Sadness, etc.

Sadness, etc.

1. With eyes closed, I could imagine the train gets smaller by each passing second. The midnight air creeps into my entirety—from my jacket through the very skin that covers me. I pick up my bag, which has curiously gone heavier that it really is, and head for the road to take the bus. Why do I always miss the last train?

2. I don’t know, I said to the lady asking for directions. Her lips curve in disappointment before she turns her back on me, only to walk in silence. The blind can’t lead the blind. I continue walking in the opposite way, hoping to never see her again. She is just as lost as I am and I wish she won’t look back.

3. As I listen to his funny stories about his dog, boring job, and some other things which don’t concern nor impress me the least, his voice fades slowly in the background, and I know I’m no longer listening. I smile frequently to show interest—lost in my own contemplation—while I stare at his hair, which is a beautiful mess. I laughed at the thought, loudly. He was already talking about the death of his mom.

4. A blank sheet of paper screams for attention. I hold my gaze at the first line but couldn’t seem to write anything. Such emptiness! I crumpled the paper into a ball, aimed at the rubbish bin in the corner and threw; and missed. Such a waste!

5. “How can we fix this?” I beg. “Can we fix this? I can change.” The person on the other line fell silent for a moment, perhaps thinking of what to say next. “I can change.” I repeated, now with emphasis. “Yes, you can.” said the other voice. “And you did.” The line clicked off and I listened to the static for the next five minutes.

6. He was holding her trembling hands while he looked into her eyes wet with tears. The machine beside them continues to beep in no rhythm, until after a few minutes, it concludes to a steady monotone. She was no longer shaking; her eyes already closed. Boys don’t cry, he convinced himself. But boats don’t fly either.

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Personal victories

Personal victories

While there is no denying the pile of self-disappointments I’ve managed to accumulate in less than six months, some personal victories, no matter how small and seemingly irrelevant, still warrant recognition.

It appears despite my friends’ usual observation that I tend to worry a lot about what others would say, surprisingly, I have started to give less and less fuck about the opinions of others to the point of complete apathy, and then later self-destruction. I rarely go out now with online friends, thinking it would just make me feel vulnerable, again; instead, I annoy the hell out of the few friends I have in real life. Sometimes I would entertain the thought of permanently disconnecting from the internet life I’ve known to be easy and familiar. I just couldn’t seem to let go of the convenience of it all.

Thankfully, my incessant stalking has come to a halt. Hopefully, for good this time. There were times when the itch to check up on some random people would come, mostly guys I dated and some exes, just to see if they were doing worse than I was. I was wrong more than half the time. And after-midnights were the hardest, especially when you’re out of cigarettes and your coffee has gone cold.

My smoking remains the same, but I drink less now. Which means the drunk dialing incidents have declined, and I have fewer things to worry about when waking up on a Saturday afternoon, except for a sure hangover.

That night in Cagbalete then comes to mind. Mark, Rachel and I were at the beach. In front of us a quiet sea blending in with the night sky. Our backs against the sand, and a few feet away a campfire slowly burns into cinders. I have never seen so many stars in my life. We were so drunk and free, and dying in that very moment while Mark was loudly cursing the universe for god knows what, I realize, it couldn’t be so bad after all.

Starting anew, as I recall, is one of the few things I know I’m good at. But, unlike those that came before this, I cannot guarantee religious updates. It takes a lot nowadays for something to bother me. It’s too late to let a bad layout and ugly font styles ruin a good night’s sleep. ■