Hey.

I don't expect you to read this. The fact I'm writing this out surprises me too.

You see, I thought I was gonna be fine. I was gonna drift away on my own. I'd be changed and different and hopefully happy.

But now?

I wonder if I can ever really be happy anymore.

Let me rephrase: I don't know if I can fully achieve the inner aching that I only now can admit to having within me.

You see, I wanted to be a bright spot in the world. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to shed light where there was none. I searched and toiled and tried many things. I took my chances at trying work that adds to others' lives.

Yet, when I got home, I was nowhere near brighter. I was not any happier. I was not any more fulfilled. I felt only emptied, run dry. I felt like I was stumbling in the dark.

A teacher once explained "you feel blind because you're probably immersed in so much light," as though to say that my struggles were a natural part of giving of myself. It was a nice thought. I wanted to believe it so badly.

But I realize now: I burn bright when I have someone else who fuels me. Who gives me strength. Who gives me a reason to wake up in the morning, and a warm thought to ward away cold nights.

I also now know: never have I burned brightest than when I burned passionately for you.

I want us to be together. I want us to make this work. I want you to believe in this once more.

And if not? I'll just go. I'll find another. But I'll never burn as bright, and the world I know will be darker for it.

Slow Dash

This time in 24 hours I ought to be in the beach. I am excited. I'm also stressed about the logistics - transportation, packing clothes, food, drink, etc.

But yeah. I am hopeful that it's the first of a series of decent days. I'll be with old friends, and maybe make a few new ones. I don't think I'll transform things magically, no matter what my astrologers say. I'll likely see the world slowly twist in ways that work in their own fashion, and never in how I want it (because it hardly ever is the way we want it exactly).

I am slowly trying to piece my life together again. Granted, my grad studies still feels like it's stuck in a swampy mire. That part is slow and progress really feels like marching in mud.

But I found a nice enough job that lets me do it with my studies. I have been steadily working on my fitness. I am working on becoming the best version of myself, and hopefully be somebody that I can be proud of (or at least, be prouder of).

Is that enough? Is that how life is supposed to be lived? I don't know. I look at my elders and know that they made something of themselves, and carved opportunities where there were few. Today, there are many opportunities, but not many are new - not many will land you a life that is relatively comfortable.

Or maybe I should shut up from comparing and blogging about it and just hang tight. I'm already dying to get to the finish line. I forget I still have to do the running.

Awful 2015

My weekends are not restful. My sleep is troubled and waking up hurts.

I'm starting with a new part-time job, and yet I can't ease into it. Every day new things are piling up and I can't zero in on anything. I feel lost and discombobulated too often.

My family mill about the house and ask me to do things, hardly really listening when I try to tell them how I'm doing, or what confuses me. All they do is tell me what to do. They don't see it from how I see it.

I'm surrounded by friends but feel more lonely now than ever before. They don't connect to me in a deep, personal way. They distract and they entertain, but they leave me at the end of the day.

I can't even consider finding a lover. I feel more ready than ever, but I feel there might not be a lot left in me to give. I think I find somebody who can brighten my days, but I can't say they really care. They only really care about what I can give them, but never really return it to me.

Praying doesn't console me anymore. I'm hungry for reasons to wake up early, to get going, to do the things that will improve my life.I would much rather retreat away and hide from the world. Instead, I am persistently pressured to be better, to eat healthier, to find time to exercise, and to live the long life everyone wants for me.

But why live longer when you already feel like wanting to die?

So this is how the 2015 is panning out. I thought it would be a lucky year. I thought wrong.

Wise Words

"Don't you want somebody who chooses you, and puts you first? Because I wouldn't want to be somebody's consolation prize."

Crack Goes My Heart.

It's not like i didn't know. It's not like I didn't see it coming. I'm not a total delusional idiot. 

I knew you don't see me that way. And I don't blame you for choosing not to spare my feelings. I k ow that this is what you felt and you don't pull punches when you tell the truth, even with others. I'm not mad.

I'm hurting and mad, okay. Sure.

But I guess I'm more mad at myself.

I should have walked away when I had the chance, when I still felt free. (I don't anymore; I feel so attached.) I should have held back when it was easy. (I can't anymore; I feel trapped in bad habits of taking care of somebody, anybody, even if it's not you.)

Most of all I'm angry at myself. Because I'm not good enough. Because I behave the way I do, and it's not what you want. Because I speak and write and act and live like I do, and that's not good enough.

I'm upset at myself because "being myself" was what went wrong. Because I never knew you were not happy with how I did things. Because I failed to recognize my shortfalls.

I'm upset at myself because I am so concerned and worried about what you think, that I lost track of what I need. Because I was trying to suit your needs, I lost sight of mine. Because I gave all I had, and I forgot that I shouldn't care so much about what people think, and try as i may, I still give too much of a damn about your thoughts, opinions, wants, needs, of me. It crippled me and held me back from expressing this deep passionate affection that swallows me whole everyday.

Because I went ahead and had feelings for you. And my life, while so much better with you, isn't real. 

It's just a dream. It's just borrowed time. It's just a passing phase. 

I'm still working on becoming the best version of me possible. Day after day, I make the slow changes for improving myself in ways that last. 

I know when the dust settles I'll be great. I'll be amazing. And I'll be proud of myself.

But I'm worried I'll be without you. That you'll be with someone else and I'll be alone. And after what I heard, this weekend, I feel it's more of a certainty, than mere worrying. 

Trajectory

I believe, with all my heart, we don't get what we want in life. We get what we need.

Life isn't like that magic mirror in Harry Potter. We can gaze long at what we want. It is nice to do that. But that's not what we are going to have. Sometimes that which we desire is impossible.

Yet in many cases, we fail to focus on what we actually need. Sometimes we get wanting and needing mixed up. Sometimes they are one and the same, but often they aren't, and we fixate on the wrong things.

I'm in a spot where I can't say I have what I want. There are sides to my story i would rather keep from curious eyes. 

What I do know is that where I am, and the trajectory I've been cast towards leads me to a nice future. One where I'm needed by people I need too. It's a bright future where I'm valued and kept. 

I don't know what it is yet, but I believe good things will happen for me, just as I am being sent to make nice things happen for others around me too.

Snapshots, July 2015

- I've been looking for work. I want a job that both pays well and will fit in my greater career plan. I thought I found that spot, but they turned me down. Now I'm looking still. It's not easy. It eats away at my self-confidence the longer it lasts.

- I'm in debt and I can't find work. I'm still just grateful my family are patient with me, though I know I feel the strain my situation causes. 

- I've been trying to get fit. That part is working at least. As of today I lost about 50 lbs. I need to keep going. At the very least, I'm making progress on that front. If only I can get paid to stay fit, or if there were a program that gives you money the more weight you lose. I used to lose weight quickly but I'm grinding away at the plateau. Hopefully I can be healthier and stronger.

- My grad studies are stalled and I don't feel confident enough to start the process to fix things. It's been so long since I left my papers alone, and I need somebody to help me pick it all up again. Except in grad school, like many things in life, you are alone. You need to learn to work without the safety of groups. Ironic, since most of the work grad school asked me to do involved lots of groups. Then when it's time for greater reckoning, you're alone and got to fend for yourself, or even compete with the others you were working with.

- I went out on a date last Monday. There was music, and dancing, and nice drinks, and nice food, and the new friend I made helped cover the costs! It was perfect. Except for the fact that I didn't quite like my company. I'm not attracted to her, and yet she's drawn to me for whatever reason. I suppose this is what it's like for every other girl I liked - there's this nice guy who they just can't find the attraction for.

- The girl I'm actually attracted to, I don't know what to do. I still want to make things work, but I still want to fix the rest of my life. Like, if I can be strong enough to stand by her and her life's many complications. She's really busy though, and that somehow buys me time, but I know I need to muster the strength to push forward, or to walk away.

- But when I ask people what they think, they tell me that sometimes it's not about being the answer to all the questions. It's about finding the value within. It's as though I should be enough just the way I am, and I should know that feeling innately in me. And I can't do that. Not yet. I still actually feel dissatisfied with myself.

- So I continue. It's hard. I want to keep my heart full of hope. But there's not an awful lot of reason to hope right now.

Reset pls?

Unfinished

You don't see it but I feel like a tree.
Little by little, you whittle me.

Every day you keep me at bay,
or when you keep my feelings at arm's length,
you carve little scars.

Every day you pay me visits
but you tell me always of these foreign shrubs
blooming far beyond your reach -
you tell me of your love of things I can't be.

I grow, but you'll see:
less and less I will be able to shade you,
and your ways will wear at me,
broken branch, broken leaves.

Or maybe
is it something else you want of me?
A chiseled statue? A bed? A home?
Is this why you work away,
chopping away what I don't need?

I don't know. But I can see in me
the lines where my flesh breaks
scattered all over me.

2015 - Hell Froze Over, and How Life's Treating Me

"I'm glad the end of the world is working out for someone," said Jon Snow to his friend. It feels like great for me too.

It's been six months and this year has been earth-shatteringly new for me. I know that I like to think that I go about my life thinking "I'm fine, I'm content". Then life sweeps you up and the world is so different.

I thought hell would freeze over before I would think about the choices I've made. I'm running and losing weight. I've made better ties with distant friends. I mended bridges with people I thought I'd never reconnect with.

Most recently: I applied for a job I never thought I could have. And it's promising how. And I hope I get it. And I hope I'm worthy of the trust it entails.

See, I thought the world would end before I would set my life straight, or before I could have even a hope at the things happening now. I thought that I was satisfied with how life would play out. Now I'm shown doors I never thought I could open. And they're within reach. 

But I need to remember to be patient. There are events unfolding now and they still take time. 

Just as I waited before things could come around, I still need to remember to wait until they are competed. 

But when once I had given up, I'm given hope. And I'm praying it'll be something real, honest, and true this time.

"Soul Mates"

That's what they called us. In our small, very insular high school, I was classmates with this girl. She was tall, slim, and had long curly hair. I was fat. That kind of summed up the sight of us.

Except there wasn't much to see. You see, every school year the administration jumbles up every class section. You end up with different classmates every year. Sometimes you like them. Sometimes you don't. Some are blessed with the best basketball teams, and others have the pieces for a killer choir.

I had that girl, somewhere, in the corner of every seat plan. Every year, without fail,. we were in the same class. Every year, I was far in the back row, and she sat far to the left. We said hello in the hallways. We were professional about school were. It was friendly, if anything.

"Soul mates," is what they called it in high school. Maybe only 8 or so students are so "lucky" to be put together like that, from the randomness of class listing.

But we weren't friends, not any meaningful way anyway. We were never seatmates. We didn't really talk much. She was from the north, from a province that I knew little to nothing about. I was from here, in the capitol. She stayed in a the dorm on campus. I lived something like an hour's drive away. We had not a lot to talk about, and very little in common.

Today I saw her on Facebook. She's married. She has 2 children. She lives overseas, I heard. To this day, I still can't be bothered. I still don't go and say "hi," or try to "catch up."

Nobody asks me, nobody prompts me, nobody suggests that I look deeper and ask, "What if?"

What if I tried to be nicer?
What if I tried earlier to start a friendship?
What if from there, we had become closer?

I guess I'm writing this because there are so many people we meet in our lives. We pass them in the streets, or greet them when we go to work. They serve us our coffee, or clean our floors. We never go about trying to know them better.

Yet we always talk about "meeting new people," and "making friends," when there are people all around us we don't notice, until much later.

And more worryingly, do we lose out on the people we could come closer to? The Soul Mates of cheesy romance novel variety? Do we miss out on meeting them, because somehow we already know them? That we gave up trying to be brave, and be warm?

Pananatili

current music: Pananatili - Hangad

Maybe some of you don’t believe in God. Maybe it’s a greater comfort to feel that the world is just happenstance, just random firings of nature’s laws and physics and human error all rolled into a mess.
I’d feel that way too.

But today, at a day when I wanted, so badly, to walk away from something (someone?) that just does not give, that just wounds my pride, and just fills me with despair and frustration, I went to church. I wanted to find some release. I wanted to feel that feeling where “Yes, I am doing this. I’m letting this go. If I can’t be a priority, then I should make my own priorities follow suit. If I can’t be loved, I should just leave and be done with it.”

Then I hear it, the familiar strains of the song, entreating me to stay:

Huwag mong naising lisanin kita;
Wala ‘kong hangaring ika’y mag-isa.
Sa’n man magtungo, ako’y sasabay,
Magkabalikat sa paglalakbay.
Mananahan sa tahanang sisilong sa ‘yo,
Yayakapin ang landasin at bayan mo.
Poon mo ay aking ipagbubunyi

At iibigin nang buong sarili.
Sa’n man abutin ng paghahanap,
Ikaw at ako’y magkasamang ganap.

Ipahintulot nawa ng Panginoon:
Ni kamataya’y maglalaho, anino ng kahapon.

Dahil pag-ibig ang alay sa ‘yo, mananatili ako.
H’wag nang naising tayo’y mawalay,
H’wag nang isiping
Magwawakas
ang paglalakbay.

Huwag mong naising lisanin kita;
Wala ‘kong hangaring ika’y mag-isa.
Sa’n man magtungo, ako’y sasabay,
Magkabalikat sa paglalakbay.

I wanna cry. I feel confused and troubled. “Lord, where are you taking me?” I want to ask.

I'm Currently Memorizing This.

I've liked this poem a long time already, but lately they ring harder, truer, to me. 

I feel like I saw a dream where I was on my way away. And I had to tell someone I loved something. And what I chose were these words. 

I don't know. It moves me, and I love them. Too bad I can't find an audio copy of this being read properly!  

 

 

i carry your heart with me

by ee cummings

 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

I Just Do.

You don't have to do anything to earn me. You already have.

You don't have to do anything to get me to stay. I choose to.

You don't have to hide, or pretend, or keep secrets. I've known you long enough not to take them against you.

All I want is for you to come around. Because I did, with you. And the view is quite a sight to see.

So let's take this in together. Let's make nice things happen, together this time.

The Leap

My brother loves basketball. His current favorite player is Kobe Bryant. He loves the story about how somewhere in the mid-2000's, Kobe decided to take "the leap". This leap was a physical one. It meant that the player add several pounds of muscle to his slight shooting guard frame, and work on post moves. He would be more than just a guy who took shots on the outside perimeter. He would have more physical power to work closer to the basket, and defend bigger players. (I'm trying my best to make it simple for non-ball-loving friends!)

So yeah. "The leap" my brother likes to say, quotes stressed by his fingers.

It makes me think about my own life.

In all honesty, I'm really lucky. I've managed to survive and thrive this long without making major adjustments to my life, and the changes I made, I could go back from easily. I learned to live alone, in a strange land with strange language barriers, but I got to go home after. I may have failed my subjects and lost a scholarship, but I never had to stop studying.

Lately, I've found that something...crashed in my life. Maybe it was from the car accident I recently survived. Maybe it was from watching people close to me get hurt, again and again, and see them get back up. Maybe it's because, as Pablo Neruda put it, "I am tired of being a man," and the sameness of this city takes away my sharpness.

I have chosen to not sit around. I want to take "the leap". My life has a lot of "high time" markers.

That means:
- I get a decent paying job and amass some meaningful wealth in a year.
- lose close to 100 more pounds of weight within the next few months
- finish my graduate studies
- move out of the family house and into something different
- get really, really good at being alone (more on this another day)

I don't know where this will take me. I only know it will change me. And maybe that's reason enough.

Walking Wounded

I look fine. Everyone thinks I'm ok. They smile. I smile. I drive to do my errands. I do what my parents ask now and then. I listen before I speak.

The past few days, my arm has been pinching me. It's in pain. I can't say why yet - we might get results of the x-rays in a few days. On the outside it looks totally okay. When I put it to work, things change.

I'm starting to appreciate little things. For example, when I'm laid out on a bed, the act of turning to my side or hugging a pillow makes use of muscles and bones in my arm. Those muscles and bones now hurt. A lot. They didn't before. Now the little motions hurt.

For another example, I cannot turn a steering wheel of our cars. Another example: carrying shopping bags. So is lifting my camera and keeping it steady. All these things you need strong bones and muscles in your forearm, shoulder, elbow, and wrist. I don't have those. Not anymore.

We have all these things we take for granted. We don't realize what they do for us until we can't use them anymore. Right now for me, it's my right arm. What more if it's something closer to the heart.

Crashed

I forgot whether it was some kind of Harrison Ford movie where they joke about being able to walk away from accidents being a good accident, complete with a picture of wreckage and burning debris.

Last Sunday, I walked away from the wreckage of the family car. I drove the car, and I nearly spun out of control on the highway. Quick thinking made me dive it into the center island of the road, to avoid collateral damage. I ended up smashing against a concrete barrier.

We were on the way to the beach for a week. We wanted to see mountains too. We were on holiday, all for the birthday of an adorable little boy.

We ended up seeing the white ceilings while doctors looked after us.

I broke the car, I ruined our vacation, and I basically sent two people I care for most dearly to the hospital. I also have trouble working with my right arm, but that's small potatoes. I still haven't wrapped my mind around how much fixing the car will cost, even with insurance. I still don't know how much the hospital figures will end up as. It's mind-boggling.

Truth is, maybe my moods are all just Survivor's Guilt. Or PTSD. Like, I came away from the event where we all could have died. And I'm here, and yet other people are suffering, when I was behind the wheel. They told me not to blame myself - they're right. It just nags at me deep down. Whenever I shut my eyes I smell the smoke, I see the windshield cracks bloom open, I can feel the blood caked on my fingers. 

I'll get through this. I already count my lucky stars - we're alive, safe, and emerging stronger after the event. We didn't kill anybody else. Insurance will help shoulder costs. We did not lose our eyesight, or voices, or memories (as far as I can tell), or more. Sure, we lost some sleep, a nice car, and a little time with each other on holiday. But some have it much worse, so we are still grateful. It's bad luck. Happens everyday, on that highway, I was told.

I just wish I had easy answers to use, or had somebody to talk this through like I do for my clients. Everything feels like walking on thin ice, with time pressure.

The Broken Pieces

There was this book that a friend loaned me. I won't say the title. That would be telling. But it stuck because I heard that it was something a girl I liked a lot was a fan of, and I heard my friend liked it too, so I borrowed it, read it, and it struck me somewhat too.

It explained that when we love other people, it's like giving a piece of your heart to someone. Every new person in our lives comes in and takes a piece. We go from person to person, forming new relationships each, and they all get a piece. We break up, we break off another part of our hearts, then find someone one to give another part.

Then, at the end, we find someone we really want to give the whole heart. So we try and look at what of our heart is left to give. We find out we've given away our heart in bits to others, like little floating shards of glass. We give the one last person a heart missing parts. We cannot give our 'whole selves'.

And you know what was funny? I was a college student then, reading this, and seriously, seriously thinking it made a lot of sense. I felt, "Hey, I can't go committing to others so easily. I need to take every single girl I want to take in my life very seriously, and only one can get to keep me."

Hence, I became a Man who Can't be Kept. And I learned to be vindictive, jealous, and self-centered in some ways too.

This line of thinking poisoned me, and I think it poisons others too. We think we feel less of ourselves the more we open our lives to others. We add to our list of partners in bed, or the people we date, and when it doesn't work out we doubt if we can love as hard. Then we try again, and we add to our fears. "Can I still do that? Will they think me dirty, having had others in my life, having shared my love and my body? Should I have waited until I met the right one?"


It's a nice picture, seeing our hearts as breakable, and made of sharp pieces. But it's not accurate. Hearts are not glass, hard and fragile and dangerous to others and ourselves. Hearts are muscles. Hearts beat. They quake and shake and are surprisingly strong. They also heal, mend, and grow. Like every muscle it breaks in little parts, so it can be bigger than the last one, the muscle fibers wrapping around the tiny cracks it breaks off.

I learned that loving doesn't mean we break off parts of our heart. Real love doesn't use itself up. It doesn't drain us - it renews us, refreshes us so we can go and give more. Even when we think we can't, we find it. Even when we feel lost and alone, the heart is strong. And full of powerful stuff.

We can love more than we ever had, if we allow ourselves.

And I guess that's a lesson I'm learning and picking up for myself these days. Better late than never. 

The Perfect Day

She knows where I live. That means one day, I can hear the call from the village guard, or the telling barking of our dogs. Somebody's at the door, and it's her. I'll likely still be in my house-clothes; a T-shirt, my shorts, slippers. It would be a chilly evening. Nobody would be home.

She would come in at my request. She'd go straight for the den, the room I appropriated for myself at the ground floor, turning right from entering the door. I'd ask why she came by, but her eyes wouldn't break focus. She said she sought me out to talk. And it was urgent. That a phone call or a text wouldn't do. I'd offer coffee, tea, water, and they'd all be for later, after we had words.

I'd ask what's wrong. She's said nothing's wrong. But that she had something to tell me, to let me know. And I'd concur, and I'd had stuff to let her know and feel too.

She'd shut the door. We're alone now.

And we needn't say words. Our eyes, lips, hands do the real talking.

Depression is Like...

Real life often is like fighting a dragon.
So I do little 'escapes' from real life.
My imagination reminds me I can fight dragons and win.

Achievement Unlocked

Achievement unlocked: I put a small child, son of a friend, to sleep in my arms.

He's a small boy. I'm fairly tall by local standards; more than maybe 3 times his size. The whole evening, our little man was squalling, yelling, throwing food left and right. So much more energy than we bargained for. It nearly spoiled a quiet dinner with friends.

But as the people around me tried their best to set the small apartment right, I picked him up, and started to hum along to "Zelda's Lullaby.". (Because, video game music, guys.)

He looked at me like it was such a weird thing. I walked around with him. I stood with him. I swayed slowly, left, right. I did this before with my cousins when they were small; it wasn't my first rodeo, as they say.


I sat in front of an electric fan and watched his eyes flutter shut, slowly. His breathing slowed. His mouth no longer looking for things to put into it. The people around me fell silent - the whole flat was filled with only my slow song.

I never saw myself as becoming a father. I still don't. I don't know what it's like to have a great father. I only know the mistakes that were made with me. I promised myself I wouldn't carry those mistakes forward. What better way than to never try, right?

I've lived a life where I'm supposed to be okay being alone. I've watched my hopes of finding a proper partner get dashed, year by year, troublesome girl after troublesome girl. I suppose it's a sign of our age - we young people don't want a family. We want to enjoy ourselves. We find greater meaning in our adventures and our personal struggles, and less so in the absence of it. I entered my 30's accepting the fate that I'd likely never be happily married, let alone a father of a child. I even thought I'd be part of the clergy, living a celibate life content and quiet.

But at that evening, I looked across the room and saw how the two single moms I was with saw how I was doing. They never saw me do this. They probably never thought I was capable of such gentle care. Like it was such a big shock. Like they couldn't believe I could. And I did.

I smiled and kept singing. He may not have been my kid. It may have just been a good day, one day out of what would be years of bringing up a troublesome boy.

That moment I felt maybe it's not so bad after all. Maybe it's days like that - those days make it worth it, never mind the child's not mine.

Crushing

If you only knew,
in my quiet, carefree life,
how the mere mention of you

lights up little torches in my chest,
leading through a safe, little lane
through my life's darker days,

or how the letters of your name,
leave an aftertaste,
a texture, flavor I can't place,

or how the softness of your cheek
somehow, someway,
seeks my lips, at the end of our nights,

and how all these add up, pile up,
and build a titan of memory,
crushing all, Dearest,

would you come around,
change me,
and maybe, for the first time ever,

keep me?

Unsent - Difficult Things to Say

You won't see this. I know. I check my metrics.  

And I was hoping never to have to say it out loud.

But just the same:


Dearest,

I'm writing this down because when I write it down, I mean it more. I avoid the awkward stuttering and broken choice of words I find with you.

So here.

I was ready to walk away from everything about you. In some ways, I still am. I knew that one day, I would finally end all the agonizing days of asking "What if I did something better?" or "What if we tried something over again?"  It never came, that day. I kept wondering about you in my quiet days alone. But it would fade. I would walk away, keep walking, and never look back.

And that was gonna be it. I was gonna be fine.

But then I had a feeling I had to know for sure. I found my niche, my life started to pan out properly, and I was turning the page. I just had to fix one last little piece: you and me.

I sought you out. You asked me to see you. We cleared the air. The day ended well.

And that was supposed to be it. I was driving you home, and that was how it was supposed to end.

But, I guess that's never the simplest answer, is it? What happened was you and I, in some broken fashion, resumed the dance - that familiar sway of coming in and out of each others' lives, filling it with favors and flavors, family and friends.

Friends. We would stay friends. Because you're happy being single. And so am I. And also because I can't be kept - I'm nobody's angel. I have many things I still need fixed. In essence, I have a life away from you. 

Or so I thought.

Day by day I watched the other parts of my life fade fast. I would watch all the other interesting women in my life just mysteriously pick up and leave. It was like they just quit, gave up, or were pulled away by something. I saw friendships, even family, who once warned me that nothing like this ends well, well, sing a different tune.

You would tell me, too, day after day, that there were so many others who came by, asked, and never really stuck. And I've been doing my best to smile, and cheer you on.

But truth be told?

There's a well of difficult things more I need to pray over, write down, and lose more sleep on.

And all those things, lately, involve you.

History

I got to the beach with high school friends. The first thing I did when I got into my room was to find a table next to an electric outlet. I promptly sat down, and set up a small work station. I pulled out my ancient Apple laptop, the one barely able to function. I tried to get the Internet to work thanks to my phone, and hopefully get to writing, reading, and catch up with my needed work.

I didn't do much from that. I did, however, chance upon an old archive of chat messages from years past.

It was the recorded history of me with the other people who walked in and out of my life. It was like some kind of treasure trove. I can't post them here - a gentleman must keep secrets. I can say that it makes me ask questions of myself.

I remembered (and still do remember) many things differently. What I didn't realize was that there were spots I tried hard to forget - how, early on, my efforts to be warm were met with ice, or how I would find long stretches of me chatting met with silence and *seen*. It gave me perspective - I was never really wanted or cared for then.

I found more, and they dated to days when I was gone, when things were awful. There seemed to be this great need to see me, to talk to me, to find time for me when I had none, when my life had moved forward. Was it because I was needed? Because I was finally appreciated? Or was it because I was, in some ways, just the different variable from when things were bad?  Like some echo you struggle to keep hearing, as it disappears to the cliff's arms?

There was just so much hurt in there too that I projected onto chat screens, and while this was happening, there was also a lot of deep concern that I was too emotional to see. Or perhaps, because I'm not a vocal, verbal lover, and I appreciated things more than just words and nice lines, that I could not catch where the words begin to nudge me towards work to patch my wounds together.

I'm different now, we're different now. But I also wonder if we're really not all that different. That there is no such thing as different hearts, or growth in others. Only that we finally learn to dance without stepping on each others' toes.

Remembered, Rewritten, Revised

He is joined at lunch by a very attractive lady.
 
 "Don't you feel hot? Why do you wear those scarves?"

"It's not something I tell everyone."

"Well, tell me."

"See, I collect them. I never bought any of them, mind. They're all gifts. They're mementos of a kind. When I want to remember somebody, I wear the one they gave me."

"Even if it's hot like now?"

"Yeah. Kind of helps me keep loved ones in mind."

"I get it. My grandmother gave me one. It's special to me."

"Yeah. Like that! First one I got was from my Mom. She gave it to me when I was coughing, and it helped keep the throat warm. Then came another, from a friend, and another from my sister. And more just came along."

"Mmm."

"I brought them to remind me people care."

"So... that one you're wearing now? What's the story behind that one?"

"This? Uh..."

"Somebody really special?"

"...It's complicated."

"Go on."

"I... well. There was someone I cared for, deeply. She gave me this on a trip out of town. One of those 'Does your boyfriend know you're here?' kind of trips. You know what I mean."

"Oh! The plot thickens."

"I told her I had to go and do this thing. So I'm here."

"Did she try to stop you, persuade you to stay?"

"No. She said she supported my choice. I had wanted to do this for a long while. Just got around doing it now."

"...And you think about her sometimes."

"...Yeah."

"Hmmm."

"You... okay?"

"Hold on to that girl."

"What?"

"You should hold on to her. It's not everyday you find someone like that."

"I...I don't think I should."

"Why not?"

"She found someone else. She said she's happy. And I don't want her to wait. There's...just too many reasons, and too much history. So much happened as to why it doesn't work out like that."


"..."

"And I'm leaving soon! It's just... It's not. Not that simple."

"Nothing is."

"I know. But... it'll be okay. At least, that's what I want to say about the choices we made

"Your choice. But you'll see. People like that only come once in a while."

Lip Service

It's all it is, whenever my family is involved.

Like, they tell me they'll leave me alone for a month as I try to salvage my semester. Then in a single week, I'm bombarded with requests for help and all manner of errands. I don't do them. They get upset. I tell them I can't and that they promised they'd leave me alone. They complain that nobody else would do it if I don't.

They tell me they're proud of me. By morning, they try reassure me that what I do gives them a good feeling as a parent. Yet in the evening, over dinner, they complain that I'm not doing enough, that I'm not making enough money, or that they have nothing to hope for with me.

They offer to buy me nice things, which I say "I don't really need." They insist. I cave. These things don't get bought - I end up paying for them, out of the money I earned. They offer to pay back the money. I decline. They insist. I say "Okay." They still haven't paid up.

They tell me "if you don't like it here, you can leave." I asked them "Do you want me to leave or do you want me to stay?" They say "no, please don't leave. You're the one who gets stuff done here." So I stay. And in a few days they go back to treatming me miserably.

They promise to be more open and listen to me, but they never do. Meanwhile, they move my things all over the house, that recovering my things eats into time, energy, effort, and productivity.

I'm tired. I'm angry.

I Know, I Know

Today I secretly wished that somehow, the years wound back and we were right there, sitting on the floor again, singing to familiar music. That the years apart hadn't really changed much.

But I know that I made my own journey. You made yours. And it did change us. And we came back to this city believing differently, when we once saw the same things the same way.

I still wonder at times what I would have done differently, even if I already know the events really were beyond my control.

But I digress. I still mean it: you are loved, and prayed for, and in most days, deeply missed.

Piecing It Together

Because I can't piece together my thoughts, let alone this thing I'm trying to write, I went and started trying to read my old stuff.

I remember my younger self having so much energy! I was always juggling five or six different things in college, be they org matters, a 21-unit semester, family things, the efforts of a love life, and more.

These days I can barely get anything done. I wish I could go back to my old self, and I started reading through some old posts to make myself feel a bit better.

My old blog posts and journal writing efforts all come round to me. I remember the younger man who wrote those things. I remember the lost bits and pieces of emotion welling up in them. Some were happy. Some were sad. Some unlock little events in my life that I kept secret, even to myself, and could only be found when I read them again. Others were the exuberant bursts of a heart, that, well, nearly burst.

I remember that I almost died, many times, on the ER, in the mountains, in random allergic reactions - that means I have many reasons to eat up life and feel.

But some memories I kept real and vivid in my mind, and I never wrote about them. Sometimes because I was pledged to secrecy. Others, I didn't want the Internet to find them. I didn't want everything in my life to be too open a book, and I took to pen-and-paper diaries instead (which promptly got lost, good job). Still others, I kept a different memento - a necklace with a bronze cross, photographs, a scarf I always wore, or a phone that never rings.

I wish I wrote more about what happened to me, or that I took more pictures. I wish I had more ways to unearth memories like I did when I really, really needed to find the younger, stronger me. 

But would I really want to be the same immature young man? No. I just need to find where I drew that energy, now that I find myself so empty too often.

Winding Away the Awful Month

The past month has been regrettable. In many ways.

There were lots of nice moments, and lots of positive things. But I'm going to be glad to be rid of February. I hope that the damage it caused will pass soon enough.

Now excuse me, this 'overdue' paper will not write itself.

Sacred Space

I'm not exactly a prayerful man. But I've taken to reading Sacred Space. It's a website managed by the Irish Jesuits. It's like a daily devotional - every day a short prayer is written, together with a reading from the Bible. It's a quick way to do the daily prayer that reviews your day (the "Examen," as the Latin-speaking old priests called it).

I was struck by this particular line attributed to St. Ignatius:

"The wrangled tree does not see itself as a statue, even as the sculptor takes her chisel and molds a masterpiece."

I wonder at times how am I being sculpted? How am I being remade? 

I do not know where I am going, only that I hope I needn't go there alone.

Mid-Feb 2015

I am not joking when I say that the middle of February has some of the worst experiences I've managed to survive. They often involve me getting into conflicts with people, and those tend to be family. There was one I learned (the hard way!) of my propensity for mental distress. The others include (but are not limited to) failure (academic and professional), loss (property and relational), heartbreak (don't ask), and occasional splash of scorching weather with no sign of rain. People hurt me. I've hurt people. I've watched dreams go to shit. They all seem to coincide with an season when people remind me to love, love, love.

This year had the makings of all of these years too.

But you know what? Between the little disasters, the looming problems yet to be fixed, the awkward positions I got caught in, and more? Between the good company I've kept, the small victories I've made, the little surprises, and the people I've learned who are more than worth fighting for?

This time this year wasn't awful.

Not one bit, at all.

current music:
 ♪♫
It's not you
It's not me
We're never gonna be
♪



And I'm unable to sleep. I've got those lyrics on repeat. They're part of the closing minutes of the last concert by Up Dharma Down I caught. New song, I think. I love it. It's haunting.

And it haunts more tonight. Because I whispered "I love you," to someone I absolutely adore. In that, I was told how 'feeling close' I act sometimes, despite how deeply flattered, deeply touched, deeply moved I am able to make her feel. (She once whispered this to me over the phone, once, in case she forgot.)

I told her the truth: "You talk about how you wait for someone to love you. But when it's right in front of you, you push them away."

*Drops mic*

I don't take those words back. I'm never going to. I'm not content with being somebody's option, if I can be wanted, needed, kept somewhere else.

Busy Bee Hustling Here

I'm embracing my inner hustler. I have been out of my house for 9 or so straight evenings now. I do not know how my family can be understanding, let alone tolerant, of my behavior. But whatever. I'm trying to carve my place in the world.

I always believed that people should be allowed to make their mistakes. I am also guilty of being a hypocrite about this. I used to be upset when people dear to me screwed up. But at the same time, I needed my own space to screw up.

I can't afford to be inconsistent about this now. I'm dealing with people who may be undergoing many difficult experiences in their lives. I need to be understanding and open to how they choose to live. I don't always have to agree. I just need to be open. I need to allow them that space to make the choices they want.

I remember listening to a guy tell us in a retreat once: God loves us in a way that He gives us profound freedom. He lets us make our own mistakes. He allows us to break His rules, because He trusts us that way.

I'm not a deity by any means, but I understand. I want that kind of love. I want to be able to aim to give that kind of love too.

So tonight, I'm stepping out yet again. Night number 10? I lost count now. What matters is I keep pushing and striving. I gotta keep putting one day after another, helping to make nice things happen for others. I don't expect this to all pay off. I just want to be able to try.

If you want me, you need to move pretty fast.

Setting Record Straight, After 6 Years

current music: Single - Everything but the Girl


A few days ago, I turned 31. I saw this. Well now.


I never un-friended you. You did. 
I wasn't the one who unfollowed you on Twitter. You did.
I never gave up hope. You did.
I never stopped loving. You did.

It was always your choice. Always.

Now, I'm typing and I hear Tracey Thorn sing:

♪♫
Do you like being single?
Do you want me back?
Do you want me back?
Do I like being single?
Am I coming back?
Am I coming back?
♪

Thoughtfulness

I have a lot to be grateful for. But I still lack.

Right now? 

I need thoughtful people in my life. 

I was labeled that early in life. "Thoughtful". In some ways, it was because of how I would sit alone and brood, lost in thought. I would daydream frequently. I would over-analyze. I lived a robust internal life.

That's not the form of thoughtfulness that we know best. That's not the one that counts the most.

I did, also, get tagged as the other kind. I guess it's because whenever I had a free hand or a free hour, I'd ask people if I could do stuff for them. Or if I could take care of something, or deal with something they didn't like. That's me at home. That's how I managed to keep my place. 

It was my "love language," so to speak. I like making nice things happen. I like making things a little easier, or more pleasant, or more comfortable for others. I'd like others to do that for me. So I made every effort to be of service. 

Over time? I guess it wore me down. 

I can't live a life with nobody asking about how I'm doing. I can't live a life where I have to pay people to help me all the time, when I know that there are people out there who can share just a few minutes for my sake. I don't want to go forward with nobody to run to, when I'm the one who drops everything and runs when they need me. 

And since the career path I chose has me giving more of my time, energy, effort, and compassion directed to helping others, there's no way I can sustain all of this on a Heart Full of Hope. 

I need other people. And frankly, the people I'm surrounded with right now (that includes most of my family) are bad at being thoughtful, in my estimation. 

Everybody has their own lives. I get that. Everybody is free to do what they want. I guess I just wish somebody used their freedom the way I did. And that somebody would do so on my behalf. I want to believe that people have my welfare at heart. And I know that I have no right to be resentful if others just don't want to be 'the better person'.

But I don't want 'what's best for me'. I want what fills me up, and revitalizes me to keep going. I want what helps springboard me to continue helping others. I want someone in my life who can sharpen the saw, not run me ragged. I want somebody who appreciates what I bring to the table, recognizes this, and knows how to fuel me forward too. 

So this is where I am. And this is why I'm sad, I guess. And this is what will keep me up at night, wondering, wishing, tossing, turning.