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WRITER'S BLOCK

March 04, 2019
I have all these thoughts kept in the little compartments of my brain, all of it naturally bleeding in my heart. But words are missing. Stuck somewhere. Nowhere. Seemingly buried deep down elsewhere. Truth is, I don't write much anymore and I incredibly miss the adrenaline rush only words can give.

I wish I could write more. Better.

It is my heart that makes the writing all possible. Yet, no matter how fearless and potent it is, it also loses its flame and gets weary at times. It was not as difficult before, to be honest. In fact, words then flowed so rapidly I had to catch all of them as swiftly as possible before I miss an entirely different train of thought from the current. But now, the heart chooses the days when it's vulnerable enough to crack open. And when it strongly refuses to do so, writing crumbles down in one stroke.

But there are also days when it overflows and feels everything all at once that words become so interesting and friendly enough. Days when all I could ever think about was this sudden urge to write about anything. So when one of those days finally comes, allow me to release these thoughts and words— even if they appear lacking and repetitive and senseless by the last line— and to write endlessly until I burn out again.

I will write about the heartbreaks and losses I've braved, and how I got back up and won all of it a hundred times over. I will write about the moments that made me extremely joyful and grateful. Even the things that made me scared and sorrowful, I will share them with you. I will talk to you about the things I dread to discuss using metaphors and idioms and a poem. I will tell you about the man I've loved for so long, and how until today he surprisingly still means something and so much to me.

I will wake and nurse this impassive heart, I promise. I will try, and never stop trying, with hopes that it gets better eventually. But until then, I would carefully keep these stories first in the little compartments of my brain; all of it remembered and cherished, while the heart searches for the right words to give them justice.
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A VALENTINE MIDNIGHT MESSAGE

February 14, 2019
(image via Pinterest)

Today, you are on your own. It's going to be just you and it's going to be just fine.

I hope you wake up glowing and blooming; able to see light and search it even in places dark and hard to find; and able to spread smiles and sunshine in hallways you pass by. I hope your morning be filled with sheer bliss and perfect joy and that it stretches until sundown and the hours after. I hope you eat one of your best lunches and share that absolute time with people who understand that feeling a bit lonely today is completely okay. But don't dwell much about it; because even if there are sudden moments you are most likely to feel it, you are really entirely not alone. And deep in your heart, you know and feel that. I hope you celebrate today with people whose friendship means the world to you; maybe over a great movie; or a spontaneous ice cream date; or maybe over a Japanese dinner splurge you truly deserve. I hope you have a long, meaningful day— the kind where you go home late and feel the good kind of separation anxiety from your most special people right after parting ways. I hope you have time to steal a few pictures and a couple boomerangs just to remember this day. I hope you don't cry yourself to sleep tonight because you have no flowers and chocolates, or a sweet surprise to cap-off the day. But I hope that if you are in tears as you close your eyes before you hit the hay, it is because of a thanksgiving prayer for having people who have held your hand since day one and have never let go of it through all of the highs and lows. I hope you remember today as a celebration of the strong, independent, powerful, and capable woman that you are. Because you truly are. And I really hope you feel it in ways more than one especially today. 

I do hope you never give up on love, even if the haul gets tiring. I hope you never forget the days you felt warm and bright and hopeful because of an untimely love that once meant everything to you; and that you never stop wishing you experience it again someday on the right time with the right one. You will feel it again; but until then, love yourself more dearly. I hope that from everything else that will happen from this day forward, you learn to love, care, support, and appreciate yourself more than ever. 

Happy Valentine's Day, Self!
(And also to all of you single women reading this! We got this. We always do.) 
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FINAL FAREWELL

December 31, 2018

I would never know if putting down these thoughts constantly running in my head day and night is the best thing to do. But I am doing it, anyway, with walls crashed and all guards down. It is a rare case that you chance upon my space but if you do, in the slightest shot that you are actually reading this, here I am, bold and truthful, with my unfiltered musings. Bab, this is for you. 

How are you, my love? It has been a while since the last time we had a real conversation and that moment is still so vividly clear in my mind. There is this strange comfort I get from you and, surprisingly, despite being some sort of strangers yet again, you still had it. I remember how we spontaneously talked about your family and school and the latest events in our lives, and how we exchanged meaningful glances until the wee hours of the morning. If I only knew that would have been the last, I would have not just cried in front of you. I would have probably gathered every bit of insane courage to finally tell you everything I have wanted long enough to say. 

I miss you, that is all.

For the longest time, that is somewhat everything I wanted you to know. And I really wish I knew hundreds of different versions to say I miss you, so that every single time that I did, which is probably almost every single day since that very fateful day you decided to leave, I could have subtly told you how much your absence feels like a certain part of my being I never knew was there went suddenly missing. 

Solace and warmth and you— pretty much the same. I ran to your arms to feel what home feels like from a person's embrace and I had to simply look at you to console my troubled heart. You were my happy place for a while. I saw your heart in numerous unfathomable ways no one else did. You opened yourself to me like I was an old, familiar soul in your life; spoke to me in your own language, and let me into your world without I having to forget about my own universe. I have always wondered what it is in you that made love so warm and beautiful and possible for such a short, remarkable season. You made it feel like it was always the first kiss, like it was always the first hug, like it was always the first date, like it was always the first in everything. 

See? It was actually not difficult to fall head over heels for you. You made loving every bit of you so easy. I could go on and on and talk about the stars and music and words and the things I love so effortlessly, and end up proudly reciting a monologue about all the goodness I see in you.

But like all great things, we must come to an end. We fell apart— not the slow burden type, rather one that is rapid and punishing and excruciating. Seven months after and, here I am, still crazy wondering why. Some nights, I still get haunted by so many what if's and memories of what could have been if only we did what should have been. Other nights, I had to comfort myself with self-sufficing explanations because I am probably never getting answers from you ever. But most nights, I just prayed for strength and patience so I can still hold on a little bit longer to what we were and what we could have been, even if it meant hoping for something I once thought was worth it and waiting for something that is coming not anytime soon. 

I was not the kind to give up easily on someone who made my days brighter and lonely days bearable, especially not on you. But I was already too exhausted to survive a battle I started that was not supposed to exist in the first place. I got sick waiting for you to do the right thing. I got tired of making excuses for the things you did and failed to do. For what it's worth, I am letting it all go now. I am finally letting you go.

You were my 2018, love, and I can't thank you enough for it. It is quite embarrassing to admit that you were not just a mere highlight but also actually very much all of it. The year that was has been mostly and literally all about you and how much you made me genuinely happy even my eyes beam of it; and about how much you broke my heart and soul even the creases in my forehead ache whenever I go mad thinking where it went wrong. It was a bit awful and unforeseen what happened to us but, strangely and to be quite honest, I would be forever damned if we didn't happen at all. 

Ours was ephemeral, but it was sweet and blissful and romantic. It was a love that went downhill so incredibly fast without warning; I drowned from it. But, it was real, and I felt it in ways more than one. It was the kind of happy I never knew I wanted and needed so badly. For these, and many inexplicable and unfathomable reasons more, I am truly, absolutely— and still— eternally grateful. 

Knowing you totally changed my life forever. Best believe I will still keep the version of you that is wonder and love and kindness because that is how I would want to remember you for always. I am still rooting for you and your dreams. I am still behind you silently cheering for you. Wherever you are and whatever you do in this lifetime, I hope you are always well and happy. As long as you are, I am too.  

You will always hold a special place in my heart, Bab. Until we meet again. 
                                              
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Damn, 2018.

December 29, 2018
2018 was crazy wild.

 The extreme polarity of this year, including all the sudden paradigm shifts in between, was insane and, literally, too much and a lot. I did not know exactly how I took it all in; how exactly my weak and crumbling heart handled it. Tough. Through what seemed to be the most emotionally unstable season of my young life by far, I find it amusing and mostly unbelievable that I am actually here— wounded, but still graciously celebrating the glorious ending of the year that was. Still grateful. Still hopeful. 

I lived for the finite streak of huge ups that had me incredibly joyful and genuinely peaceful. I was once a hopeful romantic generously sharing my life and love to the world and my universe; purposefully living and vividly dreaming to my heart's content. Life then was quiet, but it was abundant. And sweet. And blissful. The idea of love and friendship and passion all coming together— like warmth and home, music and words, and finally you and I— is now a tangible, noble reality. 

Yet, no sooner had I began fully indulging the adventures in regular mornings and seeking tranquility in silent sunsets than it started to fall apart. I protected it like a child but it still found an exceptional way to slip through my fingers. Tidal waves of crashing downs drowned my broken bones, slowly, and then everything all at once. It felt frozen and numb and cold on my insides, a different kind of sadness that had never kicked-in before. Surprisingly, that grief and despair had kept me going.

I reaped strength from my everyday little battles with the world and with myself; with my heart and with my head— sometimes winning, sometimes losing— but always gracefully coming through. I unknowingly nurtured this once tiny and empty seed of courage because of all the massive leaps of faith I have boldly taken and all the risks I was uncertain about but willingly gambled with. I sought a renewed faith from a love lost and the rare few who shed light and hope and warmth when I was lacking. 

See, if I had skipped the heartaches and drama and the mess, I would also have missed  this strange opportunity of growth and healing. I would have missed this chance of truly gratifying the people who got my back since day one and through it all. If I had known better, I would have missed some of the best days of this year and the greatest lessons it gifted. It was all worth it after all. 

2018 was a blessing in so many ways and it takes a grateful and humbled heart to appreciate that. Everything did work out well for me, maybe not in the way I hoped it would be, but always in the way I never thought I needed. I struggled long enough with my restless head before I finally realized that I am exactly where I am supposed to be— right here, right now, right at this very moment— and I figured, I could not be anywhere else.

As I wrap this year up through this post, let me spread my thank you's to the very people who made this heaven and hell of a 2018 a year to remember for always. Thank you for being there through my huge ups and crashing downs; for believing and staying when I can no longer carry the baggage on my own. Thank you for being my sunshine; my laughter; the light at the end of the tunnel; the golden pot at the end of the rainbow. Thank you for constantly sharing your heart and soul with me; for being home to me when I could not find myself and I had nowhere to run back to and no one to rest my mind and soul to. I've powered it through this year mainly because of you.

 With strength, courage, and faith — 2019, I am slaying you. 
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YOU ARE MY STAR

November 15, 2018

When love died, I set it out in the universe— in the infinite meadows of light and cosmic dust; in the cold, deep faces of heaven; and in the calm, glorious shadows of the moon. I let it wander the orbits of listless planets and collide with rocks and angel mists, until it finally explodes and spontaneously breaks out of its rigid walls. I spread it out too thickly like a ravaging wildfire, able to radiate its warmth far and wide, and silently reach the vast spaces between the stars. 

I built it a monument in the celestial sphere where it settled and found its peace, a promised eternity after death. It is now part of the gleaming tapestry of stars, an unnamed constellation but with a familiar glow vividly painted by you, gracing my earth with its remaining luminous night after night. 

You are my star, the kind that appears one night in a thousand years. A borrowed hope from a wounded fate, I held you so tightly in my bare and grateful palms, fervently praying our light and dreams and love never slip through my fingers. But I can only hope to keep its glow safe in my pockets, because like ashes to which human breath returns, I had to give it back to where it rightfully belongs— to the skies where it will never rust; to the universe where it will always ablaze; and to the heavens where it will live without end. 

Since then, I adored the solace of the night. Whenever I gaze upon the immeasurable glittering sky, it always feels like traveling in light years— remembering how once upon a time, that glitter was in your eyes and they were mine; beaming and flaring so beautifully, it held my spirits high. It crawled in my skin and crept in my bones; seeped through my veins, pierced straight through my heart, and dived right into my chambers; until it lovingly burned my soul — it was love. You are love, my sweetheart; and just like the most massive stars, ours was the shortest-lived. 

It climbed up the skies, traveled aimlessly, battled celestial wars, walked the infinite and the beyond, and finally sought its paradise. Love found an afterlife. In that galaxy, it will last— sprawling with gases and dust and countless stars— faded, yet somehow still burning bright, giving all what it had left to the skies, to stay there forever, never to face oblivion. 

How comforting it is to know that our love will always be here— still with the same flame, yet now tarnished with infinity, immortalized, and timeless— and all I have to do is look up and wait for the starry night.