I never wrote anything in Filipino that I publicly shared, but I’ll give my shot at it now because sometimes, it just seems so much more relieving to express in my own native tongue. Although, I’m not exactly good at it— as I never really was good in writing whichever language I choose— it’s about time to try. I’m sorry if you can’t seem to understand, but I’ll try to translate if you really want to know what it’s about. (I also apologize but I swear to update my cobwebbed Tumblr once I’m through with all the work I have to accomplish)
Ilang araw at gabing walang ginagawa kung hindi kumayod at maghirap sa gawaing pampaaralan— binubuno ang mga gabing walang tulog at kinakarga ang katawang ka’y bigat sa umaga para lamang maranasan muli ang dusa sa buong magdamag. Trahedya kung maituturing ang buhay na walang inatupag kung hindi ang eskwelahan ngunit sa puntong ito, eto lamang ang hinihingi ko— ang magpagod upang makalimot, upang piliting ibaon ang mga alaalang kahit kailan man ay hindi na masusulyapang mamuhay muli, at upang hindi maranasan ang sakit na dinulot ng nakaraan at ang hindi pagbalik nito.
Hindi pa rin ako nakasusunod sa panahon— sadyang nakapako ang buong pagkatao sa isang masayang pagkakataong naranasan na makapiling siya. Hindi ko matanggal ang aking piglas sa isang panahon na kahit minsan ay aking natikman. Kahit man pilit na pakawalan ang nakaraan at kalimutan ang lahat ng naramdaman, nagbabalik at nagbabalik ito upang yanigin ang akalang mapayapa at nanahimik nang puso. Bumabalik ang kirot, ang sakit na wala na ang lahat; na wala na ang dating pinanghahawakan, na wala na ang dating mundong ginagalawan, na kahit kailanman ay hindi na mabibitawan ang mga salitang nag-uumapaw ng pagmamahal at saya. Nagbubukas ang mga sugat na pilit hinihilom, at nagdurugo ulit ang mga ito ng lungkot at delubyong mas mahirap pang puksain.
Ngunit kahit nawaksi at nabura na ang kahit anumang pag-asang maibalik ang lahat, hindi ako sumusukong makita muli ang liwanag, ang ningning na ang lahat ay muling magbabalik-ligaya. Ako ang tanga, ang bobong humihiling pa rin sa Panginoon para sa isang himala. Na kahit mapagod ang Maykapal na dinggin ang mga panalangin ko, hindi ako mawawalan ng ganang sumuko. Kahit man isang siglo o milenya ang abutin, maghihintay ako. Maghihintay akong bumalik ang hiwaga.
In brutal honesty, I will have to admit, dear anonymous reader, that I am on the verge of flooding my eyes with tears that I never meant or intended to shed. I loathe the fact that after putting through so much effort in fighting my feelings and sentiments which have been so, so strong, I still cannot win the battle I’ve been struggling with for almost three years. In the circumstance I am in now, I have no other comfort but to write everything out.
You see, dear reader, I have really been doing all that I can to forget and move on with my life in free and high spirits. I have been re-channeling the “me” almost three years ago just so I can get through with what I am experiencing now. I have been pampering myself, and even releasing all my energies in academic and extra-curricular work and exercise, because in these methods I have always known I am going to get more than what I deserve. But I guess certain feelings, certain situations mutate into something much stronger that what I am doing now really doesn’t seem to be working.
And the more I try to fight it, the more I get much weaker and the more it hurts. I still love him, reader. I have loved him for so long, I have loved him with much devotion, and the biggest problem is I cannot stop doing so. He’s moved on, settled with somebody else, and it breaks my heart to realize that whatever prayer I offer to God, whatever solution I try to do to remedy my issues, it is not going to be the same as it was before. And I am so scared that it never will have its second chance ever again.
I really cannot stop myself from loving him, dear dear reader. I’ve learned to embrace his good side, and I have even embraced his imperfections. I have helped him become a better person whichever way I could, and I really was there both at his strongest and weakest points. Heck, I have even considered his family as the extension of my own— which really is the case because our families have been so tightly knit even before our parents were born— and I have revered them just the same. I have loved him so much, and I still do. I incessantly do. I have been trying to be the friend he wants me to be, but reader, I cannot just be friends with him. I am not used to it. I miss him so much— the way he was to me, the way we were together. I miss every single thing about it and it hurts so much more than I expected. And I know I pose a strong facade whenever he’s around, but the moment he’s gone and I’m alone, I contemplate and break down and pray to God for an ounce of miracle and a pinch of hope that in some way in the near (or perhaps, distant) future, the tables will again turn for the better.
I like seeing him happy, but as selfish as it sounds, I still wish I’m the reason. I really really wish things didn’t go the way they did. I wish he stayed. I wish we made this work.
Long story short, I am finding it so so difficult to move on. I cannot let go of the past. The dead still lingers and I don’t know why I still strive to resurrect it.
I have never gone this far to telling my story, and I hope I don’t sound obsessed or anything of the sort. I rarely let love in, but when I do, it knocks me hard and I can’t seem to get back up anymore. Sorry for the language, reader, but seriously, fuck this. I can’t take it anymore, I wish things will get so much better really really soon.
Making decisions is difficult. I have never done anything truly for my own benefit, and I guess the road is long and rough before I see the fruits of my effort. But I have to do that one thing I should have done a long time ago. Even if it pains me to do so.
I choose to stop resurrecting what never existed or what lived only in my head. I choose to admit the harsh truth that I was the only one, and there never was any other— that his promises and sentiments meant nothing at all. I choose to move forward, to live my life with no expectations or assumptions that one day he’s going to come back. I choose to re-channel what was lost in me; the self that I, too, have loved and appreciated. I choose to be happy… for me.
It’s a struggle, but I guess nothing worthy comes easily. All I have to do is to stop looking back, stop being idle and start living in the present as happily as I can.
This year is the year of change and I have the Lord for strength and hope. I can do this.
I have stronger feelings than I have of resolve to reblog photographs and quotations to better fit the purpose of my Tumblr. But as I have mentioned before, in due time, I will fill my page with colors and faded sceneries that I have long wished to experience and belong to.
It never occurred to me how painful it is to remember it all over again. What I have struggled to forget, what I have been putting so much effort to leave behind just seems to be so impossible to get rid of. Pain stays; and just when you thought it’s already let you live your life the way you deserve it, it suddenly pounces on you, attacks you unexpectedly, leaving you bruised and in the state you were before.
And it all comes back after that. The memories, the songs that were sung, the words that were once part of a long sonnet, some beautiful poetry— all come in a flash, terrorizing the only salvation you’ve ever seen yourself capable of having.
Why do people suffer from something they don’t deserve? What’s the point of love, of sacrifice— when heartbreak just comes right after? What’s the effort for? Why do the ones who love get hurt, and the ones who don’t live? Really, what’s the use of it all?
It doesn’t make sense to me anymore. And I doubt it ever will.
I haven’t entertained people’s eyes with reblogged cryptic photographs or profound quotes that Tumblr is now of use for (and soon enough I will, I promise). In this little idle time that I have, all I can ever have the luxury to resort to is to write another seemingly lame account of introspective sentiments that have again made their way through despite the time and the walls that I have fortified in order to protect my frail, frail heart.
And it will be short. I write just to cleanse my poor mind, just to remove all the things I have been having so much difficulty to purge. What I can try to formulate is the symphony (more like the cacophony) of thoughts and words that sing what I go through ever so clearly. I know what I’m about to write is not poetic, but it’s all I can do and it’s all I can give.
His name. The mere mention of his name tears me. It tears me into the million pieces I have long struggled to put together. It brings back all the memories that I have been striving to store— to keep away tucked in the subconscious of my mind. The mere mention of his name. To hear it even from the person I want to hear it from the least, it breaks my heart.
And it breaks my heart even more to know it’s all my doing. I crumble, and it’s all my fault. It’s all self-infliction. It shatters me to realize he has done nothing to put me through this. But he is the very cause of my heartbreak.
The love I used to have is the cause of my heartbreak. The disentanglement of his affection that was once so dearly and closely tethered to mine is the cause of my heartbreak.
His absence is the very cause of my heartbreak.
All these tumultuous, turbulent waves of emotions crashing in are pointless. And I try to run away. I try to escape. But I drown. Oh boy, do I still sink and drown.
I miss you. I miss you a lot. I’m not sure if you miss me too but I like to tell myself that you do. You were in my dream last night and you don’t know how happy I was to wake up feeling like you cared again. The break up was your fault. I wanted to fix it. It’s been 5 months and I still want to…
In moments of distress, I turn to writing for comfort. There are things much better written and read in solitude, than expressed to even a great deal of company. Sometimes, I have to comprehend the concern alone because only I can do something about it. I don’t mean to be distanced and solitary, but there are times when situations call for it. I have gotten used to throwing things out to the world of the unknown (in this case, the Internet) because I find strange comfort in divulging so much about my life to those who have no knowledge about me at all. Such crowd, I have to say, I, myself, am also a part of.
I don’t experience these moments as often as I expect, but I am in one now. And quite frankly, no one has done anything for me to incur this kind of tragedy except for myself.
I have been making my life a lot more complicated and convoluted than how it should be, and I wish I can be relieved of the own pains I have inflicted upon myself. There are factors which inevitably expose themselves to me, but I loathe that I still make so much room for such things. I still entertain such sentiments when I know it’s not necessary— when I know it won’t do any good to me.
It’s preposterous to admit my emotional instability, but it’s better to constantly tell myself that this is the problem and the very reason as to why I haven’t really gotten over things I should have put in the past a long time ago. Yet in spite of my constant effort to slap myself on the face and remind myself of how much I can never alter reality to my own favor, I’m still in denial. I still insist on shaping things the way I want them to be; and it makes me look ridiculous trying to do just that, because nothing really happens.
And yet, I ask myself, why is it that those concrete and tangible situations that seemed and looked so special can mean nothing at all? How is it possible that an ostensible spark, a very evident connection— a moment so undeniably real— can have little significance, or even no bearing whatsoever? Why is it that I see and feel something so pure and so full of potential (and there are witnesses to such magic, even) which the other doesn’t see at all? Is it still my fault, then, to think that there are moments which seem to disguise themselves just so I can be comforted? Or is it all me; am I the only one standing on such ground, seeing such wonder to occur?
Where am I really? Have I become so delusional that I cannot seem to delineate my expectations from reality any longer? Or is there really something to it, that the other just seems to reject?
I’d like to cure myself away from this vortex, but such questions haunt me so terribly and so often that there already comes an urgency to be direct. And what is left for me to do is to talk. To ask. Not to myself but to the one concerned. Whatever I’m faced with, I have to finally accept it as the truth… or should I?