All the Wrong Buttons.

Dear Friend,

The one rule I follow - both in my personal and professional aspects of my life - is quite simple:

"Never make big decisions when you are either PMS-ing or Post-MS-ing."

Sounds stupid, I know. Most especially if you're a regular. Doing the math, I realized that if you are a regular, you can't make big hasty decisions for 5 days every month (assuming you have 2 days of pre and post-menstrual syndromes and 3  days of the actual period). 

But since, I am an irregular - meaning I have my period for at least 5 days every other month - I try to not make any hasty and emotion-fueled decisions during this time. 

But somehow, I think I'm being tested. 

It's funny how some people always see themselves as survivors when in fact, they are apparently acting like they are victims. Same way some people always say that they don't want the drama but they are the ones making the drama. 

My friend, I am at a tipping point. 

I can't help but wonder how the same person who say she is "sensitive" to the plight of others (whether alive or even paranormal beings), can actually be the most insensitive person I have ever met. 

They say that the characters you meet shape you as a person. To be honest, I am at a breaking point. 

My friend, you know I am not entirely religious. Organized religion has disappointed me before. But now, I ask whatever Being there might be, if this is a sign or if this is a test? 

About to say "Goodbye and Good Luck",

X

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin

Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in

Now you're outside me you see all the beauty

Repent all your sin

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose

I chose to feel it and you couldn't chose

I'll write you a postcard, I'll send you the news

From a house down the road, from real love

Thinking about it now, I can't seem to find a more fitting song than Stars' Your Ex-Lover is Dead. Although I'm not saying he's dead literally but I think it's more of really realizing that the things you sort of hope that was there isn't really there.

I'm sure I'm not making sense to you (my interested albeit few), reader. If you don't know me that well, I probably won't. The best way I can explain it is that, now, I feel like I'm getting a part of me back by loosing something totally different. I do feel bad because my "liberation" came with a fake one.

Frances once quipped how liberating a carnival ride was for her and we laughed it off because we survived the experience. In hindsight, it was no laughing matter. Frances was one of the most silent and proper individuals I know. It was indeed liberating for her, but it was also liberating for me to break the idea that this friend is simply my prim and proper friend. I don't want to "process" this too much (as we say in my line of work). But I think it all boils down to the idea that a lucid moment can come from all the madness of everyday life and a random plan with someone you hoped would be different by now.

I've also come to accept that in any relationship - we cannot and should not change the person. Regardless if it's for the night, a month with a card, and a number of years - we bond (for lack of a better term) because we know that they are worth it and not because they are ideal. I think people have the tendency to hope for someone to change for them because it is portrayed as the most romantic gesture of the lifetime. Now, more than ever, I just find it stupid. People change on their own, for their own reasons. Real character is measured by this and not by those around the person. We just always assume that we are worth the change but maybe in reality, we are not worth anything at all.

We cannot stop people from changing. I'm not the same person that I was when our hands, held together by the idea that sweaty palms were romantic, were hidden from view care of our Jansport bags. The same way I've come to accept that you will never be the man you thought you would be, I think it's high time you accept I'm no longer the girl who had carefree thoughts on how to rule the world.

Thank you for the night. Thank you for the future nights. But more importantly, thank you for helping me understand my changes a little bit better.

Knowing that something cannot be because you actually tried to make it work is indeed liberating. Knowing that there are, indeed, things you just don't want simply because you don't want them in it is also liberating. Knowing that you are ready for a different one, a someone that you know might not be the one, is the most liberating thought of all.

I'm sorry if you're not the one.

Taking leaps,

Someone Anxious

Missed.

I often wonder if I am missed.

I write about so many things I miss and now, I can't help but think if anyone really truly misses me. It's hard being left behind at times. Everyone's got someone (is that a song somewhere?) and at times I feel as if I'm downgraded to number 2.

I don't mind.

I mean, I understand... I understand that love is stronger (isn't that what I write all the time here?). I understand that it's the natural course of things: to be moved to number 2. I guess, as number 2, I try really really hard to be there for people. To fill my days with catching up, meeting up and getting along. I try to keep busy, not take any offense and make the most of being left behind.

It's not that lonely, I realized. But there's that feeling of wanting to be missed that nags you late at night.

I told a friend on mine, over a cup of yogurt, a few weeks back that I've been running. I've been running as far away as I could so I  can forget about the things I want to forget and not remember about the situations that happened. I keep busy, tiring myself out with work or keeping myself out from home. I drink (or act drunk at times) to pretend to be happy. I tell happy stories, eat the most bizarre of foods and pretend to fail jokes because I want it all to go away at night when I'm alone in bed thinking about an old room, an old house, an old life and even an older lover.

But that's the way things are supposed to be... that's the way it is because everyone has something or someone. They have their own lives to live and I cannot expect them to be there, to cry with me after so much time has passed. I am but a percentage of what people can or cannot give. At the end of the day, we're all just part of an emotional statistic.

I'm not bitter... I'm not sad. I'm just here.

People tell me to take risks, to do what I want to do, to pursue this and to pursue that... but can I really? Honestly? Can I? Reality comes to haunt me every month. I have bills to pay, people to take care of and things to settle. Sometimes, I wish these people can understand what it really feels like to live in the 'real' world. I'm sick and tired of people saying how grown-up they are when in fact, truth is they're not. Only a few people I know understand and that's probably because they went through the same things...

...they were hungry, once, like me.

...maybe they just want to be happy, like me.

...possibly they just feel missed, like me.

Me,

Someone Anxious

From Reading.

I used to read a lot. Back then, when my brother would hog the television and I was stuck in my room all day, I would read Harry Potter, Sweet Valley Twins, Nancy Drew, Crime Novels and all sort of other books that I could get my hand into.

source:  http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m83jc3lQ6V1qz6f9yo1_500.jpg 

I never really had patience for textbooks though.

Aside from religion book, I never liked the way the text was printed. It was impersonal, very rational (leaving no room for the readers imagination) and very keen to grade your understanding of what you read (as there was always a comprehensive exercise after every chapter).

Now that I'm working, I find myself reading business books (which in my head, are the same as text books).. For those of you who really know me well, you probably know that I'm not the business sort of person. Yeah, I have my little accessories business (which is on hold as of the moment) but that doesn't make me an "entrepreneur extraordinaire".  In fact, now that I think about it, I've probably placed myself in a situation where I am far as possible as doing my own business. Even my uncle's offer to head certain parts of his business I out rightly refused simply because I always knew that it isn't the perfect time for me... or the fact that I'm just not a business person.

Yes. I'm not really a business sort of person. I think, a lot of people forget that I'm not very passionate when it comes to business. Really, I'm not. I like my work and I want to be successful in it but when it comes to managing finances or seeing something corporate grow, I'm not passionate about it. Yes. I'm not. I really am not. What I like about what I do is how I get to interact with people, think about the processes people undergo everyday and help them develop in some way or another. I don't really like the business part of what I do. I like the people part.

I guess that's what I'm really passionate about. People. Thinking about it, all of my hobbies are about people. Take for photography for example, I like taking photos of people during their special moments. I love making videos of weddings because I feel like there so much energy there. Even food! What brings everyone together, eh? Isn't it food? Are we not all bound by a special occasion or moment by food?

A blogger I follow posted about passion and how he has to really start making time for the things he is passionate about. This idea has been drifting in and out of my consciousness since last night and I realized that day jobs (or the thing that keeps me alive) are really what makes you a lame Joe. IF I don't have a day job, I can't afford to pay my monthly bills, pay for my share of expenses with my dad or even save up for that laptop I really want to get fixed.

Simple really.

S.A.

You cry at night…

…because there are things you would rather do and someone who you would rather be with.

You've cried before and of that I’m certain. You’ve thought about what everybody else expects of you and your personal goals. In fact, you’ve cried because you had your heart broken and your dreams shattered. You’ve cried because you can no longer hold it in and at times, you just feel like there’s nothing else to do but let it out.

Tears weren’t really your preferred way of letting it all out. It would have been better if you vomited like the million times you used to do so before but hush - no one really knows about that now. It would have been better if you were out living the night and forgetting the thoughts with the bitter taste of that liquid you’ve fallen in love with. But you’re not. You’re here at your supposed home thinking about the room you used to have, the friends you used to know and the life you used to live.

And you start to cry.

Not because you didn’t have a great time with the friends you still have and just met up with. Not because you miss your privacy and the house that had a blue tiled garden where you had your fist cigarette. You cry because you realize that there are a million other things you’ve always wanted to do and a million other moments that you missed. You cry because it could have been perfect and you could have said the right things at the right time with the right person. You cry because you are reminded that you are alone and maybe life is just that… lonely.

You are a young and lonely one.

I am a young and lonely one.

I am not lonely with the thoughts of him or them. I am not lonely because I long for him and the many others before him. I’m lonely because I fell in love with the idea of something else. Something that I know I will never have unless I take a leap of faith. It’s just that leaps of faith are just so fucking hard. Leaps of faith are at times, impossible to do.

I am provided with moments of bliss. But there are just that – mere moments that don’t last forever. I am reminded of life, love and hope but they are just but a reminder of things, I feel, I will never have. I capture moments that are not mine because I am jealous of their owner’s. I constantly ask Holly if I should jump, Janey if I should swim, and Jackie if I’ll survive.

I am a coward because I never jump. I stick to my comfort zone because that is the only thing I know how to do. I am, as the wide world tells me, a closet mystic. I think of jumping to no longer be one.

I’ve gone through hell and back several times and I know I don’t deserve this box in which I am in. I never did but still, here I am and there’s nothing for me to do. I am waiting though. I am waiting for someone to remind me of the things I’ve always wanted to do, the places I’ve always wanted to see. I am waiting to remind myself why I am not just young and lonely but also lovely. I am waiting to remind myself that youth is but only once and I write to be one. I am waiting to remind myself that capturing someone else’s moments is not stealing but rather, sharing. I am waiting to remind myself that I am happy to be

Someone Anxious.