Changes.

I logged on to Facebook today. One of the few disadvantages of having a Facebook account when you're someone like me, someone who basically has no life, is seeing the people you grew together with finally becoming what they once said they wanted to be, while you're stuck in this snow globe, surrounded by pretty things, but this time, you're on the inside, looking out.

While horizons of possibilities stretch out for my friends, here I am, waiting for my future to unfold. I'm never one to wait on people, never one to wait for things. Had I not made one single, stupid mistake, I would be walking that road with them.

Don't get me wrong. I love the life I'm living. My family always gives me whatever I want, but somehow, I want to be able to stand on my own. I want to be that kind of girl who lives on her own, who has a job, who has a circle of friends to go out with for drinks on Friday nights. I want to have to face deadlines, cram for reports for the next day, make hard decisions. I want to live, and this jealousy is killing me.

It's depressing o look at old photos and see yourself with your friends. With youth scribbled on your faces and dreams sparkling in your eyes, that glimmer of hope you once had. It's hard, remembering the laughter you've shared, the words you said before the camera flashed. It's hard, knowing that they're all over the world now--- in Singapore, making their dreams come true, dreams that once included you; in their alumni school, teaching; at home, tending to their husbands and kids. Everyone's rowing their own boats, and you feel like you're lost at sea.

Despite this, I keep telling myself that it's only a matter of time. I have no idea what the future holds for me, but I know that if it's taking this long to build, it must be something pretty.

Oftentimes, wonderful things don't come easy.

Thursday, Hurtsday.

There are those moments in life when, one particularly gray Thursday afternoon, you'll step into the shower and cry.

Loss is a word that should be illegal for a dictionary, or any person to find synonyms for. After all, it's not something any word can describe. I even believe it's just called loss so people would have an easier time expressing how they feel.

It's annoying how life hits us sometimes. One day, you feel like you're on top of the world, like a kid on the longest slide, enjoying the air in your face, not realizing that sooner or later, it will be over. And then there's reality, right at the very mouth of that slide, waiting to swallow you whole. You won't even have time to scream.

Loss. Longing. Is there a difference? Is one wound deeper, more painful than the other? Loss, I think, pertains to something you once had. Longing, on the other hand, is wishing you've had that very thing, which then brings you to experience loss.

Sometimes, I want to pinch and peel at the scabs of my wounds, just to see if my skin is healing itself underneath. Sometimes, it's already whole again. Most of the time, I'm left bleeding for the same reasons.

My tears feel prickly in my eyes. I wonder, if I jab at my stomach hard enough, if the words I can't say will spill out of my mouth, just like the most previous meal does when I feel like I don't deserve it. Just like it does when I remember that feeling of elation, so heavenly, like there's a star caught in my throat. It used to feel like walking barefoot on grass---falling in love did. I wonder if it still feels like that now. I wonder if butterflies will still lurch in my stomach when someone else regards me as no less than beautiful, like they do now when I think of the last time. I wonder why, after everything that's been said and done, I'm still here, waiting. Like a best friend perched on the front porch steps of the guy she's loved all her life, waiting for him to crawl back to her arms, if only for a little while. I wonder if one day, I will just wake up and tell myself that it's over...that it has been over, all this time.

It's like slipping on a puddle of black tar on the floor, and holding on to a live wire for dear life. Both hurt, one more dangerous than the other, but you hold on to it anyway.

Why?

Because no matter how hard you try to talk some sense into yourself...

No matter what your mind says...

You know. Your heart knows. It's the only thing that keeps you standing.

Where The Things That Hurt Are Not Things.

In this dream, I was walking.

No, running. I'm running, fast and hurried and looking back every five seconds or so to check if they've caught up yet.

I didn't know who  or what I was running from, but I knew I was in danger. Was it the past, the future, or the present? Was it the spaces in between them, all balled into one, the times I've never really been sure about?

In this dream, I was at a plaza one moment, panting for breath, looking for a friendly face, and the next thing I knew, I was in the middle of an endless, empty field. Empty, except for the one farmer who pointed me where to go. Who was he? Was he all the dreams I wanted to achieve, showing their selves to me in person?


Don't worry, dreams. I'll follow you.

Off I went, to this gray city with even grayer skies, like a monster whose teeth are made up of old buildings, covered in peeling paints that once used to be white. Its grunts were the car horns, dead, shallow. I was with my friends, and we were talking about getting to the top of the highest building. Why?

This is not as wonderful as you thought it would be. If you're settling for second rate, you might at least want to be at the top.

In this dream, I could easily bleed the colors no one would have expected. Green, because I'm jealous of everyone else whose lives turned out to be more convenient. Luxurious, even.

Red, because my sorrow is just that much.

Black, because it's all the colors, combined. I've been through everything. Warm, cool, appealing, repulsive.

Do I regret any of this?

No. I'd do it all over again.

A Not So Beautiful Mess

I woke up really early today. I've been one of those people with too much time in their hands.Ones who were anxious for something,and that thing just couldn't come to me soon enough.If I were in a movie,I would have been pacing back and forth.

Have you ever felt so empty,so sad and lifeless that you didn't know what to do? I told myself I'll be fine.I thought if I spilled it all out in paper,everything would be better.But I was wrong.I wasn't inspired,so when I held the pen,nothing came out. I just stared at the paper,its blankness mirrored mine,and the next thing I knew,my tears were dropping quickly one by one,marking it just like the rain marks the ground.

When my father died, 8 years ago, I wasn't sure how I felt. I cried,of course,but I couldn't tell if I was crying because I was in pain,or simply because it was expected of me.I wasn't close to him.I didn't grow up knowing who he was,what he liked,how he felt about certain things. And so I came to the conclusion that just because people were born with different fates and taking different paths doesn't mean bonds aren't supposed to form between us.

We pray so hard for particular things.Please,don't let him die.But people die all the time,anyway.Does this mean God isn't listening? I prayed for some things,one with more intensity than the other. I've made bargains-give me this and I won't (insert bad deed here) again.We try hard to keep our faiths,but some things just happen,and that faith is shaken until we start questioning,why me? Why now?

I'm not writing this to provide those questions with even the farthest possible answers,because I'm not God,and I doubt that even God can or will answer them.I'm doing this to raise more questions,possibly,because now more than ever,I'm confused with life.

Why do some things seem to only happen to me? One day,I'd lose my laptop.When I've found a way to acquire a new one,I'm almost prepared to lose my phone or something as important,and more often than not,I'm right.Why? Because we can't always have it both ways.Life doesn't work that way.In order to gain something,we've got to let go of something else in return,and no,it's never a pleasant feeling.But we have to look at the brighter side if we want to keep our sanity intact. How will you be able to pick something up if your hands are full?Sometimes,you have to decide which you need more,regardless of how much you like the other one.But what if you just don't want to pick it up?What if you're already contented with having what you're being asked to lose?

Not everyone is given a second chance,not even a choice sometimes.Life's strange,you'd say,and I used to just laugh at your profoundness.Now,I miss it.I miss you. I'd like to scream at your face and say I told you so,when all I really want to do is to ask you to fight and not give in to this.

You have been given a second,a third, a fourth chance. Now you're being given a choice. Wake up. There are so many things you have to hear from me.

A Story About Penguins.

It was Monday, when she met him.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched as he strode effortlessly from one group to another, followed by high fives, laughter, and the infatuated eyes of girls like her, waiting for him to melt them with that smile. He, a freshman whose stance was that of a Senior. Part of the varsity team, always working hard to have his way. He, who firmly believes that everything was combined luck and hard work. He, whom she have seen for the first time that day, and, within ten minutes or maybe even less, managed to catch her attention, and never let it go since then.

She sighed, having no experience on anything that has to do with love. At her young age, she has read numerous books and novels describing the indescribable feeling, and she'd fall for it every time. She would hug her book to her chest and wear that smile, showing off her braces, and a cloud of romantic fantasies would start growing over her head- a boy holding her hand, telling her all the things she needed to hear. It was always like that for her. Dreams. She, whose skin was a joke compared to all the girls she'd always seen in the glossy pages of her favorite teen magazine. She, who never had a bad hair day, which meant no good ones either, for that matter. She, whose black rimmed glasses would fall off her nose each time she bowed her head too low, deeply engrossed in answering a Sudoku puzzle, or reading a romance novel, or doing her friends' Math homework for them. Simply put, he was the boy next door. She, as painful as it was for her to admit, was just a hopeless romantic, just another starry eyed girl, waiting for her turn to fall in love, and be loved in return.

What she didn't know, and what he didn't have the heart to tell her, was how adorable she looked everytime she'd sneak out of her classes and pretend to be going to the ladies room, just so she could catch a glimpse of him. How, in his peripheral vision, when she was too busy trying to hide herself in the crowd just so he wouldn't notice that she was looking, he'd stare as her for as long as he could, memorizing everything about her, admiring her from afar. How lovely he thought her skin was. How, in the middle of the night, when she was sitting by her window, wishing at the stars, he lied awake thinking about her. He wanted to tell her about himself, and get to know her in return, but he thought so mighty of her that he wouldn't even dare. For him, she was a dream, and only luck could bring them together.

And so one particular day, it was exam week, and everyone was out late for lunch. The cafeteria was full, and her friends were still not done with their exams. Every bench outside was occupied, too. She chose a spot on a patch of grass under a maple tree, sitting cross legged, eating her sandwich without any drink. She couldn't be bothered to get in line and get one for herself, so she decided she would just drink water from the tap when she was done.

He, on the other hand, didn't have to get in line to get his food. He didn't even have to pay. Everything was handed to him, either from his teammates in varsity, or the girls trying to catch his attention. On his hand were a carton of juice and a bag of cookies, and also a hotdog sandwich. Everyone offered him their seats, but that was when he spotted her, alone, leaning against the trunk of the tree. Nervous, he gathered all the courage he could muster to bring himself to her and make a small talk.

"Today must be my lucky day," he said, offering her his juice.

That was the beginning of everything.

Ohai June.

Wah, hi blog that I almost have forgotten and nearly thrown out the internet trash, how are you doing?

Wowza, I've just looked at my calendar and it says June 10. Let's see. Hmmm. I paid my internet bills today,and I'm kinda avoiding social networking (I'm obviously failing though) and getting lost in my music. I can't decide which of the new music albums I currently acquired are the best, but Christina Perri's Lovestrong and Maria Mena's Cause And Effect are pretty good.Adele, too, but who doesn't expect that? Adele's a goddess.

As of now,I'm just spending every single day at home, sleeping or reading a book. I'm gaining a lot of weight, it actually bothers me,but what can I do, noh? I'm so lame....This is like having an awkward conversation with an old friend.I have a lot to say,and I have nothing to say at the same time.

I'm not sad.I have no reason to be sad. My family provides me with all the things I need. All I really do here is sit and lay around and watch TV and listen to music and use the computer and eat and sleep. I'd watch romance movies and end up wondering why there's no one for me to runaway with when I turn 21. I miss seeing people's faces and hearing their voices. I miss getting on a random bus,most of all,just so I could be left alone with my music. It's really true that you only realize what you took for granted once it's gone. For me, it's those times when I can tell when I'm sad or when I'm bored. Right now, I can't see the difference between the two.

I've just been spending a lot of time thinking about life. Why we're all here,why there are rich people and poor people,what the government is for,when the government itself can't govern themselves.Pretty deep, noh? That's what solitude does to you.

Sometimes,I wish people wouldn't leave. I wish no one dies,even though I know that would cause a lot more trouble than it's worth. When does life really end?Is it when you're finally six feet under,with your name carved on a marble stone? When you're still breathing,but finally decided to stop living,doesn't life end there for you?So many questions,and it bothers me that only I can answer these for myself.

To Make You Feel My Love.

As usual,it's just another one of those nights when the breeze is too cold and I'm obviously too much of a dramatic to refuse listening to Yiruma and all these piano pieces that remind me so much of love.

I'm very happy for my friends. They've been changing relationship statuses on Facebook here and there, my News Feed is filled with heart pinned updates of this girl I used to go to Elementary school with in a relationship with some guy she probably met in College. I see status messages of someone I used to have a major crush on, telling everyone that he has finished submitting all the requirements he needed to graduate. All he needs to do now is wear a hideous graduation gown and cap and he's done with school forever. Everyone around me seems to have a purpose in life. They all know where they're headed, or at least, where they want to. They have people who would do anything to be with them, even if "anything" means skipping classes or disobeying their parents' rules or ditching their friends. I'm so stuck here and I don't know what I want from life.

I can't see anything I could be or want to be in the future. My mother hates ne for not graduating when I was supposed to, even though mu grandmother, who paid for everything, never gave me a single word about it. I feel like I've always been just a burden for my Mom. Nothing I ever do could please her and I don't know why. Maybe she thinks I'm just a mistake who ruined her life. She wouldn't even talk to me on the phone. It's like I don't exist for her anymore. Now everything that matters to her is my sister, when she didn't even greet her on her birthday, and I did. That also happened on Mothers Day.

I just want to feel like I belong somewhere but it seems like people don't appreciate the good things others did anymore. You're not judged by how good you are or how hard you try. Do something bad, one single thing, and everything you've worked hard to earn goes down the drain.

Goodbye, One More Day.

There must be something about the rain that never fails to always put me in a trance,where I'm engulfed with this idea of a perfect life,with perfect people living it. The rain seems to water the inside of my head, fertilizing the soil, turning dust into mud, and suddenly, all that lacks beauty now has it, and the ones that already have it before are sparkling even more.

Sometimes, I feel like the rain is some good omen from God. It might have something to do with the fact that where I'm from, the heat of the sun rules. Some intelligent statistics done by intelligent people in the Philippines will show just how many people have dies in the past year alone due to heat stroke, but that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is that when it rains, I'm a completely different person. I don't know if that's even possible, but the sound of raindrops pelting the roof is like a lullaby composed specifically for me. It's like something or someone is telling me that everything will be right with the world again, and that the impurities and imperfections are all being washed away, so that when I set my foot out on the road, the air smells fresher, the leaves look greener, people are happier. Because everything that used to be heavy have been carried away by the rain, to the clouds, to make them light again. And then there's that multi-colored arch across the sky, reminding us that to achieve beautiful things, we must go through hardship. And that mythical pot of gold they talk about being at the end of every rainbow? It's there to remind us to keep hoping for better things, better days, brighter tomorrows.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

It's strange how love works for people. Some people are born with their names written together in the stars. They grow up knowing each other, discovering things together, teaching and learning from each other. They're the kind of people our favorite authors so often write novels about. The kind we only think exists in movies, in teeny bopper television shows, in best selling books of all time. It's funny how love works in different ways for different people. While most of the ones I know are either married, with kids or one on the way, or maybe engaged, off to some summer romance vacation with the ones they love, I'm here, sitting at home, filling this void in me by watching the sappiest movies you can find. Last night, it was Dear John.

I've had my fair share of these knee weakening, my-chest-is-pounding-oh-my-God-I-can't-believe-he-loves-me-too kind of love, but that was way back when. All I'm trying to say is that sometimes, we fall in love with the last person we'd ever want to be associated with. Sometimes, it's like it's been written on the family's book of history since 1264 that you'll someday be off to marry this particular person, and you'll never really have a choice cause you'll grow up with him, and you'll have no reason at all not to love him. I'm just wondering why none of these happened, or happens, or probably will happen to me. Where's my fairy tale?

Some people say you shouldn't look for love; you just have to let love find you. What if love is a lazy ass thing who won't get up unless you will him to? I think we have to meet love halfway. Nothing will ever happen if you don't act on it. You can't ask for someone when you don't even go out and meet people, right?

I don't know what kind of fairy tale romance is in store for me, but to be completely honest with whoever is reading this, I can't wait. I didn't know it was possible to miss someone whose existence is a big question mark to you, someone whose face you haven't seen, whose voice you've never heard. It's exciting, the thought of having that someone whose personality matches yours completely, or maybe compliments yours in ways no one else can. Someone who makes you smile till your face hurts, someone who'll choose you over anything or anyone in this entire world, just like you'll do for him.

Someone to share all the wonderful things with.

Life Is A Strange Thing.

I an't help but ponder on the strangest things when I'm alone. Today, like any other given day for more than a month now, I'm alone in my room, shutting the rest of the world out.

I'd consider myself lucky if I was even able to set my feet out in the street in front of my house for three days in a row. The last time the neighbors saw me was the other day. I was out for five minutes to buy ice cream. The farthest I have been from the front door yesterday was about a meter or so; I was watching the rice stalks sway with the wind.

Some people go on life without going through the hardships others go through. Last weekend, I was watching a TV show rerun with my sister, 100 Days To Heaven, and it got me thinking, what's our lives for, honestly? I mean, we all spend our younger years studying, so in the future we'll be able to make enough money to afford our luxuries. And then, after we graduate, we spend all our years working hard so we can send our children to good schools, so they can find good jobs when they're older. I just don't see why we strive so hard to earn money. I don't see why even if I don't understand it, I still can shamefully admit that I need money. I want money.

I guess, in the course of it all, I've come to realize that life isn't what we all think it is. Life's not about the dreadful hours at work, or the lessons we've learned from school, or the times we've spent doing something productive purposely. Life is what happens in between those times for me. Life's the sixteen minutes I spent waiting for the bus, watchig all the other cars pass by. It's the lines and curves I doodled at the back of my notebook during one specifially boring Math class in High School. Life's the five embarrassing minutes my Sociology teacher back in freshman year spent so generously on me, reprimanding me for being absent the previous day because I was reading Tuesdays With Morrie. Life is about all the moments we think have gone to waste, when in fact, they have given us memories some other big events didn't. Life is all the small things combined, the ones that go unnoticed.

Looking back now, I have said so many times here how I regret some things. I can't say I don't regret them anymore now, cause I still do, but I think I've finally learned my lesson, and despite the still lingering bitter taste i my mouth, at least I can say I once wanted those things. They once made me happy, and what I have now are the consequences. I had my fair shair of sunshine, so who am I to moan about the rain?

At the end of the day, what matters is that I'm not sitting here wondering what might have been. If I were, I'd be an entirely different person from the person I am right now.