April 19, 2014 § Leave a comment
A lot of people dream about moving out of the city, but very few accomplish this. I personally love the countryside, but when I think about leaving, it’s an inevitability that feels far away into the future. Recently, that has become a reality.
My dad lives in a province 12 hours way from the capital (where I live/d). I honestly love his place. It’s a getaway that feels like home, although I’ve only been here twice before. This time, I was sent here straight from the hospital, somewhat against my will. I was too ill to resume my medications and my doctor and parents agreed a change of environment would be good for me while I let my system heal. I gave in after days of protest because no choice: I couldn’t get out otherwise.
I was adamant about staying in the city because I was rearing to get back to my routine that had already been disrupted for so long. It felt worse because I knew that there was going to be a lot of change, and their promise that I was going to go back down after 3-4 weeks for lab tests was just a thinly veiled consolation to hide the probable permanence of my being sent away. I had a life in the city, a lot of my passions were rooted there and I didn’t want to lose it. There was no psychological preparedness that came with this severing. What about all my dreams?
April 19, 2014 § Leave a comment
It has been a long while since my last blog post. I apologize. The first few weeks were an unexpected hiatus; I was confined to the hospital. I have been out for the last three weeks though, and there have been radical changes to my situation. There has been so much to write about but I regretfully did not do so while I was in the moment. There is no excuse; I was not too busy to write… I suppose I was just scared. There’s a lot of uncertainty and I have this habit of procrastinating because I want to be as close to perfection as possible. I was waiting for the right “feeling” to come. Not inspiration, but the urge to write. They come and I let them pass often without any output. Again, probably because I thought it wasn’t good enough. Now I decided I want to actively blog. I am hoping that this serves as a wake-up stretch of sorts. I want to be able to write regularly, and so much is going on around that this will probably help further perspectives.
I realized that I am not really blogging for anyone else. No one expects perfection as much as me and I will not let my own insecurities hold me back anymore because there is no loss in discovery. The littlest things matter just as much as any opinion.
I now set my sights on posting at least once a week, a goal that I hope to surpass when I can. I shall write through thick and thin as much as possible. No more stagnation for me.
In fact, there’s another post coming right up (:
February 10, 2014 § 1 Comment
There comes a time when it may seem like your child has stopped loving you. Like most things it happens slowly, and then all at once. Hugs and kisses feel reluctant. Inquiries about school and friends meet less satisfying anecdotes until they are nothing but shrugs and you stop asking. Your presence becomes unwelcome, a nuisance, an embarrassment. I can only guess that it feels like betrayal.
I am a teenager, and I have not loved any less. I have only loved differently.
There is an awakening that comes with age that is the reason parents wish their children would stay little, and eventually makes us wish we weren’t in such a hurry to grow up. Innocence is more than not knowing about what lies beyond home. Innocence is better measured by how a child regards her parents.
I would not say that I lost my innocence. Maybe lost isn’t the right word, it makes it seem like such a bad thing. On the surface, it may be. It must be scary to be seen with different eyes, to no longer be the hero. Feeling like you have less and less power over what happens, your influence dwindling. It is never conscious, this shift. I suppose that is why the betrayal is not only on the side of the parents.
January 15, 2014 § 2 Comments
“Can you go refill my glass of white wine?” My sister was out on the porch that night, as she had been every night lately.
“What does it look like?” I didn’t approve of her developing side career of being a (tasteful) drunkard but I decided to oblige. I was too tired to argue besides she’d still get it in the end. It’s not like it was hard liquor tonight either, I reasoned to myself.
“It’s in a clear glass bottle, you can’t miss it.” She waved her hand as if to tell me to hurry. I made it a point to take it slow anyway, just to be annoying.
Sticking my head in the fridge I pulled out what she had described, filled it to the brim to better avoid her making me go back, and brought her the drink with a flourish. “Enjoy yourself.” Okay, there was a little sarcasm there.
I was on my way out when I heard her ever-complaining tone. “This isn’t white wine, this is Russian Vodka!”
“Sorry! You said the clear bottle!” Hey, I didn’t mean it.
“Help me finish this, it’s really strong and you filled the whole glass too. You take shots of this, not down it in one go!” Having nothing better to do I settled down next to her on the old wooden bench and took a few tentative sips. Not bad. « Read the rest of this entry »
January 8, 2014 § 6 Comments
“Why” questions are always the most difficult kind. Sometimes they make me feel like questioning myself as well because I never know how to answer them right. Presenting a limited truth has become a habit of mine; I tend to answer depending on who asks them.
I had been in Nico’s room for a while with Arnold, another guy I used to have a class with in school. We weren’t really close but he was nice enough that I didn’t mind.
The small talk died down and the “why” question I’ve come to dread came up, as it always does. I couldn’t elude it as I usually do. At some point people aren’t satisfied anymore with a vague “I got sick.” After all, it’s not very common that someone disappears from school for weeks, only to come back and do it all over again… and then end up having to just retake the year.
I stalled. I told them of the crazy rumors that I never confirmed nor denied. Cancer? AIDS? Some rare exotic disease? I let them speculate.
“No, definitely not pregnant.” Arnold chuckled, as he dropped my shirt to stunned silence.
“Dude, you don’t just lift a girl’s shirt without permission! Who does that?” Nico covered his eyes with his hands. As if he could pretend he didn’t see what just happened. I could feel his embarrassment. For me or for Arnold?
January 3, 2014 § 4 Comments
I’m a vastly different person from when I started this blog waaaay back in 2012. I never really introduced myself back then, and when I came back to revive this blog late last year, I did the bare minimum by just updating the “author” page.
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December 19, 2013 § 6 Comments
Tacky music blares from public vehicles as I adjust my earphones, hoping to block it out with my own. I am occupied with minding my feet lest I step on the assorted washed out trash and grimy puddles the rain left gross and indistinguishable. Trying to not notice the stench of pollution; car exhaust, mixed with the breaths of millions, the occasional waft of street food, rotting garbage, smoke from distant factories, and who knows what else. The city is mostly tainted grey when you really look. Stained by the waste that passes through our lungs as well. I can practically taste the disgusting bitterness, like something came to die in my mouth even if I wish I didn’t. Occasionally a bright spot, but the splashes of color are nonsensical marks left by people for self-expression on public property. Rusty corrugated iron that’s probably teeming with tetanus and pitifully bare concrete blocks crumbling with age define most structures here. The people aren’t any better.