You Who Used To Love Me

Dear You Who Used To Love Me,

How are you now? Are you getting better? Have you forgotten me and what it was like to love me? Have you forgiven me? Are you ready to trust again?

If you're going to ask me, I'm fine, I'm not any better, but I'm not getting any worse. And no, I haven't forgotten you, yes, you are forgiven and no, I can't trust anyone anymore.

I just wish that next time I see I won't see the anger anymore. I don't want to see your eyes with fiery rage, all of which are for me. I got mad, and did I hate you sometimes, but it never lasted as long as yours did. And the funny thing is, up til now, I can't understand why.

And what's more perplexing for me is the finality that you gave me. When I want to get away from you, you'll always tell me I can't because we're supposed to be together. Everytime, that's what you will tell me. That's when I realized that starting a relationship is a mutual decision. One can't be in a relationship when the partner is unwilling, and I supposed, because of how you acted, that it's the same with break-ups. That a break-up should be a mutual decision between the parties involved. So I always stay, because you're not willing, and you would forever convince me it's worth it.

Now, it's your turn to call the shots. Abd I have no say in the matter. I have no say in the break-up where I am the only other party.

We would come now to the next most perplexing thing regarding this relationship. If I tell you what I just noted above, I'm sure you will say that we can stay together if that's what I want but I can't expect anything from you. You will do anything and everything to make me break up with you. You won't even consider putting any type of effort in order to make this work. Why so? I tried to make it work when you asked me to stay, right? What makes you indifferent to the rules of the game we both devised?

When you get sick, I take care of you. I didn't count the times I needed to take care of you, I didn't stop even when I have classes, even when I didn't have money. Now, I got sick, and you'll tell me I can get sick as long as it's not in your presence? Why so? Don't you think it's selfish of you that you're always taken cared of when you're sick but you're not willing to return the favor just because you got tired?

I have so much questions in my mind. I can think of thousands of facts that I need clarification on. I wish it's as simple as you're making me believe it is. "kung ayaw mo, wag mo" won't work with love. I'm sorry, but I will fight you still. I can't accept defeat just yet.


I Who Still Feels

Dreaming Insomiac II

I was able to finally sleep. Eleven hours of dreamless heaven brought back a bit of my sanity and calmed my overly stressed heart.

The other day, I twisted and turned on my bed. I tried reading Tai-Pan by James Clavell for a few minutes but realized it's not helping me relax any bit. I changed my bed sheets. I went back to twisting and turning. I went to my table and started making plans for the apartments that my Uncle plans on building. After two, not just one but two, optional plans that I can present to him this weekend I went back to bed. Again, I started my twisting ang turning. At this point, I realized this is becoming ruthless.

I need all the sleep I can get. How can go to work and do an outstanding job if my eyes are forever droopy? I need to sleep. I need to rest.

After another hour or so, I reached for the phone. I called a good friend who was more than happy to accompany me for a few minutes even when I am robbing him of his own sleep. Then we said goodbye, armed with his wishes of a few hours worth of sleep.

I went back to bed. I laid as still as I can. Half an hour later, my legs are tingling and my left arm's aching, I think I lost my neck and my head hurts like hell.

So I stood at the foot of my bed and cursed every single dust mite that is living there. I took my shower, ate my dinner, got dressed and went to work.

I'm no longer a dreaming insomiac. I'm a working insomiac by fate.

Squeeze!

I want to squeeze the life out of my body. I want to crush my lungs and bend my neck to reach a dreamless high. I want to close my eyes forever.

You held me, you kissed me, you loved me. After one night of deep thinking, you arms are taking the breath out my chest, your lips are sheding drops of poison on my tongue, your hate kills the spirit that I am.

Don't blame me for your pains. I will gladly take them on, if you'll only allow me. Don't blame me for following. I don't want to look back and see a coward who just watched. Don't blame me for being me, becuase up til now, despite who you are, I still feel for you.

Missing Me

I miss myself. I miss the old me. I miss the way I was.

I miss the sound of my hearty laugh whenever I feel giddy inside. I miss the sparkle in my eyes when I catch myself staring at the mirror. I miss the warmth of my voice as I hear myself talk. I miss the dreams that lingers in my memory when I wake up in the middle of the night. I miss the self that I've come to know and care for. I miss being that person.

I don't know when i stopped being me. I don't know if it happened gradually, without me knowing that every sunset changes me, or if it happened overnight without me knowing that I'm suddenly different. But most of all, I don't know how to get it all back.

Unlike most people, I changed for the worse. I'm different, but not in a good way. I'm different and I'm not happy. Turning into who I am today is not something to be proud of. I don't like me anymore.

I don't like the dryness I hear whenever I chuckle. I don't like the tears that mingles on my lids. I don't like the lines that I see when I face the mirror. I don't like the acid that drips from my tongue. I don't like the emptiness I feel when I wake up from my sleep. I don't like the person I've suddenly become.

I don't know the person I am. I don't know who I'm with anymore. I don't know where I'm going to. I don't even remember that special place I've been from. Instead of finding who I am, I lost all sense of self. I'm lost.

When you're not working at work...

I try to be the best I am in everything I do. Even if that something that needs to be done is something nobody wants to do. Let's just say that I give new meaning to the phrase "doing the dirty work." I don't just do it, I make sure I'm doing a great job.

I don't like my job that much. It could be worse, i know, but it's not my calling. The best part though of my work now, is it's harder to pretend that I am working when all my "work" is already done. See?! I'm that good. I can finish my alloted work for the day after 2 hours. The rest of the day, I work on trying to look like I'm working.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't have enough work. Sometimes I find myself neck deep in shit. But, since I'm doing such a swell job, I always finish everything on time. SUper ahead of time.

When I think I can't handle 20 papers today, then I get smacked with 25 papers, I will finish it 2 minutes before end of my shift. Then the next day, I'll see 30 papers in front of me, and I would think I'll only get to the 25th paper then, I might need to finish the rest the next day. Then 6 minutes before the end of my shift, I'm done! Isn't it the most amazing thing? How I can make sure that everything is done on time? But believe me, once you get used to that, when things are slower, like today, it's a lot harder to pretend that you're working when you're really not.

What to Choose?

What to choose? What to do? Whom to go to? What to say? When to stop? Why me?!?!!

I can't think of any reason why I should go on with my life. Everything is just wrong. Everything I thought I want is not what I really want. Everything I thought I need is not what I really needed. Everything I thought would make me happy is not what would make me happy. Everything is just plain wrong.

I want to live without him. I want to get out of his shadows. I want to forget that I ever had him with me. I want to forgive myself for believing he is the one for me. I want to forgive myself for giving him all the chances in the world. I want to forgive myself for being so vulnerable.

After all the musings, after all the explanations, after all the trouble of overanalyzing, it would come down to one thing...I am willing to sacrifice everthing just for a morsel of love and attention.

And when I think of that, I get depressed. I am not only alone, but I am hopeless.

Tired? You don't know what TIRED is?!

I'm so tired I can just fall asleep right this very moment, on this very chair I'm sitting on, wearing this very tired look on my tired face. I can't imagine anyone who would say that he/she is tired, if they're not me. I'm the only person that has a license to use that word because right this very moment, I'm so tired I'm falling asleep.

When To Say Sorry

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I realized I can never give you what you wanted, when what you wanted is a selfish reflection of your idolized self worth.

I'm sorry I made a mistake when I promised you forever, when what you wanted is seamless time to be with your insane personal misgivings.

I'm sorry I asked heaven to bring you forth to me, when the place you're walking towards to is not my destiny but my intoxicating dream of unreality.

I'm sorry I gave you what I thought was due to someone as precious as you. I regret ever meeting someone, whom I loved, I cherished, I cared for. I regret meeting the one that is you.

i envy the mothers

i envy the mothers
i envy their cups that nurtured these lives
i envy their arms that carried these weight
of miracle, unleashed by the heavens

i envy the mothers
i envy the lips that soothes those ears
i envy the cheeks that brushed those fingers
of lightness, cradled by the cosmos

i envy the mothers

i envy her life
i envy her dream
i envy the child that thrives with her kiss

Friday the 13th

It's friday the 13th, and I feel lucky! All of a sudden all the papers in my desk started to disappear. After a week of sleeplessness, I finally spent more than five hours in bed. After being moneyless for the past three days, I finally got my pay. Yipee!!! Hope my Friday the 13th luck would not run out tonight, after all, I still have seven hours of work. What to do? Surf? I can't believe I can have the time to surf!!! This so SAYA!


P.S.

This is my third week in BATCH GROUP. This is the first time I was able to go online and not be worrying of all my pending work.

Dreaming Insomiac

I've always thought of myself as an insomiac. A creature of the night. The being who is filled with life when everyone else is in deep slumber.

I've been like this for ten long years. I have learned to live with the stigma and the thrill of being one the few who are empowered by the night.

But when the night becomes day, and the popular insomiac is still up, that's a different story. That is pure insanity. And that's what's happening to me right now. I simply couldn't sleep. I have counted two nights and one and a half day, and i'm still up. My head is spinning, my temples are throbbing and my stomach is turning. The creature became a miserable and writhing entity whose sanity is slipping ever tick of the damn clock.

I now proclaim, that insomiacs do dream in their awakened stupor. I felt that dream.

I dream of sleep.

When Tablets Burn

Would you take the Blue Pill or the Red Pill?

Don't take any and you'll writhe in pain for the rest of the day. Take one and the pain may either go or morph into another type of illness. I chose to take the pill. The gray one.

I went over the cupboard. Took the white bottle with a red cap and green bold prints in front. I gingerly applied pressure on the cap before twisting it. I peeked and moved the bottle sideways, counting the few tablets left. Some where sticking at the bottom, the others slid to the side. I tipped the bottle towards me, my other hand cupped beneath it and waited for the slow moving tablet to reach the palm of my hand. And with one fluid motion I tossed it into my mouth, took a swig of water and pushed the pill back into my throat.

The walls started to look like belly dancing ladies and the floor started looking like cavernous water holes. Then I realized, I shouldn't have taken the pill...

When Peter Pan Flew Across My Room

The first story I ever told my godchild was that of Peter. There's just something about that story that made me want to tell it to a child. I'm not a fan, and no, I've never really liked that story. But there was one thing that made me believe his name and story would be relevant to my life.

Almost every night, after school, I would carry her out and point at the sky, telling her stories of Neverland with lost boys playing with pixies and a particular watch-hunting croc. I'm sure she no longer remember those times. And I'm sure she never really understood what I was telling her, she was only 2 years old at that time.

Never would I imagine that I was not actually telling her a story, but it was I who was listening to my own mindless narrative. It was I who was looking for him at night, hoping that he was not just a name within the stories. It was I who wanted to see him.

Years passed and I entirely forgot about the small talks that my godchild and I had at nights long ago. I've stopped looking at the night sky. I stopped thinking of the boy who can fly. Until one day, before my 20th birthday, I met him for real.

His name is not Peter. It's not even close. And no he's not from Neverland. But he taught me how to fly. Oh yes, I flew like crazy. I would creep out of my bedroom window every night and travel to places I've never been before. He would fly by my window at dawn with gifts and promises. He taught me to laugh heartily and he taught me to have fun. He taught me that life is not to be taken seriously and he taught me how beautiful this life could be.

He was more than I ever thought he would be. And the good thing about it all is that he's not a myth but a real person I can be with, share lunch with, watch movies with and hold hands with. But just like in the story, Wendy needed to leave, Peter needed to fly back to Neverland, and that was how I lost him.

I wish he can come back, I wish he decides to stay, I wish he can grow old just like me. But I think, he will never be ready.

Under the Acacia Tree

I used to walk under the rows of acacia trees. I still remember their wide tree trunks lining the sidewalk, branches reaching across the streets and leaves hanging above me.

I remember the time when I was walking under them. I felt so lost back then, unsure of myself and untrusting with everyone else. People would pass by, each with a different expression on their pallid faces. Some would nod at me, others would stare away. There was one who looked me right in the eye as if trying to fathom what my childish mind has to offer. But he failed. Because that same morning before I went out walking, I stared at myself in the mirror and looked as hard as I can, but all I saw was an empty stranger staring back with an expressionless face.

After looking at the passers-by, I decided to be one of those who stare away. I don't want anyone to look me in the eye again, and so I looked away. My passive attention was caught by the passing cars. One car, two, three, red, blue, gray. I lost myself again. I suddenly woke up from my stupor when the sun hastily slapped my face, sending me in blinding heaven. After a second or two, I started to see greens, then yellows, then some blues, and then I knew, I'm no longer under the care and protection of those lovely acacia trees.

I looked back, wishing that I can turn back and walk under them again. But I can't. I need to walk away or else, I'll be forever imprisoned. I may be a stranger to myself, but I realized at that moment that the only time I will learn to know who I really am is when I start walking across unfamiliar paths, when i start feeling the scorching heat of the sun, and when i finally learned to look people in the eye, unafraid that they'll someone I've always longed to see. And so stopped my daily walk under those magnificent trees.

I'll go back one day. Maybe when I have the courage to face that man who looked me straight in the eye. Maybe I can even smile at him next time.