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.