drama queen

I miss the drama. Yes I admit, I know that I am more twisted than I may seem and a little less sane than I usually am. But lately, I feel so bored, empty at times. No, I'm not lonely. I feel like my "being human" is getting the best of me. I feel like I need to feel something, anything.

I didn't find any interesting (or challenging, should i say) crush in the office. And lately, I feel like I always want to hibernate and stay in my room like all those stereotypical tumblr people they describe in tumblr. haha.

I'm not sure if I'm making sense right now but basically, what I'm saying is, I think I need to fall in love again. Yes, I miss the drama of it all. I miss the "kilig", the chances, simple glances, the excitement for tomorrow no matter how bad a that would turn out to be. I miss writing as well. I usually become more inspired to write whenever there is someone I could think about. I miss writing not just about love but life in my the craziest or most serious perspective. Sometimes, I even feel scared that I am missing out on a lot of things I unconsciously ignored because I didn't have the will, or didn't pay enough attention because I wasn't in the mood.

But at least I am happy now. I guess I just missed the feeling. I think I am enjoying solitude too much. Oh well, solitude is liberating. And I might just write about that soon.

P.S. Dear crush, where are you? hahaha :P

unsolicited

I thought of you again. It is during these times when I’m surrounded by people that I sometimes find my most solitary moments. And then, you come to the pictures in my mind, uninvited. 

I don’t know but when I encounter some things that remind me of how much I hurt before, I actually start to feel the burn in that scar again, without even trying to induce it nor think of you, at the least. 

I miss you. I miss the person whom I once considered as a very close friend. I miss the odd but truthful conversations we’ve had, the random walks we took, the random sleep over with friends, the unexpected but appreciated memories of vulnerability we’ve shared – the meaningfulness in all those random things.

 I miss you not because I want your love. I don’t want that.

 I just miss you. I miss my dear old friend.

projections

No. I Don't love you. I didn't even really like you. That I know now. I guess during that time I was probably in between the verge of completely hating love and falling into a serious level of depression.

But I realize now that it was all just projection. It seems so psychological in a way but that may have been may way of coping. It totally ruins your rationalities and the deepest of your feelings when someone srews you up in the worst way possible. But I don't want to see things that way anymore. I may still have pent up feelings for that person but I am better now, so much better even.

I am happy and so inspired with my studies that I have the littlest of time to even think about the most trivial and complicated of things such as love. I don't hope to find love soon. I might even be enjoying solitude too much. I don't know. But I'm sure I am happy with the way things are. And I realized I never really invested these feelings again for someone or anyone for more than 2 years now. I guess this is good. Yes, this is actually good for me. I should really enjoy this as much as I can...until the time that maybe, it's worth being irrational again.

musings

February 19, 2013 

I haven't seen you for the longest time and finally today, I saw you. And you smiled at me. I could just end this post right here but I'd rather give this day a little more justice. Some of my friends told me you already got a car which means I have the littlest chance of seeing you. But I saw you today, well, only by chance. And did I mention, you smiled at me? You were wearing this seemingly unpressed blue polo which obviously should've been tucked in your dark blue pants. I don't get why you don't tuck your polo in. I wish I could tell you that look better if you do. Anyway, incidentally, I was actually wearing shades of blue, too. I also saw you were clean-shaved today but you seemed irritated. I don't really know why I like or why I even bother writing this down. Well, as I've said before, you inspire me to write. But I hope you won't anymore. I'd like to convince myself I won't let you inspire me anymore. Maybe it's time I find another muse. 

~jen

cynicism

When I was 19, I fell in love. I fell in love with someone I barely knew. He was nice, good looking and he made me feel good about myself. It was July and I clearly remembered how he wrote in a piece of recycled paper that I was one of his favorites among us friends. I wasn’t hoping or at the least thinking that we could be together because that time I didn’t see him that way nor did I ever think he’d see me that way, too. But we ended up being always together, but not that way. He’d talk to me about how his day was and asked me what I did. We’d eat lunch together, sometimes dinner. On my birthday, I came late for an event and when I opened the door, he hugged me in front of our friends whose faces seemed to suggest that something’s going on between us. But really, there was nothing, I guess. He introduced me to his friends and I introduced him to mine. I was happy knowing that he gets along well with them. Once, he got really sick and even if our friends cared, no one was actually taking care of him. When I checked his temperature, I had to rush to buy him some medicine even if that day I had just enough money to last me a week. One late afternoon, we were just hanging out with our friends and he seemed tired and he laid on my lap and just watched me while we both kept silent. He tucked my hair behind my ears and we both just smiled. That late afternoon. One rainy day, while waiting at the shed, he told me about his past and I felt a deep stab inside but I didn’t show it. He asked me to come with him that day but I refused. I had to stop. But then, on Valentines day, he asked if I could come with him for a project he needed to do. There were a lot of people and the place was just crowded and as noisy as the flee market on a Sunday. He played darts and I bet he’ll never have a career on that. He gave me a piece of chocolate he’d won anyways. I bought him a hippy bracelet he’d chosen himself.  I hated him for a while that night because he wouldn’t ride the ferris wheel with me. He said it’d make him nauseous. What a bore! Before dawn, he walked me home. By the end of the school year, we had a house party and aside from darts, he should also be away from alcohol. He was drunk like a gangster and I took care of him. We slept beside each other. It was the shortest night that ever passed. Before he left for law school, he told me he loved me. And I was speechless, not because I didn’t know what to say or how to say it but because I didn’t know what he meant. And I never found the courage to ask. And I was left, alone, confused, but still in love.

When I was 20, I tried to move on, tried to forget about him and everything I’ve always wanted to remember. I never knew it was that hard but I tried. I tried, but in vain.

It was October and my guard was up but I felt I was falling again, this time with someone I’ve known and someone who trusted me. But unlike me, I found him in a state I was in a year ago, in love. I had to listen to his every story about her. And maybe it’s crazy but I kept listening, but without any hopes or thoughts just like before. I was more careful this time. Not even remembering things about us or caring for him like I did before. I thought that if I do this, I’d stay away from the feelings and more importantly, from the hurt. We were close, closer than I ever thought we’d be, but not enough. We spent nights on beer and stories of our lives; what we did, why we did it and why we are still doing it. I had to stay away from him, I realized, but I couldn’t. Maybe I was trying to find something I didn’t find before. There I was hoping again. The only difference is, he didn’t care as much. And I kept hoping, and hoping and hoping. Until finally, the end of the road for him and her came. I didn’t know what to feel because he was getting hurt everyday and I couldn’t do anything about it, not that I can but really hoped I could. It went on for months and the nights we spent together with our friends strengthened the trust we had and worse, the hope I had. I didn’t remember the dates, or what I did for him or what he did for me. I was just there, beside him, happy. I thought I was happier with him because I still had my guard up. But those nights turned into months and a few weeks before my birthday, I told him everything. I thought that it was what I had to do since I never got to do it before with all these feelings drowning inside of me. But it was also the start of the end of something I couldn’t even explain. I stopped talking to him and never went to places where we could see each other. I tried to forget again. I tried, harder this time. But it was more difficult because we were good friends and I missed him so bad. Our friends would invite me to hang out and no matter how much I’d wanted to go to be with them, I refused because I knew he would be there and the scar would be scratched open again and I didn’t want to hurt anymore. Nobody wants to hurt. Suddenly, a month or so after, he told me he missed me. And there I was, wearing that crown of hope again, being stupid again. When I saw him, I had no choice but to look back on everything and I ended up saying sorry for the things I’ve said, which were actually meant but won’t be reciprocated. I often asked myself why I had to go through this. Why did it have to be this way again. But we can never choose the ones we fall for. We can only fall and hope someone would be there and if no one comes, you’ll just have to wipe the dirt off and stand up. But I couldn’t do that easily. Nothing is as easy as having to go through this all over again; worse I gave myself a warning but I never actually minded the red light and kept going. I had to leave and he had to be left behind. But I still have him inside and it was as hard as before. I couldn’t let him go.

When I was 22, I learned that he’ll never see me that way and guess what, I accepted that. He never could. He was gay.

fluff

December 11, 2012

I saw you today and now I’m writing about you again. No worries cause this is less of how you look or how my brain tried to perceive you to be, well, perfect. Gross. I know. But here goes…You were smiling today. Maybe because you were with a friend. I’ve noticed you’re a blabber mouth; less of a blabber mouth than me but you’re chatty. I think you were wearing this clean white polo shirt or something clean. I hadn’t had a good look at how you were dressed today because, well, it’s not as exciting as the new live action “Kenshin Himura” movie. Anyways, I just noticed it seemed like you were losing weight. I had a 30% chance of sitting beside you today and yes, I had the good cards in my hands. I couldn’t even look on my left side because that would definitely mean I had to somehow look your way and I pretended to be innocent the whole time. I noticed you were wearing your black wrist watch again today and it made me wonder where you got that. It’s actually the only thing I liked about how you dress up plus your hair which you recently had to cut to sport a semi one. Argh. “I hate that haircut” will be an understatement. It made you look older and thinner, honestly. Wish you’d know that and grow your hair back a little longer. And wish you’d tuck your shirt in, too. I like it that way. I like you that way.

~jen

velvet

December 10, 2012

I saw you yesterday; you and your usual “dugyot” look as I’ve always described it. You were wearing this polo shirt, a shade darker than an ube-flavored ice cream and your usual pair of black slacks. I was trying to look on the opposite side of our line and if the shuttle is arriving yet but all I’ve noticed is that you haven’t shaved for…two days I suppose. I sat behind you and all throughout the trip, I hoped you’d glance behind. I wished as hard as you leaned against your seat but my wish ended up in vain. All I could stare at as was your arm, your bony wrists and your almost perfectly candle-shaped fingers. I know how hard you work at home but how did those fingers remain seemingly delicate, almost like a woman’s, except for the very obvious contours of a man’s phalanges. I almost involuntarily needed, or so I thought, to touch them but that would just creep everyone out. More so, when you read this, you might imagine, a crazy stalker or worse, a dangerous psycho obsessing over you. Well, that’s just not the case. I just needed to write and there you were, a subject, or yes, an inspiration I guess. See you on our next ride home.

~jen