Years past I have let the arsonist in me burn the bridges of the people and memories I collected in the past. I aged and grew forgetting good times and engraving heartaches to my scars I present today. I have long believed that there are people who will never be with us as we reach the end of the road and no matter how I wanted them to be just arm-reach, they cannot. I believed that they do deserve the great life stored for them. Even if that means I am excluded from it.
I grew bitter with the practice honestly. I barely remember the face of the first friend I had in kinder. When all my classmates were running and playing, there I was sitting in the corner by myself. He sat beside me and asked me if I wanted to join him scribble at the back of his notebook. I found a friend to someone who doesn’t want to get stinky and dirty from playing.
I barely talk with my classmates and schoolmates in elementary. Eventhough our population were only half of that one section in a public school. But I had someone who treated me like a real friend. He always invited me after school. He asks me what PS game I wanted to play. Or what food should we buy. But I never treated him the same way. Despite knowing that he had asthma at that age so he musn’t get tired. His mom who is a single parent and works during office hours leave him with money he could spend whatever he wants to compensate for the time being alone from lunch time until sunset. There are days I go with him after school, but most of the time, I dont. He only longs for my companionship, yet I was too blind and too young not to see it.
Highschool and college molded me into someone who’s afraid of stares and people. I seeked solitude and isolation too much during those days where I was supposed to be molded properly by the society with respect of the values I grew up with. I wanted to go somewhere, leave this body and go anywhere far. I desired escape so much, I had started seeing myself in a third person’s view. I hated myself. I hated who I was. I hated everything about me. I kept asking myself “why are you like that?!”. And all that hate had encased me. The fear of rejection and the rejection I had for myself had built the wall that brought me in the dark.
I have long lived hiding in the dark. With the view of the stars and the moon above balming the pain I carry within. I have burned the bridges that people could’ve used to reach me out. I opted to forget everything that made me remember all the pain of my past. I wanted a new start.
Years later, I found myself lonely. I thought I was okay living all by myself. Yet I see some of the friends I made in the past surrounded by the people they value the most during those special days. You can see and feel the genuiness of their smiles and laughters. And the support system they boast during their bad days. Compared to me, smiling alone during those special moments, or cradling myself to sleep when I cry. Years later, I still hate myself. And I still asking the same question of why am I like this.
Almost turning a year older. And I still haven’t learned.
Muted by the sun. Echoed by the moon. Once again I faced the demons that choked my voice; the demons whose eyes submitted me into constant scrutiny and judgment under their own approval. The demons who’ve granted me freedom on their temporary absence for me to scream out the wails of despair across the land embraced by darkness.
I’ve let the anguish of the dying heart flow like the river of tears. Drenching the soul parched with life and laughter. Yet drowning myself from outburst of suppresed melancholy. I am gasping for air of sanity. I am struggling with my will to live. I raised my arms above me, hoping someone would pull me out of my own misery. But I stayed under, with the light of the sun passing through the spaces of my fingers.
And on my last breath, I sinked deeper into oblivion. I slowly enjoyed the silence it brings. I’ve accepted the coldness embracing my skin. I am contented with the brokenness of my soul. That in my darkness I found my peace.
Then fire breaks, and the demons ain’t letting me slip through. With their claws grasping my neck, they choke my voice; reviving me for another cycle of almost bearable way dying.
I’m tired. And I’m tired of trying.
That long night drive after every exhausting day at work makes you remember the love that failed your heart. You’ll enter that state wherein you let your mind wander on the thoughts you’ve tried to lost while leaving your body staring lifelessly at those warm night lights. And the irony of wanderlust filling a soul imprisoned in a tired body starts to consume you. And you wish you were somewhere else with someone from the past. You imagine the face, the other reason why you have to let go of the love that you thought wasn’t meant to be.
And the rain started to trinkle. Leaving the earth drenched with tears. And the radio plays the song that reminds you of the person. And you feel the emptiness from within that barely even existed minutes ago. You savour the feeling of pain as if it is still fresh from yesterday’s cut while the rain moistened the grass and the trees along the pavement. You watched as the fog started to embrace the scenery until everything appears cloudy as your thoughts. And you see the silhouette of that person but disappears in a blink of an eye. And you realize that the obsession is playing with your senses, the same way that person played your heart.
You close your eyes for a minute. And tried to remember the feelings that caused you pain and happiness. That talk you spent at the sunken garden. How invisible yet vulnerable you’ve felt. And the darkness, though presented uncertainty, have blinded your anxieties of the future. You remember that time you’ve spent listening to foreign jazz music. While synching your breathing to each other. The way you’ve felt the thud of your half’s heartbeat in your palms. You smile with your eyes closed knowing you’re both doing the same thing. You remember the intimacy. The sex under the morning sun. Of good mornings filled with kisses and blows in the nape. Of the hugs that seemed too tight, the belief that neither will ever let go.
And you open your eyes again. And your back to the reality you attempted to escape. And with love, just like an exhausting day at work, you would ask yourself whether you’ve done your part. Whether you’ve exhausted all the efforts that you can give. You ask whether you could’ve done something different. To change the course of your failed romance. And you let your thoughts continue to wander as you press on the gas. Across the empty intersection on a cold damp sunday night.
So I’ve been asked about the best advice I could give on how to be beautiful, considering the social and economical construct that we have.
I was offended at first for it came to me as a sarcasm. Like seriously, putting terms of aesthetic and life’s daily dilemma in a single sentence. How can you find beauty in everyday struggle? Plus the fact that I do not exceed beauty compared to others who I think really is beautiful. They can provide better answer than me.
But spending my time alone in a coffeeshop late last night looking and feeling ugly after a long shift made me think how to answer such question. I have to accept the fact that socioeconomic status do have an impact in today’s definition and appreciation of beauty.
Given the social climate that we have, I won’t start saying that beauty is within, especially when there are hearts that are kind and pure yet receive even underrated forms of bullying at work or in any other place because of their looks. I won’t say that one must invest in beauty regimens while others doesn’t even have the luxury of buying food to eat. I won’t even say just be positive all the time, for such refuses to acknowledge the needs of those suffering from mental illness.
So, my answer? Sleep.
Being sleepy is a way your body tells you that it needs to heal and recover. To repair what time and nature has damaged. To cleanse and renew the dying spirit within. You’ll feel refreshed and feeling good about yourself once you wake up. Plus it is the luxury that every one can have.
“If you wanna feel good, then why not eat your comfort food?”
Can anyone buy their comfort food? And even if they can, binge eating could still lead to malnutrition in the long run and hence feeling bad about yourself afterwards.
Beauty starts to radiate outside if you start feeling good inside and out. And there’s no amount of money or food that can come near close to sleep. It is cost-effective way to achieve beauty. Even psychiatrists confirm that sleep is beneficial for those with psychiatric problems and emotional instabilities.
I myself sleep for an average of 8 to 10 hours a day and there’s nothing that can beat that feeling when you’re comatose for 10 hours in your bed. It helps you think clearly. Reassess your life goals, address problems with solutions you haven’t think of when you were tired. You’ve shred off negativities and bad aura upon waking up. Fresh start gives you that positive feeling about everything. You’d start appreciating things you’ve neglected when you were preoccupied with your daily stressors. And you smile for no definite reason at all. That kind of smile is infectious to others, and they would see you as a someone with a personality they would need in their lives.
And I think that’s beautiful.
It all started with a pop. And all desire and inclination towards metamorphosis bursted into thin air. With the fear of having a shorter life lingering in my head, I thought distancing myself from what would slowly kill me is the proper way to live.
So I stopped doing things that excite me. Things that give me rush of endorphins. Things that make me strong. And other things that used to take my breath away can now literally take me to my last.
I thought I was living. Then sadness and depression came in as the happy hormones are bunked off. And the colors of each day became blue then gray then black and white. I am withering like a tree losing its leaves as seasons change and as time goes by. I grew weaker everytime as life’s responsibilities I bear becomes heavier on my shoulders. And things just pass through me carrying a chip of my soul as they go. I am alive but feeling dead within.
I tried to go back. To what I used to be. To stop letting the fear of death bind me of my own misery. To see myself as a part of every sunrise, of rebirth, of renewed hope and change. And the courage to rebuild my strength and my will, the courage that I tried so hard to rebuild within despite the doom I constantly feel became desperation. It turned to be my constant plea to myself, for I know there’s no one who can help me to overcome these inner struggles. Then my desperation lead me to desperate actions of foolishness and self-destruction. My will is weak but it is strong enough to help me not to quit. At least for now.
It’s hard but I have to admit that I’ve let so much time to pass and now the road back seems to have drastically changed. I am a kid crying on my own, caught between the fear of my present, my dream of the future and the memories of my past. Now I’ve lost my way back.
I’ve forgotten what I should become and who I used to be.
I have to go.
A phrase I’ve been telling myself. Either to convince me or to remind me that I should. That I should let these wild fantasies and broken dreams go and start somewhere with someone else. That I have to forget our plans for the future and the sunsets that we should catch. That I have to bury the memories filled with faint smiles and laughters. And those moments that I prayed would never end.
It wasn’t healthy for us anymore. Least for the things we value most. What we had was too toxic for our bodies and poison to our hearts. And so we departed ways.
—————————————————————————–Weeks after we found each other again. With the same belief we shared and better understanding of our circumstances. Yet we are still willing to play the game. To see which one of us is going to get burned by the flame of our insanity. We relived those days how we felt when we watch each other talk, and smile in each other’s laughter. We tried to remember the imprint of our scents, hoping they could bear the same effect like smoke from that amphethamine we thought we’ve shared. We are living those days when we were dead just to find if the present still makes sense.
We departed with the same short amount of euphoria we hoped we’d had. With the memories of the touch we gave in each other’s skin and our hands that tangled with one another, and hugs that we thought we could no longer make. So long were the days of our summer madness. And the kiss in the lips that we no longer did.
Hello Rain. I’ve missed you.
They say every summer has a story. Mine started earlier than expected. And ended sooner than I wanted it to be.
I loved how the circumstances had led us to where we are right now. We played fire despite knowing how it would burn us if we don’t get our shit together. How we gamble with time as we end our days watching lovely sunsets sealed with a romantic kiss. We savoured those moments holding each other’s hands and wrapped our bodies with each other as we escaped the despair that we are both trying to forget. Everything was perfect.
Except that we are not in a relationship.
For you are shackled with your emotions. I am binded by my choice. And as far as we wanted to push this through, we know we cannot. So we’ve waited for each other hoping that one of us would eventually choose to break towards freedom to be together. So we enjoy days and collect memories as we did. It was a good plan.
Except that none of us breakfree.
So we play this push and pull of emotions. To know who would fall deeper to make the first move. And the competitive nature within us created a vortex that pulled us both deeper into the darkness, uncertainty and realization that if we continue, we would end up getting hurt. We knew that it was time to let go.
Except that we never did.
We may not have violated each other’s body, but we’ve been fucking each other’s feelings ever since. And it felt good. Better than what I usually did with my fuckbuddies but more painful than my failed romances. And I have let this summer fling consumed me, contaminated me and disrupted my senses on how I see things. Of what is right and what felt good. And as we slowly drifting apart, I am starting to remember what we had that was almost like summer.
Warm, blinding, sweaty and wasn’t really meant to last.