With nothing but a sheet of paper.

A white immaculate sheet of paper with the words I can’t speak in the pit of my pen, I appear crooked, seated in this chair and my thoughts are intricately placed in the ink. They are unspoken by my voice, inaudible to all ears and absent on the white sheet of paper. The window is cold on my fingerprints, but really there is no such thing as windows because I do not believe there is escape nor freedom if I were to traverse this piece of glass.


Outside looking in : there is a crooked-seated me, there is a chair and lastly, a misplaced feeling of belonging seeping through the air. I am glued and I stick, though I never touch a single thing. There is a white sheet of paper, my thoughts in the ink and a silence leaving my breath.


Inside looking out :there is the tree and in it’s hands lay the bird nest surrounded by slowly withering leaves, they are green, nonetheless, for it is summer still but tomorrow the man is making a tree stump of the tree and then it will be unfortunate for those poor unhatched eggs.


The birds became ghosts, as did the birds’ nest, and there is still a crooked-seated me, a chair, and a white sheet of snowy paper still untouched by the thought filled ink in my pen.

Don't let the bed bugs bite.

I really want to blog about something, but I know that if I post, I'll offend two very important people in my life.  This is annoying the frickin' heck out of me.  I promised myself that I would only blog about what I felt comfortable with the public knowing.  I promised that I'd never make a protected post because, if I can't say it to everyone, I won't say it at all.  This has never been a problem before, but tonight, it's driving me crazy.

I hate that this is my blog, and yet I feel like I have to be gentle with other people.  Why do I even have my own blog if I'm going to let it be dictated by what will offend my friends and what won't?

Chances are, I won't end up blogging about what I want to blog about.  I'll let all the thoughts in my mind just sit there and rot because I care too much about other peoples' feelings.  For the sake of everyone else, I will silence my need to get this off my chest.

But why should I?  Why do I feel the need to be gentle and cautious?  This is my blog, damn it.  And I should have the guts to say whatever I want, no matter who it offends.  But I don't.  I don't want to hurt any feelings or cause any unnecessary drama.  So tonight, two lucky men will sleep well knowing that I didn't verbally tear them apart.  I can dream, though, that they will both sleep unwell knowing that my lack of ability to express my opinion is driving me to insanity.  Killing me slowly, even.

Live the Story.

Everything happens the way they do because they were supposed to. Not for a reason that we understand at the time, but eventually we see how everything plays out. Life unfolds into this intricate story that's worth telling.

Answer me.

Can anybody tell me how to pass the time when you are caught in the deepest caverns of nothingness, waiting desperately to return to your home?

Why we do, what we do...

I find it extremely compelling to comprehend why we often waver and make unwise decisions despite knowing the consequences that comes along with it.  Like how I would adamantly choose to wear the shoes that I know will cause blisters and the skin on my heels to tear. Or, refusing to peel of the bed early in the morning despite being certain that if I were to take a minute longer, I will be tardy for work.

I suppose, there could be a million and one reasons why we all choose to do the things that we do. But somehow, I conjecture that within ourselves, there is always a tiny voice that wedges us to explore, try and assist in pumping in a little faith in us to make us say ''Hmm, maybe, just maybe, it will be different today.."

The Softest Epiphany.

The sun fades in and out as the clouds make a complete attempt to overthrow its radiance. Meanwhile, hoping that the sun stands strong, I slowly make my way down to the beach, each step bringing me closer to the open water. I wrap my sweater closer to my body as the wind ferociously blows and brings the chill to my skin. Tossed around with broken seashells and small rocks, the sand under my feet remains soft with a touch of warmth from where the sun remains to persist, though weakly.

I then drop my bag, place my flats on top, and roll up my jeans. I can feel the new rush of cold, salty air and the smooth wet sand as I approach the water. I walk further in, closing the gap between myself and the wide ocean, close enough for the waves to rush over the sand and around my ankles. Each time the water spills over my feet, I would feel another wave of cold washing over me but I did not care. I close my eyes and inhale. My lungs expand with air and I am enveloped by nature's most unpretentious tranquility. Suddenly, a new rush of emotions overwhelm me as memories, both faint and vivid, disrupt my moment of quietness. I am then lost in my own thoughts. Past relationships. Broken promises. Lost friendships. New friendships. Distant struggles and new feats.

Reality.

Quickly feeling the lack of warmth caressing my back, I beg for the sun to stay and to stay strong despite the overpowering gray clouds. I open my eyes and slowly look over my right shoulder. But there He was. Strong as ever without a cloud in its path, gazing right at me high and above the rest of the world, far off into the west. Like a reminder. Like love, hope and friendship, I may not always feel its presence when I am lost but if I look in the right direction, it will always be there, waiting for me with open arms.

love night shadows

I felt you move across my skin in the dark, and thought how I would love to hold you. Wrap you up, so you wouldn’t be able to escape. It’s so perfect what we have, but only when it’s outlined in silhouettes. As soon as the dawn shines onto the bed, you shrink away from me, shed your skin, and take on another form. The sun pulls you out of bed, into your jeans, and out the door. And it throws me, the way we exchange I love you’s while the stars twinkle overhead, but as soon as Helios crosses your path, you forget all of it.

I focus on the next night. You only ever come to me in shadows, and I try to understand that. My friends ask me if you’re real, or just another warped figment of my imagination. I think about that while your fingers trace my earlobe. I try to ask you why, ask you what drags you, what changes you, but the caresses of your work roughened hands distract me and cause the purpose to slip through the spreading cracks in my consciousness.

You’ve underestimated my ability to love. Or perhaps there is another love that awaits you during the day, one who doesn’t know where you go at night or why. One who is suffering the same way I am. The yin to my yang. She may not see me, but she feels my warmth on your skin when you reach her, but she doesn’t, can’t, ask. She can’t bring herself to form the words, just the way I can’t get my tongue to unfurl them. We are parts of your whole. We are pieces of your shattered mirror. We are the unbalanced, unfettered, unwanted shards of memories of your search for perfection. We lay wasted with you, under you, next to you, breathing in the stale air of your mouth. Devouring your naked I love you’s.

Starshine and sunlight kisses taste different to you. I wonder if you clean your palette between courses...üä

weird

After running around like a chicken with my head cut off, I've
realized it has been a very strange day, in terms of how i feel.

I'm getting random waves of emotion. All of a sudden I'll be really
happy... then I"ll be really lonely, then I'll be really tired... Its
really weird. Not too sure what to think about it all....üä

oh you care alright.

no matter what anyone says, everyone cares what other people think about them. If someone really didn't care what others thought about them, wouldn't they be walking around naked more often or something?
That is a very scary thing to think about...üä

Are you sure you're not crazy?

yeah... maybe crazy isn't about defining what is peculiar, what is normal, or what is abnormal... each and everyone of us has our own peculiarities and idiosyncrasies and i guess it's just a matter of how much of that is being shown to the world, to a world of judgements and definitions. perhaps. it's just a state of being when our peculiarities and idiosyncrasies are amplified and surfaced ten times more.. or a hundred times more than other people. and in our craziness, we dwell and savour our little peculiarities just more intensely than others.
hmm.. I wrote this cuz I'm crazy...üä

God's gift and me

I used to like rain.

I thought it was romantic. You can do anything in the rain and it would be cute. Dancing in the rain, kissing in the rain, being under an umbrella in the rain, etc. Right now though, it's not that pretty anymore. It's not pretty wearing black pants that are soaked from the bottom up. It's not pretty juggling an umbrella and bags and your mp3 player all at the same time.

It's as if God is crying.

Yesterday, as I got off the express bus and walked toward my house, I couldn't wait to pass by my favorite tree. The last time I passed by it, the vibrant pink flowers caught my eyes. It was like God's gift to me, to be able to see such an amazing sight. It was different. It was unique. It stood out. It was mine!

But yesterday all the pinkness was no more. It had already turned colors. It was green just like any other tree in the neighborhood. I felt like God was taking away my gift. It was raining that day.

How silly of me....üä

it goes unnoticed.

We used to have a prism at my house that looked like a little crystal iceberg that had been sheared in half. It sat on the window sill near the various little cacti and aloe plants that grew all year long, yet grew so slowly I never noticed. The sunlight would shine through that prism in the afternoon and refract into little rainbows across the white walls and carpet. Sometimes my cat would pounce around the room chasing the multicolored tattoos the prism inked into the surrounding white. I would twist that little crystal iceberg and the tattoo would zip across the carpet and up the wall and onto the ceiling and my cat would just sit there looking up at it waiting patiently for it to come back down again. And then the sun would dip down over the trees and the little rainbows would disappear and my cat would cock its head to one side before running off somewhere. And the prism was just an ice block in my hand, a crystal paperweight waiting for the next afternoon sun.
I wonder now if I could shine a rainbow back through that prism would it come out as one true beam of light. And if it did, would it not just blend into the white walls and white carpet. And if it did, would my cat not even notice it. Would I not even notice it. And I wonder how something so pure and so direct could go unnoticed...üä