w a n d e r

Ian Tapao, 19. Writing.

[jbk405]

When Steven is desperate to reach Pink Steven, too weak to even walk and visibly weakening before our eyes, what does Connie do?  She picks him up and carries him.  Delivering him into Pink Steven’s arms.

Just like Samwise Gamgee carrying Frodo when the weight of the One Ring has grown to heavy to bear, she bears him forward to save him and – by extension – the universe itself.

Thank you, Connie Maheswaran.  Thank you for carrying him when he couldn’t carry himself.

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

i remained the same. i still run away, or let them leave me behind.

[faerieglade]

“theyre homophobic but theyre good people!!!” hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. are they really. are they REALLY. are they. are theyr eally. Are the

[faerieglade]

this post is making straight people mad keep reblogging

[janatolqyn]

LGBTQ+ representation in Asian dramas/movies

→  Night Flight (2014)

[yinstari]

“Name one hero who was happy.“ “You can’t.” He was sitting up now, leaning forward. “I can’t.” “I know. They never let you be famous AND happy.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you a secret.” “Tell me.” I loved it when he was like this. “I’m going to be the first.” He took my palm and held it to his. “Swear it.” “Why me?”

“Because you’re the reason.”

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

It is late afternoon and I sip cheap tea, blowing gentle, repeated breaths from the cup's crater, careful not to burn my tongue. The steam pricks at my nose, and draws out sweat I am only slightly uncomfortable with. Elsewhere, on the other side of the world, my best friend has been making out with a Colombian he saw, talked to, and held for the first time just the night before. I am glad. We are growing, maturing, trying new things. I have finished the book that broke my heart and repaired it just as well, and I think to myself: this must be what my friend feels, too, in reverse: she feels whole even as she breaks, opening herself to a stranger who will leave hours later. Desire, burning alive in parts that were touched with consent this time. This time, she is well. I am happy for her.

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

I have always wondered how it would be like to be alone; I never really was. The instances that come to mind are small l, petty inconveniences, be it in a clothing store or a burger junk. And yet in my wonder, I never saw it coming.

“I went on a date.”

My dearest friend, Summer, is now into dates.

Now, you see, perhaps this lamentation might brought upon by some sudden urge to possess her time, but I’d be lying. More often I would chat her when I had some embarrassing story with a cute guy somewhere, or when I feel depressed. All looking, all pining, all crushes — but never taking a leap forward, never actually doing anything to indulge the worldly desires, or so cheap commercials say.

My shock is anticipated, then, when she told me she went out with a man she met on a dating app. Tinder is a fickle thing, I guess. I never got the hang of it, as much as it didn’t like me. Perhaps the brutal reality of it all is that my face is no more aesthetically pleasing than other faces I see, and swipe left from. Yet, being alone has been stamped now more than ever on my face, and the sure promise I only spoke to myself was now broken. My friend is on dates now.

Where was the conversation that spoke of our insecurities? The fats and tummies, the acne and height. Such things are gone.

I feel happy, genuinely happy for my friend who has grown enough so that she now seeks for her own desires. I was just caught by surprise, the suddenness of it all louring over me, the stark truth that I need to do the same, too.

[stuffingprize]

Keith’s devotion is.. something else

[fiery-mullet]

Just how much trauma did Keith suffer from being left behind by his mother? He kept his walls so high up, that despite seeing with his own eyes the circumstances behind Krolia leaving, he still wasn’t able to wrap his head around the concept that it was done out of love.

Even then, Keith’s interpretation was- in his own words-

“I finally understand why you left. You put the mission above all else.”

But she gently corrects him.

Such straightforward, plain, and sincere words- and it was all Keith needed to heal.

And how powerful was the impact of these words on Keith? Enough to change his near-death thoughts from nothing

to THIS

And he uses the exact same words that saved him to save the person he loves the most.

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

a list of things i thought of doing, since that day:

- punch you in the face

- burn the office

- go to the gym every day

- kill myself

- plot revenge that will end up with your death, my retribution

- get hit by a car

- jump from a 50-story building

- write a novel

- fuck for the first time

- cut your dick off

- castrate you

- punch you some more

and yet all i do is cry and remember. watch the scene play through my head again and again. cry and remember. cry and remember.

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

i wonder if you cry yourself to sleep. i wonder if you ever fall asleep at all. i imagine the pillow you lay your head on now permanently holds the smell of my hair, traces of my tears forever stained like fingerprint on the creases of your brain. i wonder if you think of me as you touch yourself now. picture your hand holding my groin even as now you hold the air next to your craving body; convince yourself that what you did had been okay. wonder if the temporal heaven bursting in your head was enough prize for what i had to pay.

when i sat there on the tiles of the hotel’s comfort room, barely comforted by the long silences and your heavy breathing on the other side of the wall, i wonder if you were still able to get off. i imagine you were. 

-

i imagine you are the wolf. 

i take you for the monster you are now, wore the sheep’s skin and took your time before you grabbed the chance to maul me, eat me at your leisure. you mistook me for the little red in the hood, but i will not fall prey to you, nor will i wait for the hunter to rip me from your belly. your words mean nothing to me. i can see through your cover. the rest of the world will think you were a victim, too, like the old grandmother. but i know you are the wolf. 

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

I don’t know much about nightmares, and thank god I almost never get them, not that I remember; but, if it had a face and it were made for me, then yes, I am certain it would take the form of my rapist. 

From now on I will call him that. 

It is times like this that I wish amnesia could be administered like a vial, one you can control - not too much, just the right amount, hitting the spot where it hit most, that which you want to forget, just so you survive.

Remembering the details is inevitable; forgetting is impossible.

When I think of my own body I remember how much of it was invaded; how much of it was kept safe. When I touch what should have been innocent objects, I have become accustomed to putting meaning to them, placing resemblance to any occasion where I could have prevented it. My rapist admitted that he loves me five days after it happened. Just now, as I watch a film that involves two boys kissing, at the back of my head I have to fight the urge to get sick and puke.

I am the earth herself, polluted on every inch of her skin. Love is not as it was anymore, when I was 18 and naive, but I guess it’s too late to learn that by now.

They say it’s not my fault, again and again, and I want to believe them. I really do. But historians don’t pass the blame solely on the foreigners; they insinuate the ways any invasion could have been prevented had it not been for the locals' naivete. 

I think of my rapist as conqueror. The only silver lining I could think of was that I may say I had been enough to have been the object of desire. But as I trace back the months that led to the invasion, I begin to put the puzzle pieces together, and realize the things I could have done.

On Friday I learned that my rapist was also traumatized. That what happened left him broken, too. I was told there had been two versions, and it’s very likely that he must have misread my actions. I imagine the countless ways the invasion could have gone down, where I do not end up in this situation. Sometimes, I imagine the ways it could have happened where I don’t have to blame myself anymore. I wish turning back time was as easy as wasting it away now, knowing that sitting in bed, crying alone, would amount to nothing.

Yesterday, I regretted what poured out of me when I told someone what I felt - that it felt unfair to have to understand that my rapist was also traumatized, and why do I feel that I’m the only one suffering here?

Yet, I know it was the single most genuine sentence that came out of me.

I know I cannot forgive him; never truly, not fully. 

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

they say i remember. they love me because i remember.

yet one day i will forget. i know it. when that happens, i do not know what will be left for them to love.

one day i will find it. the thing that will make me love myself, without needing anyone else’s approval. 

[mitten]

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

let it be known that from february 27 to march 3 in the morning of 2017, i have broken down thrice already, and cried a lot more than that.

i hope it’s worth it. i want to graduate.

i hope i look back to this. and say everything was well.

[gospelaccordingtosaintmichael]

last night’s happiness

1. i cannot believe you still remember me.

2. you smiled at me.

3. i smiled back.

4. you circled the fair ticket around my right wrists.

5. our eyes locked.

6. i said thanks before leaving.

7. you still remember me. and i’d still be giddy a hundred times over. i promise to say hello when we cross paths again.