i’ve made this post before but….it mcfreakin SUCKS constantly craving intimacy and simultaneously having intimacy issues

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i’ve made this post before but….it mcfreakin SUCKS constantly craving intimacy and simultaneously having intimacy issues
“need to be strong for myself.”
—
You Made Me Feel Something So Thank You
This hurts more than I thought it would. Finally finally I met someone who made me feel like I could be brave to try again. I have always been acquainted with pain. Pain is my friend. Pain is who I am each time I’m changing, each time I’m abandoning old paths and old doors to make room for the new ones. I am Pain. But this just stings a lot. I got more chest pains. My heart breaks a little louder than usual. This whole thing isn’t plain “pain” anymore and until now, I don’t know what to call it.
My brother said, “Don’t mistake pain for love.” I don’t. It just so happened that pain is what you feel after being turned down once again even after giving someone their nth chance. Not surprised, babe. Just disappointed. I think people hurt more than possible when they feel like everything’s gonna be different from now but in the end, this thing is just like any other thing in the past. Sometimes I don’t believe in second chances anymore. People aren’t gonna change the way we want them to anyway. Why do we keep repeating mistakes? Keep rebuilding the homes we built out of people who will never think twice of burning them into ashes. I’m not sure why we feel like we can reach stars really. Sometimes I feel like the lonely moon is all I gotta be.
But I would still like to thank you. I think I’ve closed off emotions especially love for quite some time. After you came, I noticed my writing has gotten pretty emotional lately which is for me is a good thing. You told me that I lacked emotions may be. Now here we are.
I don’t think I can meet you again. I don’t know when will I be ready to do that. My emotions are all over the place. Overthinking gets me most of the time. I’m anxious. I’m vulnerable. I’m finding it hard not to be emotionally invested. Where is my logic? What is rationality? I need to be detached. I need to be away from you. Because you know it already, this thing’s not gonna work no matter how hard we try. Because I told you. I am the girl who always leaves. Leaving is my life.
I told my brother you were never part of my future plans anyway. But I lied. You were my long-term plan. Once in high school, I thought I changed my surname when I’m 30 to yours. Would you believe that? Of course not, because I told you I have a crush on your brother. But I really did think you could make a good husband. I see it in the way you care for kids and for your family. That is why I pushed you away as much as I can. Because I’ve fallen for you before.
It hasn’t started yet. Nothing has started but I want to put a period now to everything. I thought I should say goodbye, comrade.
Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes
by Stephen King (reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)
I. The First Introduction
THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn. It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction. But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.
II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write
When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do. I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit. In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction. These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel
Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.
I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editor’s approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.
He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.
I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.
Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”
I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2¢ per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.
I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:
(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)
Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….
(after edit marks)
Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….
When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.
“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”
“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”
“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.
And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.
III. The Second Introduction
All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.
I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.
So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away…if you listen.
IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully
1. BE TALENTED This, of course, is the killer. What is talent? I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness. For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money. If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.
Now some of you are really hollering. Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep. And some of you are calling me bad names. Are you calling Harold Robbins talented? someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching. V.C. Andrews? Theodore Dreiser? Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?
Nonsense. Worse than nonsense, off the subject. We’re not talking about good or bad here. I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad. As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway. I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself. People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have. Ergo, they are communicating. Ergo, they are talented. The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid. If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed. And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit.
When is that? I don’t know. It’s different for each writer. Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty. But after six hundred? Maybe. After six thousand? My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming.
Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters…maybe a commiserating phone call. It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices…unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement. I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible. If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go…or when to turn back.
2. BE NEAT Type. Double-space. Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff. If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.
3. BE SELF-CRITICAL If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job. Only God gets things right the first time. Don’t be a slob.
4. REMOVE EVERY EXTRANEOUS WORD You want to get up on a soapbox and preach? Fine. Get one and try your local park. You want to write for money? Get to the point. And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again…or try something new.
5. NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story? Fine. Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus. Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket. The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time. Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule. You think you might have misspelled a word? O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later. Why not? Did you think it was going to go somewhere? And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland? You can check it…but later. When you sit down to write, write. Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.
6. KNOW THE MARKETS Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s. Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy…but people do it all the time. I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines. If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion? Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top? If you like science fiction, read the magazines. If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines. And so on. It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant. Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.
7. WRITE TO ENTERTAIN Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”? It does not. Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap. This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others. But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around. I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.
8. ASK YOURSELF FREQUENTLY, AM I HAVING FUN?” The answer needn’t always be yes. But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.
9. HOW TO EVALUATE CRITICISM Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say. Listen carefully to what they tell you. Smile and nod a lot. Then review what was said very carefully. If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet. It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is. If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it. But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.
10. OBSERVE ALL RULES FOR PROPER SUBMISSION Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.
11. AN AGENT? FORGET IT. FOR NOW Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients. 10% of nothing is nothing. Agents also have to pay the rent. Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life. Flog your stories around yourself. If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete. And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal…and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.
12. IF IT’S BAD, KILL IT When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law. When it comes to fiction, it is the law.
That’s everything you need to know. And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want. Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.
My ten minutes are up.
I asked you to do one thing. One thing. Stay. Even that one thing, you cannot do. So how am I supposed to expect you to love me, too?
-r. molina //oh boy the things you do
Flashback to 2016
Written last 2016:
I couldn't thank the Lord enough for all the blessings I have received last year despite all the adversaries I have faced. For the first time I have finished a folio with 14 poems, emerged as fifth placer in an interclass chess tournament (even though until now I cannot defeat my brother, worst my father) and experienced dramaturgy in a theater production and production management in a film class. I managed to pass the algebra course I dreaded since day one of the semester. I have met wonderful people in my life who have encouraged me to continue running with all my might until I reached the finish line we call "graduation" when I was so close to giving up. At one point, I became a quitter at a field I am very passionate about but still that decision to sacrifice something for my mental and emotional stability made me a stronger person capable of admitting her own limitations. The best moment of my life this year, I might say, is when my hands have held the poetry folio I mentioned earlier and read with my pair of eyes the dedication page I have addressed to my grandmother. With that I thought I could keep writing poetry books until I ran out of words to express my gratitude to this wonderful woman who introduced me to the spectacular wonders of poetry. This New Year's eve is the second one we'll be having without her. So I opt to think of her with my pen as I start to write a thousand lines describing the certain emptiness of white walls of the house knowing that she is nowhere found in any room, in any neighborhor's house, in any mall or in any church. Or the sadness of the curtains who have missed her hands for approximately 800 days already. The pillowcases longing for her caress, the plates and forks for her touch, my forehead for her kiss. I admit I miss her still but now, I miss her in a happy and contented kind of way. Wherever she may be, I know that she is happy and free. This is the greatest blessing that the Lord has bestowed upon me this 2016- the gift of healing for the broken heart of a broken grandchild.
To My Favorite What If
I am writing this in the hope that this will get to you. I sent you a confession document days ago. Much to my delight, you replied in a few hours. We talked about us and our feelings. Unfortunately, the moment left us searching for words to fill the void, that in that continuous search, we we were unable to say things we want the other to know. This is why I am writing this now- to take note of all the things I could have told you back then.
I badly wanted to know about “her”. I have mentioned her a lot of times but you ignored it as if the word wasn’t there. How are you two? Are things alright between the two of you? I hope they are. That’s what I want for you. I hope you love her, and that you show it to her the best way you can. I hope you love each other. I hope she loves you. You look happy together.
Also, I wanted to ask: How are you? How is life for you regardless of your problems with me? How’s college? How are your dreams? How are your friends? I hope you take care of yourself always.
More than that, I wanted to tell you why I pushed you away before. I know that you love me. I felt it… in your words. I was scared your love is so powerful it could burn us. I was scared you love me too much enough to make your world revolve around me. I was scared that us will only be about feelings, and not about stability and maturity. I was scared our love will hurt us, in the end. I was scared to lose you, just in case. I was scared to lose myself with you. I was scared that maybe I don’t deserve you. I was scared we’ll ruin each other.
And this time..I am letting you go again because this time, I know that you are the “what if” I am certain I would rather not know. Perhaps, my fears were there for a reason. I met someone, and although things are still uncertain, all I can think about is if you are the “what if” I chose to answer, I would be deprived of the opportunity of loving this wonderful guy. Thus, this time, I am certain that I want the best thing for us and that is lifelong friendship. Not torrid kisses and romantic hugs. Just a plain “Take care always, my friend”.
I’m gonna pick your brain and get to know your thoughts So I can read your mind when you don’t wanna talk
The Chainsmokers - Inside Out (Feat. Charlee)
(x)
Oh Wonder
Oh wonder on repeat
Goodbye traveler
We are all ordinary. We are all boring. We are all spectacular. We are all shy. We are all bold. We are all heroes. We are all helpless. It just depends on the day.
Brad Meltzer (via quotemadness)
Iisipin at Iisipin Ka Kahit Lumisan Na
Sa iyong paglisan, tanging hangin na lamang ang aking hahagkan. Ang iyong mga damit sa kama ang tanging mahahawakan ng mga kamay kong nangungulila sa panahong kayang aluin ng iyong mga kamay ang aking mukha o ayusin ng iyong mga daliri ang mga butones ng aking suot.
Sa iyong paglisan, hanap-hanap ng aking mga mata ang iyong ngiti na sa ngayon ay tanging sa iyong mga larawan ko na lamang masasaksihan. Ang iyong boses ang siyang nais marinig ng aking mga taingang sabik sa iyong mga salita, sa iyong pag-alo o pagtula.
Sa iyong paglisan, parang namatay ang mga bahagi ng aking pagkataong namarkahan na ng iyong pangalan at pagmamahal. Sa iyong paglisan, natuto akong tanggapin na tanging mga magagandang alaala ko na lamang sa iyo, sa atin ang kaya kong mahalin sa tuwing tatawagin ng panahon ang aking pagdalaw sa iyong puntod,
at kahit anong mangyari, ikaw ay iisipin at iisipin pa rin.
*This is also posted on Tulaan sa Elbi Facebook group. https://www.facebook.com/groups/tulaansaelbi2013/permalink/1053985024613799/
Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.
Paulo Coelho (via moon-quotes)
I come in cryptic codes.
R Molina