6 March 2017
28 January 2017
I thought about it for a while. It’s been a while – been a while since we last spoke about our dreams and our hopes for the future. It’s been a while since the day we talked about how serious our relationship would go. Been a while since I felt those strong emotions surging in me as you spoke truth about your disappointments in my so-called runaway from home. We talked over this during Valentine’s Day. I was waiting for a motorcycle ride just by the sidewalk where I cried like a hyena, I was not even so sure of how I was supposed to feel about creating that gap between my emotions and my reality.
I trusted you fully about everything – I was close to giving my all, my universe, my empty room of despair, sadness and a little bit of everything that I kept discreet for a while. I left without knowing what to do, without remembering what and how to feel about it. Somehow I put one foot forward, and I tried walking. I felt like I was tripping in some ways, I was not finding my balance.
I wanted to know how it feels to be you; to feel hurt about everything and be immersed in just genuine sadness of losing someone so dear to you – not because she wanted to but because she was surprised by all the hazards, the confusion and the emotions that it made her feel. I myself wanted to die for killing you the way I did because not a single bit you deserve any of those. In the end, I will bear all the consequences. And guess what, I don't think I can bear it any longer. I wish there were second, maybe third chances. Maybe along the way I just decided to change my mind and heart. My after all, I thought seriously about you and about us. I wish you would take second chances just as it would heal the brokenness and distrust you felt all year long.
I thought wrong about us and I know a million sorry will never be enough. I’ve kept you in my thoughts long before I thought of anyone or anything else.
3 December 2016
It doesn’t matter how many lives we have saved from feeling repressed, lonely, hurt and forgotten. It doesn’t even matter how much we have inspired and lit someone else’s lives from the way our gestures stroke them, the way our love moved them and even how our empathy made them feel. It feels really great to have truly made someone’s day, month, year, without even realizing all that they needed was company. But at the end of the day, there’s a little gesture that you may have missed, something much more important, something that has to do with you.
I had a feeling 2016 was not going to be my year – not to be downright pessimistic about everything but the year started of blue. Yes, it really felt it had a mellow, more of a nostalgic start. About 11 months ago, I came back to the motherland, to the country I still question and doubt for long and hard up until this day. I returned back from a country I knew I could grow comfortable in; some place where I can finally say, “I can feel you, home and I feel safer than ever”. Life said otherwise, though. As I began to find my shape and fit in a land not far away from the motherland, I had to fly back eventually after a two-year long wonderful sojourn. 10 months later, my heart still flips and some days, it would jolt. Other days, it would painfully see right through my mind of the days they once were. The beginning of the year was quiet a transition for me and needless to say, I was not quite sure of how to feel about it then. And even now.
I made big steps and decisions in life. I ended a relationship I thought would have lasted but maybe because my circumstances were no match in tolerating what it was and it still was. Then on, I had to let go of something that felt so dear and precious to me. The transition, premature growth and everything unprecedented stabbed me in the chest, leaving me with no choice but to fight a lethal battle, halfheartedly. Not long after, I took a huge leap of faith and decided to distract my mind from all those with what people associate to as a ‘job’ or ‘work’; I made a decision to finally secure a one-year freelance contract in an agency I never thought I could have survived in. Months have passed and here I am, with a work I can finally love and hate at the same time and eventually feel grateful for, day-by-day.
I have made reckless decisions as I rekindled the past. I died on a sinking ship that had been a carcass long before any of those happened. Eventually, my reckless decisions resulted in me losing some friends and companies along the way. I had hoped of becoming a good sport but my uncontrollable feelings backfired against everything I had said, done and thought. I grew in contempt with all my surroundings and my circumstances; I lashed out, threw tantrums, filled my soul with negativity as I attacked those who least deserved my troubled mind.
There’s a part of me that wants to say, well, you’re a step ahead than anyone. You’re growing, you’re ripening in the season and for once, you will come to understand that adversity is the slow, painstaking yet worthy road to maturity, strength and wisdom. There’s a muscle inside of me moving and building because only then, I can recall back that the worst year of my life has finally brought me this far. But those thoughts are far from what and where they are right now.
I cannot see how great and grand the next year will be. I feel like I’m still searching for more of what’s to come and I think that I can finally say life has just been a constant slap in the face. There is an undisclosed desire, more of a thought that goes on forever in my head thinking, “am I really at the right age to feel so deeply and seriously about everything?
I can’t seem to see a greater picture of what is to come in life. I really cannot. And I don’t want to put pressure on the things and people that are not meant to be in my life. But so far, as the year comes to a close, I cannot accentuate and highlight how deeply remorse I am of the things I did to make myself feel this weak and frail because as much as life graced, life became a difficult task to bear.
14 November 2016
6 November 2016
You could taste it coming back to you like it’s a distant away; the memories I thought were long gone continued to linger on. My heart, torn between two places at once, seems to be enjoying the tug of war. I am in desperate need of a momentum and too early as it is to tell, I am fighting for the parts, pieces and fragments that I’ve left in a city I once called and will always call home.
I don’t understand how memories can and will continue to stamp beneath the façade of what I call, my life. As much as I try to move on from it, there is always a little gesture, a small poke telling me that a little part of this something longs for me as I long for it. It’s mutual and it hurts to forever compel to the compromise our paths. I feel pain, I’m saddened and I don’t think I can fully understand how this particular part of my life meant and will always mean so much for me. Draining and exhausted, I manage to shove the memories away; I tried to cram them into my piled archives. The more I managed to forcefully shove it aside, the more it comes alive.
I like to pretend most of the times that maybe the transit part was never the two years I was abroad. The transiting is happening now. What if I was never really meant to be here, for good? What if home never really was an address or a particular location? Some days I’m saddened, most days I grieve. Maybe I'm just good at strangling and fighting against the feeling for too long not realizing the almost yearlong stifling causes more distress and disappointments.
I like to imagine breathing through life and gracing through the days the way it was before, not because of the school not because of the memories but maybe the way everything made me feel. I grew to be enamored of life, to taste a little bit of freedom but taking full responsibility of myself. I continued to enjoy the random flukes, the near misses, and the surprises that seem to color every part of my life. There were much more to begin with – I made mistakes out of my own reckless decisions, I made memories out of my own will and I grew closer to my families and in faith.
Can I fall back in love with a memory and make it a reality once more? I heard living in your tiny, little memories can be dangerous but what danger would it cause to live it up again, knowing that it did change your for the better? What if all I'm living up right now are just mere expectations, standards, for good service, and just plain feigned contentedness? What if I was never meant to do all, what if I outgrew all those expectations, and the standard that was set upon me?
I want to stop dreaming and stop imagining it as though it was the last goodbye. I want to stop crying day and night for feeling so lost and displaced. There’s a part of me that is fully determined to grace through a different kind of life and make those memories a reality once more.
20 October 2016
4 October 2016
My mind wanders to everything I had experienced a few years ago – maybe it did wander a little too much. For all the hours, days and weeks I try to be productive, some days I wished things were how it used to be. Things then were good; everything became a reminder of how great, beautiful and precious those moments were. And for a while now, I really do miss it. Maybe I’m wrong for feeling this way, maybe I’m wrong for wanting to feel this vulnerable again – maybe I’m not over it. Over everything. Over us.
I remembered playing the piano again for the first time after a year of leaving the comforts of home. And honestly, I had been playing songs I used to play to you. Right in that moment, I was bombarded by a flashback memory of feeling ecstatic about learning new songs by ear and finally being able to play them to you. Those were your songs and my songs; those were our songs. I was proud of myself and I felt that in you too. I couldn’t believe that you would show such keen interest in patiently waiting for me to finally press the piano keys. You would tell me that I’ll be doing just fine and that the songs I play would sound beautifully although my insecurities thought otherwise. I would tell you honestly of how I managed to learn the songs by heart in a few weeks just so that the next time you returned home from you never ending sojourns, you could finally watch me play them to you live.
I love my piano; I love how it reminds me a bulk of memories of you and me. It became a poignant reminder of the way you would sit next to me and would watch me play. In between the smiles we share and the head nodding, you would sit closer and try to steal a kiss. We would laugh most of the time as we gesticulated awkwardly to confront them. Some days when I don’t feel like playing, you would tell me of how you missed hearing and watching me play our favorite songs.
You were one of the reasons why I had become passionate about a lot of things. You were the reason why those mix tapes and CDs mattered to me and that I would try hard to curate and pick out songs that I knew you and I would enjoy listening to. You also became the reason why cheesy song lyrics like "Dress and Tie" or "Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop" would replay on my head over and over again. Most of all, you were the reason why my piano playing skills and my baby grand were my two most cherished assets – because without them, I wouldn’t be able to see your face lit up with as we shared the same excitement of having to listen to the songs I play to you.
You were probably the reason why I lost hope in love too. I was broken and hurt and I became vulnerable enough to find comfort only in my shelled and petty thoughts. Through all the accumulated heartbreaks and disappointments I have experienced, I came to a conclusion to finally build my walls higher and thicker just so that I can escape the fantasy of what love really is. I decided to bid love adieu and put off mental signs in my life that read 'emotionally unavailable'. At least that's how I thought about it then.
The piano became a reminder of why I was hurt yet at the same time, happy and content. The way I was so frail and insecure, yet was safe and loved. I knew someone out there would appreciate my sub par piano playing skills and that someone so happens to be you. Maybe things are different now; maybe I wouldn’t find someone that would appreciate my skills so much as you do. Maybe the piano and you mattered most to me then – and both still do, only maybe differently this time.