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.