The Old Me

In my very first 'dormitory' in LB.

My brother greeted me yesterday and expressed how an old movie reminded him of my youth. He acknowledged certain similarities between me and the female protagonist then and remarked how totally different we have eventually become. I felt some happiness for what he noticed but also felt bad about his recent observation. So I decided to pull out some old photos from my folders and be reminded of the good old days.

I am a cry baby and there is no denying in that. But I guess I was a lot more emotional during my younger days, particularly high school.  I could cry everywhere so long as I feel like it. I go to church everyday before heading home, crying and wishing I never had to go home at all cost. I did seem to appear like a total weakling but I was never an idiot. Yes, I cry, but I was responsible. In fact, overly responsible for a high school student to assume parenting roles. I have four little brothers to look after and not even a single parent in our midst. Our father have had to work, as he still does, to sustain the family. And my mother had her own business to attend to. Yes, I had a complicated life then. But we got through it, at least now we’re better.

I diverted my frustration from home to becoming a gem in a Catholic school. I was a diligent student and it paid. I had got all the recognition and attention that I deserved. And it made me all the more crying to have found out how this dear teacher of mine expressed her admiration for my determination.

I lovED the camera.

But college did not free me from my usual wailing. Or maybe I had grown too tired to appreciate the things that were around me. But still I was way better, a lot better than today. I could not dismiss the fact that life keeps changing and I was no longer the baby that gets to be redeemed if caught in tears.

I often appeared to be a happy being, which is entirely contradicting to the depressive person that I am. I made good friends and they saw the earthbound side of me. Good friends who stayed up late night with me when I couldn’t stand being lonely in my room. Thoughtful friends who delivered lunch and dinner when I was too unwilling to give in to the demands of my stomach. Faithful friends who made time to sit by me while I sulk over meal. True friends who stood by me no matter what, no matter how stubborn I was. Yes, I was really stubborn. But still I was a lot better.

Smile though your heart is breaking.

Flash before bedtime.

And now at this age, I am able to realize how ungrateful I was to not recognize how beautiful my life was despite all the family crisis. So here I am, looking back and trying to admit the possibility of being in the same spot I had been in high school. That is, not being able to see the bigger picture and appreciate some good things that are kept hidden by my own fears. And these pictures will always remind me of how I felt broken and unknowingly survived it.

My life is a big drama. Or maybe I’m just too ‘maarte’ as one terribly pinpoints. I am getting tired of all these complications.

No matter how my heart is breaking now, I am still fighting. Giving up is never an option. And with that I am quoting some nice lines from a song called “Shattered” by Trading Yesterday:

Witchy Witch

And I’ve lost who I am and I can’t understand.
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love, without love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on.

But I know, all I know, is that the end’s beginning.
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart.

Let me go and I will run, I will not be silenced.
All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain.
All is lost, hope remains, and this war’s not over.
There’s a light, there’s the sun, taking all shattered ones.
To the place we belong, and His love will conquer all.

Yes, His love will conquer all. And I have to realize that the old me does not matter. What I have is today and I have to live with it. Will it be with the old or new me, I have to survive it. But maybe there’s no such thing as ‘old’ and ‘new’ me for I can only be myself. My changing self. Or is there?

The new Me.

Never Coming Home

Yeah,  it’s a line that says “I ain’t never coming home” from Keith’s “You’ll Think of Me”. And yeah, it is still on loop on my media player.

I don’t want to go through literary shit like I always do. But there’s no other way. And it’s like going home from work everyday. And the similarity is that, tautologically speaking, there’s no other way. I can’t compress my two-hour travel to two minutes. Too bad we don’t have those speedy transportation mechanisms they have in futuristic films. When are they coming anyway?

What I hate about my usual day is my long way home every day, not that it’s anything different from my long way to office, ‘coz it’s not that different in the first place. At least the latter is still two hours away. And it’s hell to me every morning… Taking long trips on board unfamiliar public vehicles with drained energy and an ironically active brain. Dang, who’s active-brained after a long day’s work, not to mention the lack of sleep due to some inverted day-work-graveyard-schedule ? And here I am, scribbling whatever my emotions cannot share feelings for and lamenting over what will be my most dreadful moment several minutes from now… Because I will be thinking of home as I head home, and ‘home’ is gone. Poor teary eyes. Good thing Keith is here, constantly reminding me of never coming home, at least, in a song.

Home is where I have spent five years of what seemed to be my whole life. Home which I almost single-handedly built. I left ‘home’. Now being this miserable runaway I keep trying to move farther away, every day, and it’s breaking my already-broken.

I sometimes dream of ‘home’ like it has never been damaged with the three of us like a real family. And I always end up wishing I had not waken up.  The old feeling of ‘home’ being revived only makes it harder. And on second thoughts, I wish of not having slept at all, I could not have dreamed.

I don’t want to go home right now and go through the usual thinking of ‘home’. Some people say that when you keep repeating the words you don’t want to speak, they become too familiar that it becomes needless to avoid speaking them. Hence it becomes easier to say those words all over again without having to go through negative feelings. But it does not seem to apply to this daily routine. And again, it only makes it harder, every single day.

So I don’t know where-to. Maybe a what-to is all I have. Maybe considering ‘moving to a new home’ a big option. Maybe a really huge home for two. Just maybe. And when that ‘maybe’ has been realized, then I’ll never have to deal with the complexities of my two-hour hell way home (referring to my tangible home). And I wish it to be a really big home for me and Paula, just me and her. Then I’ll be done wishing. And done wanting ‘home’.

But I know I always have who-to, who-tos actually. Thanks for my friends who never run tired of my litanies.

Hurt Sings

I’ve heard this particular song on a reality song competition (don’t try to guess which one), which I instantly fell in love with. Well, that’s a milestone considering the fact that I’m going through rough stuff right now, whatever that means. I looked it up and found a live version at youtube. And dang, I was impressed, and still am.

Take your records, take your freedom;

Take your memories, I don’t need them;

Take your space and take your reasons;

But you’ll think of me.

Addictive. I’m almost should be out of office but feels like my day isn’t over yet. Keith Urban’s “You’ll Think of Me”, which brought him a Grammy award a few years ago, is on loop on my media player. Good thing, it isn’t making me cry. And it’s a huge progress. I am tempted to put myself to the real test by listening to Coldplay’s “The Scientist”, which almost always makes me teary-eyed. But I won’t try, not today. I can’t put Keith off.

Looking back on highschool when I can effortlessly write an impromptu poem or two, or even a song, on my journals, I pondered on how lucky Nicole Kidman is. I used to dream of ending up with a singer, a songwriter, or a music lover, at least. I always think music brings out the soul and I want a genuine SOULmate . But I’m not that kid anymore who’s still drowned to that specific dreaming. Yes, I still want that soulmate but he doesn’t necessarily have to be that music-oriented. And going back to Nicole, I mean, Keith, he’s the bad boy gone good — an ultimate turn on to me. Earlier I was on a terrible personal heartbreak, now I envy Nicole.

But setting that aside, I can’t count the ways I have changed… From the idealistic girl wanting to marry a singer to the I-don’t-know-who person who’s now aiming to be somehow practical, if not realistic. I know what I want but I don’t have my direction yet. And maybe that’s why I’m listening to Keith’s and not Coldplay’s. “The Scientist” is one of wishing, that time can be reverted back and enable one to redo everything that went wrong. Keith’s is bitter, but there’s that silent effort to make that one step forward. It’s not realistic to go backward and change something, although it’s the better solution — if only possible.

I may be unlucky these days. That one little step is actually a very long stride. Ohhh… Why is this taking me so long? I don’t have answers now. But I know someday I will.

Someday I’m gonna run across your mind;
Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, I’m gonna be alright.
While you’re sleeping with your pride;
Wishing I could hold you tight,
I’ll be over you
And on with my life.
– Keith Urban

Loneliness Kills

Because I refuse to be lonely, this blog is born to keep me company.  Yeah, how’s that for a purpose? At least I wouldn’t have to ask myself why in the future.

I’m putting up Ryan’s photo as a welcome.

Is it surprising to have your first blog entry be described as empty? That’s just how this is. Devoid of content. Just as I am.

And my very first category is emo. Is that too bad? Does anybody have such? I hope I’m not the only one because that could be too embarrassing. But it’s the only way I can describe it now that I’m at a loss for words.

Devoid is not fairly fair to describe what I am. Well, there is something in me. So much, I should say. But I am still struggling to let it out. Just say I’m on transition. Yes, that’s the perfect word. Warm welcome, my TRANSITION.

Inspire me, Ryan.

Please.