Moments.

I crave the nights where it's just me and a bottle, or in some cases, bottles. I love how the bitterness of beer silenced the loud voices in my head, shocking me into the moment of then. I love how the cold surface of beer bottles cause water droplets to condense. My fingers will trace the patterns etched on the glass bottle and I will feel the temperature difference between the cold glass and the warm breeze. Sometimes I'd wipe the bottles dry, sometimes I'd just let them be. It'd be bottle after bottle after bottle, a private competition with myself. How many till my brain gives out?

I crave the nights where I am able to breathe out the pain along with cigarette smoke. There is something calming about having a cigarette between my left forefinger and middle finger. I'd be able to feel the heat emitting from the lit cigarette bud. I'd flick off the burnt ends of the bud, exposing the still-burning tobacco insides. I would just sit there and watch it burn sometimes. There is some comfort in the smell of cigarette smoke when I am down. Watching the cigarette turn into ash and watching the smoke disintegrating into the air instilled a kind of serenity in me.  It's a familiar sense of pain and a comfortable kind of numbness.

I crave the nights where it's quiet. Quiet, in a sense where it's peaceful, silent, simply quiet. The only sounds in that moment are either cars speeding past or the wind. I'd usually be leaning on the wall or hunched down by the steps on the sidewalk. I'd do nothing else but breathe. It is only in times like these that I let my desperation to survive take over. I would inhale long drags of cigarettes, chug down half a bottle of beer to fill up the void that I feel somewhere to the left side of my chest. I would feel the complete weight of my depression. However, I know that I wouldn't want company. All I would want to do is to close my eyes and exhale.

In moments like these, I would feel completely and utterly alone. But then again, I would be lying if I said that I didn't want to feel like that.

Day 4 of 30 challenge: What is true love?

True love. It is very subjective for everyone. This is my version.

True, to me, is genuine and real. Love, well, it's complicated but yeah..

Love is when you know that they will mess up and you will be mad but you will get over it. It is knowing what they like to eat and knowing what they look like when they eat. It is telling them to pick their clothes off the floor over and over again, knowing that they won’t and you still do it everyday. It is being able to shout their name from the living room to the bedroom to get something for you. It is texting “I am home” when you get home at 2am. It is not wanting someone to go through something horrible alone. It is never wanting anything to hurt someone even though you know it is not the reality but still wishing for it. It is being mad at someone but not mad enough to want them to go away forever. It is wanting to show them off to the world even though they are only valuable to you. It is kissing them when they are sick. It is trying your best to make a personal present everytime it’s their birthday. It is insulting each other but never taking to heart. It is when you know you’re coming back after a goodbye.

Love is pictures on the wall and late night poems, your last 8 bucks spent on a ride to go to them. It is waiting at transits while the other prays that the plane is not hijacked. Love is staying at the door to wave goodbye and running in full speed with the doorbell rings. It is shouting at 1am because of mortgages and still waking up next to the other the next morning. Love is staying even though all you want to do is run. It is raised voices and hushed but sincere apologies. Love is making someone climb mountains so that you can show them what you find magical. It is laughing at them when they fall down while helping them up. Love is everything that the other sees about you and tries to tell you how fascinating you are. It is them loving all the parts that you hate about yourself and them kissing the scars that you left.

FINISHED - Challenge Day 8: Write: a love poem … for a non traditional item or person

This is a poem for my bed.

I have spent most nights, most afternoons and all morning
huddled in a mountain of pillows and blankets.
Sometimes I hide under the blankets, pretending to be a hiker,
hiding from the cold on Mount Everest.
Sometimes I pretend I'm in a small cave while under this fluffy fort that I made,
hiding from the rest of the world, half convinced that
if I never left, I will be fine.

My three pillows became my fortress from the dark,
my blanket became my invisibility cloak that shield me from reality.
Wobbly, a birthday present when I was 10,
was my loyal friend.
He, yes, it's a he, he loved me
even when I was all snot and tears.
My bed is a place where I made sense of things,
where I pour our my feelings, staining the whole room with it's darkness.
It is where therapy is sleeping and waking up is another chance to change things.
My bed is where I laughed at the most ridiculous jokes,
and come up with most of my paradoxes.

Home was far away, it was out there and out of reach,
I was sad, it wasn't easy being so far away.
Pillows, that have collected most of my tears and dreams during sleepless nights,
became a place where I rest my head when I give in to my thoughts.
Blankets that have so often imitated the arms of a protective lover,
mastered the art of being there and never letting go.
In my loneliness, they have given me comfort and peace
when there were nothing but storms in my head.
Wobbly, in these silent moments, has given me strength
and hope when all seemed lost.
My bed is the island where I sought help, where solitude was happiness
silence became another genre of music as my bed slowly became home.

Every time when I am exhausted, wounded or overjoyed,
I come back to this nest that I build, in which
I have slowly start to accept, as home.

On leaving your place and people you call home.

Three nights ago,
I cried myself to sleep.
I was home, in bed.
Knowing that I am leaving, home.
You'd think that
you'd get used to the goodbyes to your family,
friends, home.
You'd think that all the loneliness will fade
and you'd be accustomed to being alone, by now.

However,
I don't think that people,
I, can get used to leaving
the people I love behind.

Then, I cried myself to sleep
the next night after the first.
My dreams were messy,
there was running and no ends.
No goals, no finish line,
I was running from something but
I don't know what.

I didn't cry
the night before I left.
I didn't feel anything, I was
smiling.
I guess, I malfunctioned.

I cried when I was on the plane.
I hyperventilated to stop, it worked pretty well.
My best friend said that she misses me already.
Then, I thought about the last few times that
we hung out.
I remember feeling complete.
I remember being safe.
I remember being home.
I remember looking at her, and just laughing
because she made a look.
I miss her again and maybe, more
when I think about it.
I cried harder.

I reached my dorm.
I remember that
I won't hear my little brother run up the stairs.
I can't hear my brother singing in the shower.
I can't call my best friend to go out.
The jiggle of keys, the way the place smells.
The sound of water pumping and the way my bed feels.
It's familiar but
it's not home.
I sat up from my bed and
I cried.

Dreaming of home.

I have been in my room for the whole day
I didn't want to talk to anyone.
I din't want anyone to see my existence,
at least I want to forget that I exist, for a while
Then, I fell asleep
I was home,
I smell the sea, I smell..
Dinner
I saw my family,
my brothers were asleep, with the youngest
being only three
It was peaceful, it was right
Dinner smelled amazing,
it's like I can taste it
It's exactly how it should taste.

I saw my grandma,
I didn't realize how much I've missed her
I miss her food and her constant worrying
I miss having real dinners
I miss my family
Somehow, being where I am now,
I forgot what everything feels like back home
It's like I was never there
And everything was just my imagination
Whereas for things to feel real,
it can only be relived in my dreams

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Maybe because it's 4:16 am.
Maybe because I'm sentimental right now.
Maybe because I miss you.
Maybe because I'm feeling rather lonely right now.
Maybe be cause having you around makes me feel better.
Maybe because it's easier to talk to you.
Maybe because I miss home.
Maybe cause I just miss you.

\

When I see your picture, I know I can stare at it and be happy forever. I remember that moment when that picture was taken. I remember what we did, what we said, what we laughed at. I remember looking you and shaking my head, thinking that I am so lucky to have found another person who is as retarded as me. I remember where this was taken and where we're heading after that. I remember you, you were smiling and it was very beautiful to see that because you were upset during the week. I remember being very happy because everything was just like the beginning. I remember hugging you and you hugging back and then, we laughed because we felt like it. I remember laughing even harder when we saw the outcome of the rest of the pictures and we sat there deciding which are the best ones.

They say pictures are worth a thousand words. Maybe I just have a way with words. Maybe I just have a lot more to say when it comes to you because we were too ridiculous that everything, even running through the mall is funny. Maybe I just like to describe everything that I remember in that particular moment. Maybe, like I've said before, I just remember the little things more vividly.

Now I'm looking at the pictures again. I miss you. I am trying not to cry but yeah, I miss you. I know I can tell the stories that lead up to all the pictures but all I can say is that I just really love you. You're my best friend and I haven't seen or talk to you in a while and right now, I just really really wish you were here because I need someone to sit in silence with and maybe cry for a little bit. I know I'll see you soon but right now, I just wish you were here.