How did I get so thankful to my freedom?

I am going to stop blogging here. Starting tomorrow I am going to start writing somewhere else.

For a number of reasons but mainly because I am going to make a fresh start.

And it's going to be a simple kind of life.

& then I forgot this.

What it was like to have an actual guy call.

Like talk on the phone. Not just text and to be able to have a conversation without going sexual, only light, verging on polite flirting.

I forgot what it was like. It's been so long because I don't/won't/can't answer the phone and am very selectively about who I talk to on the phone. Especially when it comes to guys.

Especially when it comes to my (potential) fuck buddies. But he called. He called me and I said fuck it, and decided to pick up, thinking he just wanted to hear my voice and make sure it was me, voice confirmation.

But it brought back memories.

And it was nice. I forgot about how nice it is. To have a guy just talk to you, no bullshit involved or before it starts and I realized this is the way it should have been, with Meaty. yeah, I admit it Mikko, and maybe this is why you logged in to see if I had any of my confessions. I didn't, because you already know how I wanted it to be with him, and then not.

But it doesn't matter, or maybe it does. Because he's still talking to me, and now we reached a point that I don't even know how to describe.

but this phone call, it reminded me so much. Of how I used to be. That girl. You know, when I was with someone. A girlfriend. A person. I've become so used to texts that are so removed from me, and then just being with a guy and not talking with him because we didn't exactly meet up to talk, that I forgot what it was like.

It's nice but I have to put it away now. It'll be another memory and I'll look back upon it as just that. Because if I allowed it to be much more than that, then it'll start to matter.

And he doesn't matter. And he won't.

But it was still nice. If only for a little while :) But I feel bad for my less fortunate friends who won't get this attention from guys because I don't know why. Either they attract the attention but are too picky, or they don't but only from guys who are not really guys but creepers, or they just get it from their ex, which is just a world of fuck up hurt waiting to happen, but they don't get it. I don't know why.

I never saw myself as particularly attractive. (Unless I'm being cocky) I mean look at me, I am overweight and still working on it when I hope I wouldn't be as much but life kinda took over and pushed away my jogging routine.

Maybe soon again when I will take it up. I have to, if I am going to be leg humping again. I want myself in the best shape possible for twisties.

I guess the point of this blog is that I have to remember what it's like being me. Completely me and happy with myself again. I forgotten that too. Was remembering. But then the schedule kicked in and I didn;t have time to be myself, to completely recovered from my last boyfriend. My ex. Yes it was short, so short of a time we were together, it seems crazy now to see how much I became attached to him. But at the time it wasn't and I let myself fall. Fall for him. Fall in love, and it hurt after the fact. Just broken hearted for a long time, and just made me really question. He said he would remembered long after I have moved on, what he didn't know is that I knew it would be the opposite. He would be with a girl first, and only mourn the relationship a few days, a week at most, and I would still be trying to get over it.

Just because I was attached, and this is why I don't like to get attached because when I do get attached, I do it (to quote my cousins) FOR REALS.

I do it FOR REALS. No half assing it. I go all the way and give over my heart, love shouldn't be half ass. Not one bit. Which is why I'm selective and chose to fuck around than date.

I say I can't date because of my parents but that's not the whole truth. It just adds to it. I really don't date because it tends to mess with my head. My heart. Am I scare? Yes. I don't want to put myself through it if I don't think the guy is worth it.

So I'll continue to fuck around and have as much fun as I can with guys and hopefully girls. I want girls. I wants lots of them. I want them to come to me, and I want to play and I want girls. But for right now, I'm going to concentrate on riding and getting through the night. Day. week.

Without remembering fuckface.

I thought I saw him today, making a turn. My heart JUMPED and I was so happy of the way I handled the truck even though my heart stopped. But then my second thought was "you're too poor to own that nice of a corvette." And I kept driving. but but but. Like any time that happens, he stayed in my mind.

He was my adoration. The love of my life. He hurt me so much that even now, some songs still reduce me to tears when I think about him.
But all I can do is toast to that fucker's fate and hope his life deteriorate daily and for one day, just once, I would like to laugh and have fate laugh with me when he sees me driving in a nice car, and before he realizes who it is, I want him to think- hot girl driving. Fucker. You thought I couldn't drive, you said so yourself, that I shouldn't drive, that I had a distracted personality, that I wouldn't be able to drive. That I was too "nervous". & I'm ashamed that I agree with you. that you would reduce my independence so much. fuck you and your shitty car, my car may not be new but it'll never break down on me like it does yours and is newer. Just wait, one day. I will get my own bike, fuck what anyone says, I will learn to ride, and you will have to owe up to the fact that you fucked up with me. OH & the reason why I have such a "distracted" personality is not because I can't control myself, oh no buddy, it's the opposite, it's because I am thinking a millions thoughts at a time.I am thinking thoughts that you can't even dream of because of your limited imagination due to your inability to have passion for anything outside of yourself and your puny paycheck and your car. Anything else in your head going on? Nope. No ambitions beyond slaving away at a crappy job for one good day of paintballing. Fucking idiot, and I'm not saying I'm better than you, but you will never understand what it's like to actually THINK. I have dozens of layered dreams, and guess what fucker? Most of them are coming true and if not, I am working on it and won't stopped till they are coming true.


YOU

Majorly fucked up. I was willing to give you everything and you knew it, and you threw it away for a little high school tramp. Fucking 15! You were 20 turning 21! Wtf were you thinking! Did she give you that good of a blow job? Was it because I was timid in giving you blow jobs? And the only reason why I was so timid was because you fucker, had a big dick. If you had given me damn time, I told you I was working on it. I never given blowjobs before you! I was a late bloomer, and only had 2 guys before you and one of them was the guy I lost my virginity to. Idiot. I was learning. Did that scare you? Knowing that I was always learning and intent on always doing so. Placing value in my education? Well, my education has gotten me to the point where the other day at work, when I ate a big banana, I got stared at. 3 stares and one guy who had to look back at me.

Yeah, I learned a few things. Fucking idiot. Your loss and I can't wait till you realized how well I did for myself. Am doing for myself.


...wow when did this turn into a rant?

X_X

Listen.

I forgot who I am.

Awake

His text hit me like a book to the head. It was a wake up call to my sleeping state.

He didn't say anything beyond YOU. Have got to stop sleeping at 3 am, and I know he meant it because he knows my schedule, and he knows how tired I am because of how much I work but but BUT I took it like a slap to the head. I am getting sloppy, and in my tight schedule, I can't afford fuckups.

No more sleeping at 3 am and if I do, it's because I finished everything or am working on my books.

No more sleeping at 3 am for other reasons, like staying up to talk to a guy I really like but won't tell.

Or staying up and talking bullshit with my friends.

No more 3 am.

No more fucking up.

I am cleaning up now.

and I have to go.

fuck that.

I'm back to being who I am :D

And who I will be.

Like I could get any worse.

I just wrote this ridiculously long, blowing off steam blog that included math, frustrations, and new selfish revelations, only to have the error message pop up after I pressed publish post button.

Thanks blogger for making my day so much better! *sacarm drips* Thank you for letting me realized how life can get so much better <_<

Pfft. I'm not rewriting it. it doesn't matter anymore because I don't give a fuck.

Just point me to the direction of the nearest stupidest, death wish I can do and let me go my way.

& Yes I am looking at you riders, who's going to take me doing 147 mph on the freeway with no gear on and just holding onto you for safety? :D


I should just let go.

Let me rephrase that.

I am okay. I don't give a fuck about guys anymore. Girls, I need to try that out but

what I hope, what I really hope. What my secret confessions are about, what I wish for

every time that I passed the railroad tracks or it's 11:11, all my desires and hopes

are for my family/friends to be happy. Their happiness. At times, it's the only thing

that keeps me going. I may be having the shittiest of days, the longest day, my heart

might be breaking all day at the sight of couples and guys who will never be mine,

walking on by, and yet it just takes one phone call. one text message. one IM. One

song sung together and suddenly I am on top of the world, and basking in their lovely

light. And I feel love and that all is right in the world because they're here, by my

side and I don't need anything else, and it gives me hope. They give me hope,they

keep me alive, and looking forward to everything, they make me want to stay.

Suddenly I have found my sweet escape. <3

. IDGAF.

Like the title says- I really don't give a fuck anymore.

And tonight was witness to that when I was driving.

There was a reason I always postpone learning to drive.

And that was because when I was 15. 16. 17. 18, I didn't trust myself not to kill myself with my car. Not to think in one suicidal moment to drive onto the freaking oncoming traffic or light post.

Well,I'm learning to drive. But the recklessness is still there.

Opps. Next time I'm not taking my mom. Sorry ma that I scared you. I forgot my mom is needed by my family still.

Dying hope.

dies.

Just kill my hope.

I'm a dreamer now and rather dream away my life than live in this life of no hope.

I will love him the only way I can and have been for years.

& damn be anyone who thinks I'm crazy for it.

This, the way I think of him and how I am not connected and still connected at the same time, it keeps me happy.

It keeps me from crying into my pillow. And damn be anyone who wants to take away that happiness.

Or the happiness of flying.

Damn it to hell, I am going to do whatever the fuck I want to do. No matter what anyone thinks.

And I start with dreaming of him and getting lost in my dreams. It's the only thing that keeps me going some days and I need it.

In the still and the chill of the night.

I remember what it was like to have heart and harbor the possibility that anything might happen.

Instead I find that I am the instigator, bringing mystery, allured, excitement to everyday life.

What am I doing? Really? What am I doing with him?


He's not for me and yet I continue this almost ridiculous Amelie game with him. Maybe I'm just jealous because I am Amelie, but he is no Nino. He will never figure out who I am and he will never find a way to play with me, like Nino did to Amelie.

I strive for this different type of life that will hold a love that utterly enchants and the only place I find it in is when I do it, and pull all of this anonymous bewildering tricks that do intrigue the person of my interest but at the same time I don't think they can give a damn. Because really who can relate to me on, who can be that person for me to create that type of love for me?

Who is the Nino to my Amelie?

No one.

It hurts.

It pains at me. I remember how magical moments seemed and I want to reach for a bottle to forget.

I'm trying to forget what they meant to me and it comes back at me and I need to forget already. I need to move the fuck on.

I'm going back to my book. That's all that's left for me to do. It's the only way I can move on with my days and get lost in the writing so I don't have to go on living with these stupid memories.

I will find love and live love, and experience it how I want to. In the pages of my books, through my characters. They will have all I never can have, and they will be beautiful.

Needs a cigarette.

Nuff' said.

It never fails.

It's always like this isn't it?

Will it always be like this for myself?

See, after all is said and done, I am still her.

That girl, and I won't forget. I can't forget. I hope to have some semblance of hope left like I lavish upon my friends, saying, there is always hope, you just have to have faith. And while I say this, I remember. I remember how they both broke my heart and while we were both going through the pain, the hurt, the anguish of breaking up, that both of you, yeah BOTH, Not Once, but twice, you both left me alone with my broken heart for me to heal all by myself, which I did (wasn't damn easy)and while both of your suffering for me was comforted. Both of you were held while you both cry out your bleeding hearts by another girl. I know this because both of you told me in our last heart wrenching bitter argument while reaching for closure conversations. Hell, it was the reason I left both of you!

How nice I remember saying to the first, to have someone to hold you when you're hurting for me, and our failed relationship. The only reason a lover stops paying attention to his love is because of another lover. And to the second, I told that I knew it already. & he assured me that it wasn't like that, that their relationship wasn't like that. That she was there to work on herself and that he was just taking care of her. But I already knew it was going to be like that eventually, and it did. And ofcourse you both went on with your life, and you both would forget about me and did just like I thought to myself, and your pain would be lessen by the comfort of having her in your life.

Like I said, how nice it must be to have someone to hold you already after we broke up. or you broke up, or you left me for her, or just left me. And you said I would forget, I would be okay because I am a strong person. But you forget who I am, you forgot how big my heart was. How I really do give myself over completely to the person I love because I believe fully in loving a person, and not halfassing it.
The second told me that I had loved him in ways that he could never imagine, and it's true, because I did.

I did and because I gave myself over so completely, sometimes it still hurts even though it's been such a long time.

I wouldn't have thought it possible either. To remember hurts like that, but when I saw what I thought was you walk right past me at work, my world stopped, and I couldn't breathe. And I realized it wasn't you and yet I nearly fell apart at work. I don't know how I kept myself in check, my eyes watered over, and I didn't cry only because I swallowed every bitter taste of hurt, and wiped furiously at my eyes to make them go away.

And then the other one, I am cruelly reminded of each Monday and Wednesday because the guy in front of me has your skin tone, and your inability to grow strong facial hair, and your hair color and mannerisms that were so dear to me.

I hate this. Is this why I dream so much of my writer, because he looks like a guy who wouldn't hurt his girl. He looks like the type of guy who wouldn't leave his girl for another, no matter how pretty, how present, how anything she is. How he really would never hurt his girl because he couldn't bear it. He looks like he would always have a kind smile at the end of day, and be forgiving, no matter how much we had argued. He looks like he knows how to actually treat a girl. He looks like the dream he is and I will never have him.

I fear I will always be that girl who was left for another.

While you two were busy being comforted by your other girls, being held while your heart cried out for me.

I did not have anyone and I still don't. No one held me while both of you hurt me because I was actually faithful because I believed in us up to the very last moment, I did. I really did and I still suffered for it. Like the song, I gave you everything I am, everything I got. But love had it's say and it wasn't for me.

why in the fuck did I have to be reminded of both of you? Why did I have to have dreams, of both of you?

Why did you both have to do the same thing in the end to me? Why? It just makes me want to give up hope and forget.

I shouldn't even be stressing about this. I shouldn't be remembering. I should forget, like you both forgot me.

There's nothing left to say, I was right, and sometimes I wish I was wrong, especially when it came to this but I know how guys can be so well that I can't help look at the reality of the situation.

And my situation is simple: I'm a dreamer now and that's all I'll ever be.

Blame it on the night.

This and my previous blog, mostly my previous blog are to blame on my dream.

Because in my dream, I was loved and treated I'm supposed to be treated and he was holding me. Holding me so tight as we slept together, going to the market with my mom, his mom, both our parents approving. Us walking, reaching for my hand.

He was holding me as we went to sleep after messing around but not having sex because we hadn't had sex because we didn't think it was important to rush it. Because we were happy just having to be in each other's arms as we slept.

And this happened before and it never fails to fuck me up. Because when I awake, I find myself waking up alone. Him gone, and the reality that I have no one who will hold me that way or the potential. And I find all my pillows surrounding me like a body behind me. I think that's why I dream of someone holding me, because somehow during the night, I am cradled by my pillows and dream of strong arms around me when I sleep to keep me happy.

And I wake to find none. It breaks my heart and I dreamt dreams like these before.

And every single time, there's nothing to do but wake up and live my life. With a guy or no guy present. I will be happy, damnit. I will be happy just being me, being selfish and will explore every adventure, and take every step.

I will not let myself become bitter, even more bitter than I am. I refused to be crushed. to be heartbroken. I refused to live a life of misery just because I can't find him, and he won't find me. And as for girls, I just want to play with them, because I don't know if I'll be able to love them. I know there is no difference. Guy or girl, but I just know I'm not ready to come out as bi to parents until I am dependent. I just know that one day I will, and today is not that day.

Today I refused to be unhappy and beaten down by this shit. By this and anything else. I am going to be happy. I am going to go after my dreams, companion or not.

I will break all the rules, and just say fuck it to the game because I play by my own rules.

I never

Midnight confessions to a guy I never met but who is always txting me, keeping me awake during the routine of work.

Me: I used guys.

And he said it was okay because he used his friend's happiness to substitute for his own.

No I don't like him. I just keep thinking about why I told him that. Because I realized it's true. Anything walking with a penis that is decent looking by my standards. I just want to fuck and fuck over? Why? I think it's simple. Every relationship I have ever been in has always ended up with the guy going for another girl. Leaving me broken, used, leaving me alone, leaving me for her. And I know I wrote about this, several times. But it's because it haunts me. It shapes me, and shapes the future of any guy I have. Even my serious crushes disappoint me. They crush me, break my heart off in little pieces because of the fact of the potential I see in us and their failure to be that guy. To want me that way. To care. Relationships break me and my crushes, along with my missed connections, they just hurt me. So what's left?

Funny. I am not the super jealous type nor the jealous type, and have not developed it by past betrayals. Maybe that's part of the problem but I never want to be the needy girlfriend and I don't think I'll have a chance to be a girlfriend. My friend says that my summer boy wasn't really a relationship because I knew it had to end. Is that going to be all my relationships now? Am I only going to be happy in a relationship where I know it has to end?

I don't know. I just know that when school kicks in, I'm going to whore it up and take comfort in my sexuality to make me feel powerful, to make me feel like I can give the finger the love because I don't need it. because every time I go looking for it, I am just starting to think, how long before he finds someone else? Before he leaves me?

And even with these letters in the mail, Amelie stunt. I hardly have faith in anything. I just want to mess around a bit and see what happens because I have nothing to lose. And I really hope that by the time IF I chose to reveal myself, that I will be driving so that at least I can get a ride.

Is that why I'm attracted to motorcycles? Because I get that feeling of all is right in the world when I am on one? That I don't need guys to be happy. that I can make my own happiness by riding? All I know is that destiny is calling me. School starts next week and I am more than looking forward to it, because like Mikko, I feel like I didn't get a break, a real vacation.

So I'm hoping fall terms kicks in and I will have time enough to fool around and maybe catch a ride or so in between the classes, the work, the homework. If I'm lucky, I'll be driving LEGALLY to school by October or November.

No real education

I'm afraid.

I'm afraid, when I should be embracing it.

I'm afraid when I should be waking up challenging it.

I'm afraid because I am coward, and this coward took a chance.

I took a chance and now I am afraid, after the fact.

I need to breathe and not be afraid because after all, he doesn't know me. He can't say anything. I am a masked zorro amelie to him right now, just a mystery, and yet I'm afraid that I will fail. Do I really want this? Do I really want him? I am not even sure but I'm taking a chance and doing it in the most odd and yet only way that I know how to do it because I know that if it happens, face to face. That him, like any other guy, would just be a missed connection. Because they always are. It is only through my writing that I grab anyone's attention, and everyone's from the look of it. But what if my writing fails me? What if...?

I don't like being afraid, especially not for and of my writing. Of this potential I know so well. And yet is the real issue here is not him, but the fact that I might, actually be afraid of reaching my own potential?

What if I reach it and it's not like I want it to be?
What if getting there, writing like this, writing everyday is where the true happiness comes from, and after the fact, after there is no happiness to be found?
What if I aim for that guy, and once I get him, I don't find happiness because I was stupid and selfish enough to love and want only the idea of him, and not the real person, just like with CP.

Is that why I'm so disinterested of late? Because I might just love the idea of things but then not really want them because I am afraid I only love the idea of them but not the actuality. What if I dont love my books after they're done? What if I go after my dreams, and don't love them in reality?

I took a chance and I need to learn to take more chances, for better or for worse, but just take chances, for me.

The write way?

Writing.

I want it all.

I've got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Time to stop being afraid and just go, go, go.

Make my dreams true. No holding back. I'm always telling people: Watch me now, you haven't seen nothing yet and it's because I know my potential and I haven't been living up to it. Haven't been living as much as I want to.

So there's nothing really for me to do but to live up to it because, really after the fact, I have nothing else to do but to grow older, so no turning back now. No growing younger. Going to ball up and do it, everything that I want to do.

It's time to let my potential go. Time to show the world what I've made of.

Watch me now.

Progress

I'm hoping. I'm really hoping that if I continue like this, that I might actually finish my book. Page 74. Yesterday I was at page 71. I have hope that if I keep writing and get back into that beautiful habit, I might be able to double my writing.

With less than 40 pages to go and a few weeks before school kicks in, the challenge is in.

<3 Hoping. I found a quote the day before yesterday of which I thought applied to me, because I am selfish like that and overestimate myself.

"There are two kinds of artists in this world: those who create to enrich their lives, and those who create to define their lives."

I know which one I am.

Books

Yes that's my third. yes, I'm quite proud of that. Yes, I realized that after everything, it's all I'll ever have. Just me and my books.

i'm sorry if I'm a little jaded but I just want to know why every guy I've ever loved, left me for her. Loved her more than me.

Oh well.

Back on track.

They can't stop me.

No matter what fate throws at me. I refused to be stopped.
I refused to be beaten down and waking up every morning, feeling hate, feeling self-pity, feeling anything but awesome at who I am. I have worked too damn hard at the person I am today in order to be reduced to being the person I was before, damnit. I refused to lead any life that I am not happy living. I don't care if I have work even more. I will do it. I will achieve my goals. I will let nothing stop me. A few bumps in the road, a few traces of the past coming along, a sense of security being shifted, will not stop me.

I will work my ass off and get my damn phone back, even if I have to pay full price. I will work my ass off and get my permit, and get my licence before the year is out. I will get the classes I need, opened or not. I will keep up exercising, including upper body workouts because this is what I need to start getting in shape, not only for myself, but for my goals of riding, both motorcycles and bicycles, and mastering how to do 4 inch heels, as well as having full confidence in myself when I aim for those guys and girls who are a league above myself with their peak physical bodies and chiseled faces out of a wet dream. I will go after them, even more than I do right now because of the fact that I deserve the best of the best, including hooksups. I will do this, damnit. I will finish my goddamn book, no matter how much it hurts me, reminds me, I am so close. 40 more odd pages and I am done with it. I will finish and I will start pitching, I will actually give my all to getting it published and if it doesn't happen, I will spend the rest of my life doing it till I am a writer. I will re-start planning for grad school. This summer is my summer now. Summer, I am reclaiming you and taking you back from fate! Fate can just watch me because she hasn't seen anything yet.

I am 23 years old, it's time for this to be my summer, no matter how much it burned and turn to ashes. I will rise up and make it my summer, whatever is left of it. Weeks left till school comes in, and I got to get ready.

I will become the person I already am, again, and even better. My summer. My life. Mine. I will do this because I know myself and I know my potential. My potential is endless. Summer better be ready, because I am going to rape these last days with my ambitions. Here I come.

Pages

Fuck you book for making me feel this.

fuck you for making taking up my mind and tearing out my heart and just splatter it all over the keyboard as I write into you.

Fuck you book for doing this to me.

I hate you book.

I love you book.

I hate you for the way you make me feel. For what you make me need and how I go out again and look for it in the empty online networks where I find lust and a glimmer of a hope for a girl and even slimmer hope for a guy.

Also fuck you to the guy walking around work who broke my heart a bit just by looking at him.

You were wearing blue jeans, a light white long sleeve dress shirt casually open and I didn't see you till you nearly passed me. What caught my eye was not your face but the fact that you were walking along. and carrying a book, an obvious norton anthology. I froze, realizing that my wet dream just walked past by me and I could do nothing about it.

My heart broke and harden a bit at work because as you left with your clean shaven jawline and neat dark brown hair, the thought that this was going to be my love life hurt me. That I will see him or her walk right past me and never notice, never take a look back, never realized that I was standing right there, less than two feet away with an equally thick book in front of me, reading at work, the only girl in the casino reading.

Will you always be my missed connection? Will I never read what words you are reading? Will you always be just a picture in my heart? Will I always seek out stumps and pretty faces to replace the hole you leave gaping because you will never look back and whenever I find you and your potential, you will just walk past me because you will never take a closer look or even care to look at me.

not much else to do but accept this reality that I am alone and only in my writing will I find happiness, along with the sound of a motorcycle because sometimes the high pitched rev of that engine gives my heart a jolt and wakes me up from the numb state that I fall into and suddenly I am alive and watching it...ride away from me.

Fuck.

& it's a holiday for a hanging, yeah.

i wrote this a couple days ago.

I was supposed to post it on OKC because I haven't updated there in awhile.

But I think it's better suited to here. But I'm not sure it makes sense because this was one of those times that I was writing at like 3 am, bleary eyed, tired, and just being overcome by raw emotion that was killing me. But I'm still alive & here it is.

    I really should be studying, sleeping, reading, relaxing. Especially after my insanely busy day. But I find myself restless and any attempts at studying for a test tomorrow for the past hour or so have been futile. So I am doing the only thing I can do that can maybe quell my mind. I am writing and since I haven't updated this journal in To quote the ideology of one of my favorite writers (Palahniuk, anyone?) When did the future go from being such a promise to a threat?
This summer was supposed to be my summer of reading and writing and just living life day to day and enjoying my family and friends as much as I can because I am going to move out of state for grad school which will be the fall after this one. Some of you are like big effin' deal, you're moving. Well to me it is because I am actually loved (friends, family) by many and they don't love me just because they have big hearts, but because I loved them right back.
I was supposed to have the type of summer that is spoken about in the movie American Beauty when Lester was talking to his neighbor about how he spent all summer working at a low paying job only making enough to buy a few LP's. He didn't care because all he did was hang out with his best friends who worked with him, and party and just lived everyday as the adventure it was. I wanted that. I wanted to go out and have fun and be cool and complete personal goals in between of it, find perhaps a summer romance if I got a chance. Something light, something fun, something just for the summer. My summer, make a little money,
I got my wish. I found a retail job, enchanting every customer coming my way and then just standing around and joking with my coworkers, my partners in crime as we people watch the hours away at work. Having fun, everything going sweet. Having bookclub meetings in between taking on the city and family meals. Writing nightly, making real progress on my third book, while enjoying greatly the work of other authors.
June came along and he came along with it. My summer romance. I was thrilled, I was lust-eyed, I was ready and knew how to play this game too well. He was much more than what I wanted. Just a really beautiful person inside and out. With blue eyes, cinnamon skin, tall, and the part that made me squee with excitement is that he's a rider, writer, and a reader. That just made me play the full game on him because I was not stopping till he became my 'summerboy' (Lady Gaga song, give it a listen and try to understand). I got what I wanted. I got my summerboy, and more importantly, I finally got a lover with a motorcycle that just made me impatient to climb on behind him. So happy just to ride with him, going nowhere on his bike because I knew that it's going to be years before I even get a chance to touch one and call it my own if I was lucky enough to be in that position to learn to ride and afford that luxury of owning one.
I felt like I could breathe, like I could let go and fly going down that freeway, risking everything, going at a 140 MPH. I could close my eyes and be complete in those minutes where the world became a blurred as we both leaned forward to push it. Because only in pushing it, could we find out that we could actually breathe. That we are alive.

hellogoodbye

Whispers hello, I miss you quite suddenly.

Turn around.

Life likes to play games.

I wrote this blog before. Too many times I've thought it. But now it's for a different person that I have in mind when I feel this.

I miss him.

I do. And it just kills me because I know he misses me too.

Would it be better if he was an asshole to me so I could forget more easily? Severe that connection?

It hurts because I know what I can do when I miss him like this. My phone is right there. He'll pick up. No matter what the time. He'll talk to me till I'm smiling into the phone.

Fuck.

I'm going to read and try to forget.

But I still miss him.

Lock N' Load.

Why Hello hello hello.

What's this?

I'm single again.

Now it hits me that I am and it hurts.

But I remember what I do with the pain. I manipulate it. Take it and change it's form with words. drinks. cigarettes. hookah. and just go right back into playing the game.

As much as I have been turning off my phone and trying to seal myself away from my social life, I can't.

I can't afford to, as much as I want to stay here, hidden, in the comfort of my room and my words, sipping wine, playing it off as fruit punch. Right. Bumming off cigarettes when I get a chance.

Today's weather is a scattering of self-hate with anger in the morning, and showers of bullshitting fake calm in the afternoon till some weather controlling satellites know as crazy friends snap me out of it or more into it.

Taking comfort in my sexuality will only bring about that confidence I need to harden my heart.

Time to refuel.

Taking comfort in my sexuality.

But I want more.

I was fine, laughing it out, laughing it off when Mikko is with me, talking to my friends, being happy, enjoying my books, loving my day and then night fell and I was reminded of how the clock tick away the hours so fast when I was on the phone with him and I missed our conversations.

I looked at your photos. I left you a comment and deleted it. I couldn't help myself. I told you a bit of what I wanted to say and then deleted my comment and I know you won't get it because you never check your notifications email, you just delete it like I do if you do check your email.

If letting go is what is good for us, then why do I put on the song that reminds me of us on repeat and sit here in front of my computer, writing, remembering, hoping to be carried away into my book and forget how my phone is silent these days like we both said it would be. If you knew me better, you would see how much pain this is giving me and how I'm trying to play it off. But you don't.

And tonight started out as being a very "So what" day, just having fun and going on being myself, same ol'Stephie, when in between texting others, I saw my phone light up out of the corner of my eye and was far enough to be able to make the familiar right number of characters on it that would have fitted your name and my heart jump. It just jump in happiness when for that one moment I thought it was you.

I thought it was you and when it was another friend of mine, my heart just drop. Just fucking stomp on it and finish the goddamn job because that false hope just hurt.

And I know if I'll call you'll answer. But seeing your facebook and how the girls that comment on their hurts too and it just finishes the job of an already broken heart because I know which ones are the ones who kissed you before and it just pushes me to leave you alone because as much as I try to think I held your heart, I wasn't the only one. Loyalty may hold no bonds with you even though you told me so many times that you're a one girl only type of guy and that you could NEVER even consider an open relationship.

And we've had our discussion about that, me going on about how it takes a special type of trust, a very insanely trust to form an open relationship but I would not considerate it, only if my partner wanted it. All our talks and how we held on as time raced by and now I'm just reminded and I want to so bad to say that 'I don't believe you...'

it looks like you've given up, you've had enough, but I want more...No I won't stop, because I just know you'll come around...right?

right?

no I don't believe you.

but it's happening. so I have to believe it.

Friends?

Sometimes I want to stop talking to you because I feel myself getting dumb down, numb down at the hopelessness of your situation.

I know that I am one of your few friends who actually care about you but must you burden me so, it's like constant 24/7 with you and I am tired. I asked you about your other friends since you have so many on facebook, knowing a 1000 people and who else were you going to invite and you invite only my social circle of friends, and only one on your part?

I fear you are leeching my friends because you can't make any of yours and I feel shitty for feeling this way because of the fact that you are a good person caught in a bad situation that has become your trap.

I was hoping the books that we read will help you and I do see progress but my patience has run out with you. I am sorry honey, but please cheer the fuck up, and start thinking positively and get up your ass for once and air out your place and you might not under the weather as you constantly are but jeez louise if I lived in your place and did not clean it like you did, I'm sure I would be constantly suffering from respiratory troubles as well.

I am angry. I am tired. I have little patience with you.

You have no idea how much you have with what little you have. I am jealous because of what little you do have, you do not take advantage of it.

If I were in your place, I would be living different lives all the time. You do not appreciate your life and I can hear you saying that there is nothing to appreciate to it but that's the problem. You are and the way you think about your life. Not your life itself.

You have no clue when was the last time I woke up and only had to take care of myself at home. I love vacations so much, traveling by myself because I wake up at the time I want to and I breathe when I realized that the only person I have to be responsible for, is myself. That is something rare for me and you have it everyday and could care less. How unfair. That is just one thing, there are so many elements to this life, to your life that you can't even appreciate even though it's right under your nose because you have not live my life or the life of someone who has to wake up every day and fight because we were born minorities, discrimination found in the face of neighbors, of entering a place like a scholarship review, a book discussion, a classroom, a gala, and knowing that the first thing people notice about you is not what you are there for, not your pretty face, not your acknowledgment as a person, but rather you are acknowledge by your race and the fact that you feel immediately that they think you do not belong there and are pity, yes fucking pitied like a lost dog because they think that you're trying, even though the majority of your race is working behind some stove or cleaning up someone else's toilets. That is labor, not the little job you so constantly bitch about which I don't get at all because seriously, you are not earning your money with the sweat off your brow. You haven't worked underneath the sun right at it's highest point. You have never worked a job that has given you calluses on your hands, you have to be constantly on your knees cleaning, and made you dog tired when you got home that you just collapse on the couch and NOT be able to get up because you are so damn sapped of everything and then you have to do it again the next day. So shut up already about it. I know what real work to bitch about is and that isn't it.

So tell me when you are complaining of having nothing to do, of being bored, do you blame me for wanting to not talk to you because of the fact that I have to try at least 6 times harder, house responsibilities riding on me, filial duties constantly at my side, work, school, and grabbing each spare minute to work on myself and hope that one day I will accomplished what fuels me. I take the blame for my patience , but honey, please for once, try to be a little considerate.

Tick Tock...

In the midst of change and thinking about major changes that will be happening in my life (riding, driving, senior year at school, grad schools, library internship, work place change, little one starting school herself)I am going to let these changes become my life. but just because the changes are happening to me doesn't mean I'm going to let them over come me and overwhelm, not anymore. In the face of change, I will make some of them myself. Making my personal goals to go parallel with them and some of these new personal goals, developments are from my part and I hope that they will keep me here and present in my life and be able to focus on the days and not just the bigger picture.

Aside from starting to jog or at least thinking about taking it up again and SOON. Like tomorrow or this week soon (it's time) I'm also starting another bookclub.

That's right another one.

No, this one won't be with my friends.

This book club is with my sister. I wrote about her before and how sometimes it feels that I don't know her anymore because sometimes I really don't. This is my effort to communicate with her and build a better connection, a better relationship with her. I don't want to leave for grad school and have an okay relationship with her. She's my sister and I should have a bond with her that is unshakable even with distances between us.

So I started a book club with her. She'll read the book first and then I'll read it, and I'm thinking of creating a small group page somewhere, just for me and her so that we can put our thoughts on it or however. I'm hoping this will work. I know she likes to read, she just doesn't do it. I have hope. I'm hoping but I'm scare this won't work. I'm scared of failing this and losing her. These are really my last days to connect with her before she gets too old and starts to disconnect from me and connect more on her friends. She's 12 now. She'll be 13 when I leave. A teenager. I don't want her to be just another sullen teen, not like me. I don't want to leave her and have her be like me. I want her to be a well adjusted person just like Tessie is for being so young and I know I had a lot to do with that but will it work again?

Moving on.

Fuck this. I woke up this morning and took a good look at myself.

I am not going to feel sorry for myself.

So what? I am stressed but I'm only making myself sick stressing more about that stress and not doing anything about it but worrying myself.

No more. I am going to do what I have to do and I will do it and I will not be wallowing in self-pity anymore.

I can do this. I know my own potential. I know my strengths and my weaknesses and I will not let my weakness overcome me, not now. Not when I'm in a crucial state of my being.

I will do what I need to be done, not because it has to be done, but for me. Because in the end, all my stress about my issues, will they benefit me and I will do it right. I will reclaim my attitude of taking over my damn world because I live it, it is my world and right now I don't like it very much. And when I get a friend, a cousin, bitching and complaining about how depress, how sad, how stress, how much they dislike their lives, I tell them: there's only one thing you can do.

And that's change it. So here we go. I'm doing this. No more poor little me's. I know how strong I am and I know my strive and what I have, I am unlimited. The only person who limits myself from achieving anything is myself, and I did that for a long time. No more. I will not limit myself for I am infinite.

July, July...

First night of the month, of my month. My birthday month. One of the months that I've been waiting on all year because it means it is summer and I am supposed to be enjoying my summer. No school, no homework, no worries till late August, and I am supposed to be happily working on my novel, and being overall cad about town with going out and having fun, misadventures with friends and such. Summer with the summer lusting.

Not this July. A day into the new month and I am not the image of what I'm supposed to be, carefree summer girl. That summer girl is gone, baby. Just gone.

I'm dying inside.

I need to be able to breathe again.

If it's not the hurt ravaging my heart, breaking it further into pieces I can't, I won't even look at to pick up, I'm numb. Numb and faking how I am every day, feeling nothing. Just numb, automatic responses on cue, and I am lying. Faking it because I am in that place where I am shocked, just numb.

But breathing, to feel any semblance of anything beyond this hurt, to break through to that I have to do something stupid or find something that will define me, if only for a few moments.

The last time I felt alive, I felt real, felt happiness, felt myself become define. I remember that too well. I don't want to remember that because it only hurts me more. It reminds me and right now I don't need to be reminded. I need to forget.


"Let's not forget ourselves, good friend. You and I were almost dead,
and he's better off for leaving, yeah he's better off for leaving..."

I fear that in a few years I will not know myself and become the living embodiment of a favorite song of mine. It's sweet to aspire to become a song in life, but it's fuck up when the song that you see yourself becoming is fucked up because it means you think you yourself are fucked up.

Fuck.

Haha, what's ironic is that if I had just stuck to doing that, I would be just fine right now.

Would I?

Better than knowing.

Should. could. would. Didn't. Don't. Won't. Must. Need. Lust. Love. Crushes. Classes. Homework. Dances. Pep Rallies. Lunchtime. Cliques. Friends. Relationships. Passion. Kisses. Embraces. Fury. Hate. Spousal Rape. Violence. Domestic Abuse. Bruises. Cuts. Bleeding. Control. Gain. Lost. Self-Inflicted harm. Drugs. Alcohol. Parties. Sleepovers. Sleep deprive.

This is high school. This isn't a drama watch on TV.

These are 14, 15, 16 years old. I've seen. I've read. I've heard. I know and now I must write. Her story. My book isn't so much about the reality of how things should be done, how situations should be handled. No one needs another book telling you how to live your life, what to do if you ever are in that place that you didn't want to be because you weren't meant to be that person. That person who could associated, described with those types of words.

Rather my book is about her. It's about him and how he loved her from afar and never came near her, couldn't save her from herself or her abuser, who was his brother. About how they grew up into people and the lives they had before them planned gone with the innocence of their sheltered lives.

Welcome to their reality, their lives, although if you saw them on the street, in your neighborhood, in the market, you would think, oh dumb kids, always getting in the way when trying to be adults. They didn't want to be adults. They didn't want to know the meaning of ugly words that became their lives. Those dumb kids, well they survived, which was more than what anyone expected of them, including themselves after what they went through.

Chances gone by.

I'm sorry for every meal we will never eat together.
I'm sorry for every bite of chocolate, popcorn, cherries, grapes, finger food that you would never get a chance to feed me.
I'm sorry for not being able to shared another ice cream with you.
I'm sorry for the hugs I will never get to give you.
I'm sorry for all the times that you won't get to embrace me and hold me strong in your arms.
I'm sorry for every time that you won't be able to run your fingers through my hair. I'm sorry for the mornings we won't wake up together.
I'm sorry for the nights we won't end up together. I'm sorry for missing the phone calls, the texts, the emails, the comments on our social pages that we won't get a chance to miss.
I'm sorry for never seeing all the places we would have lived in together.
I'm sorry for all the plants we will never have a chance to kill unintentionally as learn to take care of our garden.
I'm sorry for missing the pets we won't have that we would have called our children before we might have had children.
I'm sorry for not being able to be there at every birthday, holiday, anniversary year after year, and watch us age together.
I'm sorry for all the gossip you will never be able to bring home to me.
I'm sorry for never being able to come home to you.
I'm sorry for not being able to share another eskimo kiss, a butterfly kiss, a warm kiss, a french kiss, a neck kiss, a brow kiss, a kiss on the cheek, and all the types of kisses we will never share.
I'm sorry for all the miss kisses they would never have the chance not to share.
I'm sorry for all the songs we won't get to hear together.
I'm sorry for not having the chance to serenade you playfully and have you sing to me endearingly.
I'm sorry for all the fun dates and the so-so okay dates we won't get a chance to go out on.
I'm sorry for the walks, the bike rides, the drives that we'll never take together. I'm sorry for the road trips, vacations, weekend getaways that will never be planned. I'm sorry for the times when I would see you show up at my door to come see me, just me.
I'm sorry for never being able to have never-ending conversations about nothing in particular at all.
I'm sorry for missing out on the passion that fueled our kisses and made us see sparks in each other.
I'm sorry for never being able to hear your tone of voice just after you woke up.
I'm sorry for every time I will never get another chance to look into your eyes as you look into mine.
I'm sorry for not being able to touch at your dimple as you smiled even more widely at me so I could be able to feel it.
I'm sorry for not being able to kiss your dimple, and every little freckle of yours.
I'm sorry for not watching another movie with you.
I'm sorry for not being able to get to know you better.
I'm sorry for all the questions, the habits, the dreams, the person that I am that you will never get to know.
I'm sorry for all the times I will never get to cup your face in my hands.
I'm sorry for the times you will never get a chance to hold me.
I'm sorry for never being able to hold your hand.
I'm sorry for all the I Love You's that would never be said, murmur, whispered, shared together.
I'm sorry for missing out on the love we were going to have.
I'm sorry for all the memories we will never have.

Hope dangles on a string, like slow-spinning redemption..

So today's SofD was Vindicated by Dashboard Confessional for many reasons, reasons close to me, reasons I already wrote about to someone else to clear myself and just put them down concrete. I'm okay now since I have made peace with myself but while I was mopping and just going on about my day while listening to that song, I realized that I hadn't heard that song in a long long time and while I was singing it softly to myself it reminded me.

The problem with memories is that it always brings a sense a nostalgia, a yearning that I can't shake away because I do remember.

And unexpectedly who was on my mind wasn't even a real person.

I remembered how I used to listen to that song, hours after hours on repeat, and who I was when I used to listen to that and more importantly what I was writing.

And for a moment today I was reconnected with that person I was, that writer, writing her first book. When I wrote that first book, those characters of mine who are both extensions and not of myself. Those characters that I spent so much time on and who still linger on my mind, who I can see so clearly even though I haven't touch the first book in years and I think it is time. Time to get back to my writing, not just what my current work, but my past ones too, and to move on and start writing that fourth book, and the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh, and the eighth too.

My writing needs me. My book needs me. I expect so much of myself, so many books to write and I think about it with a sense of peace that I rarely get when thinking about anything else. My writing, it's what I do. If I don't have my writing, I have nothing. I am nothing. I am just another person going through the motions of life, and I don't feel like I'm reaching for anything if I don't have my writing, but I do have it.

It is passion and while there are other types of passion which has kept me away from my writing, it didn't really. I chose to step away from my writing and now that I have lived outside of my books, have experience a different type of passion, still experiencing, I am ready to go back to my writing like before, to my readings, to my life, and the working on myself to be that person I know I am meant to be. I will make my dreams a reality. I feel it and along the way I will reconnected with the old writing and prepare to work on the new.

...

I can't even write it here.

Maybe I do need a new blog place.

Really life?

Now tonight was just fuck up.

Fuck you very much life.
I love you but I could have done without that fucktardary.

Just breathe.

So I did it, and as soon as I did it, I removed it from my facebook so no one could comment on it but they can still see it on their newsfeed even though it's not in mine anymore.

I don't want anyone to comment on it. I don't want anyone to notice it. I don't want anyone to question me about it but at the same time, I want to be a bit truthful with it, just thought I would put it out there and change it and see if he would noticed it, even though I know he won't changed his for the same reason I don't advertise my changed relationship status on facebook.

Because he knows, like I know, if we do make that changed, the questions, the need to know from our friends and family would be endless and we're not at that point. I don't know if we'll reach that point, I'm not thinking that far ahead. These days, I'm not even thinking, all I'm doing is feeling and not all of it is good, but even when it's bad, and it's hurting me, I rather feel than not feel. I rather not fall back into that state of uncaring, of numbness, of not being able to do anything because I pretended so hard that I didn't need it. Didn't need a heart, didn't need romantic love, didn't need any of that, that I can reach my self-actualizations and this idea of a person of who I am to be, of reaching my potential all by myself because it was better that way. But. He. Reminds. Me.

He reminds me of how intoxicating beautifully it can be. The feelings that I have held back in reserve, ignoring, pretending, not caring, all come up with such an intensity that I am enveloped in emotions I can't control but wash over so gently that it becomes a comfort, even though he is 'officially' gone. But even though he is, he's still here to me, for me, and he keeps calling me back again and every time I answer, I'm not thinking anymore, I am emotions in form of a person.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore and that's okay. I'm coming to terms with it. Coming to terms with him, with his past, with my past, with everything, and right now I just need to find that balance that will make me feel complete, not just in this, but in my writing, in my dreams, and I will be a form of potential that I thought I couldn't reach because I wasn't being love and now I am.

And because of it, I know what I can do now. I can write that novel that I couldn't write back in November because I felt like a charlatan writing a summer romance novel when my heart was dead. My heart isn't dead anymore, but I'm afraid still to tell him, to have him read how much my past meant to me, and I'm not talking about my ex.

I'm talking about that writer and how he touched me with his words and how much he means to me and how everytime I write I feel closer to him. How certain songs remind me of him and just makes me look back at that photo he sent me of him and that one of us, and I'm reminded of my second novel, SR, and how if I open it, I will see how I yearned to be another person and how much I worked to stand out, just stand out and hoped to make myself shine in his eyes as more than a reader, so he could acknowledge me as a writer and even as I write this, I start thinking about my third novel, of which I am full of hope for and I want to write in it, no matter how ugly it is to write it, how ugly it makes me feel because of the subject of it, and I want to write in it to make myself feel complete and to make him aware of just who I am.

I want to breathe in the ocean air and know that one day maybe. Hope alive, and hope burns. And my heart beats again and I hope, and with that hope I love.

=/

Fast forward to midmorning after my realization that love isn't a mistake. It never is, just the situation is fucked up a bit. But that's okay. because I realized that for as much as I cared about him and the way I adore him and know he adores me, that I do need to get my life together. To let it fall apart completely in whatever our relationship was to each other and just let it come apart so I can rebuild new.

For as much as I fear disattachment and hate the feeling I get of loneliness for which he always takes away with simply one text, I do have to disattached myself from him. Now preferably because if I don't, it will just hurt the longer I hold onto it.

And I know myself, I know my potential, not only to other elements of my life, but to love, I know my potential and my potential is endless and I can really hold onto every bit and make him feel like he's not further away than around the corner, even though he will be living more than a thousand miles away because I pay attention. I give my full attention to love and that's dangerous because of the sacrifices I make for it.

And I don't know what to do. I know what I should do and yet I'm following my heart, and not doing it.

Thinking. Feelings. I need a mediator for my head and my heart.

Is it?

Lust can be a mistake, over and over and over. We make mistakes based on lusts and bodily urges that are fleeting and disappear once our satisfaction is attained.

But as I wandered in between the market aisle this morning, somewhere between the soaps and laundry detergents sections I realized that love, love can never be a mistake. The situation may be all types of messed up but the love itself isn't a mistake and never will be.

This he said to me.

Or rather what I said to him last night on the phone.

Was it another mistake?

It seems like I'm doing everything right, going along the correct path for everything else in my life, except for this, for him.

What I said only attached me closer to him when I should be focusing on disattaching myself because my nature boy is gone.

If that is my mistake, and I am going to continue making these mistakes.

Then, at this point all I can say is so be it.

is it stupid

that I wore my hair today like he likes it, in a million tiny curls at the edges? Wore it and that summer dress he loved and that confused him for most of the day?

is it stupid that I wore my hair like that and every time I passed a mirror I thought, if he was here he would loved this. Just adore it because he couldn't stop playing with my hair and keep himself from kissing my hair, my forehead, and I hate that I wore it like this today and I hate that I have to remind myself that he's not here.

I feel his absence and i need to get used to that and go back to being just me.

Just Let it sink in, it's all over me.

I want to run away.

It just hurts. I'm numb. Dead. Inside. And I know better than anyone that I shouldn't be feeling this way. I didn't think it was possible to feel this way again but the familiar numbness is back and everything that is coming at me, it's just coming at me waterdown because I'm not getting it.

I don't get the point of anything at this moment. My mom tells me stories, chatting, gossip, Sammie trying to teach me to fingerboard, my friends telling me of their days, and somehow it doesn't come through.

"Oh, that's nice."

"Oh that's sweet."

"Well that's good."

"Yeah. Cool."

And I'm hoping that they will believe my disinterest. Even my library job, such wonderful opportunity I got, finally going to dip my toes into my field, been waiting on this for years. And it brought me just momentary excitement. Maybe because I know that it was in due time coming to me that I expected it. But I expected to be radiant about it. It happened so quickly, as apparently everything else does with me these days.

And so did he. Too quickly and yet he's still here even though he's gone. And I'm afraid, scare really because even though I only knew him for such a short time, I know him on some levels. Know what type of guy he is and how girls get attached to that very very easily.

Like I did. I just looked at his facebook, which I shouldn't do. And I saw that two of his ex's just said hi to him and it hurts because I want him to myself.

And it just makes me realized how stupid I'm being. How selfish I can be.
How I want him and then don't. How I claim to be non jealous and usually am because I've learned to let go of that for the most part. I had to in the past but with him, I see them and I can't understand why he would pay attention to me. Why did he pick me?

I just want him right now. I don't know anymore. I know I shouldn't be wanting him. I know I should start dis-attaching myself. Start letting him go because it'll only hurt more in the end but I don't want to. It hurts just thinking of myself that way. Thinking of not replying back. of sending him back a cold letter saying goodbye. Faking non interest to hurt him, to make sure he goes away for his own good. I can't picture myself becoming distant and yet I should. I know I should. There are so many things I should do. My books, writing, editing, querying. My readings, summer readings. Studying for my permits. Researching grad schools and setting up my fall schedule already for this semester, as well as taking care of my book-club, friends, birthdays. so much to do and yet I can't concentrate because I don't care. I really don't care. I just want him to come back to me. Just to hold me again. Hold my hand, squeeze it like he meant never to let go but I know. I know. I should but I don't. I can't express myself, I don't care. I just keep hearing those same lyrics echo...

"If I'm strong enough, I will give you up. And If I stay away, you'll find the girl who'll make you great. A girl more like you..."

I just hope I'll hold a special place with the rest of them. But I doubt.

I really doubt.

I'll just be another girl saved in his photos even though I really tried to avoid taking pictures of us together because I know how short a time 'us' are supposed to be. I took one picture of me and him and you can't even tell it's us that much since it's so dark but I can't deny the fact that I stare at it and wonder how it could be that me and him actually happened to become an us.

I need to let go of that.

It has to be just me being me and him being him, now that he's gone.

He's gone. I can't. I can't I can't I can't allow myself to dream.

It just hurts. And now he's not calling me. And I need to take that in as my reality. That he isn't and he won't. And I will resist the urge, no matter how great to pick up the phone and say hello.

How the hell did this happen?!?!?! It was only two/three weeks. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Oh I know how this happened.

He held my hand.

:(

What I need

I'm everywhere at this moment.

All I really know for sure right now is that it's affecting me more than I thought it would.

I tried to play it off cool

as being relieved.

as just wanting to get laid.

as just being friends.

as just another cool person.

As anything else but for how i really felt.

And I don't understand.

How it happened.

How I can be singing again sad songs and taking comfort in their truths because it applies to me.

How I can feel so stupid for being so stupid and allowing myself to fall when I told myself I wouldn't. But then he came along.

Stupid. Just stupid. falling for someone like this. And I know I'm going to be singing more songs softly to myself as the days come along in hope of comfort and remembering and hoping that I'll forget because I know that he will. And I have to prepare myself for that. Because as much as I want to believe him.

I can't. I won't remind him either of me.

I don't want to remind him.

I don't want this hope. This hope which only hurts.

-_- it hurts.

Will he hold your tiny face in your hands?

I keep trying to write and it's not coming out.

I want to write about him.

Want to be able to express what I feel in words.

And I can't.

And I know why I can't.

It's because I can't let go.

I don't want to let go.

I don't want to say goodbye.

Not yet. And I really don't have to. But I know. I know what I should do. For my own damn good. But I don't care if it's for my own good or not. I just want. want want want. Want time to be kinder. Want to steal time. Want to really get to know him before I let go. I am not ready to let go and yet I have to be. C'est la vie and I can't do anything about it. BUT

To answer my title question, yes he did.

He held my face in his hands. Many, many times, countless times. Just such vibrant memories of it, of him doing it. And knowing that is all I'll have now.

Just memories, turning bittersweet in time as the pain kicks in.

It was crazy. Insanely different, fast, just wow. Took my breath away. I didn't realized how it could be.

But it just was. It was just being.

Being me. Being him. Being together.

And now we will just be. Be us. Be apart. Back to being not together. Back to him being just him. And I'll just be me. It'll be just me.

but like the song lyric echoes in my mind, "yeah you're better off for leaving. You're better off for leaving..."

It's my mantra. What I keep telling myself. That he is better off for leaving. Not because I want him to but he is. He'll be a better person without me, he'll be able to find that person meant just for him. I would have ruined it anyway. It's better this way.

And if it's not one song, it's another which haunts me. Acoustic version of it right now, I can't stand the angry original one right now.

"If I'm strong enough, I will give you up, and if I stay away, you'll find the girl who'll make you great. A girl who will make you great. A girl more like you."

Who won't be me.

"So why did you have to go and pick me when you knew we were different completely?"

It just all comes back full circle, doesn't it?

I need

to write about him. My lover. My summerboy. My... 2nd boyfriend. Soon to be ex boyfriend by mutual agreement.

It wasn't for long, not long at all but these past few weeks have felt like I could have been months with him. Such intensity that mixed with our passion and concentration of each other and our temporary serious relationships has me into a whirlwind. BUT

I can't write about this now. Not because it's not the time. I should be.

But because I don't have time for it >_>

BOO.

& I really need to write about him.

But if I do then I might miss you, babe.

unexpectedly found myself wanting to lose the game.

Guess he wants to play.

He wants to play our lovegame.

Don't think too much...

Just one thing.

reality

I miss my grandma.

:(

Why did she have to die?

I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. This isn't helping. I miss her. She understood me. She didn't need to define me. She didn't need to control me. She didn't need to do anything, to advised me, because she knew me. She knew me in the way that she knew who I was and the potential I had, have, to be this person, without needing to change me. She knew that what I was doing was the right choice by me, no matter anyone else's opinion on it. Herself included. She loved me. I still love her. I miss you grandma. I wish so much. I love you. I miss you.

Prompt

This post was partly prompted by Mikko's own post of charm.

How he wrote that some people have it and others don't. Simple to it, nothing more.

I don't know why he wrote that post but I have an inkling. But either way it made me think, made me reflect, made me analyzed. I may be a copycat in some ways but sometimes it's just my own way of trying to share my side of the story.

Charm. Such a small one syllable word. A word when used in describing someone tells alot about them.

I have been described by this word, many times. But only in recent years.

I have blossomed into a person, a personality, a perspective that I yearned for when I was younger, in my middle school years. When I was 11,12,13, 14. My most awkward years when I was painfully aware of just what type of person was I. Charming wasn't it.

I dreamed of a better self in those days. Dream of myself as being a charming beautiful woman who everyone adored, who everyone wanted, who everyone thought she was just the bee's knees. Always on the go, always having fun, always lovely, her social calendar full and yet she still made time for people.

I think I have accomplished that. To a point. I know there are other aspects I have to improve on myself to become that ultimate dream of myself as a person since I was young but I won't fully be able to be that person till I am independent. But right now, I am as closest I will be to that person, personality wise, while still being dependent. (Physically, I need to keep working but that's on hold till I feel 100% healthy)

I think I have accomplished that because of the fact that my social awkwardness. Well, it's gone. Nearly. I realized that I will never be that girl who sat alone at lunch anymore. That I will not be that girl who takes herself to the movies or to eat with only her book for company. I do not have to do that. Unless I want it to be that way.

Because now I will always have no end of friends to join me. All I have to say is I want to go here, who's coming and look there's one, two, three, hell sometimes as many as four or five people coming along. And sometimes I know there would be more if our schedules were all so delicious free.

I became that type of girl that I was so jealous of in High school & middle school. That type of girl who made making friends look so easily. Who was always so loud, so overly energetic, so awesome, so perfect.

I am not perfect. I never will be. But in ever other aspect I have become that girl. Too loud, too much energy, too easily befriending people.

I didn't realized that I had become this person but I still remember what it was like to not be this person.

To sit by myself at lunch and not by choice. To crave that whoever would just talk to me.

I sit back and look at myself and just shake my head in amazement at the fact that I do have quite a social circle, even though I say I do not. But it's not a lie anymore. I do have friends who care about me. Who keep me company, no matter how sick or lonely I feel and who I try to take care of to the best of my abilities.

And now I think I just made a new one. Sure it's a guy. It's always a guy with me is what I find these days.

But I think that it's not going to be romantic or sexual. I admit to the fact that he did ask me out. Despite the beliefs of my friends who say he likes me in that way. I doubt. I really doubt and trying to see things truthfully. Looking at it from my side, I see him as someone who could teach me how to ride...A motorcycle that is. But also as a new friend because he isn't from around here and that sucks, being the new kid. Not knowing anyone, not hanging out with anyone. But it's the beauty of it too. Making those new connections. New friends.

Finding out life and what's the city is all about and the people in it. Welcoming the
experience and leaving the place a different person, a different mindset. With the ability to see oneself's potential and direction much more clearly in life. Which is why I love traveling.

So despite whatever my friend's tongues have to wag and wager upon that he likes me in that way, I will not believe it till it is confirmed from him but I will also not delude myself into putting expectations. I will have a friend, a friend new to town, a friend who happens to be a rider,and kind to me but that's it. Que sera sera.

And in the meantime I will concentrate on my goals and ambitions. On being the best person that I can be. Relationship or not, I will define my life and live it the way that makes me happiest and in the manner of living out and being the best person who I can be.

Anyone would do tonight.

Self doubts, nostalgia, and failure have been plaguing me all day.

It started with the failure of a little thing known as an instruction permit test. For which I am supposed to be studying for in order to get my instruction permit so I can get my licence so I can drive and taste a little bit more of that freedom that I crave so much.

Failure wasn't possible for me and it happened. I don't know why I wasn't able to get it. I don't know why I failed. I read it. I studied. Failure is not an option but it brought me back to the reality of myself.

That I can fail. That I am not perfect. And with that, today came to me in the form of unhappiness and yearning because I woke up with him in my mind, another dream of him. Another dream where he is still with me and we are happy, and just joyfully being us. And I need to come to terms with it. I hate dreaming of him because it reminds me of how painful my reality it is. How unbearable is the fact that no one in the whole goddamn world calls me their sweetheart.

I was lonely for a relationship. It entered my being and surrounded me, engulf me in it's draining emotions, and I try to forget. Try so hard to forget how it felt to be happy in a relationship. And ended up trying in the wrong place. In my sanctuary. In my hammock with a book in my lap, swinging softly in the breeze. Knowing that no one would interrupt me.

Big Mistake. I remembered how one magically night years ago when I didn't realized that it was magic but just plain seducing, I dared. My sense of risking it all not having gone anywhere. I did risk it.

I was reading there one summer evening, being all of myself at at age 18 turning 19, I thought I had the world in my hands. I felt beautiful, school was out, I had a summer job, and my first boyfriend who I hadn't at that point have sex with yet because he was a virgin and I was playing out to see if he was really mine to keep in a relationship. Seeing if he like me for me, and not for my body.

It was one of those hot sticky but windy nights where everything feels wet. My uncle had just moved from Seattle and was currently living with us. It was because of this that I took this risk. Such a huge risk. He was sleeping in the living room till he found his own place, so I knew that once my parents had retired to their room, they would not come out again.

By this point because of my work hours, I would make it a habit to read late into the night on the hammock, deliciously enjoying a book under the desert sky. My parents never suspected anything that when my boyfriend got out of work at 11:30 (I still remember) that I called him. I called him and told him to come over. He did, riding his bike from his work to my house since he didn't have his car yet. I snuck him through the side gate in my backyard.

Everyone has stories, memories, of lovely romantic, star dazzling evenings in their relationships of how they were wined and dine, taken dancing, frolicking on the beach, just beautiful romance days that are remembered sweetly with a sadness if the relationship ended or a secret smile of knowing, of appreciation if the relationship was still alive but with a different kind of passion fueling it.

But what they tell you is not the full story. They just tell you, it was one of the most romantic nights in my life. And they expect you to understand, to feel what it was to be them on that night and be treated by a person so wonderfully that the word enchanting meant what it meant.

My night didn't involve money. Didn't involve going out. It didn't involve music or food or entertainment. What it did involved was a summer dress used as PJs because it was becoming frayed, the smell of fast food in the air coming from his uniform. The giggles of a girl high on happiness as she watched her first boyfriend distractedly looking around, being a nervous wreck because if they were caught, who knew what the consequences were except for that they were bad, very bad.

The coaxing of shy murmurings to climb into the hammock, to take off his shoes, to take off his work shirt, and climb in with me on the woven fabric. His smile so boyish still, his eyes reflecting the same level of mischievousness that was felt because we were old enough to have an adult relationship and feel the seriousness of each other, and yet young enough to still feel like teenagers rebelling with that night.

What surprise me was how little he knew and how I opened up his world. He had never even been on a hammock before, much less the luxury that was mine. A stolen hammock, different, sturdy from the ones that are seen in ads because it is durable, more like swinging on a thick mat than the image of strings woven together that are so often brought to mind.

He didn't even know how to get into one, how to climb in one. I had to stop the hammock, get out, show him how I climb in or else he would have tipped us both over with his crazy legs trying to jump in. Trying to be quiet and stifle laughter at his naive, and hiding the bit of shock that it gave me.

I settled myself into it first, getting comfortable with my book, lazing around, and caught him staring, looking me up and down, watching how he blush by the faint light of the moon as he realized I caught him checking me out. I smiled and beckoned. He climb in so slowly, afraid to disturb the illusion I had created, the aura changing from playfulness and giggles to one of unmistakable desire, unsaid feelings of love, and a thin layer of fear of taking a risk with each other's hearts.

I don't even think we talk much beyond idle chatter of how our days were. Soon the talking stop and the soft kissing and whispered conversations cut in by the inability to stop tracing each other's body due to our urges. Minutes. Hours. Nearly the whole night was spent with each other in that hammock, swinging, moving, murmuring silly notions, kissing, revealing new things about each other that we didn't know before. Lovely, beautiful, desire, passion, love, yes love, form our connection that night and when he left, well past 4 in the morning, I could have cried because I wanted him back. I wanted the night to be young again. I wanted him and me in the hammock, an ignored book between us. I wanted my fingers tracing the outline of his collarbone, wanted him showering me with those warm kisses everywhere on my face, behind my ears. And it wasn't just about lust. It was so much more than that. For the longest time it really was just that feeling of 'holding hands'.

It was about wanting to feel loved and know that I was. That in the night, there was nothing else between us. It was just us, him on my mind, and I on his mind only. No one was more important, nothing else matter. We were all that we needed or care for. He was really my everything and I was his everything.

I was. He was.

And today I was no one's everything. Not even close. All I can hope is to not be forgotten. To be someone's tonight and let them be my tonight. All this came back to me because I went outside to deal with my moodiness, the restlessness I felt at myself for being so stupid. For not passing that test.

And on that hammock, I closed my eyes and heard the way the wood groan softly as I swung from side to side, and I could almost feel him right there next to me, I could see him. And it hurt because I knew that unlike that night, if I open my eyes there would no one there. No missed phone calls from that special person, no texts, no voice mails, nothing for me because no one was thinking of me in terms of being their everything.

I did what I always do. Even back in high school, middle school when the waves of loneliness, of . I push the feelings as far away as I could and read obsessively so I could forget. I could forget my own reality. My own pain. I could forget my own personal demons.

All I can think of now is that I need to write. Or read. Maybe the knock the fuck out with a sleeping pill or two. It's always better in the morning and besides I have to live up to my own philosophisy anyway.

Because I do relate to absent people than build relationships with those around me.

Not that it's by choice. And it will be better in the morning.

It has to be.

there's something about

the sweet roar of a motorcycle engine when it is being rev up that just makes my heart race and my head turn so quick that as I strain to locate the sound.

I don't understand it but I don't question this attraction to it that just makes me get up out of my seat and get going.

It's crazy. And I love it.

Is this another way to self actualized?

I don't know. But I can't deny it any more. It's not like I have to be born liking something in order for me to like it. So yes, it's a new infatuation. One I've denied because of the remaining shreds of traditionalism I've had.

But now, all I want to do is fly. Nothing is going to stop me. Especially not myself. Not going to happen tomorrow. Or a week from now. But one day, I will, and in the meantime I will take that motivation and put it to use, and do things my way. Happiness comes whichever way :)

Of friendships and relationships

I am trying to understand. Really I am, but you must understand me too.

I didn't see myself becoming this person, this social butterfly where, wow oh wow, my phone is going off, and suddenly, I am invited by everyone and their mama to go places, not to forget about my own family social duties and my own agenda. I mean how much of a social life can I have?

Much more than I thought I would ever have. And these people, they care about me. They love me. I love them back. I really do have a circle of friends and I adore it.

BUT I realized that you don't.

And because of that, you spend most of your days alone, and here I am, some days, some nights, I get the hour or two before bed to myself and I think I need more me time because I am not getting my writing done. So please try to understand and not take it personal when I turn you down. We are friends, not a relationship. Thank you.

Ahem

Excuse me, excuse me. Excuse me!

EXCUSE ME!

He has officially invaded my psyche.

Fuck.

I dream of him. And it was beautiful.

He didn't start out in it, rather it was me and my little asian princess, my Nessarini and I in a larger version of her house, and we went out to ride around in the midwest apparently, nothing but fields of grass on both sides of the lone ride. But then, I don't know how, in the miles of switching driving back and forth, there was Mikko and Tessie, and that dork in the backseat. And we wound up eating at a restauran, and it was sweet until we left, and Nessa and I ditch everyone, making them walked back to the house.

Once inside the house, Nessa went into a different room and never came out. I look into the telescope and found Mikko and Tessie out on the road still walking.

Then that dork showed up. No shirt on. Apparently he was sick and we were somehow in the same bathroom, me hyperventing, on the verge of being sick, and him being sick with the shits. Eww. I know, and we were sharing a bathroom, and by the time we got cleaned up, somehow we ended ditching most of our clothes. Go figure. From the shits to sex. Only in my dreams and only in reality because people are disgusting like that, haha.

We wound up in this very long living room, and I was still heaving a bit and he was talking to me and I couldn't hear him over my dry heaves. He came closer and I stopped heaving long enough for him to say sarcastically, now that was a good breakfast, and for me to respond, oh Yeah! It's not like it was going to be give up food poisoning or anything.

We laugh and then we wound up having a near hump fest, making out against the wall, luscious lips and wandering hands which stop my heaving and made me blush, and then we stopped the hump fest. We stop because he and I became aware of the fact that we were holding hands. He was holding my left hand with the freckle because I kept staring at the freckle and thinking, he is not holding my hand, it doesn't mean anything, it doesn't matter, it was an accident, I'll just let go and we can go back to messing around, and I did it. I let go of his hand and took it away and he just smiled with an expression of playfulness on his face, and took my hand again. I let go and move it and every time he would grab it, no matter how much I tried to squirm out of it. And every time he would grab a hold of it, he would peck me on the cheek, my neck. He must have done this a dozen times without a word between us and I finally stopped squirming out of his hand holding and I smile like one can only smile in dreams, so bright that it shone up the room. I radiated, could see our own aura like that in the sims2 when you reach your 'zone'. And he kissed me, one of those long kisses that happens in movies that just make you swoon and he dipped me. And I was happy.

And I woke up.

Damnit I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep to that dream.

I know that nothing will happen between me and dork because it has become clear, and yet my psyche shows that even though try as I might detached myself from this silly crush I have on him, that I'm still yearning for this. Not the sex. Not the hump fest. Not the dating part of going out. Or being given gifts. because apparently what I really want is just

holding his hand.

Looking at the brightside.

It's never me.

This was how I felt in high school. Middle school.

Had that crush on that special guy, watch him all year, wanting him, liking him, even though I didn't know him, memorizing the few words he said to me, memories of my happiness shining so bright at the fact that he acknowledged me. That he spoke to me, that he was nice, and that maybe he did noticed me but he didn't want to admit that he liked me because I wasn't like the other girls. Never was. But that was okay, I kept dreaming of the day that he wouldn't care, him and any other guy after I had a crush on. That, maybe for once they would noticed the slightly pudgy but pretty girl who definitely was a brain, and didn't care for the social effects of it. That he wanted her, wanted me, and that was all he cared about.

It never happened. So many times my dreams would be shattered in front of my own eyes, me chatting with a girl in class and see it happened right before my eyes. The guy would come over and I would get butterflies and then he would approached my classmate. And asked her out right in front of me.

I became nothing more than furniture right then, invisible, not acknowledging the fact that although they were flirting, playing, over a few feet was a girl who's hopes were crush by her crush.

And it's still the same. Nothing has changed.

It's shoved in my face, right there. So clear to see that I am invisible.

That he will chose her over me. Has chosen her over me. This crush of mine, so silly. I should have never crush on him in the first place, because I predicted this.

I thought why should I bother? Sure his texts make me smile but since that's all he does, it won't go further, especially since he hasn't hinted at meeting up, but I have patience. Besides there's no one else out there, but I knew the way he (didn't) text me that he wasn't attracted to me.

I knew it.

And now he has all but admitted he likes someone via facebook. And guess who it is? I don't know but I can tell you who it isn't. Me.

But that's okay. No, really it's okay because it's when reality hits a bit closer to home that I tend to lose myself in my writing, in my dreams, in my relating to absent people than those around me.

I'll be fine. I just should have known better. I'll smile when he gets in a relationship and think 'good for him!' Good for her! I hope they're happy because I am. I am and will be happy with myself. I will not fall into the thought that a relationship will be the answer to my problems. It's just temporarily loneliness. And that temporarily loneliness I will used to my advantage. I will used it in my writing. I will give my pain to my characters and they will be complete with it, and after I finish writing, I will be content with myself and smile at what I have done.

Most of the time. But some of the time, it's not that bad really, I'm just letting it out so that I can let in the new, the self-actualizations, the happiness, so I can remember how

Destiny calls me.

And how destiny will have to come after me because I will be too busy, too fast, too much of everything involved in my life to making it the happiest I can make it that destiny and my dreams will have to catch to me. Because there's nothing else I can do but make the best possible life for myself and enjoy it. Enjoy my destiny, enjoy my living in the moment, just face it, and live it. Do it.

And when I see those couples, when I hear those songs, when I see those updates, and it hurts. All I have to do is grin and bear it, and remember how I am me, and I am an amazing person, and that they have made their choice, and it isn't me, so good luck to them, bravo, and I will do just fine.

Mr. Brightside-The Killers.

When he came along.

Thank you to the black color Kawasaki bike rider who decided to ride by my house and turn at the corner.

You will never be aware of this but at the moment you decided to cruise on down by my house, there was a young woman who despite her early morning and quick jog, was still feeling the blues from the late night before. She was, at the moment, curl up in a fetal position in her bed, hugging close her only source of comfort, her old raggedy teddy bear, not having the motivation to get up to get her day started, to even eat.

She was feeling sorry for herself, overthinking and bullshitting herself into believing that she will never amount to do anything. Never make her dreams come true, and she felt ugly. She was telling herself, no wonder why no one wanted to date her, she was UGLY. Unattractive, and no man would want her, she was lucky to be in a relationship, but like anything else she did, she told herself, it turn to shit, and everything else would turn to shit that she tried and that just for the moment she was fooling herself into believing that she was doing anything worthwhile to her life.

This and a million other negative thoughts were going through her mind.
Then she heard the sound of the engine, it cut through her, and in that moment, she had to see it.

To see something so beautiful, so full of meaning to her. It brought her out of her slump. (And yes I am referring to myself in the third person haha.)

It brought her out, because cruising by, she didn't just see a guy on a motorcycle turning the corner. She saw her freedom in the way he lean towards the corner. She her independence, her confidence, riding on the seat. How if she could learn to do that, she could be beautiful in the sense of not only fully trusting herself to be able to do anything, but also confident enough to take on the world.

It was a promise she made to herself, not to be scared of anything. To fulfill her potential, and to not keep her desires a secret anymore. It was more about her being herself, than just the fact that the rider might be cute. It was about a hobby, and a form of self expression to the world, not that she was a badass for doing this, she didn't think of herself that way (really she didn't.) It was just her, she wanted to know. She wanted to ride, she wanted to be more of herself, and find herself and her self-actualizations through her metal wet dream, her future in form of a motorcycle. It was about herself. About doing things she only dream of, of making herself happy, make her dreams, her reality, and not letting anyone telling her that she couldn't (he was such an idiot in that sense for telling her own limits to her) and not letting herself stop herself.

About being knowing herself enough to be able to reach her potential, and not stopping herself from it. Not anymore. Just doing it. Dong it and lettin og, and looking forward to the days when she has her licence in her wallet and knows that she did it and be proud of herself, just the way she feels when she's writing and knows that she has 2 books done, safely stored in her email and her computer. Her work. Her dreams. Her potential. Her self-worth. Not proving anything to anyone, but doing it for herself, and that's what brought her out of her sadness. The vision of her fuel-injected suicide machine in all it's beauty and her accomplishments behind it, and behind her, giving her hope. Giving her happiness. Giving her the chance to know herself and live life like she wants to, because that's what it is all about.

So thank you to the black kawasaki rider, even though you'll never know. Thank you, for reminding me to not 'carry the world upon my shoulders', to actually lived. Life's too short and I have self-actualizations to realized, dreams to make realities, places to travel, ambitions to meet, and above all, people to love and appreciate because they love me back and I don't ask for it.

I will not chase my dreams. My dreams will have to chase me to keep up.

You know what

Fuck you subconscious. I am through with my personal demons haunting me and limiting myself, so bye.

I don't want.

I remember the first time I felt unbeautiful.

I wanted everything.

I have been sitting here for the past two hours.

I told myself I would write my novel since the night is mine.

I didn't.

I spent two hours DOING NOTHING. KNOWING NOTHING. Because everything I've work so hard for this last semester. This rebuilding of my life, to make myself a better person, a better friend, to achieve my goals, my self-actualizations amounted to tonight.

Ugly. Fake. Loser.
Liar Liar. Dirty girl. Shameless.

This was coming. I know it the moment I felt my smile weary on my face.

I miss him. He's not here. He won't ever be here again.

He changed my whole world.

fuck. i can't even write this.