Archive for February 2018

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?
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