Grieve Future, Grieve.

HERE

I don’t know what a broken heart feels like. Or maybe I do but because I feel it too often, I am incapable to differentiate it from other mere feelings of sadness or hurting. But how can sadness be just ‘mere’? Whenever I’m sad I long for an overwhelming compassion and words that are beyond the amorous movies, beyond this mortal earth. Perhaps that’s what adds to the tragedy, wanting the things I can’t have. Expectation has been my biggest let-down.

I’m afraid of the very same things that I want. Because I don’t know if it is right to want them. Happiness is best if shared, they say. But how about it when there’s nobody to share it with?

Loving someone just got uglier.

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to.

Every day, inevitably, I draw closer to an impending chapter of my life. I just don’t know whether to be happy or sad about it. My Mother gives my Brother and I a lot of formidable advices and I’m not sure if my Brother dwells over it as much as I do, but I do. On many occasions she has told us that if we truly want something and work hard towards it, God helps us unfailingly to attain the same.

Perhaps I’m the little optimist like my Father, because I have faith in the little things that people deem hopeless. When you come from a little family like mine, in a little town, you are familiar with the annoying but ever so common innuendoes like ‘what will people say?’ I believe in magic, good magic. It happened to me 5 years ago. Magic exists amidst us. We call it God. If I were granted three wishes or more or less, I’d like to first wish to rid of the current mind-sets of a lot of the inhabitants of my little town so that people like me and K could have no qualms about our choices and decisions. My Mother, (cue family) falls into the list too, sadly. But I don’t blame her. 

Tomorrow I turn 21, and March hasn’t been good to me even for a day, starting from Day 1 when I lost Dobby. I hope he knows how special he was to KS and I. That we miss him dearly.

Set my Secret free.

HERE

Every summer my Mother and I talk about the little things like little people in a little town. Talking less and debating more, but hearing out each other nevertheless. Today I have a million and one thing to tell her and, God forbid, all hell will break loose.

I’ll be graduating in a month, after I turn 21 first and nothing tastes of independence more than telling her about the intricacies of certain things in my life. You’d think it’s easy because they say the truth will set you free, but it also shatters one into a million little pieces.

I’m not afraid about her reaction and the multiple coaxing to change my mind thereafter. I’m only very afraid that she will fail to see him the way I do. And the view from up here is breath-taking. Touch-wood.

I hate keeping secrets, especially mine.

An Open Secret.

Life happens to me in-between. I don’t like sex as much as I like the kisses and strokes that lead to it. Anticipation is my happy place. But lately there has been a shift. Uncertainty scares me as much as mediocrity.

About a decade ago, my Father used to work out of town. I remember a time when I waited for his arrival every day for about 3 days, not knowing the exact day of his arrival. I never asked my Mother too but I just stood by the edge of the stairs looking out the street hoping the next car that appears is him. It was a celebration every time he came home. But the goodbyes were more intense. Today I wonder how my Mother coped with the parting.

Because I think I am in dire need of the same. I don’t know a lot of things lately. I don’t know if my assumptions are true. I tell him that he has changed. He doesn’t deny it but he tells me all the right things and he means it. I think he is going to leave the city for work reasons and I find myself fighting the urge to tell him every day how much I want him to stay. But I have always been the good girlfriend, I’ve always understood. It has always come easy, with good food.

Going Away.

HERE

I sat on the floor abruptly without noticing the scissors slip out of my slim fingers. The childish sketch of mine stuck on the card waiting to dry and the pink beads half stuck on the sides, forgotten. Two nights ago, a lot of things changed. The way I felt in that moment, I still do. It circulates like the blood in my veins, at the back of my mind.I didn’t know there were so many things more to know about him when we both moved here to this dead city, which gave us so much life in return. Not that I wasn’t happy to discover all over again. I’d never know how he smells like in the mornings, how the fish he prepares tastes just like my Mother’s, how he watches the news every day. All these things I’d never know if we were just our 16 and 17 year old self back in our little town.

Now I wake up in the morning and suddenly it hits me, everything’s going to be different. It’s like sitting on a time bomb counting the days for it to explode and I know I’m not going to die but the wound will impair me all the same. I think I should pray but I don’t. I’m sitting here trying to find the reasons why I’m so afraid when I shouldn’t be. I’m wondering how I should begin telling you about it. I’ve told him I’m getting drunk on his birthday.