‘How do you pass the days?’

Days had long hours. But time seems to slow down even more at night. That, or everyday was simply agonizing to go through.

It gets better then it gets bad. This dynamic has all been too familiar with me I don’t know how else I’m going to put this bullshit into words.

Every day every night I chant the same thing to the heavens—that I don’t want to be here anymore, that I want to be brought home. Adjusting into a life where I have to communicate through social media to keep in touch still doesn’t sit well with me, because I’m not that type of person. But where do I go? I can’t even go out of this shithole because I don’t know places. I don’t know where to go. There simply is no one I could run to. And I’m deteriorating here, day by day.

The other day, I was chatting with Nigel about how I’ve been doing here. He asked me about my relationship with my siblings, hoping that it’s becoming better. That I should give them a chance, because they might surprise me.

I told him that I don’t know to be honest. I’m currently in a state of paralysis. I was at a crossroads, and I didn’t want to do anything, because if I make a decision I’m going to have to commit to that choice. I was left to choose between

  • being myself and being hated—continuously damaging my relationship with my family with my unorthodox views and approach in life, risking an unhappy death where I died a misfit, which has always been the case all my life; and
  • forcing myself to change, preferably into someone void of my own set of principles, someone who simply sought to fit in, stripping that persona off the real me, fabricating a self in an attempt to be loved and accepted

I was scrolling through twitter one time and read a quote that hit the nail right on the head:

“Wasn’t that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted.” — Abraham Verghese

It was the quote I’ve been looking for all my life; perfectly crafted to word how most people feel around their family. Home is not necessarily family; it’s where you are wanted. And sometimes, friends are home.

I continued to tell Nigel that sometimes, I’m disgusted with their existence. But I realized it’s probably just because I hated myself. I couldn’t reconcile it; all I know is that the more I hate them, the more I realize how much I actually hate myself. Sometimes I avoid ruminating on the thought because it only pushes me to self-harm.

I continued to tell him that perhaps I was only saying that due to the spur of the moment, because I was in the middle of arguing with them then. I was exchanging accusations with the eldest, who kept positing that I was a rude and disrespectful piece of shit. When it began heating up, all of them started shooting right at me, in front of our stepdad. Haha, I was the villain again, huh? I’m the derogatory one; the bad person, the bitch, the problem child, the sibling they wish they didn’t have. The skies know, I know, that it was the opposite. It was the FUCKING OPPOSITE. But the universe was never on my side. It liked to twist the reality around to everyone else’s eyes, and I wouldn’t bother correct that because of my pride.

Because what good will my truth do to everyone anyway, if my family, the people who are supposedly closest to me, holds a completely conflicting version of it?

I fantasized about burning them again. It was always like that; when I can’t resolve what to do, I start to think that either they should die, or I’ll kill myself. There were times when I felt it was more rational for them to die because I had a lot ahead of me and they don’t. See how fucked up? This is exactly the reason

why

I

hate

myself.

Being around them only makes me hate myself further. And every fucking time I attempt to change they give me reasons not to.

I messaged mom that night and told her:

I never tried hiding fact that I’m like this, you already know that. I know that I have horns, and I’ve long accepted that I’m a ‘freak’ and that isn’t acceptable to you guys.
Don’t worry, once I started making enough money, I’ll move out. I know I’m difficult to get along with. I know how repugnant my attitude is. But I can’t help it. I’m trying to change but every time I’m around them I just lose the motivation.

I know I can no longer change this about myself. That’s why I want to just keep a distance. Our relationship evened when I left home. But when I graduated and went back, things went back to square one.

I’m better off alone, I don’t belong here. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
I’m just structured that way. I’m cruel to the people I love the most. And there is no way I can make them understand that. And I don’t want the burden of making them understand. Just leave me alone, and I’ll leave them alone.

If it’s fine with you, just get me a bed space somewhere. You’ll never be peaceful as long as I’m around. So just send me elsewhere. I’ve accepted my fate. I’m meant to be alone. And I prefer being with friends than with family. Family is not home. Home is where you are wanted.

This is not home
Friends are home

I’ve anticipated her replies though. I know she’ll try to ‘knock some sense into me’ but I’ve long thought about these things. Goes a long way back. I know I had issues, and I can’t manage them when I’m around the sources. Mom insisted that she sees herself in me, but she probably just wanted to assure me that she understands. I will only hurt you mom, so enough. I know myself better than anyone. I know my capacities. I know what I’m capable of doing. My observant trait and my obsession with dissecting people gave me the ability to identify their weak points, allowing me to destroy people at will. I don’t want to have to do that. When I’m blinded by anger and pain, I might do just that. I destroy people when I’m pushed. And I will not apologize even if I didn’t mean it.

I’m spending more days being unhappy, which wasn’t part of the plan. Happy people focus on what they have.

Where did the days go by?

What have I been doing with my life?

I constantly swam in pools of hatred, sarcasm, apathy, self-loathe, and everything self-destructive. Constantly fantasizing of burning everyone that gets in my way. Constantly wishing I could die without having to do anything.

You’re way past the deadline, Lord. I’ve been asking to die for God knows how long.

Flickering, fading

The pages of my planner were deprived of content ever since you happened to me.

I stopped planning. Stopped organizing my schedule. Stopped thinking ahead. Stopped looking forward.

I spent most of my time and money getting drunk, wasting away wherever, whenever, and with whomever. I drink to forget but I only remember the pain more vividly in each sting of alcohol. I kept drink anyway. I flirted with every cute guy I encounter. I started smoking too. I started ruining myself and turned into everything I hated.

I was in denial at first. I always was.

When I realized how lost I’ve become, I finally accepted that you broke me.

And I don’t know who I’ve turned into. I look in the mirror and hate who I see.

“At least you’re prettier”, is what I tell her.

“At least you’re not sad”, is what she tells me.

I guess––or at least I convince myself––that that’s what matters.

 

I’m not sad.

I’m not sad.

It’s a trap

Having no specific goal or not knowing what you really want can be too much of an obstacle, really. A lot of people have asked me about what I wanted to do, and it was natural that I answered in accordance to what they say I’m good at. Because I didn’t really have an answer. I’d only blabber and confuse people with my self-contradictions.

My being a jack of all trades has been a curse more than a blessing to me for the longest time. I have a lot of insecurities, and I always envied people who do well and great in what they’re passionate about. I was capable of doing a lot of things–-–but I don’t really excel in anything. I don’t even know what I really want.

I love making graphics and illustrations, but I also find an unusual sort of elation in writing research. I like talking. I like having debates in my head. I like teaching other people things I’m relatively knowledgeable in. I like to talk and read about philosophy. I like dissecting people, analyzing their weak points and figuring what destroys them. I like going to unfamiliar places, meeting new people, hearing new voices, and remembering new faces. I want to do a lot of things and I try to do all of them. I want to make the most of what I can do and what people say I cannot do. I want to get the most out of whatever life has to offer. Life was too short.

I guess you can say being enthusiastic about life was how I turned my insecurities around. I do a lot of things and fortunately I don’t have to be necessarily good at them. Unless I care about what other people say. Which I still kinda do—it’s hard to change that. So I try to be ‘good’ anyway.

I wrote this after imagining Sir [Espanto] asking me ‘bout what I really want to do with my life. And I anticipated that if I respond with uncertainty, I’ll get those cliched lessons about how difficult it’s going to be if I don’t know where I’m going. And I have to decide.

I know that. I’m perfectly aware of that. But people have different paces. I’ve been indecisive for goodness knows how long, and I can’t make a decision without putting every single thing into consideration. I’m obsessed with planning. I’m obsessed with calculating everything before making a decisive move. Is that a bad thing?

I really don’t know anymore. It’s like whenever I write I explore every kind of sadness flowing inside me. It’s as if I try to utilize every hint of anxiety and uneasiness within me to be able to write, because it’s what I like doing. To write is to throw your feelings out in the open; and that, for me, is freedom. I’m finding freedom in writing. And freedom in these terms was only attainable through writing.

And now, while it has always been a means to escape, writing it seems has made me more stuck than ever inside my head. It ends that what I was trying to escape from becomes the very thing I need to escape.

What am I even saying

White abyss

A day unnoticed. Again. Every day passes unnoticed.

Sadness, unreasonable sadness. I am enveloped within a childish kind of sadness. I am weak, oversensitive, and hyperaware of everything. I crumble at every failure made. I curl up at every mistake committed. I always try to get myself back up by reminding me that happy people focus on what they have.

But the gap, the void, the space, the hollowness, they’re glaring at me yet again. I am okay. I am okay to an extent that can be called happy, but depression peeked over my shoulders feeling left out.

Why do I feel lost again
Why am I so obsessed with being sad

I always manage to get my life together and somehow, I always manage to flip it a day after. I am already contented. I am satisfied with how things are working out. It wasn’t perfect –-– there are many areas for improvement, but I no longer feel that bad about being like this.

I do not know how it’s called. How this is called.

An imagery. A garden where everything and everyone is elated. Colors everywhere; Humor ran around while Serenity rest content seated on the grasses, feeling the cool breeze. Happiness, of course, was the most prominent feeling in the garden. It radiated cheerfulness as bright as the sun. But, looking disquieted, he stood at a corner gazing at the direction where Sadness hid–––as if an older sibling concerned about the insecure and ignored little brother. And, as if stricken with guilt, he stepped out of the garden––-now leaving me seated at the center of this white abyss, across Sadness.

It skipped and hummed while it drew shadows, satisfied that he finally had the garden’s attention. The garden which he now bleached colorless. Both Humor and Serenity have gone out of sight–––but came Sarcasm and Emptiness to keep us company. Emptiness is peaceful like Serenity, he whispered, and that Sarcasm can replace Humor’s entertainment. It smiled, as if to assure me;

and though a faint one,

I responded likewise

with eyes cast down.

Thinking how disappointing it was

to have let it become selfish

The tightwad inside

[Drafted post] [The names are changed]

I checked my email today before I sleep, and found two forwarded emails from Cecil and Carla. The other one’s from Anne. Found the ‘weloveufaye’ address on both the former, and it all makes sense now. I found the same address in the email Sir Espanto sent me. And I already have a good idea who did all of that.

Anne. Of course it’s Anne.

I haven’t posted about it, but Sir Espanto sent me an email last Monday. It contained the following message:

Congratulations, Ms. Fajardo:

I hope you didn’t mind me walking you to stage last Friday. Teachers, you know, are parents to their students too – in the exercise of vicarial responsibility. But I am sure your parents and siblings would have been proud if they were there. For that alone, it was truly a privilege on my part.
I should have sent this message earlier, in time for Sunday’s university graduation. The delay was deliberate as I wanted to make it solemn and sincere.

I think I understand now why you contemplated on cutting short your stay in UP. Believe me, I know how it feels to be alone. It seems staying and finishing the degree was a good choice after all. It was really brave of you. Any parent to a child like you would be truly proud.

I think you know your strengths so I am not going to list it down here. I do want to tell you though that you have more promise than you actually know. You have more potential than you would like to believe.

Most graduates in our discipline would opt to go, you know where, afterwards. That is the usual path for typical graduates of our field. You are not that type, of course, for you are more. I cannot force you to love my science but I think you will also do great with it. Then again, you can also choose to be typical. But where is the fun in that, right?

Whatever, whichever course you chart henceforth, I hope it leads you to the stars.
Congratulations,

[Manuel Espanto]

***

I was wondering why I didn’t bother post about that when I remembered that I don’t–––if not never–––write about happy things. Anyway, so that happened. I was really delighted by it. I know I don’t sound like it because I lack the appropriate punctuations but the happiness already passed and all I’m feeling right now is a sad kind of happiness.

Like the kind I didn’t deserve

Or the kind withheld from me for a long time and was given a chance to touch tonight.

I read all the emails and I’m crying. But mostly due to Anne’s email.

I’m crying because I don’t know what to say. I don’t know the right words to say. And I loathe myself because I can’t appreciate her enough.

I don’t know. I don’t understand what genuinely selfless people like her sees in genuinely rotten people like me

It’s mind-boggling. It’s leaving me at awe

It leaves me at awe that I was actually capable of being loved, of having someone look up to me with constant admiration and amazement in her words

I least deserved to be loved like that

I least deserved to be loved by people like her

It rains every night but tonight was a downpour
I’m sobbing and my chest is burning

I didn’t think I really have friends at all
I didn’t think it really mattered
I didn’t think I could impact a life
I didn’t think there is that much value in every thing I say

It’s funny how people unrelated to you can appreciate you better than your family. Haha, funny world

But thank you, God

Thank you

The fault in (my) words

My life lately basically moved in between sleeping, eating, reading, and watching animes. Not that I have a problem with it, but it sure does require some getting re-used to. My senior life in college was practically the opposite of that—I couldn’t stay put in a room, a quiet one at that, and I constantly seek to hang out with my friends and orgmates, or with anyone for that matter.

I’ve become dependent on the company of people, haven’t I?

Well, it seemed like it. Funnily enough, no one believes me anymore whenever I claim to be introverted. Almost everyone thought otherwise. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s a bad thing. Maybe both. Why am I confining the thing in the first place?

But for a moment, I wondered if it was actually the case now. I began hanging out with people I barely knew. I began craving new faces, new voices, new people in my life. The small circle I used to bind myself in began expanding—but, it was a change I’ve acknowledged and realized a long time ago. For some reason the fact overwhelms me again. A matter of restrospection, could it be? It’s only from a restrospective view of things do we realize the full weight of the changes that occurred in and to us, and in everything and everyone around us, after all.

But, I couldn’t distinguish the me now from who I’ve always thought I was. Is this the person I have always been? Or the person I always wanted to be and have finally become?

Did I lose myself, or simply found it?

And yet I wonder if the answer to those even mattered.

I wonder if this thought engagement should be taken as a positive thing, because I only write when I’m lonely. I never learned how to write about happy things, because majority of the words in my vocabulary are associated either with sadness or hatred.

Initially, I wanted to write about Sarah.
I wanted to write about how she doesn’t understand how important she’s become to me, and I will never mean to hurt her.

But I was never good at appreciating people and things.
Or at least, I was never good at expressing appreciation.

I don’t know the right way to keep people, the right way to keep friends, the right way to keep people I hold dear.

Because I always end up destroying everything I love.

You’ve grown on me. I’ve become severely attached to you. You’ve become too important. I was convinced I wasn’t born like everyone who were born in pairs, who needed to find the other pair to be complete, but you came. You came and I thought maybe I needed something, something like ‘the other half’. But these are things I don’t casually tell people, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how. I was straightforward, but I’m not good with words; I had a knack for confrontations and debates, but I don’t know how to communicate appreciation and gratefulness. I can only communicate sadness.

I don’t know how to properly patch things up without making it worse, without saying things that will only fuel the fire.

How do you make someone understand something you don’t understand yourself?

How do you evade the fallacy and ridicule that comes along with justifying a supposedly wrongdoing?

Is there a better way to put it? A better way to make it understandable and comprehensible?

That the people we loved the most are the ones we were most cruel to?
It doesn’t need logic, does it?

I’m sad.
I’m lost.

I’ve been self-destructing and self-loathing since that day and I’m beginning to lose my mind. I began hating social media. I immersed myself into other things, anime mostly, to steer my thoughts away.

And little by little, I’m beginning to seal the void I thought you were made to fill in.

Little by little, I’m starting to get re-used to this.

Feeling like this.

Feeling nothing.