He arrived barefoot, cloak frayed at the hem, speaking a dialect I did not know.And yet—I understood.I served him Stillwater Mead, cold and silent, meant for those lost between places.He nodded and left a map with no markings.The hearthlight faded for hours after he left.

​​​​​​​VI. Originality

What does it mean to be original? Is it a daring leap into uncharted creativity, or is it simply the courage to remain true to oneself amidst a sea of imitation? In a world that prizes innovation yet often rewards replication, the concept of originality stands as both a beacon of hope and a daunting challenge. The essence of originality is not simply about standing out but about staying authentic. It is about forging your path, even when the trails of others seem tempting to follow.

The theft of ideas—plagiarism—is perhaps the greatest affront to originality. Imagine an artist who pours their soul into a canvas, each stroke of the brush carrying their unique spirit, only for another to claim it as their own. The pain of seeing your identity stolen and paraded as someone else’s triumph is a silent wound that cuts deeply. Plagiarism is not merely an act of dishonesty; it is a negation of the hard work, vision, and essence that birthed the original creation. To borrow without acknowledgment is to strip away the dignity of the creator and reduce the masterpiece to a mere tool for personal gain.

Yet, in a world teeming with ideas, how often do we stop to credit the origins of our inspirations? We read, we see, we hear, and we internalize, but the line between influence and theft is often blurred. To copy ideas without credit is to rob the world of the intricate tapestry of human creativity. By failing to acknowledge the sources of our thoughts, we deny the interconnectedness that binds us. Recognizing the origin of an idea not only pays respect to its creator but also enhances the integrity of our work. It weaves a richer story, one that honors the past while contributing to the future.

Originality does not mean existing in isolation. True originality embraces references and sources but uses them as a foundation rather than a crutch. It is not the mere mimicry of what has been done but the transformation of inspiration into something uniquely your own. Imagine a musician who takes an old melody and infuses it with fresh emotion, creating a song that speaks to a new generation. That is the power of originality—to build upon what exists while crafting something that feels entirely new.

However, originality is not always celebrated. In a society that often prizes conformity, those who dare to be different are sometimes met with resistance or ridicule. The world can be harsh to those who color outside the lines. But true originality comes from the courage to stand firm, to say, "This is who I am, and this is what I offer." It is the conviction to embrace your quirks, your flaws, and your unique perspective, knowing that they are what make you irreplaceable.

The true essence of being original lies in authenticity. It is about creating from the heart, free from the shadows of comparison. It is about realizing that you do not need to force someone to be like you, nor should you strive to be someone else. Instead, encourage others to discover their own path, while you continue to walk yours. Originality is not a competition; it is a celebration of diversity and individuality.

At the same time, originality requires humility. It demands that we acknowledge when we draw from others, giving credit where it is due. Referencing is not a sign of weakness; it is a mark of respect. It says, “I see you, I value your contribution, and I am inspired by you.” In a way, originality thrives not in isolation but in collaboration and mutual recognition.

To those who long to emulate others, the message is clear: Do not lose yourself in the pursuit of imitation. Aspire not to be a carbon copy of someone else but to be the best version of yourself. Discover what makes you unique, and let that shine. Remember, even the brightest stars in the sky have their distinct places and functions. Let others inspire you, but never let them overshadow your identity.

And to those who are original, embrace your role as a guide. Show others what it means to live authentically. Encourage those who follow you not to mimic your steps but to chart their course. Lead by example, but let them lead their own lives. Originality is not about monopoly; it is about empowerment.

Originality is not easy, but it is necessary. It requires vulnerability, the willingness to expose your true self to the world. It demands effort, the perseverance to create something meaningful rather than settling for the ease of duplication. It takes courage, the bravery to face criticism and rejection in the pursuit of authenticity. But the rewards are unparalleled. To be original is to leave a legacy, to contribute something to the world that could only come from you.

So, let us honor originality in all its forms. Let us credit the sources of our inspiration and cherish the unique voices that enrich our lives. Let us strive to create from a place of truth, knowing that our authenticity is our greatest gift to the world. And let us encourage others to do the same, fostering a culture where originality is not just celebrated but expected.

In the end, originality is not about being the first to do something; it is about being the first to do it your way. It is about leaving your fingerprint on the canvas of life, a mark that says, “I was here, and this is what I brought.” Let that be our legacy—a world not of replicas, but of originals.

Hello, it has been a while since I have postedSo let me introduce myself again

Hi! I'm Edage, a passionate young creator with a big imagination and even bigger goals. I'm the mind behind Penana, Kofi (Edage), and Wattpad (Endage)—two creative projects full of heart, originality, and a message that matters.

🎨 What I Do:

I write, imagine, and bring to life powerful stories and poems that reflect who I am, what I believe, and the world I want to help shape. Whether it’s through heartfelt poetry, bold ideas, or colourful stories, I create to inspire others and grow into the creative force I dream of becoming.

✨ Why I Need Your Support:

Creating isn't always easy, but every step of the journey matters. Your donation helps me:

Improve my writing and projects

Access better tools and platforms

Grow my reach and audience

Keep my creative fire burning!

Even a small amount goes a long way. It's more than money—it's a vote of confidence, a cheer from the crowd, and a push forward.

🌟 How You Can Help:

Donate any amount– $1, $5, $10, or more, if you believe in my journey.

Share my work– Help more people discover Penana Kofiand Wattpad.

Send encouragement– Your words mean the world to me.

“Every big dream starts with someone believing in it. Thanks for being that someone.” 💛

https://ko-fi.com/edageCheck my description to see more of my platforms where I post

Check me out, share, like, comment, donate, anything ... I'm sure I would like it

You might like my works...... probably

I got invited to a get-together...

I declined of course, but I was surprised to even get the invite. She works with me, and nothing more. Or so I thought. But she is the only one at my work who is kind to me, even when I have the social skills of a... an antisocial person. It’s not that I don’t like to socialize, I just suck at it. Even when I know the “correct responses” to the questions that doesn’t really ask anything in particular, I get nervous and either get too honest or too real with the answers. Most of my co-workers call me (not to my face of course) cold and rude, and since I can see where they are coming from, I haven’t really tried my best to correct my behavior. With that being said, I really do admire her because she is so good at just talking and including people without stepping too much into someone’s space. I always wondered why she kept talking to me when I can’t even talk back naturally, but I think she would’ve talked to anyone. Is that how unjudgmental looks like? I don’t know. But I’ve gotten slightly more used to speaking to her, and to be honest, she is the only person I look forward working with. I don’t dislike everyone else at my work; I just don’t really get along with them? They are all good people; I just don’t know how to be like them? Anyways, she has a high tolerance for my awkwardness and doesn’t really seem to find me cold nor rude. But since she is such a lovely person, I did my best when declining the invitation.

I remember from my past, that sometimes you get the invite not because they wanted to invite you, but just because you happened to be in the close vicinity and not inviting this one out-of-the-place person could seem rude, you know? But this didn’t feel like it. So, after much consideration, I told her pretty much what I wrote above but a summarized version, and she thanked me somehow for my honesty...and said that she would invite just me to a coffee someday... I don’t know if this is just another someday that will never come but...

I kind of hope she will...

how am i suppose to know what i feel and what i not?????????

well i dont think it matters because have nothing to do with my future

the more i dont wanna think about it the i am curious to know my emotions regarding that situation

love ?? or just an attachment ??

i care about him and i am careful not to hurt him

i have an emotional attachment with him

i know him too well his feelings and he must be thinking and what not

he gets upset easily and i am always the understanding one

we literally fight everyday but sleep happy with each other

he tells me not to think too much and i actually dont

but today i wanna think

i just dont wanna  hurt him but he hurts me when he takes decisions regarding us without asking me but also i know what he is thinking and how is he trying to manage things (but he must inform me)

he says he loves me and he feel it thats why he say it and miss me too when we are not talking

in 2 days its gonna be a week we are not talking properly well the way we talked before was exclusive but now its too less

he can tell that when i am talking to somebody else and he gets jealous

i always have an reality check i know he belongs to another religion and is way too far from me

he cant be mine like never

and if i try to give him this reality check he will get upset and be like ok then whatever sabotage everything we have

i am confused with myself.......

Bölüm müziğimiz: Billie Eilish- Wildflower

Bazı insanlar vardır; ne söylenseler duyulmaz, ne hissetler yok sayılır. Fikirleri kabul görmez, hemen kenara itilir. İşte biz, hep susturulanlardanız. Zincirlerimizi kırıp sesimizi duyurmaya çalışırız, ama öyle bastırılırız ki, o cılız sesimiz bile içimize kaçar.

Bazen bu sessizlikte sadece buluyorum. Önce içimi yakan, yüksek voltajlı bir öfke bedenimi sarıyor. Yaklaşık yirmi dakika boyunca hiçbir şeyi düşünemedim, sadece öfke içinde olur. Ama konuşamam. Çünkü susturuldum. Daha sonra yerlerdeki öfkeye değil, hayal gücünü bırakırm. Ve bu onu artık geçemez. Anlaşılmamak, önemsenmemek, bastırılmak… İçimde bir yara gibi taşırım.

Benim yaşadığım hep daha yoğun, daha derin yaşanır. Bu yüzden kırılan da hep ben unutmayın. Biliyorum, bu sevginin derecesi insanların bana sunduğu sıfır çaba, sıfır ilgi, sıfır yüzünden. Onlar eksik verdikçe, ben fazlası belki de.

Bazen içim o kadar daralıyor ki... kendimden dünyadan soyutlanmış, gözlerim boşluğa dalmış halde buluyorum. Hiçbir olayı unutuyorum çünkü zihnimde dönen ilişkiler, günlük hayatıma yer kalmıyor. Ben içeride savaşıp duruyorken, birileri gelecekte yaşamın tam ortasını darmadağın ediyor. Ve ben, onun defasında sanki gizlicen "Gel, canımı yak" der gibi kollarımı açıyorum. Oysa içerideki susturulmuş ses, “Artık istemiyorum” bile diyemiyor.

Geçen günün bir ilki dizisi. İlk defa, ilişkileri ben kestim. O mesaj yazmak sadece iki saniye sürdü belki ama bana iki gün kaybettirdi. Çünkü bazılarının kişisel gibi kırılgan, duygusal sanıyorum. Ama neden kendime bu kadar yükleniyorum? Neden bu kadar acı çekiyorum? Artık gerçekten yoruldum.

Artık elimde savaşacak bir sebep bile kalmadı…

Bu cümle kısa ama neredeyse tüm yaşam özetleniyor.

İnsanlar, hayatlarında şeyler şeyler için çaba gösteriyor. Biri güzel bir elbise için, diğer hayalini kurduğu bir araba için hazırlanıyor. Sayısız hedef, sayısız istek… Benim tek çabamı biliyor musun? Sevilmek… “Beni sevsin, orada ol” diye didindim. Ama ne oldu? Bir şimşek gibi kafamda çaktı gerçek: yine ortada kala kaldım. Sonra düşündüm…

Ne kadar acımasız bu insanlar. Ne kadar acımasız bu dünya.

Aynı şeylerin tamamı geldiğinde, artık başkalarını değil, suçlamaya katılmadım. "Ben onu bu kadar sevmesem, bu kadar üzülmezdim. Ben ona bu kadar değer vermesem, bana bu kadar rahat kötü söz söyleyemezdi. Ben onu gözümde bu kadar büyütmesem, sadece yokluğunda beni arayan, benimle çığlık atan biri olduğunu anladım..."

Bunlar, içeride biriken hayal kırıklıklarıdır.

Şimdi o insanlar yok. Çünkü onlara öyle büyük bir güç verdim ki, benden kolayca vazgeçebildiler. Hayatım boyunca arkamdan gelen, “Nasılsın?” diye içtenlikle soran, düşüncelerimi anlayan çalışan biri olmuyor. Ama ben herkese tam da böyle yaklaştım...

Ve artık bir karar aldım: Kimse için çabalamayacağım.Benimle kalmak isteyen, birlikte arkadaş olmak isteyen, gerçekten bir bağ kurmayı isteyen insanlar biraz çabalasın.

Çünkü bu hayat, bu kadar acıyı taşıyacak kadar uzun değil. Ve ben bu kadar acıyı kaldırabilecek kadar güçlü değilim.

BÖLÜM SONU...

Of course I start to ask questions.Of course I wonder where you are.Of course I miss you.

You always knew I would, didn't you?

In the quiet moments, I sometimes hear your voice, even though I know you're not here. Why I still speak to you in my thoughts, my big sister, I don't quite know. Or why I believe you can hear me.Maybe because the silence around me is slowly but surely becoming unbearable.The community teaches us to ignore such negative thoughts, to bury them deep and replace them with positive ones.But you were always the one who made me think, even if I never really showed it. You asked questions back then... and those questions are coming back now.

It's this kind of deafening silence, where you can no longer block out all the noises. Like a cacophony of artificial noise trying to suppress the natural melodies of life, from what is true, instinctively even. Over the years, it's becoming more and more overwhelming.Do I have to first overcome the silence in order to hear melodies of truth?And what would I find there? It terrifies me to my core, yet it can't be worse than here.

You know, I believed them. The words we heard every day, the rituals we performed. It felt so right when I was a little boy,  a younger version of myself, from whom I have now distanced myself. I feel no connection to that young man anymore.Every mantra is just repetition, an empty shell they want to sell us as truth.

"Every experience I have is perfect for my growth!"

"Appreciate the abundance in your life!"​​​​​​​"Manifest the positive!"

I can't hear it anymore. This bullshit doesn't make sense anymore. Imagine eating soup with a fork. Nothing substantial sticks with me anymore, nothing fulfills me. Mother doesn't understand. She notices how I'm distancing myself and tries to pull me back, like they all do."Yorick, come to our gathering tonight," she says, her voice subtly filled with sorrow."You need to find peace and happiness, like the others." But I don't find peace anymore. How can I, when every smile feels fake, and every hug only feels cold and mechanical? They want us to believe we're free, but I've never felt more trapped in this cage of artificial happiness.

Live, Love, Laugh.Puke.

I drag myself through the gatherings, nodding obediently, pretending to take it all seriously. It's easier than explaining myself. Easier than seeing the disappointment in their eyes or hearing the whispers behind my back. I think they know it; they see the doubt in my eyes, the hesitation in my voice. I used to believe I belonged, as if I had a purpose. Now, I feel like just another cog in a machine that continues to pretend everything is fine.

But I can't just leave. Not with all these unanswered questions, not with your memory still haunting me everywhere.Do you remember when you first doubted? You took me aside, like so often, when we played outside in the woods just behind our trailer. I was little but even you were a still a kid yourself. You told me that you believed we were living a great lie and that this world was simply... wrong. I didn't believe you then, but I never judged you for your opinion. Today I know you were right. Everything is always too perfect. Too bright. They call it bliss, but it's not real, and it never was.

I remember the last time I saw you. Before they took you away. You were different. Your eyes were tired, but they burned wildly, I didn't understand it. You told me not to worry. You told me everything would be fine. I wasn't sure.It was never supposed to be like this, Sybelle. You should have stayed with me. You were always there, explaining things to me that I didn't understand. But you explained things in a way I could understand. You never judged me for my feelings, not like the others. And I never judged yours. We were each other's little paradise, where no feeling was "sinful." But now you're gone. From the moment you became uncomfortable to them, they took you away.I'm still here, surrounded by all of it, pretending to believe what they think is right. I recite their mantras, force my smile, swallow my doubts.

But I can't stop asking: what really happened to you? Why couldn't I protect you, like I promised back then? They say you're having experiences for your growth now. I can't help but believe they're lying to me. And I wonder what other lies I've been told.I am alone with these thoughts, thoughts I can't share with anyone, because they'd call me "too negative," and that's a mortal sin. They'd try to intervene. You're not allowed to ask questions here. It's wrong to feel anything other than bright happiness and joy. Yet a darkness spreads inside me, and I wonder if you would still be proud of me, or if you would tell me to leave this place.

I miss you. More than words can describe. And yet, all that's left of you are my memories and the tormenting questions. I wish I could ignore them, but when I try, they only get more insistent.

I'm not the boy I once was.I'm not the boy who felt so comfortable among the shining, smiling faces. I want to scream at them, tell them to stop pretending.I want to make them realize I'm suffocating in these lies. But I don't know how. So I stay quiet and play my part. But every day it's harder to breathe.

I promise you, I will find the truth.

All my life, I desired love. I desired to be cared for.

But every time I look into the mirror — even in my imagination — I ask myself:

Am I worthy of someone’s time?

Am I worthy of someone’s gaze?

Am I worthy of someone’s love and happiness?

Whenever I walk late at night through the streets, I see people holding each other tightly, as if they’re clinging to their dreams to keep them from slipping away.

I’ve seen hugs warmer than blood.

And yet, I just walk — staring at the streetlights like a car that doesn’t know its destination.

Everyone in my life has, at the very least, felt what it’s like to be loved — even on the surface.

I am lost.

I am wandering.

I am a walking shadow in the bright light of others.

All my life, I have longed — not just for love, but for warmth in someone's heart.

But the coldness of the world creates a fog that envelops me,

blurring my face, my shape, and my hope.

I’ve wanted to be chosen — unconditionally.

Even if I cannot be seen.

But then, the mirror I once saw my reflection in… broke itself.

Does unconditional love really exist?

Can love come without expectations?

And will he come if you are not there?

People choose us because we are something.

The world loves artists because they create — even when they don’t know why.

Social media loves influencers because they influence — even when they’re empty.

We love people, perhaps, because they’re kind, beautiful, or intelligent.

So I ask:

Will the world still love someone who is nothing?

No.

Nobody loves for nothing.

Every declaration of love carries a because, an if, or a silent hope.

We love because we want to feel lovable.

Love, at its core, is a concept of comfort.

And the ache I’ve felt — I realize now — is a survival instinct.

Unconditional love, if it truly existed, would make the world stand still.

No growth. No movement.

It would be stagnant.

When someone helps a stranger, it's not always for return —

but for the subtle feeling of being liked, of being seen.

Even that help carries a quiet expectation:

a hope that something might change.

They say a parent’s love is the closest thing to unconditional love.

But is it, really?

Do they work every day, provide and sacrifice, just to be ignored in the end?

No.

Will your family still love you if you hate them?

Maybe — some do.

But even their forgiveness often carries a hope:

“Maybe this will fix us.”

“Maybe he’ll love us again.”

And others say, “I will love myself, because I’m the only one who truly knows me.”

But even then — because still lingers.

We love ourselves because we are our final hope.

But… what if that self — our self — is not even there?

This is not pessimism.

This is not written for pity, nor to seem pathetic.

Maybe we can’t change the fact that love is conditional.

Maybe love is a survival tool — something we use to feel whole in a broken reality.

And maybe — just maybe — unconditional love isn’t about appreciating imperfection.

Maybe unconditional is imperfection.

Let this piece be a broken mirror:

Even with cracks, it still reflects.

And in the cracks, maybe…

we’re still whole.

The city center of Taipei.

You will return to this city, eventually.You will ask me, do you miss me?With your shiny smile, probably.Just like the day before you left.Just like the night you called me sweetie.

Your question is a spell, the words lingering in the night are the answer you seek.

The city is so crowded.We would never have the chance, to look into the eyes of each other.You will never be alone, and I will never be lonely.You walked away and turn your head back with a smile. You curious about a mind you shouldn't read.

What do you want to hear, from a stranger like me?Why do you want to know, who is these pale eyes missing?