Awkward Writing Mga Nobela at Kwento

"I'll see you at school tomorrow? " "Yeah. " Awkward couldn't begin to describe how I felt. "Uh. Okay. That's—Okay." And just like that, his head disappeared back inside the car and I thought I caught a slight hesitation before his window slid shut. I dove straight for my little book when I ran into my room, grabbing my pen as I laid on top of the bed covers. I uncapped my favorite black pen, turning to a new page and wrote down the words; Who am I?

“It always keeps me worried at night and I can hardly focus on anything else anymore and it does not help that you tend to go hot and cold on me without any reason. One minute you are praising me and being all gentle with me and the next minute, you just go all harsh on me and it leaves me scared on how to act around and I know that I can be very awkward sometimes but I just can’t help it-“ I was rambling but I couldn't help it. It was like my brain was going through word vomit and my mouth couldn’t help but continue spewing out the words without even thinking about it. I was very sure it was doing nothing to help my cause but I just needed him to understand me from where I was coming from a

So I decided to get my mind busy, I went straight to my desk, and opened my notepad on my laptop to write. I don’t even know what I’m trying to write at first because this wasn't my usual blog post but some rough thoughts. The words just come out fast at first, trying to empty my head before it explodes. [Funny how people think they know everything when they only see half of it.] I stare at the sentence but it doesn’t feel right. Still, I keep going. [Funny how the loudest people are always the ones with nothing at stake.] Arrgghhh… What am I driving at? This isn't even helping.

She bit back in a cold,grim tone. " Well , we'll have to talk about it sooner or later, Amanda. I choose sooner," I shrugged. " Don't make things more awkward and weird than they already are , Maxwell," " It's already awkward enough, why not just talk about it when things are awkward right now than later when they aren't?" I argued back, watching her roll her eyes in frustrating mood.

' Obscure heaviness and an awkward atmosphere suddenly veiled the otherwise quite environment around the table while I was feeling utterly crushed under the discomfited air that I had unintentionally created for myself. I bit my inner cheeks in anxiety, thinking of many ways to try and elevate the strange atmosphere. "Ah.... Erm...I just remembered a funny joke. Do you guys wanna hear it?" I tried not to make my voice sound too gauche or awkward, wanting to act as if nothing was wrong and it wasn't me just now who had accidentally blurted out stuff I shouldn't have. No one spoke a word, and I could only continue with my charade, "Do you know why Adele crossed the road?"

But why is he not doing anything to punish me for causing him so much trouble? I might look calm on the outside, but underneath, I am like a cat on hot bricks! I don’t even dare to breath too rapidly, in case my breathing sounds too loud that would annoy him. But what should I do now? I feel so awful, and this silence around here is making the atmosphere so uncomfortably awkward! As how everybody else feels about it, awkwardness is one big evil thing that I don’t like to have happening around me, because it is the hardest to handle!

But yeah, I was so happy to hear these things from him. He stopped twisting his pen and started to write something behind the notebook. Really? Aspen also had that habit to write random stuffs behind his notebook. He showed me what he wrote and I didn't expect what he had written. "We're getting closer and closer, awkwardness fades already." It was just a bit of a time. How could he say that? We've just had a bit of talks and moments together, nothing's too special about it, for him. But it seemed like he's interpreting every thing we do as a big issue.

I ask. Nothing answers. Of course not. But something shifts. Small. Subtle. The word doesn’t feel as solid. “Where did it come from?” Silence. The gap widens. “Why does it not connect to anything else?” The word flickers. Not audibly. Internally. Like its edges just— Blurred. “Why does it feel complete when it shouldn’t be?” That’s the one. The shift is sharper this time. More obvious. The word— Wavers.

Like nothing had changed. Like this was normal. I forced myself to look away. Breakfast began. But no one really ate. Not properly. The room was filled with quiet movements. The clink of cutlery. The soft shifting of chairs. But underneath all of that— Awkwardness. Heavy. Unavoidable. No one knew what to say. No one knew how to act. It felt like we were all pretending this was normal when it clearly wasn’t. I focused on the children.

She felt the anger that had built up in her just now and dispersed a lot. “Dr. Jack, are you sure you can read it? His writing is even uglier than yours.” “My writing is not ugly.” “Oh.” She responded with insincerity and asked. “Dr. Jack, do you have calligraphy class in your medical school? They specially train you on your writing and identification of words.” “Arya, are you sure you have reached home? Your skin is feeling itchy, right?” His tone made her laugh. “Dr. Jack, tell me why is it that once we chat, the topic will turn meaningless.”