Archive for December, 2013

The words I’ll never say

Posted: December 30, 2013 in Uncategorized

I wish I was honest enough to let out my deepest inner feelings that were never meant to see the light, the most absurd ones that are unconsciously always ordered to never leave their places inside, those which keep paining my internals for badly wanting to be told out loud. I wish I had the courage to spill them all out, without fearing the consequences, without crazily over thinking what might happen next.

I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you how much of an indescribable masterpiece you are, and how much it amazes me having found that unique combination of beauty, sophistication and wholeheartedness in one person. I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me. I wish I could explain why, after all that, I still have to push you away. I wish I could even verbalize one honest explanation for why I can’t have you in my life anymore.

I’ve spent months trying to draw you an image of myself that I wished you’d see nothing apart from, for I wasn’t sure what you’d possibly think when seeing the other insecure parts of me that have always been mistaken for something they’re not. You were the first person I got to explain myself to the way I understood her, and now I’m not sure if I’ve been truly explaining myself, or if that was only the image I’ve been hoping to see of her all along. I’m not sure if that part of myself that I didn’t let out with anyone but you, was truly me, or if it simply was what I was hoping to be.

Now that you’ve seen a totally new part of me that was meant to forever remain invisible, I do want you to go. I can’t handle the thought of you being there only because you’re willing to “accept” me the way I am. I know I’ve always been striving to find that someone who’d accept all my flaws and imperfections, but you, I’d just prefer you not seeing them all together.

I’m upset I’ve ruined my picture for you. Or more like, I’m upset I’ve ruined what I wanted to be my picture for you. I say I want you out of my life, and I keep telling myself it’s because of you. But the truth is, it’s all about me, always have been, always will be.

I wish I had you see this part of me earlier, before I’d gotten that into you.

I wish I’d never crossed paths with you.

But, oh well, I can’t handle that, no.

I just, I wish you could make me feel okay about myself once more.

And most importantly, I wish you even had a slight idea about me keeping all that inside, for I’m neither able to let it out, nor do I have the strength to wipe out any of it away from my head.

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Everyone

Posted: December 30, 2013 in Uncategorized

Everyone has a story. Every single person you pass by (or don’t) has their own story.

Those you pass by in the morning as you get ready to leave your house, not really paying attention to their existence most of the time. Those who break through your way as you drive to work every day, not even caring to apologize to you. They have their stories; they have their reasons for acting so cruel. Those people who you never see without their smiles on, always wondering how perfect their lives must be, for them to constantly be that happy. They certainly do have their own secrets hidden behind those smiles, secrets that you’ll most probably never know anything about. Those you get in contact with at your work place or in school. Surprisingly, they have their own worlds that they’ve to get back to at the end of each day, and that you might never get to experience how tough living through them might turn out to be. Every possible person you could think of, every human being out there, does have a story to tell, and so much that is hidden inside them, even from their very close ones.

Yet still, everyone goes around throwing sentences like “they don’t even know what I’m going through”, or “how about they try living my own life and see for themselves?”, almost forgetting that everyone out there is struggling with their own thing. It doesn’t have to be the same struggle for everyone, but each person does have something to worry about when they lay alone in bed every night. Each person has something that would keep them awake all through the night, and at some point in their lives, each person will have to get into their own state of denial, to be able to get some sleep before the sun rises up for the next day.

If only we go through life having that in mind, if only we go through it acknowledging the fact that we’re not the only ones suffering, that we’re not the only ones who have stories that can bring their listeners down into tears, maybe then we’d start accepting more of each other, maybe then we’d start falling in love with each other’s broken pieces.

One thing I’m sure of is, there’s definitely not a single person out there who wouldn’t turn out to be even more than beautiful, once you get to hear their story and see their strong side as they manage to live through it all. You’re just not the only one with the broken parts. And that’s the beautiful side of it.

Thank you for the memories

Posted: December 29, 2013 in Uncategorized

I left my mind to wander today, and it magically took me to all the places I personally used to be able to take it to back then, when you were still around. And it made me realize how much I’ve missed you. It took me back to all the memories, and for a few moments revived some of those feelings I thought I’d never get in touch with ever again.

That time when I first felt your presence inside my head, and immediately tried to push it all away, for, really, what were the chances? Our first encounter and the whole amount of energy I unconsciously continued to spread everywhere for the entire following week, only because of it. The way I used to feel around you; I might have experienced various kinds of butterflies, but it was never that way with you, for you had the ability to consume all the spaces inside my head, that the rest of my body would consequently feel so much lighter; something that’s even closer to nonexistence. Your handwritten notes that you’d perfectly know when to pass them on, never fully grasping the effect they used to have on my days. The long messages, the sight of the words filling up the screen, the weird mixture of emotions that would fill my internals as I start reading the very first line, losing myself in between the paragraphs, and thanking God later that you only get notified when I first read your messages, and not following each of my uncountable attempts of rereading them all over again. The random texts, that would most of the time make no sense at all, yet would still turn my days upside down at the thought of having crossed your mind even for a few seconds. The way you brought happiness into my toughest days. Your perfectly chosen words that would push away any tension in my days. Everything.

You think it brings me pain to think about all the things you’ve left for me to remember? In fact, it does. Only that it’s a kind of pain that’s surprisingly sweet. The kind of pain that makes me miss you, without once regretting having passed through that journey with you. The kind of pain that aches, yet has the ability to warmly heal itself at the very same instant. The kind of pain that completely fills my eyes with tears, and surprises them as they get to land on the widest sincere smile that would be happily occupying the bottom of my face.

Thank you for all the memories, that I wouldn’t once feel like getting rid of them, no matter how much the idea of never being able to get back to them hurts. Thank you for the pieces of you that I still continue to find inside me until this day.

Another untitled… blabbering (?)

Posted: December 27, 2013 in Uncategorized

I’ve always thought it was okay to keep staring at a blank page for as long as it takes to finally form the first sentence of a piece that will get the words flowing, until I realized that pages do stare back as well. And I don’t exactly know why I minded that. I’ve just realized that this blank page had been staring right back at me all along, as I struggled with the words, and I couldn’t let a single word out after noticing that. I’m not sure if it was because I was enjoying the eye contact that I didn’t want to break it, or if it was irritating enough for me that I couldn’t handle writing anything until one of us would just look away.

I looked away.

And I just don’t know why I’m mentioning this. There’s no point, really.

So, just like always, whenever the words fail to come out, I shift to reading other people’s words. Today, I’ve stumbled upon many writings that had so many ‘I’s all over them, and it kind of made me upset. I wished I could write about myself the way some of those people had written about their own selves.

As incomprehensible as it might sound, I actually sometimes wish I knew myself well enough to notice my details, the imperfect ones, and courageously point them all out. But instead, I continue reading the words that other people write about themselves and find myself relating to almost each and every one of them, not knowing which of them is truly the person inside me. I wish I didn’t have to struggle with the words whenever I was asked to talk about myself. Because I magically find myself filling up hundreds of pages when I begin to write about others, dropping down the tiniest details that could hardly be noticed– but never with myself. I wish I didn’t only have to shout out “me too” when I realize someone’s turning out to be the exact same version of me, because I would’ve most probably never noticed it was true about me if they hadn’t pointed it out in the first place. I wish I knew who I really am. And most of all, I wish this made any sense.

You know how you could sometimes go out of your way to do things you normally wouldn’t do, just because the circumstances pushed you to? It’s been happening to me for so long, that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to get back to my own way again.

Sometimes I think I’ve lost myself in the process of trying to keep things stable. But maybe I did lose myself on purpose, because the person I am turned out to be so much worse than the person I had been given the opportunity to lose myself into. Maybe I do know myself well enough that I find it easier to pretend I’m someone else rather than having to face myself with what’s truly inside.

But then again, maybe it’s only that some people were meant to write, for others to relate to them. Maybe not being able to write about certain sides of one’s self isn’t so much of a problem. And maybe it’s only what I can convince myself with.

Supposedly, a return.

Posted: December 26, 2013 in Uncategorized

45 days. It’s been 45 days since I’ve stared at a blank page and let any of what’s going inside slip out in the form of words. I’ve missed doing this. But I’m not really surprised I stopped doing it, because that’s just who I am. A person who impatiently keeps waiting for the beginning of everything, but never really finishes whatever she starts. A person who hates change so much, yet can’t even stick to a plan for more than two months. I’m totally not surprised, just a little disappointed, maybe.

I’m not really sure why the words had a hard time coming out through the last phase of my life, but so much has actually been going on in those last 45 days that it’s getting really hard to believe they only were 45. So many people have come and gone, leaving behind cracks that would forever remind me that they’ve been there, and that they no longer are. So many people have left and later remade their way back into my life, assuming it’s completely okay to destroy a person’s life then return back with the ‘we had other stuff going on in our lives’ excuse, as if it’s only them who have their own problems.

So much effort has been wasted exerted on things that were once referred to as essentials of life, but that have sadly become no more than burdens constantly being thrown away whenever there comes any chance to get rid of them. So many compromises have been offered for things that turned out to be so not worth letting go of anything for them. So many regrets, yet so many lessons learnt out of them.

So much time has been spent with myself, trying to figure out who she really is, with all what was going on, until some parts were finally revealed from the inside, sadly reflecting so much darkness within. I thought the hardest part of a journey inside me would be trying to really understand myself, but having all the insecurities, the issues, and the hidden parts clearly highlighted right in front of my eyes and not being able to change anything about them, is way harder. Understanding one’s self is truly exhausting, especially when you realize you’re only being exposed to a tiny part of who you are, and that if you continued digging in more deeply, you’ll be much more surprised at what you find.

It’s sad not knowing where you stand in the lives of the people you appreciate, but it’s even sadder when you don’t know where you stand in your very own life.

It’s sad having to go through the tough times because you need to learn certain lessons from them, and it’s much sadder going through the same test over and over again, without once having the ability to apply the lesson it has taught you. It’s even sadder that when you finally learn the lesson and apply it so well, life never gives you a break before moving on to the next one.

I miss the person I used to be. But then again, this is almost the exact same thing I repeat to myself at every stage of my life. What if that person I am turns out to be so special to me in a couple of years? Would I then regret not liking her now? I really don’t know. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I didn’t know so much of what I do know now.

Maybe I don’t miss the person I used to be; maybe I just miss the idea I’ve been building of who I think I was back then.