letters to emily

10% thoughts, 90% bullshit.

Dead end

by M.

Where light stops shining,
where hopes become futile,
where roads no longer lead anywhere.

Where I am.

I find myself asking the same question every time: Is this the life I want to live? What if this version of me right now isn’t the me that I want to become?

I spend most of my days not learning anything new, or not being able to get things out of my way. I’m scared that I’m either compromising too much or being too selfish. It almost feels like this kind of life that I live will be the end for me, but that’s an exaggeration, I guess.

Sometimes I wish I could wake up on the right side of the bed and embrace the day. I wish I had the strength and enough courage to let my walls down and let the stream flow towards the sea. I wish I had the grit to pick up my mess– the fragments of my personality and just get on with life.

Oh, what I would give to be anyone but myself.

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by M.

I constantly feel like a jerk. I feel like an ass for not valuing anyone’s company and attention other than the people I personally care about. Like, I got tired of hanging out and socializing with other people– whom I treated as friends (even good friends) and family before. I’d say I don’t know why or how, but I do.

Maybe I got tired of them not valuing my company before, or my friendship. You know, I used to spend most of my time out trying to reach out to people I thought I care about. I spent most of my energy trying to befriends with people hoping they’ll somehow return my affection in any way. But things did not turn out the way I want them to. All those efforts were for nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I am not putting blame to anyone. Not even to myself. I’m not blaming those people for not loving me or liking me the way I want them to.

And now, I do not see worth in anyone’s existence. Sounds harsh, but it’s true. I’m trying to force myself to at least see the good in other people, but I just can’t anymore. When I tell someone I miss them and I want to hang out with them soon, I feel like I’m faking it. I feel like a fraud every time I tell people I want to see them. Because I don’t. I just want to be left alone.

I still feel kinda sad about them not valuing me enough when I gave them all my attention years ago. I’m sad and it frustrates me that people could be this cruel. It’s 2017 and I’m still surprised that people can actually ignore you to the highest degrees they possibly can.

Then again, it’s no one else’s fault.

by M.

Don’t you just hate the sudden splash of nostalgia leaving you all purple but feeling pale at the same time? It’s like you’re driving down the road and you get this feeling of longing for something that you couldn’t quite make out. A deep longing for something or someone that you have no idea of what it is or who it is that you are aching for. ‘Tis the kind of heartache that you’d want to go away and not linger for a second. But ’tis also the kind of heartache that you’d want to keep because it is the only thing that makes you feel alive– least to say makes you feel human. The kind that keeps track of the lost time.

This heartache, so to speak, does not leave you scarred or bruised. It kind of just leaves you hanging. Hanging to a thread of hope and disillusionment. You know that kind of feeling you get when you’re atop of a Ferris Wheel and then it goes down fast as it can? That’s the kind of feeling this heartache leaves you with. It penetrates your skin slow, and without even noticing, it’s starting to consume you. And then it puts out the flame, leaving you dry. But you’d want to keep it this way nonetheless. You like that feeling. You like this rush of memories in your nerves because you strongly believe that these fragments of the past are what makes you happy. What makes you feel alive. What makes us human. Of course, you do like it that way.

But I tell you, better stop unpacking things that are not meant for you. One thing I learnt about forgetting, or at least escaping, is that when you leave, you leave everything behind. Every day can mean a fresh start and you just got to head where the sun rises and chase where it sets.

I am not sure how to end this. So I better just leave it here.

by M.

Dahil para ito sa mga gabing pinagpilitang iraos; sa mga gabing pahirapang pinalipas at magdamagang sigaw. Para sa mga gabing marahas at lumalason sa puso’t isipan. Sa mga gabing parang walang-katapusang giyera. Sa mga gabing buhay ang pilit na ipinaglaban.

Para rin ito sa mga araw na hinihiling kong huwag na sanang dumating pa. Para sa mga araw na sana hindi ko na kailangang pagdaanan at indahin. Ayoko na. Oo, sumusuko na ako. Ito na ang huli.
Para sa mga taong naniwalang kaya ko, salamat.
Para sa mga taong may alam pero nagkikibing-balikat, salamat. Dahil sa inyo nalaman kong ako lang ang makaririnig sa sarili ko.
Para sa mga hindi nakakaalam, sana hindi niyo maranasan ‘to.
Para sa mga taong nagmamahal, salamat. Mahal ko rin kayo. Kahit hindi ko gaanong naipakita. You are the reason why I kept fighting.
Para sa mga taong nagsabing mahal nila ako pero kumalimot, naiintindihan ko.
Para sa may mga galit, naiintindihan ko rin kayo. Pero sana sinubukan niyo rin akong intindihin.
Para sa lahat ng mga nakasama ko sa saya, maraming salamat. Salamat sa distraction. If anything, you kept me alive a bit longer.

Hindi ito isang pamamaalam, dahil matagal na akong wala sa mundo. Titigil na ako sa puntong ito, tatalikod, at bigla na lang mawawala.

Some nights

by M.

Some nights are for crappy television shows and some nights are for video games;
some are for listening to both old and new music;
some are for homemade dinners, some are just for beers and cigarettes.
This is not a poem or any form of literary crap, this is just me trying to gather my thoughts.
This is not a song, but some nights are made for warm cuddles.
Some are for sleeping side by side and waking up next to each other.
Some nights are just for the two of us, and some are for friends.
Nonetheless, every night is for the crazy, stupid things we both like and love.

I’m no longer scared nor am I perplexed over the fact that I have someone.
It’s nice– really nice to have someone to hold on to.
I feel safe, I feel satisfied. Life has never been this good to me.
And I’m pretty convinced that this isn’t a dream. This is happening.

Thank you, Universe.

by M.

I am afraid. So much that it’s starting to hurt my brain and rack my nerves. I am all rusty and clueless. But hey, at least I am trying. Boy am I trying my best to believe in love. To believe that there is something greater than all these bullshit the Universe left me with. I am trying to make something out of my mess. I am trying to pull myself together.

But I am afraid.

For years, I’ve nothing to worry about other than myself. And through those years, I’ve built walls to protect myself and now they’re starting to crumble down brick by brick. I am starting to drown again, and holy shit, I’ve no idea what to do without the walls to mask all the imperfections and fears and vulnerability.

I am afraid that I’m not ready. But will I ever be? I mean, I’m scared to death that as these walls start to break down, so will I. And then my naked soul will once again be exposed in the dark alleys of my meaningless existence where I tried to keep it from for years.

I can’t even gather my own thoughts properly. They’re all over the place and I can’t seem to thread them together into something sensible. All I have is this whiny blog post talking about how fucking scared I am of romantic relationships.

Jesus Christ, this is beyond pathetic.

My Lord and Savior?

by M.

Jesus lives at the corner of my mind. He’s got a couch and is very comfortable as he recline every now and then. I tried calling Him– first with a cold whisper, and then I raised my voice so He could hear me. But He did not answer.

He does not talk much. Hell, He does not even do much. I asked Him why is He ignoring me. All He said to me that day was: “I already made plans…” But I insisted and told Him that I do not believe in Him. I knew that was an inappropriate response and His father will surely not be pleased when He hears about this. Nonetheless, I told Him I want His body and blood– I want to be saved. I want to be spared from the flames of hell. I want the salvation only He could give. All these– I whispered in His ears along with my burning desires.

That was when he told me:

You are the forbidden fruit, and you are also the snake. You are the angel and the devil of this green earth, and I’d be more than willing to betray My own father, even sacrifice my blood at the cross, just to have a taste of you.

Dear Mom,

by M.

i’ve always wanted to tell you that i’m okay
i’m fine except for the fact that i want to kill myself
and i want to die.
i want to tell you i’m sorry.
i’m sorry for letting you down
for not being the perfect daughter
for not being who you want me to be
i’m sorry.
but do i have to choke on every word you say?
do i have to stomach everything that you do?
do i have to take every beating,
all the cursing,
and all the punches
so that one day you could tell the world you raised me well
and i could finally thank you
for all the shit you’ve done to me?
well, i could always say
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
AND FUCK YOU.
every time you ignore me,
every time you treat me like shit
i feel like you should’ve just aborted me
you should’ve just killed me
so i’d be spared from the world
and from doing it myself.
fuck you.
i don’t care
i’m done caring.
i hate you.
i fucking hate you.
i’m not sorry
not even a little
not even at all.
fuck you.

by M.

Here, tonight, I will not write you a song or some shit poetry. Instead, I will thank you for saving me from myself. For not letting me drown. I want to thank you for being the only person who held my hand no matter what I was going through. It doesn’t matter how long, or how far– the only thing that matters to me is that you were there when no one else was. So thank you.

I’ve been wondering all my life how it feels like not to be alone… to have someone to lean on. And you were there. You were there to wipe away my tears and the blood on my wrist. You were there to hold my hand, to hug me tight, to tell me that it’s okay– that it’s gonna be alright. You were there and you did not watch me sink all the way down. You made me stronger. Thank you for letting me know and making me feel that it’s not the end.

Thank you.

by M.

Tell me, what happens to us after we die?

I may have died a thousand deaths already, but let me tell you this: We leave Earth. But that does not necessarily mean that we leave life– that we stop breathing and existing. No, maybe not in this world. Not anymore.

Here’s my theory.

Before we reach the event horizon– the singularity, we see flickers, flashes of lightness and darkness, particles of the life we used to live in the other side of the universe. We think the void is sucking the life out of us, but it does not.There is no such thing as oblivion, I hate to break it to you. Only dimensions and space. And time– time sets us apart from one another. It divides all the dimension in the universe. Time can only stretch, but it sure does bend everything.

Remember when I talked about how ‘infinity’ scares me? Well, it no longer does. Thank heavens, because infinity gives you hope. A shining hope maybe even brighter than all the stars combined. Hope that burns bright like a thousand suns colliding in one galaxy. We are infinite. Immortal. Life does not leave each and any of us. There is no reason to fear death, for it does not exist. There is no end to this, we are sempiternal.

There are a million ways to die in this world, but there are infinite ways to live. Maybe not in this planet, no, but the universe is vast, so vast that there is no way we could run out of the ways to breathe in and out.

I do not suppose there is such thing as ‘afterlife’ for life never ends for us. We just live in different dimensions, like the way we live in different generations. So I guess we’ll see each other around in another time, dimension, or lifetime. Maybe.