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.


But I felt okay, because I felt nothing

Note: This has been resting in my drafts for the longest time. I don’t feel the same way anymore, but I want to throw this out in the open. The names are changed. 

May 16, 2015. I haven’t eaten anything today, except a softdrink and a pasta when I was walking around the mall, waiting for my new eyeglasses.

I feel so hollow. Empty. I was a blank, a void, a nothing. The world had robbed me of all the emotions I had associated with happiness. I only know of pain. Yet I’m so numb. I’m so numb.

Yesterday, May 15 2015, I confessed to him. That was the first confession I ever did in my whole life. And that was the first time I cried in someone’s presence. The first time I bared myself naked to someone. The first time I let someone in the darkest part of my being.

It was a long story. I don’t know how to go into details. It hurts. All I know is that it hurts it’s making me numb. It hurts so much it’s making me numb.

He did not reject me. He said he liked me back. But it was too late.

I was too late.

There is someone else already.

I don’t exactly know how to feel about it because throughout that bloody confession, he made it seem like he wants me to hold on.

I was trying to run away after confessing. I was shaking then. His back faced my back. And I made him promise not to look at me. I told him I had to leave. That he can make me leave. That he doesn’t have to say or do anything. That I’d be fine. That I’m shaking. I’m really shaking. But he refused to let me go. He pulled me back, saying I had to stay. That he had a lot to say. That I have a lot to know. That there is so much I don’t know. He asked me when did it start. When did I start having feelings for him. He apologized for asking. I said it was when he invited me for coffee. He was talking but I interrupted. I said I know it’s stupid because he liked Georgia then. I said it was a difficult evening for me then because he chose to tell me he liked Georgia on a supposedly romantic day for me. He said he remembers it. That he remembers that evening vividly.

“But you were suppose to call her instead. You even had to justify why you had called me. And you know what? That made me feel like shit.”

“But I called you. You’re the first person I called. You’re the one I called.”

What’s the point, I asked him. I said it’s pointless to talk about it now. He asked me if I noticed something new about him. I mentioned Julie. He did not deny it. He asked me if I was in the Redtape, and he began telling me how it all started between them. I didn’t know why he was telling me about it. He said he liked me. He persistently asked me if I believe him. I said I don’t know. I asked him what’s the point. I told him it’s pointless. That it doesn’t matter because he’s with Julie now. Then I asked him, “Was I too late? I was late, huh?”, my voice shaking. But then he went on with the story about Julie. I was palpitating. He started referring to her namelessly. I couldn’t breathe. Tears dripped down my cheeks as he went deeper. All I could hear and see in my head then is the glaring fact that it was too late. That I wasn’t aggressive enough. That I wasn’t touchy enough. That I wasn’t showy enough. He said we didn’t see each other for too long for some time, when Julie got into the picture. He said she was touchy. And he became touchy with her too. He said they’ve done things already, things that would change how people perceive him. I asked him to stop. I told him he doesn’t have to say it if it’s hurtful. I pleaded him to let me go. I tried to run. He pulled me again. I don’t know if his back remained unturned, but I began sobbing with my back facing him. He went into more details and I felt numb. I was getting numb. He asked me again if I believe him. I said I don’t know. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Then he said it again.

“I like you”.

He said that I was so weird and he liked it. That my unpredictability was what he found so attractive about me. I asked him to stop. He was giving me false hopes. I cried. I started crying. He asked me not to. I apologized. I apologized and apologized. I cried, cried, cried, and cried. And then I stopped. He went on. He said he saw this confession coming when I texted him that afternoon. He said he felt it when I asked him to close his eyes. A long silence ensued. I asked him if he was scared then. He said yes, because he was unprepared. That I was unfair, because I prepared for it. He cyclically elaborated about us. About what he doesn’t want to happen to us. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I switched to douchebag mode. I was normal again. I was talking to him casually like nothing mattered anymore. I was laughing. I was scoffing at his points. We started talking about philosophy, about freewill, and the usual things. It was a long conversation.

But I felt okay. Because I felt nothing.

He kept reiterating that the thing between him and Julie was trivial and superficial. That he liked me too. That he thought it’s a waste what could have been between us. I asked him to stop because it’s pointless.

He kept giving me false hopes throughout the conversation. He made it seem like he wants me to hold on.

And I don’t know. I don’t know.

Our orgmates were looking for him then. It was about 6:15pm. I asked him to leave, and swore I’d be fine. I told him he can’t do anything about how I feel, and he’s now relegated to my dark past. I was playfully mocking him. But then he asked me if he could hug me. I laughed and scoffed. I said whatever. I told him he still couldn’t look at me or see me. That he has to go where I would not see him. But he stood up and stood in front of me. I hid my face behind my palms. I told him he’s being unfair. But he remained in front of me. I moved my hands away from my face and looked away. The wind blew, the sun beaming on my swelling eyes. I told him he has nothing to worry about, that I’m not as weak as he thinks. He sat beside me. He insisted he doesn’t want to leave me that way. I said he can’t do anything about it. That he’s just guilty. I just got rejected. I need a time alone to let it sink it. He countered, repeating it’s not rejection, but conceded if I insist to put it that way. It was the nth time we had a long silence. He hugged me tight from the side. I remained unmoved, tensed and unfeeling. Then he left.

I looked at his back as he walked away. I looked at the sky, and as soon as he was out of sight, I broke down into tears.

This is extremely summarized. I can’t go into details. It was too long, too vague, and too hurtful.

But the point is, we can’t be together. And I’m choosing to move on.

But he left me with false hopes.
He left me with fucking false hopes.

You were happiness

[Pinned post]

Prompt: I am trying to think of all the times when words didn’t work, and all the times I used pain to remind myself that I am still alive

Every day pass like it didn’t pass. Every day I’m tired. Every day felt restless. Everyday I think of you, and with each day that goes unnoticed, every inch of my existence becomes more agonizing than the previous.

I’m becoming more hollow and empty. So empty I had to inflict my own pain to verify that I’m still alive. I’m practically screwing my life up. I overthink and overanalyze everything. I feel like my inability to confront my problems further aggravated my flawed system of self-consolation. I liked swimming in my idiosyncrasies. I was addicted to my own pain. Eventually it developed to this strange disposition to crying. And more often than not, I find comfort in self-flagellation.

Yet, and yet—the more acute my pain is, the number I get. It dawned on me that maybe I was the one who created this void inside me. It’s odd—I self-inflict because I wanted to feel something; yet I’m becoming numb because I kept hurting myself. I don’t know. It went both ways. It was an endless cycle of numbing and infliction. I numb myself to forget pain. I become numb. Number. And number. Then cry because I can’t feel anything. And when I can’t feel anything, I inflict my own pain. It was a series of irony and contradiction. I was a paradox.

Whenever I become too happy, I sedate myself with thoughts of anxiety and apprehension. I didn’t like being happy—or at least being too happy. I was attached to my pain. I hated it, but it kept me company for too long I appreciated it. It knew me more than anything. I was myself with it. I grew so comfortable with it that happiness makes me uneasy. Happiness is nice, but oftentimes it scares me. It likes to make promises. It brings me to another world, of butterflies and fantasies. It brings me to places of bright and wonder. It acquaints me with hopefulness and buoyancy. But it doesn’t stay for long. It leaves.

It always leaves.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being left—hanging suspended; lost, nowhere to go.

The discomfort it gave me sends me running back to pain. Because in pain, I found comfort. There was a degree of constancy. Happiness was inconsistent and spontaneous.

You were happiness.

Do you understand how fragile you’ve made me?

Every day I die because I could feel me fading and you don’t take notice.
Every day I die wishing you would initiate something and you weren’t trying.
Every day I die because you don’t know how much your indifference hurt me.
Every day I die knowing I’m the only one dying.

How come I’m always the one dying?
Why am I always the fool?
Why am I always the one in bed crying?



You were there and at the same time you’re not.
You were looking at me and you’re not.
You were talking to me and you’re not.

Am I reflected in your eyes?

I’m not happy but I hope you are

I have nothing else to write.
I’m dying and I don’t know how to romanticize that.

I lost myself, just as predicted.
And I don’t know how I could afford to write when tears are blinding my sight.

The room is in pitch darkness.
I lay helplessly like a corpse, staring at the abyss.

All I could see is my pain.
All I could hear is my pain.
All I could feel is my pain.

It happened again.

I don’t have anything left inside me but tears.



Actually I ended up with a lot of drafts before coming up with that. That was by far the most… decent. I mean the one with the better organization. The others were lost-in-my-head poems and letters (they were more authentic though because organization of thoughts could diminish the genuineness of what I wrote). I was so immersed in my pain and grief awhile ago that I came up with tons of writing, and my eyes are actually hurting a lot right now, feels like cockroaches bit ’em.

Anyway, I somehow got a grip on a perspective now.

Looking at everything from a wider view, upon realization I will have to admit that he’s not at fault at all. Just as I wrote yesterday, indeed it all happened in my head. I’ve caused my own pain. And in a sense, I was the one who ruined me (should I cite Murakami here haha). Yeah… he’s innocent. And odds could be that he doesn’t know anything at all. Because come on, guys are so dumb they don’t assume. Except for Tsuyoshi.

But just because I know that doesn’t mean I’m not sad. I AM. And very much. Because in retrospect history kind of repeated itself. Hahahaha (yeah, that’s a pity). And if I remember, I wrote on my tumblr about it. I predicted it. And yeah, there I go, I was right. And the last thing I needed to finally give up was for him to get a girlfriend. That was the last thing that blew me up in the past. And I think that’s in the near future now. Haha (again, that’s a pity)

But somehow, I feel better. Just a while ago I think I was at my most irrational self. I was drowning in my tears. I literally lay on my bed like a dead person and there was no light (the person in the other room switched off the one outside) so I was in total darkness. With my earphones on my ears, Sober by Kelly Clarkson playing, and my iPod on its max volume, you probably knew what happened. I managed to write nonetheless. Haha but a little while before that, after finishing my take home exam I sat at the corner of my bed and cried. And then laughed because I’m ridiculous. And then I cried again. I think I’m going blind. The sad thing there I guess was that amid my thoughts of him I’ve thought of killing myself. Not because I love him so much or something, but because I’m so tired of this cycle. And obviously I have no idea if I would ever have the chance to escape. It’s a goddamn curse.

Looking back at my post during his special day, I said I will never love again. Nope it’s not that cliched it’s-so-painful-I-think-I-can-never-love-again sort of feeling. I meant it in every sense of the word. I WILL NEVER LOVE AGAIN. It was the first time in a long time I said it. Perhaps because this whole requital thing has taken its toll on me. Requital is not a word invented for me. A word that won’t ever apply to me. At least in this aspect of my life. None of them ever worked out. And I’m beginning to think that’s it’s not for me.  That I’m actually better off alone. I mean without a partner or something like that.

I should be posting this thing on Tumblr instead, I know, but I kinda feel (more) liberated when I know it’s in the open.

And my point? I’m not happy, but I’m okay. I’m not happy but I hope he is.

And I know he is.

Life’s not like the movies


when you continuously avert yourself from the things that make you happy and the people whose attention you ache for

and then you hurt
and cry for unconscious reasons
yet believing this was better—
denying the pain and burying it alive;
and believing it won’t ever find a way to get back to you.

I’m pretty certain that that is how girls’ logic functions—just what makes it so difficult for guys to see through them. Why do girls have this disposition to create a blur in everything and expect people to magically decipher the seemingly unknown?

Some things are too difficult to comprehend.

(The same way I cannot comprehend why I got trapped into this girl’s body)

Well in any case, it stings. It stings that you don’t tell me things. You don’t do anything and I’m somehow convinced that this is going to look like a contest. At least in my perspective. And though it seemed like a tie, I’d render you victorious. Because deep within, I still give a damn, a useless damn. But any way I look at it, making it manifest isn’t enough to keep things going, if that was actually the case here. Is something happening by the way?

Or is it me, myself and I?

Fuck you, why are you like that? And screw me, why am I like this? I feel like I have the lower hand in this maybe nonexistent story. Because I’m reading and hoping and waiting and sulking—perpetually stuck in this labyrinth of feelings. And completely perplexed about what you mean to me. And I to you. Which is may be a nonexistent case.

I’m emotionally paralyzed. I literally ran away from the feelings believing I’d forget, true enough, that only lasted for a few weeks.

Running away did not submerge the feelings, but not seeing you helped prevent my deterioration.

It’s kinda sad that I always end up making decisions that lead to my anticipated terminal though—to that ever existing limbo.

I continue hoping nonetheless, despite running away. And the reason? I don’t know either. Maybe it’s the belief in the back of my head that if I pull away from that same path, things would be different. And if by any chance it still hurt, maybe this time, the pain would be less—because it was suppressed from growing which I presumably thought would make it worse.

There’s always that one thing I’m sure of notwithstanding.

It would never be a happy ending.


I tried to make you stay
Offering a love too late
Couldn’t find the words to say
Was driven away by hate

What do I have to do?
This is all I can be
Everyday I endure thinking of you
Wishing you endure waiting for me

I bade goodbye
When all I wanted was you to stay by my side
I asked you to forget
When what I wanted was otherwise

I hoped you stopped me
I needed you to make a step back
I told you ‘I love you’ twice
You must have taken them for lies

Can I come back?
Should I come back?
The questions constantly bubble up my head
I laugh achingly, knocking myself over

Because I knew the answer.

Be eternally happy
Smile always
Life is full of ups and downs
You can cope up, can’t you?

You’re the most beautiful when you smile
Better keep smiling, like Barney
Keep your head up
You’re a lot firmer now, aren’t you?

I am hoping that your memory of me
Someday, one day, comes in picturesque 
Someone who taught you a lesson about life
Not someone who you once loved or broke your heart

I am the happiest when you’re happy
The saddest when you cry
So be a lot the former
And avoid the latter

Could you do that? That’d be a last favor

Don’t worry, I won’t come back
With that, I can’t leave you again.

You and I got something but it’s all and then nothing to me

We were close, so close to ending this lunacy. But you gave up, why did you? And I gave in, why did I?

This story has been running for an unusual number of years, years I dare not specify. We’ve been running and hiding from what appears to be the truth, in hopes that we could escape the dreaded. But we were running towards the dreaded, didn’t you realize? All this time, we thought this insanity was doing us a favor.

Do you see what it did to us? Do you see what it caused us?

It tore us apart.

You’re loathing me, and I could only lament how you embraced the conviction that this is how it’s bound to happen.

I continued living, believing I was as scarred, completely and deeply, as you. I was desolate and hopeless. You were everything that I breathe, and you stopped living that purpose. I waited for a long time to get to you, only to be repeatedly crushed by the walls around you.

You were my purpose, and then my hope, and then the only thing that kept me alive.
You were something, someone, and then nothing and no one.

You were all and then nothing to me.

I thought I’ve finally broken free.

But seeing you like that resurrects the pain and the guilt.
But seeing you like that crushes me.

Because I know I did this. I did this to us. I did that to you.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.