Mornings Awake

beautiful-girl-love-photography-favim-com-601760I feel content. And for it, I rack my brain harder in the search of inspiration. I do not know what to write. This might be another one of the countless attempts I’ve made this morning where I begin with a few words, delete, type again, and go back to thinking harder.

All I can think of, is how grateful I am. I have this tiny ritual. It’s random and quite sporadic. Whenever I feel a little extra anything…thankful, sentimental, or even giddy, I would clasp my hands together, close my eyes, and speak. To this day I’m still not sure to whom I speak the words to. But the habit of just putting those words out there, out of my control into the world surprisingly makes me feel rather more powerful. It’s as if I can physically feel my heart expanding. That is the only high I need. For now at least… 😉

Changed Days


Gaining perspective somehow became the light but as well as the bane of my existence. It’s a burden yet an enlightening.

I can no longer imagine my life, or even me before the pain, the tears, and the words on here. However, I don’t discount the importance of the growth, the smiles, and strong bonds that developed as well.

My days once again have become nights, and my nights have become days again. There was fear as I once again seeked comfort on my own quirky, nocturnal schedule. But I was soon able to console myself. The me now, was different. And the nights being awake were definitely different from before.

I was no longer consumed with “nothing” as I used to scroll through random pages with my eyes forced open as if a zombie. My emotions that were so shallow for the lack of not wanting to feel, I could definitely feel an almost content or even happy feeling now lingering in my subconscious. It could be me just feeling okay but rather I think it’s from the confidence. The confidence in the emotion of feeling alright. Now if I could only stop making my bed so often. Sleep can only keep me busy for so long.

A Prison Of Our Own Making

It’s been three weeks since I took a break from my blog. I guess it was my retaliation against life for once again taking a break on me without my will. Because just as the last time, I was stumped. You would’ve thought I would have learned by now.

The uncertainty of what the future held for me swallowed me whole again. Even though I knew what I had to do, for some reason I was choosing not to do it. But then I realized, no I was doing it. However I was being sentenced into the waiting period. The wait till the world responded back, “come join us again.”


During that wait I came across something. It was bound to happen with the immense amount of shows I’ve been binging on.

“I’m in a prison made by me, individualized with what I chose to imprison myself with. No one put me there and no one will take me out of there. Only by my own will can I get out.”

It got me thinking about how I’ve rarely ever expressed happiness in writing. For a person who represents to the outside world as a happy symbol, I had forgotten to how much sorrow and pain I symbolized here. I was thinking of how when I would be 99 years old one day (fingers crossed) I would read my writing and think back to how I was such a sad child. I would reminisce my horrible life. Although in reality, it was not. I have had days where I’ve been happy. I just unfortunately haven’t shared it on here.

To me happiness is something so physical and mentally felt in the moment. It’s the smiles, the affection, the touch, and senses that are alive that second.

But the irony is I do still gain comfort here. A content feeling that is  a different version of inexplicable happiness. Not the usual high of being on cloud nine, but more like ah now I think I can truly rest now. It’s the calm after the adrenaline rush.

And I forgot how much I was torturing myself as I convinced myself away from here. Because a month ago, the little bouts of sadness among the happiness held importance. The endless feelings of sadness and depression over a length of time just became a sameness. Insignificant. What I felt now didn’t seem to hold any importance.

The original vigor before when I thought I had the right to be angry and frustrated was gone. I felt as if I lost the right to just throw in the towel and say

“I’m done trying. If you want me in your life, let me know. Bye.”

During this wait, I’ve been terrified. I have singularly blamed and hated the uncertainty to the whole situation. I would soon miss and start to realize the importance of a routine. Before, waking up at 7 am and thinking ugh I have to go to work would often make me frustrated and sad because I felt as if I had no choice. However for 2 years while I was bedridden…for the first time I experienced waking up to nothing. Completely and utterly nothing. I wondered, why do I even need to wake up? Can I just not wake up at all?

I miss routine, but I need to learn how to embrace uncertainty as well. To learn the balance of being grateful for both, a routine to wake up to yet to not give a crap because there might not even be a tomorrow.

Nothing makes sense here.

In the end though it all comes down to a simple feeling. I just feel so left out of my own freaking life.



Fuck Everyone

I don’t curse but there are nights like these… where I start wanting to.


Everything was fine. In fact, they were great. It was a day where so much was happening that I was high from it all. The music, the people and just the mere idea of doing something fun.

But then without realizing, they were subtle, there were things happening throughout the day that were pulling at you like a string almost getting taut. You feel the anxiety building up but because your head is still in cloud nine, you’re still okay. Till something at the end, at night right before sleep takes over, it takes one random word for you to snap. And now suddenly everything becomes relevant to each other.

Today was good, within all its crap.

But I still want to cry. I want to scream. And I want to tell everyone to fuck themselves because of how much full of bullshit everyone seems to be.

I keep telling myself to accept the fact that maybe I’m not meant for relationships. And when I say relationships, I don’t mean the first thing that comes into your mind, a man and a woman. I mean all types. Every god damn type. I don’t know what I do. Everyone speaks of how I’m nice, in fact too nice. I get along with everyone. However in the end, I still end up with people that screw me over. That don’t genuinely want good things for me. If I move on from one toxic person, then comes the next. The funny thing is, it’s everyone and happens each and every time.

I’m not needy. I express myself openly, wearing my heart on my sleeve. I can’t change it. I don’t want to change it. But is that why they want to fuck with me? The reason why they don’t want me to be happy? I’m not asking them to do anything special. All I want is someone to be genuine as I am with them. To not have bad intentions against me. I just want a goddamn innocent relationship where I’m not scared to be fucked over.

I look back at the words that took over me in anger last night. Now, there is only simply a calmness within me. I am at peace. These words resonated within me as my sister soothed me,

“In reality, no one is out there specifically with the goal to destroy you. They are only after themselves.”


Making Fireworks

“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call it forth its riches.” | Rainer Maria Rilke


I’ve been ungrateful and selfish. Mean and hateful. Just worse and worser (even though there’s no such word).

When I should have been thankful for all that I had achieved, like every other human I looked towards what I didn’t have. It wasn’t ahead but it was next to me. And I knew this was how people fell into a constant. When we began to compare.

However today without comparison, I felt my own self-worth being questioned. I wavered. But I was wrong to doubt. I was not the problem. I’m ever changing but I am also a rock in which I hold a stability in how I much I have and do offer. It’s everyone else around us. Rather I’m not placing blame but accepting that there are so many variables around us. So, when the result isn’t what I expect…I have to understand it was not my fault. I can just choose to do better. I can choose to make what I didn’t expect, somehow matter.



Is this how it feels to be the right one? The right girl to marry. The one to commit to. The one he chose to have a life with. Is she supposed to feel unloved because of it?

If I’m supposed to be happy to be chosen, instead why do I feel like I’m not worthy of love?

But they tell me it’s alright. Just because he didn’t choose you first, it okay as long as you’re his last choice. No one even ends up with their first love for god’s sake. You’re the type guys want to marry.

However, I don’t even think they realize the words that come out of their lips like tendrils of smoke, poisonous and toxic. Marriage does not equal love. Neither love or marriage are a guaranteed product of one another. Even though I may be the “chosen” one for whatever man that enters my life in the future, but I have witnessed the disasters of marriage. It’s effects of slow torture towards a sad and lonely demise. If my parents could be victims, so can I. If they can be survivors, so can I. The question is whether or not if I want to be.

And I know. I know that I do not want to live life to be the “right” one for someone. I want to live it being “loved” by another. Because being “right” was not enough to console my mothers tears at night. Being “right” did not mean she was treated as such.

I only wish to have the memories of being once loved as consolation at least, if my future marriage ever painfully heads toward obliteration. Maybe that will be enough…

Enough to comfort me when I’m alone at night.


Pain & Hunger


“It’s late right now but I’ll watch it in the morning

Also I’m kinda missing you right now

I had a really good day but I don’t know, I kinda wish we could hang out.”

I woke out of the warmth of my bed, to see those words in a text greeting me on my lock screen. It was like for a second the sun gleaned through the cloudy day and the next second it was like a cold bucket of ice thrown over me. I shook my head, waking myself out of the daze I call sleep and tried to ignore what I just saw. I think my sister sent the text to the wrong person.

It wasn’t a big deal, I thought as I spooned my cereal with strawberry’s into my mouth. I’ll play it off. I’ll text back that I was pretty sure she meant to send that to a guy.

“Have you and your sister not talked in a while?” my mother asked. The question was random. I continued to put my head through the top of my shirt pretty sure that she had looked through my texts on my lock screen. We had just talked about this yesterday. Privacy. Instead I turned to her and said, “No, we just talked a little here and there. It’s okay. We’re just both busy.” I hadn’t lied. I was saying the complete truth. I had never felt this okay with our lack of contact. Maybe because we had a healthier relationship…

I looked back at the screen as the bus was rolling away from another stop. I finally typed back a response.

“Why do I feel like you sent this to the wrong person? 😉 I miss you too”

No response. Again it’s alright. She’s a college student. She shouldn’t be even awake at 8 am in the first place.

Then why am I here, with my hands freezing cold still feeling awkward. I don’t hear the words “I miss you” often from her. In fact I’ve realized I don’t hear it often period. I’m always the one to express my emotions first with people I truly care about. With strangers I’m often the last. So hearing the words I often repeat like a prayer, said back to me with the same nonchalance I say it in…shocked me.

I was thankful that I was hearing it at least now. But it was a big deal. Feeling appreciated was a big deal for me. It shouldn’t be but I realize now that it is. I don’t want to say it’s because I haven’t been appreciated all this time but even I have to admit that it was partially because the people around me don’t show or express their affection or love to me at all really while in comparison I do more than usual people.

So I’m deprived and hungry. For love and appreciation. And those words from the text…I ate them up as if they were my first meal in years. Although I’m still not letting my guard down. Because the minute I do accept those words completely, the text will come. And it will say that those words were for another one.



She texted back and her reason was that it’s the time of the month. So she’s emotional.



Tedious Days


Ironic isn’t it. When you create something out of goodwill in the past, that creation leads you into a trap of its own in the present. One you made for yourself without even realizing. So this is what it feels like to be back stabbed. Currently being betrayed by my past self sucks. Who knew it would make me rethink everything.


Walking My Own

alone-colors-freedom-girl-favim-com-2177959It was almost physically hard not to write when I was depressed. I was raw and my emotions flowed eloquently on paper…almost romanticizing my pain.

But here I am, my words abrupt and my sentences lacking a certain flow. Because I’m okay right now. I might even say that I’m happy. Still happy. And there is truly nothing significant to write about because of it.


Hookah Lounge


I looked at the 22 year old man in front of me, with his best girl friend across him. I watched as he sucked in the air from a pipe that extended from a huge curved container next to the table. He exhaled the smoke into the air above in little O shapes. I was wrong. The right word wouldn’t be “man” for him but rather he was a “boy.” Immature and the words from my sister echoed in my mind, “he lacked substance.” He was a good person who had treated me with nothing but kindness since I met him. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel the need to force smiles and sounds of laughter throughout the whole encounter. It reminded me of my countless attempts of friendships. I was trying. But I felt empty as I sat there. My curiosity for what a hookah bar looked like disappeared after my sister prevented me from going to one. There was no longer enough curiosity left to push me to try the smoke that filled the whole lounge. So, I was glad I didn’t cave into the pressure of trying hookah. 

But I could feel the emotions of despair fill me after the bowling and the lounge outing with him and his friend. Friends. Something so simple and the most effortless of most relationships often gave me the most distress. I got along with everyone. I was the kind, sweet girl that everyone liked. So, I wasn’t friendless. However, a genuine friendship was what I wanted. A companion that I didn’t feel the need to force myself to spend time with.

I was 18 and I didn’t have even one person that would cross my mind to reach out to whenever I wanted to do something. Not that I don’t like the people that are my age, that are around me. But everyday we are always putting one foot out for the outside world because we have to…to survive…at work, home with our family, and etc. Friends were the relationships where you don’t owe the other person anything to make them happy. It was the choice of several people who like spending time together, hanging out partially for themselves. To unwind. To have fun. I’ve never experienced that. Yes, I’ve had fun. But not necessarily with the people I’ve ever wanted. 

My sister mentioned that maybe it’s because we’re both picky. But I looked upon her with envy as I saw her surrounded with friendships lasting over a decade and a best friend she had just finished traveling the world with. Maybe, she said, you’re not meant for it. You often have to miss out on one aspect of life to win in another. 

However, I looked down upon such a calculative view of life. I’m only freaking 18. I shouldn’t be weighing what I’m willing to “sacrifice” to gain in another department. The ironic part is though all that weighing and balancing is done only with yourself as a witness, with no guarantee that someone’s going to pay you back for that sacrifice. 

Although, I did agree with one thing. Time was precious. And if I don’t like him, even though he did nothing wrong. In fact, his friend and him were nothing but great people. I was not happy when I was with them. I was doing the very thing I’ve been repeatedly been told and have been learning not to. I was settling. I was settling with a friendship that meant almost nothing to me. That held no value. I had enough respect for myself to know that I need to respect my thoughts and emotions. He did nothing wrong. Neither did I. 

But I love myself. Know myself. And care enough to know that I want more.