When I am finally completed, I will be hollow.
Hollow, when I am finally filled.
I am in a state of denial, a state of hurt and a state of disorientation. Where is that rapture of light that would give me clarity? I don't know what I am doing, I am irrational and unpredictable like a bomb just waiting to explode. I seemed to be doing all that I can to push people away. I am doing all that I can to isolate and cut myself off and I don't know why. I am typing aimlessly. I am walking aimlessly, waiting for something to pick me up and throw me against a wall so I'd finally feel what it's like to be living. To actually be living and breathing and laughing and to cry. I am waiting to live so I could die.
I have sat the letters down and put them aside along with my past so I could lie to myself. "I am not thinking about her. I am not thinking about her. I am not thinking about her.." I am heading for a breakdown.
Why am I still here? Why haven't I found the silver lining of it all and grab it with my two hands so I could draw blood? "NO ONE GIVES A FUCKING SHIT WHAT YOU FEEL, ASSHOLE! DON'T YOU GET IT?"
What do I feel now, I can't even put in words. People ask, how are you doing today? And I say, splendid, never better, without breaking into a sweat when deep inside, I can't stop trembling with fear of the knowing and not knowing. I wanna wrap myself into a ball and stay curled up all day and not think about anything and everything. I wanna go to bed and not find it a challenge, a fight because I know I will surrender myself without question.
It is just a detour. I will get myself back on track. I will love myself and embrace my negativity as tight as my virtues. I will not think. I will not overthink. I will breath. And I shall love. And LIVE.
Take a deep breath and smile.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Friday, December 25, 2009
My folks have the perfect timing. It's Christmas today and though I make no attempt to celebrate, it doesn't necessarily mean I wanna be caught in a yelling fest, starring my mom and dad.
It happens whenever someone puts mom and dad in the same room. It happens whether or not there is validity. And they sure do not take anyone's feelings into consideration. And so this may be the very type of family I grow up in.
It started in my early teens, my first few years in high school and now that I've grown to become more or less, a semi-functioning young adult, the arguements only seem to intensify. I don't wanna grow up to be my parents. I need to grow up capable of love and express what I feel without having to yell anyone's head off. I need to be able to remain composed and clear-headed and become more self-aware.
For the larger part of my life, I grew up with an impression etched into my brain that I am not a good daughter. I am always breaking my parents' hearts. And I've done so much of that I can't even begin to look into their eyes and speak to them without feeling like I'm guilty of a heinous crime. I tried to convince them that I am their daughter, that I did not grow up wrong or have made mistakes that I will come to regret. But we just kept pushing each other apart. We can't see eye to eye on anything. She resents the fact that I am the way I am now. And I resent the fact that she's the way she is now. I resent I am a part of her. And my dad. I wish I was never born.
I think he's having an affair and it's the last thing I would wanna think about or feel hurt or really generally react to. I do not care enough to care and I have just detached myself from this particular fucked up family sitcom, sitting at the edge, swinging my feet and watching my very existence crumble. Have I become unfeeling and cold? I am reluctant. And I am ready to run away.
I know I still had it good. At least they weren't violent or abusive but I can't live with them anymore. I wish it would just stop. I wish they would put a little more faith in me, trust me a little, knowing I could brave the storms and still come out of it slightly weathered, more learnt but still sensible and quirky.
I might have the rebellious streak of a werewolf off the lease but I think I'm more of a vampire-type person. I feel like for the longest time, I am walking through life on a path shrouded with mist. I'm always trying to figure out the next step and avoid a certain predicament. I tiptoed percariously at the corner of my life because I am just so scared to be a part of it all. I am thoroughly afraid of losing, of bonding and believing. I just do not see the light of it all. I am pissed. I am just pissed.
I want the world to stop asking for favors. I want my mother to shut the fuck up. And I need to die for a little bit so I could be put aside. I have to lose it all before I gain it back. I can never satisfy my mother, my maker.
It happens whenever someone puts mom and dad in the same room. It happens whether or not there is validity. And they sure do not take anyone's feelings into consideration. And so this may be the very type of family I grow up in.
It started in my early teens, my first few years in high school and now that I've grown to become more or less, a semi-functioning young adult, the arguements only seem to intensify. I don't wanna grow up to be my parents. I need to grow up capable of love and express what I feel without having to yell anyone's head off. I need to be able to remain composed and clear-headed and become more self-aware.
For the larger part of my life, I grew up with an impression etched into my brain that I am not a good daughter. I am always breaking my parents' hearts. And I've done so much of that I can't even begin to look into their eyes and speak to them without feeling like I'm guilty of a heinous crime. I tried to convince them that I am their daughter, that I did not grow up wrong or have made mistakes that I will come to regret. But we just kept pushing each other apart. We can't see eye to eye on anything. She resents the fact that I am the way I am now. And I resent the fact that she's the way she is now. I resent I am a part of her. And my dad. I wish I was never born.
I think he's having an affair and it's the last thing I would wanna think about or feel hurt or really generally react to. I do not care enough to care and I have just detached myself from this particular fucked up family sitcom, sitting at the edge, swinging my feet and watching my very existence crumble. Have I become unfeeling and cold? I am reluctant. And I am ready to run away.
I know I still had it good. At least they weren't violent or abusive but I can't live with them anymore. I wish it would just stop. I wish they would put a little more faith in me, trust me a little, knowing I could brave the storms and still come out of it slightly weathered, more learnt but still sensible and quirky.
I might have the rebellious streak of a werewolf off the lease but I think I'm more of a vampire-type person. I feel like for the longest time, I am walking through life on a path shrouded with mist. I'm always trying to figure out the next step and avoid a certain predicament. I tiptoed percariously at the corner of my life because I am just so scared to be a part of it all. I am thoroughly afraid of losing, of bonding and believing. I just do not see the light of it all. I am pissed. I am just pissed.
I want the world to stop asking for favors. I want my mother to shut the fuck up. And I need to die for a little bit so I could be put aside. I have to lose it all before I gain it back. I can never satisfy my mother, my maker.
The Last Christmas
My 7th Christmas without you, I sat alone eating Samiges Rinder Gulasch mit hausgemachten Spatzle at a popular German pub affectionately known as Paulaner Brauhaus by the drunken masses. I know and I'm not even supposed to take any more beef or drink but then again I was never mama's girl.
The food was pretty good. I went for starved to stuffed. And then like I do each time, eating German food, I think about you. You are so beautiful, sitting right across me with a smile and an intense gaze. Walk me through, I'd love to find out what just went through your pretty head. Was it about me? Or food or beer that you don't drink much of? I miss you the most on the most mundane occasions, when I'm crossing the road or eating alone. I am pining. I shouldn't be anymore. And goosebumps would run down length of my back and sometimes, my heartbeat races with a single thought.
I could paint a picture of you with my eyes closed. Your old European features of an temptress knitting together when you growl your pleasurable approval in bed and yell my name, sticking your fingertips deeper into my skin and scalp...the intensity in which you come for me...and how much I could drink from you...sweetness akin to raw honey sting and coat my tongue and hidden cavities in my mouth with such viscocity I cannot be quenched any other way. You're smiling now, with a loud, childish giggle of a girl. I look at you so I could remember every last movement or word spoken. You scribble playfully on the post-it. You suddenly wish for flowers of various orange hues. I smile, and drew my chair outwards. "Flowers," I thought as my brain churned up several possibilities and I got it.
I came back with a bouquet in my hand. "Flowers of various hues, I present to you, love." I sat gently the bouquet in your eager arms. You laughed at my silliness and the wetness of my shirt and my ponytail that has come undone. "Come sit by my side and I shall reward you with a kiss." You said, affection mirrored in your blue eyes. I tried to lean in more as I taste bubblegum and strawberries on my lips and tongue.
The song I catch at a distance caught and tugged me back into reality. I am now sitting alone with a beer at room temperature and a burning light bulb. My heart writhes with tremendous pain as I stayed curled up in a corner. Admist the crowd and noises, I am invisible and protected fiercely by solitude. That is how I should be. Hmm, I smell sauerkraut, and pork knuckles.
A new proposal was presented to me by a kind friend who, by now I've realized does not appreciate much the art of wallowing in self-pity and loss. She thinks I should pick up drawing, starting with pencil sketches, preferrably realism because that's what I like too. If I could focus, she uses that word a lot, on learning how to draw, I could eventually pick up tattooing which by the way, is another thing that I fascinated by.
There are a million things I'd love to run with, say picking up the guitar, and learning a different language so I'd curse in it and photography and writing. I'd take up these courses right now if I hadn't suck so bad with managing my measely pay check. She will be proud and I could be a useful person, one who can say for sure that she has had enough of dwelling and lamenting that it's high time she lead a different life, and one that doesn't include unrealistic Greek crushes. I shall sleep on it when I wake in the morning.
And Merry Christmas, all.
The food was pretty good. I went for starved to stuffed. And then like I do each time, eating German food, I think about you. You are so beautiful, sitting right across me with a smile and an intense gaze. Walk me through, I'd love to find out what just went through your pretty head. Was it about me? Or food or beer that you don't drink much of? I miss you the most on the most mundane occasions, when I'm crossing the road or eating alone. I am pining. I shouldn't be anymore. And goosebumps would run down length of my back and sometimes, my heartbeat races with a single thought.
I could paint a picture of you with my eyes closed. Your old European features of an temptress knitting together when you growl your pleasurable approval in bed and yell my name, sticking your fingertips deeper into my skin and scalp...the intensity in which you come for me...and how much I could drink from you...sweetness akin to raw honey sting and coat my tongue and hidden cavities in my mouth with such viscocity I cannot be quenched any other way. You're smiling now, with a loud, childish giggle of a girl. I look at you so I could remember every last movement or word spoken. You scribble playfully on the post-it. You suddenly wish for flowers of various orange hues. I smile, and drew my chair outwards. "Flowers," I thought as my brain churned up several possibilities and I got it.
I came back with a bouquet in my hand. "Flowers of various hues, I present to you, love." I sat gently the bouquet in your eager arms. You laughed at my silliness and the wetness of my shirt and my ponytail that has come undone. "Come sit by my side and I shall reward you with a kiss." You said, affection mirrored in your blue eyes. I tried to lean in more as I taste bubblegum and strawberries on my lips and tongue.
The song I catch at a distance caught and tugged me back into reality. I am now sitting alone with a beer at room temperature and a burning light bulb. My heart writhes with tremendous pain as I stayed curled up in a corner. Admist the crowd and noises, I am invisible and protected fiercely by solitude. That is how I should be. Hmm, I smell sauerkraut, and pork knuckles.
A new proposal was presented to me by a kind friend who, by now I've realized does not appreciate much the art of wallowing in self-pity and loss. She thinks I should pick up drawing, starting with pencil sketches, preferrably realism because that's what I like too. If I could focus, she uses that word a lot, on learning how to draw, I could eventually pick up tattooing which by the way, is another thing that I fascinated by.
There are a million things I'd love to run with, say picking up the guitar, and learning a different language so I'd curse in it and photography and writing. I'd take up these courses right now if I hadn't suck so bad with managing my measely pay check. She will be proud and I could be a useful person, one who can say for sure that she has had enough of dwelling and lamenting that it's high time she lead a different life, and one that doesn't include unrealistic Greek crushes. I shall sleep on it when I wake in the morning.
And Merry Christmas, all.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Do me a favor, drop your work and your chores and your burden and Listen very quietly with your heart
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0peHeJvBq4
and leave me a comment right after. Tell me what you think and what you walk away with.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0peHeJvBq4
and leave me a comment right after. Tell me what you think and what you walk away with.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
As white as paper, I am devoid of emotions. I've broken the link with my past, with my past self like I should have many years ago and here I am, sitting at the edge of the world alone, paint in my hand, baffled. Should I stop the bleeding? I have stopped talking.
I am afraid. I am really afraid that I'll begin to love again. And lose it.
There is no one to hold my hand, no all-knowing guide book. No one to stop fear from penetrating. I am empty.
Who am I now, with this supposedly new found life? Where do I go when I needed a laugh or a good cry? What is my favorite color, the color in your eyes? What do I feel in my grasp, in my heart? Where do I sought out the answers? I'm trapped.
How do you spell my name? Or know how I take my coffee, or if I, at all? What about when I'm quiet? Can you read me like an open book or am I just a trail of steps written in the sand to be washed away by the waves? What do I really mean when I don't mean at all?
I don't wanna be walking in circles and I don't wanna be hurting from the same wound. All of that has to stop. I am looking at the new me in the mirror and I don't recognize her. "A crumbling, fucking mess, I'd say."
Time, they say, give time, some time.
I am drained, discolored. I am unable to speak. I am unwilling to go out into the world and mingle with strangers so we could be people who hurt each other. And so I kept to myself, my version of life and pain. And they blame me for it.
Happiness, as elusive as my past, should be right under my nose all this while and yet I am blind. Sing me the words to guide me home to you. I promise I'll listen more carefully this time. I promise I wouldn't get lost again, and no short-cuts. Wait for me at the door.
When I sit at the highest point in my life, in the dark, I see stars. I wish I was like them, so far away yet still so bright. And don't you just love the idea how some of those stars we are looking at now don't even exist anymore? Poof. Obliterated.
So what is your name, love?
I am afraid. I am really afraid that I'll begin to love again. And lose it.
There is no one to hold my hand, no all-knowing guide book. No one to stop fear from penetrating. I am empty.
Who am I now, with this supposedly new found life? Where do I go when I needed a laugh or a good cry? What is my favorite color, the color in your eyes? What do I feel in my grasp, in my heart? Where do I sought out the answers? I'm trapped.
How do you spell my name? Or know how I take my coffee, or if I, at all? What about when I'm quiet? Can you read me like an open book or am I just a trail of steps written in the sand to be washed away by the waves? What do I really mean when I don't mean at all?
I don't wanna be walking in circles and I don't wanna be hurting from the same wound. All of that has to stop. I am looking at the new me in the mirror and I don't recognize her. "A crumbling, fucking mess, I'd say."
Time, they say, give time, some time.
I am drained, discolored. I am unable to speak. I am unwilling to go out into the world and mingle with strangers so we could be people who hurt each other. And so I kept to myself, my version of life and pain. And they blame me for it.
Happiness, as elusive as my past, should be right under my nose all this while and yet I am blind. Sing me the words to guide me home to you. I promise I'll listen more carefully this time. I promise I wouldn't get lost again, and no short-cuts. Wait for me at the door.
When I sit at the highest point in my life, in the dark, I see stars. I wish I was like them, so far away yet still so bright. And don't you just love the idea how some of those stars we are looking at now don't even exist anymore? Poof. Obliterated.
So what is your name, love?
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Ok, my mom asks today if I were gonna celebrate my birthday. I can't recall the last time she has asked me or try to arrange dinner or party behind my back cause if she did, I would have remembered and tell you now in person the entire non-alcoholic extravaganza in reverse. And in German. It's a sweet thing she asked though. I don't look it but I do. That is actually good enough present for me.
I used to love birthdays. Sure the long-winded, whiny me must have mentioned it a couple of times in my other entries. I was even sure I have titled the entry 'Birth is a Present thing', something of the likes. Anyway.
I had yearned that this year it would be different. I can't tell you different how but I have anticipated my falling back into the habit of pain and the aftermath of running away from home like a dog. I wouldn't have otherwise put up that last entry about generiosity. Well, it's a test for the people who love me though I am quite convinced no one would care to pass.
There are some things in life you can't forget, especially when you try really hard to. There are other things you know you shouldn't want but must have and there is a certain someone I've got on my mind, not yet given up. Most people forget their past relationships, while some desperately erase what they call 'blemishes of their youths, of somewhat awkward younger days' . Well, not me. Nope, the memo must have slipped. I wasn't invited to the party. I could even swear, on some of my worst and absurd days, I could literally feel how weak and seriously pathetic I am and how I fight to disassociate myself with that stranger who wears my face and speaks a phony accent. But on most times, after a decade of honing and shedding or whatever really the process of getting less hurt is, I'm ok. I actually do very well sans nightmares. I can live without the cold, chilling wind breaking through the holes of my heart, and causing this piercing ache that takes my breath and socializing skills away. I am alone and I can be so.
See, the thing is, on my birthday, or really just on any days in general leading to a birthday or anniversary, it gets exceptionally hard. I lose the balance and fall and land on rusty spikes on several odd places. And I have to pick myself up again and pretend nothing's happened and roses are blooming. Right this very microsecond, I wish for Liesl's return. I don't know what else I can do. I wish there was something else I could do. I know I should stop but I can't. I probably won't. That, I'm guessing, is where the problem lies.
I smell and miss her like it was just this morning. I feel the blood spread. And her last words about my shirt. The screeching sound the tyres made and the make-believe funeral involving white satin, candles and a slideshow I wrote for my last project. She told me one time; the day will always end, the night will always take its place and stars will shine somewhere some place, watching and blessing you like I am. The one thing she has taught me is love. The one thing I must learn now, is also love.
I figure when I do make a wish on Sunday, I'll just wish that when the pain goes away one day, I won't freak out too badly and become displaced or feel like I'm in a mental ward. I am really, really scared but I would love to love, if that's all right. There, my birthday wish for 2009.
I used to love birthdays. Sure the long-winded, whiny me must have mentioned it a couple of times in my other entries. I was even sure I have titled the entry 'Birth is a Present thing', something of the likes. Anyway.
I had yearned that this year it would be different. I can't tell you different how but I have anticipated my falling back into the habit of pain and the aftermath of running away from home like a dog. I wouldn't have otherwise put up that last entry about generiosity. Well, it's a test for the people who love me though I am quite convinced no one would care to pass.
There are some things in life you can't forget, especially when you try really hard to. There are other things you know you shouldn't want but must have and there is a certain someone I've got on my mind, not yet given up. Most people forget their past relationships, while some desperately erase what they call 'blemishes of their youths, of somewhat awkward younger days' . Well, not me. Nope, the memo must have slipped. I wasn't invited to the party. I could even swear, on some of my worst and absurd days, I could literally feel how weak and seriously pathetic I am and how I fight to disassociate myself with that stranger who wears my face and speaks a phony accent. But on most times, after a decade of honing and shedding or whatever really the process of getting less hurt is, I'm ok. I actually do very well sans nightmares. I can live without the cold, chilling wind breaking through the holes of my heart, and causing this piercing ache that takes my breath and socializing skills away. I am alone and I can be so.
See, the thing is, on my birthday, or really just on any days in general leading to a birthday or anniversary, it gets exceptionally hard. I lose the balance and fall and land on rusty spikes on several odd places. And I have to pick myself up again and pretend nothing's happened and roses are blooming. Right this very microsecond, I wish for Liesl's return. I don't know what else I can do. I wish there was something else I could do. I know I should stop but I can't. I probably won't. That, I'm guessing, is where the problem lies.
I smell and miss her like it was just this morning. I feel the blood spread. And her last words about my shirt. The screeching sound the tyres made and the make-believe funeral involving white satin, candles and a slideshow I wrote for my last project. She told me one time; the day will always end, the night will always take its place and stars will shine somewhere some place, watching and blessing you like I am. The one thing she has taught me is love. The one thing I must learn now, is also love.
I figure when I do make a wish on Sunday, I'll just wish that when the pain goes away one day, I won't freak out too badly and become displaced or feel like I'm in a mental ward. I am really, really scared but I would love to love, if that's all right. There, my birthday wish for 2009.
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