Archive for February 2016

A Letter to Stranger

Monday, February 29, 2016 Comments Off

Dear Almost Love,

How have you been? It has been too long since we have discussed with each other about the things that we fear the most about growing up. I've now realised that we are both grown ups now. It is not exactly the way I had imagined back when we were talking about this over a huge cup of ice cream. I almost did gain my imagined future, but I tossed it away for a promise of a better future. Though, to be completely honest, I really wish that the better future comes along faster, but not everyone is as lucky as you.

Through this letter, I would like to let you know about what has been happening in my life lately, since we haven't properly communicated with each other in a while—and apparently we have both of us to blame for not showing any effort to stay in touch. But, maybe we really have to let each other go, or perhaps I posed it wrong, we already had let each other go. In a sense, when we were still holding on to each other: we were in this glorious bliss of a neutral zone. Where everything stayed where they were with untouched boundary. I really had thought so. But the last few years I had come into a realisation that we were actually dancing pretty close to the boundary, even our close proximity was visible to the eyes of the unobservant.

The feeling that I miss the most about our closeness is the intimacy. Regardless whether intimacy actually existed or not, but it truly is what I miss the most. Every time I seek for a relationship with someone else, especially with another gender, I always try to find the same intimacy that I found in whatever it was that we had. It was a big portion of my adolescence. And do you know what comes with intimacy? Inside jokes.

Inside jokes are the best, no? You get to share this tiny little bubble of space that only exists between the two of you, and one of you holds the key, while the other holds the lock. Honestly, I miss every part of it. I miss being inside a small knit that I called "you and I."

But inside jokes are cruel, too. It gives me more expectations about something that could never be, like "you and I" for example. It makes me think of something that was more than what it was, it now feels like I should have got something more than any of this. It makes me feel like I should have something more than years of radio silence and static tv.

I'm writing this just to let you know with my situation currently, I feel cheated. From the Universe itself. You see, there is this potential that I have been eyeing for the past week; an impossible potential, I might add. The Universe has shown me that, this sacred potential only I could precept since none of these people has given him a great big deal of interest, he is an interestingly impossible potential. Even though, I admit, that he is an impossible potential, but at a certain degree I feel cheated because, at first, he has shown me this unmindful interest, with his own nonchalant way. Then, he went cold, a disinterested kind of cold. The most unnerving part of this is that I know that he is impossible, but I still want him to know that I'm interested. Even though, as you've known before, I've never been the person that people are interested in before. So, maybe my ego is bruised, or my hope shattered, or my happiness ruined.

But all I know about romance is that it can never be mine. It's close enough, but not enough to grasp, only for me to believe that it exists. Though, not for me.

Yours truly.
The one that could have grown old with you

Collection of Recollections, Part I

Sunday, February 21, 2016 Comments Off

If anyone asks,
who are you
or more importantly,
what are you?
I could only answer you with this:
an accumulation of never
and
a summation of being a second choice
 I thought I should let you know

I was eighteen
(soft cheeks, unruly hair, bare faced)
when I first saw someone I love,
it was me, happy
— I envy her

The day my mother knew
that the world has robbed off
the most innocent part of me
was when I told her
about the fact that
the foundation of marriage
is not always love
— The cruelest thing world has ever done to me

My grandmother told me about
the worth of women
it is when
they are chosen by worthy men,
those men that are smart, handsome,
and more importantly rich.
But my grandmother failed to tell me
that the sum of a woman's worth
has never been other people,
it is
everything that has happened,
and will happen to her;
it is her pain, her sweat, her tears,
her blood, her joyful laughter, and
everything that comes in between
nothing more and nothing less.
— Her own beating heart

Little Drizzles

Sunday, February 7, 2016 Comments Off

I have always thought love would come knocking with a sharp, reassuring tap tap.

Love would caught me by surprise because it'd arrive at the most unpredictable time. It would come, bearing the comfiest, overworn sweater that has faded letters of something from their past. Love would come as it is, without anything covering its blatant truth and potentials. Love would let me snuggle, even if it was hot outside. Love would never fail to say please, sorry, thank you. Love would apologies when needed, not expected. Love would wait for me to finish an even pair of winged eyeliners, while I wait for the tea to cool down, and for the rain to transform into little drizzles.

But that specific kind of love never came, love never did. At least not in that particular state. Almost Love did grace me with their presence, but Almost Love did not live up to their potential. An Almost Love came by for a chat or two, leaving me beguiled, and then it left. Almost Love straightened up their tux as they wait for a set of eyes to sweep them off their feet. Almost Love hurriedly caught their next plane to their dream destination, in which they found contentment and self-actualisation. Almost Love got to one of their knees in front of someone else; someone with pink cheeks, freckles, and naturally blonde hair. Almost Love opened up a coffee shop, in a city thousand miles away (it opens every time I go to sleep). Almost Love was so caught up at work, it disappeared completely, only to return with frozen heart and thick ego. Almost Love left, and never return.

Instead, love came as a friend that called me when it was over 2 AM, rambling about how inconvenient their current job is and how impossible it is to find a place to rent. Love came as a friend, sleeping over when I feel like sharing my bed and my thoughts. Love came as a friend, ready to be at my beck and call whenever loneliness strikes its bullet straight to my soul. Love came as a friend that talks with a whisper and a sigh, tired and worn with this materialistic and consumerist world, but they never failed to support me. Love came as a friend, whenever I feel tired, they will take over the wheel and let me rest, no questions asked. Love came as a friend, sipping my tea and finishing up all of my leftover chips, and they would say "it's enough." Love came as a friend, still awake at midnight, waiting for me to send pictures of things that I want to buy. Love came as a friend, armed with hairties, bubblegums, and healing salves. Love came as a friend, lent me their shoulders, irreplaceable time, and warmest hugs.


Maybe my preferred version of love has not arrived yet; their plane maybe got delayed or they even haven't booked any ticket yet. Maybe my preferred version of love is still sitting on a bench near a buss stop, pondering whether or not the journey is worth it. Maybe my preferred version of love is sleeping on the wrong bed, thinking that it is where they are meant to be (and to be completely honest I do not blame them). Maybe my preferred version of love does not exist.

Maybe, I was not meant to say, "Welcome love, enjoy your stay."

She's Everything

Wednesday, February 3, 2016 Comments Off

She's the kind of girl that you can never stop loving.

She has that kind of eyes, you know? The kind that makes you wish you had known her sooner. The ones that can smother you with love and kill you in just one look. The ones that will gently carry your soul or the ones that will crush everything you've ever known. All with just one look. It's piercing when she knows -- you know -- you are lying about something with her, but it will all be forgiven with just another look that makes you feel grateful that you are alive. You always wish that she will never stop looking at you with sparkles in her eyes.

You will feel like dancing when she finally understands you. How to elicit emotions other than hatred and self-pity. She knows which switch to turn, which ones that will make you tasted red on your lips, or feel songs that never existed before. She knows your crevices and your nooks, and your negative space, and your overflowing undercontained thoughts. She made a nest out of your destructed fortress, complete with four-poster bed, thick mahogany-coloured afghan, and the softest pillow; so you can always rest with her, within her.

She shares parts of her to everyone. Not all at once, not at the same time, as she still keeps some parts of her stay inside, apart from the real world. But, gradually, everything she has to offer will be sent to you even those hidden parts of her that had never come out before, each will be wrapped with silver silk (the same kind that will glide smoothly on her skin and you will forget where the silk starts and where here skin ends). Your fingertips hold power to make her fall apart, and build her back again; you can start listening to her skin hum with her favourite song. And you will notice that everything about her is beautiful.

You never planned any of this. There was something in the past, something you used to turn to when everything went dark. But, she replaced everything you've ever known. She is not what you expected either. She tends to seek the anonymity that metropolitan cities can never offer, yet her proclivity to be paradoxical makes people confused, she often composes illustrative pieces of her emotions that makes her impossible to remain anonymous. Her endless need to grow as a person often gets in the way of her love for being secluded. She needs human interactions in her otherwise pensive existence. In order to feel that plateful range of emotions, she needs to believe that she actually exists by including herself in the complicated interactions.

She is everything to you, as you are to her.

She is everything.

And I can never be her for you.
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