Semicolon

I declared that day as the worst day of my high school life. Well, next to when my mother found out I had a failing grade in Math in my sophomore year.

 Actually, I was a senior then and it was the first day of classes. I hated that day for many reasons, but mainly because I didn't like the class I was thrown into. I reckoned that most of my girl classmates were campus bitches who always had boys tailing behind them. And at that time, the only time I had boys behind me was when I lined up in the cafeteria. So you could just imagine where the rancour was coming from.

I barely knew anybody in the room. Days before, I was already counting the days that I needed to excruciatingly endure before graduation. 220 school days, I remember, because I even marked it on my bedroom wall with a red crayon, no shit, that's how much I hated being in that section.

My section was Zinc and my father even thought that I belong in the dumbest section just because letter Z is the last letter in the alphabet. It took a while to convince him that sections are not ranked alphabetically, not in our school.

So on my first day, I just sat quietly on my chair, trying to ignore the buzzing of my classmates who obviously knew each other already. I was trying to imagine being in another classroom where my friends were, when all of a sudden, you came in.

You were walking rather slowly, as if, like me, you didn't want your footsteps to lead you there. And I swear, at that moment, everything went into slow motion. I don't know if it's just because you're walking in turtle pace. But what I'm sure about was the small voice inside my head that said,"E pano kung sya pala makatuluyan ko?" Right after you passed by. It felt so silly at that time that I shoved the thought in my mental recycle bin before I could even argue with myself. It was downright ridiculous. I didn't even find you good-looking. You were not my type. Then.

I kept on thinking about this scene when we finally got together a few years after. I was thinking that perhaps, there was, in fact, such a thing as fate, destiny, whatever the hell you want to call it. And it was a sign from God.

Now, you have to understand that after I broke up with you, I, again, resorted to the belief that destiny was just as real as Santa Claus could get. I started to think that life is governed merely by the choices we make and that God will love me just the same no matter what my choices may be. While I still believe this to be true, all these things that transpired in the last few months made me realize that, indeed, God loves me so much that while He respects my will, He also included His will in my list of options because He knows what could truly make me happy. He is after all, all-knowing.

With this, I arrived at the thought that perhaps, destiny is just God's way of showing you the best option.

Just as He led me back to you. He knows you're the best option. And I couldn't agree more.

I remember when you were about to leave for the first time, my prayer to God was for Him to place Himself in a circle with us so that the three of us are holding each other's hands. In this way, if I let go of your hand (which I did, by the way), God is still holding my other hand, and can put us back together in His perfect time (which He did, by the way).

And even as we both thought it was impossible, here we are, back in that circle after a few stumbles. I guess God truly never forgets promises that we make with Him, even when we sometimes do.

I am glad that when God put you on the list of options, I chose you. :)

Yellow Light

I hope you know what you're getting yourself into. I am not the easiest person to be married with for the rest of your life. You've experienced how irrational I can get whenever I get jealous or disappointed. Even I would like to give myself a good beating for being so damn unreasonable.

I wish I could give you some manual on 'what to do when your annoying wife throws a bitch fit'. You would need that, believe me. But most importantly, you would need to learn to steel yourself up and stand your ground so that you can put in me in the right place, even if it means hurting my feelings. I'd surely fight back, anyway. And our married life will be chaotic and tumultuous and far from ideal, but it will also be exciting, passionate and extraordinary.

Whenever you think you've reached your breaking point and you've become so fed up with my bullcrap, just remember that you and i are meant to be. No matter how far and fast you try to run away, God will pull your tail back, pretty much like what He did to me. So don't even think about giving up on me, just as what you've done all these years, because no matter what happens, i would always find my way back to you. You are my home, and nobody forgets where they live.

I wouldn't even say sorry for being territorial or bossy or demanding or crazy, because I will always be. I will try to control it, but I will not change myself. Because all that I am, the wonderful and shitty stuff, is part and parcel of the woman that you chose to love.

One more thing, you may sometimes or most of the time doubt it, but I love you.

He sent you. And He sent me to you. That's your guarantee.

Now, would you still want to marry me? 

Plato, You Just Defined my Whole Lovelife

One day, Plato asked his teacher, “What is love? How can I find it?”

The teacher answered, “There’s a large wheat field in front. Walk there without turning back, and take just one leaf. If you can find one leaf that you think is extraordinary, it means you have found love.”

So Plato walked…and not long after that, he came back empty-handed.

The teacher asked him, “Why, you don’t bring any leaf?”

Plato said, “I can only bring just one leaf and when I walked through the wheat field I can’t turn my back. Actually I have found one extraordinary leaf, but I don’t know whether there’s any other leaf more extraordinary, so I didn’t take that leaf. When I walked further, I realized that the leaves I found are not as extraordinary compared to the leaf I’ve found earlier in my walk. In the end, I didn’t take any single leaf.”

Then the teacher told him, “So…that is love.”

Puncture

Like a ray of sunlight, you punched through a crack in my tightly-closed window.
I have learned to like the darkness, and I have lost my desire for warmth.
I wanted you and I did not. I wasn't really sure.
All I know is that, upon your touch,
Like a sunflower,
I looked up.


In my feeble attempt to capture what you incite within me, I wrote these.

Late Night Nausea

Last night, my sister told me about a private video of a famous and supposedly wholesome comedian. I was initially doubtful that someone like him will do such a horrid act but the video said it all. He was having sex with a dancer. And he's married.

I am no stranger to documented sexual acts; i have seen some, that much I can admit. But I have never felt this apalled. I honestly wanted to throw up afterwards. The act was just so repulsive. I didn't even see them kiss passionately. It was totally devoid of affection. The way they have magnified how casual people seem to take the act of lovemaking nowadays was just very disappointing. I've now lost every strand of respect I had for that man.

I'm not playing saint here. I'm actually more on the bitch's side of the fence. It's just so infuriating how some men would regard sex as merely a carnal instinct that needs to be appeased by shagging just any woman. That's the greatest bullshit ever. The second greatest bullshit is that women stupidly mistake this for appreciation of their beautiful physique and so they consciously let these men defile them.

In his book Eleven Minutes, Coelho struggles to understand the clamor for sex when, technically, the whole feeling of pleasure transpires for only eleven minutes. It has never lasted for a lifetime. So why do we let our whole lives be ruled by something that is very transitory?

I have never been conservative in my beliefs nor do I readily conform to the conventions of society, but I still would like to believe that there is more to the sexual act than simply the need to satisfy an urge. What we sometimes fail to realize is that sex is the ultimate expression of romantic love. And because to love is to see the face of God, it is also a way of communing with The Maker.

More than an act, it is the fusion of the souls. That perhaps may be the reason why when the act is done in the context of love, it hurls you to a different plane, as if you're being propelled to another dimension, to somewhere otherworldly. I hope that when people make love, they won't use their bodies because it is cunning and is sometimes blinded by desire. I hope that they would make love instead with their souls, because nothing ever beats that experience of total surrender when you completely trust, love and respect the person you are making love with.

Hey Pherick ;)

I asked you to give me a ring.

There were men after you who gave me rings similar to yours which I had lost somewhere or unintentionally tossed in the trash. I say similar because these were rings that were given to me out of your need to box me into your little self-woven worlds. To me, it was like putting a collar around a dog's neck for people to know that somebody already owns it. I am not surprised at all that these rings have tarnished over time or have been lost forever just like the relationships that produced them.

I don't remember asking for any of them to be put around my finger. It has always been you and the rest of you who decided on these things. Not me. Well, not until today.

Today, I asked for a ring, not because I would like to be identified as someone's possession but because I would like to remember all the time that you didn't just happen. You were chosen.  You were my decision. And every decision one makes entails commitment. I would like to be reminded that you didn't impose yourself on me; you are back in my life because I wanted you to be.

If you would ask me if I really would like that ring, my answer would always be 'yes'. I don't want anything extravagant. Any simple ring would be enough.

Last night, I was thinking if I acted on impulse. Was it the wine? Or the daiquiri? I guess not. I was praying all the time. Part of me would like to respond to your I-love-yous but the other was just so scared i'd only hurt you again. I know myself well. If I want something, I would demolish anything that stands in my way. The last thing I want is to break you again after you have done your hardest to put yourself back. I am not sure if I deserve your love. I would like to love you, but I do not know any safe means to do it, as if safety and security exist in love.

I have always known that you were the person God sent. For a time, I forgot that. But thank you for always coming back to remind me. Thank you for consistently turning yourself into the right person for me. I will not make any promise, but last night, the scene that I have always imagined in my head, the glass-stained windows, city lights and the person I love--they happened. And something tells me that I would like to do that forever.

One Step Forward

If there's one thing that I learned today, it is the fact that inspiration is not only found everywhere, it is also a choice.

You see, I've been struggling with my new position as head of a department since the start of the school year. Many people would get the notion that getting promoted is something to be happy about. It is. But what they fail to realize is the bulk of work that lurks behind the prestige.

For years, I have been performing well in the academe because I only have myself to think about. I have always been good in managing my tasks because I know myself well and I am my own worst professional critic. But how do you apply these to your colleagues, let alone people who have more experience than you have? I remember not having any time or desire to celebrate my success when all of a sudden they plucked me out of a zone that I had given my darnest to master and placed me in a completely different arena. I felt like a featherweight boxer who was suddenly forced to fight in another weight class. I was completely clueless.

Instead of giving me a boost in confidence, my promotion has done the reverse. It crushed my will and self- esteem. I didn't think I was good enough or ready for anything like it. I doubted myself many times that I could not even recognize my own strengths anymore. I was thinking that there must be some kind of mistake or lapse in judgment. I was not fit to lead. I was too insecure.

I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking about the many things that I have to do for the day. I worried about problems that did not even exist yet. My health suffered a lot and I lost my appetite for food. My weight dropped to an alarming scale. I had dandruff and pimples started to infest my face again. It was a total neglect of self, because all I really cared about was how to handle this job well.

All of these have ruined me until today. Just this afternoon, I had this awakening. I was so tired of dreading every workday and seeing my workplace as a hellhole. I was so tired of getting stressed out, feeling uninspired and demotivated. I just made a choice to stop being the victim of a nightmare that I  had intricately woven inside my head. Nobody else could rescue me but me. I know that now.

For weeks, I have been going on a pilgrimage at a prayer house in Tagaytay. One of the things I asked of God was to bring back my passion for work. I realized that inspiration is not something you wait for, just as you wait for the sun to come out on a rainy day. It is a condition that you place yourself into. It is a dream you chase. It is a work you decide to do.

This reminds me of my favorite passage in the Bible about love. In 1st Corinthians Chapter13, it says that you can do all the good things in the world but any action done devoid of love amounts to nothing. I say inspiration is ignited when you learn to love what you do.

So starting today, I am taking control of my life. I recognize that wherever I am right now is exactly where God wants me to be.

The Purging

Today, I decided to clean up. In my world, where I'm the boss, doing something on a rainy Sunday afternoon is illegal. But then rules are made to be broken, aren't they?

This year, I decided to invest on a property. It's a house beside my parents'. Yes, it's so ill-located, I know. Not that I intend to really live here. As far as my future self is concerned, I still plan to live in a small apartment with huge glass-stained windows that give an amazing view of city lights. But since I haven't found that dream space yet, I'm going to have to settle in here for a couple of years, hoping to death my mother's right for brainwashing me into buying this property because its value increases over time.

A family friend even joked that having my own house would be an advantage once I get married because since I own it, I'd have every right to throw my husband out in the midst of a fight. They all laughed at the thought, until I reminded them that it would remain to be just that--a thought. And of course right after that they all switched to their "it's-not-really-good-to-grow-old-alone" nonsense.
That was my cue to go upstairs, lock myself up and blog.

Anyway, when I woke up this morning, I realized my grandmother (and housemate) has already left for the province and did not even bother to wake me up. She's been out and about these past weeks and I would always be left alone at home. I seriously don't know who's in her mid-twenties and mid-seventies anymore. She's always on vacation.

Since I have the house all to myself, I decided to clean up. I got rid of things that I no longer needed. I remember that Chinese people do that to get rid of bad vibes and give space for good energy or chi to flow. As I was cleaning up, I came across some bouquets and stuff that my exes have so generously given me. I thought of disposing because I don't believe in having an Ex-box to put them all into. Also, the dried flowers have started attracting insects that I could not even name. I decided not to be too sentimental. Objects can only carry as much meaning as we allow them to have. Once you change the way you see them, they cease to mean as much. Sad, but true.

You let go of the person, you let go of the things they gave. Well, at least those that are not very useful anymore. Like flowers. I still kept some, though. Like books, clothes, shoes... I just couldn't bear to lose them, especially when they complete a kick-ass outfit or contain a really fascinating story. Funny how sometimes you can't bear to lose objects, but you can easily let go of the people who gave them. I must be very insensitive, you may think, but I'm just really being practical. No offense.

I'm not even going to defend myself. It would be unnecessary. As Coelho puts it, "A woman who can conquer her heart can conquer the world."

Good night.

Promises, Promises

After watching John Carter on Star Movies, I now desperately want to be in another planet, preferrably somewhere without politics or kingdoms fighting for full reign. But this is really because tomorrow's Monday and two days of rest and leisure will never be enough to provide a satisfying escape from stress.

Today, I tried to overcome myself and won. I woke up early to go to church, something I haven't done in months. In one of my previous posts, I made mention of a covenant that I broke some four years ago. I made that covenant in that church. And you know what people say about getting lost, you always have to go back where it all started.

I made a promise to God, you see. I prayed about this man I had been in love with since my geeky high school days. I told God that if only He could make this man love me back, I would love him for the rest of my life. You have to understand that at that moment, I have never been so sure about anything in my entire life. I frequented this place countless times, always praying for the same thing. After a year, God answered. It was a yes. What I thought was an impossibility, happened for real. Just like in the movies. And just as I had promised, I did my best to love this man in the best way I know how. He, in turn, learned to love me as much I loved him. I would like to write that we lived happily ever after.

However, he left. And when he did, I realized that I had allowed my life to revolve around him and us too much that I didn't know what to do with myself after he was gone. I felt as if something inside me died. I was mourning for someone who was still alive, but some five continents too far. I struggled to get used to his absence. I thought it was going to work. I wanted it to.

I guess subconsciously I was lonely. And I failed to recognize that. Or even dared admit. He was doing his best to keep in touch, but for me, it just wasn't enough. That had been my mistake. Nothing was ever enough for me. I was always looking for something I couldn't quite figure out, as if the world was always depriving me of something. So I broke my promise. And after that, nothing in my life was ever the same again. Even I wasn't quite the person I used to be.

I guess some people just grow apart, either by choice, circumstances or force. I don't know which one of these hit me. Perhaps all three. The bottomline is that I hurt him. Since then, I have never loved anybody else with all of me. Not with the same passion, intensity or naivety. He was my first love, after all. I guess that's the thing with first love, everybody else falls to being second best, even if you actually end up with them.

So do I regret what I did in the past? Yes and no. I wish I didn't have to hurt him. But I also wouldn't want to change a thing. I believe all those choices I made, even those that I'm not proud of, led me to this. All of them happened necessarily because I needed to be here, and he needed to be there. I needed to be who I now am and he needed to be who he is now.  Just as Eve had to bite that fruit. It may be her fault, but nothing else could have put the universe in motion. It had to be done.

I still take responsibility for what I did. My guilt is deeply rooted. It's like a heavy chain that I carry around my feet as I try to move forward. This is why I refuse to get married. I know it's never going to work out with anybody else.

Today, I started to make ammends. I told God that in exchange for the promise that  I dared break, I am choosing the path of least resistance. I wouldn't make a move. I would let him guide me. He could take me anywhere he wants me to be. If I am meant to be alone forever, so be it. I suck at making my own decisions, I know that now. This time, His will be done.

Dear Phantom, How Dare You Show Yourself To Me

A few weeks back, I wrote about this classmate of  mine who I have codenamed Phantom because of his annoying habit of randomly getting in and out of my grad school life. I let him occupy  this tiny space in my conscious mind because I thought he was gone. Forever. Today, I feel cheated.

You moron.

After class, I rushed out of the room to make an important call. I was walking towards the canteen area, with my phone pressed on my right ear, pissed that no one was answering. And then there you were. You were clutching a hamburger then you looked up. You know how someone looks at you and his eyes twinkle in recognition? That was it. That was how you looked at me. I didn't stop walking or dropped my phone upon realizing that it was indeed you. That movie-inspired bullshit doesn't really happen for real. I continued walking, but I was wide-eyed. It felt as if something just opened up inside me; just as you open a bottle of Coke and all the bubbles race to the surface and fizz. I suddenly felt so happy. My soul surely liked your presence. It must have recognized you from a previous lifetime.

You can cue the retarded smile at this point. I couldn't help it. I was reprimanding myself for being so junior high.But what the hell. I thought I was never going to see you. I was thinking that  this was enough. But as I was about to leave the campus, I saw you again. No, I sensed you. I was texting then somebody brushed past me. I knew it was you, but I had to look back to be sure. I was right. See? I can sense you now. You have managed to penetrate the walls I have built to ward off people like you. Today, we crossed paths three times. When I met up with a friend, she told me to ask for your name, should there be a fourth time. I said I'd rather not.

It was really good to see you. And to me that was enough. I don't even want to entertain the thought, the possibility. Like I said, enjoy the questions, bask in the uncertainty of it all. Attempting to go beyond this is like trying to capture the sunset in crescendo through your smartphone. You simply cannot. All its glory can't possibly be enclosed within the four corners of a photograph.

Just as you don't need to own everything you love.
 
 Thank you dear Phantom for being the rescue from a day that almost seems like all the other days. Thank you for breaking the humdrum of my otherwise boring life. See you in the next Saturdays.

Vertigo

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Writes Neruda, no less. I just feel like reciting this poem tonight, although I'm not exactly sad. As I try to figure out how I really feel tonight, I am reminded of a part in Kundera's novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, wherein he tries to define vertigo. The dictionary defines it as a condition in which one feels dizzy or disoriented, especially when looking down from a great height. Or simply, the fear of falling. However, Kundera insisted that vertigo is somewhat more complex than that. He said it's actually the fear of wanting to fall.

To quote the Hedonist, "Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.”

This is best thing I could come up with in my desire to express how I feel tonight, although I wish to personalize. I do not have this longing to fall; intead, I feel this hunger to be lonely, to be sad, to bask in my solitude which I find delicious. I know it sounds un-poetic but the word must really be delicious. I do not like to betray my Muse.

I am, in a way, suffering from vertigo. I would love to take that fall. I am not afraid of tumbling down, breaking some bones or even dying. But I do fear this desire. It somehow tells me that maybe, I have gotten really crazy.

Beer Dreams

I'm craving for a bottle of ice-cold beer.

I better put this on my bucket list. Blog as the bitter aftertaste of premium beer slowly spreads across your palate. That would be a very satisfying moment. I can even visualize how I would shiver a little and shake my head both in disgust and sheer pleasure of it.

The truth is that I should be sleeping right now. I'm getting more and more sleep deprived each day and that could really turn me into an overstressed mental wreck. And please add to that how I manage to look like shit every single day. I haven't brushed my hair since summer and this has successfully given birth to a new breed of dandruff. I got two huge, drying zits on my left cheek and some whiteheads here and there. My body's been seriously reduced into a skeletal model. Worse, I don't care. Or better yet, I do not have the time and energy to give a rat's arse about how I look right now. I do not intend to attract men, anyway. That is one factor, although it's absolutely stupid. You just don't doll up for men who would eventually come out of their closets and admit they're gay. That is absurd.

I want to feel and be beautiful for myself. I want to stop thinking about other people for once and just do whatever the hell I want. I worry too much. Perhaps I really need to take a break...And not feel guilty about being unproductive. I have turned myself into a working machine; I am thisclose to drafting a syllabus or, hell, a whole curriculum on how I should be living my life right now. I am too occupied. I don't even have enough space for me, if you know what I'm talking about.

The people I work with often assume that this was brought about by the break-up I had two months ago (yes, the longest time I've been single in seven years!), but break-ups don't have that kind of depressing effect on me. And I do not mean to brag, because that's not something to be proud about. It's a curse. My curse after I dared break a covenant I made with God. But that's another story.

Again, I should be sleeping right now. Tomorrow may be Friday, but in my line of work, any day is just as good as Monday. Happy dreaming.

Drunken Nights

There's drunk driving, drunk dancing or singing, drunk texting... And then there's drunk blogging. And I did it first.

I'd probably be deleting this tomorrow morning, as soon as I sober up. But hell, Edgar Allan Poe created his best works while under the influence. So who am I to fight the urge?

I am not really drunk, just a little tispy. I have earned this tolerance of alcohol over the past years. Being intrapersonally intelligent, if I may add, helps control your tongue in the presence of liquor as well. I have definitely learned to shut the fuck up.

This reminds me of the many drinking sessions in the past in which my then boyfriends would suddenly tell me that I have had enough because I was already getting annoyingly and incontrollably talkative. I, in turn, would stupidly wonder how the hell they knew.

The thing about being drunk is really not about letting the moron in you shine, but having an excellent excuse to say what you want to say wherever and whenever you want it. Alcohol fogs the logic. It puts you in the perfect stance to voice out the thoughts that should have been in the brain recycle bin. It liberates.

Saying all of these while alcohol is swiftly taking over me is like deciding to cheat on my partner. It's like spilling somebody else's secrets. I really am not making sense here.

I would love to talk about love right now. Love seems to be an ideal topic in times like these, but I'd rather not, lest I be accused of being old-fashioned and too predictable. Let me just say that love, as proven by all the other drunks that have attempted to define it before me, always , always, looks more astonishing when lighted by uncorrupted honesty and unadulterated truth. In human terms, it is best expressed when one is unapologetically true to what he or she feels at any given moment. Such as when one is awfully drunk.

I am watching The Notebook right now. You know how some movies could make you believe you can marry Ryan Gosling...

I should get some sleep. Really, I should. But I do hope you had the initiative to ignore some words I might have misspelled along the way.

Dear Phantom

I should have asked for your name.

I thought about this as I made my way across the open court, crushing some dried leaves as I sluggishly walked on. My shoulders drooped and it felt as if my sling bag had suddenly weighed a million tons more. You were not there.

Part of me would like to give myself a good spanking for, would you believe, not doing anything about it when I had a chance and the other is still rolling its eyes in disappointment while asking, "Are you kidding me?"

When I decided not to get married, I realized that the root does not lie in my incapacity to love but in my inabilty to stay committed. Whenever I find myself in a long-term relationship, there would always come a point in which I would feel as if my life is about to be contained within the four walls of a box and thus the urge to wriggle out of my would-be cage would persist.

I've read once that in this world, females are born to be farmers. They plow the field, plant seeds and nurture them. They are the soil from which life is sowed and reaped. Males, on the other hand, are hunters. They must leave and brave the perils of the wild in order to provide. Such is their task.

That is the problem. In this life, I am the hunter. And what I have realized from experience is that when you assume the role of a hunter, the other person, as if by nature, automatically becomes a farmer. This shift, much to my disillusionment, becomes inevitable.

This leads me to think that, perhaps, what I need is another hunter. This sounds ideal. But then the skeptic in me would say that, knowing the person that I am, the setup might just lead to a clash of egos. I am better off alone, really.

I have been arguing with myself a lot lately. But as they say, it is not always about finding the answers, but learning to enjoy the questions.

So with this, I guess you would remain to be a question. Your name, your age, your job, everything. And I would enjoy spending the following Saturdays trying to imagine how you'd look without your square framed glasses or how that boyish grin of yours would always disarm me and how you have absolutely no idea about it. Expect me as well to replay the only conversation I had with you which lasted for about 40 seconds. Or that amusing moment when you were about to go out of the room then all of a sudden you turned around,  reminded me of a paper that needs to be submitted the following week and strode off. I stood there, dumbfounded. I went down the stairs with this retarded smile on my face, I tell you.

And then yesterday, I scanned the room hoping to find you. You were not there. I sank back at my chair, disappointed. I felt like a stupid adolescent in her mid-twenties. I listened to the two-hour lecture with your absence at the back of my head. You were gone, just like that. Just like when you strode off after reminding me of that paper.

Was I in love then? No, I don't think so. If I were, you would be virtually stalked by now. I just love the idea of you being a phantom. It somehow fulfills this desire to be deprived of something I think I would like to have. My thirst for challenge. The thrill of the chase. Whatever you would like to call it.

I am thinking now that perhaps I was right not to have asked for your name. Unmasking you would have diminished this desire altogether. Remember that there are some things that are meant to be admired only from afar.

I see us  aboard a train one of these days. And I am certain, you would be the man staring at me from the other side.

At Random

I lack sleep. And this is making me forgetful. Or more forgetful than I already am, to be exact. I have dark circles around my eyes and my weight is ever diminishing. I am unhealthy and I know that. My friends bug me to eat more than I can take every damn time and they never fail to remind me just how malnourished I look these days. They even went as far as turning my weight issues into their personal project: the operation make chang gain weight. I am so touched, really. 

Work eats up most of my time. Because of this, I consciously make time for things that would pluck me out of robot mode. I went to a bar with friends two nights ago and had the time of my life. A bartender tried to hit on me and I just had to mentally laugh. I just celebrated my first successful month as a single, unattached yet totally happy lady. Clearly, these people don't know what they're getting at. 

I would like to ramble some more but sleep is luring me to its den. Good night, folks!

Free as a Flightless Bird

I like the title. It's so cool I want to say don't read this entry, which is mostly just a pile of shit, and just stare at the title.

Don't say you weren't warned.

I dropped the bomb. And this is more literal than figurative. I say this because when someone breaks your heart, it's reminiscent of the American bombing in Hiroshima. It's like something just exploded inside you. The only difference is that the damage is cunning, because the explosion is silent and everybody thinks you're what you say you are. "Fine."

Having said that, a broken heart seems like a good way to die. That is until YOU actually break a heart.

Everybody thinks breaking someone's heart is like scraping some leftovers for your dog to eat. Like hell it is. You want to know what's worse than suffering? Guilt.

Guilt is a parasite. It crawls inside your head and gnaws at your brain. It feeds on the horror that you have been the source of another person's unhappiness. You are the bad guy. Or girl, in my case. The one everybody loves to hate because you've ruined someone's life, regardless of how fast he bounces back. At every bite, guilt grows rapidly into a fat two-fanged monster and it makes you feel heavy inside. Nobody understands that. They don't know how a half-hearted laugh sounds like. Because the worst thing about guilt is the thought that because of what you did, you don't deserve to be happy.

I told my friends that if I could turn it all upside down, I'd do it. I'd rather be the one who gets hurt, because then I'd have every right to move on, be happy and show that motherfucker what he had just lost. But no, I was that motherfucker. So how do you move on from that?

That afternoon, when I broke up with my boyfriend, I could not even cry. I was just...calm. And I hated it. I was worse that Iron Man, because at least there was a person inside that suit. In my case, there was a machine inside this body. Heartless. I didn't cry. I felt sad. And that was worse. I realized that sadness is a war that the soul wages, the way pain is a battle that the body must overcome. I didn't shed any tear at all. But my soul...It was shattered.

It was my choice. If I could play it back I still would've done the same thing. I am now free as a bird. This is what I wanted. Single again after what seems to be ages. I finally got to breathe some fresh air.

I Need Space

I have this fascination with city lights.

Perhaps solitary beings are naturally drawn to serene backdrops that make the world look much gentler than it actually is. This might also be the reason my mind works better at night. Darkness tends to be too overwhelming for some people. Or too intimidating. But there's a distinct sense of quiet that clings to it, like damp air on a humid night, more soothing than it is daunting.

 I love the sun, but I hate daylight. It exposes the filth in the surroundings. It reminds me of how my dentist uses her gloved hands to open my mouth wide in the most unflattering way while her two interns take turns to scrutinize. I am not ashamed of my tartar. It's just that reality, once magnified, is just too harsh.

In the movie Just Like Heaven, Reese Witherspoon's character lives in this apartment with huge glass-stained windows that give one a breath-taking view of city lights. I never forgot that movie, and it's not because of the romance. It's because I swore to myself that someday I'm going to find an identical apartment and live there, all by myself. That's one of my ultimate dreams.

For now I'm stuck in my room which I consider as temporary paradise. But I know and feel that someday, I'll find my real place, the one that's exactly in my head.

Dementia

The truth is that I am coward.

I was born in the year of the Dragon and under the star sign Leo, beasts that supposedly roar and breathe fire of blazing courage, but I don't think I got any of it. That or the fact that I am not really a fan of horoscopes.

 Bullshit aside, I always try to run away from things that I am afraid of. But don't we all at some point? I remember seeing this Nat Geo commercial that shows a man balancing himself on a thin rope about a hundred kilometers from the ground. And it says, "Stare death in the face." Immediately it sounds so darn exciting and appealing to me. So I told myself that from then on I am going to stare death in the face at any given situation, and I would not be afraid. Death is not fearsome; it is rather comforting. Just imagine being able to answer all of life's questions right after you die.

But of course when you realize something this great, Life, as always, would happen. It does get jealous. And when life happens to you, you would immediately understand that real courage does not show itself when you defy death. It does when you dare to live.

And with this I came to the conclusion that I am, indeed, a coward.

I post pictures of my adventures and brag about my freedom but the truth is that I am so scared. I am not even free. I can't even say how I feel to somebody I care about because that means I'm going to have to break his heart. I don't even want to go back to work because that means I'm going to have to face my new responsibilities as an amateur leader. I can't even be happy about my promotion. I am too scared to mess up everything I've worked so hard for.

That is my problem. I now have everything I have ever wanted. And all I could think of is how I could get rid of them.

In Retrospect

I was never able to get over that guilt. Whenever I see pictures of him and his lovely family, who have been nothing but good to me, there would always be this little voice at the back of my head that repeatedly says, "They're good people, and you've hurt them."

Perhaps, time never really completely heals all wounds. It just probably transforms it into a scab which you impulsively scratch when it begins to itch, thinking that, anyway, it would start to form another layer of skin, good as new; fresh and spotless, without any trace whatsoever of what had been there.

But while it's true that some wounds disappear, some also leaves a stubborn scar, a dark spot or a slight bulge, to remind you of that moment when you erred, fell, and probably brought someone with you down the ground as you stumble. They say we must live our lives without regrets. But I have lots of them. And the worst thing about regrets? Not only will it be impossible to change or take anything back, but somewhere along the way you'd realize, even if you had the chance to, you wouldn't want to go back.

From the Pensive

A few weeks ago, I decided not to get married. It's nothing conclusive. But as of the moment, I am certain that I can't stay committed to a person, regardless who he may be, for a lifetime. What I visualize instead is me alone in a sunlit house with large windows that spill out a magnificent view of the sea, sitting on a rocking chair with a good thriller book on one hand and a glass of cool lemonade on the other.

I have always been comfortable with solitude. I have always loved the feeling of being at peace. It's a stark contrast to the chaos of love. I have read once that one can never find peace in love. Perhaps because love is a raging force. Imagine the Big Bang happening at the very core of your universe, forming you then changing you, building you then destroying you...Which reminds me that love is only for the brave. For those who are brave enough to ride out these constant storms of change.

And, perhaps, I'm just not one of them.