You said you hate it when my mouth tastes like cigarettes, how you can taste the ashes in my mouth as if you’re licking an ashtray. I smoked a pack after you left, and watch our memories fade away in each puff of smoke. You told me to stop back then, when you were still there to nit pick at my bad habits, told me that it’s like watching me waste away at 11 seconds per stick.

I was planning to stop, really, but then you left and I ended up counting down my life at 11 second increments. Nicotine helps calm down the mind you see, at least at the end of this pack I will be calm enough to stop blaming myself. Or maybe, at least in the back of my mind I know I’m pissing you off, a small rebellion of some sort, or maybe I’m wishing you’d be back to stop me.


After the storm

I thought that I was the storm who’s going to dissipate into thin air, leaving you with a trail of splintered memories and a flood of tears to clean up. I thought I’m the one who’s going to watch you rebuild yourself after I wrecked your peace with my presence.

was too presumptuous, too arrogant, too confident with  my sway over you. 

I  forgot about the sun. I forgot about the possibility of you chasing after the sun. I denied the possibility that maybe you’re the one who’s going to leave me all splintered and flooded.

Now you’re just a name on my list of storms. 

I can’t do poetry

I can’t do poetry, I never had the patience for rhymes and meters. Pentameters, a-a-b-c’s,  couplets and whatnots, spare me.

I can’t do poetry, symbolisms and metaphors fly over my head like sarcasms on a literal person. Blue skies are just fucking blue skies for me, okay.

I can’t do poetry, I don’t know how to group stanzas and lines. My writings always linger between being prose-like or a half assed, badly done, deconstructed poetry.

I can’t do poetry because I can’t translate my emotions to words. I’m numb, I’m cold, I’m stuck in a rut. Poetry cannot be stone cold and empty, can it?

I can’t do poetry. I don’t have the heart for it, okay maybe also talent and patience, but mostly heart. Probably because I’ve lost my heart while searching for poetry in you.

Seven minutes in heaven

You kissed him, but it felt wrong. You think maybe it’s just the technique; the depth, the tongue, the position of your lips. You try to deepen the kiss, try a different approach. Pull him nearer, grab his hair, let his hands roam your body. It still feels wrong.  Instead of feeling heady, you are more aware of how slimy his saliva is and how clammy his hands are. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, burning your skin in an unpleasant way.  You feel a heavy lead settle in your stomach,  and it’s not the pleasant one that you know, the one that you feel when you explore beneath your blankets at night.

You control your breathing. Hitched breaths between slow ones. You will yourself to like it, to feel at least a smidgen of heat. You should be ecstatic, you think, you like him after all and all your friends know it. That is why you will be in this closet for the next seven minutes.

When the seven minutes are up, he lets go of you then gave you one of his lopsided smile that you love so much. You smile back politely, go out of the closet before him, still feeling nothing.

Not a rom-com

Ours was not a rom-com movie, where we get to have dozens of second chances and serendipitous meetings. Ours was not like in those movies, where we wouldn’t care about the people we hurt just so we get our happy ending.

Unlike in those flicks, I would not hurt and leave the man who helped me rebuild myself just so you can destroy me again. Nor would I forgive you so easily, nor believe that you have changed just because you cried in front of me.

I am not a rom-com heroine, unlike them, I do not spend half the screen time fretting if you love me or not. I would not go back to you and forget my dreams even if you ran after me to the airport with a bouquet of roses and a letter full of apologies. Because, like them, I gave you a lot of chances, but unlike them I gave up.

I am not a manic-pixie girl, or any type of female tropes you see in films. I am a mixture of everything; a conglomeration of ingenue, manic-pixie, bitch, with a dash of something else. But in a way, I am like them: a strong independent woman who knows what she wants.

You are not a rom-com hero. Unlike them, you did not change for the better at the half of our story. Unlike them, you have missed all the climactic points where you change from being a selfish boy to a sensitive man. Unlike them, your character did not have any development.

We did not have our rom-com ending, the one with the tacky pop music and sappy lines, and it will never happen.

Maybe we just have not yet reached the end of our stories. Maybe we are just minor characters in our respective films and we haven’t met our love teams yet. I do not know for sure, but all I know is that this plot will never be ours.

On writing

I noticed that some, if not most of my writings, are on the dark depressing side.  I am not sure if I should be alarmed by the tone of my writing but, I don’t know I just feel like it. Maybe because I only write when I am extremely emotional,  if that makes sense.  And usually what I am feeling is reflected on my writing. And lately all I am feeling is frustration and loneliness, hence the tone of my posts.

How it feels to be the single one in the group

All of your friends have finally found their “soulmates”, granted that there is the probability that they will break up and your single self will help them pick up the pieces, but as of now, they are happy and they are annoying the hell out of you.

You know they mean well, you know they just want you to be happy but sometimes you wish that they would actually listen to you when you say that you don’t want to be with somebody right now. All those times when they keep on matchmaking you with their significant others’ friends and you getting more and more disappointed with every succeeding introductions, you just want to tell them to stop “spreading the love” because honestly, you don’t want it right now. 

You do say it. Again and again but they will just smile and say,  “Oh, you will also find your soulmate, don’t worry, they’ll just pop out of nowhere when you least expect them to.”

But the thing is, you are not looking. You really are not, because you are focusing on trying to love yourself first and trying to get on with your career.  You tell them that, but they’ll just say that you need someone to help you rebuild yourself. But the thing is,  you don’t want another person to burn themselves so just you can be warm.

Sometimes they do get frustrated with the failed match making that they tell you that you are too picky, too particular. They just want to see you settled. You balk at the idea because you are only twenty and you won’t settle at twenty. Sure you may not be the best, but settling down is not an option when you know that there is an opportunity to find a better option.

You are happy for your friends,  really.  Although there are times that you feel a smidgen of envy. You know you should be happy for them, unconditionally happy.  But sometimes you want to have what they have, to feel important to another person as if you are the very air that they breathe. You want to be someone’s constant, yet you are also terrified of the idea.

There are also times when you miss your friends because most of their time is devoted to their significant others.  You would always be the third wheel, the awkward pseudo chaperone. It feels lonely sometimes, but you are okay with it.  There are also times that they bail on you just to be with their significant others. That, you are not okay with (although terms and conditions apply).  It irks you, but you know they are happy so you try to be too.

You know they just want to help you find the “one” and you know they mean well. But sometimes it is okay to tell your friends to stop meddling with your love life (or lack thereof) you are both happy in where you both are and you hope it stays that way.  You know they think that love would work for you because it worked for them. But it probably won’t at this moment.

So tell your friends that you you love them but they really need to stop with the matchmaking, to stop telling you to wait for that special person. You are fine on your own.  Sure, you may sound bitter to their lovesick ears but you are happy with your status as of the moment. And maybe, if and maybe when you have learn to love yourself, you will ask them for dates. But as of now,  no.