Tired and restless.
I don’t really have much to do because it’s holy week, but I’m tired. I’m mentally tired, and I feel weak physically.
I’ve been moving around the house upon getting up, cooking and doing whatever there is that’s needed to do. I’m alone. Everybody were out somewhere, and i’ll have to spend the night by myself. Not that I’m not used it. I mean, that’s basically an everyday thing to me.
Anyway, I couldn’t function with messy surroundings so I started with cleaning. Then I organized my closet, washed my old shoes and sneakers, prepared stuff that needs to be fixed so I could bring them tomorrow to the mall. I didn’t have to do any of these if I brought my guitar back with me. But well, can’t be helped. My sister couldn’t pick me up, and I don’t want to commute with two heavy baggages. I did these things anyway so I could feel productive. I don’t like doing nothing. It’s only recently but I always have this urge to seize the day. My hands need something to do. My body needs to keep moving. I need to be busy.
And in the back of my head I know what this implicates.
A coping mechanism.
I don’t know, perhaps some sort of way to move on. God. I hate talking about it. It makes me feel weak. I feel ridiculous, pathetic, and superficial. There’s nothing profound about it. It’s just me, you know, romanticizing every little thing. When none of it were actually real.
It’s stupid to think how half of my teenage years revolved around that silly thing. I wasted my life thinking I could only be happy if it were to work out. Even if it’s just once. Thank God I grew up.
Anyway, I got lost. The purpose of this post is to address this developing feelings towards someone. But then while writing I forgot about it. This post is pointless. I know. I keep jumping from one topic to another. But that doesn’t matter to me right now. I just wanted to write. Thoughts don’t necessarily have to be coherent to make sense – besides, disorganization makes thoughts more authentic.
I’ve been having these thoughts while studying. Probably because of the music playing in the background. Also, I was thinking about you. You, and this seed of feelings that started growing in me for goodness knows when. I was determined, really determined not to leave any clue about these feelings. Partly because I know they don’t mean anything to anyone, and partly because I know where this leads.
I know where this road is going. It’s all too familiar. This is not me being cynical or pessimistic. This is me being logical and rational.
It’s exhausting. This recurring encounter is making me sick to death. You know what I hate about this? It affects every goddamn aspect of my life. I couldn’t control it. I used to be jolly, enthusiastic, and carefree whenever I go to school. My happiness used to be linear, but during the last two weeks it started fluctuating.
Because of you. You.
You fucking happened.
Or more accurately, these feelings happened.
I wanted to conceal it to myself because it’ll eventually be the same thing – letting it out and not letting it out would lead to the same end.
These feelings are going to destroy me.
I’m not even scared of that anymore.
What I’m afraid of is the aftermath. It’ll destroy the friendship along, distort the memories, and warp out important people in my life.
No, it’s not the same as that with the past. In fact, this is… shallow. But it’s beginning to fuck me up. I’m not even going to tolerate the fact that it’s small, because everything starts at the molecular level. I haven’t even recovered from the past. Not that I haven’t moved on, but you know, I feel like I’ve become unable to love the way I used to. That’s the only change that seemed strange to me. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s a bad thing.
Isn’t it awful how it is rather easier for many people to advise others to do things that they wouldn’t otherwise do themselves? I often speak of vulnerability like it’s the core essence of love. I could talk about holding back as an extremely detrimental thing and be passionate in defending it. I tell people to be always honest about how they feel because they don’t know how much that could change another person’s world. I could easily talk about love like it’s the most wonderful and beautiful thing in the world to others. But if it had to involve me, I could quickly slip onto its dark side. I have always been ambivalent about it. Not because I had a fair share of the good and bad side of it (I mean jeez I think 9/10 of it is bad), but because I’ve been holding back that small hope that maybe one day, things will change for me. It’ll be okay. It’s going to work. And I’m going to be happy.
Childish hope, really. Only children are suppose to keep hopes like that.