Sinking

Today I sink delirious into this feeling of falling into, I don’t know. It’s 5:39PM and I’m just waiting for the chance to log out. I opened my mom’s Facebook account, something she doesn’t really open or pretty much can’t given the situation, and I just got S-A-D.

I guess it’s different to look at images in your head, in comparison. The blow is more static, electric down to your spine, when you look at the REAL difference, the real loss.

One night my mother didn’t let me sleep, unintentionally I suppose. It all started with me asking how she is because I want to know, and because I felt like she needed the chance to say her peace. How do I know? Because sometimes she would grab every opportune moment to say something: to complain, to compare.

It ended up with her saying a lot, some of which left me shuddered behind my wall. It ended up with me falling asleep to the sound of her voice, her voice telling stories that define my nightmares or what I mean by hate and ill-wishes. It ended up to me waking up to her hugging me, in tears, as I look away or pretend not to wake up because who in their right mind would like to see their mothers break down to pieces? I guess none. It ended up with a cycle that was tireless, pretty much my day-to-day, only in rewind. She felt like a fading picture and I didn’t want to look.

So in these satire moments when I dare, I crumble and sink endlessly.

The Disappearing Eve

On a sheet of passing palpability, the disappearing eve woke up an eternal uprising that moves across blurred out spaces and stains dog-eared corners of a double-crossing title, a slivered spine corroding on a mountaintop. It sashayed high and low along a current of hormonal exchanges bouncing from one wall to another igniting feral waves to detonate thoughts of hopeful swallows hung up with powder-blue skies of a pretend-summer's dream. An acquaintance forced by a lyrical goddess, and an expected wanting of dusk and movement, pointlessly judging delated tapes of broken promises, the disappearing eve vindicated a two year's worth of seclusion with a non-acidic page sealed with a crossroad letter shared over an unstable fast food table. And there was an applause, a reverberating "ahh..." secretly hovering with a mission, an unchanging image of peaceful poultry and elegantly stretched necks overlooking a falling river, almighty.

If you could keep a memory, real or imagined, what would you choose to remember?

Jealousy is a lesser evil.

"Are you the jealous type?"

"No."

I'm not a very jealous person. I feel, like I have exhausted majority of my jealous genes when I was a kid--over the most shallow things, like a classmate with a new doll or the one with the highest score in class. But I'm a very demanding person. My pride, though I know when to put it to rest, is very aggressive and fierce. I demand attention, affection, dedication and exclusivity. I don't share--not dessert, not my girl.

So when jealousy flickers in the background, it usually touches my billowing skirts. Then there's fire. An insulting burn that will not go away. I may even dare say, I have been insulted well enough to light up for two people.

So earlier this morning I found out that the Y continued talking/texting/flirting/tweeting the girl she kissed while we were "dating" (in her defense she said she was so drunk and so high--and yes, she lived in a world where drugs was apparently a valid excuse, which of course I worked iron hand on to correct, duh--the other defense was "we're not formally together" so she didn't think it was an issue, but if this was presented in court, then 'your honor, may I say, that the kiss happened the very night she had my initials tattooed on her skin, so if we would validate the "we're not formally together" excuse, your honor, may I request that whatever weight or meaning and value that tattoo earned, be retracted. Thank you.')

I got infuriated. The issue with that girl, who has no playlist, library or even word bank to be proud of, is older than our relationship, was rectified from the very beginning--or so I thought. So I am insulted, disgusted, not jealous cause clearly, can I please be jealous over someone more deserving of my anguish? I'm angered and distrustful.

So this is my Valentine's letter for Y. More than anything, I truly value, my peace of mind.

Dear women, I know that you're worth all the confusion, but recognize, I'm worth the security.

It's not that we're broken up but we're broken. It's not like we live together but we always separate. It's not like we're flailing but it's downhill. It's not like we're hopeless but we fail often. I want someone who wants me so much that's all there is. I don't want to settle for less so let's not be friends, not exes, not estranged, not whatever. I just want us to be good people towards each other. I can't be in this relationship right now, right.now. I want a better love where I can always just be the better person. I'm not removing myself from the picture because I think I'm a problem or because there's a problem. I'm calling it quits because I'm spent. Let's be lovers or friends or names on each other's list. I don't mind. I just want to focus what's left of my self respect to being a good person for me, you, and the people I hate. I always think it's better to kill with kindness. I'm done. You don't have to answer. I didn't ask for anything, which is a mistake I tag myself with. I'm recognizing how the mistakes we've been doing all lead to this close. I hate you. I hate Florence. I hate hate. I'm sorry it's this big. It grew and grew and I didn't ask for you to kill it when I noticed how you weren't being sensitive-anything to save us from this release. I'm sorry for that. On Friday, I want us to meet with clean plates if you still want to meet. I just want to forget, take what I can keep and start anew. I just want to move on from this incredulous turn away. Thank you for writing my name as 8th. I like that infinite number. Symbolically, it's very apt even. Two loops, one sacred point.

Are you the jealous type?

Lamming 1

Let me begin, formally if I may, for we did not begin, properly. We only rustled, witnessed lips and leaves, detach from each arm.

In a notebook, of dotted women, in dire need, of connection and form, my untrained hand, copied, your words, for safe-keeping. My selfish strategem, for remembering, this, but your soul, it came, in creeping waves.

So let me, begin endlessly, this search for tide, rather ground. My darling little mortar, a pounding goddess, my dear, locket of heavy heart.

The eye of the sky, is watching, elephants mourn, the deaths, we share, yet we blame, the trunks of trees, pushing, from each seed.

The secrets, we threw, in casual waves, were collated, by a storm, in, calculating, little squares, a graph, a line understood.

We, have no umbrella, to claim.

If I want to, I would, put a comma, to kill, ev,e,ry, fucking, pe,ri,od.

I worship--

My story usually goes like this, every single thing that she touches, physically or in essence, will be marked. So yes, I am owned upon first handshake. If she gets me a glass of water, and I drink from that glass, I am owned from the insides. Imagine if it's a 3-second embrace.

There's something completely overwhelming about the way I like a person.

Let me put it this way. If I come to a decision that I like you, you can pick your nose in front of me and I would still like you. You may annoy me down to my last patient gene and I will still like you. I try to pretend, or at least would like to believe that I pull it off, that when I decide that I like a person, I refer to a you-ness that perhaps only I can grasp. No, I don't turn people into a concept. I take the person I like first as a name, then as a concept, til I feel her as a beating muscle, and I reconcile word and flesh. I bridge with her resonating sound, wrap my thoughts with her warmth, fog my mind with her breath, put none to waste, til her last falling hair--I commit to everything. Come as you are, says that song. If I decide that I like you, I'd like you in everything that you are and are not.

It's fascinating how almost always, people who seek my acceptance are those who I'd accept (most likely, have already accepted) in every way possible. There's something completely overwhelming about the way I like a person. It's scary, and almost always, it's because I get too scared myself. So there are words, and there are songs, and there are torn pages, and endless cursors blinking through the midnight's plight. 

From Tumblr

All the cool songs and hard-to-spell words, they're yours. 

I like reading.

Only two things can truly keep me up all night long: a good book and a girl.

So today I decided to re-arrange my bookshelf in search of my seemingly lost copy of Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson. It's such a valuable copy/edition and I feel my heart break a little more every time I fail to find it. Yes, it got a bit more broken today.

On a lighter note. I piled up magazines where I wrote for and ended up with this (sorry, had to remove photo... privacy shit). I think I started writing around 2009, but only on the sides, and I'm quite a happy bee to realize that they're not as few as I thought they were. I got to cover the entire table, yey!

Other than my articles, my Starbucks 2009 2008 planner also resurfaced. This is probably my busiest planner because it has so many add ons and stick ons and whatsoever. It's truly more a scrapbook than a planner. In the spirit of commemoration, let me share with you a lovely conversation, an exchange on paper to be precise, that I got to experience with this girl I "dated" in 2009 2008. She's someone I fondly call K, and it's so interesting how my entries of her feel a bit fresh in my memory. I guess it goes without saying that when something good and honest happens, no matter how badly or even how soon it ends, it's fond to remember the good times.

K: So??? I don't know. I can't judge something that comes from the heart because there is no right or wrong answer. Actually, your "letter" just brings up more questions. I guess I interpreted it differently because I don't know how you felt when you wrote that. Has the person you're writing about read it already???
Me: Yes I think. I gave her a copy. It's a closure letter. Like before I go, I just had to say things I didn't get to say. Do you think it's okay?
K: Hmm... A goodbye letter... S? (S-- WTH I don't know how to spell her name) Yes it's ok... but sounded like you were still hung up on her when you wrote it.
M: S-- yeah, I guess I was but it's okay. Like after I wrote it, I'm good.
K: Hahaha!!! I knew it!!! Sorry sorry sorry. But that was like very recent huh... May, right?
M: Yes. Let me read please (pertaining to a paper she had out)
K: It was for class. About my dog that died. That's it. We had to write it on the spot. It's nothing, and stop changing the subject. So did she reply to your "closure letter"?
M: No she didn't. I'm not changing the topic. I'm begging you to let me read.you. Can't I know you more?
K: Know me? Haha... you won't find out anything from that worthless paper. It was like seatwork. Why do you want to read it so bad?
M: Because I really want to know what's in (points to a drawing on the paper, pointing on the head)
K: Wouldn't you rather like to know what's in (points to a drawing of a heart)
M: I do.
K: So it's better you don't read the paper. I am ashamed of it because it does not show what's in (points to a drawing, two arrows pointing to different things: the head and the heart)
M: Let me read something that's from your heart.
K: Well you have to learn to read me because I don't put it on paper or words because my lame words doesn't do my heart justice.
M: I try, always try my best to read you. I don't know if I do it write :s
K: Haha! No you don't do it RIGHT sometimes (mocking). Am I really that hard to read? If I am, I guess I like it that way.
M: TANGA KO!!! I wish I just cut (class, we were in class at that time, she sat in my class that's why we were exchanging papers) and we just hanged out or something. And yes, I think you're hard to read.
K: Ok. (then she drew a big O and K, encircled the K and put an arrow to it, pointing to an M, that was inside a heart... my college nickname starts with a letter M)

--- June 24 2008

Seriously... 'til now, I have no idea what that wild moment was about!

To those wondering, I figured it'd be proper to begin this post with No Umbrella because to me it's a song that is hugely about seeing things through with a person.

Right now, there's this girl who's territorial. I sometimes wonder if she also wants to own my past--something impossible because the past is over! Sometimes, it comes to a point where I wonder if she'd rather I have an empty past than like this, where I have these stories (bigger than life, or alive more than ever in my mind) where she is not a part of. I don't know if it's wrong to remember, I always figured, it's very honorable to do so.

Today I finished reading one of the books E recommended. I really liked how it ended. There was such a beautiful coming together as the novel reached that inevitable close. It was like a gorgeous display of fireworks where the tiny explosives you planted on air would light up together with the booming sounds and blooming pyro display. I liked how it went down my throat, how it made sense of the different flavors that I had to understand from beginning to end. It was an exquisitely aged wine, washing down the confusion with a just explanation.

When I read the above "memory" off my journal, I remembered how on that first lunch date with E, I got to read a few of her raw words. It was a poem fresh off the furnace, made in class, probably as her mind floated away. She immediately and rudely pulled the paper off my hand and I never got to read that particular poem again. She said she would email me a better poem, that she's just a bit too shut about her words especially when they're not yet on their final and polished stages. She emailed me already, but I'm still unsatisfied. I'm truly insatiable, I will not argue with that; but reading above "memory" reminded me of how she said she would also send me that very poem, once it's finalized.

I wonder how much waiting would cost, this time.

Some answers 3: Warmth

A friend asked, "what is light/warmth/affection?" as if I knew how to answer, and I took the responsibility of indulging as if I have answers to betroth. This friend is the becoming of scratched surface and wine, FYI. I have no idea why she would bother seek my thoughts, though if it's because my mind is hardly locked in her presence, I shall never know. She said she knew pain and tenderness, perhaps like a bruise that never heals. But I think when she said she knew longing and loss, the "little" that she comprehends about loving isn't so little at all.

Is it just me or has it been cold lately? This Christmas weather is long overdue. I can only imagine what it feels like for people who like their holiday weather to happen during the holidays--lack of order must be painful for some.

I on the other hand am enjoying this chilly season. I think it's beautiful to surrender to things you can't control nor really expect in the first place (ie. weather, people).


What is warmth?
It is when you cup your hand and you put it near your nose, you smell home brewing your favorite soup just like when you're ailing and all there is you need of this life is a gentle broth of another person's care.

TMI, few nights ago I slept naked because the situation called for nakedness. It wasn't really because of sex, not even because someone wanted to insinuate sex, but rather because nakedness just felt fit. And in that moment of vulnerability, I just had to lose myself to this pressing need to finally answer the last question E asked me to answer, what is warmth?

Perhaps there's no better way to discover its meaning than in the openness I was at, at that time. Turn the dial to three years from now and I believe I would even dare say, warmth is the contradiction of what we know as cold. That what defines point A is point B--my least preferred definition, that of which is co-dependent to another, as if we can't find meanings on our own.

In constant solitude.

But the absence of thread made me think, warmth is not what your wrap yourself with--fur or person. Warmth is what lights you up. I laughed a little, sooo not what you want to hear when in a state of shared nakedness, but I did. I wouldn't forgive E for entering my mind that time, but I give it to her, yet another point taken.

Warmth is what lights you up. (What is light? here)

It is what triggers you to feel rage and compassion from one minute to the next. I think warmth is the confusion that awakens every dormant organ to life. Suddenly, you pee a little bit more. Suddenly, it feels a bit colder today. Warmth is that enriched feeling of sense. That little blank space where everything beyond the line, though completely incomprehensible makes sense.

If I may dare say, warmth is also your mind playing tricks on you. It is the mystery that may never die, but may easily be displaced so let me share one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books: Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins.

"It's not at all unusual for love to remain for a lifetime. It's passion that doesn't last. I still love my first husband. But I don't desire him. Love lasts. It's lust that moves out on us when we're not looking, it's lust that always skips town--and love without lust just isn't enough."

Warmth on the get-go is a desire for something. Maybe a person, maybe an event, maybe even just an answer. Because to me, when I get really nervous, I turn really pale and cold and my voice takes on a higher pitch and a faster slur. But at the end of that wild moment, all the blood in me rushes up my face and I settle with the warmest regards to experience, a charge at having tried--because I can't say I didn't.

Especially because I would even dare, since my engine's warmed up right now, I would even dare insist that my name is a palindromic distraction.

As conclusion, let me share the last of the answers that I needed to ask for.

I decided to ask this young adult book that I bought today because there's nothing more refreshing than a quote made for a child's mind.
1. What does she think of me? 
"I wondered if the dimples on his back enabled water to travel over his body more quickly and if that gave him more life than having regular dorsal fin. I watched him swim." 
Grayson by Lynne Cox

I decided to ask my long-overdue copy of The Glass Castle because I thought the question required an intelligent answer.
2. What should I we do about this? 
"Stop the truck. We can make it on our own from here." 
The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls

I asked none other than Antoine de Saint-Exupery's words for this because I think he knows best to figure out the essentials that the eyes can't see.
3. Is this cheating? 
"One of the miracles of the airplane is that it plunges a man directly into the heart of mystery." 
Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Since I'm asking about worth, I decided to ask a Business book.
4. If yes, is this worth it? 
"Those who say theory 'isn't the real world' don't understand what theory is."
101 Things I Learned in Business School by Michael W. Preis with Matthew Frederick

Fin

February Stars - Foo Fighters

here until I'm gone
I'm right where I belong
just hanging on
even though I watched you come and go
how was I to know
you'd steal the show?

one day I'll have enough to gamble
I'll wait to hear your final call
and bet it all
I'm hanging on
here until I'm gone
right where I belong
just hanging on

even though I pass this time alone
somewhere so unknown
it heals the soul

you ask for walls
I'll build them higher
we'll lie in the shadows of them all
I'd stand but they're much to tall
and I fall

february stars
floating in the dark
temporary scars
february stars

A brief history of time

Once upon a glass, there was an exchange of murmurs only the sharpest of tongues could comprehend. There were sonic waves bouncing against wood, plastic and recycled tin cans which only the ballsy can dare catch sans proper playing gear.

Perhaps because it isn't a game. Sure doesn't feel like one. My feelings are my reality, I always say. Question not the inappropriate clothing, or the nakedness of each opportunity. The important thing is, each window is seized. But...

Do you think of me when you're with her? she asked.

I wish I asked too.

Some answers 2: Affection

A friend asked, "what is light/warmth/affection?" as if I knew how to answer, and I took the responsibility of indulging as if I have answers to betroth. This friend is the becoming of scratched surface and wine, FYI. I have no idea why she would bother seek my thoughts, though if it's because my mind is hardly locked in her presence, I shall never know. She said she knew pain and tenderness, perhaps like a bruise that never heals. But I think when she said she knew longing and loss, the "little" that she comprehends about loving isn't so little at all.

I'd hate to take credit but let's say we can assume roles--assuming it's raw enough to leave settled to distant lakes that breed Loch Ness.

And by "it" I mean the subtle admission.

What is affection?
Affection is the raging confession that a person can stir words out of smoke and carbon as a magician would pull endless silk out of seemingly regular sleeves. It is the perversion of innocent gestures into roots of malice, spawning indifference towards reason. To have affection is to admit defeat, and if the Universe permits, to oddly gain everything there is for each minute to offer.

The difference between feeling and affecting is action. So affection is beats and movement. Affection is aggression.

Affection is the brevity of stolen time. It's the first five seconds of a song, the prick of a needle, the gasp of air before a dive. It's the heat of Sriracha, the friction between skin and leather, the last line of a poem.

To the brave, affection is the drawing of the sword. To the lost, it's the heirloom of forgotten bookmarks.

And after all the words bloom forcibly against a glaring page, affection is simply the silence.

That silence. That sort-of-clean table that means Something.

And weeks begin, for days roll by, so on the seventh day (or any given), affection rests and knows it is Good.

PS. This is an example of my world-known iPhoneJournalism.

I love laughing.

Good morning!!!!!!!!

Yes, you can read that as outrageously perked up as it seems to be. I am painfully a morning, afternoon, evening, midnight person--although when it comes to the witching hours of 1 to 3PM, I have to admit to some fatal drowsiness.

The other day I posted "Sleep when you're dead" because I was sleepy as fuck, the clearest way of putting things down. Today, oh, on this beautiful Tuesday morning, I rise and proclaim that fuck yeah, I'm still sleepy!

But boy... was Monday beautiful.

Most people hate Mondays for the painful beginning it represents: to some, slavery, to some, a murderous commute.

But boy... was Monday exactly what I had hoped it to be

I didn't set myself up for any great expectation but pleasures aside, I was quite a satisfied woman. Don't you just love it when the Universe listens? The Universe is on my side, I tell you, on.my.side.

I still bark like a greyhound (do they bark? I imagine them as more of the howling-kind). I feel like I'm going to break my eardrums any minute now, but I can't help but feel okay despite not being okay. I wish my cough sets me down to peace soon, I would really love to cease being a walking human virus; but I will try not to wish for so many things right now--especially after having one superficial wish granted with the most eloquent execution that I laughed so hard, it wasn't funny anymore... it was bliss.

I love happy bubbles. Well... not as much as I realized I love invisible fire!

This is why we broke up 3

I wanted to preserve the loud thumping within my chest. It was a drumming rhythm that defined how I walked this earth--march right left right. I know you've heard it once, when you rested your head on my breast. I saw you smile, you closed your eyes, "I can feel your heart," feel not hear, you even clarified. And that, my darling beloved, anchored me on the premise of wanting so surely. Everything that spins, is you, so I spin to the beat of lunacy.

I wanted to be a part of something big, explosive even, and that scared you. You said something about me being destructive and careless and more words you can't afford. How much are you willing to risk to navigate around my mind, I can now just assume. We had points A to Z between arms, like a soldier's rifle waiting to be triggered. This urged me to listen to your tales of wastage while you reprimand me for the pressing wreckage. If only you allowed me to show you. I just wanted the cleanliness of our blast. Like a supernova--so frightening, but most often than not, for the best of us.

That blinding light that caused you to jerk a quick left against a street post--to save your leg or another life--those were the quick radical questions that pounced on me as I decided to go. I will never learn to drive, I made it clear, but you said I still should try. So there we were, with a crash piercing through the silence of not talking. I wanted to blame my lack of skill but you forced me to be everything else but me. No horns could have halted the pages from turning. We turned until there was none left to lift--not even each other.

As I press on the mold to imprint my thoughts on you, I become the word with dropped letters--forming different worlds darker than the tunnels of your heart. I just wanted to preserve the sparkling need to be loved by you and only you; then I met someone new. I met someone new. I met someone new.

I stopped wanting you.

We deny ourselves as much as we lose what we stand to gain.

This is why we broke up 1

Wolves howled from under my shirt
a declaration of the phases of your moon
I found myself lost between my skirt
awaiting a reckless slow burning doom.

I have ten other reasons written on my journal, but today, that shall do. I can't let you burn me out. You wanted, too much.

"Life is happening."

We all have our shares of once in a lifetime experiences. Yesterday, was one. It was 12.12.12 (December 12, 2012)--I refer to it as destiny day. I made a huge deal out of it. Awesome things happened.

The funny thing about life is, it has its way of taking things back at our most inconvenient time.

1. Stability - you know that feeling when you just got yourself back to your feet and you can finally walk a straight line without wobbling? Have yourself suddenly shoved out of control in between steps. That happened yesterday when A's Christmas gifts arrived. I knew she sent me gifts, and she told me what she sent, but I was floored over how my whole being reacted to receiving the items. The gesture felt more real than ever. I felt her through the bubble wrap. I imagined her carefully securing everything. I imagined her happy to send me hope. I imagined her hurting she couldn't send herself instead. Stability... it's not a very constant thing. We're all built to be tipped off balance even with the slightest breeze so I'm not surprised it was taken away from me. I should have seen it coming. I could go on all day taking the blame.

2. Trust - people we can trust, or at least feel that we can trust, are blessings to me. I value them more than anything because I know how rare it is to feel a certain level of connection with someone--the type that can knock on my closed hatchet of self. Today, trust was taken away from me in the absence of acceptance. I feel judged and hurt. Y laid down a few things she didn't like about our relationship as if it were an enumeration exam. There were even a few more that she refuses to tell me because she hopes I will figure those few things on my own--by being a little bit more sensitive --pt being, I'm insensitive apparently. I've never felt more unwanted in my life. I'm thinking... if you don't want me, why not go? And no, it doesn't feel good to hear an answer that goes "Exactly, I'm staying. Does that not count for anything?" Staying because it's what you want to do and staying because you can tolerate are two sides of the same coin.

3. Respect - it's sad to admit that I feel like I have lost the respect I have for some of the most important people in my life.. likewise, I fear and feel that I had lost their respect for me as well. Respect is something earned and it will always be tragic to lose it. Sad because it's not even due to broken bones and wounded hearts. I've lost the respect for and of the most important people in my life because life is happening and there are mistakes that are too huge of a deal to overlook--and overcome.

Life has its way of reclaiming what it has generously provided. The best thing we can do, as always, is to live in each moment.

One very smart person (S, you) once told me that life is happening. As much as it is simply stating the obvious, I must say, I have never concurred as hard.