in medias res

21 and writing.

[gothigh2fly]

The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.

— Nikos Kazantzakis

[weltenwellen]

“You create a friendship between silence and your lips. You are truly alone with yourself now. You fall into it, light and free. You test your silence and fragility. You have the power now to ask it, are you who you are?”

— Adonis, from “Concerto for the Road to Dante’s Church”, Selected Poems

[verlustragen]

Heyyy how are you?

Hi! To tell you the truth, I’m not doing so well. But if I think about it, hell, I haven’t been doing well for the whole of the past year. But how do I say this, though–I feel like I’m living in a place where the storm always passes, so every now and then I am attacked with a great whirlwind and dashes of rain. And there came a point when I got used to it, and my familiar would mean I could sing along to the sound of the thunders just fine. Then one day, the eye of the storm stayed for a while, and do you remember what they used to say? That being in the eye of the storm feels calm and quiet, even though everywhere else is tumultuous and disturbed. That’s what I feel right now. Deep inside me suddenly felt incredibly quiet. A part of me decided not to talk about it, but between all parts of me, this huge piece of emptiness and sadness is the elephant in the room. 

[verlustragen]

You're baaaaaack here! Keep on writing Dayn! Share your greatness!

I am not technically back, but I do visit from time to time. I no longer write the way I used to and I don’t really recognize the self who made this blog a long time ago so it’s hard to make amends with all the time I’ve lost, so I’m just keeping it the way it is and check up on you guys through the dashboard. Thanks a lot, though! I hope you’re in a better place, too. 

I missed you all so much! Hope you’re all doing well!  

[verlustragen]

I can relate so much with your post and everything is so deep that I want to dive in it. Pls dont ever stop writing. Your words give me oxygen.

Thank you! I hope you’re okay. I haven’t been writing anymore, but I also wish I could go back. Thank you for always inspiring me with your words. 

[verlustragen]

Hi, it has been months since I visited this place, and I wish that everyone is in a good place right now what with our government still pretending that everything is doing well in the country, which is obviously not the case. I missed everyone I have ever met and talked with in this platform and I am just glad and thankful that those friendships have flourished, without it I would be less of the woman that I am today. I hope you are all doing good and if you find yourself unable to talk with anyone and in need of someone just to get you by even for an hour a minute, or a second––I am just a message away. My email would notify me if you ever left a message for me in this abode. 

Please take care of yourself and may you have exciting days ahead of you. I love you lots, friends. Thank you for staying.

[verlustragen]

hello. the days are hard. every little bit of bone i have in my body crumbles all at the same time. i know growth is endlessly painful, i know somewhere down the road is the reason for all that there is in the now. how i wish i can reset life and go back to the days when i was just really growing, and absorb the lessons that could have helped me walk farther. i keep dreaming of odd jobs and different reasons to survive. i wear the skins of other people and pretend i am the people they are. but i am tired, and i don’t know how far that word can go. i just want to live and die quietly. is it luxury to live such a simple life that even technology won’t bother trying to get into the house? i wish i am a child again. i wish i don’t have these worries. 

[verlustragen]

2017. the year of the flood, when everything you’ve ever held dear came floating dead, drenched in yesterdays’ storms, as you wake up empty-handed. they drift from the sound of your voice, they know how to hide when you’re looking. the year of learning how to survive in the water and still drown. when swimming against the current feels like an impossible task so you choose to sink instead. you the let the body immerse with the hundreds of things you mistook for love. the purest love there is, is the one you never have to keep your grip on. the year of honesty, of letting your emotions out in the open, naked, without any coat on. you think the truth, no matter how bare, can make it through any weather. they did. you were right. the year of apologies because there is so much to say sorry for. apology for the disappointments, for the wrongdoings, for not being enough, for being too much. apology for one’s existence. the year of everyday growth. of contemplations, of learning the alphabet of self. of knowing why you do what you do. the year of luck. of the planets allying beside you to give you what you deserve. the year of knowing. of meeting people in their worst selves and still love them despite the thick armor of pretense. the year of love. of forgetting it was ever called love. of realizing the one person you wish could love you the way you want to be loved, could not figure it out for you. the year of endings and new beginnings, of the self and others. the year of friendship, of new people sprouting everywhere in the field, ready to bloom when necessary. the year of holding your ground because the storms never stopped coming. 

[verlustragen]

so if you came here for a sign, here's one:

i am saying good bye.

[verlustragen]

Good to see you again. Hanging around. Its been a while.

Let me tell you why. On most days I just sit around my workplace like my dreams and wishes and goals were someplace faraway. I talk for the sake of talking, and I cannot remember the last time I was tremendously, unforgivably open to anybody. That I could tell them every and anything I had in mind: the pieces, the past, the scraps. I have friends and they are many, but there is none I could pour my heart into. There are a few who could guess how I am and who I am, really, but they're stuck in a maze because I won't let them through. Because I don't think they would love being over that maze. I think it's just the maze that keeps their interest, that whoever I am beyond that point does not matter. Let me tell you how the end of the maze is the beginning of me, and everything before that is not who I am. So I hang around in here sometimes and on the other most of the times because language never failed me. If I do not have anyone I am comfortable to give myself into, words ally beside me, wooing me, telling me, "Here, here is your place for rest. There is a word for what you feel." Language understands me, even those about me that it can't word out.

[verlustragen]

as you grow up the things you lose become more and more unbearable. some drift away, some you forget, and some put you to place permanently, puncture you in a way that resembles trauma. an ache in the heart that will not ever fade away. an emptiness. a sinking feeling. 

i lost something huge in my life again.

hence, verlustragen. 

[verlustragen]

:(

Thank you for the eight long years. See you around.

[verlustragen]

Our old masks are coming off, and most of us have died out from this world many years ago. Only few are left, and though we may have not left yet, we have moved on and let go of the masks we’ve been wearing, or cleaned out the dusts we’ve been keeping inside us like makeup on skin. In this old abode I have been very much honest about who I am: my sadness and my madness, my difficulties and my struggles, my happiness that which consists only of temporary moments, never long-lasting, and the transitions I’ve made from all the metamorphoses I have undergone. I have loved and lost, all of these things have been transparently expressed. I have nothing to hide. 

However, this year woke me up to a different person, a person who no longer writes as much as she did in her long years of confessing. I, too, like many of us here, am afraid of growing old, and as much as I don’t want it to happen, it is taking off my young flesh each day. And I am only twenty-one. All the efforts of trying to write has downgraded to only thinking. I am thinking every minute of every day now, and the thoughts have gone wild and uncontrollable. Every letter is a worry, every question, a story that I would just send to grave. It feels as though the twenty-one years is a lie, that I have lived longer than this, but have not written that much. 

I am leaving this blog for good, for every time I write in here, I feel like I’m writing to someone who has died long ago. That nothing in my words will ever touch her anymore because it is too late. All her memories seems too far now, the people she met in this journey of writing have all gone to different roads already. Even she, as she died, has grown up and became a stranger to who she was before, when she was fourteen and starting out a blog she never anticipated would last for years. 

I decided to begin another journey, another diary that which the entries are thoughts of this changed person. A wilder, more brutal, unfiltered honesty in her words. She is more worrisome now, and hard to please. Her heart has taken the form of a stone. It is hard for her to trust now, because she is a different person now, and this changed person insists to write, even when the old her is trying to take that away from her. It seems to me that only a good, yet painful heart is her only way to bleed entirely. 

For the friends of the once young lady who once owned a diary, see you around. 

Paalam. 

[verlustragen]

the universe knows how much i want to kill all of who i am tonight, how i want to vanish a midst these sands of bad

[verlustragen]

How do I tell to the broken bones that I am losing a muscle without sounding pathetic? Or to the ocean that even without water, I am drowning? Or that in a row of flaming houses I am the the gas crater dug so deep I will not stop burning?

[verlustragen]

Minsan napapagod ako sa'yo pero hindi ako sumusuko. Minsan kulang yung salita ko pero nag-iimbak pa rin ako, para sa mga susunod na pagkakataon. Alam ko yung pakiramdam na sumuko na sa'yo ang lahat, kaya hindi ko gagawin sa'yo, kahit na sunugin pa natin ang mga bato natin kakalaklak ng alak, sirain ang utak kakapuyat sa gabi. Patuloy tayong nangangarap, hindi ba? Na isang araw paggising natin nagbago na ang lahat at lumayas na ang lungkot, hindi na muling magbabalik-bayan at pababayaan na tayo. Ang sarap isiping isang araw makakangiti ka ng walang bumabagabag sa iyong dibdib, kaya araw-araw ko iyong tinatrabaho.

Mahirap magpasaya ng taong ayaw sumaya. Hirap at dusa at paulit-ulit na pagkadismaya ang pagod na haharapin ko araw-araw. Pero uulitin ko. Hindi kita susukuan. Kahit na nilalayuan mo ako ngayon at nagsasarili ka na naman dahil pakiramdam mo ang laki mo nang pabigat sa akin.

Minsan din naman akong nagkukulang sa'yo, lalo na itong linggong ito na paiba-iba ang sakit ko, sa katawan at sa utak. Hindi naman habang buhay akong masaya at maliwanag para sa'yo. Minsan nalulungkot din ako, pero mabilis akong babangon at lalabas ng kwebang pinagtataguan ko dahil nga, diba, hindi mo kaya ang nag-iisa? Anong klaseng tao ako para iwan ang isang nagdurusa?

Pagod ako ngayon, at hindi kita maintindihan. Pero hangal ang katapat mo't nakausap. Tanga ako sa dahilan. Hindi kita iiwan dahil lang sa kapagalan. Gago ako sa diyos, pero martir ako sa mga taong kagay mo.

Sana isang araw masundan mo iyong liwanag na araw-araw kong binabantayan para hindi maging abo. Kapag nangyari yun, gagawa pa ako ng mas maraming apoy. Mas malalaki. Mas maliwanag.

[verlustragen]

What's your favorite song?

I’ve none, actually. I listen to classical music way more than I listen to any kind of song. If my mother’s words are a series of songs, I’d say they’re my favorite, the only kind I’d listen to my whole life.