Post Mortem

I found reading to be a great comfort these past few days.  Reading,  which was once my hobby,  was something alien to me for the longest time that I lost track.  I would start with a book,  flick on a few pages and found myself bored and lazy to even continue to make sense even of the summary of what was before me.  It was painful,  it was a chore.

For three days now,  since I started scrolling over stories on Wattpad, I have ignored my tablet's plea for a full recharge so I may continuenon reading endlessly and pick up from where I left off during meals and bathroom breaks.  I will never allow myself to be interrupted by viber messages related to work which defeats the ourpose as to why I am on leave in the first place.  I will never reduce myself to answering FaceBook messages from friends,  "friends",  and friends(?)  only to be annoyed in the end.  Reading was pure joy.

I was so surprised with how I manage to wake up at 4am when everybody else was in deep slumber in the cold of night and start off with a new book. Fifteen hours later,  I would finish 15 books from differrent aspirinng authors.  It has been a routine for two days now and I don't seem to mind. Until I ran across the TASMOB (for the weak of heart,  let's just call it that) series,  a fiction from a writer who calls herself "No Pressure,  Just Boxers" .  I never knew how messed up I was as a person until I read this.

I will not give justice to it by giving a blow by blow account as to how the story progressed and ended,  for I believe everyone of us has a way of interpreting literature based on how it affected us and how it made us feel . I was at awe as how it left a sour taste in my mouth, so sour that it made me feel sad and upset over certain feelings I have long come to terms with.

Unlike in the stories in all three books of the series,  where fictional characters battled with their demons,  made choices,  had regrets,  and were given second chances,  the truth is,  reality hurt. It was easy for these characters to move on and have a happy ending. It was unfair.

In the real world,  shit happens. Shit,  no matter how you see it,  is real. It is staring at you in the eye like another five year old who stole your lollipop and watches you sarcastically as you cry helplessly. You know that it doesn't get better soon and you that it won't go away,  only to haunt you back when you least expect it.

Right here in a corner of our humble living room,  as I watched my mother prepare lunch,  I began to ask myself a lot of questions:

1. Why doesn't anybody, truly understand how I feel.  I also get stressed and harassed too,  and I never complain about it. I wish somebody would stop and ask for once if I'm okay,  that would be a relief, even if I know I would merely receive fake smiles and words of comfort. 

2. Why do all of the people who have been in relationships with me seem to just suddenly decide to choose someone else and move on,  not even wondering about the time,  effort and perseverance that I have to exert in saving each and every relationship.

3. Why does it always feel like I am on quicksand,  the harder I try to break free,  the more that I sink in.

4. Where did time go?  Why has it been so unkind?

5.  Will I truly find THE ONE like in those books?  The One  who is going to go after you up to the ends of the universe to simply not let you go?  Is there even such a thing as THE ONE?  If there is,  how will I know?

6.  Where am I really heading to?  Am I even included in someone else's plan for the future.

And the sad truth is...... I DONT KNOW.

I remember a time when books were about poems about the birds and the bees,  about stories of heroes in foreign lands,  of happy ever afters,  of rainbows and unicorns and butterflies.

But I am not a kid anymore.

I am way over those years where I hurt myself,  bleed,  and a simple reassuring kiss on any cut or bruise would make the pain go away.  I am way over those years where I hung socks to prove Santa Clause was real, or to stay up and wait for the tooth fairy just to ask what the hell was this fascination about teeth is for.

For once,  in this little corner,  I have decided that I need to save me from my own self.  I am not Jaydin or Cameron. There will be no Travis and Aaron to make sure I will be okay,  no Graham and Calvin to make me feel like I belong,  no Dana and Kim who will understand me even in my silence,  no Austin,  Lee,  Nate,  Mickey and Daniel who will be my friends,  no, none of these characters will be there for me.

It is just me.

Someone.....please save me.

I gave the RIGHT pieces of 

myself to the WRONG people.

Now, I'm stuck.....

A Very Soiled Old Note

Into The Rain, Into My Dreams

I used to love the rain. Rain made me feel cool during the summer, would quench the thirst of my mother's plants that she carefully takes care of in our yard, and rain would mean we now have the chance to go out and play - my sister and I. We were kids. And what do kids know. For us, basking under the glory of heaven's waters was fun, nothing more but fun. Life used to be that simple.

On certain occasions that storms come and we were not permitted to go out and bathe in the rain. The pitter patter of the raindrops are a hum to make me fall asleep. I would long for the dark skies and the thunder, for I knew that these are merely a prelude to something more spectacular. Raindrops send me to magical places in my sleep, often, to places unknown and unheard of. Raindrops made sure I get to those places and come back from them safe and sound.

As I grew older, and wiser (so to speak), Science taught me about pollution, about acid rain, and about the diseases that came with it. I began to had doubts about the sanity of my actions - bathing in the rain, having fun. My sister never cared, as she went about her business and played until she could no longer bear the cold. She was the wiser one. She always was, she still is. 

Photo Credits : KEVIN DOOLEY

As years passed by, I became more distant from the thought of rain. I became distant from my old friend until the day came that I bid farewell to that friendship. I said goodbye to my old friend, rain. It was time to grow up. And sooner, rain became my enemy. I would curse the days when rain flooded the streets of the Metro and made it more difficult for me to go to work. I would curse the days when I had to cancel my plans or whenever I get stuck in traffic because of the heavy downpour, and worse, then I would walk just to get home because traffic wasn't moving. Those were a lot of days.

Last night, I anticipated rain to cause much devastation again brought about by Super Typhoon Hagupit. It was me screaming on top of my lungs for rain to do his worse, and I will still be there standing cursing it to no end. But..... all was calm. The storm I anticipated never came. I spent hours and hours on my balcony looking at the bay area from the horizon and yet, not dark clouds - everything was bright, and serene. From the distance, I could see fireworks, perhaps,  for people to celebrate or to give thanks that no harm came. 

Everything was alright, except for the droplets of rain that keep on falling from the skies. I extended my had far out just enough to catch a few drops, and I began to feel sad. Nostalgia perhaps? Was it the weather? Suddenly, flashes of memories of me and my sister running around the house with our wet clothes on flooded my mind. We looked so happy, we looked to peaceful, we looked so carefree, and we had fun. I extended my hand more and more memories of my childhood filled my head. I became even more sad.

I wasn't sad because I was mad at rain, or because I have been distant. I wasn't sad because I grew up. I was sad because the life that I know now will never be as simple, as fun and as carefree as it used to be. I was sad for the poor choices I made when I could have gone for the more obvious one. I was sad for not finding more time for the people who have been there for me, and I was sad for giving more importance to the wrong people who will never know my sacrifices for them.

I was sad for a lot of things, but I was no longer angry. Instead, I surrendered myself to rain and all of these emotions and allowed it to be my friend once more. For the first time in nearly twenty years, I allowed rain to lull me again to sleep. In my sleep, I will revisit again magical places and lands unknown and I won't be afraid to dream some more because I know now, everything will be alright.