Aah, but it’s always a pleasure to come back here and lurk around others’ sites, drinking in all the literature I can before I go back to the reality of internship. So please, please, I beg for a little more patience. I promised to never abandon this blog and I stand by my word. I hope to be with all of you soon and I’ll come back as soon as I’m able to do so.

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For the friend who never knew of heartbreak until it made her its victim

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I don’t care what you think, if you felt that what you were doing is okay. It’s not, at least by the standards of my heart it isn’t.

We might have had the possibility. But there’s no use thinking about a road that never existed in the first place.

No, I don’t hate you. But I wish I did.

This one’s a bit dark and I’m not too fond of it but I guess it does deserve some blog space.

I’m really surprised by how much people you call ‘friends’ can hide so much behind their everyday faces.

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In shadowed moonlight she dreams of an innocence that was never hers.

Through the falls and cuts and bruises she learns that white was not the color of purity. Oftentimes, it is too bright and leaves dark spots which cloud the truth.

The truth is

White blinded

White blinds as much as dark does but at least the dark does not hurt her eyes. In the dark, her monsters exist, albeit in shadowed detail, but she could pretend that they were only the wind whispering to her traitorously throughout her nightmares. But light blinds and brings out for scrutiny the tiniest detail until she realizes that what she thought was white was never really pure-

The halo does not fit.

She realizes that innocence past the hallowed trials of adolescence was not really innocence but, rather, naivety, or worse. White could well be a cover for one’s darkness. Where the light shines brightest, that is where the darkest shadow lies. After all, the darkest point in a room is always the point right behind the light.

She learns her own brand of self-flagellation, bringing out the thoughts that plague her night-time wanderings, turning them over and over and out in her hands until they bled. She thinks her life to be hers when in truth she slaves over her embittered pride, the hubris born of years of always being second, always the next-best, always Her and never her and never ever-

What of purity?

What of innocence?

Later, much later in a life she has learned to regret, she learns to never trust she who only told white lies.

Shall I not wander there, a shadow’s shade,
A spectre self-destroyed,
So purged of all remembrance and sucked back
Into the primal void,
That should we on that shore phantasmal meet
I should not know the coming of your feet?

- Edith Wharton, An Autumn Sunset

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She wonders when he’ll become part of the background again.

She dreams of all the wasted years and all the pent-up regrets that she kept in the space where her heartbeats and breaths wrap around each other and she cries a little, dies a little with every passing hour. Where has her love gone? she asks and the gentling grief and stifled and starved devotion, both of which feel the same now, gather behind her tongue, choking back the answers. Can he comprehend how it feels to love and hurt so much that the only recourse is to leave?

They were never perfect, that much she knows, but they were together and that was what mattered then. She wonders how it happens, how two people who should be together get together only to have nothing happen. Should she call it nothing, the destruction of something she thought would last forever? No, not forever, she thinks angrily, only until the end of their days which is nowhere close to forever. A lifetime, then. A lifetime for a life full of hopes and dreams and that one person who can fill all the hollow spaces between her fingers and all the pauses between her breaths and everything she has that are lost and long gone-

Longing comes and bypasses the calling of flesh and settles and rattles in the hollow deep in her bones. Longing that years for a closeness that no amount of contact can ever sate, that ends only when she no longer discerns where his heart ends and hers begin.

Who does she long for now? She blames him for such thoughts, for he professed his devotion when all he meant was a niggle of his heart and a fragment of his time and those were nowhere near enough.

She walks away without so much a goodbye and she wonders, as she knows she will for the rest of her life, if he watched her leave.

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It’s a shove back to reality.

In longing, we misconstrue everything to fit the scenario that would sate the thirst.

It’s so easy to find patterns where only randomness exists. It’s so easy to believe in the existence of destiny when really, they were nothing but coincidences. We think ourselves a cornerstone when in truth we were but another block in Hadrian’s Wall.

Love is as free and ever-present as the air we breathe but love that lasts is a black swan that we keep chasing over and out, like regrets that we take in our hands and turn over and over and out until they bleed dry.

Before I lose all my pride, it’s time for me to make my exit.

Hmm, this piece might be too abstract-ish for some. Sometimes, even I find myself lost within something I wrote only to have an epiphany nights later when the meaning of the work actually sinks in my bones. Metaphors within metaphors.

If something you believed in for so long turns out to be not what you made it to be, can you accept the consequences?

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He knew the end before it began.

He dreams of clasped hands, of noses not quite touching, of midnight conversations that bloom with the coming dawn. He dreams of the sunrise in eyes that keep him beholden beyond years, logical thought, and reasonable doubt.

He blames the love songs for such folly even when he finally found her.

He smells like the rumble of thunderstorms in the distance, the moment of breathless anticipation, the suffocation in the presence of the otherworldly but she..she wasn’t so dark.

He thinks she feels like the rays creeping along the slumbering land – bluebirds chirping, morning glories bursting into full bloom. He glories in her radiance, never noticing the shadows that precede her every step.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, the veil is lifted and he realizes he can finally see.

He finds that it wasn’t the morning that was etched in her scent – not ‘good mornings’ that never end so innocently, nor the scent of bacon tickling his senses with every plop and splat of heated oil on the counter.

She smells like rain falling on parched earth – but he’s always hated the rain.

He thinks back on the days that only he remembers now, when he sat by the window and wondered if his mother would come home with another man on her arm. He counted seconds, watching the grimy drops make plump explosions on the glass, like poor dead things, like eyes that stare at him from the mirror on the wall.

It was too late to love the rain.

He learns that death is a cruel finality, watching her life stain his hands crimson, filling his senses with a sharp metallic spell that overrode the rest.

He remembers when he used to wish on dandelions, hoping the flurry would bring the stars down. Not even the whole heavens falling would help him now.

The Games People Play by an author I forgot. It’s a book by a psychologist that describes human interactions as ‘games’. Hmm, interesting.

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I haven’t thought of you for the longest time.

I found you buried under another life’s worth of memories and days half-lived in a daze came sauntering back with the deadly grace of the past deliberately forgotten. The disappearance was so quiet that I never felt your section of my heart crumble until it was too late – and you were caught in the collapse. I walked on, pretending it’s okay to leave it in chaos but that was a mistake. I’ve put this off, knowing at the back of my mind that I would unearth more than memories but I am foolish. So here I am now, wellspring of freshly-dug hurt pooling at the base of my tongue, choking back the indifference that is more of a defense than anything else.

I miss you and I love you. Not in the I-love-you-and-I-want-to-marry-you kind of way. I don’t think we’ll ever be like that since I know we’ve never seen each other in that way. Truth be told, you annoyed the hell out of me most of the time. You were immature and imperfect and flawed but I miss you anyway because you were warm and reachable and undeniably human.

Have you noticed the past tense? I don’t know who you are anymore since we haven’t talked for years but in my mind you would always be that guy with the loud laugh and eyes that disappear into lines whenever you smile. You would call me that ridiculous nickname I had to endure for my last two high school years and I would hit you in reply even though you dodge it every single time. In the confines of my memory, you are alive with joy. In my mind, you are eternal.

I hope your girlfriend lets you talk to me and the rest of the female population sometime soon but since she’s an insecure ass, I don’t think she ever will. But I promise to wait. I owe you at least that much because I am your friend even if in your little world of today, I don’t exist.

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to write more pieces for you guys to gobble up and spit back out. I won’t be abandoning this blog permanently but to be fair to those waiting, I think it’s better to say that I’m on hiatus. I’ll be posting personal updates whenever I can but my pieces might be limited to a once-a-month posting.

Aside from posting, I don’t really have that much time to blog-surf so if you have updates (changing domains, etc.), please don’t hesitate to post a comment here.

I promise, once this internship year is over, I’ll get back to posting a year’s worth of pieces and comments.

To those who have subscribed to my blog, thank you. You have no idea how you make me all giddy and fluffy inside. To those who were simply passing by but were kind enough to leave your comments, thank you as well. People like you keep small writers like me afloat and sane and grounded.

Thank you, and I hope to return to all of you soon.

Signing off, Yuuki-chan.

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How does one discern

When words are a beginning, an end, a pleasure, a momentary diversion, a promise, a bald-faced lie, a love song, a fairytale-eyes meeting, crash down, deep breath, and everything we say and don’t say in between whispers of muted conversation – how does one know which is which?

I had to cut my thesis class in order to attend the concert although my sister and I got reserved seats. Don’t mind the fangirl squeeing. It was a pretty long wait and the SIN members who paid around $200 for a meet-and-greet session with the band were grating on our nerves but it was worth it. Once the band stepped onstage, I raced to the front as fast as I could.

The result?

The people who paid extra to be seated at front practically wasted their money since the whole place got to their feet anyways. If you ask me, the chairs were pretty useless.

15 songs, plus the surprise If I Ain’t Got You cover and the night ended perfectly. I’m still groggy due to exams and lectures so I’ll let the pictures do the talking. :>

Bonus 1: Our seatmate was the US Ambassador to the Philippines. OHOHOHO. We had a whole squad around us the whole team.

Bonus 2: I GOT ADAM LEVINE’S GUITAR PICK. HIHIHIHI. *cue fangirl scream*

Internship starts next week so expect more silence on my part but rest assured that this blog is still alive. I’ll try to post something half-decent at least twice a month (or I can always just post a picture of me dying amongst the patient papers I have to finish).