Hello, dear! It's been a while. I'm sorry for that. It must've seemed like I went MIA on you. Don't worry, I didn't, but life just seems to have its way of catching up with us eventually.
Where was I...I was telling you a story, right? Heavens, it's still mind boggling how easy it is to communicate with you now. And to think that the first PCs only came out, what, in the 1970s? That's amazing.
Oh, I remember now! Yeah it was that story about the two kids I saw playing at the fountain in the park, the cute little boy and the brave little girl. She was reaching out to the boat that had drifted in the fountain's center just out of her reach. He then held her free hand while she continued reaching out for the boat. Just as she held onto the boat's tip, she fell into the fountain! The little boy panicked, distressed over the little girl and her unfortunate situation. However, when the little girl's smiling face appeared, his distorted face relaxed and let a twinkling laugh escape his lips.
Or, wait. Maybe it was that boy and girl walking hand in hand in front of me on the sidewalk. I decided to stop and sit on a bench I passed. As I sat, I saw that the boy and girl also stopped at a flower stall. The boy plucked a single stalk of a sunflower and gave it to the girl. I could never forget that because the head of the sunflower was as big and as bright as a red stop sign, or so I recall.
Oh, no, I'm sure I got it now It was that boy and girl sitting at the bar across from my table. It was a packed Friday evening at my favorite late night haunt and voices were overlapping each other. So obviously, in an effort to hear each other, their faces were drawn close, their foreheads almost touching. The live singer was crooning a tune from decades past, but I recognized it instantly. The boy and girl seemed to have done so as well, as she led him to the open dance floor as the singer aired Al Green's timeless lyrics "let's stay together, loving you whether times are good or bad, happy or sad."
Or, no, this is it. This is the right story because it's about that boy and girl I saw at the port in a tight embrace, never letting each other go in the midst of the hustle and bustle of passing bodies and the whistles of the boats and ships. As the world changed around them, they stood there unwavering and unaware of their surroundings. Men in naval finery and army fatigues ran around me as I just looked at them with intrigue.
Oh dear, I never got any of those right did I? Forgive an old soul like me. I must've mixed up all the memories in my head by now.
Forgive me, I need to go. I can hear my name being called out by the kindly patrons downstairs. They've been doing so much for us. They're the absolute sweetest for cooking our favorite food and assisting us with even the smallest tasks, even this thing you call an "e-mail." I feel like such a child again.
Please write soon, dearie. We miss you terribly. We love you! ❤
Sincerely,
Amelie [redacted]
——————
Part of “Dani & Chloe’s Writing Challenge,” Chloe’s prompt for Dani # 1: Nostalgia
It comes in flashes every time—bursts of colors, images of memories, bouts of emotions. They come and they go, sometimes in the blink of an eye and others in an episode of full volume.
Just now, there was a burst of color: mint teal was the first thing that came in my mind, but it was more turquoise or aqua. It was the color of my hoodie you borrowed when you were cold. It contrasted your formal white shirt and dark slacks so much that I laughed when you were begging me to let you borrow it. You were off to meet a former colleague for a drink and I wanted to tag along, but for reasons you know I had to go home. So we went for a quick drink before your meeting to a restaurant with stark white walls that contrasted the dark inner bar as we went deeper inside. We shared pink kisses in between sips of golden beer. I remember walking vast distances in the greens and greys of the concrete jungle just to reach you, and by then I already should've known.
One time, it was an image of the memory: I walked for a few minutes from a meeting of my own. I thought that it didn't matter the distance I was treading as long as it lead to you. We met at the coffee shop where we first held each others hearts in our own, the sickly sweet smell of donuts permeating the small rooms air. You had your arms tight around your chest because you were so cold in your thin shirt and slacks. I laughed and took off my own hoodie for you to wear, even though it severely ruined your serious corporate look. We walked hand in hand to that small restaurant we never visited because it was way out of our budgets. but you said this was an exception because you were meeting a colleague. I didn't have long to spend with you, so we ordered two beers and you stole me kisses in between sips of ice cold light beer. And as quick as I downed that single bottle, I gave you a final kiss and once again treaded the distance from one side of the overpass to the other side of the underpass. As beads of sweat dripped from my temples and my heart quickened its beating and my breath became shallow with effort, by then I already should've known.
Years ago, it was the bouts of emotions: my phone vibrated and chimed with your ringtone. I answered and heard your sweet voice telling me that you were in our coffee shop and asked if maybe I could drop by. Hearing you say our coffee shop made me feel all sorts of tingly feelings all over my body. I smiled involuntarily and asked if maybe he'd come to the park where I just finished my meeting. His tone suddenly changed, I could hear it through the phone. It was subtle, something I wouldn't have noticed if I'd only known him for a few weeks. He told me he had a meeting in that area and he couldn't leave easily. I told him I was at the other side of the business district and that, besides, if he walked the shorter distance from where he was to a halfway point, then we could meet even for just a while. He was quiet for a moment then said that he had a meeting with a colleague in a while. I was confused how he didn't see my logic to be reasonable, but I didn't want to keep explaining and asked him what time the meeting was instead. He said it wasn't in an hour or two. It only took 10 minutes to walk the distance between us, I knew that because I've done so countless of times in the five days I spent in this city. I took a deep breath and told him that I was on the way. I bid my colleagues goodbye and walked as fast as I could to where he waited on the other side. I was nearby when I peeped at my watch and I saw that I had made it to him in only eight minutes. A new personal record, I thought. It was a hot day then and my 8-minute record rendered me a bit breathless, but when I saw him, it didn't matter if my baby hair stuck on my face and I was tired from walking. I went in for a hug and his cold skin met my warmth. It was like he'd been there for a while. He kissed my forehead and took my things. I sat down and caught my breath. I saw his small cup of iced coffee on the table, then to him hunched over and bundled as tight as possible. I asked him if he was cold, even though it was painfully obvious, something he pointed out. I just laughed and gave him my aqua hoodie. Shrugging it on, I thought it would be a bit small for him, but it turned out just right. Still I laughed at how he looked, my bright hoodie making his corporate look softer and cuter in a way. He laughed along and shook his head. Then he asked if I wanted to go, of course I asked where. He said that he'd like to go to the restaurant already for the meeting. I asked if his colleagues were there already and he said no, he just wanted to make sure they had seats already. I looked at my watch and said the meeting won't be in 30 minutes, but he said he wanted to be early just in case they didn't get seats. It was a Tuesday, a dead day, and I really couldn't understand why he insisted on it so much. I asked where it was and he said it was that restaurant we always wanted to try but couldn't afford. But, I said, that would be even farther from here and he knew I couldn't stay out late tonight but he said that it's okay, he'd buy me a beer if I wanted to because he knew how much I badly needed to destress with a bottle of beer. So even if I was confused and unsure, I said yes. We walked there hand in hand, passing by the buildings and people in the rush to go back home and hopefully beat the traffic. We arrived at the restaurant and, true to my inner predictions, it was barely full. We went in and found a table for six. He waved over a waiter and asked for two bottle of beer. Quickly, I added two glasses of water to the waiter's list. We were side by side and he placed his arm around my shoulders. Involuntarily, I leaned on his shoulder in comfort. When the beer arrived, we clinked our bottles and sipped the ice cold beer, feeling it cool my body down after all the walking I'd been doing on this hot day. I closed my eyes in contentment and when I opened them, he was looking at me with a smile in his eyes and on his lips. In minuscule movements, he moved fast and slow at the same time, leaning in toward me suddenly. Involuntarily, my body responded and reacted as it would and our lips met. He tasted of the bittersweet beer I both loved and hated at the same time. When he drew away, I lightly smacked his arm and asked him what that was. He just laughed and kissed my forehead again. And because I was stressed and confused and tired, I let this single bottle of light beer linger in my senses and go up to my head so I could laugh a bit louder at his seeming jokes and middling stories. All too quick, I absentmindedly brought my bottle to my lips and was surprised to see that it was all empty. With that, I told him that I had to go now and it's getting late. He gave me his sweet eyes and pleaded me to stay for a while longer, offering to pay for my dinner even just so I could stay. I had to say no. He said okay and well, he had to stay there and wait for his colleagues. I knew I could say nothing else but an okay. He asked me if I would be okay and I said yes, don't worry about me because I'll be fine. He gave me a final kiss before I stood up and gathered my things. Before exiting the restaurant, I gave one last look at him sitting at the far end of the room. He already had a second bottle of beer on his lips, just setting it down with an expressionless look on his face. As I was walking to the bus terminal, I slowed my steps down and recounted everything that happened that afternoon. I tried sorting out the thoughts and emotions going through my head, ignoring the vibrations of my phone that signaled messages from you. I stepped foot in the terminal and checked the time, surprised to find that my 20-minute walk turned into a 30-minute one. I sat down in the bus and found that the initial elation I felt when I first picked up his call that afternoon slowly deteriorated into something I couldn't figure out then as I was on the ride home. By then, I feel like I should've known something I didn't know at the time.
Maybe because it's always been there all along.
— — — — —
((i’m terribly sorry for the wall of text but here’s to me hoping you guys understand the creative decision behind it hahahehe))
[Disclaimer: R-13 content, contains themes of sex]
And this is how it starts:
You take your shoes off in the back of my van
It was the hottest day on record for the season. I always knew there was a reason I hated summer. I know, hate is such a strong word, but the heat will never do any good to my brain or my body. I could feel every drop of sweat dripping down from my forehead, to my neck, my chest.
"You know, it's a good thing we didn't get the ice cream because this hunk of junk with the broken AC would've just made a mess of ourselves...and your so-called upholstery." The voice came from the back seat because you said you didn't want our composite body heat bouncing off of each other if you remained in the shotgun seat.
I looked at the rear view mirror and saw your feet up in the air for reasons I absolutely know not. The small yellow french fries in the red containers on your printed socks did nothing to distract me from the fact that all you were wearing was your bathing suit. Why you were wearing socks and sneakers to the beach, only God knows.
Yeah, my shirt looks so good
When it's just hanging off your back
You sit up and I see that you were wearing the baby blue button up I discarded earlier in favor of my tank top, moments after the AC broke down. It'd been a while since we saw each other; eight years to be exact. I know it wasn't your fault, but when you left me alone in high school I couldn't help but feel abandoned. We used to do everything together, then suddenly...we just didn't.
I was literally in shock when you turned up at my front door. You know I didn't like surprises, yet somehow you always manage to feign innocence of your crime. You laughed at my face in the way I hadn't heard since your eight-year absence. It was a bit deeper, yet heartier, but always had that same squeaky catch after a few releases of air.
Fast forward to today, I invited you to come to the small beach cove we usually played at during the weekends or after school. And look, if I knew that my AC was out of Freon, I would've pushed that we went in your fancy city sedan that was obviously brand new, unlike my well-used but very well-loved pickup truck.
When we finally arrived, you made your way out easily, making a mad dash towards the water. Of course, I was left behind to get all the stuff you prepared for us to bring. The socks were effectively discarded on the floor, along with the high top, white canvas sneakers you seemed to love to death. They were beside your clothes, which you had no problem peeling off in the back seat.
I gathered our bags and blankets and tried to catch up to your wild and boundless energy up ahead. Thankfully, you actually had the good sense to come and help me with our things. Grabbing the blankets, you lay them out side by side, while I started setting out the few snacks we brought along. Mostly chips, candies, and sandwiches my Mom made for us to keep our stomachs filled as soon as she saw all the disguised salt and sugar I was packing.
Your back was turned to me and I saw you were still wearing my baby blue button up. It swayed slowly with the soft arid wind. And with only your bathing suit on, it didn't take much for me to imagine as if the baby blue button up was the only piece of clothing you were wearing.
And she said, "Use your hands and my spare time
We've got one thing in common, it's this tongue of mine"
She said, oh
My eyes were suddenly wide open when I finally figured out what you were talking about. I remember you reading to me your poems way before, but they were never in this vein. I guess that's how your life changed you. With that, I started wondering if the thoughts I've had in my head all day weren't only mine to begin with.
My back was turned to you, but for some reason I could feel a pair of eyes on me the whole time I was removing my tank top and spreading the sunblock from my hands to all over my body. When I turned around, it seemed that the pair of eyes were increasingly engrossed in the paperback you brought along. And I wasn't sure if it was the heat that brought out a red tinge to your cheeks, or something else.
And as we waded in the water earlier, the way we had when we were young, we always seemed to be missing each other's eyes, averting gazes before they even met. With the saltwater replacing the sweat dripping down our bodies, every absentminded touch we shared was surprisingly not cool but hot on our skin.
She's got a boyfriend anyway
I kept thinking about this as we packed up and loaded our things back onto the truck. Even as you were sitting on the open truck bed, telling me that "you're such a damn slowpoke, you baby!" Even as you put on my baby blue button up yet again because, you being you, you forgot to bring an extra set of dry clothes. Even as the chill of the night air blew against your hair and through your—my—shirt's thin fabric, unintentionally and painstakingly teasing the corners of my eyes as I focus on the road ahead.
There's only minutes before I drop you off
All we seem to do is talk about sex
Honestly, I can't even remember how the topic came up. One moment, we were at the bar next to your college with you chatting up the person who was going to be who you lost your virginity to, and the next we are in your dorm room with you trying your best to muffle your screams and moans as to not wake your roommates up. With every story you told, it was like I was seeing you for the first time every time.
After a day that seemed far too short, I pulled up to your driveway and killed the engine. The silence seemed too loud for both of us to bear so I said, "Thanks for today. I missed spending days like this with you. Like when we were kids."
You looked at me and replied, "Thank you, too. I missed this. I missed you."
The last sentence hung in the following silence, only pierced by the occasional dog bark or bird tweet. In that silence, we never pulled away from each other's eyes, seemingly the first we shared since the day started.
She's got a boyfriend anyway
She's got a boyfriend anyway
It seemed to resound in my head, as if it was a mantra I lived by my whole life. And for a beat too long, my gaze seemed to pull you in for a fraction of a distance before we both woke up from our reverie. Simultaneously, we released a breath that was both in our lungs. You laughed first, and it was too contagious that I couldn't help but follow.
Then as always, you take me by surprise and steal a kiss on my cheek, a final message before you jumped out from your seat and left without looking back. A ghost of a kiss, but I could feel its heat long after you've gone in the door.
"I loved your friend when I saw his film
He's got a funny face, but I like that 'cause he still looks cool."
I told you that as we were lying side by side on my bedroom floor. When I found out that it was your college best friend, I did my best to hold back on my words because if I were completely honest, I hated the film. But of course I won't tell you that.
It had been a week since the beach trip, and slowly but surely it was as if we grew more comfortable with each other with every passing day, just like how things were before. Absentminded touches became more deliberate, innocent glances became more intentional, and those dirty jokes you seemed to tell me on the offhand came paired with a more serious look in your eyes every time you said them.
She's got a boyfriend anyway
She's got a boyfriend anyway
And even though I played that in my head for the millionth time, I found myself facing you. I drank up the intoxicating air that mingled between our close proximity. I saw those words in my head in flashing red neon lights as I lifted my hand on impulse and traced a line from your forehead, to your nose, your lips, and you closed your eyes when I reached the base of your neck.
I always wondered why you never gave me back the baby blue button up; it didn't turn up again until tonight. That's when I finally realized that these small actions were all intentional. Every moment since the day at the beach led up to this night on my bedroom floor.
I undid the fourth button, since you already left the first three haphazardly undone when you entered the room. The other buttons followed suit, and soon enough you were bare chested on my bedroom floor and your eyes were still closed. The cold air formed small bumps on the exposed skin. You parted your mouth and took a breath, the motion of your chest rising captivated the nerve endings on my fingertips. I ventured a tentative touch on your breast when your hand grasped on mine and guided me to it. A soft sigh escaped your lips.
That was all it took to get me undone.
Now we're on the bed in my room
And we exchange messy, torrid, desperate kisses that were a week overdue. I never realized how much the week had done me in to get drunk on your high. We became a tangle of limbs and skin as piece by piece of our clothing was shed by urgent hands and greedy teeth—not that there was much clothing to begin with, anyway.
And I'm about to fill his shoes
As the anticipation builds up in consummation of the innocence we left hanging by a thread all those years before.
But you say "no," you say "no"
Your words caught me by surprise, which in turn took me by surprise because I wasn't supposed to be surprised at all. I look up and meet your eyes, trying to read what they wanted to say because we both know that I was the weaker mind reader of the two of us.
In the end, all I say is "okay" and respect you, as I always do. But this didn't mean I couldn't do other things I had in mind, and all that I heard you say afterwards was "yes, oh yes."
Does he take care of you?
Or could I easily fill his shoes?
That was all I could think about with every breath of air that passed between each of our lips. And when that moment arrived yet again, the inescapable need to indulge in the fate of our sins, I looked into your eyes and saw the unmistakable truth within them.
But you say no, you say no
My lust-driven mind at this point made no more thought over rational decisions. There was a choice to be chosen, one we made at the same time.
It seemed an eternity of ecstasy and bliss. Once we came back to reality, still in a tangle of limbs and skin, we both knew that it was the beginning of the most unforgettable, blistering, and scorching summer together.
Now we're just outside of town
And you're making your way down
You had me splayed on my truck bed and I've closed my eyes and unabashedly let a guttural sound betray my sensibilities. I heard your small laugh from below me, right as the wave of pleasure rippled through my whole body. I felt your warm lips on mine as I returned the fervor, finding your hands and intertwining them with mine.
We started frequenting this other secret spot we discovered together. The midsummer heat brought the people to our beach, so we found a patch of dense forest near the town border. Under the cool shade of greens was the privacy we were so privileged to enjoy. It was a place away from neighbors and lovers, past and present.
She's got a boyfriend anyway
Not even your lips could make me escape the looming reality we faced every time we left our sanctuary. In my hazy mind, my thoughts seemed to have slipped out, mumbling words I couldn't comprehend either.
"She's got a boyfriend anyway"
"What?" Suddenly your lips weren't on mine anymore because mine betrayed my sensibilities yet again. You looked at me with an urgency that flitted inbetween your expressions of caution and disbelief.
"It's true. And I can't keep pretending it's not true." And as I looked at you wearing nothing but your underwear and the baby blue button up you never seemed to take off when we were together, I saw you yet again for the first time through the eyes of someone in love, truly and wholeheartedly in love with you.
I struggled with my words as I always do, and while in my head I was telling you that with every piece of clothing we shed was a piece of our soul bared in the nature of our true intimacy, that every breath exchanged between our lips was a whispered secret we told each other in the inbetweens of our lovemaking, and every kiss was a promise of what our future can actually be like, all I managed to actually say was that "I'm in love with you. I'm falling deeply and desperately in love with you."
Your eyes widened impossibly like mine on that fateful day you turned up at my front door at the beginning of this summer.
When your eyes softened, you came in close and planted another ghost kiss on my cheek, like the night of our beach trip so many weeks ago.
"And I'm not trying to stop you, love
If we're gonna do anything we might as well just fuck"
You whispered in my ear before lightly tugging on it with your teeth. And I could do nothing but comply.
There we lay on my truck bed, connected by the most intimate parts of our bodies. Our skin was slick with lust as we thrust on each other with bated breath. A blinding flash of baby blue filled my vision, almost like the light day sky peeking through the leaves. Every other thought in my mind melted, replaced only by you as I made love to the most beautiful person in the whole world.
She's got a boyfriend anyway
She's got a boyfriend anyway
Because you left without a trace the next day. Your father answered the door when I came to pick you up and even he couldn't give me any concrete answers. The only one he did give me was that you returned to the city early in the morning under the cover of dawn without even saying goodbye to them. Nonetheless, they welcomed me in for breakfast because our own early morning plans were botched by your absence.
I sat there on your family's heirloom dining table, the seat beside me profoundly empty as your parents asked if I knew what you were up to. I obviously didn't.
Before I dropped you off yesterday, you told me to come in and have dinner. I was under the pretense of secondhand embarrassment as you dragged me into your door before I could protest. You asked your parents if the food was ready as you announced that I was having dinner with you. We stood there hand in hand, your grip a tight intertwine. You were the bravest I saw you since eight years ago when we were in the exact same position as we were now. You said only one word to your parents when they told you that you were moving: "no."
Then still hand in hand, we made a mad dash up the stairs and straight into your room, where you pushed me onto your bed and pulled down my shorts. You slowly stripped down, teasing me with your shallow breaths when you straddled my eager arousal. We let our kisses muffle our pleasure, like that story you told me with you and your roommates.
I could barely make out the words you whispered in my mouth. You said it every time our lips parted. In the presence of your childhood stuffed toys and that small framed picture of us on your bedside table, our younger selves illicitly witnessing what their older selves were to become.
"I love you."
It was apparent that we must've smelled of sweat and sex, despite my personal efforts to conceal our dirty little deed on your childhood bed. You went downstairs first, not even bothering to do anything besides put on a bathrobe. I stayed behind, splashing my face with cold water as if that could help with the vivid flush against my cheeks. I debated whether to bring down the baby blue button up with me, but decided to return for it after dinner.
"Please take care of our baby," your mother said in the midst of my distracted thoughts. "We weren't able to talk properly since that day we moved away from here. But I know you trust each other. I know that you love each other."
I wanted to tell her that I wasn't so sure about that last statement after the events of the morning, but instead I said my thanks and asked if I could get something I forgot in your room. I entered the doorway and the faint scent of your shampoo hit my senses. Everything was fixed and made up unlike how it was last night. I looked for my shirt but found a note instead.
"I'll come back. I'll look for you," it said. I trusted you with all my heart, but I couldn't seem to give you the benefit of the doubt. Memories of the summer entered my mind as if they were quick switching projector slides.
You've got your tongue pierced anyway
I never liked it, but you showed me regardless. You said it was a dare you and your friends did after a semester's final exams. I could feel it moving with your tongue when we kissed and I kept pulling away. You laughed with that familiar catch and removed it. I told you it was gross. You agreed.
You in your high tops any day
You maintained your belief that your beaten up canvas high tops could go with any outfit that you were wearing. Your attempt to prove it every day got crazier and crazier, from your dad's worn out tuxedo, to your mom's old gardening jumpsuits. I gave in not because it was you, but because I did see the point you were making. I'm really considering buying a pair of my own now.
You in your skinny jeans anyway
The image of us struggling to remove them on a particularly hot day was fresh in my mind. I gave up when it was already down to your knees because I knew I could go down on you either way.
You and your fit friends anyway
I'd take them all out any day
They've all got backcombs anyway
I realized that when you showed me all the pictures you had; eight years worth of pictures. My heart ached a bit to see that I was in none of the photos—a glaring reminder that I wasn't part of a major time in your life. You showed me the pictures of your friends who were pretty, cute, single, and you pointed them all out one by one. Despite all the good things you listed out about them, my eyes were only drawn to one person in all the photos. I'm sure you can guess who it was.
You all got boyfriends anyway
"I don't. Well, not anymore. We broke up."
It had been six months since the summer ended and you left without a trace. Just as quietly as you left, so was the way you returned when you again turned up unannounced at my apartment door. I don't remember telling you where I lived in the city that was 20 kilometers away from yours, yet here you are. You did come back, and you did find me.
"I'm so sorry. I don't understand. What happened?" I said that in spite of myself because I knew I needed to be polite.
"You happened." You looked at me with blazing eyes, just as they were last summer. A chill winter wind blew through your hair and again the scent of your shampoo washed my senses, making something inside me stir with excitement. "I could never find out the words and thoughts on my mind the whole time we were together back in our hometown. The words never formed, until you spoke them aloud that afternoon in our forest." Our forest. Our secret forest.
You stepped closer and laid your hand on my chest, just above my beating heart. "I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye." You said this without meeting my eyes. "I knew I had something to do before I lost all the willpower in me to do so. But I'm here now." That was when you looked at me and I was surprised to find out both our eyes were shining with unshed tears. "And I know that it was okay I didn't say goodbye because I told you I'd come back."
I took your hand from my chest and used my fingers to fill in the spaces between yours. I clasped it tight.
You whispered, "Will you please let me in?"
I knew I could do nothing but that.
Contains lyrics from "Sex" by The 1975, from the album "The 1975". Written by Ross MacDonald, Adam Hann, Matthew Healy, & George Daniel. No copyright infringement intended. All rights reserved.
I figure things out slowly, one by one, as the pieces fall and inevitably come together. Words and pictures and descriptive illustrations jumble together in a mindless tangle of incomprehensible gibberish.
In the consequent mess that we make within ourselves, we tend to forget the simplest and most basic principles to go about this world. Life tends to get in the way of living and tries to overlap with the lives of others just to see who comes out on top. But regardless of who proves they're the king of everything, they still fail to see this singular truth.
Sometimes the point isn't to make a point, but to show it to someone else who needs it.
Sometimes what the half-closed eyes and the lethargic posture are saying is not what the racing heart wants to say.
And though everyone and everything dulls you down and tries to turn you into a lifeless husk, you find everyone and everything in yourself to be in the pursuit of what makes you feel most alive.
This is what it means to be alive. This is the most ordinary and extraordinary experience of being. It is the days that you feel your absolute best and absolute worst. This contradiction, this paradox, this unlikely juxtaposition is what it means to feel most alive.
Still, the most beautiful part of all this is experiencing life in its whole breadth and depth so you can triumph over your failures again, and again, and again. Isn't that the most human thing one can do?
My pieces have finally come together to help me unravel its tangles to comprehension. But there are more pieces and tangles and gibberish out there.
How wonderful a feeling is it to reminisce? To have those moments in your life that you can easily go back to? Maybe a simpler time, a happier time, a calmer and more peaceful time; there is always this indescribable feeling that overcomes you as you ride out the process of reminiscing.
It's difficult not to resort to this act in recent times. Understandably, the onslaught of current affairs through the rich media of this digital age is enough for one to simply take a pause and, well, reminisce about a simpler, happier, calmer, and more peaceful time.
Today’s never-ending stream of information may come as a barrage of noise that leaves you to filter out what you deem worthy of your attention. Personally, this quality seems to have seeped into my own process of reminiscing. During the most mundane moments of my everyday life, memories of a seemingly former life come crashing into my head in a scene all too familiar of a flashback-spaced-out montage in a movie.
In the midst of the river of memories, a voice in my head always seems to make itself prominent against the noise. It calls itself the voice of privilege.
See, every undertone of reminiscing has in it the inherent desire to wish things could be simpler, happier, calmer, and more peaceful like the way it was before. We wish that our lives weren't as complicated as they are now. But that's not how life works, doesn't it?
Right now, we should be aware that not everyone has lived the same lives some of us have had the privilege to experience. By choosing not to believe this, we turn a blind eye to the harsh realities of the oppressed, the marginalized, and the minority. For them, their reality is the only reality they know.
Years have passed and times have changed. Though they may now have the novel technology that allows them to amplify their voices, their cries echo the same one that their ancestors have been crying out for hundreds of years.
The time lapsed between then and now proves that these supposedly dated ideologies still exist on both the individual and systemic level. We have failed them, and wishing for their lives to be the way it was before will change nothing at all.
It is the year 2020. I'm beginning to think it was no coincidence this year turned out the way it has.
Maybe this is the year when we're meant to see the world in all its pain and glory in the perfect clarity of 20/20 vision. It's disappointing to think that it took a pandemic, a dysfunctional government, a global superpower failing, a torrent of extrajudicial killings, a resurgence of systemic racism, and a threat to our inalienable right to freedom of expression to realize it. You may think that it's “better late than never.” but for some it's just too late.
At this point, reminiscing should not just be about living out better times in our head anymore.
Reminiscing should be remembering the lives of those who lived before us and the lives they’ve lived, remembering their triumphs and failures, their voices of success and defeat, and remembering the moments that got us to the state of our world now.
If we reminisce of a better life in the past, then we should also remember that our actions in the present can help us achieve that better life for everyone's future.
Let us not make our reminiscing a form of ignorance; a way to escape the realities of now in favor of a blissful has-been. It is with this blind eye we chose to perpetuate that made the world into what it is today.
If we open our eyes now, maybe then can we begin to see the possibility of the innocent and blissful future.
Once we open our eyes, you can never shut them again.
(a.k.a. things that could’ve been said if only we were brave enough)
[A]
1.
“Hi! I know we met in an unconventional manner. Conventionally unconventional, actually. Well, in this day and age, it wouldn’t really matter, wouldn’t it?
Anyway.
I dreamt about you last night. I swear, don’t ask me how or why. I just did. And it was nice and fluffy, warm and happy, fuzzy and light. It’s a small thing but it made me feel fuzzy.
I hope this didn’t make things awkward.
I have a good feeling about you, you know? Or maybe it’s just all a sense of longing. But your smile and your laugh and, oh, the way you say things makes me swoon in ways I never thought I could again.
We’ve been talking for months on end but they only feel like days. Maybe because they really were just days--our conversations aren’t exactly the longest ones.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to date you and make you feel special. To hold your hand and hold your embrace and feel that smile of yours emanate through every point of contact between our bodies. You radiate like sunshine, but with clouds constantly blocking the rays from shining its full power like the air of mystery that still surrounds you from me. I want to know your little tics and your idiosyncratic nuances and the way you love your family that makes me see how much they help radiate your sunshine even more.
You are a breath of fresh air and the warmth of a fresh summer afternoon. Your smile really is something else; they always reach your eyes. And with every wrinkle that touches on your face is an endless story that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing if you let me in.
It’s been a while. And these feelings might just remain that: feelings.
I don’t know why I continuously pine over you, mooning over a person like a person begging for water in a desert. Maybe in my own deserted way, I feel like you may have the answer to the things I constantly look for.
Why did I have to get a crush on you when I know that we might not even be meant to be in the first place?
I can sense it in your every move, that it’s not yet time. The time’s not right. Heck, the same goes for me. I’m at the tipping point of giving up entirely because the nagging voice in my head keeps saying “what’s the point?”
But it’s still there. I have a good feeling about you.
I just hope there might be a good feeling for me, for us, too.”
-----
“Hey! I got your message. And...wow.
I really don’t know where to start.
I apologize for the air of mystery. And for the short conversations. I don’t know if it’s an artist stereotype thing. I personally don’t think so, but well you get what you do.
I’m just really not sure how to go about this, but there is one thing for sure:
I’d like to get to know you.
You and your words behind the emojis and “hahas,” you and the things you really do between your two to four-hour commutes, you and your good feeling and why you think it isn’t meant to be in the first place…
...when we haven’t even tried?
There’s a reason why it was a match. And it’s not just because you’re a pretty face. After all, why would I bother replying in the first place even after almost days since our last conversation--that usually ends because I keep forgetting to reply. I’m so sorry.
But I think I’d have to agree with this time. You observe good, you know that?
Yeah. See you soon?
I believe so; I have a good feeling.
See you.”
2.
“Hi! Before anything else, congratulations on your show! I swear, it was so amazing. I don’t even know what else to say. I didn’t even think I’d be able to talk to you afterward, to be honest. Let’s be real: everyone wanted a glimpse of you after that rave-worthy performance.
After all, you are a true artist.
Thanks again for seeing me after. And for the record, I wasn’t waiting for you at all! I was waiting for my...uh...ride home. You know how these ride-hailing apps are.
Anyway, thanks again. And congratulations. And I guess I’ll see you soon? I’ll be back for the next show so don’t miss me that much……….
……….I was kidding—god, what am I saying.
Anyway, I’ll see you around!”
-----
“Hey! Thank you so, so much! You don’t know how much that means to me and how seeing you in the audience is something I really am grateful for. I’m glad you made it. I appreciate you for that.
Of course, I went to you. What I said a while ago is true: I only went there because of you. I don’t get why you don’t believe me. It’s not as if I joke much when we talk, right?
Speaking of which, here’s me being brutally honest but...you were so cute a while ago. Don’t think I didn’t notice that small stutter and that faint pink on your cheeks. I’m not an actor for nothing. What? You didn’t answer my question! I asked about that scar on your hand—I even held it up closer to my eyes and felt its slight ridge raised against your smooth skin under my fingers.
Then the stutter. Then the pink tinge. Then you pulled your hand away as if I was burning hot to your touch.
Well.
I guess it took a bit of a while but when you left, as I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand, I could feel my face was burning hot. I suddenly looked in the mirror and realized that your pink tinge was on mine as well, except a few tinges darker.
Damn.
“Magic,” you said. After spending those few minutes with you, I could say that it was sort of like magic.
It was so nice to see your face in the audience, in that darkened room, and after the show.
At night, when I should be at ease, my body begins to fall asleep but it's when my mind is the most awake. It refuses to let me sleep as it bursts through the walls of my room with the most insane ideas and the stupidest quotes and the farthest reaches of my imagination begins to show itself to me.
It gives me tastes of what life can be and what life can become. It teases me with the lust for wonder and the wander of endless eyes. It pushes me to my edge of all the seats and limits. It forces me to type out nonsense like this in the most profound way that only my mind can.
And once it's all out, like a fire sputtering its last licks of flame, the mind begins to wind down with the rest of the body as it brings its restlessness to its land of dreams: a place where the only reality is the farthest reaches of my imagination.
---
I just don't wanna wake up disgustingly early again tomorrow. Philippine public transport is disgusting—an embarassment in itself.
It's been a while since I started feeling this—this void that lets me spiral into its never ending cycle of instant gratification and constant validation. Believe it or not, social media used to be a safe space for me; it was a place where I could freely express myself when real life just couldn't cope with the entropic mess of a person I could be.
It was a more blissful time when liking something meant you genuinely liked something, comments were not harvest fields of trolls and influencers, and sharing was done with real thoughts and people in mind. Stories were told face to face in more animated ways than stickers and gifs, and my days intertwined with others' days because more time was spent interacting with what you have and where you are rather than longing over everyone else's what's and where's and who's that you can now seemingly grasp in the palm of your hand.
Years ago, I remember when my dad asked me what kind of phone I wanted for what I think was my 13th birthday. I asked for a phone with those QWERTY keypads. Remember those? My dad asked me why when touchscreen phones were looking to be "the next big thing."
I used to think smartphones were just solid black rectangles and squares—mirrors that endlessly reflected what you wanted to see right back into your own face.
To finish my short story, I said—and I quote, "I don't want to be one of those people with black rectangles," unquote.
But here we are. Funny and exponentially enough, these black rectangles were suddenly in everyone's hands.
Suddenly and exponentially, everyone could see what I could only see before. Not only see, but also feel, hear, taste, smell, sense. Freedom of speech boomed, freedom of choice minimized, and freedom in its entirety was both emancipated and incarcerated.
I could sense it in myself. I could literally feel the pull into the void of selfies and colored circles and fake news. I could see myself from the third person point of view, as if standing from a pedestal of my own doing, with everyone in my line of sight doing the exact same thing: thumbs endlessly tapping on a screen and thumbs moving down to up and down to up and tap and up then up and down in a thoughtless act of violating non-violence.
The worst part I feel toward this is the fact that in this case, I play every single role. Suspect, witness, accomplice, adjudicator, and the overall judge hammering down the gavel on my own grave because at the end of the day, we're all victims of the black rectangles.
And the cycle continues. I finish whatever I'm typing on my very own black rectangle, share it on whatever platform I can, and sit impatiently for it to rack up likes and comments and shares that, quite frankly, never really arrive.
I admit I'm also guilty of this—again, I play all the roles in this spiraling case. Yet still, I cannot fathom how to pass the final judgment and close it for people to squeeze into a digest. You may even call me naïve for wishing back a simpler time, I know. And I know, deep in my gut where I know a lot of things to be true, that I'm not alone in these thoughts.
Man, honestly it's 7.21-am-too-early-in-the-morning for this. But my mind's alive making me alive and that's what matters the most.
Indeed, and I quote one of my favorite composers and lyricists, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. Personally, I'd take that quote in this context with a deserving grain of salt.
That’s when it hits you; the loneliness. Right there in the dining hall, as you lean your chin on your hand and drag your fork through your eggs. Just one second ago you were fine. You were perfectly happy, perfectly content. Your friend was sitting with you a second ago, as she will be again in a second more. She just left to get a napkin, you need only wait the time it takes her to walk across the room and she’ll be back. It’s foolish to be lonely now, it’s silly. But you’re lonely all the same.
You gaze out the window at the trees outside. It’s a beautiful campus. It’s easy to forget that, to forget just how beautiful it is and how lucky you are to be there. But you are lucky, and you know that. It’s exactly where you want to be. Life has been so good there, you’ve been so happy. Nearly everything you’ve been wanting for so long, nearly everything you’ve been waiting for is coming true. It’s incredible, it’s wonderful, it’s more than you had ever let yourself believe. But there’s still that “nearly” that you just can’t seem to shake.
You catch the reflection of the couple at the table beside you in the window. You can’t really make them out; it’s a bright day outside and their visage is interlaced with leaves and blades of grass, blends coyly in with the green on the other side of the glass. But you can see that they’re smiling, that he’s laughing, that she’s resting her head on his shoulder. And you smile, because how can you not smile at something like that, but you can’t help but notice the coldness against your palm, the emptiness between your fingers where theirs are laced together.
Your friend is back, and you look away from the window. You make some joke, and she laughs, and now you’re laughing too. And it’s nice. And you’re happy. You’re really, truly happy.
The nearly is just a waiting game, really. You’ve waited this long for things to get better, and they have. You’re here, you have friends that you love, you have classes you’re interested in, you have extracurriculars you’re passionate about. All you have to do is keep waiting, probably not even for very long anymore, and your nearly will be gone.
But, in spite of all of it, in spite of the smile your friend gives you and the genuine warmth it fills you with, in spite of how much better everything is now than it’s ever been before, all you can really think is how unfair it all is. All you can think is how you shouldn’t have to wait at all.
((In celebration of my story [check it out here and scroll down!] being published by a local magazine online [thanks Scout!], here’s the original and unabridged draft in its rawest form, uncensored and in its full 645-word count glory because this is my blog and because I can hehe))
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We met in the school bus service back in high school, a wonderful place to start a love story. To everyone who found their one great crush in the school bus, this one’s for you.
It started with a Percy Jackson book and the utter feeling of annoyance, all because of this stupid boy and his carelessness at getting something that wasn’t his. It was really a mistake of miscommunication, but apparently it was just the beginning of something I will never truly comprehend.
Days, months, years passed. I remember him and my busmates and how I always looked forward to class dismissal every single day. We were teenage boys and girls talking about British boy bands and John Green books on the way to school, and the workings and woes of the female reproductive system on the way home, topics transitioning smoothly as each of us got dropped off one by one.
As the people trickled down to the last four in the bus, he and I would continue these shifting conversations. And then I feel it; that jolt of electricity every time our hands or knees would accidentally brush when we exchanged even the most mundane stories about eyeglasses and breakfast food. Our voices would die down but my beating heart was alive and soaring. He’d give a small smile and poke my cheek, and I’d roll my eyes and scoff. It was no big deal—but the denial was evident in the huge smile on my face.
It’s been nine years since that last bus ride home. Nine years of keeping this crush and its whole spectrum of feelings in between heartbeats and the folds of diaries. Nine years, yet still I remember the boy who would be willing to help me finish math problems so early in the morning; how that one time he leaned in to me so close with an excuse to see the equations better—our foreheads almost touching, faces mere inches from each other—and he’d look up to me and laugh, fumbling over the math until he himself was stumped.
We were a misfit pair of missed opportunities, of what ifs and almosts. I guess in my convoluted fantasies, I’d like to think this wasn’t a one-sided...thing. That on the bus ride home with the quiet hum of the engine and faint strains of radio DJs talking on air as our soundtrack, we formed our own little bubble. I’d like to fantasize that whenever he looks at me, his mind flashes back to our mundane conversations where we got lost in our own world. That sometime in those nine years, he saw me as the possibility of something more.
A lot has happened in nine years. High school passed, college went by, and now we’re both making a living in the society. Relationships came and went, soda in plastic bags traded for coffee cups that turned into beer bottles, and reality had made its mark on us both. Nine years later our little school bus club is still in operation and we all still see each other every so often. Nine years have passed, and though my heart has learned how to control its beating, I still feel the tiniest spark of electricity when he places his hand on my knee as a friendly gesture. He’s still the stupid and careless boy that he is because as much as I want to deny it, he still has a piece of my heart with him, one that I so willingly gave away. I guess that’s what makes me stupid and careless too, as someone with a crush is.
The school bus is a great place to start a love story. However, this love story is one that will remain in the recesses of my high school memories, the greatest one I never told, the only one that never was.
I’ve been going through the weird bouts of shifting bodies, through the words exchanged between various souls I never even would’ve met if not for the advancements of technology and the communal loneliness that other people like me felt.
I’ve met several people along the way, people in the same state of limbo I’m in: lonely, lost, and wandering souls all looking for the warmth of company. I have no idea where this is taking me, but I might as well go along for the ride. I mean, they say that it’s the journey that counts after all. Isn’t it?
Through the several shifting bodies my eyes and fingers and countless words have encountered, it seems that there is still the unavoidable, intangible, yet ostentatious void—a gap that cannot be filled in by any amount of words communicated through the pixels on a screen forming messages that are coherent but only in the ephemeral time being they are tapped onto the system. There is still the missing link that all of us really long for.
The electricity of the first time the two of you lock eyes. The instant that both of you realize that there is actually a tangible space between you. The irreplaceable feeling of closing the gap with a brief handshake, a friendly hug, or the words hung in the wake of the spoken moment, still echoing in the tangible space between you.
Nothing beats genuine human connection.
Everything changes in that first meet up. And by everything, I mean everything. It’s the moment everyone looks forward to and dreads the most.
Things change after that. It’s either you love it, or you hate it, or you are indifferent about it. No matter what happens, it’s still a mark made upon your life.
We are all composed of the people that we meet along the way: the people we talk to, the people we share our lives to. These people are also composites, with every single person leaving a fraction of themselves in another through a spoken word, a typed out message, a handwritten note, a chaste intertwining of hands or a passionate make out session. It’s there: a mark made upon your life.
I still long for that one great love. After all, life is also composed of the stories we weave with one another. No matter how unrealistic all the movies portray it, it doesn’t mean that it’s impossible. Standards and expectations be damned, we all just want someone to share the bed with at the end of the day. Through short-lived flames, woes of passionate sighs, and pillowtalk lasting through the night until the sunrise of another day to live, one thing in common is that they all have a hand to hold and a heart willing to share in your worries.
Best friend messaged hang on
It always ends up like this, then. Searching, longing, yearning, endless hoping, constant wishing. It’s an unwanted sense of dissatisfaction in the middle of the whirlwind that is life. People want it, hate it, look for it, despise it. All of it is a certain proof that humans are, beyond reasonable doubt, social beings.
Seems like the whirlwind spins on.
The blank canvas is the hardest to face, but what a cathartic release once it’s finally a huge mess
Where (literal) cold feet became the warmest memories: my Migo journey
You know how people always say they get “cold feet” during job interviews because of the nerves and the jitters? Well, let me tell you that combined with literal “cold feet,” they’re not a desirable combination for an interview with one of the most unique and desirable companies to work with.
I remember the day with such clarity despite the skies showing otherwise. I came for an in-house audition for a voice acting internship. From the position, it was of course inferred that I would have to audition for the voice acting role. The audition went smoothly, with the material provided beforehand, in turn giving me time to practice at home. Considering that it was the first time I ever did such a thing, I thought I did pretty well.
Afterwards, I was told to take lunch since there would be an interview in the afternoon. I did have lunch eventually with a friend who was working nearby. He invited me to this cozy restaurant several blocks away from my location but literally below his own office. As an amazing friend, I went of course. It was a brief but meaningful lunch with someone I haven’t seen in a while. Heading back out, I saw the worst possible thing that can happen to someone on their way to an interview.
Rain. Lots of it. In a downpour. Like literal cats and dogs.
So there I was: in a light polo, jeans, and ballet flats, not a jacket on hand but luckily an umbrella in my open-mouthed canvas bag. I didn’t know what I was thinking either. As someone with supposedly four solid years of experience commuting in the torrential rains and flash floods in the City of Manila, I should’ve known that the overcast skies meant something. I tried walking as fast as I could in the pouring rain, the chilly breeze cutting through my polo’s light fabric and my ballet flats now soaked to the skin. I just hoped and prayed that my blue polka-dotted umbrella would hold up against the strong winds and, must I mention again, the pouring rain.
I reached the office in one piece and, luckily, not as wet as the basang sisiw I expected to be. I was a few minutes late but I apologized to the two women waiting for me in the small but brightly lit meeting room. As expected, my feet were freezing in the small space of the cold airconditioned room. Somehow, though, the “cold feet” were just that: literal cold feet. I could tell in an instant that the two women in the room scrutinizing my every word both spoken and written on my resume were giving off warm smiles and open eyes, and I instantly felt at ease. The “cold feet” never even showed up.
A moment later, I got to talk to my eventual boss and the head of our team. Again, with the warm smiles and open eyes, the ice from the metaphorical cold feet melting, as if it was never even there in the first place. He caught my name, Dani, and asked if I usually get mistaken for a guy. I said not really, but it was the opposite in his case since his name was one that was usually mistaken for a girl’s, especially since it was pretty common due to this one very famous TV series shedding light on its famous heroine with such a name.
The interviews ended with warm handshakes and the lingering warm smiles. A week and a day later, I was hired. Thus starts my journey as an Imagineer Apprentice of the Chocolate Factory called Migo.
The company embodies all these core values, their solid mission and vision statement plastered on the first wall you encounter once you enter the office. They valued their Imagineers, the term defining their employees as those who innovate and inspire and dare to lead the change the world wants to see. Most of all, the company values the concept of Tau—non-verbatim and from my understanding, it’s the rate of personal growth one experiences in every day.
In the span of one month—112 hours to be exact—I have grown in a way that I can’t explain in detail but I know has definitely affected me and my outlook on life in large proportions. Mostly, there’s this aura of warmth whenever I think of the company, my team, the people, the office. It was a welcome warmth that I felt from the moment I stepped into the office. The bright interiors, the striking red logo of the company on the wall, and of course the vision that the CEO had made, the red letters a stark contrast on the pale white wall.
Told you.
It reminded everyone in the office to remember who and what they’re working towards: a world with no boundaries. I understood what he meant. Despite the brief amount of time I spent there, I still hear the words of my mentors ringing in my ears, how—despite the cheerful exterior and warm smile—there was always a sort of sadness in my eyes, how—despite the incredible lack of self-confidence—they saw the infinite amount of potential behind the sad eyes.
It all boils down to a leap of faith. This position of being a fresh graduate should be something to be embraced. Being a fresh graduate does not and should not put you at a disadvantage, in fact, being a fresh graduate should put you in a position where your palms are wide open, face up, ready to grasp whatever is for the taking. Experience and experiment. Step out of your comfort zones, find new ones, and when you get too comfortable, get out of them again.
This internship was a leap of faith: a foreign job description, a brand new company, a multitude of unfamiliar faces. It was through this leap of faith that I discovered further boundaries for my capabilities, an organization that invests in its people and their potential beyond their skills, and a group of people that made me feel at home in a place I only spent about 15 days in. I leapt from my comfort zone, found one in Migo, and was immediately thrusted out of it in every single day that passed and task I encountered, and I welcomed each and every one with a warm embrace.
Migo and its people always valued these bouts of self-reflection. I’d say that this one is a bit overdue but only now has everything sunk in. Now, recalling everything, the memories always come with a warm smile and a sense of calm. There were good days and there were bad days, but ultimately they were all met with the sense of calm after every day.
The warmth came with the comfort that now, I am on my way to feed more of the wild things in my head for my next journey ahead.
My type is something that I have discovered over the years through the triumphs and failures on the matters of the heart ((wow)). It’s something that I’ve never really given much thought but soon realized has been guiding my unconscious attraction towards people, whether through romantic inclination or not. It may be one out of the many or a combination of all, these are all they have in common.
Someday, my prince will come. Charot.
My type is a morenx beauty. Someone who is not afraid to get their skin kissed by the sun, touched by the outdoors, alive with the sense of adventure. They are someone not washed out by the light’s harsh rays, but rather embraces it as they venture towards it with the curiosity of a child. Their tanned skin is something that I will be proud of because it shows culture, it shows heritage and origin. It shows the mark of someone comfortable in their own skin.
My type is one who wears glasses, whose eyes desire to see things that only four eyes can. They may have stayed up an extra hour reading that book in the glow of a flashlight because it was impossible to put down. They may have stayed a bit longer in front of that screen of lit pixels, learning as much information to store in their stock knowledge or defeating that boss to achieve the ultimate prize and sense of fulfillment despite the strain in their eyes. Or they may have inherited their four-eyed condition from the people who desired to see things as much as they did, born from the same desire and curiosity and love for something new.
My type is one who is unique. They always have a knack for the unusual and that’s what makes them inherently one of a kind. They may have a green streak in their untame and unruly hair, making them stand out from the rest. They may have qualities that are as diverse as the hats they put on everyday. They may also have quirks and passions they nerd out about because what better way to know a person than to see them talk about what they’re passionate about. That way I know that they are the only person who catches my eye.
My type is one who laughs. They laugh never at you, but with you and for you, giving away smiles as if they were candies during Halloween. Their laughs are the most infectious ones I’ve ever heard, their sound music to everyone’s ears but a symphony to mine. They crack the funniest―and at times, the corniest―jokes that I can’t help but let out a laugh at. They say the simplest things to make sure that you smile no matter how bad your day is going. They see through the façade you put up and ask how you are, and that’s enough to elicit a smile from me.
My type is one who sings. No, not just those who are vocally talented. They sing with so many mediums, through their voices, their music, their movement, all done with a song in their hearts. It doesn’t matter how the song comes out. What matters is that there was a song to begin with, a song that longed to be heard. Its frequency, I’m sure, was just enough to mingle with mine and complement the melody I have in me too, making sure that those sound waves don’t cancel out.
My type is someone who stands with confidence, sure in every step they take. They tend to be taller too so it comes to a point where I definitely look up to them but I make sure that they never look down on me ever again. They are someone I can also be on equal footing with in a harmonious relationship with every other quality I’ve said before.
My type is one who is smart. Their confident stance bleeds into their intricate minds. They analyze details to its barebones for the solutions, they know how to talk to people with true charm and wit, they calculate their moves to unwittingly make their way into my emotions and my heart and that’s what makes my fragile heart fall.
Ultimately, though, this type may be nothing to what the Fates have laid out for me. Initial attractions can almost always prove to be lies. Ultimately, they’re human too and they make mistakes, a ton of them. Over time, these types can fade, replaced by someone who you may not know anymore.
My type, upon reaching this stage, is revealed to be one who is also broken. One who knows their flaws but fails to make amends because their flaw is being broken as well. I can’t have this type because this type is me. And my tendency towards this is to fix them because I’m fixing myself too. I can’t stand to see someone I saw as my type hurting with the same problems as me, whether they’re conscious about these problems or not. Either way, my type is in need of healing too, but we shouldn’t have to entirely depend on each other because we have to learn to stand on our own two feet too.
No. My true type should also be someone who knows their flaws and acknowledges them. Someone who can face their demons and stand up to them. One who can pick themselves up from the ashes and rise again. Someone who realizes that they can indeed do this with the people they love, including their family and friends, including me, and especially including themselves.
My true type is a friend, one who may or may not be all of this already because I know that I’ll accept them in spite of and despite these types. One who understands. One who will stay. One who knows how to treat me right because we taught one another how to treat each other right. One I can trust. One I will never give up on.
That’s the type I want to be to the right person, too.
“When you teach, you learn twice.”
“When a teacher stops learning, then he/she should stop teaching.”
“To teach is to liberate, empower and transform.”
“When you teach, you touch the future.”
dani panini writes @danipaniniwrites - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
