I’ve always loved the feeling of being alone most of the time. I’d rather lock myself up inside my room and read a book or just scribble on anything that’s going through my mind, than join with the rest of my family watching TV.
I don’t talk on mornings. I’d get up, say a little prayer, take a shower, dress up, and eat without anybody hearing a single word from me. Talk to me and you won’t get anything but a forced smile or a plain nod. You’re lucky if you get a little “ah” or “ok.”
I’m on a very complicated roller coaster ride, or maybe it’s only me making things hard. My creepiness becomes evident during this time. I ask a lot of weird questions to my friends. I think of life’s complexities. I analyze my own existence. I begin to want to do things and yet feel too tired to move even a finger. Everything stays in my head and most of the time, I just want to disappear. I tell a good friend of mine, “I feel broken.” (Told ya.)
These are the moments I feel alone. I think of those few friends I have, knowing that all of them have a job to be busy with, somebody to spend Friday nights with, or toddlers of their own. I look at my pregnant sister, realizing she already has a life of her own. I think of my other sister miles away who just had a baby and is too preoccupied with this little angel of the family. I look at my brother busy with all his friends seemingly contented with life. I think of my dad (there’s nowhere to look coz I haven’t seen him for the past 2 weeks), and it strikes me how distant I am from him and the only thing that connects us is the company he expects me to manage. I don’t have my mom anymore, which makes this period a whole lot harder. If she were still here, maybe I could still curl down on her lap while she watches TV. Or maybe I could sweetly ask her to buy something to eat even if I’m not hungry at all.
Then the weird thoughts and questions pop uncontrollably. Where do I fit? Who do I have? What do I do? There’s a persistent battle within me, knowing the what-should-be-done in life, yet understanding how I feel even if it’s unreasonable.
These are the moments when I am just floating. These are the times I’m having a hard time getting hold of something really solid that would help me stay grounded. I know I have no right to feel bad about life for I am well-blessed and well-loved by my God. I play that truth in my mind repeatedly and pray that He give me wisdom to sort these thoughts of mine.
Am I alone? Am I lost? Am I broken?
Maybe not.
But I feel I am.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Words Without Meaning
1997. My seatmate showed me a piece of intermediate paper with two-stanza lyrics of a song. Without even having to ask him, he volunteered to sing…
You told me you loved me
You told me you cared
You told me you needed me
But I guess
Those were words without meaning
You said I could trust in you
You said I was fine
You said that you spoke the truth
But I guess
Those were words without meaning
It was 10 years ago and still the sound of his voice seems like echoing in my mind. If I remember it right, he told me he wrote that song, and I didn’t question it anymore. I just kept that piece of paper in my wallet for years. Well, until I lost that wallet in a cab.
It’s funny how easy it is for us to say things. More often than not, we let go of words instantaneously and we end up wishing to have those words back. We only get to realize how awful or hurtful it could have been once we have already let it out.
Why are we fond of saying things we don’t really mean? Why do we let out a fast “yes” we don’t have the slightest intention of meaning? Why do we blurt out promises we don’t have the least intention of keeping?
If you were on the receiving end, isn’t hard to gauge the authenticity of one’s words? We get too blinded with a lot of factors in believing what is said to us- the person who said it, the circumstance we’re in, and our own emotion.
But actually, we get to be affected by somebody’s words or even presence only up to the point that we allow them to. The most sincere truth won’t bother us even a bit if we don’t want to. Just the same, the cruelest lie won’t crush us if we choose not to.
The question is, up to what extent are we going to allow ourselves to ignore a truth, or believe a lie?
You told me you loved me
You told me you cared
You told me you needed me
But I guess
Those were words without meaning
You said I could trust in you
You said I was fine
You said that you spoke the truth
But I guess
Those were words without meaning
It was 10 years ago and still the sound of his voice seems like echoing in my mind. If I remember it right, he told me he wrote that song, and I didn’t question it anymore. I just kept that piece of paper in my wallet for years. Well, until I lost that wallet in a cab.
It’s funny how easy it is for us to say things. More often than not, we let go of words instantaneously and we end up wishing to have those words back. We only get to realize how awful or hurtful it could have been once we have already let it out.
Why are we fond of saying things we don’t really mean? Why do we let out a fast “yes” we don’t have the slightest intention of meaning? Why do we blurt out promises we don’t have the least intention of keeping?
If you were on the receiving end, isn’t hard to gauge the authenticity of one’s words? We get too blinded with a lot of factors in believing what is said to us- the person who said it, the circumstance we’re in, and our own emotion.
But actually, we get to be affected by somebody’s words or even presence only up to the point that we allow them to. The most sincere truth won’t bother us even a bit if we don’t want to. Just the same, the cruelest lie won’t crush us if we choose not to.
The question is, up to what extent are we going to allow ourselves to ignore a truth, or believe a lie?
Monday, December 24, 2007
Meri Kurisumasu
I can’t believe 2007 is almost over. When I look back (which I should try to quit doing often), it leaves within me a deep hollow.
At this very minute, 365 days ago, I was glued in front of the computer, talking with somebody. We were talking about our plans on summer of ’07. We were talking about how the holiday season would just pass by.
He spends special occasions sleeping. During his birthday, he would lock himself in the house and I suppose not show up to the world until the day passes. On Christmas, he still is in the house, sleeping. And at that time, I didn’t want him to be alone. Surely we were oceans apart, but somehow, for no vocal reasons, we stayed connected.
It was ten o’clock. Should be midnight there. I sent him my Merry Christmas greeting. I knew he was already sound asleep by then so I didn’t wait for any reply. I spent my midnight just like other Christmas I had, so practically we were on the same boat. I was in the middle of opening a gift when my phone rang and to my grand surprise, it was him calling.
“I thought you were sleeping…” I told him with a huge grin on my face. “I had set my alarm. I’ve been trying to call you but I couldn’t get through.” I didn’t even understand the last words. I was struck by the alarm thing. He set the alarm?! What in the world did it mean? Yeah I know alarm clocks are designed to wake you up but what did he do that for? I couldn’t believe he woke up in the middle of the night just to talk with me on Christmas, and what, break his own tradition of spending it asleep? It was incredible and I couldn’t get enough thinking about it.
Christmas Eve 2007. What is it like?
I spent the whole day at the farmhouse with my family, relaxing and savoring the cold wind from the top of the mountains. Nobody else to talk with besides them.
When we arrived back home, there was an odd silence in the house. Sure we were talking, but something was missing.
7:22 pm – I finished writing my blog entry about friendship. I went down a got myself some veggie juice. Weird eh?
Now (8:37 pm) – 365 days back, I never imagined myself doing this today.
I sent him a message, checking if he were not drunk or asleep. Gladly, he isn’t. And it’s good to know that for a change, he’d be spending the night with his family. He ended his message as this: Thanks for remembering. Meri kurisumasu. I found that funny before. But now, staring at the message, I’m beginning to hate myself for wishing that he would set his alarm later at 2:00am there to call me and talk with me on Christmas.
Truly, things change. And you wouldn’t even notice it until it hits you boldly in the eye. I wonder what the rest of the world is doing at this very moment I am consuming myself from the memories of the past Christmas I spent with somebody miles away with a foolish phone call I just wish I could still have.
At this very minute, 365 days ago, I was glued in front of the computer, talking with somebody. We were talking about our plans on summer of ’07. We were talking about how the holiday season would just pass by.
He spends special occasions sleeping. During his birthday, he would lock himself in the house and I suppose not show up to the world until the day passes. On Christmas, he still is in the house, sleeping. And at that time, I didn’t want him to be alone. Surely we were oceans apart, but somehow, for no vocal reasons, we stayed connected.
It was ten o’clock. Should be midnight there. I sent him my Merry Christmas greeting. I knew he was already sound asleep by then so I didn’t wait for any reply. I spent my midnight just like other Christmas I had, so practically we were on the same boat. I was in the middle of opening a gift when my phone rang and to my grand surprise, it was him calling.
“I thought you were sleeping…” I told him with a huge grin on my face. “I had set my alarm. I’ve been trying to call you but I couldn’t get through.” I didn’t even understand the last words. I was struck by the alarm thing. He set the alarm?! What in the world did it mean? Yeah I know alarm clocks are designed to wake you up but what did he do that for? I couldn’t believe he woke up in the middle of the night just to talk with me on Christmas, and what, break his own tradition of spending it asleep? It was incredible and I couldn’t get enough thinking about it.
Christmas Eve 2007. What is it like?
I spent the whole day at the farmhouse with my family, relaxing and savoring the cold wind from the top of the mountains. Nobody else to talk with besides them.
When we arrived back home, there was an odd silence in the house. Sure we were talking, but something was missing.
7:22 pm – I finished writing my blog entry about friendship. I went down a got myself some veggie juice. Weird eh?
Now (8:37 pm) – 365 days back, I never imagined myself doing this today.
I sent him a message, checking if he were not drunk or asleep. Gladly, he isn’t. And it’s good to know that for a change, he’d be spending the night with his family. He ended his message as this: Thanks for remembering. Meri kurisumasu. I found that funny before. But now, staring at the message, I’m beginning to hate myself for wishing that he would set his alarm later at 2:00am there to call me and talk with me on Christmas.
Truly, things change. And you wouldn’t even notice it until it hits you boldly in the eye. I wonder what the rest of the world is doing at this very moment I am consuming myself from the memories of the past Christmas I spent with somebody miles away with a foolish phone call I just wish I could still have.
Gone Are the Old Times
I have this friend who was once very visible in my life. He broke up with his girlfriend a year ago and since I had no real love story ever since my first relationship ended centuries ago, we were stuck with each other. We reassured each other during depressing moments, and offered encouragement that somehow, someday, our true love will come along. It was comforting to know he was just one ring away. In the middle of our heart-to-heart talks, I knew he was truly there and not just spending some idle time with some old friend from some far away place.
Knowing me, I used to make up these scenarios that would leave me feel dejected for no apparent reason at all. (Tell me about schizophrenia or psychosis.) But he was patient enough to listen to my nonsense stories and my heartbreaking fairy tales which happened in 18th century. Sometimes he just quit making me realize how stupid my concerns were and he just listened. Maybe he knew the other side of me was in action during those moments and the sane one is already sound asleep.
He knew I was caught up with my little fantasy world. I believe he had accepted that disgraceful attitude of mine, which gave him the license to make fun of me for my habit of making a big deal out of simple gestures. For hours, he would bear with me blabbering on a very little detail of a phone call I received from a guy that day! And after I realized how stupid my “kilig moment” was all about, he would just laugh at me, making it really subtle in implying how “gullible” I was. I showed him my vulnerability and I didn’t care if he knew I was not the strong lady everyone thought I was. Coz I felt that he would understand.
But of course I’d have to say he shared the other half of the miseries showered on earth. I had to hear depressing grumbles turned into pathetic hopes of getting back together, over and over again. He would tell me, “I’m sorry I know I’ve said this a million times before”, and the fact is, he might really have. But I could identify with what he was going through and I knew he was undergoing a rather difficult stage, being left by the one he has set his mind and heart to be with for the rest of his life.
Self-worth was the last thing in his vocabulary. He had his dreams, his purpose, his whole life revolved with a single person who ended up not as willing to give him what he thought he should have. And the million-turned-billion times of saying the heartbreaks seemed a helpful, yet frustrating process he’d have to undergo.
I remember one night, it was around 2:30 am. I had my better side dominating me and I was already sleeping peacefully. He rang me in the middle of my serenity (which happened very rarely), and I found him crying on the other line, telling me how hurt and dejected he felt, as if it were the first time I heard it. I simply stood by him, knowing that whatever it is that I’d have to say, he already knew. The only thing I shared him was the one thing I had learned from my previous share of bad luck in love: If your whole life is focused on one person and she just left you hanging and you don’t know how to start all over again without her, maybe it wasn’t worth it after all.
He had the ultimate goal of being invincible. He wanted to look his best, to race towards success, and eventually to face the world, his head up high screaming from the top of his lungs that he made it. Then every girl would wish to have him (and probably the old one would regret to have let him go), but he would not make any one of them get through him and have that power to rule his life and take the best out of him. I thought it was fair enough after his failed relationship, and I truly supported him with that. I believe that loving and being happy with one’s self is a major factor in a success of a relationship. The famous line by Tom Cruise “You complete me” isn’t going to work for me. You’ll never be able to love anybody if you yourself aren’t whole. If you try to look for that happiness with someone else, then be ready to get disappointed. Stop looking for the “other half” of you. There’s no such thing.
Anyway, he soon managed to get back on track. He got a wonderful job, got his confidence back, gained new friends. In short, he started to move on. I would hear less of complaints and more of glowing hopes of what the future holds for him. And I was truly happy for him.
He might have moved on pretty well. It has been a year already and as soon as the heartbreak stopped, so did the old times. I’m not saying that we should stay in that state of despair forever, but what we shared during that low point in our life were simply washed away by the struggle to get back his life and the new world he’s in. I heard he has a new girlfriend and I was thrilled! I waited for him to tell me how happy he is and how everything just fell into its proper places. I waited for him to tell me all the good news in his life. I waited to hear every good thing repetitively; just the same way he told me the bad ones. I waited to hear him scream from the top of his lungs that finally, he made it.
But, he never did. He never shared any of it. At first I thought he was just adjusting to this new world and it was okay. We didn’t have a contract to tell each other what was going on with our life anyway. Every now and then I send him messages, asking how he was doing, but he never answered them. I guess he is preoccupied by his new-found life…a life he dreamt of, a life that has no room for despair to share with; thus a life that has no room for me.
I don’t know if I should be flattered that he ran to me when he was helpless, and forget about me when everything was fine. Sometimes I wonder if the friendship meant anything to him. I wonder if the times he spent with me talking about his miseries were really not a way to just spend some idle time with some old friend from some far away place. I wonder if he truly cared, or he just pretended to because he needed somebody to console him.
I wonder if he would have remembered me if he didn’t break up with his girlfriend back then… Maybe not.
Knowing me, I used to make up these scenarios that would leave me feel dejected for no apparent reason at all. (Tell me about schizophrenia or psychosis.) But he was patient enough to listen to my nonsense stories and my heartbreaking fairy tales which happened in 18th century. Sometimes he just quit making me realize how stupid my concerns were and he just listened. Maybe he knew the other side of me was in action during those moments and the sane one is already sound asleep.
He knew I was caught up with my little fantasy world. I believe he had accepted that disgraceful attitude of mine, which gave him the license to make fun of me for my habit of making a big deal out of simple gestures. For hours, he would bear with me blabbering on a very little detail of a phone call I received from a guy that day! And after I realized how stupid my “kilig moment” was all about, he would just laugh at me, making it really subtle in implying how “gullible” I was. I showed him my vulnerability and I didn’t care if he knew I was not the strong lady everyone thought I was. Coz I felt that he would understand.
But of course I’d have to say he shared the other half of the miseries showered on earth. I had to hear depressing grumbles turned into pathetic hopes of getting back together, over and over again. He would tell me, “I’m sorry I know I’ve said this a million times before”, and the fact is, he might really have. But I could identify with what he was going through and I knew he was undergoing a rather difficult stage, being left by the one he has set his mind and heart to be with for the rest of his life.
Self-worth was the last thing in his vocabulary. He had his dreams, his purpose, his whole life revolved with a single person who ended up not as willing to give him what he thought he should have. And the million-turned-billion times of saying the heartbreaks seemed a helpful, yet frustrating process he’d have to undergo.
I remember one night, it was around 2:30 am. I had my better side dominating me and I was already sleeping peacefully. He rang me in the middle of my serenity (which happened very rarely), and I found him crying on the other line, telling me how hurt and dejected he felt, as if it were the first time I heard it. I simply stood by him, knowing that whatever it is that I’d have to say, he already knew. The only thing I shared him was the one thing I had learned from my previous share of bad luck in love: If your whole life is focused on one person and she just left you hanging and you don’t know how to start all over again without her, maybe it wasn’t worth it after all.
He had the ultimate goal of being invincible. He wanted to look his best, to race towards success, and eventually to face the world, his head up high screaming from the top of his lungs that he made it. Then every girl would wish to have him (and probably the old one would regret to have let him go), but he would not make any one of them get through him and have that power to rule his life and take the best out of him. I thought it was fair enough after his failed relationship, and I truly supported him with that. I believe that loving and being happy with one’s self is a major factor in a success of a relationship. The famous line by Tom Cruise “You complete me” isn’t going to work for me. You’ll never be able to love anybody if you yourself aren’t whole. If you try to look for that happiness with someone else, then be ready to get disappointed. Stop looking for the “other half” of you. There’s no such thing.
Anyway, he soon managed to get back on track. He got a wonderful job, got his confidence back, gained new friends. In short, he started to move on. I would hear less of complaints and more of glowing hopes of what the future holds for him. And I was truly happy for him.
He might have moved on pretty well. It has been a year already and as soon as the heartbreak stopped, so did the old times. I’m not saying that we should stay in that state of despair forever, but what we shared during that low point in our life were simply washed away by the struggle to get back his life and the new world he’s in. I heard he has a new girlfriend and I was thrilled! I waited for him to tell me how happy he is and how everything just fell into its proper places. I waited for him to tell me all the good news in his life. I waited to hear every good thing repetitively; just the same way he told me the bad ones. I waited to hear him scream from the top of his lungs that finally, he made it.
But, he never did. He never shared any of it. At first I thought he was just adjusting to this new world and it was okay. We didn’t have a contract to tell each other what was going on with our life anyway. Every now and then I send him messages, asking how he was doing, but he never answered them. I guess he is preoccupied by his new-found life…a life he dreamt of, a life that has no room for despair to share with; thus a life that has no room for me.
I don’t know if I should be flattered that he ran to me when he was helpless, and forget about me when everything was fine. Sometimes I wonder if the friendship meant anything to him. I wonder if the times he spent with me talking about his miseries were really not a way to just spend some idle time with some old friend from some far away place. I wonder if he truly cared, or he just pretended to because he needed somebody to console him.
I wonder if he would have remembered me if he didn’t break up with his girlfriend back then… Maybe not.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Did I Just Lose It?
It’s been 10 years from the day she said hello to me and just pulled me into the line for the flag ceremony. She had that warm, friendly smile that made me exclaim to myself “Yipee! I’ve got a new friend!” It was in 2nd year high school. From then on, we instantly became the best of friends. It was the kind of friendship where you’d never see us apart. We spent ALL the time together. We were seatmates. We went to the rest room together. We spent our breaks together. We talked over the phone right after school, not running out of something to talk about. We even shared the same crush!
Everything was so simple back then. It was an incredible friendship. We would look at each other and we would get the signals. By our mere actions or silence, we knew something was wrong, and we couldn’t just wait to be there for each other. Of course there were promises of “best friends” forever. And I believed it would really last.
But things did change. We went off to different college, met different people, had new sets of friends, and went through different experiences. Practically, we grew apart. However, we did manage to keep in touch in all those years despite the distance. We still kept each other updated on what was happening in our life. And I thought it was enough to keep the intensity of the friendship burning.
We pursue our separate careers right now and I’d like to think we’re doing okay. Sure we exchange messages every now and then. I still know that she’s stressed with her work, eh? We still see each other once in a while, do some shopping and catching up over lunch. After 10 years, we remain the same – friends. (Did I just miss typing the word “best?”)
What if what you’ve been holding on for so long turned out to be no longer as precious as it once was? Yes, people change. But I find it weird and at the same time sad, that it got to this point. Do these changes really have to affect the level of affection and the depth of relationship we share with other people? We used to be inseparable, we were like twins! Before, she wouldn’t have to speak a word before I know what’s going through her mind. But now when I try to look at her, all I see is a familiar face with a known background.
We still do tell each other the most unimportant details on what’s happening to our life, our work, family, finances, and plans. But hey, I can write all of these stuffs here and anyone who reads it would know exactly what she does! Is it the only thing that constitutes a friendship? Is friendship all about sharing what you do in your life?
10 years ago, I would run to her if my eyes couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I knew nobody in my little world would understand me better than she could. I had the instinct to share with her my innermost secrets, my deepest feelings. And I believe I had found a friend in her back then. Because we shared more than just routines. We shared a life.
Now I wonder, could she have the wildest guess on how I truly feel by mere looking at me? I bet not. You ask me, who would I run to when the worst time comes? I won’t be even that confident that she’d be in my top 5 list. I don’t know. And that’s the painful part of it. The fact that I don’t know.
We’re different individuals now. Totally different. I know the friendship is still there. It’s not as if I woke up one day and bam! We’re already strangers to each other. But it breaks my heart thinking how far we have drifted apart. The changes in a person are easier to accept, but losing the main thing where the friendship is built in is quite hard to comprehend.
The friendship. Do I just fail to acknowledge its presence because I don’t want to accept that things changed? Or have I just lost confidence on it that I choose to shut myself and magnify the differences we have? Or simply, did I just lose it?
Everything was so simple back then. It was an incredible friendship. We would look at each other and we would get the signals. By our mere actions or silence, we knew something was wrong, and we couldn’t just wait to be there for each other. Of course there were promises of “best friends” forever. And I believed it would really last.
But things did change. We went off to different college, met different people, had new sets of friends, and went through different experiences. Practically, we grew apart. However, we did manage to keep in touch in all those years despite the distance. We still kept each other updated on what was happening in our life. And I thought it was enough to keep the intensity of the friendship burning.
We pursue our separate careers right now and I’d like to think we’re doing okay. Sure we exchange messages every now and then. I still know that she’s stressed with her work, eh? We still see each other once in a while, do some shopping and catching up over lunch. After 10 years, we remain the same – friends. (Did I just miss typing the word “best?”)
What if what you’ve been holding on for so long turned out to be no longer as precious as it once was? Yes, people change. But I find it weird and at the same time sad, that it got to this point. Do these changes really have to affect the level of affection and the depth of relationship we share with other people? We used to be inseparable, we were like twins! Before, she wouldn’t have to speak a word before I know what’s going through her mind. But now when I try to look at her, all I see is a familiar face with a known background.
We still do tell each other the most unimportant details on what’s happening to our life, our work, family, finances, and plans. But hey, I can write all of these stuffs here and anyone who reads it would know exactly what she does! Is it the only thing that constitutes a friendship? Is friendship all about sharing what you do in your life?
10 years ago, I would run to her if my eyes couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I knew nobody in my little world would understand me better than she could. I had the instinct to share with her my innermost secrets, my deepest feelings. And I believe I had found a friend in her back then. Because we shared more than just routines. We shared a life.
Now I wonder, could she have the wildest guess on how I truly feel by mere looking at me? I bet not. You ask me, who would I run to when the worst time comes? I won’t be even that confident that she’d be in my top 5 list. I don’t know. And that’s the painful part of it. The fact that I don’t know.
We’re different individuals now. Totally different. I know the friendship is still there. It’s not as if I woke up one day and bam! We’re already strangers to each other. But it breaks my heart thinking how far we have drifted apart. The changes in a person are easier to accept, but losing the main thing where the friendship is built in is quite hard to comprehend.
The friendship. Do I just fail to acknowledge its presence because I don’t want to accept that things changed? Or have I just lost confidence on it that I choose to shut myself and magnify the differences we have? Or simply, did I just lose it?
Monday, September 24, 2007
One Step Ahead
Some people tell me my life is close to perfect. I have a stable job (we run our own business so it’s a family thing, lol), I have the capacity to indulge myself with the things that I want and sometimes they do cost a lot but anyways, I have the right to have some form of enjoyment, right? But of course there would always be something missing. Some people tell me: your boyfriend must be very lucky. And I’d just laugh about it. People make it seem that having a boyfriend is like having a job. If you’re single, you’re missing half of your life, you must be very fortunate to survive this world. Who in the world set that standard? Yeah I understand it’s a companionship thing. It must have branched from the philosophy that no man is an island. I still believe in that, though.
I’ve always told myself and all these people who untiringly question my status that I’m happy with how things are going. That I have other more important things to do than fret over such nonsense. That I’m in the process of discovering myself and it’s more thrilling than anything else. That the guys left in this planet just seem not to be capable enough to get through me. Well I still hold these true for myself. But hey once and for all I think I also need to be honest right? There are moments, especially when I just ran out of the “more important things to do,” that I get to think if there really is somebody out there meant for me. There’s still this crumb of hope that someone will really be brave enough to get through me.
I once thought that somebody I once cared for was really lucky to have me. But apparently, some things don’t go the way we want them to. That relationship of mine bruised all my hope for happy endings. Since then, I was hardly convinced that there could still be such thing. People term that feeling bitterness, but I guess after you’ve given practically your everything to somebody and it didn’t work out would leave you some form of hostility and doubt towards the world right? Or am I just trying to make it sound less bitter? Hehe.
Learning that this person had finally found somebody he might consider having a relationship with gave me a certain feeling I can’t still identify. Anger? Why? We’re friends. Weird as it is but yeah, we’re friends. He was the one who told me about his newly found prospect after all these years. He may have hurt me countless times before and there was that chapter in our life that I hated him, but after all these years, hatred is the last thing I’d want to feel. It’s just not very rewarding.
Jealous? Nah, the feeling has already passed a long time ago and being jealous would be a form of suicide already. It will only be possible if I still have feelings for him, eh? But the thing is, my mind already repels such idea. It’s just not him and I’ve already accepted that. The feeling is like, after all these years that I thought being alone is not that bad a thing (which I still think is), he would suddenly tell me that someone is making him feel adored, wanted, and who knows…maybe loved. It’s been quite a while since somebody made me feel that way. Once, I took my chances admitting to myself that finally I have felt something for another person and yet it still didn’t end up the way I imagined. Isn’t it cruel? Well, that’s entirely different story.
It’s just sad that I’ve blinded myself with the pain I’ve nurtured for so long that maybe I’ve already pushed away people I truly cherish, only because I guarded myself too much. Maybe I was the one who didn’t want them to get through me in the first place. And I envy him for having found the courage to really take the risk with someone else. He’s right, I haven’t been very honest to myself because all along I’ve been too afraid. Damn it, he knows me too well to spot the very thing I mask to myself, more so to other people. Somehow, it’s a good thing making me realize all these.
Surprisingly, a part of me still believes in happy endings. It’s never too late to start all over again. I can still work my way back on track. He’s just one step ahead. I believe I’ll reach that point as well, in God’s own time.
I’ve always told myself and all these people who untiringly question my status that I’m happy with how things are going. That I have other more important things to do than fret over such nonsense. That I’m in the process of discovering myself and it’s more thrilling than anything else. That the guys left in this planet just seem not to be capable enough to get through me. Well I still hold these true for myself. But hey once and for all I think I also need to be honest right? There are moments, especially when I just ran out of the “more important things to do,” that I get to think if there really is somebody out there meant for me. There’s still this crumb of hope that someone will really be brave enough to get through me.
I once thought that somebody I once cared for was really lucky to have me. But apparently, some things don’t go the way we want them to. That relationship of mine bruised all my hope for happy endings. Since then, I was hardly convinced that there could still be such thing. People term that feeling bitterness, but I guess after you’ve given practically your everything to somebody and it didn’t work out would leave you some form of hostility and doubt towards the world right? Or am I just trying to make it sound less bitter? Hehe.
Learning that this person had finally found somebody he might consider having a relationship with gave me a certain feeling I can’t still identify. Anger? Why? We’re friends. Weird as it is but yeah, we’re friends. He was the one who told me about his newly found prospect after all these years. He may have hurt me countless times before and there was that chapter in our life that I hated him, but after all these years, hatred is the last thing I’d want to feel. It’s just not very rewarding.
Jealous? Nah, the feeling has already passed a long time ago and being jealous would be a form of suicide already. It will only be possible if I still have feelings for him, eh? But the thing is, my mind already repels such idea. It’s just not him and I’ve already accepted that. The feeling is like, after all these years that I thought being alone is not that bad a thing (which I still think is), he would suddenly tell me that someone is making him feel adored, wanted, and who knows…maybe loved. It’s been quite a while since somebody made me feel that way. Once, I took my chances admitting to myself that finally I have felt something for another person and yet it still didn’t end up the way I imagined. Isn’t it cruel? Well, that’s entirely different story.
It’s just sad that I’ve blinded myself with the pain I’ve nurtured for so long that maybe I’ve already pushed away people I truly cherish, only because I guarded myself too much. Maybe I was the one who didn’t want them to get through me in the first place. And I envy him for having found the courage to really take the risk with someone else. He’s right, I haven’t been very honest to myself because all along I’ve been too afraid. Damn it, he knows me too well to spot the very thing I mask to myself, more so to other people. Somehow, it’s a good thing making me realize all these.
Surprisingly, a part of me still believes in happy endings. It’s never too late to start all over again. I can still work my way back on track. He’s just one step ahead. I believe I’ll reach that point as well, in God’s own time.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The Same Old Song
It's midnight. My nerves seem to be all excited and hyperactive. I already arranged my closet and threw some trash I saw in the room. What else was left to do? My night stand. I'm not quite sure if it was a good decision to clean the clutters I continue to mess with anyway. But with all my nerves not wanting me to just sit and read a good book, I decided to arrange it anyway.
Now this is the exciting part of seeing old piles of papers. I found an old envelope with quite thick bunch of bond papers with lots of writings (something that looks like this haha). I couldn't help but read through the pages again. Yeah, this one was familiar.
Year 2005. An old story. Good heavens how I have always loved narrating stories, mostly my own. It still makes me grin alone, being refreshed with everything that happened in the past. And there I was too preoccupied by the pain and miseries as I always called it. Now there's no point in denying it, I still got those pages to prove how feeble and shattered I can be. That had a really sad part and I still find myself sympathizing with that girl in the story - me in 2005.
Having quite a "record" of such significant events has its own benefits by the way. Well it gives me a shake to what has already happened, and repeating the same plot of the story is quite boring already. And damn stupid I'll label myself if I'd see another few pages in different time frames indicating similar stories and the same old feelings of helplessness. When can I ever learn, huh?
Another set of envelopes within that brown envelope I found. This one's a school envelope, two different school envelopes. It gave me a sudden shiver. It didn't have the usual emotional tales I used to have that I can just laugh about once again. This time, I didn't write this one. They were given to me a few years back.
Year 2002. Should already be called historic, don't you think? Both contained printed poems. Some confession of pain of losing someone and some declaration of a creed of love. Both didn't have my name on it, though; but I very well remember those instance how the dorm security guard teased me while handing me the envelopes. Reading the poems again made me smile. Not the grin I had awhile ago, rather it was a smile of a sad missing and I still am wearing that smile right now. Back then, this person meant nothing more than a stronger. And it amused me, receiving such kinds of letters from him.
Year 2007, present. My nerves aren't hyperactive anymore. At last I can start making some sort of sleep to brush away all the feelings brought back by those two silly envelopes. Having found them should barely have any impact on me. Not if there was something else that happened in between. And my peaceful nerves do not want to entertain any other thoughts besides the warm feeling I already relished upon reading the letters. The other part of the "something else" would just spoil it anyway.
It's been 5 years now. Who would imagine that some untouched piles of seemingly trash would make me do another page that would add to it? Indeed, old files bring back memories. Some you'd be happy recalling. Some would just tear you apart again and again. Some would just make you sigh.
And so do songs. You bet I'm listening to some song right now. I somehow have the notion that each song represents some significant stories in our life, or a certain person. It's like I'm being read with the stories I keep and forget for a while then relive again. I guess I never learn. I can see another me, version 2007. I bet I'm gonna laugh at myself 5 years from now when my nerves start to become too excited again to make me sleep.
But for now, I know I would play the same old song, until I find a new one.
Inspired by: Utada Hikaru
Now this is the exciting part of seeing old piles of papers. I found an old envelope with quite thick bunch of bond papers with lots of writings (something that looks like this haha). I couldn't help but read through the pages again. Yeah, this one was familiar.
Year 2005. An old story. Good heavens how I have always loved narrating stories, mostly my own. It still makes me grin alone, being refreshed with everything that happened in the past. And there I was too preoccupied by the pain and miseries as I always called it. Now there's no point in denying it, I still got those pages to prove how feeble and shattered I can be. That had a really sad part and I still find myself sympathizing with that girl in the story - me in 2005.
Having quite a "record" of such significant events has its own benefits by the way. Well it gives me a shake to what has already happened, and repeating the same plot of the story is quite boring already. And damn stupid I'll label myself if I'd see another few pages in different time frames indicating similar stories and the same old feelings of helplessness. When can I ever learn, huh?
Another set of envelopes within that brown envelope I found. This one's a school envelope, two different school envelopes. It gave me a sudden shiver. It didn't have the usual emotional tales I used to have that I can just laugh about once again. This time, I didn't write this one. They were given to me a few years back.
Year 2002. Should already be called historic, don't you think? Both contained printed poems. Some confession of pain of losing someone and some declaration of a creed of love. Both didn't have my name on it, though; but I very well remember those instance how the dorm security guard teased me while handing me the envelopes. Reading the poems again made me smile. Not the grin I had awhile ago, rather it was a smile of a sad missing and I still am wearing that smile right now. Back then, this person meant nothing more than a stronger. And it amused me, receiving such kinds of letters from him.
Year 2007, present. My nerves aren't hyperactive anymore. At last I can start making some sort of sleep to brush away all the feelings brought back by those two silly envelopes. Having found them should barely have any impact on me. Not if there was something else that happened in between. And my peaceful nerves do not want to entertain any other thoughts besides the warm feeling I already relished upon reading the letters. The other part of the "something else" would just spoil it anyway.
It's been 5 years now. Who would imagine that some untouched piles of seemingly trash would make me do another page that would add to it? Indeed, old files bring back memories. Some you'd be happy recalling. Some would just tear you apart again and again. Some would just make you sigh.
And so do songs. You bet I'm listening to some song right now. I somehow have the notion that each song represents some significant stories in our life, or a certain person. It's like I'm being read with the stories I keep and forget for a while then relive again. I guess I never learn. I can see another me, version 2007. I bet I'm gonna laugh at myself 5 years from now when my nerves start to become too excited again to make me sleep.
But for now, I know I would play the same old song, until I find a new one.
Inspired by: Utada Hikaru
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