can be quite clever.
Here also I stray! Be still, my mind.
My sacred object of devotion, the adored idol of my idolatry, stated in response to my fervent lavishing of love somewhat to the effect that he wished to retain his virginity.
Weeping, I retreated from his bristling chastity.
Or beginning in that particular strain. I cannot recall, so great is my anguish.
Nothing can assuage this miserable suffering, my endless distress. The sea may gulp me into its watery kiss, the earth into is crumbly embrace, but I…I shall never forget.
Never, never initiate what I have begun!
Heed my warning,! Be miserly with your love, friends, careful with your heart!
Most sincerely,
Winnie Khaw in her heart’s last will and testament
Rejected Rejection
“Sir, we feel a need to impart to you our standards--
--None.”
Upon hearing this, I eagerly submitted my work.
“His eyes…oh, the light shining in them, as when fishes thrash their tails in algae-infested waters-”
Twice the rejection. Twice the refusal. A hundred times the agony.
I simply enjoy relishing the pain of repeating those words. Softly, loudly, then louder still. Ah, that I could drown myself in tears!
I am working myself into a rage. Do not try to pacify me with trifles like logic and reason.
Did the Accolade clasp me to its papery bosom in motherly affection? Did it bestow inky kisses upon my bowed head, draw me up to its equal in page length? No!
I was refused again. Rejected.
I cannot speak without sobbing, smearing my letters, writhing in figurative pain.
I mentally throw up my hands and go my way, meaning out of love’s way, truth’s way, and virtue’s way, while trying to ignore the putrefying state of my once considerable integrity and self-respect.
I ask of you, friends, was it not enough that Girl Date should dash my hopes to the concrete ground? That I should endure so much, for so little in return?
No.
It was decreed that I should receive even this weight patiently, a Christian to bear this burden of woes.
Was I permitted to share my grief, my inner turmoil, with the world? Did this sympathetic world, this loving world…but I will not complain. No, far be it from me to do such a thing! Base, unworthy thing! Fie!
Hope, thou art a most fretful lover! You toss restlessly, ever beside me but ever teasing!
I will doubtless become a marvelous activist for the unloved, which is fortunate because I am a lousy scholar.
I have learned much from this endeavor.
The same is the end of each and every course.
Sadly,
Winnie Khaw's heart from beyond the grave
P.S. A short posthumous note from Winnie's heart: I do plan my final destination to be Heaven, though I may embark on several detours and false leads on the way.
“Dash [love] from your soul, gather your scattered pride!”
Oh, that I could!
Is it possible to believe that beneath this wooden, practical head lies a soft, romantic heart?
I believed I had heard the delicate harp strains of love, played by an angel. Alas, it was only a man, drumming a keyboard with his toes.
Oh, rejection.
"Conquer the barbarous Hippolytus, who mocks the graces and the power of Venus!"
God Almighty, death and volunteer centers accept all.
Unlike Life, who, akin to a university, rejects, and rather harshly, I must add in personal pique. The great trauma I have undergone, the extreme torture, makes only a small eddy in Its vast ocean.
Mine is a world, not the world.
At seventeen, I am bitter.
I loudly protest the appearance of such flippancies as school dances, at which I cannot make an appearance for fear of humiliating myself.
And yes, yes, I cry out against Girl Date, that loathsome monstrosity, that remnant of a sexist era.
It was in this room, this room that I received my rebuff. May the paint fly off the walls, the couch fling its cushioned behind out the window!
Forgive me for mouthing ejaculations; I do not exaggerate. Acute pain lances every word of this letter, which, by-the-by, is also a flexing of literary muscles long unused.
However, that is beside the point. The point, as I gesticulate wildly and blindly with a pen, must pierce the hearts of my listeners.
At times I can be quite clever.
Here also I stray! Be still, my mind.
My sacred object of devotion, the adored idol of my idolatry, stated in response to my fervent lavishing of love somewhat to the effect that he wished to retain his virginity.
Weeping, I retreated from his bristling chastity.
Or beginning in that particular strain. I cannot recall, so great is my anguish.
Nothing can assuage this miserable suffering, my endless distress. The sea may gulp me into its watery kiss, the earth into is crumbly embrace, but I…I shall never forget.
Never, never initiate what I have begun!
Heed my warning,! Be miserly with your love, friends, careful with your heart!
Most sincerely,
Winnie Khaw in her heart’s last will and testament
Rejected Rejection
“Sir, we feel a need to impart to you our standards--
--None.”
Upon hearing this, I eagerly submitted my work.
“His eyes…oh, the light shining in them, as when fishes thrash their tails in algae-infested waters-”
Twice the rejection. Twice the refusal. A hundred times the agony.
I simply enjoy relishing the pain of repeating those words. Softly, loudly, then louder still. Ah, that I could drown myself in tears!
I am working myself into a rage. Do not try to pacify me with trifles like logic and reason.
Did the Accolade clasp me to its papery bosom in motherly affection? Did it bestow inky kisses upon my bowed head, draw me up to its equal in page length? No!
I was refused again. Rejected.
I cannot speak without sobbing, smearing my letters, writhing in figurative pain.
I mentally throw up my hands and go my way, meaning out of love’s way, truth’s way, and virtue’s way, while trying to ignore the putrefying state of my once considerable integrity and self-respect.
I ask of you, friends, was it not enough that Girl Date should dash my hopes to the concrete ground? That I should endure so much, for so little in return?
No.
It was decreed that I should receive even this weight patiently, a Christian to bear this burden of woes.
Was I permitted to share my grief, my inner turmoil, with the world? Did this sympathetic world, this loving world…but I will not complain. No, far be it from me to do such a thing! Base, unworthy thing! Fie!
Hope, thou art a most fretful lover! You toss restlessly, ever beside me but ever teasing!
I will doubtless become a marvelous activist for the unloved, which is fortunate because I am a lousy scholar.
I have learned much from this endeavor.
The same is the end of each and every course.
Sadly,
Winnie Khaw's heart from beyond the grave
P.S. A short posthumous note from Winnie's heart: I do plan my final destination to be Heaven, though I may embark on several detours and false leads on the way.
