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[lunasteasonne]

1-22-19

it sucks when your downfall starts with your family. they can easily throw negativity on you just by heaving a single sigh. even at the smallest things, they can effortlessly bring you down. it sucks when you know the meaning of their gaze; you know they look at you as if you were the humanisation of disappointment. i was supposed to fight back saying, “you’re the first people who degrades my capability in everything. thank you for ruining my dreams, i’ll never give you any recognition once i succeeded one.”

but then i came to a moment of realisation of the truth. i can never really blame them for giving up on me, i’ve given up on myself long time ago. so... i can’t really differentiate my own judgement on theirs. except i keep myself alive and not just breathing, while they continuously kill my emotional being. yes. that is my family.

[lunasteasonne]

#00027

Do you solemnly remember

the sunflower fields we roamed

the gorgeous lakes we walked around

the silent streets we passed holding hands?

Do you madly remember

the sloppy breaths we shared

the dirty tongues we once fought

the warm bodies we combined as one?

Do you still remember

the families you turned angry

the skies you turned gray

the time you claimed I had an amnesia

when was it really because

you had an Alzheimer disease?

—lunaxteyax

[lunasteasonne]

3-14-21; 19:38

“I Am Always The One That Got Away, And I Like It”

After years of yearning, I am finally away from home. 155.5km away, to be exact. Been here for almost 2weeks already, and I’m far eccentric than ever.

Guess what? Now, I feel confused. 

For a week, I felt euphoria with my departure. I was overwhelmed with my emotions. During my trip, I admit I am a little terrified of what awaits me: Where will I find myself months from now? Am I going to shape my growth with this opportunity? Will I feel the contentment and belongingness of being somewhere else outside my comfort zone? Or, will I come back home without anything that has changed? Is this escapade only going to be a vacation for nothing? Am I going to return being the same person?

I have always been so obsessed with the pleasure of leaving, I don’t know why. Its idea has always crippled into my mind like an infective disease that eats my system whole and makes sure that I am fully consumed. I am never the person who is meant to stay. In a situation or place wherein I don’t feel appreciated, valued, nor needed, I never hesitate to leave the first chance I get. And that has always saved me from being impulsive and giving in. The fact is, I always care too much. But, when I’m done, I’m done.

I am grateful for all the people who has let me go. Ever since then, I zone out my presence no matter how much I love the person that’s going to be left behind-- if that’s what it takes to make us better people. I heave all the courage inside me and leave footsteps imprinted in their hearts. I say goodbye too often... I say goodbye too many times.

And for some people who doesn’t let me go, doesn’t plan to let me go, and never takes the chance to let me go, I don’t know how else I’m going to deal with you. You see, I can only love up to my limits. I can be the dumbest fool who’s going to express my affection for you, devote all of me to you whatever it takes, and face the consequences later--but that is only for long. At this point of my life, I have realized that I am never meant to stay anywhere with anyone at all. And I could gather all the reasons why and rub it to your face. For your own sake, let me go.

I am always the one that got away, and I like it. Growing up, I have been raised with so much love. That’s why I know for a fact when someone does not deserve me, or the other way around. Either way, it has been intact with my instincts to not hesitate to cut ties. Not because I am weak, I am a coward, I am a loser--I have a talent of cutting ties with people and I’m very good with it because I don’t wanna be stuck in a broken situation wherein I could not fix, especially if it’s involved with more toxic people.

2 weeks into my departure, 4 years of longingness. I have promised myself to never come back home for non sense reasons. I have kept it in my mind that just because I share distance with my family now, doesn’t mean I am automatically facing my full-time growth as a better person. I am aware that I am still going to face challenges that will test not only my spirit but the entirety of my being. All these unfamiliarity and risks might even get me into life and death situation, but I can only hope that I’d survive. The thing is, I cannot survive without fighting. A soldier who has always longed to die being a hero does not fulfill his ambition without being in a battlefield. An soap opera artist cannot gain the pleasure of hearing claps from a thousand pair of hands if she is going to sing only at her bedroom, alone and stuck. I know I deserve more than staying in my comfort zone. Not because I am running away from my responsibilities at all. I have to grow up. And I cannot grow from comfort. I know I can do more.

At some moments, I feel confused. I am scared. Now that I am at the duration of my opportunity for growth, I am doing my best not to fuck it up. There are even times that I want to come home and crawl into my bed. Like the old times. For the past 18 years. It’s just that, I miss the control. The freedom. The authority. 

But, I just shrug it all off. I remind myself why I left at the first place: I deserve better. I know I can do better. No useless man is going to make me stay for him, hence come back to my hometown so I can be near him. No challenge can sway my passion for departures; my strong longingness for adventures. I am going to start anew in a town wherein nobody knows my name. I am leaving my past behind I could tear my heart out if that’s what it takes.

I am always the one that got away, and I like it.

—  lunasteasonne

[lunasteasonne]

2-15-21

I slept for 12hrs and woke up at 2pm because i had a dream. I had a dream that I wanted to live at it.

Finally, I moved to my unit in Manila City. Finally, I was able to get away from home. It was my lifelong plan, to move away from my hometown and live in a different city; alone and independent. Facing new challenges and breakthrough adventures. I will finally breakfree from my comfort zone and stand up on my own feet.

Before I could settle down with my unit, I even saw two of my acquaintances already living at the unit next door. I was so glad to see them. Then in the afternoon, I went out to party with my college friends. It was the typical College party and it was lit and funny. I had so much fun that I didn’t want to leave.

When I got back home, another typical “settling down” scenario happened with my unit. The comfort room reeks of some sort of smell, so I had to go out again and buy an airspray to fix it. What’s funny is the details were so specific: I could already put my LED lights, and it was already on that night even though I’m still not finished settling down. I wasn’t drunk at all even after going to a party, just feeling tired because it’s already midnight. And lastly, I even thought of how should I pay for the things I’m going to buy---GCash. Damn, yeah. The power of GCash. My partner in crime. Another specific detail, I was planning to go to the 7/11 convenience store because it’s open 24/7. I’m still not used to the surroundings in Manila, but here I am partying and going out at midnight all alone, sober, and as if I’m not troublesome.

I slept for 12hrs and woke up at 2pm because i had a dream. I had a dream that I wanted to live at it----only to wake up.

[lunasteasonne]

when the universe speaks, it speaks with me.

—  lunasteasonne

[lunasteasonne]

12-16-20

i know i put pressure to myself to have this image of strong independent woman —which i could acquire somehow—but i am also an oversensitive bitch who is prone to have my depressive personality triggered at any moment. i discipline myself to act tough, be touch, and think though at all times and that’s because of my regrets.

the thing about my regrets is that: i do regret not doing things i should’ve done, but what i’m more concern of is the things that i’ve done that i should have not.

—  lunasteasonne

[lunasteasonne]

"i forgive people only rarely. and it is never done through a sorry."

lunasteasonne

[lunasteasonne]

The Madness in the Void

#00034

[trigger warning.] i promised. i promised to the gods ; to build walls so immense to erect my standards to guard all the organs left in me to not settle on what’s in front to synthesize an intoxicated flesh and stitch it on my own skin pour the blood out of me and drink it all — bottoms up. so, why? why do i find myself having a facade pitying those on my view without knowing that here i am again tearing myself over and over and over and over again. willingly. i swore. i swore to the angels ; i’d never let my guard down. i’ll stay on my place, on a castle made out of crystals tears, drafted papers, polished by bloodstains abudance of false hopes enjoying solitude only with the nothingness of the void, continually growing upwards, independently, bravely — not needing anyone to carry me or be with me at all — so, why? after all these efforts, months, years of hardworks why do i find myself opening doors just to let someone abuse me? i swore to the angels the courage. just let me be. so, why? why does my castle have endless bridges, open doors, and even tunnels underneath? i thought i built it for my deep love on mysteries, adventures, oh—how deeply i long for escapes! but i never realized how obsessed i am with serial killers, psychomaniac, havoc disguised in a heartbeat worn of a leather jacket. i took my own life. repeatedly ; whenever i needed to. and offered it to the demons those whom i have stopped fighting against. the demon who visits me during sleep paralysis? i didn’t know we had the same vibes. the demon who’s inside my mind now pays rent to live inside it and i count the money i gain. while the demon who never leaves my shoulder has learned how ironic i am to pray for someone above while selling my soul below — and he’s laughing his ass off along with the gods and angels i swore along with him. i have made promises on them in different worldly punctualities. i used to beg these beings to save me ; no, i can’t go yet — not just yet. spare my life and i’ll live loudly. poured & get drunk on my own blood, learned to cross stitch with my skin as a canvas, tried to bury myself alive, burn my own cold feet. yet, here i am. losing nothing. i have a voice too empowered; but where are the words to say? every time i open my mouth, i seem breathless. i am in progress of stability towards the long run and i have never been so happy on how fast i grow. all alone, all good. so, why? why does the void exist? no, i am not in need of warmth — the hell is not in the underworld, it lives right here inside my heart. i am not in need of some company that will never be enough for me. i just don’t get it. why does the void exist? the empty feeling. the long stares at the ceiling at the middle of the night wondering how, when — when will i ever be contented? when will i stop being obsessed with bettering myself yet letting everyone take me for granted? and they didn’t even ask for it. i willingly gave in. even after reminding myself to stop, why do i let them hurt me and i’m always the one who says sorry? searching for a scorched proximity through these people, i know, will never fill the emptiness of my cup. fuck it. fuck it all. fuck me through hell, fuck me through all the heavens ever existed, fuck me through all the streets who never sleeps. fuck me — tell me why. tell me fucking why. because i have to stop hurting tearing my own skin giving out everything inside me there’s nothing left no more all these stitches will heal but never those of what i feel. it will last eternally, abusers unforgiven, traumas unforgotten, just fucking tell me why — why does the void exist? i kept on emptying myself. madly. and after sucking the life within me out of reality and surrealism; after i have kneeled my heart to heavens and sold my soul to hell, why is there still something left? i can’t seem to understand. if the void is truly just empty — why does it feel so heavy? —lunasteasonne