dear son,

i probably don’t deserve the life you have graciously given up for me.  or i’ve chosen to selfishly take back. i’m forever wounded, you must know that. i walk around feeling completely unable to steer clear of the past everyone has asked me never to look back at. how could i not? it was a minute greed that overpowered everything else; it never opted to leave a piece of me or you.

sometimes, when i think i’ve moved on, i feel like i’m repeating the betrayal. i took what should’ve been yours. you were probably the mistake that i was willing to live with but was too afraid to keep. and i can’t, for the life of me, be someone else without you.

the past.

That is the saddest part when you lose someone you love – that person keeps changing. And later you wonder, Is this the same person I lost? Maybe you lost more maybe less, then thousand different things that come from your memory or imagination – and you do not know which is which, which was true, which is false.

~ “The Kitchen God’s Wife,” by Amy Tan

a prince in a panda suit (?)

This was an old post I published in a social networking site more than a year ago:

I am not the easiest person to fall in love with. I am the girl who walks out on everything.
I am no Cinderella. I am not part of any fairy tale. I am not the kind of girl who awaits for her prince to gallop to her rescue.
My world does not revolve around princes in their gallant costumes. I am not impressed by chivalry (it’s because of how hypocritical it all seem to me). I am not the kind of girl who appreciates extravagant, luxurious things. I’ll choose the simplest things over them. I don’t want to be swept off my feet by some strong muscled rescuer.
I am very much the girl who’s in love with her solitude; who’s devoted to finding out  the real essence of why I am alive in this lifetime and why I am not dead; who’s real happiness lie on the most trivial things; who’s real heartache is not being able to afford to love or being loved or giving the love back…
I am no princess. I do not look for any kind of any handsome prince. This was never my longing… Only a far away dream (isn’t it that love make dreamers out of us all). No longer, I guess. c”,)
Princess or not. Life will never allow us to pause and pick the most beautiful of roses, at least the ones that we were taught to love.
Because in this near me thought (no longer the far away thought, ha ha), someone has redefined a prince after all – dressed as a panda (in my thought anyway), adorable as its comparison – someone who makes me feel unafraid of afterthoughts, someone who makes sense of the uncertainty…
Hmmm… maybe, i found my prince after all… and gawd, how i feel like a princess (scary!) c”,)
Just because…

I was so in love then. I really thought he was what I thought he was. That has been always my problem:  fall in love with an idea then fill the ellipses with thoughts that can easily have my heart broken then giving him another chance.

We had one of those arguments again. Accusations at a high speed. He being with someone else under the pretense that it was better for the relationship – our hide-and-seek relationship. I think he didn’t really understand what he’s putting me through.  The waiting. The patience. Rationalizing. These things don’t make any difference.  It always ends up the same, and he doesn’t bother to heal what’s obvious. I think what made the situation worse is I let him and I still let him.

The second chances. The hope that maybe he had changed. The fairy tale that he’ll choose me and then we go off to the sunset and be happy. But these utopian thoughts are slowly becoming a desperate plea to notice what is already factual.

He said he misses me. Then he berated me about having another man. How can he miss someone he doesn’t trust and then goes around town manifesting how he missed HER?  He’s confused. Or am I confused? Either, the result always comes back unsatisfactorily. And I being the recipient of all the heartache.

the past tense…

Flashback. That snippet of the past you thought you have forgotten. Yet surprisingly you remember. The small details. Those you thought which seemed so insignificant make you smile. For a little while. It fills up. Warmly. Lovingly. Distinctly. So vividly.

I smile while collecting those morsels of memories. Genuinely, sincerely. And I miss that warmth, that heartwarming feeling. And it makes me forget. Even for just a little while. Being melancholic. Being mournful. It makes me not remember. And its welcoming.

We are each other’s own anthology. In retrospect. In spite of the tragic ending, that un-fairytale happy ending. You live. I live. We will. And I accede to it. We happened because we are one of the many life lessons we need to learn. To help us acknowledge our strength. To help us gain wisdom. The right of passage, some may say. Even if it is a reluctant agreement.

Endings may sound so tragic. But they are reality. It’s inescapable. Nevertheless, insightful. Reminding you of who you are. Teaching you to want what you need. To want yourself  despite of…