Because my class is at 11:45

I like confessions. However flawed my reasoning was to justify looking at some of the saddest, most pathetic ones, reading some of them lifts my spirits. Perhaps not, but I do find myself smiling at some of them. That must count for something.

Such was the case today, when my eyes settled over a certain confession written by a boy. It sounded all too familiar, it was typed in a matter that was all too familiar. So I held my breath as I read it over. And then it hit me.

It's not him. It couldn't possibly be him. Now, I am merely just another face in the crowd of people who deserve nothing else but apathy. After realizing that, my smile faded and I was (and am) left to face reality. How long will I be able to keep up the smile that withers the very instant no one is there to see that bitterly synthetic expression?

Masakit pa rin ang puso ko.

I need an anchor.

Recuperation

As John said, we clean, we cut our hair, and we smile.

We smile until we, ourselves, believe that sorry gesture of facial muscles.

Sex & The City

Have been watching. Will be watching.

"Don't you want to stand still with me?"

Hang On Little Tomato

by Pink Martini

The sun has left and forgotten me
It's dark, I cannot see
Why does this rain pour down
I'm gonna drown
In a sea
Of deep confusion

Somebody told me, I don't know who
Whenever you are sad and blue
And you're feelin' all alone and left behind
Just take a look inside and you will find

You gotta hold on, hold on through the night
Hang on, things will be all right
Even when it's dark
And not a bit of sparkling
Sing-song sunshine from above
Spreading rays of sunny love

Just hang on, hang on to the vine
Stay on, soon you'll be divine
If you start to cry, look up to the sky
Something's coming up ahead
To turn your tears to dew instead

And so I hold on to his advice
When change is hard and not so nice
You listen to your heart the whole night through
Your sunny someday will come one day soon to you

Foreign, ballads, and lounge jazz are my consolation at the moment.

"Leslie, have you registered?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

On a superficial level, such questions have been asked of everyone. Everyone has their busy schedule; everyone has their own life. Failings in any one of these matters will bring one down slightly, and almost insignificantly, on the grander scale of things.

"Leslie, have you thought about it?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

Thoughts are incredibly necessary on certain matters. Usually are of the utmost importance. Failure to do so may harm one greatly in the future.

"Leslie, have you looked at the stars?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

Admiration of beauty--something overlooked and rarely done on a mental, emotional, and spiritual level. Some would say that the urgency to do so does not exist; thus, aforementioned admiration may be forgone to more "pressing matters." But what they don't realize is that that continuous failure to appreciate the tree that gives you shade or the stars and moon that light your night will eventually leave you dead and withered inside.

"Leslie, have you fixed it?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

Reparations can be done either physically, mentally, emotionally, and/or spiritually. Just like the previous case, it is sometimes overlooked despite its looming importance in our lives. But personally, I would like to believe that it will never be too late.

Happiness Is Not a Warm Gun

23 February 2007
Enough is Enough

People really do have some nerve these days.

Seriously, now. I am NOT anyone's doormat. I dare you to step on me.

And don't you dare cry when you foot gets bitten off.

I found that while I was browsing/reading old entries of mine from late '06 to early '07. How wonderful were the days when Deca, school, and friends were the only things that worried me. Halfway done with 2008, I can honestly and whole-heartedly say that I remember happier times.

Oh Joy for Another Paradox

It is 2 hours and 7 minutes past midnight, and I type aimlessly away at my laptop, hoping to find some visual solace from traffic and lifeless buildings. I am, if you will, looking for my inner peace. From what could I possibly want peace from? Can not even one person agree that "everything" is enough to suffice for an answer? Thank you.

Certainly there are practical ways to mentally, emotionally, and spiritually remove one's self from the hectic hustle-and-bustle of modern society. But what I seek is the freshness of virgin air (or what could be the least polluted), bright sun (or un-American cloudiness), and Nature's song (or, again, I will settle for anything not-so-American). I basically want to fly from this mainland for something new despite the obvious and ever-so-celebrated diversity of the American scenery.

I don't want the sunset-draped beaches of the Western American Coastline. I don't want the rolling hills or the endless valleys offered by the Midwest. I don't want quaint Eastern life nor the bright-city lights that drape the North-East. I don't want the national forests (at least for right now). I don't want... home.


I want the tribal hospitalities of Pacific-Island nations (Hawaii is the closest I may tolerate, but only to enjoy family property on the island of Kauai). I want the fresh coconut juice and the papaya that tastes sweeter when picked straight from the tree by my own hands. I want to walk the road of the European country-side and perhaps even sample the historic cobblestones of ancient cities. I want to listen to the ocean with waves either violently crashing amongst the rocks and cliffs or peacefully grazing the sand.

But in order to get that piece of foreign relaxation (even sans the luxury), I must give up my momentous peace that I was graciously allowed by lying in bed 2 hours and 25 minutes past midnight.

These are my little treasures.

KOST or Icky Thump

It's not a drink that I need. I remember full well that I've described several of my favorite moments. And I am in desperate need of one of those.

More specifically, I need the freeway instance with a few select people. May 16th marks the day two of them will be back. Perhaps then, things will settle; I will find peace.

I Still Cannot Sleep

Is it wrong to say that I think I need one drink right now?

When I Cannot Sleep

There are tales and tales of mysterious doors that yield to well-hidden keys. Surely, then, there is at least one tale of the opposite occurrence. An adventure, in turn, ensues for that single solution: that one door, that one key. What then if only the knowledge of both door and key exist, leaving but two solutions to be sought?

What awaits behind both door and key that is worth the trouble of a search? Can anyone tell me that?

EDIT: Spoke to John. Somewhat comforted. Somewhat not.

Grouphug.us

I read this one incredibly personal confession addressed to a specific woman. Not gonna lie, I bawled oceans (a symptom of the menstrual cycle, I'm sure).

Dear D.L.N.*,

I still love you. You’ve broke[n] my heart twice now and I still love you. I flew across the country to be with you for one night and you shut me down, just like you did when I came to Israel for you only a few years before.

How do I know I still love you? Because even after suffering without you for six years, after being acquainted with so many other women, you are still without peer in my heart. Because I am more intimately acquainted with your flaws than anyone else. When you shut me out of your life for three years, you didn’t need to tell me you didn’t know how to deal with what you were feeling. I had to carry that pain in my breast for three years. Through every night when I couldn’t sleep because all I could manage to do was cry, I still loved you.

Through every hard moment when I needed someone to be there for me and there was no one, I still loved you.

Through every beautiful place I’ve seen since then that was tainted by not being able to share it with you, I still loved you.

Through every time I wanted to reach out to someone and tell them I love them, I still loved you.

Through every time I woke up alone with that quick, loathsome sting of the heart upon realizing you weren’t there, I still loved you.

Every day, for the past six years, from the moment I was first aware of your existence, till now, I still loved you.

And yet, you have the audacity, the sheer gall to say that we can’t be together because I’m not mature enough for you? Wasn’t my intelligence and maturity for my age [the things that] attract[ed] you to me in the first place? Didn’t one of your ex-boyfriends used to send you pictures of his turds to marvel over with him? I’ve been waiting six years for you, and you couldn’t even give me one fucking night when I flew 3,000 miles to be with you? I didn’t want to have sex with you, and yet, that’s all you could see in me when I was with you. And so what if I did want to have sex with you? For the last six years, I have waited for you, not so much as looking upon another woman. I view my virginity as a beautiful gift to give to you, something I can give that you can never return, and that I can only give to one person on this earth, and I wanted to give it to you. I wanted you to teach me how to be a real man, in more ways than just the crude and obvious.

And now I’m stuck. How can I even have sex with anyone else when I love you so much? Why would I want to share that gift with someone who I don’t feel this way towards? I’ve never even kissed a girl, and you couldn’t even give me that. How can I even date another girl when I know I’ll never be able to care for her even remotely as much as I care for you?

How dare you portray yourself as some sort of arbiter of empathy, some sort of force for justice in this world, when someone who cares for you so deeply was so hastily and carelessly cast aside because you couldn’t put up with my being a little nervous around you for an hour. Not to mention an hour that was borne from months and months of romantic build up, of promises of romance and adventure galore.

Do you know what a poison it is to promise to a man that he’ll be able to hold you, to kiss you, to whisper sweet nothings, to take you on grand adventures, to do these things for the very first time, and then renege at the peak of his excitement to be with you? Let alone twice!

And yet, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t the man you needed to me. I’m sorry I let you down. And I’m ashamed at myself, because even with all my hate for you, I know I’d still do absolutely anything for you. I know my love for you is as strong as it ever was. And it’s the absolute most elaborate, intricate, excruciating torture to know that a woman of your sheer perfection and class exists, and is capable of loving me (as she has twice prior), and refuses to give me one more chance when I have been so steadfastly dedicated to her.

And in the most bizarre of ways, I thank you. The first time you hurt me, anyways, as bad as it was, was a learning experience. I learned more through that than I could’ve through any amount of schooling or time or work anywhere else. You taught me maturity. You taught me patience. You taught me how to deal with heartache. You taught me wisdom. But most importantly, you taught me how to forgive. I only wish you would learn how to, too.

- S


*Name changed for privacy purposes.