In love with places I've never been and people I meet within the pages of my books.
I'm getting there. Wherever that may be.
So close yet so far. I see all the possibilities, or maybe I just confuse them with what I want things to be. I don’t know if it’s hopeful thinking or just plain fantasies. The difference is that the latter is impossible. All these feelings, I want to just put them in my pocket and throw it in the wash. I want to randomly find it one day still in there but washed of color and extremely brittle, stripped down to how it’s supposed to be. Raw. Realistic. And maybe it’ll sink in how impossible it is for us to be together. It may seem heavenly in my head, I might want it enough to talk to you from time to time but never enough for the universe to hear my cries and have us find each other. Fate, where art thou when I need you?
It’s been 8 months. I survived that long. 8 months is all it took to recover. 8 months to get over a toxic relationship that lasted 3 years.
I’m better. I know that now. No longer will my pillows be soaked at night.
I’m okay. I get by. I have fun. My laughs and smiles are genuine. I manage. But simply getting by isn’t really how I want to live. I force myself into so much activities to take my mind off of the inevitable fact that I’m just really lonely. And the fact that I like a guy who doesn’t even know me (and prolly never will) doesn’t help. I hate myself for being such a good stalker because I only find out things that make me want to like him more. It’s pathetic and I am ashamed. The fact that I’d rather be friend-zoned by him is sad but at least we’ll be ‘friends’, right? No? Ok
Thanks to a The Maine bracelet a friend of mine found whilst engaging in a mosh pit (which he later on gave to me after I begged him to), I found a new motto to go by. “Good love will find me.” It’s a lyric from one of The Maine’s songs in their new album. Good love will find me. I will not find it, but it will find me. Patience, grasshopper. Must resist urges to weep around waiting for it. For good love will find me. Good love will find me.
Thus, my new mantra is born. Whenever I see a couple on the train holding each other I mutter. Good love will find me. Whenever I pass by the lover’s lane and see couples holding hands, I say it under my breath. Good love will find me. Whenever I see him and feel that pang of hurt knowing we’ll never really know each other, I pray. Good love will find me, right?
All the bottled up and hidden feelings I’ve been hiding in a little drawer in a dark corner of my heart has been cracked open. It’s so full that everything just burst out like fireworks only it isn’t beautiful. It’s ugly and everything is in a roar of chaos. I’m drowning and I’m suffocating and I have no idea how to surface myself to breathe. I don’t know what I want, I’m not sure of anything anymore.
I woke up this morning feeling jitters for today’s General Assembly. It will be the first time I’ll be dancing with CASA Footworks. The first time I’ll be dancing in such a long time. The last time I danced in front of a crowd was when I was in the 6th grade. I gave up dancing a long time ago. I was only inspired to dance again because almost all my friends are dancers. Pat is in the St. Scho pep. Billy is in various dance crews in UST. And my group of friends (we call ourselves the Circle of Trust or just Circle) at UST are all dancers. 3 of them are from CASA Footworks while the other is a Salinggawi member. I admit, I’m not very good. It’s the main reason why I gave up on it. I’m slow to pick up steps and there are things I cannot get my body to do. But there’s just something about feeling the music and feeling it move us as a group. There’s just something about that in sync movement that makes me feel like I belong. And so I’ll give it one more try. Besides, this is another way to get my body in shape again.
I woke up today at 4:00am and after I took my shower I checked my messages. My aunt, who is a professor at the college of Education, forwarded to me UST’s text that classes were suspended today. It annoyed me seeing that I already took a bath and it’ll be impossible to fall asleep again. I settled with watching Meteor Garden (DON’T JUDE ME OKAY, idk I felt like watching the series again. I’m lame, I get it) until about 8:30 (I’m almost finished with the first season). I see how much I’m learning from my course. I watch tv shows and I can spot the different techniques they use. While watching them I secretly criticize their approaches.
At around 9am I went outside to find cold bacon on the table. The weather was nice. Just the way I like it. Cold enough to wear a sweater weather and my cow slippers. I prepared hot water for tea and made scrambled eggs to go with the bacon. It’s been such a long time since I last cooked anything that I’ve forgotten how to do it. I had to ask the maid to help me with things such as opening the gas tank and to direct me to where the pans were. Anyway, while I was cooking I remembered my little brother. The Muslims are currently celebrating Ramadan and during this season my brother and I are often left alone at home. Classes lasted only half a day. We would cook breakfast together while we watched TFC or Pokemon. I remember him being so afraid of the splashing hot cooking oil that he would wear a jacket and goggles when he cooked. I’d mix the eggs in a bowl for the omelet and he’d cook the bacon. I’d make him hot chocolate and I’d make myself coffee. We would often fight, we did that a lot. But once we were seated we’d admire our messy work and dig in. I’d scold at him for not finishing the food on his plate and he’d either stuff it down or ignore me. He’d scold at me for walking around in my panties and close the curtains so as to avoid anyone seeing even though we were at the top floor and no one was likely to see us. He would tell me that I was like a child he had to look after and I’d think of the irony of our relationship. He does look after me.
I remember the time when I discovered my boyfriend and my (ex)bestfriend were together, it was him I ran to. I skipped school because I couldn’t stop crying and he came home to find me on the bedroom floor curled up in a ball. I cried and I cried and he was only 11 or 12 but he understood. He stayed quiet and listened while I went on and on. And when Kevin showed up on our doorstep, sweaty and skateboard in hand, he was silently cursing. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he was thinking it. I think I’m the reason why he doesn’t follow his peers’ footsteps and refuses to court girls. He tells me about the relationships his friends have and he gets crushes and all but I can see he’s too good for messing around like that. I’d like to think its because he’s seen what boys can do to girls, because he’s seen it with me. And I’m happy that he’s restraining himself from getting involved with such things. I feel like I’ve taught him something important. Let him learn from my mistakes. He’s watched my heart get crushed so many times and he knows how ugly it is. He’s a good kid. I tease him a lot, and I’ve been such a horrid bitch to him in the past (especially when I was in my rebellious phase), but I love him to bits and he’s good. He’s better than me. He has such a good heart.
As I was sipping my tea I’m suddenly immersed in my memories. I remember the reckless girl I used to be, out every night with skater boys wrecking havoc everywhere we went. I’m not like that anymore. It’s funny how when I finally reached college I didn’t turn out to be the party girl I expected. I read more books, I joined more orgs, I study more than I used to. I come home at 11 at the latest. Is this what growing up is like?
I barely get to think anymore. Like, really think. The deep thoughts kind. It’s nice. I’m always busy and trying to be busy. I guess it’s the coping method I’ve grown accustomed to for a broken heart. Keep myself busy enough to forget. It’s working. And I’m happy and I’m healing and I’ve learned to be independent.
I have to remind myself not to feel sad. Things will fall into place at the right time. Being lonely won’t last forever. I have hope. I will meet someone. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, might not even be in a month or two or twelve. But I will. And when I do, it will be magnificent. He will make me realize why it never worked with anyone else. Why it never worked with Kevin even if we tried 10 times over the past three years. I will fall in love again. I will remember that feeling of being a lovesick puppy. I will cry and I will smile and I will fall head over heels. All in due time.
I found this a few days ago. The moment I picked it up I was flooded with a sudden rush of memories from my childhood.
My mother gave this to me when I was little. I remember cherishing it with my whole heart. I even remember bringing this to show and tell. I would shake it and watch the little hearts dance around the immobile ballerina. I’d watch the little hearts circle her into a whirlwind and imagine that it was because she was the one spinning.
I cherish this now more than ever because I know that when my mother saw this displayed on a glass window, she thought of me. This right here is the picture of my innocence. A picture of a little girl who loved ballet and basketball at the same time, who giggled and wrote poems and letters on nice smelling stationary, who had unruly curly hair and was full of joy. This is a token of my childhood.
I don’t know where this has been for all these years, or how it survived this long. I mean, Ondoy flooded this whole house and destroyed about 50% of our stuff. But this survived it and time as well and has found it’s way back to me. Idek how I found it. It was just there lying around. Like I was destined to have it back again.
It was raining today. It was nice. Sort of a cool down from the hot day. I almost wanted to NOT use my umbrella. As I waited for a jeepney I started spacing out again and I was thinking of you. But it’s different now. I don’t think of you that way anymore. I think about how our last phone call went after 3 days of non-stop texting. I knew you didn’t think of me that way anymore, and I knew I was only hurting myself by still talking to you. But it was nice feeling wanted, with you getting mad when I don’t reply fast enough. Although I knew that it was only because you were back in your old house without internet connection and was only bored. That’s what I am to you now, something to pass the boredom. But I came to my senses.
I said good bye to you that night of our last phone call. You must’ve thought it was any other good bye, but it wasn’t. It was something else for me. I was saying good bye to all of you. Our past, our relationship, my love for you. And when we hung up I took a deep breath and got up and went on with my life.
Whenever you text, my heart does’t skip a beat anymore. I’ve changed your led light color on my blackberry. My phone used to blink pink whenever you texted or called. Whenever I see you post on facebook, I don’t find the need to read everything or ‘like’ it or comment on it. When I see you ‘like’ another girl’s photo, it doesn’t sting anymore.
Today I took you off of my Close Friends list. It’s this feature facebook has that helps you stalk people. It monitors their every facebook activity. This is something big for me. It’s saying that I don’t need to keep tabs on you.
On my ride home I was still thinking of this. I closed my eyes and felt the cool rainy breeze and blocked out the noise of the jeep’s engine and thought to myself,
“I don’t know if I still love you, but I know that I don’t want you anymore. A while back, if you asked me to come back to you I’d go back in a heartbeat. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s different now. I’ve said this before, but this time I really do mean it. I like this.”
So here’s to the past, and here’s to the metaphorical box where I will store it in to be opened only to reminisce but never to live in again. Most of all, here’s to the present and the numerous possibilities and to the future ahead. :)
It’s funny how you act all tough and try so hard to make people believe that you are but whenever I look at you all I see is how much I know you’re wrong when you call me weak. In ways you don’t even know. In ways that you don’t realize. Open your god damn eyes. I’m not even going to say that I’m stronger than you, because that’s not the point here. Being strong isn’t about anger or having the courage to fight back or proving you’re superior. It’s not about power or physical strength or being better or smarter than everyone else. It’s so much more than that. And this is what makes me so confident to know that every time you call me weak I know you’re wrong.
You still break my heart when it’s not even yours to break anymore. All the little things that keep me hooked, and all the little things that break me. Somehow they all have strings attached to you and only you. No one else. It drives me crazy.
Come, lets dance in the rain. Let’s act like we’re 8 years old again without a thing to worry about. No college classes, no love lives, no money problems, no complicated issues. Just being free. Let the rain wash over you and take all the little worries with it.
