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Entry #01
Dear diary,
Is this how you start a diary?
It feels awfully embarrassing and rather child-like to be addressing an inanimate object like this, but I suppose that everyone starts somewhere. Never in my life had I ever intended to have a diary in the first place, but my sister, Nessa, recommended it to me as a way of “releasing my thoughts” or “freeing my mind”, as she put it. And being myself, this wouldn't mark the first time that Nessa had successfully roped me into an activity that she herself wanted to try a hand in, so here I am now.
As awkward as I am now finding it to be speaking my thoughts into what might as well be the void, this does bring a strange sense of comfort to me somehow. Not often am I able to talk about my feelings to anyone in real life, so writing all this in a diary (or would a journal sound less childish?) doesn't seem too bad of an idea in itself. I do have to admit, however, that despite my previous ramblings, personal essays aren't exactly my strong suit—after all, it had been my academic essay on life sciences that got me accepted into Shiz with a full ride. Which—speaking of—it's my first day here. The average person would probably find it depressing that instead of socializing and making acquaintances, I'm instead writing more words than I've spoken to anyone else here at all today—but I don't suppose that I fall into the category of “average” in the first place, whatever that may mean.
Because it's not like a so-called “average” person would be laughed at and ridiculed on their first day of school for being green, right?
Coming into Shiz, I had fully expected an environment of capable learners who would be freed from the ridiculous societal standards of what it means to “fit in”—but time and time again, I have learned to not put such expectations on anyone, and onto society itself. Because it's not too hard to believe that being the way I am doesn't exactly get you treated with an insurmountable amount of kindness. But it’s a good thing, then, that I hadn't come to Shiz to make friends or to attend parties.
So for the foreseeable future, I'll leave all the socializing aspects of my college life to my roommate who seems to have just enough friends (or followers) for the both of us. Galinda Upland or something, her name was. I never knew that it was possible for a person to be so obnoxious in more ways than one, but who am I to judge? She may be obnoxiously loud and pink, but I guess that's one way to earn the people's hearts—not by being… well, green.
Oh, but by Oz, that's enough self-deprecation for now. It doesn’t seem too good of an idea to fill the first few pages of this diary with such hate and negativity, lest I want this to end up sounding like a suicide note of all things. So if nothing left is to be said, I'll end this entry for now.
(Do I end my entries by first stating that I want to end my entry? I’ll figure that out later.)
Entry #02
Oz, I forgot I even had a diary.
Nessa asked me today if I've filled the pages of this thing with lots of wonderful college experiences already, but I neither had the experiences nor the pages to prove that I've done either.
It's been a month (or almost a month, if we're going by the number of days and not the month itself) since my first and only entry, and I hadn't even remembered having rambled that much as I look back on it now. I’ve been too busy with my academics to even keep up with the commitment that comes with having a diary, but as to not disappoint Nessa, I don’t suppose it'll hurt to write even a few paragraphs here every once in a while.
It's not like there's a lot of interesting things going on in my life to write about on the daily, so I'll try to keep this journaling of mine into a weekly habit instead.
Again, I still don't know how to end an entry. Am I supposed to say goodbye? Farewell? And to whom, exactly?
This is ridiculous.
Entry #03
Dear diary,
Right now, I find myself in the library as I am writing this, contrary to my prior entries which were written at the discretion of my shared dorm room with Galinda. And truth be told? I could probably spend the entire weekend holed up in here if it weren't for our curfew. Being in my room wasn't as comfortable as I'd initially hoped it would be, with the feeling of Galinda's eyes on me judging my every move. Staying in the room had instead come to feel like being put on display like an animal through glass panes, but being in the library? Oh, does it feel like home.
But besides that, I had a very busy week. Projects and all are starting to get a little more serious, and the lessons are proving to be more challenging—to some people at least. I personally find them to be fun, and learning new things always proves itself to be exhilarating. There is quite literally nothing better than to be able to expand one's knowledge of things, after all.
Maybe except for finding true love—or so I had heard the girls whispering in one of my classes, say.
But… true love? Destiny? Soulmates? Those things are too good to be true. They're probably not real anyway, just made-up concepts to feed the delusional mind. Meanwhile, knowledge?
Knowledge is everything.
Entry #04
Dear diary… or whatever,
(I should probably stop with the formalities that come with starting and ending an entry, because no one in the history of man will ever get to read this anyway... but we'll see.)
I had a great week—the laughing and pointing at my face aside.
But I have been thinking; would Nessa really be mad if I stopped journaling? I realize that she seems to be more consistent with it than I am, so why should it matter if I do it as well, or not… but I suppose, what is a big sister to do but to fulfill the wishes of her younger sister, really? I just hope that my entries don't end up becoming too depressing soon, seeing as how I don't have many friends to talk to or about in the first place.
Anyway, I have a pretty major exam on Wednesday, so this’ll suffice for now.
Off to the library I go.
Entry #05
Dear diary,
I met the most frustrating person today.
No, scratch that. I met the most infuriating, insensitive, and definishly the rudest person I've ever met in my entire life! And that's saying a lot, because I never exaggerate. Who even goes around prancing about on horseback, running amuck and trampling anyone in their path? Someone raised with no manners, most probably!
And the worst part? He didn’t even seem sorry about it, not in the slightest! Because who cares about accidentally running the green girl over, right? People might’ve even thanked him had he successfully run me over. Good riddance, they might even say. But I’ve been told all my life about how stubborn I am and can be, so trust that I won’t be dying until I receive a proper apology from him, and until I wipe that stupidly handsome shite-eating look off his face!
He’s lucky that I hadn’t pummelled him to the ground then and there, but that’s besides the point.
Something bad is happening in Shiz—no, in Oz. And I have to get to the bottom of it.
Entry #06
Dear diary,
My life couldn’t be going any worse.
Because if someone had told me a week ago that the irritating man who almost ran me over would start dating my even more irritating roommate, I would’ve told them off. But alas, the worst has happened. So now, lo and behold Shiz’s golden couple, Ms. Galinda Everything-I-Own-Has-to-Be-Pink-or-I’ll-Die Upland, and Mr. Fiyero I-Couldn’t-Care-Less-About-Running-People-Over Tigelaar. Who, on top of that—because the Unnamed God seems to seriously be testing my patience as of late—was apparently the Vinkun prince! Nobody had told me how revolting royalty could be, or was he the only one?
My frustrations aside, I would really have to learn how to tolerate his presence now that he was dating my roommate–because it wouldn't be too far off to assume that I'll be seeing a lot more of him around campus, much to my dismay.
I only hope that he won't be too much of a bother than he already was (or still is).
Entry #07
Dear diary,
Fiyero and Galinda are seriously starting to get on my nerves.
Does the gall on that man and the mouth on that woman know no end? I'm beginning to consider applying for anger management therapy, lest I want the vein on my forehead to pop—which would probably kill me. But Oz, I would like to at least go through one day without either of their ceaseless chattering!
With Fiyero, he's always blabbering about partying, and how much he hates his professors. And while I don't consider myself the best judge of character, could there be anyone more brainless here at Shiz than him? I fail to see any reason for his presence here at all—he's lazy, unmotivated, and an overall bad influence to every student here who only wishes to pass the semester.
But what really ticks me off the most is that it very much seems like he's merely pretending to be all these things that he might just not be. I've seen the way that he is when he wasn't around Galinda. He was quieter, and a little more closed off. And so I sometimes find myself wondering, who was he, really, and why was he so afraid to just be?
The opposite was true for Galinda, on the other hand. She was irritating in a way that was more in your face;
“Elphaba, can you stay out of the room later? I'm having a study night with my friends later” (translation: my friends and I are gonna be up drinking all night).
“Elphaba, the curtains by your windows are souring the mood of the room. Could you please take them down?” (translation: your curtains aren't pink, so I find them ugly).
“Elphaba, I think Fiyero's at the door. Could you hold him off ‘till I'm done choosing which pair of shoes would go best with my dress?”
…and that one, for some reason, pissed me off the most.
I only wish I knew why.
Entry #08
Dear diary,
It seems that Galinda and I are friends now.
I know how ironic it must seem for my previous entry to be about me complaining about Galinda’s incessant comments and requests, but last night, at the Ozdust, I learned that maybe she wasn’t as bad as she seemed. Sure, it started off with her offering me what might’ve been the most ridiculous article of clothing from her wardrobe that there was, and sure, she only did it to make a mockery of me at first…
But then I learned that underneath all that she had me put up with, she had a heart.
Maybe all this time, I was simply too blinded by the endless amounts of glittering pink, or was perhaps overwhelmed by the seemingly hundreds of people that worshipped the ground she walked on—all of it made me rather… well, judgmental. It made me realize that maybe I was no better than the people I claim to have hated—the people who judged me the same way I did her.
So from hereon out, I won’t promise, but I’ll at least try to learn from my mistake. I’d have to thank Galinda for making me realize that maybe not everyone is out to get me here at Shiz, and that it would probably do me well to stop assuming the worst of everyone before giving them the chance to prove me wrong. Galinda did just that, after all.
Oz, I don’t even know when it happened—when she, all of a sudden, stopped laughing at me and started laughing with me, but I’m grateful that she did anyway.
Entry #09
Dear diary,
I suspect that my college life is beginning to make a turn for the better. The fact that I'm writing an entry just a mere two days after my previous one should be a clear enough indicator of that.
Ever since Galinda and I became “best friends” as she so put it, I've found myself being pulled into situations that I just know I would have otherwise avoided entirely. For instance, lunchtime for one started to feel less like a time to be alone with my thoughts, and more of an excuse to laugh around our newly formed friend group of sorts.
Galinda was there, obviously, being the life of the party and the centre of conversation as per usual. And then there were Boq and Nessa, who only started dating recently, but were happy to hang out with the group and simply be there. There was me, of course. And then there was Fiyero.
Fiyero, who to my own horror… had not been nearly as insufferable as I thought he would be.
Entry #10
Dear diary,
Fiyero apologized to me today.
When he pulled me aside in the hallway after our only shared class together and insisted on taking me out for dinner, I was initially confused as to what it was for. What business did he have with me that warranted a dinner outing of all things? Sure, we were unofficially part of the same friend group as of late, but the two of us had never exactly spoken to one another, just us. Maybe except for the time I first met him, in which he almost ran me over. Which, surely enough, was what he wanted to apologize for.
When I had arrived at the restaurant after my last class today, I was surprised to see him already at a table, bouncing his leg mindlessly. He was always late for classes, claiming that it didn't matter if he was five, ten, or fifteen minutes late—what mattered was that he bothered to show up at all in the first place. But clearly, that wasn't the case here at all. Since when was Fiyero Tigelaar punctual? I'd have to tell Galinda about this revelation later.
Fiyero immediately stood up when he spotted me, and I saw in his hands a small bouquet of what seemed to be like white tulips (which from my knowledge, typically represented forgiveness and the like). He handed them to me, naturally, and I merely offered him a small thank you before feeling awkward all over again. It wasn't everyday that you received flowers from your best friend's boyfriend, whatever that meant. But I'm sure he was just being nice.
Seating myself from across from him, Fiyero told me to pick out anything I wanted, and so I did. And so after we were both finished picking out our orders, we were left with nothing but silence stretched thin across the table, with only the chatter from all the other surrounding tables around us making up for the lack of conversation at our own table. This suddenly made me very conscious of what I was wearing, and what I was even doing there at all.
Had I known that Fiyero would take me out to some fancy looking restaurant, I would've at least taken the initiative to look like I belonged there. But seeing as how Fiyero only told me the restaurant by name, I wasn't exactly made aware, then, of how high-end the place actually was. It was the kind of restaurant that looked like it was reserved for dates between lovers, after all, and not two friends who've barely ever spoken to each other. But that's besides the point, because next thing I knew, Fiyero ended up breaking the silence first.
I didn't think an apology would magically undo weeks of irritation… but it did something, alright.
When he apologized to me, it was the first time that I've seen him be so sincere about anything. When he apologized to me, he hadn’t done it behind his usual carefree and charming front (the same charm which, I will begrudgingly have to admit, that he seems to possess in great abundance, even when he wasn't trying). He simply looked me in the eye and said those words: “I'm sorry”.
It took me a while to even process what he was saying, because rarely did people ever apologize to me. I even looked around, just to make sure it wasn’t some sort of cruel prank at my expense. Because if it was, this wouldn't mark the first time that someone pretended to talk to me sincerely, only to have their friends pop out from around the corner, laughing their heads off. But if he had really put in the effort to do all this—nice restaurant, flowers, and all—just to say sorry, then who was I to suspect that he was lying?
The silence between us then stretched out just enough for Fiyero to take it as a sign to keep going, to which he told me that he wasn't going to even try and explain himself. Because he knew that no matter the cause of it—if he had done it on purpose, or if he had simply not been paying attention—his actions were irreversible. And then, without missing a beat, he apologized again: “I really am sorry, can we start over again?”
I was pretty sure I let out a small chuckle by then, when he reached his hand out across the table and introduced himself like we were just meeting for the first time again. I followed suit, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, and stretched my hand out to shake his. “I would love that,” was all I could say in response to him then.
Truth be told, it would've been easier if he hadn't apologized. If he had allowed us to continue to co-exist solely due to our mutual circumstance of being in the same circle of friends. It would've been easier if he stayed exactly the same. But instead, he went on and complicated things by being… decent. By being human, and by treating me like one too.
But this doesn’t mean that I like him, though. I just… I don't feel like I particularly dislike him anymore. And yet somehow, I feel like disliking him would've been the easier choice to make.
Because when I got back to my dorm room with the flowers in hand, Galinda—wide-eyed—had asked me if I knew what the flowers had meant. Forgiveness, naturally, I told her. To which she chuckled heartily, saying;
“Oh, Elphie, you may be half right, but you're hopeless! Why do you think they're so popular at weddings? That's because they're meant to represent eternal devotion and everlasting love too, y'know.”
In an instant, I felt frozen at my feet, and my mind couldn't help but drift to the question;
Had Fiyero known what they meant too?
Entry #11
Today, the worst has finally happened.
We were in what was supposed to be Doctor Dillamond’s class when it happened. Only, it wasn’t really his class anymore, but his replacement’s—Professor Nikidik. Oz, even now, the mere mention of his name makes my stomach twist in on itself. The vile man had spoken of progress, of innovation, of the future, as if it were all up to him to decide. As if he were the Unnamed God itself. And just when I thought he couldn’t get any worse, he unveiled a cage. A cage with a lion cub in it, trembling, and afraid. And for the first time in my academic life, I was the only student in the class who wasn’t taking down notes or nodding along. How could I, when Professor Nikidik had flaunted the poor encaged cub’s inability to speak as if it were some kind of mercy he had granted to the creature?
The next thing I knew, because of my frustration, of my pent-up anger, I had unknowingly cast a spell—like I always did when things became too much. A spell that had allowed the poppies on my desk to burst into the air, and eventually prompt everyone to fall asleep, one by one.
Except for Fiyero and I, for reasons unbeknownst to me.
I sat there in a daze, unsure of what I was supposed to do next. Was I going to get expelled? Was there a way to undo the spell? At that point, I was at a loss. I had let my emotions get the better of me yet again. But Fiyero moved quicker than I could register. In a second, he had freed the lion cub from the cage it was so cruelly put in, and held it in his arms. The way he carried the cub was full of uncertainty—as if he’s never held something that fragile and delicate up until now. But unsure as he was, his hold on it was gentle nonetheless… or as gentle as he could be, at least.
Prompting me to come with him to free the cub, Fiyero and I ended up biking to the woods in the hopes of setting the cub free in the wilds. All of it then, had felt so surreal. For all we both knew, he could so easily have walked away. He didn’t have to rescue the cub with me, but he did so anyway. And that’s when I finally came to understand that this was the kind of person Fiyero really was—that underneath the shallow and carefree pretense he so carefully built for himself, he wasn’t any of those things, no. Not even remotely close to them.
I reached out then, without thinking, with my hand hovering just inches from his face. I wanted to tell him something—what, I didn’t even know—so I instead chose to pull back, and tell him he was bleeding. Because whatever it was that I was feeling for him in the forest, surely wasn’t anything deep or serious. I had only almost succumbed to the heat of the moment, was all. But just when I came so close to believing that it was nothing, he looked at me like I was something extraordinary. I was no stranger to being stared at—I have been my entire life. But no one ever looked at me the way Fiyero did today.
And for the first time, I wanted to believe that what I was feeling for Fiyero wasn’t just nothing. Because as of writing this at the very moment, I’ve come to realize that it was, in fact, everything and so much more.
Entry #13
Dear diary,
It has been over a week since the events involving Fiyero and the lion cub.
Yet, I cannot help but replay those moments that I shared with him in the forest during my every waking moment. What is happening to me? I wasn’t too sure I wanted to know.
…because I fear that if I find out what these feelings exactly are, I won't know how to deal with them.
Maybe I just need to take a walk, is all. Yeah, that’s probably just it.
Entry #14
Dear diary,
I am beginning to notice things about Fiyero that I hadn’t before. And I don’t know whether to pin it on the fact that he has changed—or because I have. Perhaps it’s a little bit of both? Oz, I’ve never been so unsure of anything my entire life…
But lately, I’ve started to notice the small things about him that I was sure were there before I was even made aware of them—like how he would start incessantly clicking his pen in class whenever he was focused on discussions, or the way he would always ask for two extra packets of sugar whenever our circle of friends went out for coffee. Then there were things from the side of himself he barely let people take notice of, like the way he treated animals on campus, and how his voice always dropped to something softer, more gentler, whenever he tried to speak to creatures that could not speak back. He never mocked them, never treated them as less.
And when he looked at me, it wasn’t in the usual way that people so often did—not out of disgust, of fear, of pity. It was the same look he had given me back in the forest. But what it was exactly, I couldn’t quite make out. All I knew was that I didn’t hate it whenever he did that. In fact, dear diary, I wished he would look at me an extra two seconds longer whenever he did.
Because I couldn't help but wonder; did he ever like what he saw when he looked my way?
Entry #15
Dear diary,
Galinda and Fiyero broke up today, and I cursed myself at the fact that my first instinct was not to comfort Galinda (even though she had told me she was fine), but to instead feel… guilty about it. Guilty, because somewhere deep down—beneath the concern I should’ve felt for my best friend—I instead found there to be a sickening sense of relief. It had frightened me, because never had I thought myself to be capable of such feelings. What kind of person even feels relief, of all things, at the expense of her best friend’s heartbreak?
All my life, I have taken comfort in the fact that despite my shortcomings—my being hot headed, unsociable, difficult, and green—I am, or at least was, a good person. I was so certain that my actions, no matter the commotions they caused, always stemmed from good intentions. That my heart, for all its faults, could always tell right from wrong. So why? Why now, had that very same certainty felt compromised? If I could so easily distinguish right from wrong as I thought I could, then my heart would not have leapt so quickly towards the mere thought of a possibility—of heeding to the voice in the back of my head telling me that maybe, just maybe, there was a small possibility that Fiyero had broken up with Galinda for me… because of me.
The thought of it should’ve made me feel ill. It should’ve sickened me to my core. It was a possibility that I never should’ve even entertained. But that in itself was the worst part of it all. Because the thought of it—of Fiyero possibly wanting me, choosing me, instead—did not repulse me. It only opened more doors to aggravate that sense of wishful thinking. And it frightened me, because I was being utterly ridiculous. I was being arrogant, selfish, and so impossibly self-important to even have considered such a thing.
Because if Fiyero had truly, for some miraculous reason, chosen me, then that meant that Galinda had lost something because of me—that I had been the reason for her pain and her heartbreak. And because I cannot bear the thought of being the person behind another’s sadness, I will simply have to try and bury these complicated feelings, whatever they were, in the back of my mind. If I have to, I will try to remind myself of all the reasons that the possibility of Fiyero and I could never be—of all the ways in which I wasn’t the kind of girl that anyone, much less a handsome and charming prince, would leave someone for. And I will try my best, most of all, to forget that the thought of it ever crossed my mind.
Even if my foolish heart, traitorous as it can be, refuses to listen to reason.
Entry #16
Dear diary,
I must begin by apologizing.
All this time, I led myself to believe that I have been avoiding you for reasons I can't quite place. But the truth is far from that, because I know it in my heart that I’ve been avoiding you for the very fact that I am afraid. Afraid, because maybe I’ve poured too much of myself onto you. Things about myself that even I, sometimes, have a hard time coming to terms with. Afraid, because for every drop of ink that perches onto your surface, I am forced to confront the reality of my feelings of which I am too terrified to even dare speak aloud. And I am afraid, most especially, of the things that cloud my mind and weigh on my heart, which I know I am not ready to face in their entirety.
My thoughts, as of late, have grown to become… unruly, for the lack of a better word. They oft wander and they circle back to the same name over and over again, no matter how hard I try to shake them off. I had initially hoped that not writing would’ve helped me to forget. That by forgoing the act of putting my feelings into words, I would eventually forget they were even there in the first place. But by Oz, I was gravely mistaken. So instead of running away from these feelings, I will instead give voice to them in the only way of which I know how, which is through you.
And oh, dear diary, what a tumultuous task it has been to get Fiyero Tigelaar out of my head.
Even the mere act of putting his name on this page now makes me feel the growing tightness in my chest that hadn’t been there before. And in more ways than one, it felt dangerous—illicit, even. I keep trying to convince myself that what I’m feeling is merely infatuation, or a passing curiosity. That it was nothing short of an unfortunate side effect of being treated with kindness for once. But to say that that was all there was to it would be a lie as well, now knowing the kind of person I truly was: foolish, because too many times have I found myself longing to hear the way his voice speaks my name; naive, because often do I catch myself hoping that he would look my way; and pitifully selfish, because time and time again do I find myself praying that no one admires him in the same way I do.
Yet looking down at my hands now—stained with the black ink of this diary and the permanent green of my skin—it all felt so silly. Silly in a way that it had felt like I was writing as if I was a normal thirteen-year-old girl who had just developed a crush on the boy next door. But that was neither here nor there, wasn’t it? Because I wasn’t normal (never was), I wasn’t thirteen anymore, and Fiyero wasn’t just the boy next door—he was a prince, next in line for the Vinkun throne. And princes like him don’t just fall for the strange green girl in the sidelines. I know that, because I've come to terms long ago with the fact that fairy tale endings weren’t exactly reserved for girls like me... but in the end, was I not just a girl too? A green girl, perhaps, but a girl nonetheless—even if I was one who was foolish enough to wonder late at night what it would feel like to be chosen without hesitation, and to be held without the fear of being too much, too strange, or too green.
…and I hate it. I hate how much I wanted all of it. I hate how much I crave normalcy. I hate how much I wanted to be wanted. And I hate, most of all, how I wanted to experience all these with the one person who I shouldn’t want these with. And I hate how unafraid I was to finally admit;
That I was truly, and deeply starting to fall for Fiyero Tigelaar.
But perhaps, this is the consequence of my being—that I am the reason I am all alone. Or maybe this was a divine punishment for even daring to hope for the impossible. So if these feelings of mine are a sin, then let my beating heart laid bare across this page be my penance.
…but Oz, if I am truly meant to be alone, then please just take away my desire to be loved and strip me of it gently, before it leads me to believe that I could ever be worthy of such a beautiful thing.
Entry #17
Dear diary,
As a change of topic for once, I have just received news of being given the privilege of being summoned to the Wizard’s palace in the Emerald City… and Oz, does it still feel unreal. This was my chance to make good—to finally prove myself. But was I truly prepared for the way things were about to change? For the better or for worse, I wasn’t quite sure yet. But Madame Morrible told me that I was teetering at the cusp of greatness, and that quelled some of my initial doubts. So I decided… that maybe it’s time I take the leap.
I have to leave for the City soon, which means that I won’t get to see… him, for at least a week, or even longer. And it was probably for the best, I’d say. I only hope that the time I spend away from Shiz will help to put a hold on these ridiculous feelings of mine, and maybe even put things into perspective.
But while I’m still here, Fiyero, would it be too much of me to ask of you to miss me while I'm gone?
Entry #18
Dear diary,
This will have to be my last entry for now, for I know not how long it’ll be until I return. I could so easily bring you with me, and to document whatever it is that I’ll achieve in the Emerald City. But I realize that some things, I have to face head on and not hide away from in between your pages.
And so, before I bid farewell, allow me to lay bare the last of my feelings so as to not leave anything left unsaid.
When I first got a hold of you, dear diary, I had sighed at the thought of another chore to be added on to my already huge list of responsibilities. I thought that Nessa was messing with me… because what would the local freakshow even have to document about in her life? The number of judgmental stares she received in the day? The amount of mothers who protected their children’s eyes whenever they chanced to come across her in public? The ever-growing list of creative pejoratives that came with living in the colour of her skin? The thought of it all made me roll my eyes so far back into my own head.
Yet, here I am now, with only you to turn to about all the nuances in my life. It’s funny, the way things work out sometimes. With the things you least expect ending up as the very things that end up… staying, or so I hope they do. Except, I don’t think I'm referring to you, dear diary, anymore. Because my mind—as it so often does—always ends up thinking about him, one way or another.
At first, I tried to reason my way out of it. That it was pointless to have such thoughts about him, no matter which angle I tried to look at it. After all, have I not already reminded myself ad nauseam about all the reasons I could never be loved?
I wish it was as simple as that, but my stubbornness has always proven to be one of my greatest weaknesses. And so, instead of shoving these feelings down into the deepest, darkest parts of my being as I should have, I instead often find myself putting it under a microscopic lens. Because the truth, as scared as I am to admit it, is that I had unexpectedly, but undeniably fallen in love.
I had fallen in love with Fiyero Tigelaar.
And dearest Fiyero, oh how I wonder what it’d be like to be called yours, and to call you mine. Would our names fit in each other’s mouth? Would our love taste sweet on my tongue? Would it burn in my throat? Would we be too much to consume? I do not digest feelings very well, but if it meant having you, I’d swallow them whole—love, sickness, passion and all.
But by Oz, I wish it was that easy. How I wish that love had come easy. Not because of you, no—loving you was the easy part. It was easy because everything that you are is everything that I’ve ever loved. But to believe in the possibility that you could ever love me in the same vein… proved to be all too difficult. I know who I am, and I know what I look like. I know how people treat me, and I know that I wasn’t… easy. Loving me wasn’t easy.
So I ask you to be still, my beating heart. Know that of which you cannot have. Because even if he had in fact, loved me back, I grew up knowing better than to treat love as a constant in my life. Had he loved me back, I don't think my delicate heart could endure the hurt that would inevitably come when he realizes that loving me was a burden. Would he get tired of the disapproving stares, of the relentless questions, of having to explain me? Would he get tired of trying to love the unlovable?
I think he would. Anyone would. Yet it frightens me how I want him all the same.
But that was the kind of effect love had on people, was it not? It made them foolish in ways that they had sworn they would never be, made them ache for the hands they were never meant to hold, and taught them to want what they’ve so carefully convinced themselves they do not deserve. It made me imagine a life where someone looked at me and decided that, for once, maybe I was worth the trouble.
And that, I think, was the worst part of it all. Because loving him was not my greatest tragedy, but believing that I could ever be loved back is.
In the end, dear diary, before I leave for the Emerald City, I hope that you keep my secrets gently, and my heart safely. For in the chance that I may never come back and write to you ever again, it brings me a deep sense of comfort to know that I was able to admit, even if only between your pages, that I fell in love.
That I, Elphaba Thropp, truly and deeply fell in love with Fiyero Tigelaar.
Oh, dear diary, I fell in love.
And there came the end to the worn-out diary, with no pages left to turn, and no words left to read.
Letting out a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding for so long, Fiyero traced over the words etched on the last pages of Elphaba’s diary. He had long since memorized the familiar grooves of her penmanship, and the way she had written—from how her letters always seemed to lean ever so slightly forward when she was excited about something, or how rugged and scratchy it always seemed to turn whenever she was frustrated about something (or, well, someone).
In a sad, almost pitiful sort of way, rereading her diary had come to admittedly be a ritual for him. He hadn’t known when he first started doing it, but it helped him to keep his memory of her alive. Her diary was all he had left of her now, after all.
Looking over at the delicately ornate flower vase that sat on the table, he softly brushed his fingers against the almost wilted white tulips that adorned it. He had made it into a habit to replace them every week too, much to Glinda’s confusion. Every week, without fail, no matter how busy or weary he was as the Captain of the Gale Force. He never bothered to explain it to anyone anymore. He didn’t have to, anyway. Because those flowers were not for anyone else’s understanding. They were only for her.
He had known what they meant since the first and last time he handed them to her—forgiveness, sure, but also devotion. A love that asked for nothing but the chance to remain. But back then, he couldn’t tell her that, no. He hadn’t known if he’d ever return her feelings. So now, even if it was years too late already, he kept the white tulips alive in her absence. After all, it had represented eternal devotion and everlasting love, had it not? And so he vowed to honour that devotion and love in her name. Even if it had been well over four years since he last saw her. Four years since the masses began carrying pitchforks and torches, rallying for her demise. Four years since the world had so cruelly begun calling her wicked.
But to him, she was always going to be anything but. She could never be wicked to him. Because Elphaba Thropp, for all he knew, will always in his heart and mind be the beautifully green girl with ambitions that were so beyond anything he could've ever achieved for himself, and a heart that cared too much about the people who wouldn’t even so much as spare her a second glance.
And to him, Elphaba was still that socially awkward girl quietly tucked in the corner of the library, with books upon books scattered across the table as their midterms were approaching. To him, Elphaba was the girl that made going to Shiz worthwhile. To him, Elphaba was his greatest what-if. To him, Elphaba was absolutely everything.
So, in a sleight of hand, Fiyero reached out to a worn-out notebook neatly stacked atop of all the others. He then opened it, finding that its slightly crumpled pages, once coloured white, had turned into a pale cream colour, presumably from age—the pages being unsurprisingly empty for all the time it sat there untouched.
Instinctively, he grabbed a hold of the pen that sat on the same table, calling to him. If he couldn’t tell her the things he wished she could hear in person, then he would instead tell her in a way only they both knew how. He would write them down in a diary, a journal, whatever it was called—in the hopes that somewhere, somehow, one day… maybe she might read them too.
And so, he began to write.
Entry #01
Dear diary,
There’s this girl that I once knew—her name was Elphaba Thropp.
And dear diary, by Oz, did I fall in love with her too.