by 9 in the evening, you should already be in the streets, shuffling in with people who also like you, feel lost for all of their lives. no matter how ridiculous it is, you will find silence from all the gay lights, the hazy surrounding and noisy sound of people blabbing about shitty things in life. believe me that you must seize that moment, not to plunge yourself to the feeling of zoning out with people whose on the same track with you but to enjoy the moment to get to know yourself more or let’s say, be reacquainted and be reminded that it’s been you all along; you never changed, you just forgot your identity. still, you will feel lonely midst being surrounded by lots of people and that’s not the solution to remedy your feeling of isolation. the world is binary and there are only two kinds of everything in the world, be it good or bad, or true or false. and we are like bitmaps that represent the tiniest detail we could ever be to fit in the picture of the universe. remember that no matter how austere the world could be, someday it will smile back at you because you’ve been taking risks to embrace its entirety. you push people until there’s nothing left because you thought that you are alone in the concept that you try to razor your shortcomings to your throat like there’s nothing to live for. and we are selfish of feeling that we are the only one feeling lost in the world we built. remember that we don’t owe everything to the world, and that there are resources inside of us that only need to be watered for our own use, and we just have to look forward in life and not to be so dependent on others to suffice that happiness we’ve been longing for our entire lives because it is not meant to be sought from different circles of people but to be found on the abyss of our hearts. God didn’t waste every bit of your life. He didn’t just put trials for us to say that life is colorful with them but they are of good use to turn us into the best that we can be. and now that you’re near to giving in, know that you didn’t turn older each year just to give up. smile. breathe.
look at him close in the eyes the moment
you’ll share the bed together again.
He is one of those guys who will treat
your body like winding stairs and meanders
on the curves of your body, trying to pave them
when you shouldn’t allow that to happen
because he is making you impoverished
of the love you deserve when other boys
see your flawed body, saggy and filthy already.
He’s leaving you rebirth marks telling that your
body is not yours anymore and it’s already his, alone.
Overlook how he rolls his tongue on the very
parts of your body you dislike and if
he skips kissing your scars, then he’s not
worth injecting the pain on your young flesh.
He is one of those guys who jabs a flaglet
like yours is the moon, declaring he was the
first one to land on the craters of your physique,
having a banner with his printed name on it,
which he always changes when sleeping with
other girls, making them sober and become
drunk in pain afterwards with saturated
self-hate compelling them to pull the trigger.
So when the moment you see in his eyes that
the way he looks at you is not like sharing the
universe with him and risking to be lost in
the black hole with you is not in his line,
outsmart him by leaving his bare nakedness
unclothed with the door open because he
deserves to be dumped and be thrown
on the pitfall that he recklessly set.
and it pulled my feet by the shore.
It dug the tendons of my heart with buried
sentiments that’s been crippling me out.
Someday, I want to feel an indelible love —
the one I can’t find on people around me.
I looked at the ocean and I closed my eyes,
pondering on how it feels like to be one of its waves,
tossed and thrust incessantly, trying to save
themselves from the current which is ridiculous
for it is the only one who gives life to them.
I wonder how it feels like getting even
to the current and be gone ashore with nothing
to find but pebbles lying on the sands.
But loving you was like the tidal waves.
I presumed I’m the one they are teasing
and I wonder if they would take responsibility
if I get swallowed on the navel of its entirety.
I thank my musings when I scraped off
my pocket to get some nodes of reminder that
we should never take resort out of people
for they are not solace to nestle your arms in
and that homes are already built inside of us and
we just have to learn how to establish a firm
foundation when it is ready to sprout from
our barren chests, making us feel comfortable
with our own bodies like bedecked wallpapers.
So when you see people whose affection towards
you are like tidal waves, be wary of dipping your
toes on it for when you succumbed to its vastness,
there’s no way out and you can’t flinch back anymore.
“I’m over you.” is the line I’ve been wanting to say. There are times I kept on saying this but I am left stuttering because I’m still in denial. I forget that I must move on without you. But what’s hard on letting go of this line is to put everything we have in void but I don’t want to forget you . There is always a fear seeping through the spaces of my statement of ending things between us. I still fear that you won’t come back. And maybe this is because I love you so much that it’s still your feelings that I’m considering even if you’re the one to ‘cause me writhing in pain. I withhold my belief that the sweet moments we shared would draw a curve on my lips whenever the thought of you seizes the moments when I pause. Because after a breakup, everything turns bittersweet. It is a ridiculous feeling of being happy to see you again and being terribly sad because the pain comes gushing through my spine swiftly. I’ve been in the lapse of getting past the hurt, on mending what’s been wrecked in me, and I’m starting on figuring things out for my future without you. But years will come that I will no longer look for you in the places that our love has abandoned. I will no longer put you into a template of my ideal better half. And time will come that your name will no longer be remembered in the sighs of my lips. But one thing I didn’t put into certainty is my unsettled feeling. How will I be able to handle it when one day our paths cross? I wish if that happens, a rekindled affection won’t come into surface anymore. We were the people, not fortunate enough to make it to the end of the line although we loved each other. Maybe we’ve already had enough although our story was short-lived. One day, I would finally be done saying “There’d be no one who will love you like I did.” because that sounds regretful and because we love people with different immensity one cannot comprehend and should be incomparable to those of the people we had an affair with. Thank you for such a tremendous feeling you made me feel. It was always a pleasure poring on your memoirs describing me. You will forever be remembered. And I’m looking forward to seeing you one day.
I don’t believe that people get numb for being hurt or they get used to it because we are never resistant from the bruises of the past for they are still etched in our skin.
I remember when my father invited me to play the guitar and I refused his offer for I remember his calloused hands when he was holding the pick on his left hand and a rod on his right to spank me. And it still hurts when I see him, and the pain never left. From then on, my mom’s were the only palm I could trust of and I grew tired of not letting my guard down because I’m afraid that other’s touch would leave a mark on my skin. That was one of the things I regretted in my entire life when I didn’t starve to hit the strings when my vocal cords always hum for a melody to interfere with my voice from a percussion. I didn’t see that if I my skin didn’t get to taste the rough texture of his hands, I’d probably won’t know the immensity of how soothing the velvet stroke of your hands are, when you are caressing my hair to comfort. You know how I dealt with the disconnection notice from an electric company , a letter from a friend who needs to work overseas, my childhood best friend moving to the countryside, and being aloof when I was molested by my cousin. You covered all of that and you shared with me the sentiments I’ve been living with, for two decades. You were fearless to bruise yourself with someone else’s shards because you thought that cuts won’t hurt. And that’s the very thing I adore about you. But I can see it in the corner of your eyes how you struggle with your own demons, and before I notice, we were almost done on furnishing my insides while you were also near to almost giving up on yourself. I never talked to you about that but I can feel your ribcage growing smaller and smaller that it suffocates you. You grew tired and it shows on your dull eyes and I know you have swollen hands for nursing the thorns of me. I’ve been starting to prepare things for us ‘cause I don’t want to regret again at the end and say to myself that I didn’t see it coming. You know I’m good at this — handling the requisites before letting go someone or something. But you prolly don’t know the aftermath. The feeling of not having someone to prepare a breakfast for, not having someone to blanket myself on, or not having someone to care for, which what I’ve been wishing for my entire life. You see, loving doesn’t always mean fighting for what you love, it also means giving up when you know it’s what you deserve because we all need retreat from anything, even on loving someone. I cannot say that I lack chances of proving how much I love you or you got drowned on too much affection because I don’t believe that there’s such things as ‘too much love’. I know we’re not talking about it because it would just hurt so bad and that some things are better left unsaid.
I hate admitting this but you’re departure is the only thing I don’t want to prepare for ‘cause I don’t want it to happen. And if in case, you’re not feeling a home out of me anymore, go on your way and take a rest. But never forget to notify me when you leave. And I will bid one last goodbye.
I was the one who introduced him to you the day you met him. I was also the mediator when you have cold wars. I was the one who escalate the news of how everyone should feel happy about a love they would envy. And I was the very person who were there in times when you couldn’t help to have your palm filter your tears anymore because your affection was not reciprocated the way you wanted to; that you just get drowned on a fallacy that he loves you.
How many leaves of dandelion have you allowed to slip away from your fingers? How many iterations of ‘he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not’ have you uttered while bruising yourself as you treat petals as thorns which were really not there? And how many nights have you counted sheeps and stars, waiting a lightyear for a shooting star to pass and wish for him to be enthralled by the scent of your skin?
I should have presented you ways on how to presume the frequency or the probability of him, loving you. If you just dyed your hair pink like her favorite artist or if you should’ve lost weight or if you should’ve revealed yourself on that love letter stuck on his locker, maybe he’d notice you more. Although you are absolutely perfect in my eyes that there’s no need for a transfiguration, I still lend you deranged ideas because I love you just the way you are but I know that you couldn’t see it in my eyes.
I should have presented you combinations and permutations but I know that you are tired of counting possibilities and yet you set things between you and him with high hopes.
There are times when I just want confront you that it’s just me and it’s been me who was there for you. I know that I have loved you more than he does (or probably he really didn’t).
But maybe this is why love is not meant to be measured, because no matter how efforts you exert on loving her, if it isn’t you that her heart’s throbbing for, you won’t be loved back.
At this point, maybe I should
practice saying about
forgetting things and moving
on because the flight of my
wings are to be soared from
the pockets of yesterday
where almost everything is
deemed to be forgotten.
The streets are not as linear
as we think, because they are
all round in character for they
get crooked and get paved all
over again and someday the road
won’t be the same anymore because
the dirt, the cement it is made of and all
of the footsteps that it once
let to walk on it would soon be
buried on repaving the cracks
of the sidewalk. And when we
turn older, we don’t want to left
things behind and be just a flower
that sprout out from the fault
and crease of the road to sneak out
of the world and wished if the sky
would permit yesterday to happen
tomorrow so that we’d be wary about it.
We may wonder if humans
are programmed and designed
to forget things and if we are the
real epitome of transiency because
if it so, there’s no reason anymore
to savor now because it shall pass
and the more happiness we try to
inject on the curves and
the outlines of our faces, the more
we invest on loneliness that we’ll
nurse in the future.
The city is always humming changes
and I don’t know we are swifter than
the trans-coloring of the leaves on the
tree and our souls are older than its barks.
Maybe 1/4 for our lives is not an enough
portion of our lives to be young, innocent,
jovial and having kisses-taped wounds.
Two decades is not enough to declare
a mid-life crisis because it is already a
quarter-pound identity crisis we’ve been
experiencing since we were 13. And we
don’t know anymore about growing up,
knowing thyself and enjoying life because
melancholy seems to be always seeping in.
We forget the simple words we try to utter
when we discover how eloquent our words are
and we use delicious now on describing feelings
and not on food anymore because they tend to feed
our insides with emotions embossed in the platter.
We try to differentiate growing old and
growing up when they seem to make sense
in our youth but sooner they’d be just non-sensical
because things synonymous to another would
be the same for we love crossing the line,
trying to change the world but it’s really the clothes
that wear us . And I’ve been living with this fear
fear since I got out of the clutch of my
childhood and this is what I’ve been afraid to admit
that one day, we’re all gonna separate ways but
we will find ourselves in the same circle —
of being lost, in strife and misery trying to figure
things out if there is such lasting thing for us
but if we’re apprehended we’re still not gonna get
used to it because we don’t know anymore to be
complacent, and we don’t know what we want
because we are all fictional as our favorite
characters at points in our lives and sometimes
those factions of the shards of who we are
matters more than to what is visible and seen on.
We don’t know where to look anymore
because the tenses of the circumstances
and our actions are everywhere and this is
what I fear, to grow up, to grow old and be left
not chewing what reality is taking tolls on me.
The truth is, we are more afraid of life than death. Aren’t we? We were raised like whines and scolds from our parents are patches on our skins after having been bruised by our own transgressions. But we just envy what the elders are doing, and we kept on desiring and looking forward to growing up until time flies swiftly and we don’t even notice that we are already there. The present was once a future you want to take a peak at on the past. But we can never blame ourselves for wishing so, because we were once innocent and little did we think that growing up doesn’t mean fitting exactly as huge as the world is.
The greatest frippery ever is trying to get down on your knees and inflict pain on your unblemished flesh. But there’s really nothing to cry for. We kept on saying that we are losing ourselves until we really are. We don’t remember how our parents told us that we should be wary of what we are wishing for, ‘cause we might just get it. And of course, spacing out is the last option. We continue to learn how changes are made, on how to be prepped when they are coming or on how to deal with them when they caught you off guard. Just because you are exploring new things and understanding more of what you are made of, doesn’t really mean that you don’t know yourself. We are a ridiculously cross-stitched beautifully woven piece, but are spines are messed up. And if someone tries to fix them, they are wrong that we’d be less vulnerable to strife and misery. Because there are things inside of us that have to be kept to preserve our beauty, and that we we should get loose from the thread that’s been holding up our neck and joints.
Your over-sized shirt, your eyeglasses with a half-cracked lens, the faded shades on your pants, your messy hair, the crease on your skin, the twirl of your fingers and your eccentric mannerisms are catchy because the weird is the new fab. They are head-turners. But things don’t flow on how you ought it to be; they are laughing stocks because you don’t fit into their template. You don’t fuck with strangers, you’ve never been dumped sleeping on the streets and have your face hunched over the table with spilled alcoholic liquor. Growing up and fitting in seems to be contrary to what supposed to mean being yourself nowadays and trying to be reckless on your youth seems to be not affordable. But your quirks are some stuff a person would muse on because you are worth sailing a hundredfold of ships. That someday, you won’t feel naive anymore because you are the most beautiful and the truest you can be in the eyes of the one that will truly love you.
”Someday when you’re older…” is set on an infinite loop when you were young and it’s not music to your ears because you thought your parents don’t consider you smart as much as your older siblings. But little did you know that you wouldn’t stop hearing the same line on childhood. And you question yourself, aren’t we mature enough to withhold what’s in us on whatever milestones are waiting for us at the end on the road? But this is the art of getting by. You have to remember that no matter how crooked and misaligned things are, that even if you can’t seem to connect them like the constellations of the freckles on your back, you can still make volcanoes out of them. That there’s always something to root for. That there’s something loud in silence and vast and empty spaces that would make you feel complacent on how to pamper yourself with the ephemeral surroundings. That we’ve come this far not to make any corrections to the wrongs we’ve made in the past, and that the present is not a bunch and an entirety of the results of the iniquities of our youth. That some things come today to prepare us for our take off to the future. That we have to get by, by being tempered with trials and climate changes of life. That no matter how paved our roads are, there’s always a turning point; a pivot to have yourself instilled with the idea of hanging on. That love is everywhere to be found and to rekindle it is the sweetest ‘mundane’ ever. That not all things are to be reciprocated from the same person who receives the treatment, but on the person who already knows the answer before you even ask her. And that our rejections are just promissory notes to what we are due; to what we deserve. Something that is worth waiting for.
That no matter what happens, hold on still.
Sometimes, it would also make you feel placid when you don’t hear from other people any stories on how their day went, or on how did their lives go circling around in a loop or on how you came across their mind. You won’t be grieved if you don’t reciprocate the same thing. You don’t have to foster and console them and take the role of a scapegoat by taking guilt because you can’t pacify them when in fact you aren’t the one who caused them to feel that way. You don’t have to try too hard to honey-coat what reality has taken its tolls on them. And you don’t have to find reasons for them to pierce any deeper in your hearts anymore. So that, it would be easy to get detached from them when all of that is transient. Sometimes, you just have to be remote from everyone else so that when you thoroughly gone by the swift wind, no one would ever notice and you don’t have to take it against yourself when people scream your name in the air because of vanishing without a trace.
That for once, you have to evade, not just to forget things that hold you back from growing, but also to learn more on how to love yourself.
By now, I could say that I no longer hold the pen that was once my company when there’s no more enough tears and blood to gush from my aching heart. Instead, it’s the other way around. It’s the one who is holding me now. I thought I was strong. My words have gone astray from the things that I used to write, until it divulged the things that I conceal the most through broken strings of words. It voluntarily ambled and moved through the surface of my skin, and every stroke hurts whether they tell of my beautiful memoirs or my scarred youth. There’s nothing to mend because things are just not where they are supposed to be. I ceased writing to heal myself although I become unfamiliar to its language. But I felt relieved when I tried doing so. So whenever you tire to congest aesthetics on your cruel life, let your pen rest.
And in the mornings of figuring out what’s for breakfast, I’m torn between savoring a platter full of regrets and tears and reminiscing a glass full of beautiful memories. Today, I am not the same anymore. I do not long for the scent of the cinnamon-flavored coffee you used to serve me because the affection that you used to show wasn’t there to sweeten up a kind of coffee that I despised once. My back doesn’t crave for your fingers to slide through it’s spine when it aches, because resting and having my self plunge in a deep slumber whenever the thought of you bothers me would suffice for the pain to subside. I already get past thinking about you first in the morning except when my dreams are made of the contours of your face. Sometimes, I just want to curl myself between the beautiful words you made me sleep into. And although my love already faded away, I still think of you.
I apologized when
you found out
how burnt your
lungs were and
there were no traces
of ashes from mine
in the ashtray
when you want
us to share the
even our fate
I apologized when
you find yourself
hideous on that
of yours when you
were expecting for
a condom when you
unbuttoned my shirt
I apologize if my
lips don’t taste like
and all you taste
was mint and leafy;
which your tongue
despises the most
I apologize if you
have to leave just
because I’m too
fancy, wary and
I apologize if
I’m not the person
you want me to be
And even though
I know that I don’t
deserve all of these,
I still apologize because
this is the only way
I could show how
much I loved you
and it’s through
I’ve already written about these little things, a writer always has on his memoirs: how the star glides through the galaxy that winks at me, the dandelion that withers and flew onto my palm then slipped from my velvet hands, the quill that bleeds ink only on a parchment paper, the shards of the glass mirror that can never be fixed, the raindrops that amble through the surface of the window pane and on how the waves tease the pebbles on the shore. And with all these little things, I take resemblance of you.
I thought you were as delicate as metaphors and a simile won’t suffice to complement and comprehend how resplendent you are. You made me believed that there is beauty in every scar and you’ll replace every blood-clotted wound with your kiss so I’ll begin to love the parts of my body I’ve been hiding under my linen clothes. You unravel every tangled words in my mouth when your touch becomes a culprit to my stuttering. But you were one who drifted away when everything seems fine and I’ve made known that you were the star I couldn’t keep that I wished for when I was child.
On days when I don’t feel beautiful, I rummage my notebook to look for the paper-sized compliments you gave to make me feel good. But I was too clumsy to hold and contain all the butterflies and they scatter on the spots of my room where I can’t find them when I need them the most. Little did I know that there’s more enthralling on pondering in your absence, that unlike everybody else who gave up on love when they got broken, it left me with something to crave for; a genuine love that I deserve someday.
Somehow, I am still thankful that it transpired because I have something to fuel and to translate what I feel into woven words. You are lucky if I’m still writing for you, but there are times that it’s not you anymore, that I am writing to. It is only in the concept of being captivated by your love and getting past the brittleness the day you left me, that rev me on blurting out my feelings.
Ridiculously, there is something tasteful on savoring sadness in times when I miss you. It makes me supple and malleable. And why do I like to romanticise melancholy at times? Because maybe, just maybe, only in pain will I get to remember the feeling of being in love again.
1. Why write about tragedy when you can write about happy endings? You can’t sulk in the corner of a room, write about sad things and be a vessel of inspiration because of your melancholy-themed writings forever. The more we write about sadness, the more people can relate to us but one thing we don’t know is that we are drowning ourselves more to get drunk on it. Don’t succumb to it. Don’t let it consume you. You have to get up and find your own happiness. And when you already found it, that’s way more inspiring than nursing sadness all the time
2. Pack your things. Go on a road trip. Cut and dye your hair. Change your number. And try new things you haven’t done before. You are all set for high hopes of becoming better this year. You can’t plan resolutions and after the 1st of January, you’ll back to where you’re not supposed to be. Life is all about moving forward and you’ll get stuck if you bring with you excess baggage from the past. The world is moving. Chase it. Don’t be left behind if you know you can’t get even with the rate of the time that tolls everyone in the back row.
3. It’s a brand new day. You should not believe in luck or bad luck because everything’s in purpose. Remember that not only your surroundings are renewed but you, yourself as well. You are rejuvenated and flinch yourself whenever the haunting of your bad experiences come lurking in the window of your eyes. Date yourself and be acquainted to what life has to offer. Savor what God has laid for your platter everyday. Live each day and also thrive to survive.