Locked away

"Because you pick guys who will never be serious about you, so you never need to be serious about them."

Because isn't it scary? That moment when you take things seriously and give someone so much power over you, trusting them unconditionally.. that despite having the power to hurt you or being able to break you, they wouldn't.

So instead of taking things seriously, you brush everything off thinking that if no one came near enough, no one would get too attached. If you didn't take things seriously then it would be that much easier to forget. Because isn't it easier to forget things that didn't matter than things that you did take seriously? Isn't it easier to forget when you didn't invest a part of yourself in it? There would be no thinking, no dwelling, no remembering, no pain. No one would get hurt. You wouldn't get hurt. If you didn't take things seriously then when the present becomes the past, it wouldn't haunt you as much as it would if you had cared.

Because if you did care, no matter how much you tell yourself that the past is irrelevant, it is what is it. The past has always and will always be reflected on what is here and now.

May it be a broken heart, broken trust, broken promises.. even if you tell yourself that these are inconsequential to what you are now, you would be lying to yourself. You are what the past has made you-- no matter how small a part of you that is, it's still you.

Because every bit of trust broken or lies spoken, every bit of these make up every single broken fragment of yourself, of the wall you unconsciously build around yourself.  Even if you somehow trick your conscious mind into forgetting, there would always be a scar-- there in the deep recesses of your mind, of your heart.

Sometimes I wonder if there's anyone who would be patient enough to fix whatever needs fixing. Someone who would not push and pull, forcibly trying to break through the tiny crevices and would instead, gently undo the locks and bolts that are placed.

But they never are. No one's ever patient enough.

They try to figure things out, and when it gets too hard, they leave. Because that's what happens, right? People come into your life and take bits and pieces of you. Before you know it, they've taken whole chunks of your life, of your time, of your memories, of your heart. And as easily as they took pieces of you, they leave-- they leave without batting an eyeleash, without the hesitation of turning around and seeing if just maybe, it is hard for you to see them leaving without even looking back.

So instead of putting yourself through the pains of seeing someone turn their back on you, you lock yourself away. You smile to hide the broken pieces. You laugh to hide the doubts. You joke around, never wanting to take things seriously, to hide just how afraid you are.

Afraid of truly letting someone in and being disappointed yet again.

Afraid of trusting and having that trust broken.

Afraid of giving someone the power to break your heart-- to break you.

And until someone brings all the pieces together and finally figures you out, everything will remain as broken as it is.

Endangered

I was helping my mom sort things out in our attic and she had me go through these bags we placed at the corner with the things that we were able to salvage after Ondoy ate up our house in Pasig. It was pretty nostalgic looking at old pictures, feeling a bit sad that some of them had smudged at the borders while others were just plain indecipherable. I saw old photos of my great grandmother and it felt good that we were able to save something that reminded us of her, despite the tattered state of the photographs. There were old notes and drawings and letters and I was making good progress on sorting them out...

Until I came across love letters— love letters addressed to my mom. The papers and cards were all brittle, partly because they were old and partly or actually mostly, because they’ve been soaked in flood water, but the contents were still readable. 

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t feel weird on seeing these old letters from her former boyfriends (and there was a lot, let me tell you). In fact I found myself smiling as I skimmed through them. 

Some of the notes were short messages telling her how the phone at home was busy and they’d just call that evening. Some of the cards had lyrics of old songs written on their corners. Some of the letters were long with poems at one flap of the card and other cheesy what-not on the other. Oh hell, were they cheesy.   

And as I continued to skim through the mountains of cards and letters, I found myself smiling sadly at each piece of paper.

These notes, these letters were memories. They were special. And they weren’t special because they were written during anniversaries or birthdays or other special occasions. These letters were special because they were written on ordinary days that merited no special attention. They were written just because the guy remembered the girl. They were written just because the guy was thinking of the girl at that time of the day. They were written “just because”— only then did I realize the true meaning of that phrase.

And the fact that they were written out of no apparent reason or special occasion, the fact that they were written “just because”— that made them more special than any other anniversary or valentine card written for the sake of the occasion.

Whatever happened to those long, handwritten letters that were folded in almost all the ways you can imagine? Whatever happened to those little notes that you ask your seatmate to pass in class? Whatever happened to wooing a girl through crappy songs sung out of pitch or through illegible letters delivered through bridges?

I’m not saying that these are now non-existent— maybe endangered, but not completely extinct.

There are guys out there who would give you things out of the blue. There are those who would text or call to say random cheesy messages. There are those who would skype or message you to see how your day went, or would drive by just to see your face. There are those who would write to you on cards from bookstores on your anniversary, your monthsary, your nth-sary and there are even those who would make cards for that special occasion.

But just how many guys would write to you on an ordinary day just to let you know that you’re on their mind, no matter how busy their day has been? 

How long has it been since you’ve received a letter or a card on your doorstep or in your mailbox? In fact, have you ever received a lengthy, hand-written letter in the first place?

In this age and time where everything is just a click away, where everything is instant, some people tend to forget that one of the best ways to the heart is not by forcibly plunging through but by slowly climbing in. No matter what girls may say, some of them still dream of being swept off their feet, and not because everything happened so fast. 

Some girls love to be wooed with long, handwritten letters. They love surprises on their doorsteps that would brighten up a bad day or make a good day even better. They adore being remembered on special occasions but they love being remembered at the most random moments as well. 

As much as a girl appreciates the big gestures, as much as they make her smile one of her brightest smiles, at the end of the day, it’s the little ones that would almost always make her smile from her heart.

Payphone

The result of sleepless nights, thesis sh*t and what-not's.

http://soundcloud.com/zashkagomez/maroon-5-payphone-cover

In that moment nothing else seemed to matter. But really, it was far from that.


I didn't want it to end.. but that was enough reason for it to.

Burst

Over-estimation may be a bad thing.


The thing is, sometimes we over-estimate ourselves and our capabilities. Sometimes this is okay. We push ourselves and test our limits. But other times, we just wind up getting hurt. And when we realize just how much we can really take, it's too late-- we've invested too much of ourselves.

Maybe there's this thing about hurt and acceptance. There's that moment when you've been hurt too much that you finally see clearly, that you finally accept and understand-- when you finally stop lying to yourself on how you can still take more, on how you're stronger than that and just accept that, that's that. You're not strong enough.

And that's what I've been doing all this time, I guess-- lying to myself, closing my senses to the bigger picture just so I can stay in this temporary bubble of happiness, for as long as time would allow me to. Maybe I could cheat reality into giving me this, just for a little while. But reality popped that bubble, too soon for me, maybe, but not soon enough.

I thought that that decision was easy enough to see through. They would be happy, I would be fine. And I thought that I could handle that-- that it would get easier as time passed by. That maybe, that bubble of happiness didn't have to be so temporary. Maybe it could last longer and be a constant ring. But it only became more difficult.

To form boundaries. 

To keep limits.

To stop.

And then I thought.. maybe I chose wrong.

But I realized that it wasn't that I chose wrong.. there never was an option where I would be unscathed in the first place. It was a lose-lose situation. Either way, I couldn't stop the hurt-- no matter what I chose. Not unless I was capable of numbing myself from reality. Not unless I would lie to myself constantly. And I found that I couldn't do that anymore. I wasn't okay. It wasn't fine.
 
In that moment of clarity, I saw that everything seemed like a mess. I was a mess. I still am. And maybe the only way to fix myself was to stop lying to myself and to stop pretending that it was okay because it wasn't.


The wound had woken me up. 

Reality won. Just like always.

Appreciate happiness no matter how temporary it might turn out to be. Because at least, even for a while, you experienced what it felt like to be happy.

Excuses

It was all Mr. Krabs' and Plankton's fault, really. 

The scene where Plankton "gave up" on the whole fast food franchise and chasing after the formula all lead to this. But I'll leave it to you to judge whether this Spongebob episode was just that or was implying something else entirely.

Plankton: Can't you understand that I've wasted too much time chasing after you? And now I finally have something that's mine.. and it makes me happy.

Mr. Krabs: He really gave up. What happened to the invertebrate that I used to know? *rushes home while sobbing uncontrollably*

I, for one, found this scene hilarious in its attempt to pull a few heartstrings-- so much that I had to share it with other people. It is with that, therefore, that I share this mostly non-verbatim conversation with a particular someone who wished for me to tweet what, he deemed, can pass off as quotes.

If the scene above didn't resemble a break-up scene so much then maybe these words would not have been said. Maybe.

Person: *goes on about how even cartoons have love lives*

Me: A crab and a plankton.. Love knows no boundaries.

Person: If you're miserable and can't find love, what's your excuse?

Me: We're playing hide and seek.. but no one's seeking.

Person: My excuse is that God said love can be found in all corners of the world. Then He made the world round.

Me: But the thing is, since the world is a sphere, corners can be formed inside it. So maybe the more appropriate reasoning for the person under those circumstances is that he/she is just standing on the wrong corner.

Person: But you're not looking for corners, you're playing hide and seek. Start seeking.

Me: Well the person's good at hiding. Others are better at seeking than I am.

Person: Maybe there's this one person na ikaw lang ang pwedeng makahanap.

Maybe one would think that normal people do not have conversations like this on a Wednesday evening. But whoever said that I was part of this "normal people"? And as much entertaining this conversation was, it got me thinking.. what if it were true? 

What if all those people out there claiming that they haven't found love yet was just standing at the wrong corner of the world? And what if they keep on going to different corners but they end up going in the wrong direction?

What if they're seeking other people but keep on failing just because the people they find are not the ones that they are meant to find? For all we know, we just did someone a favor of finding someone that belongs to them and they're just unknowingly returning the favor by lending us someone who's rightfully theirs. Therein lies the problem.

Indefinite. 

Uncertain.

Just like how I'm not sure how to end this suddenly melancholic post. So I'll just leave it just like how the answers to the questions above are leaving us.. hanging.

Misconstrue

Some people say that we shouldn't read too much into what other people say. But sometimes, I think we should. A single word, otherwise misunderstood, could alter an entire sentence’s meaning immensely.  But sometimes, even if we understand correctly… well, this doesn’t mean that words said would forever hold true.

I guess it’s just the reality of things— one moment we mean what we say and the next moment we don’t. Sometimes we believe that what we say will always hold true and sometimes we don’t mean anything we say at all.

Because words are just that: words—meaningless strings of letters and spaces and punctuation marks in between. We’re the ones who put meaning into what we hear and read and say. We associate meanings and emotions into those that are not tangible. We put exclamation points and commas and periods, even though the periods should be ellipses, the commas should be semi colons and the exclamation points should be question marks. We let words lull us into a false sense of security— wrapping us around in blankets, deluding us into feeling comfort when we should be in unease. We rely heavily on spoken words and written messages. We see and hear and feel when we should comprehend, listen and understand. We accept what’s on the surface when what counts is what’s hidden underneath.

But all of this is part of who we are— human.

Faulty. Vulnerable. Naïve. Flawed.

And though it is because of words that we find ourselves lost and damaged, it is also in words that we find solace and recompense.

We make mistakes, we learn. The cycle repeats itself. We repeat mistakes, still we learn and still we do it again and that’s because we dare. We dare to believe. We dare to try. We dare to hope… And there’s nothing wrong with that. We owe ourselves that much. Better be fools with the strength to repeatedly try than to be fools who are afraid to risk failing again.

But with that said, when do we stop trying with the reason not being fear? Is there a limit? Or do we just keep moving and doing and attempting in the hopes of finally succeeding?

Oh wow. But fuck you.

Deception

Actors should give normal people some credit too, come to think of it. Every day we put smiles on our faces and joke around and act completely normal amidst the emotional wreckage we feel inside. We joke about things even though they hurt us. No, better yet, we joke about things because they hurt us.

It’s saddening to think how every day we wake up to be anything but ourselves. Every day we wake up to suppress all the negativity and pain and pretend like happiness overwhelms us when in fact, we’re grieving and saddened and broken. Every day is merely a play. True enough, the world’s a stage and we’re all actors. But I question who we are acting for. Are we hiding ourselves from others or are we hiding from ourselves?

Whether it’s one or the other, one day, everything will be just too much. It’s very hard to keep yourself together when all you want to do is to fall apart. There may come a time when breaking down and falling apart will no longer be a want but a necessity— falling apart to save yourself from completely losing yourself… falling apart to stop yourself from falling into a downward spiral… falling apart to regain your sense of self and direction.

Because even if we do so well in pretending that we’re okay, that corner where we suppress the tears and frustrations that are battling with our self-composure will inevitably be released.

It’s like holding a ticking time bomb inside our minds, only we don’t know when it will blow. It’s quite frightening actually. We try to distract ourselves, to keep busy, to find different emotional outlets but one day, everything will be too much. Even if we keep repeating to ourselves that we’re fine, that we’re not hurt, that we’re not breaking inside, that if we just ignore the pain and focus our attention elsewhere, the ache will go away… well, those are merely lies— deception of the hardest kind. 

No matter how many times we repeat lies, they will in no way develop a sense of truth. We will still feel the constant stabbing in our chest… that slight tightening of our hearts, that small tear in the corner of our eyes that we’d give anything to hold back. Despite all the distractions we pile in front of us, our brains are just too remarkable to fool. We can be writing or singing or dancing or sketching but in that far corner of our mind, we’re still thinking of the thing that we want to suppress. And it’s infuriating— how much effort we put into wanting to not think of something we are so unwilling to forget.

I don’t know what sense I find in this, but to me forgetting this would be more painful than suppressing it. And that’s the problem— unwillingness.

Whenever I ask myself why, a wall keeps coming up. Sometimes I find myself not wanting to suppress the memories anymore and just let them be a constant stream of thoughts.

Because I guess trying to remember would make you seem more real.

Because I guess remembering would make it seem less like a dream.

Remembering would make every moment with you more real... every touch, every word more concrete. Because I guess in trying to remember what it felt like to be with you, I would be proving to myself that it wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t made up. Every brush and every touch, every whisper, every kiss, every hug, was not a trick of the mind— that I was indeed living in reality no matter how much it felt like I was living in a dream.

I don’t even know why I’m trying to act like I’m okay. Who am I acting for?

For them? For you? For myself?

One thing I’m sure of—I don’t regret anything. I knew what I was getting into. I knew the possible repercussions. I knew that somehow, maybe, it would end like this. But still I hoped that it would be different. Nevertheless, I don’t regret whatever happened. In fact, I’m somehow thankful it did. Because once upon a time, you were what I needed and wanted… once upon a time, you held my hand and made me feel like in that moment nothing else mattered… once upon a time, you made me happy and I felt right— you and I felt right. Given another chance, I would pick the same choice over and over again. No, I’m not a masochist nor am I a sadist. It’s hard to explain but with what happened, I learned, I grew— hopefully into a better person— and those are the important things, I guess.

I may be hurt but I’m not pointing fingers. Hurting is part of reality. Hurting makes a person human. True, I still miss you (and that just sucks) in all aspects of the word, and even though there’s this constant ache, I just don’t want to let the tears flow yet. Because the tears would just seal my state of mind and I’m not sure how long it will take for me to build myself up again.

It’s difficult to tell anyone any of this not because I’m afraid that they won’t listen but because I’m afraid of their judging stares and their painful words.

And right now, I don’t need telling off. I don’t need people telling me things I already know— things I already knew from the start. All I need is someone to be there for me… because you used to be there for me and I got used to that. Now that you’re not, though, I’m finding it a little difficult to find my sense of balance again, a little difficult to break the habit of going to you whenever I need some comfort. I’m surrounded by hundreds of people every day, but I still feel more alone than ever. And even though this sounds so cliché and cheesy, it’s the truth.  

Although I smile and I laugh, I feel like my eyes are telling a different story. And although I try my best to hide it, sometimes I tend to wonder… who cares enough to see past all these pretenses? Who knows me well enough that they’d look past my amused glance to hug me and tell me I’m not fooling them but have enough respect to not ask for explanations?

I guess now, all I can do is to wait for my control to falter… wait for the tears to fall. Maybe then, I could feel better.

Case closed

Despite everything, I never gave up on you. You're the one who bailed on me. Alright? *Case closed*

Too many things to do-- and that's a good thing. Will write a proper entry when everything has finally subsided and when my filter decides to break down and leave my thoughts free to run around.

Imperceptible

One of the worst, clichéd ways to start off a piece of writing in my opinion, is to quote, from a book or a movie or a song, a line that can pass as something that encompasses what you’re writing about. I guess in some ways, I’m violating this ideology of mine by placing a line here— a simple, self-explanatory line.

No strings attached.

But in some ways, I’m still holding up to the belief I’ve mentioned above since this line isn’t even the first thing you see in this entry. This line does not even directly elucidate what this piece of writing is about. In fact the line conveys (in mercifully less words than that of which I’ve used below) the complete opposite of what the ranting you’re about to read, is about.

I can’t honestly say that there are no strings attached, no matter how much I’ve forced myself to believe otherwise— no matter how I told myself in the beginning to not let strings wind themselves around me in any form. Because even if I can’t see them, I know now that there are strings— twisting, binding— even if they are seemingly too insubstantial to hold out and too imperceptible for someone to be instantly aware of. So instead of having strings to cut there are only shadows of their outline. Such that even as my fingers continuously try to grasp at their shadows, they can’t because the strings are too indistinct. And that’s the hard part, I suppose— wanting to cut off something that’s barely there, existing but not physical enough for you to do something concrete and definite.

But the strings, in themselves, are not the problem. 

The problem stems from everything that is associated with the strings. Because something defined and real is not meant to be held by hazy strings that have no definite composition.

The real problem is when you get used to the sweet words and nicknames, to the episodes of concern and constant streams of affection, even to the petty arguments and heated discussions and consequent apologies… So much that these become embedded in your system, a habit as natural as breathing and when things go amiss and these suddenly disappear, you feel an imbalance, an uncertainty, a doubt on what’s happening and what happens next. You start to forget how it felt like before the strings started to materialize— how you made every day pass without the feeling of something missing, being aware now of just how much you have truly been missing out on. You find that gradually, the strings start to control you, instead of you acting as the puppeteer and you struggle to find yourself again— to find where you start and where the strings stop— and regain control.

Along the way you can’t help but question yourself and all the things you once believed in. Your sense of self becomes threatened and sometimes you lose yourself and come back with bits of yourself changed… sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst.

And with all these changes, abrupt and drastic, your view of everything is altered. Some things aren’t as bad as they seem, some things aren’t as good as you once believed, and while some things cease to have meaning, some things escalate in significance.

Suddenly, you’re tempted to go back on the things you believe in. You question your ideals of right and wrong. You question the mere existence of morality— is there even such a thing as the right thing? Or is it just a meaningless label coined to give the illusion of a sense of direction?

You confuse want and need. You become painfully aware of the muddled line between innocent affection and seemingly irresistible temptation. The strength of your will is suddenly being tested, at its weakest point. And you have to go through every inch of yourself to gather even just a miniscule amount of restraint that could make all the difference in the world— could prevent you from getting so tangled in the strings that you lose yourself completely.

The idea you formed of yourself is shattering as the strings tighten their hold and you find that you’re becoming someone that you never imagined you’d become. Such that when reality finally comes for a visit, you become in awe of just how much you’ve changed— how much of yourself you’ve lost and how much of someone else you’ve gained.

And you know that even if you succeed in cutting those imperceptible, ghosts of strings, things would never go back to what they were once before. Nothing would go back to normal because normal, in itself, has lost sense—has lost meaning. Everything would remain as changed as they are. You would remain changed— with parts of yourself compressed to make room for parts of someone else that has, to you, unconsciously slipped past your defenses and structured themselves to become rooted in your system and become a fractionally significant part of your composition.

And all of these because of fragile, ill-defined, vague, pathetically and seemingly unbreakable strings.

A little motivation because I promised to myself that I'll start to sketch/draw/paint again this summer.:)

Resuscitate

Being filled in over my head with academics, dance and music orgs, plus other supposedly insignificant things, it feels quite good to be welcoming summer. Despite having a summer class, and I mean literally just one class, I feel the sense of freedom hanging in the air surrounding me. But as I was saying goodbye to the transes and hand-outs that have kept me company during the past semester, I once again came across what used to once keep me busy during those little tidbits of free time during high school.


And I thought to myself, what happened to that part of me? Where did that part go?


Amidst all the demands of undertaking the course that I've chosen, I realized that I shoved a part of myself, a hugely significant part of myself, almost out of sight. And I knew that that wasn't right.


No matter how busy a person may get, how hectic and demanding his or her life may be, one shouldn't almost  forget himself or herself in the process.  If you do, then how will you grow as a person? If you start to push aside parts of yourself to make room for other things that label themselves as more significant, then where will you find yourself at the end of it? Will there still be a "you" at the end? Or will a "you" cease to exist and will what remain be merely parts and pieces simply held together by a just?

Every part of yourself is significant. Every part should be given equal importance. No part of yourself should be undermined or pushed aside to make room for more important things-- there are no more important things when it comes to what makes a person complete. There is no "more", there is no "less". No part is too big or too small. Each part should have equal value, equal significance. Because de-valuing even just one part of yourself would make "you" cease to have meaning. There would be an imbalance. There would be a change in the composition of the "you" that once was.




So here's to recovering a part of myself that once was. Here's to revival and re-discovering. Here's to re-developing. Here's to remembering. Here's to never forgetting.

Hangover.

Some people love things without knowing the reason while others love things for a hundred different reasons... but we shouldn't love things... Not really...


Then again, dancing really isn't something material.


Maybe it's the rush of adrenaline, or the thunderous applause, the vibrancy of the lights, or the delightful roar of the crowd. Maybe it's the beat of the music in sync with the beat of the heart, in sync with each hit and drag and pull and thrust... with each amazingly choreographed movement of the body. Or maybe it's that moment when you can let go of reality and channel all the negativity, all the problems and heartaches and mind-boggling instances that has been plaguing you on a normal day, into each step. Maybe it's the freedom you have on stage-- the freedom from restraint, the shackles, the pain, the sadness, the longing... when you finally let go of yourself without worrying of repercussions or of getting yourself back. Nothing else matters but that moment when you move and slide and glide, when you're hypnotized by the music, when you're enthralled with how surreal everything is.


With this hang-over from Sayaw Manila yesterday, I've realized that dancing isn't a just. It's not just a form of self-expression, as many people say about the arts. It's a whole spectrum of emotions-- movement laced with the dancer's inner thoughts and feelings-- that one has been keeping trapped for so long. Dancing is a way of thrusting everything out for people to see without them realizing it-- like a secret between the dancer and the music, with the crowd being unsuspecting of how relevant each movement of the dancer is, of how real the dancer is at that moment on stage, more than she or he has ever been. It's quite funny how unaware the audience is of how much he or she is letting them see of himself or herself. Because although dancing makes the person on stage look powerful and confident and graceful, without a care in the world, it also makes him or her that much more vulnerable-- makes him or her a clear glass window to the audience... and if only they look closely enough, they may be able to see into that person's mind, into that person's heart.


I can never really fully express how much my love for dancing is. But I know as much as this-- even as years pass and how much I change with it, that will always remain a constant. It's something that I have fallen in love with and it has not failed to catch me. It will never be just a part of me, it is me. Dancing is not just a past-time or a hobby or a way to detoxify myself after so many hell weeks or hell months in my beloved university.


Dancing will never be a just, because freedom itself is never a just... And dancing is freedom at it's finest.

Unbound

I felt it bubbling along the surface. There were these tiny blinking lights on the edge of my subconscious, flashing a warning that something wasn’t what it was supposed to be. I don’t really know how to define it or how to describe it in a way that everyone will understand… because it’s quite instinctual (I guess that would be the most appropriate word). But it’s not paranoia. There are no what if’s, no maybe’s. There’s that certainty, that sureness, that confidence that this is not me over-reacting. This is the instinctual me hand in hand with the logical me. Definite.
 
Some of you may know what I’m talking about: It’s that moment when nothing has changed but you feel, a very strong gut feeling, like things have shifted. You feel that you’re wrong. That things aren’t the same even if they appear to be. That somehow, things have changed.

But the reason behind this shift remains unclear. What is apparent, though, is the unfolding result. Suddenly, everything is out of balance. Suddenly, I find myself lost, grasping at the hems of what used to be, trying to hold on, clinging on to whatever thread or straw or yarn I can grasp to make things revert to what it once was. And no matter how I twist and turn things around, looking through every crevice, every hole, trying to find out what could possibly have caused this growing gap, I can’t find anything that would help me clear my mind of that constant pounding— that blaring voice telling me that everything’s my fault— that things would not have turned out to be like this if I had controlled myself… if I had not succumbed to my emotions. If I had only kept them bottled up, silenced them, ignored them, cast them away, then maybe things wouldn’t have changed.

I knew better. I told myself not to. And I can’t even count how many times I scolded myself for even thinking of you as more than a friend. But sometimes, we find ourselves at a point where we don’t even know how and when every “no”, every “can’t”, and every “don’t” become inconsequential. We tell ourselves not to plunge into that deep pool of emotion and suddenly we’re soaked and swimming in it. We’ve fallen head-first, unbound, without knowing how the chains we’ve put so securely on our heart got detached.

And the sadness rolls in because I feel like if the chains had been stronger, unbreakable, then maybe, things would have stayed as they were. We would have stayed as we were. I wouldn’t have lost the comfort in the constancy of you being there whenever I needed you… and I wouldn’t be here now, on the edge of losing a friend, on the edge of losing you.

Doubt

Personally, I find it difficult to say such words. But then again, I have always been awkward in these situations— have always found it difficult to vocalize my emotions. I’m learning, though, that some people find it easy enough to say what’s on their mind and as they claim, what’s in their heart. It is therein that I find it inevitable to question your sincerity in saying them. Yes, such words are heart-warming but they’re nothing if not sincere, if they’re void of meaning, if they’re thrown into the wind like you do confetti. I want to believe in your sweet words, but the sweetness itself raises a red flag. 

A stop sign. 

A question mark. 

Yes, it may be that I am afraid. I won’t deny that. But I believe there’s nothing wrong in that. Everyone gets afraid at some point in their life and there’s nothing wrong with being cautious.. especially given your track record. 

You know all the right things to say… but because of that, I am afraid.

Who doesn’t want to believe? Who doesn’t want to trust? So please give me enough reason to. You told me you don’t want me to bail out on this and I want to believe that’s true.

Because I’m finding that I don’t want to bail out on this… I don’t want to bail out on you.

Veracity

Yet again I find my mind in a tangled up mess. 

I've been having trouble with myself these past few days-- quarreling, reasoning with myself on what the "right" thing is. The right thing, though, is highly subjective to different people, to different points of view, such that what is right for one person is entirely wrong for another. The right thing is highly subjective to the circumstances beyond our control. The right thing is subjective to one's emotions.. and emotions are a fickle thing-- always changing, tumbling and turning, this way and that. So with something so precarious carrying a bulk of what is "right", how do we discern what such a thing is? Does the "right" thing even exist? Or is it just something thrust into every lifetime to have order and balance? What is "right" now may not be "right" tomorrow, so with something that is constantly changing, how does a person know what to do, where to stand? How can a person decide?

Decide. 

Decisions. Choices. Resolutions. 

Such finalities can quiver because of indecision-- indecision finding its roots in emotions. Indecision coming to life because of one's inability to concile what she knows is right and what she feels is right. Indecision resulting from the battle of the brain and the heart. Indecision stemming from logic conflicting with one's sentiments.

And right now, I find that the tension existing between my logical thinking and intuitive feeling has never been this frenzied. One moment, you know with certainty that what you're doing is right. But then something happens and suddenly you're irrationally unsure, yet again, if you're unwilling to take a risk, if you're able to hold everything inside, if you're able to live with yourself with all the what if's, with all the unsaid words, with the carefully withheld truth. You're unsure with just how long you can pretend and act that nothing's changed when in fact, everything has-- how long you can mask the fact that your heart skips with every minute, every sentence because of every hidden affection that, in truth you've been dying to say. And then in another moment, your mind shuts down again with the thought that it won't really matter how you feel and how much you want to say.. because the world keeps on revolving and turning about without a care for a tiny, insignificant dot of existence such as yourself. Oh, the constancy of indecision and change.

Want and need. Truth and deceit. Logic and intuition. Inconsistency and stabilty. Right and wrong. Anyone can go crazy just by trying to reconcile one with another-- like forcing two magnets with opposite poles to come together. 

Impossible.

Thought dump.

Because there are millions of things running through my mind, and these thoughts cannot be put together like puzzle pieces, I have no choice but to resort to bullet points... which I've always avoided but it seems, now, is inevitable. Let's take a trip down the tangled ruins of my mind and see what we can find tonight.

• I have come to realize that some people, when they start to like someone as more than a friend and they know it's not going to work out or they don't have a chance, they try to hide it, to suppress the feeling.. they try to keep it to themselves. I do this too, to some extent, but I also know when to stop suppressing my emotions because I know it's a lost cause. As one of my friends quoted, "Fire suppressed burns much stronger".
• Why is it that when we're looking for something we need, it avoids being found.. and when we don't need it anymore, it just appears out of nowhere.. mocking us?-__-
• There has always been a boundary between love and friendship. But has there been a clear demarcation as to where the line is drawn? While some intimate acts are clearly reserved for couples, certain acts of friendship overlap with the acts of those in a relationship. What do I mean by this? The term "date", for example. This can be used by friends going on a lunch date and then again, this can be used by lovers when they go on a date and have a romantic dinner. Where does the friendship end and where does the romance begin? Especially if the people in question have no definite, for lack of a better term, label on their relationship? Friends can hold hands, lovers hold hands, but when two friends hide this act when there is no need for secrecy, the same question is placed on the table. Simple acts, a mixture of emotions... and a lot of hidden meanings. Anyone would get a headache trying to figure this out.;)
• Actions speak louder than words. Mhmm.
• People should be careful as to how they act. Just because what they do has no meaning for them, that does not mean that it does not mean something to someone else. People have different ways of thinking. One action can be interpreted in million, different ways.
• Emotional attachment may be a good thing... but it may also be a bad thing. It's up to you how to work it out.
• People always do things and say things with subliminal messages. Sometimes I wish they can just speak plain english. Not everyone can translate, you know.
• Showing emotion, showing signs of humanity, is never a sign of weakness. It's the opposite. But of course, there is such a thing as being TOO emotional. You want to be human, not an emotional wreck.
• De Javu.. wonder how that works. Makes me think.. maybe time travel really is possible.
• Thought lag. Annoying thing really.. and that's what I'm currently experiencing.

Now I leave you with friendly health advice:

People should drain their thoughts regularly as to avoid major brain trauma leading to heart failure and emotional wreckage. And yes, I just completely made that up. :D

Note.

Actions speak louder than words... and living beings should do well to remember that.