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.