Alone Again (and Hungry) Naturally.....

I did not eat today. Not because it is a personal choice, or because I am on a diet, but literally have no food and no money. I am not ashamed to say that I have been having financial difficulties since April, because that’s fact. I am not surprised either that I have it till August with my sanity still intact, and still able to smile because God has been kind. I wish HE could be a little bit kinder and make all of these go away, but this is what it is and it is a mess I am trying to figure out.

Most of my friends, well so called friends don’t talk to me anymore. Why would they? It’s not like I want to make plans and hang out when all I can think right now is I hope I have something to eat tomorrow. I used to be in denial about this, but, when you’ve suffered long enough, you’ve learned to grow thicker skin and a stronger backbone to not mind what other people say. All you need to focus is to survive and make it thru another day.

Most people close to me think that I am okay. Most of them don’t take my situation seriously when in fact, I have been repeatedly asking for help for months now. And why would they? I always joke about my real problems everytime a door closes on me when I ask for help. It is ever easy when the only person who can help you is yourself.

Two Saturdays ago, I went to a friend’s house to ask for help and she was kind enough to help me get thru my issues that day. But as always, it’s just a band-aid solution to a wound that keeps growing deeper and is bleeding me dry. I remember I was so hungry that night, I also didn’t have anything to eat, but lo and behold, I had cake, lechon, shrimp, rice, and palabok that night. The lady she calls mom (not her real mother) was kind enough to accommodate me in their home at 10 in the evening and welcomed me, someone she didn’t know. Not only that, she gave me enough food to bring home so I was able to eat for the next few days until I could get my salary and repay her back. I will never forget their kindness.

It’s always that for me – borrow, pay, repay, repeat. A never ending cycle which I don’t know when I will be able to resolve. A miracle perhaps will help me find my footing again and start anew, but until then, it will always be endless nights of worry. There are times  that I just wanted to wake up if this was a dream, or just die, so I could at least find some peace. But I don’t want to cause any more heartache to my mother and my sister who have been nothing but very supportive of me all throughout this journey.

I wish I could blame these on certain circumstances which started June last year which led me to this, but enough of pointing fingers. It’s not the solution that I seek, especially when I have to keep on begging for what is rightfully mine.

I am not writing this for you to pity me. I just want you to know that whenever you see me, smiling, it’s all a lie. I am not okay. I wish you could see the pain I have been trying to hide for months now behind every smile. And maybe, just maybe, when one day I decide to throw in the towel and give up, you’ll realize that I have been fighting this battle for so long, that I am almost about to give up.

Recap

It has been a while since I stopped writing. Death in the family can really cripple you into neglecting even the things you love to do. But that’s all water under the bridge. I’ll probably write about it some time, but not today. I feel like, after a very long break, I’m starting over again, and when I turned 40 last May, I am a totally different person.

I stopped caring.

Yes, as cruel as it sounds, I stopped giving a fuck about trivial things like how some men can wear underwear underneath boxer shorts underneath a pair of jeans (who does that anyway?) I used to be bothered by noise (I still am) but now, I somehow have learned to channel it by creating noise of a much greater scale to get even. I started unfollowing people on Twitter (those who make no absolute sense anyway) and I could care less if they unfollowed me too. Facebook also seemed meh, as I opted to keep in touch with just a very few friends, those who matter anyway. I am now on the verge of deleting Facebook Messenger, maybe after converting family and friends to Line or Skype (no viber please). I’ll probably even get a Blackberry just to shy away from the iPhone wielding crowd.

I started learning French.

Well, I’m not really sure how this will end but…. I think it is good to know a fifth language you know, just in case. No offense meant, but I really find it annoying when some people start talking in English with their preposterous accents (read: those in customer service) in an environment where majority of people present at least 30% above the poverty line. My parents always taught me that it is rude to speak in a different language when there is a chance for you to interact with others. But that’s really the opposite of why I speak four languages (French being the fifth) as I do not want people to understand my everyday thoughts with the exception of sharing these. It’s like some members of  the Filipino Chinese community talking to each other in Fookien when they can merely address each other in Filipino. I find it rude, but, whatever makes them sleep better at night I guess.

I started eating black rice.

When I went home in Negros last December, I remember wondering why the family is eating ube for lunch. Silly me, it was black rice. Trust me, it is good for your digestion, makes you feel full longer, and makes you eat less. A caveat though, it is an acquired taste. At first, it might gross you out why you’re having this violet thing (incidentally it turns dark violet when cooked) with your food. You’ll get used to it. You’ll live.

I started binge watching Revenge.

Yeah yeah yeah show’s over but give me a break, I haven’t watched it since I forgot how twisted Emily Thorne could be yet she can show vulnerability as well.

I started to have an epiphany that the same shit is about to hit the fan.

It’s the little things that add up. It’s the same thing you have witnessed and experienced before and are too blind to acknowledge it. I wish I could say more. What I do know is, I am not putting up with this again.

My three month hiatus wasn’t really a waste after all.

Untitled

I have always loved to write for as long as I can remember. Writing has been my best friend, a constant unfailing friend even during the darkest hours of my life. I have always been told that I have the soul of a writer, whatever that means. All I know is that the moment I wake up, I can’t think of nothing else to do but write.

Like most writers, I grew up trying to find my voice – the same voice that tells me what to write as I am writing this. When I write, it feels like an out of body experience – it’s like sitting down and talking to another version of myself, while I stay seated listening, and writing down what I hear. It’s like listening to an old friend’s tale and immortalizing each word the best way possible.

My Literature professor, Alona Guevarra would always tell me that I will never be happy sitting down behind a desk doing a nine to five job. I have a note from her to prove it, I’ve kept it all these years. I don’t really know what she meant by that, as I scoff every time I read that note, proving to myself that writing will never be my bread and butter. But maybe, it wasn’t meant to be. She knew something I didn’t. How could I? I was only 17.

I aspired to be a poet at an early age. It was easier I guess,  I was told that I  just have to make the words rhyme. And so I did. I would fire away words in my arsenal to make my poems pleasing to the ears. To me, any written poem that does not rhyme is meaningless. It should rhyme. But then I introduced to Edgar Allan Poe, Walter Savage Landor, and Dylan Thomas. My perfect world of rhymes collapsed and I didn’t know how to write poems anymore.  It was tragic for a ten-year-old.

I started writing about people, about places and about things I found inspiring. High school seemed to be the perfect  source of anything awe inspiring. It was too perfect and was too good to be true. As I look back, I wish somebody had yanked me out of that dream and told me that life is not perfect, that life is not fair, and that there was a shitload of ugly coming my way. Nonetheless, I was so preoccupied in my perfect little bubble, with my perfect friends, perfect life experiences, which when reviewed now, seems too jaded and superficial. Nothing is perfect.

I started questioning my writing fundamentals in college. I could not find my voice. Should I be a poet? Should I write about the perfectly wonderful people and things around me? Or should I start writing about the darkness that is looming on the horizon? I started questioning everything to the point of asking  what do I want to do with my life. It wasn’t a bad question. It wasn’t uncommon either. But it was an unanswered question that did not prepare me for a ton of crazy I was about to unravel.

During those crazy times, I wrote about how I felt mostly – about how my heart was broken, about how I cried for a month because it hurt like hell. I discovered what dishonesty really meant, how it really felt when that realization hits you and rips your gut. I wrote about love – being in love, being out of love, being in between love. Sometimes I wish that could just write as honestly as I can about it, and not from a borrowed voice, but I could not find mine.  

I am not sure if the storm has passed. Lately, I am beginning to find myself standing in familiar ground, and another ball of crazy is about to unravel. I could go out there in cyberspace and write about the half truths of my experiences. Nobody will question me. Or I could go back to that place where I will sit down again with myself and write every word as it was meant to be written.

But will you listen?

A Certain Kind of Sadness

The problem with knowing the truth and keeping it to yourself is that the lies and the bullshit you hear seem to irritate you, especially if there is extra and committed effort on the part of other people to make you accept such lies as the truth. 

On the other hand, knowing the truth makes you see things clearly, but it doesn't exempt you from the sadness knowing that there isn't a soul who knows and understands why you feel towards all the lies parading in front of you as the truth. 

There is a certain kind of sadness in the air, and it breaks my heart that I alone can feel it.

Forget Me Not

I have been spending the past few hours sending glad tidings to people. Scrolling on past messages on FaceBook Messenger or Twitter's DM can be fun and frustrating. Fun because you get to relive old conversations with people who made you smile, and frustrating because of not so intelligent and insensitive exchanges bordering on unfriending/unfollowing.

Okay, so I just hit unfollow/unfriend...... Sue me.....

The point is, one get to have conversations with some of these people on birthdays and holidays which is not good. I mean, where's the real connection there? I understand that being polite is called for but up to what extent? Some of these people are those who I grew up with, some were even my friends, well, used to be my friends.

In reality, we keep people in our lives even though they don't really have meaning in our existence because we are afraid to be alone, we are afraid to be forgotten. We are afraid that during the final days of our lives, no one will remember us even after we are gone. We fear to be reduced to one tombstone marker, unnoticed by passersby.

But what if we get to keep only a few real friends who bring meaning to our lives, those who really know us inside out, and those who know what we feel by just a simple gaze? Would that trade off be acceptable? Would that be enough?

Me right now.....

Trying hard to explain to myself to stay, when the signs tell me otherwise.

The irony of it all, I try to understand bits and pieces of the puzzle, yet fate seems to take the shortcut and gives me the big picture.

And at the end of the day, I am left in that fork in the road where I am torn between having compassion and recognizing bullshit.

And here I am, at the wee hours of the morning, still up, asking myself .....WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, and WHY ARE YOU STILL DOING IT.......

It Has Always Been You

It bothers you that most people know how your future will end, better than you do. It bothers you that they get every detail, every emotion and every scenario into proper perspective and that they are usually right. And it hurts that they are right.

You have always been optimistic. You have always had pride in being resilient, and you have always had faced every dark moment of you life head high, even those moments that other people have put you through. Sometimes, it offends you knowing that you don't have to endure these circumstance. mostly not of your own doing. and mostly, you are only a victim of, and yet you do endure them while you get neither any apology nor sympathy from those who put you there in the first place.

Photo Credit : A2GEMMA

It is pathetic to have regrets, putting the needs of other people first than yours, not only because you respect them so much, but because you refuse to add on to their many problems, mostly, of their doing - problems that do not concern you, and you are merely a victim of. You hate it when other people point it out to me and that they are right.

And here you are again, being the same pushover waiting, just because people tell you to wait for good fortune and opportunities to strike, You should probably convince yourself that good fortune, like lightning only strikes but once. If you get hit twice, by good fortune, hopefully, and not by lightning, then you are one lucky bastard.

And so, here you are, at past midnight, contemplating on life, how to provide more for your family, comparing yourself with friends from college, especially those who seem to have the easy way out of things, yet come out victorious in the end. Here you are asking yourself, if you have figured it all out, and if you did, have you lost your way? If you haven't, then when will you figure it out? Will you still be alive by then to realize that you have already figured it out?

And then you realize that you have figured it out, yet you allowed yourself to be used because of some sick obsession of being in pain, of finding joy in being hurt, or maybe, you have been playing the victim for so long that you have become quite adept at it. Life has already hit you in the face and you never have recognized it. You only do, when it has already passed you by and has moved on.

And you, you start to wonder what went wrong.

Well in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'll tell you what went wrong..... YOU.

You allowed yourself yo be the victim instead of being the hero that rescues you. You allowed yourself to be the pushover that gives people the license to use you and abuse you for the wrong reasons, instead of being the one who has control of your life and your future. And lastly, you allowed yourself to drown in the illusion that things will get better, that things will change, instead of being the captain of that ship which sails to a better future.

Yes, it is all on you, it has always been you.

Now that you know, you have the option to take control of your life. Seize every moment, every opportunity to control your life and steer it in whichever direction that you think will lead you to that beautiful future that you have always dreamed of. Live your life on your own terms, at your own pace and move forward from whatever it is that you feel like is holding you back from being 101% of the person that you feel you can become.

The power is in your hands. Use it. Change your life, change your future,

Page 27 of 365

Lahat ng tao gusto mainlove, pero hindi lahat ng tao gustong mag-effort sa love. Yung iba, pwedeng pwede na kahit so-so, basta masabi lang na may effort.
Hindi madali ang magmahal. Nandoon ka sa sitwasyon na pride mo na lang lulunukin mo pa para mapagbigyan ang gusto ng taong mahal mo. Nandoon na kulang na lang magpaalila ka na para mapagsilbihan mo sila, talikuran mo ang iba para maibigay mo lang ang oras mo.
Pero sad to say, marami sa atin, nakikita ang ating mga sarili sa sitwasyon na binigay mo na nga ang lahat, pero hindi ka man lang pwedeng bigyan ng oras, panahon at importance na gusto mo. Hindi naman sa nagiging demanding ka, OA or narcissistic bitch pero, ganun talaga.
Sino ba naman ang walang ideals? Tanga ka kung sige ka nang sige mainlove na di mo alam ang gusto mo, or kahit alam mo ang gusto mo pero nagtitiyaga kang tratuhin na parang trapo dahil lang ayaw mo maging alone.
Simple lang naman ang guidelines ko sa mga relasyon. Hindi naman ako complicated kausap, well maybe, 5 years before oo, pero water under the bridge na yun. Ibang topic yun.
Sana, makak...
(Suddenly I was interrupted by 2 guys who are doing random evangelical counseling....)
Going back, sana mahanap ko ang taong makakaintindi sa akin. I know it is a broad concept. Pero let me illustrate:
Sana....
... Pilitin nya akong kumain kahit ayaw ko, yung tipong hindi na sya maghihintay na sabihin kong hindi, at maglalagay na lang ng food sa harap ko. Kakainin ko rin naman yun.
...Piliin nya ako over anything else. Kung work naman yun or family, maiintindihan ko kung kailangan kong maging 2nd place. Pero sana ako pa rin ang priority. Gusto ko naman, for a change, may mataranta sa akin.
...Hindi ko na ipakiusap ang oras nya. Automatic na yun. May oras para sa lahat ng bagay, at kapag oras ko, sana akin yun.
...Hindi nya ako iiwanang mag-isa kahit na ano pa sabihin ko. Kasi ang nanay ko, kahit masungit ang tatay ko, never nya ito iniwan. Kahit sa hapag kainan, sabay sila kakain kahit nagkakatampuhan. Sana may kasama akong kumain, may naghihintay kahit malamig na ang pagkain.
...Tanungin man lang ako kung ano ang gusto ko. Hindi yung kung ano na lang ang gusto nya.
Sana... Sana... Marami pang sana....
Puro sana na lang ba? 


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Post Mortem

I have always been a dreamer. I always believed in happy endings and in true love. That being the case, I always wear my heart on a sleeve hoping that someone will grab it and make it theirs. Unfortunately, in the same process, I have my heart broken so many times and I am left alone to mend the pieces. I’m getting tired of mending my own heart. I sometimes cut myself from the broken pieces when I try to make it whole again. I am left with scars, yet, I end up finding myself in the same pattern hoping that the next time, things will be different. But they aren’t. I wonder if they will be.

I don’t want to be caught in the same nightmare where I have to wake up and find the truth about the real  status of my affairs. For in each waking moment, I tremble as I get close to knowing what is and what isn’t. Then I get my heart broken again. It is more painful to know find out the truth for yourself than having to find it out from someone else. But now, even in my waking moments, I find myself helpless for every instance I figure out the truth. I hate this feeling.

Not because I say I am ok means that I am; not because I smile means I am happy, and not because I say it is going to be alright means that it will be. With a heavy heart, I must go on and hope that things will be better. Through my sadness, I can only hope that the same events do not unfold.

But who am Ito predict the things that are about to come.......

For now, let me be sad.

Comfort Zone

I'm afraid of what lies beyond these walls....

Monday Blues

Hanging around, nothin' to do but frown...

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Care-La-Loo

I have been made to realize my insignificance to a cause I have been fighting for for a time. That made me wonder if, I am still fighting for the same cause, or maybe that request made of me got lost in translation and I am the only one left in the middle when everybody else has moved on.

Maybe it is also time to move on.... 

Take Care of Me

I miss being taken cared of. Normally, in times of great illness, I remember my mother on panic mode trying to make sure I am feeling better. Honestly, it may sound weird, but I like it when she panics. It assures me that I am loved. It assures me that she will do everything in her capacity to make me feel better - take away the pain if she has to.

When I was 16 and started becoming independent, that was when I realized I have to take care of myself. I still do.

Maybe I am just being nostalgic. Maybe I am just being mushy. But I'd rather be with my mother now on panic mode.

Page 29 of 366 Book 2012

Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in an ocean of strange faces, and, no matter how hard I try to find names for each of these, I end up finding a name for my own.

Who am I really?

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Page 26 of 366 Book 2012

I decided to not think about anything else tonight. Enough of world peace for tonight, the world can use a little war so that it can rebuild itself, can strengthen bonds among nations and can make people realize how ephemeral and fleeting life is.

At this moment, I am not going to think about hunger or why is there scarcity of food. The world is already overpopulated as it is and I guess, people dying everyday due to lack of food is nature's way of putting tabs. I won't think about those dying of illnesses tonight, mainly because, I believe we are doing thema favor of letting them rest from their burdens.

Still, right now, I won't think about people who have gone missing. Maybe it's their way of finding themselves and moving on to better lives. I won't think about families who have grown apart, because that incidence of such division causes the same family to realize the value of family itself.

I won't think about the depleted mountains, the drying rivers, the poluted air. How arrogant is the human race to think that we matter to this planet. How little is our intelligence in saying that we need to save the planet. We are but a speck of nothingness, an informal settler on the face of this planet, and this planet will go on without us.

I do care however this warm mug of chocolate in front of me, wishing that somewhere out there, someone is sharing the same mug of chocolate drink and saying to himself, how blessed and lucky he is for being alive, for being healthy, for having a wonderful family, for being at peace and for a benevolent planet that allows him to exist.

If only, there is someone to share this drink with....

Background music: Alone Again by Gilbert O'Sullivan


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Page 15 of 366 Book 2012

As I look back on the years that passed, I realized that I have undergone more metamorphosis than I have ever imagine. I could only look back to the time when I was 15 and I can truly say, so much has changed. I sometimes miss being 15. Fifteen was the heyday of my life as a senior (yes, I was the youngest in my class, younger by a year than the entire graduating batch). Not to brag but, I was probably doing very good - graduated valedictorian, president of almost all clubs except Math Club (I hated Math ever since), won several competitions in writing and Super Quiz Bees, even joining some local stints where I had to parade myself wearing skimpy beach wear. Those were the times.

When I was 15, I I had a lot of goals - more than a lot that accomplishing even half of these might drive a person mad. But as I grew older, I realized, I cannot have everything. Strike showbiz out (though I sometimes wonder, what would have happened if I wasn't too lazy attending those acting workshops), strike modeling out (though, sometimes, I think it parading myself again in underwear at 18 wasn't too bad), strike politics out (yes, I wanted to be President, I still do) and what have you - a nine to five (five? who are you kidding?) office employee who is a twitter addict and a mall rat.

I don't regret not having everything I've always wanted, nor being someone I've always wanted to be. I've always believed that I am where I am meant to be. At any given time, if I am meant to tread another path, I know that I will get on that road no matter what. I have faith, and I am forever grateful for the things that I have now and the person that I am now.

Background Music : Both Sides Now by Sharon Cuneta

A Christmas Cassette Tape

I never liked Christmas. I can’t even remember the last time I celebrated real Christmas. I am well aware as to why it is being celebrated and yes, I am thankful for the Lord GOD for giving us his son to save us, but the way I see it, I started to hate Christmas not because I am a non-believer, but because Christmas has become so commercial. Yes, too commercial to the point that you will even question yourself if there is an appropriate way of celebrating Christmas.

Courtesy of Google Images

The ideal Christmas for me was at the age of five. Though my dad almost disowned me for recording my own rendition of Joy To The World over his Carpenters Christmas cassette tape (I couldn’t even remember the exact title of the album), we kept the tape anyhow and for years to come, we would just laugh when it  skips to the part where yours truly is singing Joy To The World at the top of his lungs. Yes, that rendition comes with an alien like language God only knows what. Those were the days.

I remember my parents both helping each other prepare Noche Buena, and at that early age, I knew that our family had to be together at this very important day of the year. I never really knew why, it was just a hunch, or perhaps it has become a tradition and hence it was difficult to break. Every year, the four of us made it a point to wake up in the middle of the night, eat and go back to sleep. Of course, the daily Simbang Gabi and the midnight mass on the 24^th is part of the entire production (yes, it seemed like a musical of some sort at that time).

As my sister and I grew older, we became more involved in the preparations for Noche Buena. We had our own tasks and dish assignments (don’t get me wrong, I never cook, I never have and I never will. It’s just that I took the liberty of classifying tossing or heating food as cooking so sue me) and we were pretty good at it. Maybe not, but our parents convinced us and swore with their lives that it was the best tasting food they ever had. We were content with this tradition, we never really cared about gifts and we made do  with whatever our parents or relatives gave us. It was not that important.

Thanks to the educational system, we were introduced to the concept of exchange gifts and parties. And so, every year, we made sure we had new clothes in time for our Christmas parties (yes, who would have thought that a grade school kid can’t have enough partying ). At this point, I have perfected my maja blanca and I have been boasting about it. I even had to wake up at five in the morning to choose the coconuts that our trusty helper would pick for my dish. (Yes, as early as seven, I was a control freak bossing people older than me around).

These routines, while alien to the concept of just being with family and the the people you love went on till I finished high school. It was worse in high school, being one of the more popular kids in school. Preparations were like a space shuttle launch and my grandmother had to intervene with her Arroz ala Valenciana to the rescue. (Yes, it’s staple for All Saint’s Day but my lola figured we should do away with traditions anyway, so hello Valenciana on Christmas parties).

I moved out when I turned 16. I know it is unconventional for Filipinos but I was so caught up with this lady’s speech saying that a parent’s responsibility to a child ends after high school. I believed that and I shipped myself to Manila, sent myself to school and the rest they say is history (or maybe another story but let’s try to focus on Christmas here). College was different (have you actually counted the number of times I used the word different to make a point?). By different, I am referring to the fact that come December, you no longer know each other, simply say goodbye, and say hello again come January. No more Christmas parties, no more exchange gifts, no more simple get togethers. That has been my routine for the succeeding six years (yes, I finished two courses, don’t get any funny idea).

Nothing much changed even when I started working. I have been alienating more and more people at the onset of December. I’m like the Christmas Ampalaya, so full of negativity and bitterness – bitterness not because of any other reason but I can’t seem to reason with myself why I should continue on celebrating Christmas ever single year.

I do not know exactly when, and at what particular stage of my life I lost the magic of Christmas. I wouldn’t even call it magic, as it’s more of a feeling, than something visible. I’ve lost the longing to give gifts, to go home and be with my family. I have been accustomed to spending Christmases by myself, well not at first but I got used to it. I lost the urge to prepare food, I seemed to have forgotten how to prepare maja blanca or arroz ala valenciana anymore. And every year, you see advertisements on the “perfect” Christmas.

But what is the perfect Christmas anyway? Is it just merely a tradition of showing up at parties, smiling at people and enjoying their company while exchanging gifts, gifts you picked up out of nowhere just to take part of the concept of giving? What give a mug, and that already is Christmas? Is it showing up at mass everyday hoping that your wishes be granted? Or religiously going to church just to accompany some girl you have a huge crush on? Is it inviting people into your house with the underlying reason of flaunting your wealth?

I want to be one of the few to break tradition – to celebrate Christmas at any given date for as long as me, my sister and my parents are in one table sharing a home cooked meal, nothing fancy, just the four of us with whatever food is on the table. I want Christmas to be any given time on any street where I help an old lady cross the street, talk to some complete stranger and share laughs with them or maybe teach a child to read. I want Christmas to be at any given place and time for as long as the intention of giving love and sharing love is there, no gifts, no parties, just pure love.

I’m going home on January and I will celebrate Christmas with my family regardless of the circumstances. I’m gonna relive those moments when I started singing Joy To The World, or learned to prepare maja blanca or valenciana. I’m going to enjoy it like a five year old again.

I guess I better find another cassette tape to ruin then.....

Immovable

I feel empty.

It's one of those days that even good music can't penetrate my heart and make me feel, one of those days that even a good cup of coffee is unappreciated. It is one of those days that I couldn't care less if the world ended today and all of us along with it.

I feel numb.

It's one of those days that I see my dog making a funny face yet I choose to look away disinterested, one of those days when the warmth of an embrace matters not, and the light of friendship is unseen.

I feel less human.

It's one of those days, one of the many days when I no longer know who I am, one of those days that a search for an answer falls into the depths of chaos. And definitely, this is one of those days when I question my own existence.

Must be the flu I tell you...


Background music : Could This Be Love?


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Quo Vadis

Courtesy of Google Images

This is that time of the year where family members gather to remember loved ones, to share memories and to catch up on each other's lives. Not for me. As much as I would like to jump on the Halloween bandwagon, buy candles and flowers and say repeated prayers, I'd rather spend the long weekend to reminisce the person that I was and to make changes into becoming closer to the person that I want to be. Laying my cards on the table, knowing where I am on the road map of my life helps to know that there is still hope for people like me.

But what and who am I exactly.....? I don't know anymore. Sometimes, I begin to believe the fabricated lies I tell myself -- I am okay, things will get better, there is a happy ending. While it isn't bad to believe in the superficial and the obscure, being a bitch about it doesn't help either. Being realistic does.

The four-day-holiday is ending soon..... Where am I going?

Stars Align

What could the rest of the world be thinking at this very minute?

Courtesy of Google Images

Sex?

Money?

Health?

Death?

Family?

I wish there was a clear cut answer to all of life's woes but there is none. People can only hope that by thinking and rethinking certain concepts, reformulating plans, recalculating variables in one's head, or perhaps in one's make believe existence, perhaps, one can change his stars.

But could we really change our stars?