20 seconds of insane courage.

They say sometimes it takes only twenty seconds of insane courage to do something outrageous. It takes 10 seconds for you to change your life. You could turn your life around or make a step so big that it's a leap. You could save someone's life or take your own. In April, I gave you my heart. It took me one second to make that leap. It took me one second of insane courage and loss of all common sense to kiss you.

Questions that I want to ask you but never will.

There are so many questions that I want to ask when you told me you were meeting him.

Do you think of me when you hold his hand?
Is mine smaller than his?
Does he know or remember how your skin is smooth like marble,
as if the marble itself were hand picked by Gods himself.
Does his hand feel any different than mine?
Does his feel rough like all the work that he says he is supposedly doing
or is mine rougher from all walls that I had to climb through to get to you.
Does it feel like you're holding onto him or
does it feel like he doesn't want to let you go?
Does he look at your hands when you're holding his?
Does he hold onto your hands so tightly
that he feels like you might slip away and never come back?
Does he feel as lucky as I do when I am with you?

Then, I realize that you always hug him.
Does he smell of cologne?
Do you feel like your problems are fading away when you bury yourself in his arms?
Do you remember me?
Do you ever compare the way we held you?
Was I ever too tight? Or too eager? Were my shoulders broad enough for you?
Am I at the back of your head as he wraps his arms around you?
Does he ever realize when you are slipping away?
I remember, the way you turn your head sidewards
while you put your hands against my chest to pull away.
I remember how your eyes were dead.
I remember how you talked to everything around you but me,
and I had to play it off like I didn't mind.
Does he try to make any hug last longer? Does he try like I do?
Does he feel as happy when he is with you as I do?

And you cautiously told me that you kiss him.
Do you look at him the way you look at me?
Does he notice how your eyes can sparkle in low light?
Does he notice how you laugh when he pulls you in for another kiss?
Do you remember me when his lips grazed across yours?
Kissing you felt like kissing flower petals.
I wonder if you ever felt the exact way for him before you did for me.
Do you look at him the way you still looked at me?
Does it feel wrong to kiss two people the way that you do?

And when you told me, you still tell him that you love him..
Shit, that sucked.
It really did.
I felt that my chest was ripped open, my heart taken out,
only to have it shoved back in through my ribcage.
Do you tell him those three words before you go to sleep?
Does he say it back?
Do you mean it when you say it to him?
Do you think of me every time you say it to him?
You have deemed him worthy of those words.
Was I not enough to be more than a secret?
Do you think about the last time that you will say it to him?
What about me?
Have you ever meant it when you told me you love me?

Autumns and him.

I have never met you.
When I think of you,
I think of autumn,
breezy afternoons and chilly winds.

I was told that autumn can be quite cold
and somehow,
I can imagine us taking a walk in the park.
Hand in hand,
fingers interlocked.
I don't know how cold I'd be but
in this imagination of mine,
your hands were warm.

In my mind,
we were wearing scarfs of the same color.
In my mind,
 we are walking hand in hand in the same park.

Crazy.

I don't know what's going on in my head. I have been feeling so much rage. I feel like I might explode. If it's not rage, I want to die. The smallest things make me explode. I am in between the scale of not caring and caring. When I care, I am aware of how mad I get when things don't go accordingly.

The problem is, I have noticed that I have been losing my temper more and more over the weeks. This is evident with my relationship. I yell and shout. Now that I am level-headed, I am so scared of what I might be capable of when I am in the middle of a rage because I have seen what I can do in my head. Given that situation, I really really do not care if I killed them. The phrase "killed someone in a rage" is true. I am scared.

Something is wrong with me. I knew that before but right now, something is seriously wrong with me. When I get mad now, I fly into a rage almost always. This hasn't happened before. Yes, I become unreasonable but I was never anywhere close to this kind of rage. The worst part is that my logical part says "Look, this is a reasonable situation, there's no need to be mad" but the emotional part doesn't listen to it. I just get angrier and angrier. I feel it grow inside of me but I have no control over it.

I feel scared because I don't know what is going on with me. I feel scared because I don't want to end up hurting someone I love.

Rage

Sometimes I feel it bubbling inside of me,
like a ticking bomb, a land mine.
A slight pressure, at the right time, wrong time,
Boom.
Casualties everywhere.
You know what's the worse part,
I don't care.

I could snap your neck,
stab you in the chest,
rip out your throat,
break your arms,
crush your legs.
I could cause you so much pain,
look you in the eye,
and not feel a thing.

Remembering when I was 22.

It scares me that I might not be able to remember what I am feeling now when I am 80. Right now, I am sitting listening to the cheesy songs about dancing under trees. Right now, I am undeniably in love. Right now, she is my everything and I would give up a lot if it meant that I could get a proper chance with her. Right now, I love her with everything that I have.

Enormous Idiot.

I am an enormous idiot. I knew I would love your hands as they trace my jawline, my lips and then, then the scars that cover so many areas of my body. I knew I would love your lips as they kissed bruised knuckles and tear stained faces with no judgement. I knew I would love those eyes as they look at me with such conviction to prove that I am worthy enough to be happy in this life. I knew I would fall in love with you.

So, if falling in love with you makes me an idiot, then I am an enormous idiot.

Christmas Tree.

When I first met her, she was pretty, like Christmas ornaments that you see in November. They make you gasp in adoration and you wonder if you ever need them for your tree. Then you just shrug it off because it’s November, it’s too soon for Christmas.

When I first talked to her, it was like realizing the exact amount of red and green your Christmas tree needs to have. It was exciting and for the first time in a long time, I found what I needed in her. Slowly, her smile, her laugh, and her voice – those became the fairy lights that are later hung on to the Christmas tree.

She was the perfect Christmas tree that I found in November.

How do you know you're in love.

How do you know you're in love with them (or anyone in general):
There they go. As flawless as they can be. Everything about them makes you smile like a kid at the carnival for the first time. You can't blame yourself because you're in love with them. How in the world did you end up here? You feel like everything in your life has happened and aligned so that you could be at this place to meet them. They were everything you wanted and needed. You are happy after a very long time.

When you hold their hand for the first time, their hands feel like the right temperature, the right size. Waves of excitement and joy rush over you and drags you under. Then, you found out that you can breathe underwater. What joy! This is the most amazing feeling ever. The first kiss. The first time you went on a date. The first phone call. The first sleepover. You will feel invincible, like nothing can kill you. You were on top of the world. It doesn't matter if someone came and knock you down. With them, you could just climb up again, no biggie.

She is like a forest on a hazy night.

She is like a forest on a hazy night, the one that makes you question the existence of werewolves. Thick layers of moss cover tree trunks and rocks. It makes you wonder if moss turned into slime on nights like these. Sheets and sheets of mist and haze makes everything within five feet hard to see. You make out shapes and forms of the animals that lurk in the darkness but your vision might be mistaken. Her secrets were like these animals. You thought you knew them but you might be wrong. Sometimes you pay the price for being wrong.

Why do I want to live?

Every time I want to kill myself, I'd look for five reasons to not do it. I didn't want my reason to be friends, family and a bright future. I was stubborn. I wanted good reasons, reasons that will only impact my life to show that there is something to live for. For those who wonders, I try. Everything on my list is never repeated.

Once, the taste of a good juicy burger was among the five. Another time, being able to breathe in fresh air and taste the molecules at six in the morning was one. Some days I stop at three, after "I get to feel the texture of flower petals". There were not enough reasons left. Then, I let myself fall into the trap of a bad habit, which is a story for another day. Some days, I couldn't get past two. I didn't know if getting out of bed counted as one reason. I wanted to give up. I was tired.

Then, you turned up, all smiles and green contact lenses. Five months later, I asked myself, "why do I want to live?" One, you. You are everything. You are sunsets and sunrises, morning dew and night mists. You are the cold side of a pillow and a hot bowl of soup on a rainy day. You are the smell of grass after the rain and the song I sing in the shower. You are the heart that I draw on foggy windows and the red dragonfly I saw once outside a church. You are everything at once.

I still want to kill myself sometimes but since then, my list has never changed.

Cyan.

You were green.
I was blue.
I tried to be the color of your skies.
I painted landscapes with you.

You seeped through my veins,
and I now, a body of blue and cyan,
I changed and I didn't mind,
I thought you didn't mind too.

Eyelashes.

I have a problem these days. I realize I have a hard time writing. I used to be able to write about the difference between black and white, justifications on why I should eat more french fries. Now, when I write, I write about you.

My pen glides across the paper, trying commemorate everything that I could about you. For example, my favorite feature of yours is your eyebrows. I find them adorable. Whenever you look down, I like taking a peep at you because your eyelashes will be so obvious then. Unlike most, you don't need mascara to make them "stand". They do that on their own. I will be smiling to myself when you don't notice and you'll give me a "what" look.

Stars, parks and possibilities.

I want to watch the stars with you. I want to lie on top of a cheap blanket, in a park with you. We can complain about the amount of bugs that will be feasting on our very limited but tasty blood. We can also get annoyed at the possibly wet and prickly grass underneath the cheap blanket. Then, I know we'd probably agree unanimously that we'll never do that again.

However, in spite of how much we suffered, I think we'll keep going back to that spot to look at stars. We'll be smart. This time, the blankets will be around us. We'll probably be on a bench, with a blanket to keep us warm and protected, under a blanket of stars, The funny thing is that I'll probably be the one to plan this and it'll either be adorably romantic or horribly miscalculated.

Either way, I'll still want to watch the stars with you. If you'd let me, we could forget the stars for while.

To be wrong

I want to write about how you made the anxiety in my bones still. I want to write about the way the side of your eyes crinkle when you give me a mischievous smile. I want to climb on to the tallest mountains, just to scream "I love you" in to the clouds. I want to tell the world that loving someone can change so much of what you were so sure about.

Before I met you, I was so sure that the most annoying accent in the world is the mandarin accent when English is spoken. With that accent, came the complimentary broken English. I was so sure that I didn't like it. Of course, like I said, it was before I met you. Now your voice is my comfort. Your words became the Big Dipper that guides my way home when I get lost. I was so sure and then, I was wrong. And boy, I have never been this happy to be wrong.

Coffee, cakes and secrets.

I told a stranger about you today. I told her that I love someone, that I am in love with someone. We were standing in line in a coffee shop. She was nice and she looked very comfortable with that fuzzy jacket on. It was completely absurd that I was in that shop because I did not like coffee. I just wanted cake. Well, we both wanted cake. So, I went in to get cake and she was there.

She asked if I liked coffee. Obviously, my answer would be a no. Then, I told her that I have a friend who likes to try out different cakes from different shops. I knew I said "friend" but the thought of you, no matter what the title is, made me smile. I gushed that you didn't care what cake it was, it just had to be good. My mind was full of nothing but you. Cake didn't matter for a while.

I told her how you always forget that you're not alone in movie theatres. You would sit up in surprise during plot twists, with gasps so loud that people would turn to look at you. I didn't care. I held your hands and laughed while trying to get you to remember that we are among others. I told her that you think flower bouquets are a waste of money. Your ex-girlfriend got you flowers as an apology. Later, you found out that she was actually cheating on you so the flowers meant nothing. I didn't tell her that though.

I think I was whispering to myself when I talked about flowers. She smiled and asked, "Does she know?" I chuckled and nodded. A little too fast, I supposed. "You said "friend". What's stopping you?" she asked again, this time brows furrowing.

I felt my smile falter as I shrugged, "I am nothing more than another secret for her to keep."

To be loved.

When I was younger, I was a ball of anger, fury and pain. I went through old diaries and journals. It spoke of nothing but pain and my love for other people. I think I didn't know how to love myself so I just ended up giving away every piece of myself even to people who don't deserve it. It sounds cliche but it is cliche for a reason. It happens.

I wanted to be loved but I refused to give anyone the permission to love me. That made a lot of things harder. In spite of that, I know now, that I just wanted to be loved so fiercely that I have no way of doubting it. That is how I loved people. You can never doubt I love you. You will be that sure of me.

I'd give myself a hug. I think that's all I wanted, really. I wanted someone to hug me and stay there for 15 minutes. I wanted to be loved.

You don't have to love me back.

I know it's exhausting for you, to deal with someone's love for you, especially when you don't want it or can't return it. I understand. You watch your words to keep how you feel unknown. You keep your wall up so you don't feel too much. You have always been a master at changing the topic to another completely different train of thought.

When I said I love you, you didn't say it back.I said it six times more on different occasions. Not once. Not once you acknowledged it. I'm sorry if it's unwanted. I didn't know. Well, I guess I did. I just didn't want to believe it. You've always said that we should be better off as friends. I don't think I know if I can be your friend. I love you. I have trouble finding the right way to explain what I feel. Then, I concluded that no combination of 26 alphabets can summed up to the way I feel about you.

I can't explain why I feel sad because "because I love you" would be a weird answer. I guess, "you can't be mine" would suffice. I'll remember the way you look at me. I remember how your lips curl up in response when we kiss. I'll remember how your skin feels. I promise I won't forget you. I understand now. I love you. You don't have to love me back.I won't force you to reciprocate what you can't.

\

Who was ever lucky enough to be loved in exactly the way they wanted? - Carmilla Karnstein

I love you.

Those three words are said too much,
they're not enough.
They became merely words,
with no promises, no hope, empty.

Then,
there was you.
I'd regret it if I didn't tell you that enough.

A letter to a man who will never ever read this letter.

Dear you,

I went to your wedding last week.
I was sitting in the 5th row from the front, on the bride's side.
I was seated between a woman in red who smells strongly and solely of expensive perfume
and an old man who smells of baby powder and hazy summers.
I was in dark blue dress because I was hoping not to stand out so much.
I think it worked because I don't think anyone knew me there.

I saw the way you looked when the wedding march came on.
Your shoulders tensed when you heard people gasping at her.
You pursed your lips in hopes of calming your nerves.
I get it, it's your big day.
She looked so beautiful.
I promise you, you looked good, don't worry.
You couldn't see the way she gripped on her father's arm.
She was nervous too. She looked like she would fall if
her father wasn't holding her up
but her eyes never left you.

When you turned around to look at her,
I was happy for you.
Your eyes were soft and you smiled a smile that was only meant for her.
I saw the way you held her hand like
it was the most fragile, most precious thing you've ever held.
Your eyes never left hers, hers never left yours either.
For a moment there, you were in your own world,
you forgot we were there.
Then, you were brought back to reality
when that photographer with the big flash tried to take a picture.

She had this face when you were exchanging vows.
I've seen that a few times.
The first time I saw that face was on the night when she first came to visit me.
I don't remember the last time she was that happy,
I guess that would be when she got married to you.
I hope you get to see her like that a lot.

You might be wondering why I am writing you this letter,
this letter that you will never read.
I am writing this because I hope you'll love her.
I hope you'll love her in every possible way a person can be loved.

I hope you fall in love with her eyes.
because they say the eyes are the only things that don't age.
I hope you fall in love with the way her skin feels,
the way she curls up against you when she sleeps.
I hope you fall in love with her laugh,
the way she smells without perfume.
I hope you fall in love with the way her arms wrap around you,
I hope that you'll always hug her back.

I hope your love for her consumes you.
I hope it scares you and it makes you wonder if you are ever good enough.
I hope you'll want to change for the better, for her.
I hope you'll want her to be proud of you.
I hope you'll take care of her.

You were given a chance to live your life with her.
I hope you cherish it because the only difference between you and me right now
is that she didn't choose me.

I can't say I'm in love with you.

I can't say that I'm in love with you
but when I close my eyes,
I imagine you lying next to me,
smelling of fresh laundry and sleep.
The monsters under my bed left me alone when you're there.
They know that you'll save me from
what scares me the most
and why bother, they said.
I wasn't the most superstitious person but after that night,
I called you my dreamcatcher.
If my prayers for miracles could not save me at night,
surely it could not be a coincidence
that your presence chases away what make me stop breathing at night.

Then,
those eyes, god, those eyes.
I forget my own name when I stare into them.
Sometimes, I even forget to breathe,
I wasn't "conscious" when you demanded for my attention.
I snapped back into reality in such a hurry,
suddenly aware of the clanging trays and impatient finger snapping from customers.
You said something about what to do next,
then I lost track of what you were saying
because, those eyes, your eyes..

I really can't say that I'm in love with you
but the idea of someone else holding you hand
makes me feel like the world is going to end.

I can't say that I'm in love with you
but I refuse, refuse...
It had to be you,
I want it to be you.

Bathrooms.

At 14, I was sitting in showers crying my eyes out while rivers of red were pouring from my wrists.

At 18, I was in the same spot in the bathroom. This time, passed out in a pool of my own tears and blood, from the same stream of red.

At 21, I remember how to take showers and sing. The walls no longer represent solitude.

At a week before I turn 22, these walls are no longer cages for secrets. 

Still wants.

I would like to think that I could be happy.
I would like to believe, to see, to be,
To be happy.

I would love to think that pain does not hold me hostage
but every time,
I try to take a step forward with happiness,
Pain shuts the barred windows and doors,
Trapping me in this vortex of what is eventually called depression.

I am trying, I swear.
For you, I'd try to scale the Empire State Building, despite my fear of heights.
No one explains how hard it is for you to explain yourself to others
Especially when you're in situations that they have yet to experienced.
I don't know how to explain my depression to you.
I don't know how to explain my pain.
I guess I cannot blame you for asking.
Like the others, I think you cared.

I still want to think that I can be happy.
I still want to believe that I'll wake up to a day with clear skies.
I don't know how to do all of this life thing
but I promise you,
I would want to be happy.

I still do.

Birthdays.

There's a reason why I love birthdays. It is another beginning, another point of life where you are reminded that you have another chance. I will celebrate your birthdays, I will be happy for you that you have another chance at everything in life. I will be happy that you are still alive, even if there are days where you wish you weren't.

For someone who suffers from depression, I am sure optimistic about having hope especially when it is about someone else.

Atlas and His Punishment.

When the Titans lost their war against the Olympians,
Atlas was condemned by Zeus to bear heaven's weight on his shoulders.
His punishment was a series of cramping wrists and stuttering kneecaps,
shaking arms and shoulders that bent over like all the apologies in the world.
No amount of suffering or prayers will ever earn him
the forgiveness of the supreme ruler of the gods.
I guess it's understandable that he suffers.
It is retribution for going against the most powerful god of all.

When I am curled up in my own bed, I often ask myself
if any of my wrongdoings has resulted in this form of punishment.
The weight of the day greeted my waking body like the aftermath of a hurricane.
My shoulders mirror the act of Atlas balancing the heavens,
except the heavens replaced by my anxiety and my desperate need to be good enough.
My arms cramped from the way I wrapped them around myself.
I bite my teeth down so hard that I was made believe that
my voice was never meant to be heard.
I broke and crumbled, without falling down.

Perhaps I am the daughter of Atlas, reincarnated
over the centuries to share the burden of what was once my father's punishment.
Perhaps my pain will act as the head of a decapitated prisoner, stuck on a pole
high up, as a warning to those who might stray.

Then,
Perhaps I am Atlas himself, wiped clean off all memories of the past,
with only the loud echos of never ending pain,
as a faint reminder of doing what I thought was right.

To those who un-intelligently refuse to understand depression.

The most frustrating part about having depression is when everything is going right, like absolutely everything is in your favor, you still feel your chest caving, you still want to die. When you explain it to other people who don't understand depression, they will tell you to stop thinking so much or to do something to take your mind off it.

They don't understand it. I am not thinking about anything. It could just be the beginning of the day. I would have literally just opened my eyes at the sound of my alarm. The feeling of a black hole in my chest will be there. There is no reason for it. Depression has triggers but at most times, they don't have a reason to be there. It's there and there's really nothing to do about it.

Then, to the "do something to take your mind off it", I can't. Like I've said, it's there. I could be sitting in bed, playing Pokemon or eating my lunch at a five star restaurant. I will still feel that cyclone of weariness and hopeless. It is there without needing you to acknowledging its presence. You just wake up with the hollow emptiness in your chest and the dread of the possibilities of the rest of the day.

I have woken up at times, unable to get out of bed because my body hurts. It is not the physical pain that immobilized me. I want to slit my wrists and bleed to death. I want to jump in front of a moving car and get run over. I want to feel pills going down my throat. I genuinely want to die. Now imagine someone's fist being shoved into your chest, then they continue to squirm around, twisting and turning. The place where your heart is supposed to be is replaced with a hurricane of pain, hopelessness and emptiness. You feel the blood draining from your face, your fingers, basically your whole body. You are left there, numb. You can hear the hum of silence in the air echoing in your room. You can almost hear the rise of fall of your chest as you breathe. With that, your brain just amplifies the feeling of sadness and hopelessness. You basically lose whenever you try fight with this.

So, to those who dismisses depression as an excuse for anything, fuck you. I woke up, got out of bed and went through life with ALL OF THOSE going on with me. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You can go fuck yourselves.

We are fighters. We fight for our own lives. We fight to be alive.

Stuck Pt 1.

Have you ever been stuck?

Stuck? A couple of times. 

In potholes. 

In my car. 

Outside my house. 

Yeah, plenty.

So, to you,

being stuck is being physically restrained,

confined in a space that you can't get out of?

Being stopped from going where you are meant to be heading?

Well, that's one definition of being stuck.

What about you?

What is your experience of being stuck?

I have times where I try to stop thinking about something,

somehow it looped itself in my head 

and it ends up being the only thing I think about.

Then, there were days where I would drive aimlessly around the city.

Somehow, I would end up in odd places that still has fragments of what used to be.

Sometimes I would convince myself that I was okay.

I'll explore new places, new adventures, a whole different routine.

Sometimes it doesn't matter how hard I try because

it only takes something simple like the way someone's thumb looks like,

a phrase that was used,

It only takes very little for me to feel like 

I was back to the place that I try very hard to leave.

I think it's good that you try.

It means you stand a chance of getting out.

Getting out of anywhere is a hard thing to do.

So, I think it matters that you try very hard.

You know what is the worst part?

Being stuck feels infinite.

It's like you are blindfolded

and you are shortsighted.

All you can see are glimpses of what's in front of you

through the thin fabric of the blindfold.

And with your shortsightedness,

you are unable to even see what is before you,

let alone anything else beyond that.

And because of that, 

you're unable to get out

or get to anywhere else for that matter.

Reflection for my lack of writing

I will explain my lack of writing as a lack of things to say. However, I think I do have loads to say, I just lost my voice for a while.

My brain has been too numb to properly organized memories and mental notes made. For a long time, I have felt like a jumbled up, confused mush. Somehow, I have refused to put myself back in order. I really don't know why. There are so many things about myself that still confuses me on an extreme level.

I felt like I have grown and I have changed. I have yet to see it manifest yet but I feel the difference, I think that's what matters at this point. I have nothing to prove, at least not to anyone. I think as long as I know what I am doing things for and where I am going, I will be okay.