It is the feeling of tiredness that creeps on you even if you haven’t done anything all day long. It is the crying spells that overtakes you when you are finally left all alone after a long day of pretending to be okay. It is the waking up every 2AM with your thoughts all jumbled up and morose. It is the desire to sleep all the time, to stubbornly stay on bed, and be continually lost in dreams that never makes sense. It is wanting to be somewhere that isn’t really here on the here and now. It is the staring contest at the ceiling, when you finally found a temporary peace in finding no thoughts, no chaos, no feelings, just a deep hollowed numbness at the center of your being.
“Let me get lost.”
There is a desire that resides deep within her soul to run away. To escape to an unknown future. To wander around eternally, without destination, without home in sight.
It is always there just beneath her skin, humming in her veins, vibrating on her bones, just barely on the back of her mind, always within grasp.
To carve a new path. To start a new adventure, a new life. To change her name, her looks, her identity, and personality. To forget. To go somewhere where no one knows her. To start all over again. To never look back.
To never get back.
Stutter those words.
I could feel the words rising on the tip of my tongue only for it to vanish on the thin air.
Two years ago, I could spin and weave words and write with such an ease that looking back now, I wonder how I did it.
Yet two years ago, I also killed my muse.
Pain and heartbreak can make you do that.
Not knowing then that I am destroying and killing an integral part of me: the part of me that allows me to write, and view the word in colored lens made of words, and images and visions, crafted together by phrases and syllables, and punctuation, and sealed permanent with ink (or sometimes, with hitting that Publish button).
Now, I feel like I am back on being a toddler on its first word, learning again how to talk, and connect words in such a way that it brings harmony to my all too incoherent thoughts.
Stutter those words.
Type it down. Backspace. Type it again.
I could feel the words rising on the tip of my tongue, pressing down on my fingers. I was able to catch two or three words in the air, enough for me to finish this post.
We, always, always, always have a choice. No matter how much other people or circumstances try to convince you otherwise, do not for a single second believe that you don’t have one.
In reality, I have to remind myself of this truth everyday. That I have a choice. That right at this moment, I am choosing this. And at any moment, I can unchoose this too.
And you can unchoose this too.
I want to drink the water from the ocean
Scald my skin with boiling water
Scrape my neck, my back, my fingers, my arms,
my legs, my stomach, my thighs
with the roughest of the roughest stone I could ever find.
I want to scrub every corner of my dirty little soul
Until all his sins are gone.
When you see the world in blur, you don’t notice things. You feel things. You may be the last one to know the details, but you’re always the first one to sense when something’s up.
When you see the world in blur, you learn not to trust your eyesight.
You learn not to depend on things that can be seen. You second guess things that are tangible, or anything that’s too obvious and superficial. You are a skeptic for anything that’s too real, or to simple. Instead, you trust your gut instinct, intuition, or whatever you called that inner knowing, above all else. Your intuition becomes your compass and map in dealing with the world too focus on looks and visuals.
When you see the world in blur, it’s really like seeing 360 degrees, or more like ‘sensing’ 360 degrees. You will learn to use all your senses, maybe not in its fullest and almost superhuman potential that others with lost sight do, but still in a way that it’s almost above human average. This goes to say that you are more fond of everything that involves the other senses like warm hugs, soulful music, exotic perfumes, and good tasting food.
When you see the world in blur, you love tuning out.
You almost always tune everything out. Because you have lived your life almost half-blind, you basically—though won’t necessarily admit it—doesn’t much care about your physical surroundings or what may be happening around. Instead, you always find yourself lost in your own mind, your own thoughts, and your own dreamscape.
When you see the world in blur, you alternate between being extremely cautious one day for your safety and being recklessly risky the next. This mostly applies to crossing the roads and not minding about cars that are about to hit you on your side, because for the meantime anyway, they’re all just a bunch of colors. And sometimes, you just can’t help but be not afraid of what you cannot see.
When you see the world in blur, you are compelled to become a good people reader, especially in meeting someone for the first time. You have to know almost everything about that person at first ‘close’ face interaction—the choices of their clothes, how they stand, what makes them tick, what makes their eyes light up, or what makes their voice pitch a little bit higher—without looking like you’re already filing some information about them at a corner in your mind for future reference. This you do so you might at least distinguish them when your paths cross on a busy street or even on a deserted corridor. But most likely, the efforts will be futile and you’ll come across as a snob.
In avoiding this, you tend to memorize people.
You memorize their physiques, their builds, their clothes, the way they hold themselves (especially the way they hold themselves), the way they walk, the sound of their voice, and even their smell. You do this quite automatically, almost unconsciously. And it may take three or four meetings or more before you finally ‘see’ them from afar.
When you see the world in blur, you don’t believe at love at first sight. You may fall in love with their voice and their touches and how they hold your hand, or their scent, or with how they carry themselves and how they open the doors for you every time. You will learn not to hold onto anyone’s looks as your sight is as fleeting as their appearances. Instead, you hold on to their energy, on how they make you feel, and what they feel about themselves, and what they feel about you.
When you see the world in blur, you’ll learn the delicate art of balancing what to trust and what not to trust. What is real and what is not real. What to doubt and what not to doubt. You’ll have an uncanny sense of knowing without knowing how.
You will learn to listen to the world, instead of seeing the world.
And you’ll learn most especially, to listen to yourself.
Yet sometimes, you will still make mistakes in your judgements. And that’s okay. Eyesight is hardly perfect, you can also err.
She feels so lost. So empty, like a blank black canvass in a dark tunnel without end light, a black gaping hole in an eternal doom pit. Everything inside her is so dark. She couldn’t even see the end. Is there even an end? Or is where she’s standing an end already?
She is trying. She’s trying with all her might to find the edges of this darkness. As if this darkness is a page where she could just flip it over and be done with it. Yet it doesn’t seem like that. Her hands are stretched in her front, ready for anything she could grab on—a support, a wall, just anything. A stumbling block is even better than this encompassing nothingness.
Yet there is nothing.
Her fingertips are numb with the coldness around her. Her mind is surprisingly blank. And there is that haunting silence. Not even a white noise. And she is craving for noises, noises that would penetrate this blackness, noises that would aim at her heart, vibrate in her bones, and pierce her soul.
Yet there is nothing.
She couldn’t feel herself anymore.
Her breathing is slowly fading.
She is slowly fading.
Sinking into darkness.
And before everything turns to nothing, she utters something beneath her breath. Words that are instantly lost in the darkness, lost before it could even reach anyone, or anything.
Then there is nothing.
I realize that I just built you up
inside my mind, the way others
had built me inside theirs.
She poised her pen to the paper, ready to bleed all the words out, as if by so doing she would be able to purge all her memories of him. But as soon as she started to think of the words she would write about him and of their love that gone wrong, and about the realities that turned illusions, she realized she’s not yet ready.
She’s not yet ready to let it all go, to let go of him and of their story, to put an end to it. Not yet.
But she knows that next time she will be able to write it all down—she must—and put a period to this chapter as she would never ever let this be the ending.
I trust you
More powerful and potent than love,
And all the I love you’s
in the world combined.
The glass used to be half-full, never full. I drank its contents and settled it down, it’s half-empty. When things get rough, I drank some more. And a little bit more, and another more. Until I was so caught up with the taste it leaves on my lips that I forgot.. Nothing lasts forever. I looked at the glass.
The glass must be empty.
I need to get away
before you see all that I am
and all that I’ve been through
I bet it just a matter of time
before you realize
what mess I put myself through
And I never wanted the time to come
when I will see disappointment and disgust
reflected in your eyes
So let me run away for good now
before I get too deep
and trust you too real
And allow me to be
the one who walks away
because I won’t ever manage if it’s you.
I hold on to you
just like a cutter
holding on to its blade
you can magically make pain
go all away.
But every time,
after the storm passed
and the mood subsided
like a cut,
you make a scar in my heart
so deeply, I’m afraid
I will never be whole again.
I know that one day
I’ll be able to press this knife
down to my wrists
down to the little veins and arteries
that pumps my life’s blood in and out
I know that one day
I’ll have the courage to stand
against the cold steel railing
of some random infrastructure
and plunge into the heart of a retiring afternoon
I know that one day
when I cross a street
recklessly, silently wishing
like how I’ve always wished for so long
a car will hit me, ending it all at last
I know one day
When I whisper in your ears
and against your chest
that I wanted to end it all
It won’t be anymore a wishful thinking
When that time comes,
I hope you’ll hear my heartbeat
distinct and alive for the last time
wrap yourselves with my sorrow, taste my tears
for I’m entrusting you my unsung history.