Unlost and Lost

Monday, June 18, 2018 Comments Off

it was 4 am in the morning when I quivered and shattered.
I wanted to bloom--
truly, to feel myself blossoming and expanding,
reaching out to the nurturing energy out there

patience was a virtue that I was familiar with, but never mastered.
so the pedal broke. the fuel was insufficient.
the circumstance was pushing me to contract
--to wait, to wait, to wait it chanted

in the distance I heard someone crying,
this cry of help that I've heard lifetimes ago
here again, not for something that was easily fixed
again, for the same irreparable thing

whatever that got unlost and lost again
--no, not what but whomever that got unlost and lost
would have to learn to bite their tongue and swallow their blood
through the unmapped wilderness that the universe provided

All Your Tousled Hair

Friday, May 18, 2018 Comments Off

Before our colleague pointed out that you shaved your face clean, I noticed it first this morning.

Seeing you with that freshly shaven face with clean-cut hair, I felt a certain kind of betrayal. A betrayal which I am not allowed to feel under any capacity -- a certain kind of betrayal that only works when you are officially attached to the other person. A feeling that is not mine to have yet I feel it all the same. Similar to how you can never be mine but I am overflowed with what I am feeling for you.

Seeing you, however, with your freshly shaven face and clean-cut hair made me recall all the things that I want to do with you. All I want is only simple things, like running my fingers through your tousled wavy hair, feeling your beard on my skin, helping you pick out that right backpack to replace your overused one, wrapping my arms around your waist while placing my head to that spot under your chin in front of your neck that was especially made for me, sharing a bottle of sake after a particularly rough week, and other domestic stuff that feels tangible but impossible at the same time.

I'm still wondering, my glorious, have you ever wondered about these domestic stuff? The kinds of which I wished for. The kinds of which I still wish I could experience all of these with you. The kinds that will only remain alive in my head perhaps until the end of time.

If the circumstances were different, would you pursue me or would you still play that mind games? Would you give us a chance? Would there any gaping noticeable space that currently exist between us? Or would we burn in flames together trying to match each other's challenges.

There are a lot of things that I want from you. Things that unfortunately cannot come to fruition.

I want more than just one glorious sunset; I want everything, the suns, the moons, the stars, all the atoms, all the raging sea, thunderous sky, calming forest, peaceful mountains, and everything in between that makes the universe of us--of you and me (decisively not you, me)

Darling you still are all my spaces, all my paragraphs, all my sentences, all my pages, and all my gaps.

I still miss you. Will always miss you.

Being 23

Saturday, February 24, 2018 Comments Off

I am here sitting in the same exact cafe in which I sat a year ago writing a certain piece—still trying to decipher everything, to unfold every single burgeoning madness that's been done to me in a span of a year. Also still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it has actually been a year. That everything the has happened to me in regards to a certain individual actually started its ruthless dance since a year ago. A lot of things changed because of that particular experience with that certain individual. To be honest, it changed almost everything, most notably my own perception about romance, relationship, and self-respect. I am forever changed because of that.

Being 23 saw me striking up a courage to tell a certain individual regarding my feelings about him, getting my first proper date and kiss, tanning my skin under Balinese sun while wondering about a certain individual's intention, being taken home a couple of times by a certain individual, going on a Eurotrip with my own money, going back home to the city that accepted me for who I am, being taught playing settlers of catan by the most accommodating and welcoming host, walking around my the said city to rediscover and relove everything, watching three of my ultimate favourite bands that had been with me through all chapters of my young adult life, being mistaken as locals a number of times in scandinavian countries, publishing two chapbooks containing glimpses of my heartbreaks and revelations, gaining my self-worth and self-respect, losing weight, buying myself endless gifts including the long-craved pair of jeans and pink windbreaker, breaking my own heart from expecting someone to make a decision, attending my brother from another mother's wedding, hooking up with someone and actually putting my theories to use, slowly diminishing my body-image issue due to the said hook-up situation, taking myself to the hospital due to my acid reflux acting up, getting my heart broken endlessly by two males that shared the same name, receiving a life-changing information about my best friend, winning a much-needed new phone, taking trips back to my birth town, buying a proper speaker for my room, wining and painting beauty and the beast's signature rose, dyeing my hair copper, and most importantly, taking care of myself when no one else was there.

By being 23, there was a lot of things that I discovered, uncovered, rediscovered, learned, unlearned, relearned, thought, rethought, loved, unloved, reloved, built, broke, rebuilt, found, lost, and everything else in between. These things wouldn't be possible if I did not try to help myself after losing myself in shambles of heartbreaks and disappointments. It would not have been possible to go through it if I did not stay with myself through better or worse situation. The form of love that I have for myself is the only thing that keeps me going through whatever the condition that I have to endure.

Thank you, 23, you were tiring, but there were so many gems that I discovered—mainly about myself. I wouldn't have traded every experience that I'd gone through last year for anything in the world.

Hello, 24, what do you have in store for me? Please be good to me. I only hope for positive things this year. Or at least positive attitudes in dealing with whatever life throws at us this year.

Wreckage of Unmanned Ship

Monday, February 12, 2018 Comments Off

Just like you, my friends asked me, "Was it ever love?"

It got me pondering about the implication if it was love, or if it was not love.

If it was the latter one, wouldn't it be dismissing our feelings, interactions, and eye-contacts that we have given each other. Wouldn't it be dismissing the tension, the push and pull that the Universe had made us do these past two years. Wouldn't it be dismissing the chemistry that we seemed to have. Wouldn't it be dismissing every experience that we had due to it, everything that we did not share with each other, everything that was kept in dark silence, everything that was soundlessly whispered to the void, everything that we hoped was simultaneously shared to and kept from each other. Wouldn't it be dismissing to us as an unnamed joined entity and as our own person. Wouldn't it be dismissing each other.

But, if it was love. Who could be sure. Who could explain it to me truly that it was love. Who could explain it to me that what we had was romantic love. Who could tell me that love actually was consist of silent treatments, misunderstandings, and dishonesty. Who could tell me that the secrets we refused to share to each other—the very same secret that we whispered to the void—were what made it love. Who could tell me that the longings that couldn't leave my mouth and my heart were because of love. Who could tell me that all the late-night self-destructive wonderings that I experienced was a deliberate form of love. Who could tell me that all these lonely moments where we were left alone with our self-deprecating thoughts was a direct result of love. Who could tell me that trying to dismember our homesickness from ourselves by attaching ourselves to another person was a form of love. Who could assure me that wreckage of unmanned and purposeless ship that we found ourselves in was the result of love.

Would it still be called love if we have to prove its existence? Would it still be called love if it could only rob ourselves off of happiness?


Thursday, January 25, 2018 Comments Off

Hello, void, my old friend. We meet again.

You are not as heavy as you used to. Or perhaps I have used to feel your presence in my chest. It is not much of a bother anymore, I have learned to breathe deeply with your weight burdening my chest. I know how to navigate life with you tagging along. But you are getting stronger, aren't you? Not because with the whole fiasco with an Almost Love but I know it's probably because I am living the kind of life that I fear the most. The kind that I never wanted in the first place. Though currently it is the only kind that can provide the type of intimacy and necessary kindness that I have been starving for since the dawn of my time—that particular kind that Almost Love couldn't provide.

This fear is gnawing on my sanity yet again. And with each bite of sanity that it has taken away, you grow stronger, bigger, heavier. I am almost at my wit's end. My eyes grow tired from trying to see the feelings that aren't actually there and my ears strain themselves trying to listen to the words that aren't spoken.

But I must give it to you, void. You have been present all my life, even though most of the time unknowingly, but as of the past ten years, you have stayed on the furthest corner of my eyesight as a constant companion. You have seen me with my heartbreaks, triumphs, and in-between... just like now. Funny how it all turned out, isn't it? I thought closures would be all there is to see when you are living an adult life, but as it turns out everything is greyer. I cannot expect anything more tangible than the snippets of reality that these people are willing to provide to me.

Bubble Rain

Monday, September 25, 2017 Comments Off

It started to rain again.

The last time it was raining on this part of the island was half a year ago—when the rain could witness us with our lips locked, while my fingers fumbled due to their lack of experience and your hands gripping on the armrests between us trying to simultaneously be closer and apart. The rain manifested a little bubble that defied time and space, any resemblance of reality was rejected. It was, simply, intimacy made life. My trusted yellow bag was a silent witness of the bubble in which there was a you and a me that cannot exist in reality. You were attentive, flirty, caring, observant, and a bit spontaneous, while I was hopeful, giddy, naive, and unready. We were exquisite. We experienced things that logic and reality would reject all at once. But that is all it was. A bubble. Its exclusivity cannot obey the laws of time and space, so it left us bereft of guidance or path. Things are done differently in this realm. We cannot find a dynamic that suits us properly and gives the same delightful feeling that we experienced in the bubble.

Maybe the rain would end the feelings that it started.

Humane to Want

Wednesday, September 6, 2017 Comments Off

It has been long since I last had an exciting day out with myself. It's been too long since I last had a date with myself that resulted in many pretty poems and short stories. I would pretty much like to blame it on the obligation and responsibility of being an employee in an industry that demands your attention 24/7; but I would be a coward if I were to say so. I would be lying—not so much to other people, but to myself. Lying about the reason behind my absence in my own relationship with myself would be counterproductive to its growth. The fact was, simply, I was too tired to care about myself. Sure, I gave myself necessities and attention, but it was bare minimum, a sub par at best. I prefer to give something with more depth, something that actually shows how much I worth to myself. Alas, since everything that has been going on in my life is emotionally draining, I feel like I don't have any excess attention and affection to give to myself to.

It's kind of hard not being able to show myself affection and attention that I deeply need. Especially when I know that I do not have anyone that could provide me with this necessity when I fail to come up with any of both. This inherent necessity is something primal that the world has deprived me of—something that only few fortunate could give and take from another, something that those who experience loneliness or unrequited love yearn for the most, something that these two groups of people know intimately but never seen, felt, touch them properly. How fortunate those who can sate their needs for affection and attention in the hands of people who care for them.

Perhaps I should also reflect on my needs and its requirement for satiation. Though, answer me this my love, is it too much to ask for understanding, honesty, and affection? Isn't it humane to want?
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