Sunday, November 18, 2012

Life these days.

It's the online social networking that gets you. Between updating my Facebook status, tweeting, and instagram-ing, I forgot what it was like to truly write; to pour my soul out on a piece of paper, or a blog. I was so caught up in letting everyone know every thought in my head every two seconds, that when it came time to write something meaningful, something with substance, I was totally blank.
So yesterday I deactivated my FB account and I stopped tweeting (I was never really into Twitter anyway), and all day I've been itching to write. Listening to The Lumineers, making steak and chocolate lava cake, and drafting houses did little to curb my enthusiasm to start typing something, anything, here.

This post isn't much to read. It's me testing my theory of internet socializing taking over a person's brain. And I guess it hold true, at least for me. So, expect more. I'm excited!

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Mind Over Matter

"I would say the key to finding happiness is to ignore everything that makes you sad."

How do you ignore everything that makes you sad, when everything in general makes you sad? When every corner has a secret beneath a secret beneath a secret lurking into the darkness, waiting for you to come near so it can pounce on you and remind you, once again, how many bad decisions you've made in your life? There is no such thing as starting over, although you can pause, linger, love, and then move on. It's like being a tourist in your own life. You meet people, you collect stories, you move on to the next best thing.
When exactly is it that we stop moving to the next best thing?

So what if you learn to control your thoughts, emotions, ideas, decisions? It makes you capable of not being hurt, sure. But for how long can you withhold your sadness until therapists can say there is actually something wrong with you? You cultivate the best possible lies to feed society, and yet you find yourself feeding yourself those same lies in order to believe that you are truly happy. Protecting mechanism, or what-have-you.

Here is you staring at yourself in the mirror. Here is where your skin crinkles when you smile. That spot on your nose is your birthmark, signifying your glorious existence in this world. You see that scar on your cheek? That's when you got slapped by someone wearing a ring and had to carry that mark for the rest of the day pretending that it was something else. Here, when you puncture your skin, you bleed.

And bleed, we do.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Learn.


I've been brought up in an environment where one learns to keep their feelings well hidden in order to best serve people around them. Family, friends, and the like come first before your own happiness and you must sacrifice in order to keep things going at a steady flow. In my house one learns to sit up properly, to use knives and forks the right way, to pass the food and drinks around before you serve yourself, to wear the most sophisticated clothes. Sophistication is a must. No matter what high school clique you belong to, no matter how depressed you are, you must be sophisticated at all times. You must wear pearl studs instead of hip, dangling earrings. You must wear the most elegant of dresses and clothes, regardless of your age. You must be as polite as possible, you must put a smile on your face and answer each question that is asked, instead of asking your own questions. At the end of each meal, you must help put the dishes away whether it is your house or not.
So it comes as a shock to me when people take this kind of upbringing and twist it into what they believe would be better to express to their families. It bothers me that they would think hiding emotion and maintaining an air of elegance would mean being fake and manipulating. I understand that most people prefer being more open and honest about their emotions and feelings. But just because I choose not to put a sign on my forehead displaying what emotion I feel on that day, does not make me any less of a person.
Not a lot of things bother me, but a friend of mine mentioned that his parents think that me being sophisticated is just an act and inside is a dishonest, fake person. I fail to understand how someone can come up with such a detailed and profound (aka judgemental) description of me after having met me only once, and not knowing anything about me.
It's not only me that I am talking about. I've seen a lot of my friends from home get judged by parents in this country just because we have had a more refined, emotionally restrained, social status conscious upbringing. It does not make us any less human, we are still learning to grow as much as any other young adult in this world, and excuse us for being different than your children.
It offends me to no limits how the adults that we are supposed to learn from, teach us to be equally as judgemental and ignorant as them. My advice to them: you want to make harsh, radical theories about the type of people we are? Get to know us first.

My rant for the fucking day.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Just. Breathe.


I've counted days and days. I've counted hours, minutes, seconds, breaths. I've watched people pass by me every day, their same routines, their coffee cups and important phone calls. I've stood still in the middle of this roundabout, wondering where to go next, hoping that you would come around and everything would go back to normal.
I've spent days not giving a fuck, sealing off my emotions, jumping from one guy to the next, just to find someone who is remotely like you. I've sat here for hours wondering what to type up next, just so I could get you out of my head, my life, my mind my past. Everywhere I've gone, I've looked for a face that doesn't exist anymore.
I've tried to cry you out, to scream you out, to phase you out, to blur you out, to shut you out. I've tried to drown you out, breathe you out, write you out, stress you out. Everytime I've just drowned myself in my emotionless pit of solitude. I've tried to come up to take a gasp of fresh air, only to push myself back down again. I've spent months in guilt, wondering what I else I could have done to make things better, to make them right.
"You're looking for a face that's long gone. It's time you moved on. He's not coming back."
That one line was a slap on my face to bring me back to reality.
I have finally moved on and found my place in the world. And I'm beyond happy that you're not part of my new life.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Round 2

Fuck you. And your existence.
You're the same.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Upside down.

"Are you frightened by perfection?
Is this who you are, not who you want to be?
Are you frightened by neglection?
Am I who you want to see yourself to be?"

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Trigger-happy.

And she sits in front of the mirror every day at 6PM, just as the sun is about to set and her husband is about to come home, and she sees the caricature the mirror throws back at her. The lips just about to crack into a smile, the eyes just about to spill their secrets, the fingers just about the texture of silk.
Just about, but never quite. Never there. Never complete.
And the rouge cracks in its little black box, and the perfume evaporates in its pretty little bottle, and the lipstick dries in its little gold case. The dressing table grows old with age, the termites bite through the wood. The mirror gets dusty and distorts her face everyday.
Old age, and cracked bones. A dead colony, and dusty shelves.
And even if she cleans it all up, sweeps it aside with one hand in a drunken rage, it does nothing to hide her scars and wrinkles. The rage does not take away with it her dirty secrets and ugly lies. The broken boxes and bottles and cases all taped together do little to help her glue back her crushed spirit.
Battered and bruised and broken. Dark and dingy and depressed.
Yet, she has lived her life. She has lived a life. She's had the sunshine and the rainbows, the hurricanes and the showers. The ups and the downs, the good and the bad. Brunches and weddings, smiles and tears. Children and grandchildren, friends and foes. Fireplaces and crystal mantelpieces, skintight dresses and knitted Christmas sweaters.
So she'll make do with her cracked makeup and cracked mirror and cracked life. She'll wipe away non-existent tears, and give her non-existent smile.
Perfectly flawed.