Monday, November 30, 2015

Consider this my apology for meeting you at a very young age, when  I was vulnerable and you were the quiet comfort I taught myself to crave. How long has it been? Six, seven years? Remember when I had a list of things I wanted, and you tried to make them all come true? I was writing a love story, and its rough draft, I still keep, with all its black ink splotches, torn paper where words were scratched out too hard.

I'm sorry for the way I did not cherish how tightly you held me to keep my pieces from falling apart all over again. I remember all those late nights you drove me home, a block away from my house because my mother didn't approve of you, and how, in our many walks together, we turned sharp corners to avoid your parents' passing car, because they didn't approve of me, either.

 Back then, I thought that was our biggest problem. Not being able to date who you wanted to date was such a big deal, and there were times, I admit, when it seemed like I would've been able to take a break up more than the pressure of always sneaking out, throwing my shoes down the ground, then landing softly on my feet so no one would hear me. One time, I sprained my ankle jumping down to see you.

I still have all the boxes you gave me. One full of candy, the other of small trinkets you collected throughout the days. You built those boxes yourself, you painted them purple, my favorite color at that time, and even now, at an age where I thought I'd at least be with someone (but I'm not), that's still the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.

We used to fight about the smallest things, but it was one of those small things that brought us to the end. To be honest with you now, I don't even remember anymore why I wanted space, one you were so eager to give me, when there used to be a time when we both hated saying goodbye, and you promised one day we wouldn't have to, cause we'd be going home to a house of our own. Imagine my surprise when, after one fight too many, I said I was tired, and I guess you were, too. A few months ago, I went back to read our old messages, and for every one of mine, there were at least four coming from you, but now the tables have turned and I'm on the outside, looking in.

I wish I'd met you today under more optimistic circumstances. I wish I was the one waiting for you to come home, the one you'd sent flowers to just because you thought it would make me happy. It would have made me so happy. 

Consider this my apology for taking a part of you that you no longer can give to her; for giving you a part of me that you'll always want to give back, but will not, because you can't go back to our sepia toned past, always asking, always wondering what would have happened if we gave it another try.

This is my apology for leaving, but looking at you now, I have nothing to be sorry about. All your dreams came true, every single one of them. You were wrong about one thing, though. One tiny detail that used to mean the most to you: I'm not the one to have built it all with you.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

I need a new hobby. 

I have reading, and writing, and all these TV shows I need to watch, but I feel like these days have been routine and I don't do well with routines.

I need something new to stir up some excitement in my life. I'm bad at art, I have too short an attention span for crafts and things that take time to finish. I need something challenging that sticks. I need something a lot more than sleeping late reading someone else's thoughts, waking up earlier than usual to meet up with people who won't give me the same courtesy.

I don't know why or how suddenly, I'm putting so much importance on myself, on my happiness. Could it be that I've grown so tired of waiting around for something big enough to hit me, that I'm taking initiative and being the one who wants to hit something, someone?

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

To hell with being liked only when I'm conforming to whatever society deems acceptable, good, and up to their ever changing standards.

I've been shedding off my insecurities one by one, and I like what I see now, I think. When I look in the mirror, I see me, not that version of me I dreaded every morning upon waking - someone who smiles to please everyone else, even though inside, I'm retching. To hell with everyone who only know me when they need something from me - you're as good as dead to me now.

Society, I've been told since I was small - I was either too fat or too thin. My family did not have enough money to buy a basket of fruits and vegetables for my teachers, and so I never really had a chance to be top of the class even when I deserved it. I was never given a fair chance because they were pressuring my family to enter me into a money / popularity contest, and my family actually believed the thing was trivial, superficial at best. I saw, at a very young age, what money could do, and the amount of respect society was willing to give you as soon as they see you rolling in some greens.

I was too opinionated, too hard headed, only because I didn't share some people's beliefs and I was not shy about voicing it out, but as soon as I tried being quiet, I was an outcast, I was someone who didn't know how to deal with my fellow humans.

To hell with you, society, for planting seeds of years of self doubt and insecurities that plagued my childhood and most of my early adult years. I have learned to zip my lips when someone would criticize me with destructive words just so I would not offend them; I don't do that anymore. If I could go back and talk to my seven year old self, I would tell her that no matter how hard she'd try, she'd never be good enough for you because you'd always have something else to look for. When she'd locked herself up to study, study, study, you'd need her to be pretty, too. I'd tell her to look people in the eyes and tell them how their words feel like a knife to her gut, but that in the end, those words say more about them than her. I'd tell her to look for the good in people, but never expect them to give her the same treatment, because people are quick to judge without understanding.

I have lived my life trying to shape myself up to your liking, and that's the biggest mistake I'll ever make. It all ends now, society, and if I had a pedestal and a microphone, this is what I'd tell you: I don't care if I'm not someone you want seeing around, or if I'm someone you'd want your children to be friends with. To hell with you and your unrealistic standards, I was born to break the mold.

Monday, November 9, 2015

On forgiving our misgivings...

Nobody ever thought to stop and tell me that you can miss a person so much, you feel their absence as much as their presence when they're sitting right beside you. Nobody gave me a guide book and said, here's a list of all the people you'll ever meet, of whom some will fuck you up so bad, you'll feel the knife twisting in your back even years later. Nobody said anything about crying yourself to sleep, or going through the motions. I didn't know it was possible to live for the sake of living until it was all I knew how to do.

The clock on my table says 12:29 AM, Monday. I have class tomorrow, we have a quiz, we still have to encode the results of our pre-test for our thesis. I have a lot to do, and yet, my mind has thoughts about nothing but the only person I realy wouldn't want to think about right now.

Do you know what it feels like when you trust someone with all of you, only to have them turn on you? And even though all along, you expected them to hurt you, because really, that's all you've ever known, their betrayal still comes as a surprise because you actually thought maybe, just maybe, this one time, the universe could afford to be kind. It sucks, right? It's one of the worst things in the world, and if you're going to be honest about it, you can't even be mad at them because you're already so mad at yourself for falling for their tricks twice.

Maybe I've been putting my faith in the hands of all the wrong people, or maybe he's looking for absolution in all the wrong places, but we have one thing in common. We've both left part of ourselves out, sitting under a cold trickle of constant criticisms and misgivings, and now we have no way of wriggling out of our hardened selves. It's hard to think that this is how it's going to be now, but I know no other way. I can't deal with anyone or anything else until I know how to forgive myself. It's about time I forgive myself.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Things that help me sleep at night

In five years, none of these things stressing me out today will matter. Your opinion of me will stop playing in mad loops in my head. I'll be far away, out of your reach; you'll probably still be stuck here, making someone else feel small so that you may feel good about yourself.

I'll finally have a chance to do something about my dreams. All my life, I've been told that education is important, and yes, it is important, but only because society gives such a big damn about formal teaching and classroom instructions. If you ask me, my answer will always be constant. Getting all the answers right on my exam doesn't make me feel smart or that I've actually learned something from my subjects - it only means, for me, that I'm good in memorizing things. Give me the same exam two weeks later without prior notice and I'll surely get less than 50% of the answers correct. My point is that I love school, and I like learning from it, but I understand why and how it can't be like that for everyone.

I'm feeling so down lately, and it's hard for me to be happy for anyone else when I can't even be happy about myself, but it relieves me to know that these things pass, sometimes faster than I expect. It helps that in my mind, I've planted a thought that believes I can do anything once I put my mind to it, and so far, it's true. It's all so true.

I have a lot of things going on in my mind right now, but I've come this far, and I have a long way to go yet. No matter what it feels like, I know it's not the end. And that alone gives me enough strength to look forward to tomorrow, not necessarily positively, but it's at least a step I'm willing to take.