Trying times?

 Just when I feel all kinds of content, life decides to throw me a curveball and make me think that I am depressed again. I think that I once again have to make a list of things that I know to be true again.

ALSO, I dropped my New, less than two months old Macbook Air on the road today and it has DENTS on it now. It is infuriating because the only 2 times I dropped my laptop, the second time has to be a Macbook. Thank God, it was only cosmetic damage and nothing on my screen and my keyboard. Looks like I have to get a bag and a laptop bag to double bag it. Surprisingly, this did not break me because I am for sure having a meltdown. I think it is just paused now. I definitely believe it will continue on tomorrow.

Typical feelings of: want to die, know how I will want to die, no energy, stop talking to me, leave me alone here to die

Must I write only when I am sad?

 Turns out I only write when I am sad.

I don't feel as sad as I would like to be only because I am more occupied than I would like to be. I have less personal space than I did when I started this blog. When I say less, I mean wayy less in a way where I now share a bedroom with Joshua. I have never been left alone for at least 3 years now. I went from one extreme of having no one to suddenly never being left alone. 

I am now 31 and typing on a Macbook Air. When I first started this blog, I don't think the first iPhone existed. Now I am decked out in everything Apple because I genuinely believe their products last. I want to invest in tech things that will last me at least half a decade. With Apple products, they easily outlast andriod counterparts. I never thought I would be able to afford a Macbook Air anyway. Genuinely grateful at how things turn out because I would never guess what and where I ended up in. 

I guess I did not start this post to have a topic and also, stick with a topic. I would like to reintroduce myself to the initial honesty I craved when I started this blog. I am still someone who enjoys honesty but of course, the honesty i crave is much more different than what i wanted at 16. 

They say that your 30s are all about rediscovering your favorite things as a teenager. One of my great loves was writing. Reading perhaps plays a little bit of a different role now because we have moved to a digital era of globalization. I would like to read a bit more now but it is annoying how expensive books are now but who are we kidding, I don't think I will ever read as much as I did like last time. 

I am rediscovering what I did; right now, writing is one of the main things. I would like to write a lot more than I am. The writing now is actually nonexistent. I am way too occupied with garbage on my phone than to write. Maybe I should be left alone with my thoughts a bit more so that I can ponder. Thinking is different. Pondering is trying to figure out.

I think journaling will be a bit different in my 30s since I don't think I have much to wonder and figure out. At 31, I pretty much have most of everything figured out. There is much less... Hope... So when you stop hoping for things to change, naturally, you stop looking for things to change. You stop looking at holes and seeing it as a window of opportunity. I think that is quite a sad way to see things. I wish I don't see my job as a way I will die in. I wish there was a lot more hope. 

I think I wrote last time as an escape and a way to dream. I think I must do the same. If not, how will I ever get off the ground? There is so much more to the sky than just this.

pen & paper

I am thirty years old

I am surrounded by pen and paper 

collected by the 17-year-old that had so much to say,

so much to echo to the world

I am now thirty and silenced by hands

that used to hold my hand because now,

they are choking my neck, 

daring me to say another word

I used to view the world in paragraphs, now

the world is a circulation of disrupted sentences, 

half-finished thoughts and half-eaten lunch conversations

in trains that cannot wait to get to the stop and the next stop and the next stop

So, I am thirty years old

I am surrounded by pen and paper 

that are colorful, eager and ready to be filled with stories

stories that no one will ever ready but me

Sometimes we need to write bad poems 

sometimes we need to write bad stories

maybe 17 year old me had it right

maybe these pen and paper is for thirty year old me afterall

Update as a 30 year old.

Turns out I made this space a space for poetry and my somberness, a place where my feelings come to die. I only left clues and riddles as what I am up to and sometimes I can't even remember what has gone on in my real life because I refuse to talk about it.

I cannot tell if this is because I refuse to talk about it or it's because I have a human outlet - Athena. It's much more difficult to feel loved when they are far away. Thank god for faith because without it, I would not be able to feel like I am capable of being loved the way that I am loved.

I still love to be here to write about my feelings and why I feel that way. I just needed practice to be as transparent as possible because I don't seem to have the space to be allowed to express my true thoughts on things anymore because when you turn 30, there are consequences and fallout that is really not worth honesty. 

So, I will just be on here to feel 17 again because I started this blog when I was feeling scared and there was nothing and no one else to allow me to talk the way I can talk here. Here, I learn how to capitalize my name and "I" because I remember reading somewhere that criticized people for capitalizing themselves because how dare they value themselves and it was arrogant. Here I learn that my own thoughts were valuable and it shaped my values and my sense of self. There is no place safer than the space you create for yourself. 

I feel honored to still have this space and to have entries from my teenage years right straight into all the challenges I have had throughout adulthood like breakups and jobs. I might want to maintain it a little bit more because this beats writing with my own hands even thought I do feel like these two outlets serve different purposes even if I have no idea what they are yet.

Things I know to be true:

1. I am much more comfortable with the unknown, much more comfortable being in the passenger seat and taking it as it comes by.

2. I turn out fine when people leave. I am able to create a life without them, a routine where they are not a part of,  an episode in the same season where the recurring character is suddenly gone. 

3. I do not beg for people to stay anymore. I will reach a point where I decide their chance for any reconciliation is over. 

4. My heart is getting tired from all these loving and betrayals. The locks seem to be getting more complicated with each break-in. 

5. I still love the same favorite food as I did a decade ago. I seem to hold on to these things a little tighter than I did last time. 

6. I look for routine and the mundane now. Everything that has happened in the past 365 days has ruined the word "excitement" for me and I just want to be left alone now.

7. While I remain a proud pessimist, I am open to the idea of "the best case scenario" and stopped looking for things to go wrong if it is not a life and death situation.

8. I still want a drum set badly. Except now, I am no longer sure if I will make time to play it because I no longer has the time or at least the space to not be interrupted.

9. I just want to be held by Athena and fall asleep.

10. I just want a period of time where I am allowed to just cry and cry about my feelings becasue I feel oh so exhasuted. 

Dreamer

I never fit the label of a dreamer

Never saw clouds as equals

and birds as neighbours

I see myself reading on a porch

in weather where leaves fall gently

and sunlight feel like a soft caress on the cheek

The rain soothes me with it pitter-patter on all surfaces

I clipped off my wings long before

the storms decided to make me one of them

The storms, they do not scare me.

I need not be greater than them

I am not one of those who want to rise above the clouds

I do not need to be in the sky to see that it's beautiful

I can see it from where I am

I am seated on carpets of moss, juice in hand and book in another

I can see the sky from here

It is pink and orange

I never fit the label of a dreamer but

if I ever dare to dream again,

this would be my dream.

Nostalgic for the wrong things

I hold on to the simplest things in my life: the ice skating ticket with my first love, the boarding pass for my last flight home because I was moving back for good, the type of pen I use when I write in my diary, and my bracelet previous hospital stay for dengue. Somehow a part of me was afraid that if I had no memory of these things, it has never happened. 

I am too sentimental for my good, too sensitive to ignore what I read in between the lines, and too nostalgic for people and feelings that have passed. If I could tuck all these feelings into boxes and revisit them, I would. At least I know where they are and it would be up to me to decide when I want to feel these feelings. 

I hold on to personal rituals and stay loyal to rules that I made up for myself like I must write my diary with that pen. Nothing would change if I changed the pen but somehow, changing anything would feel like I am betraying the girl that needed to write because there was no one else. I am slowly asking myself for permission to change things up so that I can write better. 

I feel so much better than when I was 20. I can say I feel happier but I still sometimes miss trying to figure things out by writing. There's very little to write about when you are sure about something. You don't have paradoxes or contradictions. Can't turn facts into poems cause they are boring.

I feel changed and I feel myself embracing the new more. Maybe I'll develop a new way to write. I haven't figured it out yet. My current struggle and challenges are that I need to recreate the safe space that my 17-year-old was very good at doing. 

Like my therapist said, I am no longer in danger and I don't need to have that instinct to keep myself safe and be on high alert. So, that's just something entirely new to me since being on high alert is the only thing I know for the past decade. 

I'm excited for the change. I think I'll be okay. I wanted this piece to be a bit more sad but frankly, I don't feel as sad and it's different. Guess we will find out.

Love with anxiety

My love, 

My heart is racing, 

I feel like I must prepare myself because

ready, set, go and I can't catch up to you again.

My anxiety grips hold on me like a long lost friend.

It has caught hold of my wrist and is now twisting me into its hollow arms.

Dread fills me up like a ditch during rain season.

Each attempted crawl up only seems to sink me deeper until 

all that is left of me are scratch marks on the walls and gargled breathing.

My love,

Slow dance with me.

Hold me close until I hear the beating of your heart in your chest

Hold me close until your hand leaves an imprint on my waist

Breathe with me while we dance to nothing or your favorite song

Twirl me around and pull me back into you

Let me breathe in your perfume and revel in the joy of your laughter

Tell me you love me

Run your fingers through my hair and stroke my cheek

Tell me you love me

Interlace your fingers with mine and kiss me

Tell me you love me

Take me into your arms and lay down with me

Tell me you love me

Wrap your arms around me and calm my pounding heart

Whisper to me you love me

Show me you love me

J

You couldn't find anything about you in my life
No pictures on the wall, no old pair of shoes,

no old bedroom, no obituaries

No one could tell that you used to put your clothes above mine,

hung your towel next to mine, 

or that you kissed me after every picture.

I took a stroll in the garden today

My flowers were blooming, tomatoes are growing

I could still see you sitting next to it,

trimming the leaves and pulling petals off wild lilies,

"I love you, I love you not".

Then, you'd kiss me and laugh at how the wind messed up out hair.

I'd fall straight into those eyes that resemble sunsets

When I sleep at night, 

I close my eyes and let myself feel hollow.

I sleep in the middle now,

empty spaces covered by pillows and blankets. 

You couldn't tell that you used to fall asleep with your palm on my cheek,

lips close to my forehead

my arm draped over your body.

I write in my journal a lot. 

I document almost every pain and every joy because

one foot after the other in front.

There is an empty gap between dates unaccounted for now,

no words, no name but yet,

the empty pages sound louder than it should. 

When you left, 

I left your toothbrush in the cup, maybe if it stayed long enough, 

you'd still come back. 

When you made yourself comfortable at my place, 

you would take cold showers and plant yourself on top of me.

Your towel was still folded and tucked away just in case.

Just in case you changed your mind,

and I would be ready. 

I stopped talking about you after 3 months,

it was as if you disappeared.

When people asked, 

I said I was busy,

building a strong body, a career, a life for myself.

busy, 

looking past shadows that looked like you

ignoring perfume that smells like you

running right through restaurants, malls and places that remind me of you.

I am a smothered forest fire site,

my limbs, scorched marks and sooty smoke

you couldn't figure out the end of the place if you tried

You were long gone, 

took the bridge with you and set me ablaze

It felt like I haven't been breathing anyway

what else could I do except to sit here and rebuild?

April's first weeks are just not good to me

 She told me that she doesn't know if she still loves me. 

I don't know what else I can do to have people be sure of me. I feel defeated. I'm not sobbing my heart out but I just kind of sit here and listen to Paravi's version of Cloud 9 because that was the song that made me think of her a lot and it made me happy. 

I'm just heartbroken. 

It's different to feel heartbreak at 28 than at 22. It's a lot more heavier at 28. Less loud, less pleading, less begging, less bargaining. I just sort of put the broken part down, sit next to it and mourn. I mean what else can I do except to cry and kiss it good bye. 

Now I can't listen to the song without hearing my own heart break.

I really tried. 

Beach waves and filters

I saw my life, slow motion, and red-blue filters
Slow kisses and slow dances
Crashing beach waves and salty wind that tangles your hair

I went from walking next to you at the beach
to trying to follow your footprints
Then, my world turned grey as the skies darkened

I hear the wind howling, waves trying to drag me into the sea
You were on the shore, body facing me but head turned away
The storm drowned out me shouting for you, I wished it drowned me

Then the storm went away, left me choking on seawater on the shore
I knew you were long gone, the waves have washed away your footprints
So, I wandered in the same direction where you left

I still looked for you, sometimes in the beach houses or under a tree
I learned to build my own sandcastles or try to enjoy being at the beach
I looked at every face that resembled yours

I got a different filter now, everything is tinted orange
The beach looks brighter, the sun even brighter
I don't know if I am happy, it's hard to tell with this color

One day, I saw footprints again, exactly what yours were like
It took everything in me to not sit there and just miss you
How it felt miserable and wonderful to do so

I can't say I am happy, I no longer feel a purpose
I wait to hear your voice every year, that's why I allow myself to miss you
I realized when I did,  I can see in that red-blue filter again