I can only take so much before I break—like a string forced taut from both ends by heavy weights until it snaps in half. I am breakable, I am vulnerable, I get hurt; I am human.
I am awake when everyone else sleeps. I am a floating soul in the corridors at night. It is my voice that echoes off the walls when your eyes close. My footsteps are in tune to the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat. I am the ghost that bangs against the dome of your head as you sleep. My strong arms hold you, tenderly, sweetly; you are captive to my presence.
I am the silence. I am the dark. I am fear.
So this is sadness, to exist and to not feel alive; to be there and yet be somewhere else altogether.
Remember when I called you to say goodbye and you were on a bus to Rizal and couldn’t talk much? Remember how we cried on the phone?
It was funny because I thought you were at your apartment. The landlady even let me in because she still thought I was your sister.
You were supposed to help me with my computer. You thought I called to ask you about it. Then came my goodbye, then your silence.
I remember the promises. The “Promise to come back.” was the only one I couldn’t say yes to.
I told you I’d miss you and how ‘ew’ I felt about feelings. You said you’d miss that about me, you said you’d miss me. Then I cried.
I remember walking down the Acad Oval, thinking how much I’d miss the place. I realized then, I’d miss the people I left more.
I said distance was going to be the death of our friendship.
I can still feel the sensation of your skin next to mine. I remember wanting to fall in love but knowing I would never be what you wanted.
So I loved you like a sister. I slept in your room, you patted my hair, we would spend hours on end doing nothing together.
How your fingers would trace the side of my cheek to brush my hair back; I forget nothing. Those were my thoughts after I put the phone down.
I still miss you.
Let’s not celebrate Valentine’s Day. There are three hundred and sixty five days in a year. I would love you on every single one of those days. Why celebrate the ordinary? We celebrate something rare or special, but loving you is anything but rare.
I would rather celebrate you, because whatever it is I’ve found in you, that’s rare. So no more roses, no more chocolates, no more teddy bears. Let’s celebrate each other everyday.
Note: This is poetic me. I’m not really in a relationship. ;)
It’s a hot school day again and after my first period is a looong lunch break. I usually hang out in the school library where there’s air conditioning and wifi (that you have to hunt for), but today I went home because I wanted to get out of my clothes and take a cold shower. Right now, I’m lying around the house in my underwear (not meant to be sexual, it is just so humid).
I’m posting this because I wanted to talk about how much I hate hot, humid and sticky school days. First of all, if it isn’t summer, it means there’s a storm coming (I hate typhoons). Second, any amount of clothing is ‘too much’ clothing but you can’t really go to school naked (UGH). Third, too many people are sweating and sweaty-elbow-bumping in class is so not cool (I am not in the mood to share pheromones).
I’m also home because the food is better here. So yeah, catch you after lunch! :)
Every day I tell myself to save money, so every day I save whatever little is left from my allowance. But after a week or so, I buy something new and my finances are back to zero again in the blink of an eye. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I have a big allowance and save up a lot, to tell you the truth, my allowance everyday is 50 pesos (I’m from the Philippines, convert the currency so you better understand what 50 pesos means). It’s an okay enough deal for me because I go home after every day so I basically only need to spend on transportation and small fees like handouts and the like.
The thing is, though, that after I started going to college my mom would always tell me to save up and use my own money when I asked for basic needs like shampoo or tampons. Yeah, okay, a lot of parents do that but I don’t get a lot to start with. After a day at school, I am left with 10 pesos or less—and you can’t buy much with 10 pesos. When I ask for extra the answer is always, why can’t you save money like a responsible person.
So, right now, what I’m doing is saving up money—this money goes into a glass piggybank that everyday I am tempted to break open—so I can start a new bank account. One that only I control and one that my mom can’t get into. I’m waiting until I’m finally 18 so I can get a part time job tutoring younger kids lessons I learned ages ago and getting paid through a bank so there’s never any cash on me. Some of you might tell me to get part time now, but, let me remind you again, I’m in the Philippines. There aren’t a lot of part time jobs for underage students. It’s like a requirement or something.
Then there’s the subject of med school. Remember every Christmas when relatives send you envelopes full of cash, well that’s a serious thing here. My parents told me that all the money I get from aunts, and uncles, and godmothers, and godfathers will all go into an account my mom set up for me when I was a kid. She said ten years down the road, this will be for your college tuition. It’s been twelve years and I haven’t even had a wiff of that account again. I asked about it, she asked what I was talking about. Knowing my mother, it probably got used to pay off some debt from god-knows-when. I’m waiting until I can get a part time job to actually save money so I can go to med school then I can finally make bigger money so I can get out of this life. WOW, that was a long-winded sentence.
I want my freedom—financial and otherwise. I won’t mind if a lot of hardships come with it, I just want to call something my own. When am I finally going to be