From a man to you, 7 years in the future.

          I know that this is kind of weird and out of the blue, but I was organizing my email when something happened. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to focusing on something else, I find it amusing to think that every time I check my email, your reply has always been there staring at me when I do work and other stuff online. I starred your mail, and it’s sitting right there amongst other work related emails, which means this has been going on for seven whole years and I never really bothered about that until today. It’s not that I haven’t read it, I definitely read it back in 2018, but I guess I have a lot of free time and I wanted to further amuse myself and reread what you wrote to me back then about our breakup. And oh boy, I wasn’t ready for the fact that you didn’t justify the paragraphs. That, and you were using double dashes to make em dashes. I actually chuckled from that, thinking of the fact that to me you were the perfect writer. And despite that, I still think you are. When you read this later (through the process I can only describe as somehow), for some reason in my imagination, you were there judging me based on the errors you can find, and somehow that didn’t offend me. Because again, you are the A.S., and I think that amuses me somehow, it killed me.

            Don’t worry, this is not an ex who wants you back. This isn’t gonna be another one of those, “hey I fucked up, I miss us” kind of thing—this is just someone who is reflecting on what happened back then, and to tell you how much I disagreed with your reply.

            I was never your trophy. And you knew that. You knew about a lot of things, but you lied to me in that letter. You sugarcoat things a lot for a younger me to digest. It’s either that, or if that fact is entirely untrue, then perhaps the you from back then didn’t understand it aswell. Which is fair, we were both young, dumb and inexperienced in life, and I’m guessing we will probably approach things the same way today; for I believe it takes a lifetime to ever figure out that there ain’t no lifetime that’s ever figured out. In all honesty, I am sending this to you for one reason only; all my previous attempts were regrets, now that I remembered that I tried. I remember that time when I worked at a food stall of some sorts, and I texted you a long essay or something, and it ended up with us arguing again. That was around five or six years ago. I don’t remember trying again after that other than the time when we just broke up, but I do remember the last time to be hostile and filled with disrespect, from my part. It has been years, and I’m a different man, so I am sending you this as a proper apology.

            You wrote in that letter about how you were trying to fix something broken. Well, I was too—it was mutual. I also told you back then that I had trouble sleeping; these days I sleep like a tardigrade, perhaps too much, almost all the time. You told me that I was the “best kind of pain” and I bet you regretted ever thinking that, considering the fact that as who you are today, you must’ve had newer, better kinds of pain to put on your pedestal. We’re proper adults now, and if you don’t think of me as something of a puppy love of some sort compared to what you had since then, you would’ve been joking to me. You told me that there wasn’t a single fiber of you that is not filled with “exuberance” at the mere thought of me; and I think that is a definite lie—at the very least, some parts of you hated me—and if you did, perhaps you should do so a lot more than you ever did. I remember disagreeing when you wrote that our love is short lived and tragic but still had some worthiness for it to be celebrated, but today, I read that again and in a way, I was thankful too. I do not deserve to be the reason behind the existence of your first poem, or the fact that you started writing; it was in your blood all along. If I was the reason, then how come you write much better than I do? Because if that is the case—and I know it isn’t—you will write things in simpler words, not in your A-esque­ style. I am not going to bullshit you, I can tell if it’s a sentence made by you at a glance; and I’ve read a lot of books from famous authors, and none—I repeat, none—write as beautifully as you. In a way, it’s a shame, really. Because I can never read your writings ever again, but it also meant you’re happier; you and me, we don’t write anymore when we stopped being such sad fucks, I assume.

            It irked me so much when you wrote that perhaps, someday, I get to meet someone who understands that my no’s meant yes. Because my god, that was so fucking cringe, I hated myself for remembering that. You told me I loved you immensely and that I did; but it was unhealthy because I wasn’t in love—I was obsessed­­—and you did the things you did to me as a reaction to that unhealthy, toxic behaviour, and I am sorry that you were the victim. I’m sorry for not being enough (despite the fact that you wrote that I am) and for wasting your time with me. But in a way, maybe that has to happen. You fell out of love for me; and if you didn’t, I would’ve never been the man I am today, the same way you won’t be who you are as well in the present time. Although, I can’t say for sure if you are happy, but knowing how persistent you are with some things, I’d like to think that you are happy.

            It wasn’t a shame at all, falling for you all those years ago. You weren’t all trouble. Sure, you’re a pain in the ass, but you were my pain in the ass, and I was not man enough to handle you. Of course you can be a headache to me (like come on, what were you thinking asking for a diamond ring, I was a goddamn middle-class university student for fuck’s sake), but again, you were like that because I wasn’t good enough for you. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve never thought about how important love languages are; you and me were never meant to be—or last—to begin with, considering you always had an appetite for gifts and I was never into that because I grew up never wanting expensive toys, only people who genuinely made me feel loved—to which I have accepted to be very much impossible due to myself being born as a man. I admit, for a long time I thought of you as a subject of resentment, frustration and nothing but a past reminder of a pain to avoid; but now that I am older I have a clearer view of things, and you are—hopefully as I am to you—a lesson; on who to choose and what to never become.

            When we broke up, I remember you wrote something around the themes of ascencion; you described it as me trying to clip your wings and halt your growth, or something akin to it. I was so furious when I read that, and I was so upset because to me you never understood my pain as the one who was abandoned. And to that, you told me it hurt for you, too; but all I can think of is how unfair it is, how much I was suffering at that moment because you left me.

            Thank you, for doing that. For being courageous enough to do it for us. It took me a while to understand that a breakup never needed mutual consent, it isn’t like sex. You had to be selfish, because it was the most selfless thing to do—for my sake as well.

            Thank you for abandoning me. Thank you for doing what was needed to be done. And again, thank you for loving me back then, in your own A kind of way. I wish we did better, but we had to be bad to be better for whoever it is who ends up with us later. It’s regrettable to think of each other as a learning tool, but that exactly what it was—it was practice. Maybe, just maybe, there is a version of us out there in “althernate” (I’m making fun of your typo, haha) universe who ends up happy together, but as you not-so-famously wrote to me as well, “we are in the exact places that we should be” —and I too, dare not change that.

            Like I said before, this isn’t a letter expressing anything about wanting you back. I just wrote this impulsively, all because I’m amused at the reply you sent me all those years ago. When I read it again, I can’t help but smile when I recount on how immature we both are. I know for a fact that I don’t love you because I don’t remember how your voice sounded like anymore. I don’t know what happened to you ever since I accidentally saw your image in your sister's Instagram story, and it has been ages since I used that platform (or any other social medias of any kind). I have enjoyed being a hermit a bit too much and I care about much less things these days, I even got sort of fat and got endlessly joked on for looking like Shin Chan whenever I wear bright red. Perhaps you’re with someone now, or better, married (congratulations if that were the case!) but whatever circumstances you’re in, I hope you know that I genuinely wish you well. My heart has softened, a lot. I myself, has gone softer; and I’m happy with mundane everyday things as if I’m looking forward to it each day. I find it funny you used a Crisis on Earth-X quote, I just finished watching that earlier this year and the time gap between you and me watching that somehow bothered me, somehow. You told me to forgive you, but perhaps, I needed to ask for your forgiveness as well.

            I have so many things to apologize to you about. I’m sorry for writing things publicly to smear your name to our mutual friends. It was a childish, pathetic and sad attempt to tell the world how wronged I was. To make people believe that you were the villain, to make things so hard for you. I still believe there are things you did—both behind and to my face—that are definitely bad things, but maybe I was wrong and that they never happened in the first place. Besides, I was a jerk to you as a boyfriend, and I hurt you a lot so even if you did those things perhaps I deserved it as well; but I don’t—emphasis on don’t—feel that way anymore. I’m sorry for turning your sister away from you for a time, I was too distraught to care about what your family meant to you, and to try and break a family that is already broken is very irresponsible of me. In all honesty I regret not understanding that I was being manipulative; I swear I do not know what’s right or wrong because I wasn’t a man; I was a kid who thought he understood the world. I was never a good listener, and my girl is the one thing I never cared to listen to. I’m sorry for hurting you. There is no more bitterness residing in my heart whenever I think of you, and there are only good things I will ever wish for whenever that rarely happens.

            In that letter, you promised something to me. You promised that you’ll always love me, as the person I am. You also promised that that won’t ever change. But I have a request for you—and my request is for you to break this promise. Because the person you loved back then is no more but an echo that will never be heard ever again. And in truth, both you and I know that I don’t have to make that request, because it is not far-fetched for both of us to have met a much better love than we had back when we were together. I hope you get to properly love everyone who came after me. And by that, I meant loving them without hurting them. To yearn for happiness without ever making anyone’s heart to be something of a collateral damage of sorts. To properly love yourself as well, and to put down your crown—the one made of thorns—and never wear it back. I hope you never write again, because to do so would mean you’re unhappy again. To stop being the antithesis of happiness.

            I hope your sister is doing well. She used to text me a lot, saying that I am cooler than Mike Tyson for some reason; but Tyson’s a sellout after that fight with Jake Paul. I’m doing fine—if you were actually wondering. I like not having the spotlight on me as I do all the things I wanted to do, and I have all the time in the world to do whatever I liked; although I’m starting to not enjoy doing the things I used to dream of back when I was a kid. I partially wrote this in hopes that you would let me know of ways to not just apologize but to also make it up to you, but knowing how kind you are in your heart you will never make that request to me. I hope that you are now happy with someone who perfectly matches you in all aspects—perhaps a pretty boy because you always loved pretty boys. If you haven’t, don’t worry. There’s somebody out there who’s looking for you, and someday he’ll find you too. And of course above all, I hope you get what you wanted; the simple thing we all want for ourselves—happiness.

You'd be happy to know, uttering your name after all these years; it no longer left a bitter taste.

Godspeed, A. For everything in your life. 

(Oh, and you don’t have to replace my hoodies, I don’t even wear hoodies anymore these days. You can use them for cleaning tables or something, I actually will not mind that at all.)

 

Extra context: I wrote this as a reply to A one random night while organizing emails after 7 years; it never went through because her email is full (lol!) so I figured I'll just change some of the content to hide some names, admit some wrongs and write something real.

I wish you'd be properly happy, everything here comes straight from my heart.

Unreliable narrator.

    Most people don't know this but the truth is I'm just some idiot who tried extra hard to learn about everything. I do that to compensate, and I overcompensate like, a lot. Things are rarely as they seem and I, luckily or perhaps unfortunately at the same time, are wrong about most things almost all the goddamn time. I can never tell if it is a gift or a curse, because it is basically the fate of someone who is doomed to live through an unending series of unfortunate events who learns from almost every single one of those experiences. I am an idiot, and by extension, an unreliable narrator, who keeps on underestimating himself not due to insecurity but the simple, blatant truth; that there is too much that I do not know and by extension, understand about.

    I feel sad. A sudden feeling, a tingle of longing sadness, rushing into the veins that pump my blood. I haven't encountered nights like these in a long while, because I was content. Stagnant, but content. Knowing not enough hurts me.  And tonight what hurts me the most is the feeling of inadequacy not of my own present self, but rather the rate of growth I should be going throughout all of these years. I feel like I should be somewhere else at this point, my idiot self kept on procrastinating on the things I wanted to be. The people I lost in the process. The chances I have gotten but never seized. For a moment, kindness felt like a weakness, because my stupid self just can't cut the line in a long queue of people to get to the objective(s) lying right there in front of me.

    But then I got myself together, and I digress. Things are not perfect, but they do happen. And that is just the way it is. You push a button, a reaction is bound to happen, but you just can't be sure what will happen, when or exactly how.

You can only expect, anticipate, but never confirm things.

    And I can't say for sure if I am truly stagnant in my present state. I can't say for sure if what I did was enough or not, and I can never go back to the past to change things or observe from an outsider's perspective on whether if I did things perfectly or not. I can never accurately gauge how exact my readings and observations are for myself, because you just cannot experience yourself outside of yourself.

For what I do know is, internally, I did my absolute goddamn best.

    It's probably why I still keep my old writings around. Someone told me recently that, reading through my writings throughout the years felt like seeing me grow up, in a faster pace of "real time" and that hit me hard. I don't even know if that makes any sense whatsoever. But I guess, it's true. I used to be such a different person, almost unrecognizable from that pretentious person trying so hard to be edgy when he knows that he is actually just a big softie. I feel like I want to go back to that time, punch him in the face, but if I do that the current version of me saying these things won't have this feeling of wanting to punch him in the face. I love these random instances of paradoxes, because that's what it is, right? Something that is both of two different, opposing things at the same time.

    To think that you're both overcompensating and not do anything at all at the same time. To be lucky and unfortunate, at the same time. To be so young, but also old at the same time. To feel so insecure about your internal feelings of security. To be so sad and yet so content with it. To feel like you have grown so much but still haven't changed at all. To agree and then disagree with yourself. To know so much and nothing at all. To be an idiot who still learns. To be so inadequate yet, very much enough. To hate yourself so much that it became an addiction and yet love yourself enough to have faith that you will get better.

And above all, to be narrating the current truths while knowing it will evolve into somewhat of a lie.

I am an unreliable narrator, and this is the truth.

Attitude for the pedophile(s).

The state of the world does not care

of the feelings of individual beings

It does not care whether if we find them

the right people suited for

patient matches of the never coming

Women are strong and powerful beings

and men as meek as pebbles on hills

They succumb to the external beauty

despite the utter ugliness underneath

I'd rather be alone rather than settle

for an adult who acts like a baby.

 

There is no love for heart

not as much as money at least

Stability is confused with the extravagance

of the insides of a pocket

Respect and love is no longer earned by

the simple goodness of humans

but rather from the beauty of skins

and the correct curves on faces

Men should be ashamed for making it too easy

to fall for a woman who falls for their belongings

There is no more give and take

 

for there is only give or tantrums

Don't get me wrong

Men are supposed to give

They just give it to the ones

who does not deserve them.

 

Find a woman who respects you

by scolding you with her independence

Someone who deserves the world

because they never asked for it

Someone who is your equal

rather than your romantic employee

Find a woman who challenges you intellectually

who waters you with growth and sincerity

Make her life easy when she rests

as you do the house chores

cook her favorite meals

and pamper her more than your children

Find a woman you marry

who would call your bullshit despite your money

The one you would kiss no matter how ugly

instead of the one you buy to keep for misery

Don't settle for less or cheat

for a brat who thinks you're his daddy.

 

Choose wisely my fellow men

your assets are important but never let it become

the one thing you should be

For there is more to a person than money

and that they will never see

Do good to your woman

because she deserved it

not because they insisted for it

Work towards your stability

not to satisfy the insatiable greedy.

 

Let them have their attitude

and let yourself be happy

Let them have their brands

for you are not a pedophile

who needs an infant.

Fear of nothing.

I made peace with the fact that people come and go, that it is just a part of life that we all are subject to dealing with anytime, at any stage of life.

But I would be lying if I were to ever say that it does not hurt.

I tell people that it is okay for them to go, and that I understand. Truthfully, I really do think of things that way. I wanted people to know that I can handle it, and I mean it. But that does not mean I like it. Does not mean I welcome it. I don't, and I would never wish for things to be that way. In the end, I'll always be alone, and I'm fine with that. People come and go indeed. And provided that they don't have malicious intentions, it's not their fault to do so. I may sound contradictory, but maybe what I'm trying to say is I am okay with people leaving, but I still acknowledge the fact that I feel hurt whenever that happens.

People can leave for numerous reasons. Most of the time, it's just, well, time. Time separates people, in a natural way. You know that friend you're best friends with as a kid, then you scroll down your social medias and you just learned that they got married yesterday and they didn't tell you about it? You remember the time when you were both inseparable, akin to twins who shared a mother's womb. Is it their fault that you weren't invited? No. That's just what happens when time separates people. Things would be awkward, for that exact reason, time. People drift apart. It's just what people do.

Sometimes people leave because of things they learned about you. Maybe somehow you did something wrong, but they never told you about it. Maybe you guys don't believe in the same things anymore, at worst now you are against each other. Maybe it's politics, faith, circumstances. Maybe you joined two different causes and your minds just don't connect the same way anymore. Maybe, just maybe, they never really liked you from the start. When discussing different sides from a neutral perspective, the lines between right and wrong can be very blurry. People believe that they cause are just. Everyone thinks that way. It's not their fault, it's just how things are. Conflict, is a very human thing. And that's just how it is.

In my case however, I leave because... maybe I just don't feel like I'm right to be there. I don't feel right being anywhere, if I'm being honest. I don't belong here. I always wanted to disappear. I love people, and I do. But I don't know, something about being someone, somewhere in another person's life feels.. wrong. I don't deserve to be here. I want to be here, but at the same time I don't think I deserve that luxury, no matter how common it is. I am selfish. I, I, I. Always about me, and I don't like it. I'm scared, for no good reason. I want to be saved, but it's not anyone's responsibility to do so. I'm conflicted. I love everyone. I love you. But I don't feel right. I am scared. I am afraid.

I have this fear, this fear of nothing.

And I don't know what to do about it.

Occupay Spice.

To exist is such a bother.

At this point, I'm an adult, and I kinda hated it. I have people to care about, bills to pay, and give a shit about my savings for my future. Trust me, it pisses me off. Thinking about life is such a contrarian thing to do for a goddamn nihilist. To see the world in black and white, and at certain points grey. In a world where your eye realizes mostly things that are black, it's a bit depressing. But being sad is, in a weird way, home. When you are well aware of your feelings for the world and yourself, being sad is in itself, some form of comfort. A negative, yet still, a very well-needed reminder for myself that I am, and will always be, a normal human being. I can still feel things. But it does hurt me to know that some people are numb, and they cannot feel what I feel, neither good or bad. And that is a form of pain that I do not enjoy having the luxury to experience.

I used to be a part of it too, being someone who belongs in that circle. A vicious cycle of feeling something that was never even there, yet not being able to feel something as obvious as a goddamn knife on my skin. To be irritated at the single mention of something that shouldn't trigger the majority of the world's population. To find peace in nothing, and tricked into thinking that it all ends with the lie of an eternal slumber. To be perpetually stuck in an endless episode with no happy ending, and the illusion that you are not worthy of love when in reality, you are loved by the people you do not remember, who remembered you. It's a bad joke, and the comedian is in your head and no one is laughing. It's sad, and it exists to tell people to not exist. And I do not like it, nor do you.

I used to take pride in the fact that people always come to me when they have problems. Until I got older, and saw how wrong I was. I was so ashamed, that I felt like I just wanted to apologize to everyone who fell for the lie that I believed myself. I never actually "listened", and instead I was always there waiting to tell them what I think about. While I still do think that I am a bad listener, I can say for sure that I am better than back then. But if you ever ask me why do I still think that I am a bad listener despite knowing my faults, it's because while I do listen and actually listen, somewhere in my heart behind my smile there are still things I wish I can say to them, despite how bad the idea is.

I want to tell them to live, to hang on. To tell them I survived this too, in a way that doesn't devalue their pain and experiences. To make them understand that they're not sad, it's just that their body is just not doing their jobs properly. That if they do end themselves, they won't be able to enjoy the good things about life, and that there are people who are here to support them in their fight to survive and be happy. To tell them that I tried it once; and during my last moments, I regretted what I did and that I realized that I do want to live. And most importantly, to exist with me so that I could selfishly share my monotone grayscaled version of the world with them.

        I want you to continue to be here, to occupy space together with me. But hey, know your place. You listen to your friends, to your loved ones. Only reply if you're asked to, okay?

Uncontextualized.

And she said that she doesn't want him, she just wants him to want her. In reality, she doesn't want to want anyone because she's afraid of being lost of learned love after someone taught her what it was. Like a match eager to be burned, but hates it when the flame fades, less than embers.

And he said that he shouldn't be with her, because of another girl. In reality there's really nothing special; they're just friends people misunderstood as something more. The girls are friends, and he's no longer one to one of them. Like a dandelion seed, not knowing whether if it should choose the earth or the sky.

And they said so many things, to which most of it are not even true. Just rumors, floating from mouth to mouth. No harm in jokes and play, but we never really knew when we hurt someone's feelings, right? Like releasing goldfish into the sea, some people wanted to make others laugh, but unintentionally hurt them instead.

And you know what I have to say about all this? I'm just an observer of three different situations. Trying not to take part, just writing down the stories, and you won't know what actually happens considering, well, you only knew the gist of it.

Like people who say things and discuss gossip, they never really know what happens. Things that never happened apparently did in their versions, to spice things up.

And you say that you don't understand shit, that you don't know what's going on.

Which is the point.

You don't understand things, when you're not the ones in our shoes.

Side project(ion).

I think I've been running. Running away from so many things, and I realize that I have mistaken some of them as problems I've solved. Issues that I still have to this day, the baggage that I have to carry. How easy it is for me to blame, how irritable I get around someone who only has good intentions. I used to pride myself for being the most patient man in the room, but now I realized that that man is no longer around. He is gone for quite some time, without me even noticing.

Perhaps it was my line of work. Maybe I got this rubbed on to me by clients who just wanted to be right all the time. Maybe it's something I've read or watched, which subconsciously got stuck into my mind. Maybe it's a person, or a chain of events. Or maybe all of them, all of the unfortunate chain of events, actions, and people who drains me. Kindness is something we all agree is good, and here I am contemplating if I am walking the talk. I don't feel "kind" anymore. I feel bitter, angry, frustrated. And it isn't healthy for people who know me and my vulnerabilities, not because I don't trust them but rather because I can't trust me; to not hurt them because I can't stop the bad side of me from waking up and say things I shouldn't say. I wanted to be happy, and I'm wise enough to know that I do not want to be happy at the expense of the happiness of people around me. And now I realized that there are things in my life that should change, because I want to be a character that gets better in time, instead of getting worse. I want to break free from this, this draining person I am right now.

It has been some time since I last wrote on here, and I think it's because I have had other things I projected my love into. I loved video games, reading, I've been keeping plants, and I wanted something to fill me with satisfaction. But I forgot that I almost never have the right for that form of happiness, and that I am only happy in melancholy.

This place, will always be my side project, for me to project my inner flaws into. Writing these flaws of mine, the ever present feeling of sadness while still looking for silver linings in everything.

I'd normally end with something witty to uplift the sorry mood in what I always pour my heart into here, but I think I'll just make do with accepting the fact that I still am at my deepest core, someone who is still struggling to find meaning, combating my inner cruel demons while trying my very best to be what I should be; better.

I am not good enough for anyone, yet. And I don't know when, but there will be a day where I look at myself and agree to myself that I am indeed enough, genuinely truly enough to be with someone else.

Scent.

I don't really know why, but I'm guessing that perhaps it's just the cat or puppy in me. It's really weird, but I determine how much I'll ever like anyone according to how they smell. The scent of a person tells me if they're nice or not, their potential future relationship with me and obviously how big they are on cleanliness. While the smell of someone notifies the people around them first of all about their hygiene, in my case it's all about the "vibe", as I liked to call it. You know, a person's aura or whatever. I don't particularly care about looks, hence it is not a stretch to say that how a person smells (if I can catch their scent) will be the very first impression that I will get. Of course, I'm not a creep who goes around sniffing people during the first meetup, but I guess my slight deafness due to a hobby of using Q-tips and joining friends for loud music sessions in jamming studios when I was younger is balanced with a better sense of smell. You could say I'm just spouting bogus at this point, but that is how I feel. Someone who smells nice makes me feel like I want to know them. Someone's choice of perfume tells you what kind of person they are. How they smell without using perfumes also tells you lots of information, or atleast just me. If you're well versed enough differentiating different scents of people, you can even tell an eccentric person even in a crowd. And most of all, I'll never look at a woman (even if she's the prettiest woman in the whole wide world) if I don't like their smell at all.

But I don't know, man. I have an old hug pillow I've been using since primary school, and I can't sleep without it. The smell calms me down enough to help me drift into Dreamland, but my mom tells me it smells like shit and should be burned to ashes and never summoned back into the physical world.

Perhaps my taste in people are shit, after all.

A suspicious vibe.

Lately I've been... disturbed. Disturbed by an unsettling feeling, something I can't quite put my finger on. Perhaps it's something I know but wish to not say; or maybe something that isn't something I can fully comprehend. I didn't like it, not one single bit of it is fun. I felt isolated, and while I do enjoy being alone this isn't the same kind that I want to indulge in.

I'm feeling very conflicted, and it's scary. It's a place somewhere between going and leaving. A frightening combination of fight or flight. A manifestation of will or fear. A shadowy figure peeking somewhere behind your shoulder, only for you to turn around and not see anyone there. Something, a special something that you wouldn't dare think of doing. Something, a certain something; who tells you all that isn't good in anything that isn't bad.

Or are they?

What if, that feeling is right? A tiny sound of laughter is heard; it echoed somewhere in our imaginations. Deep within those pesky little thoughts, you are agreeing to these voices, because in a way despite how they looked like, they're there to protect you. Didn't they teach us to not judge things based on how they looked like? Perhaps these demons with ugly, horrible faces aren't so bad at all? What if they're right, and they loved you more than these pretentious people you believe to be what's good in the world?

You fight your own fears, and you dream of your own desires.

When all you dream of is a quiet, simple and peaceful life, petty things that can ruin said peaceful life truly is something to fear about.

Please let me live (and die) in peace.

A note from the writer #1:

At this point since the inception of this blog, I have gotten three total comments on my blog (one of them is my own reply to an anonymous comment) and I never knew I had atleast one avid reader. It personally makes me feel so happy to my very core! It's amazing to me because I never really actively promote my blog to an audience, all I do is paste the link to my social media bios and that's pretty much it. I only come to write once in a blue moon nowadays because I am an adult now, and life asks (or rather, forces) us to work boring jobs, if you were born into world the same way as like, I don't know, 70% of the world's population: average, normal and meh. These days I only come here when I absolutely needed to, and that's good enough for me, I'd say. I have always wanted to say this, but I never really knew how to say it but today I'm like "fuck it lets do it" and here I am, and all I wanted to say is:

I wanted to thank you, dear readers. Maybe there's like 3 or 4 of you but I really appreciate it, you coming here occasionally and reading my rarely updated blog. I hope it made you feel okay. These recent years I have been going out with girls, and most of them are my friends now, but when things get serious (which eventually, they never do because of reasons) I always have this recurring thought that I don't consider them truly loving me if they never actively tried to atleast go here, because to me this is currently my most private (albeit paradoxically, public) space where my true essence lives. Maybe that is a tad bit immature, but please tell me I'm wrong. I need a spellcheck not for my writings, but rather for my actions. I'm still growing, after all. Twenty-five years on this earth and I'm still an idiot. Sigh.

The things I wrote here are not happy things, and it amazes me to know that some of you share that sense of peace from the tragedies I wrote about. If you were to leave comments, talk to me through my social media(s). If you insist on leaving your comments here, don't be anonymous. I have always wanted friends who share my pain, and my hopefulness in my infinite hopelessness.

People who are personally connected to me through my writings are not just readers.

You people, you are my true friends.

I'm blessed, happy and free, despite my worldy shackles.

 

Because of you.

Having a liking towards honey.

Once in a while you'll find

someone so mesmerizing

I listened to the properly pronounced

words from a random clip

and at that moment

I was fascinated.

 

Don't get me wrong

I have no intention of staying

for I understood that some things

are definitely fated to only stay

for a brief, fleeting moment.

 

To be young again

is to experience the pain

of love and heartbreak.

What I would say to you, darling

is to feel the hurt

until it stops to do you any harm

any longer

Take as much time

take as much as you need to take.

Never allow anyone to come near you

until you are sure

that you are ready to move again.

 

If you were to ask why

I have taken a liking to honey

I would not talk about how sweet it is

But rather

how I love seeing her do things

that she enjoyed.

or how when she talks

I will have trouble concentrating

or how the lines of her lips

were to curve upwards

and it would drive me crazy

 

I have no intention to be anything

as long as you're happy and free

to adore and admire

is all you can do

for something that is never meant for you

 

You truly are

a sweetness in my mind

the honey for my soul

but only

for just a brief, fleeting moment

 

Is it okay

for me to ask for your permission

to continue?

 

and by that I meant

to adore you for what you are

until I'm able to look at someone else

once again?

Something wrong.

I think some of you know of this story already, but do you know why I can't understand people who'd just accept anyone as their partner, especially ones who get in and out of relationships like changing clothes?

I know someone. I know this person so deeply, I've heard of their stories. Of how great it was, during their time. How much they've done. How much they've accomplished.

And what they've lost.

At this one event, they sang a song. A love song. This person is old, had a family. They were great. Big family, I'd say. They too, accomplished much in their time. And they see this person, singing to this song; it was karaoke night. He was singing this song, about a failed love. About how nothing will ever top that one relationship they've had before.

And they cried.

I told you, I knew this person deeply. Told me of stories they've had, during their time. The greatness of the things they've done, and what they've accomplished. Of the things they have lost. Including the one true person they have ever loved. The family they had at that point, was never that real; they weren't really happy. Sure, things look okay at the surface, but deep down, they've regretted letting go of that one person during their youth. The one person that got away. The one person they'd dream of instead of the partner they've chosen to sleep with every single night until they die of old age.

Maybe you've heard of this story. Maybe you're tired already at this point.

But I really don't want to make the mistake of choosing something wrong, when it's something I have to deal with for the rest of my life.

Fried ice creams.

Looking back at the person I was before, I had mixed feelings. You'd be surprised at how easy it is to feel both happiness and sadness at the same time. A beautiful reiteration of Yin and Yang, like the flavours you'd get from fried ice cream. A combo similar to the mixing of sugar and coffee, a feeling of bitter sweetness.

I'm having trouble trying to sleep, once again. As much as I'd like to joke around, telling my peers that I'm getting older and in need of plenty sleep, my eyes and mind are only properly closed around two to four in the morning. It's probably why I sleep more than I eat during break at work. What am I even living for, really? No future to look forward to, tiptoe my words to not hurt others with my silly jokes, trust issues when trying to let others in a more personal side of myself. I can't even trust myself with how much failures I've masterminded unintentionally towards myself. I am a prison to my own mind, as it made up hyperbolic stories of things that will not even have the ability to happen, thanks to my paranoia of basically every single thing. It is a form of unhealthy art, mastercrafted into perfection, and I know this because as much as things in our minds are technically abstract, it manages to fuck me up hard in places I never wanted it to be, with or without my permission.

I've grown, for sure. Tremendously, if I could say so. Perspectives, different ones now in high definition; the clarity, blinding. I have learned to keep things to myself more, when I know it's better off to be silent. Some things I'm proud of on my own, some other stuff that needed some fixing here and there. Some things I learned from others, some others are things I see in others as it reminded me of my past self. I no longer wish to fix others, just me and myself. I stopped finding reasons to be frustrated at how people should act, but rather found it easier to just accept that there are seven billion different people trying to live at this moment, and some are just assholes. I probably was one of them before, or could be that I still am, but I'm hopeful that I am no longer. At this point in life, I truly feel a stage above being just alone; I have reconciled with my demons and told them it's alright; we are just us, nothing more or less.

Be sad. Be happy. I'm still struggling to find balance, but be both.

It's all I would ask, for now.

Insignificance.

The irony in contradictions is actually a funny thing, if you think about it. It's basically a form of balance; one thing cannot (properly) exist without an opposing force. A universal orchestra, doing its best to not end in entropy.

Light can't exist without the dark. Life, peace, and beauty will not be appreciated as much if death, war and ugliness wasn't there to be compared with. Our days are numbered, which is exactly the thing that makes the journey more meaningful. Sadness and joy, they both amplify each other. Hand in hand, these forces, they no longer look like sworn enemies; but rather, lovers who can never be together. It's a weirdly fascinating concept, a cosmic dance that appears mundane because of how used we are to it being around us. It's a beautiful irony, a complicated mess that civilizations of old would try to explain by manifesting them as gods and deities.

Now, you're maybe thinking, where is this conversation leading to?

Hang on, we're getting there.

Some people are so used to being treated horribly their whole lives, a single, small gesture of kindness could bring them to tears. Some people are soft, and they try their best for the people they care about. Some people just want to sleep well without wondering what did they do wrong when all they did was try their best and you of all people took it away from them by making them feel insignificant.

Ahhh, insignificance. My favourite dilemma.

I'm pretty sure this question has graced the minds of lots of people.

"If I'm gone, would people remember me then?"

To desperately find a proof to our existence, we place our significance in whether if people feel the void in our absence, so they would somehow crave our presence.

Flash news, sweetheart; you're unimportant, disposable, replaceable. Your friends, half of them hates your guts, another half won't even care if you're dead, and they'd show up at your funeral just for formalities and shed some fake tears. Only a portion of them loved you, but they had to be miserable themselves to understand what you're going through. Depressing, isn't it?

But hey, look at the bright side.

In the state of oblivion, you won't even feel anything.

Desperately sucking for sanity.

It's really hard to quit smoking. I wonder what went through the minds of the Mayans (the earliest form of smoking was found during their era) when they created this monster. It baffled me more to think that cigarettes are literally recycled tobacco and some random trash sprayed with nicotine wrapped in a thin paper. And it blew my mind more to think that many people (including me) are addicted to this form of bullshit. Needless to say, I'm disappointed with myself for involving myself into this rubbish culture.

I'm not drunk or high or whatever at the time I'm writing this. But I'm not okay. Maybe it's the price of being a youth who didn't know where exactly to go at this day and age, but I'm pretty goddamn tired for no good reason. Everything stresses me out. Sure I (or all of us) would make jokes or laugh heartily when we listen to one, but at the end of the day in the darkness of your sleeping place on your bed that could be made from the softest of materials to the hardest of floors, you will be alone with no one but your own demons. What kind of fuckery is this existence?

Today, I went out to smoke and realized I didn't have my lighter with me. So I took one of those damned things out of the squished box out of my pocket, and inhaled through the tobacco in its unlit state. I'm not pulling an Augustus Waters to look cool or anything, there's nothing cool about being conflicted; a part of me wanted to die, and the other had the will to live. It isn't easy. There's no part of it that is easy.

On my way home, I did the same. I didn't want to contaminate my organs anymore. I want to live a full life, happy and healthy. Not with this stupid, rubbish overweight body. And definitely not with a mind that influences my hands to move and write all these things down.

But I guess this is all that I can do. Inhaling through this unlit cigarette, pretending that it makes things easier.

After all, it's the only thing that is keeping me sane.

 

P/s: I wrote this a few weeks earlier before publishing it today. Currently, I have not vaped for 2 weeks, and I haven't smoked for like, 3 days. It's still early, but I'm gonna stop.

I hope for good.

The rambles of the madman.

He walks alone, mutters about the end of the world in the most bizarre ways known to man. Matters of ineffable fears of his are impossible in theory, but if you're willing to listen, the more you do, the more sense it made, and the more you will believe him. And just like that, a cult is born. As time went by, more and more people are seduced by his charismatic, prophetic insanity. He never cared though, about having followers. All he does in the future years to come will still be the same; an unexplainable, inescapable addiction towards thinking out loudly to himself as his faithful one-way companions listened. One by one, his idiotic, senseless ramblings manifested into surprising truths, which previously looked like improbable futures.

The madman's cult grew, as his words are now taken seriously. His words, words of unlikely, unforeseen futures are born into man's harshest form of current reality. Some worshipped him, some despised and envied his gifts. They asked angrily at God, as to why such a frighteningly useful ability was bestowed upon a person with a shattered mind. Little did they know, that it was that said power is the thing responsible for his broken conciousness, not the other way around. As his followers begged him to notice their presence, he uncaringly walks on his own, endlessly, blabbering of what outcome will descend upon the world in the near future. This ignorant attitude about being revered ironically created an opposite effect, as it is the nature of man to either be more hateful or fascinated at things or people who never gave a damn about something, when they are the best at doing said thing. And with his endlessly moving legs and lips, he steadily continued his pace, never stopping to rest and even rambled while he sleepwalked and sleeptalked throughout his life as it went on.

Some people never saw him as a holy man, neither a person to be revered. These people are amazed nevertheless, but worked toward preventing his unfortunate premonitions from coming true. Each and every time, they failed either because of the fact that they overlooked a variable that is crucial for said event to occur or said event happened because of their own intervention. After trying for years, they finally arrived to the conclusion that their efforts are useless and a waste of time. These people, tired and broken after their fruitless hard work begin to descend into their own versions of individual madness, which led them to the sad fate that they had tried to fight since the very beginning; as they too become the followers of the madman. And still, oblivious to the perspectives of the people around the world of him, he continues to wander on, rambling about things that didn't make any sense even to him, which happened anyways whether if we want it or not, unbiased, and unforgiving as it goes.

The madman wanders,

The madman rambles.

To the ones who needs saving.

In a world where you are Superman, the boy scout in blue, going all around the world saving people, some people who would care about you would probably wonder; if Superman saves everyone, who saves him?

In a world this depressed, it's really surprising to me how people promote good, yet fails to prove it themselves. A person having difficulty trying to place his dad onto a wheelchair while getting out of the car at the hospital, and people were only watching. An old person in the middle of a busy road, hours would pass until someone tries to help. A kid lost and looking for their parents, the first person to come is a kidnapper, not someone with genuine helpful intentions. A woman with her purse snatched, you'll only see a chase in the movies. Right freaking now, someone is crying in bed, and asking for help. Where are these so called 'friends' we celebrate in stories about families without blood bonds? What kind of 'good' world are we living in?

I disagree with the notion of living not to please everyone but yourself. Well, maybe not everyone, but there are people worthy of our attention. And there are people who absolutely need someone, and that someone doesn't have to be special. Just be a friend. Is that so hard? Sure, as adults, everyone's busy with themselves. Some people just sleep early, never really found the reason to join in on depressed o'clock. Some people just don't look at their phones. And some people are tending to something in their own lives, families, studies and their own jobs. And that's okay. They genuinely can't help, because it's really not within their capacity to do so. But here's to the bums and people who had nothing to do except lay around and do shit, or the people who had the opportunity to help someone when they're fully capable of doing so; what are your excuses?

Bless those who'd come rushing to help someone in need. And to those who had the intent to help but couldn't muster the power to command their bodies to do so, I pray the next time you get that moment you'll able to have the courage to do it. But to those who can but didn't, you lot, are a disgrace, a failure as a human being. You dirty, insensitive fuckers. You are one of the reasons why people commit suicide. Some people needed you, and you just left them to die. Forgive my emotional tendencies, but what the fuck are you doing?

If you're one of the people who are like this, and it sparked an awareness in you to do more, then please, do so. We don't know what people feel in their hearts, but we could use more help. Be there for somebody. Stop this culture of being so selfish the the point that the world celebrates self love while simultaneously ignoring other people around you. In a world so deep into connectivity and social media, it bothers me to a certain degree on how people are using these mediums to instead be more disconnected than ever before; the exact antithesis to what it is meant to achieve.

So help as much as you can. Rest when you needed it, and work when you should. But when you have both the ability and the capacity to help, then please help. It's easy to just be there and listen. It's not that hard. Because in a world so devoid of emotional warmth, I can feel our hearts becoming rigid and frozen.

We shouldn't be asking "you save people but who saves you" to people who are trying to break the vicious cycle of selfishness but instead we should be asking this:

In a world so in need of help and full of good, why isn't everyone saving everyone else?