Tag Archives: feelings

120 minutes

She was always told to never run away from problems, that brave hearts are never afraid of the challenges life randomly presents.

But not right now.

Her heart was not a courageous shield today. It had started running long before her limbs. Beating at an inconsistent rate, increasing its drumming with every passing second. A panic attack was starting to creep, making it difficult to swallow. The tremble running through her fingers was getting harder to control so she did exactly what her heart did, she ran.

The cry from her muscles being waken up from disuse was completely ignored as she pushed forward, trying her hardest to not bump into rigid shoulders. The last thing she wanted today was people giving her angry glances, generously throwing curse words at her.

She ran till she was out of breath. She ran because she needed some air. She ran till she could not recall why she was doing so and was one breathe away from falling over as her mind starts to cloud over. That was when she stopped and dropped herself on the vivid green expanse of the park, completely ignoring how the fresh dew is making her skin shiver, goosebumps starting to cover her tan body.

She shut her eyes for a long time, at least that was what she thought. She could not care less if it was a couple of seconds or if it had been hours. She had no space whatsoever in her mind to think about time.

The chirping of birds, casually resting on the crooked branch calmed her down. The music a pleasurable distraction and she opened her eyes to a couple of grey sparrows. If the sparrows could sense feelings, they would probably fly away as far as they could. Nothing that resonated from her presence was pleasant. Her aura emanated extreme fear, sparks of confusion and even the silent pain of not knowing how to feel. The ends of the grass were starting to make her ankle itch and the hem of trousers are slightly mudied as she continued to stare at the birds.

‘How.’ she whispered to herself. Should she see a doctor and seek help? Could she possibly be experiencing a mental disorder? Who could possibly help her now? How could she make sense of all of this?

Maybe it was just a one time thing. Maybe it will not happen again. Maybe there was just no explanation for it just like most things in this world. Like how babies knew that they had to breathe as soon as they were delivered or how the planets’ orbits are circular and not angular.

She played with her hands just so that she had something to do.

‘How’

Her skin feels rough and she skims over the small scar she had on the side of her right pinkie from when she was 10 and adventurous.

‘How’

With her eyes still closed, she thought of the classes she missed today. Maths.

‘How’

She thought about her flat at the corner of the main street. How the shower would never work seamlessly and the old washing machine placed at a very odd place in the kitchen. Pictures upon pictures of her dearest ones all over her wall in her room and the thought of that brought a smile as she slowly tried to compose herself and continue her day like it was just any other day of the semester.

‘Hey?’

A voice panted from a close range on her left. It was not a familiar voice, so she passed it off as a stranger passing by and continued thinking of her warm duvet and how it would feel good to get back home and be in her teal covered sheets.

‘Hey.’

The male came closer, a step away from invading her personal space and she was getting a little scared and annoyed at the same time. Involuntarily she furrowed her brows and stopped playing with her fingers.

‘You there’ he pants. ‘Lying on the ground’ he had to stop to take a breath and she guessed that he must have been running.

Her eyes opened abruptly and she sat up as swift as she could, turning to the source of the disturbance, giving him a not-so-friendly glare.

‘You should be less careless next time’ he pointed with one hand as the other one rested on his knees. His head slung down, a black cap covering his face.

‘What?’

‘Try not to leave things behind’ he raised his head up and she recalled the face she was looking -now staring- at. Same bronze skin with eyes that crinkled at the sides, she recognised the barista from previously.

He pulls out a dark blue purse from his pocket and hands it over. ‘Especially not something as important as this at least’

He chuckled while looking down at his jet black trainers. His fingers were still curled around the purse, hand stretching out but she was not showing any signs that she was going to take the purse from him.

‘How did you…’

‘You took off all of a sudden like you just saw a ghost or you were possessed and I saw you sprinting towards the park…’

He should probably stop and notice the half annoyed, half confused look plastered on her face while she attempted to cover her expressions hoping she would not come off as rude.

‘But obviously not being a mind reader, it took me quite a while to locate where exactly you are in this massive area. God knows what my manager would say now when I get back.’ He continued to ramble, arms resting on his hips, purse still in hand. Beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead but he did not bother wiping them away, the sight of a little boy chasing his golden retriever as if he would lose him otherwise kept him distracted.

‘I mean, it’s not as if we’re all that busy. We have new workers coming in recently and they have been keeping up quite well to my surprise.’

She wondered for a second if she had even asked anything related to his job but she had not and so her mind took her back trying to remember what exactly she had said to cause this peculiar stranger to start telling her things she could not care to know.

‘I could not just leave your stuff in the cafe and wait for you to come back. Honestly, it seemed as if you weren’t going to come back and if you really didn’t, I’d have to send this off to the police station and make a report which isn’t necessarily what I would like to use my time out of work for. All those forms and having to talk to people in uniforms’

‘You are in one.’ She interrupted, out of a sudden.

‘In what?’

‘A uniform.’ She pointed at the dark green apron he was wearing, that covered his entire front with an intricate logo in white. He looked good in it, well as good as anyone could ever be in an apron that is.

‘You know it’s different.’

She did not bother to answer.

‘You can take your purse anytime now’ Hand outstretched, waiting for her to take the goddamn purse from him.

‘Thanks, you didn’t have to.’ She took it from him and started to
pick on the lose thread along the zipper. ‘It’s not like it’s important when I can’t even remember my days anymore.’ She mumbled under her breath, looking away.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I didn’t say anything.’ She lied just so that he would go away. ‘I said thanks. That’s all I said.’

‘Yeah, don’t worry about it. I guess i’ll head back now and and hope I don’t get my pay cut from being out too long.’

She had stopped paying attention to him by now. Buds are starting to grow from the bald trees around her. It is already spring based on the calendar but this year, the trees are taking their own sweet time to adjust and transform the the town into a romantic shade of pink.

‘See you next time you drop by then. Maybe I could give you free coffee if I’m around and yeah, just say hi.’

The boy from earlier have caught up to his dog and is currently hugging him with all his might to stop the dog from running away again. His parents a distance away, laughing at his futile efforts.

She could not exactly remember the moment he left or when she started being alone again but it made no difference. She was doomed anyways.

She fell back, hitting her head hard on the ground and closed her eyes. She grunted at the pain and wished everything would just disappear and this day would just end and her mind would just start working again and her memories would come back to her. And everything, everything will be okay again.

The cold wind blew her hair away, strands covering her face leaving her looking almost ethereal.

The same gush took her consciousness away.

Her time was up.

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This

“This is the hardest.” I say to my side, as I turn my head to look diagonally to the guy staring straight at me. I get ready myself to serve this time. A doubles game currently taking place, our eyes locked to each other. Taking a deep breath, I continue for our team.

Serve, run, smash, distract myself.

I lose the point.

“No. This, is the hardest.” He whispers to me as I walk towards the other square. Again, the guy on the other side of the net stood diagonally from me, waiting for me to be ready before he swings his racket. His look is similarly intense, focused on the game, focused on me.

He is right. This is harder, not the previous. Not having to force myself to focus on him, locking my target as I prepare myself to play, but him looking at me, in the most serious kind of ways. There is no possible way for me to escape his gaze, as if there is no net separating us, as if he is not standing halfway across the court.

I am glad that half the court away, he stands, completely oblivious to this small conversation happening. There is nothing left in me except the feeling of longing and the memories of spontaneity, fearless decisions and persistent actions.

But the worst is none of the above.

It is the fact that I am easily readable by this guy on my side, no context needed to understand the subject of my sudden comment. As close as we can be, we can never be close enough in the ways that I would have desired.

The one that got away is the one in my present, who’s standing next to me, not the guy of my past. Yet, I know for certain that it is my present who will haunt my late night thoughts years from now.

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Unnumbered thoughts

After a long break, this is what I came up with -somewhere in between sheets and dreams- on a Wednesday night.

 

My feelings are mine,
They should never be something you concern yourself with.

My feelings are for me,
To be entertained when I’m bored
Not for you to be burdened with guilt.

 

ps: Apologies, they sounded so much better in my head half asleep.

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The best feeling in the world is when you are able to stand up for yourself and fend off bullies.

There is only so much a person could take. Only so much hatred and frustration one could hold back.

It is absurd that a person does not feel safe in the confines of their own home. There is always the fear of being attacked, harassed or insulted and degraded on a daily basis.

The fight is rough, harsh shoves and raising voices but nothing beats the satisfying feeling of knowing that you can rely on yourself.

Proud.

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Burn

Burn

Burn,
Not bright and mesmerising,
But fast,
Slick tongues of flames,
Licking your useless being,
Edges turning pitch black,
Black like your heart,
Black like your presence,
Turning you into the ashes,
That you are worth,
Because you are nothing more than that,
Dust,
Dirty and unwanted.

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Hi World, I do not need for you to know me.

At a certain point of having this blog, I realised that I really wanted to be heard. I desired for my thoughts to be understood, for others to at least try to see it how I see it, regardless if they agree with me or not. But in all honesty that does not matter. I have discovered that now. That my goal was never to be understood by the world but by the few people I care enough to share what it feels like to see the world through my pair of boring, brown eyes.

Then isn’t it stupid for me to run a public blog when the obvious way to achieve what I really wanted is through personal communication? Well, I guess, but the more attached I am to someone, I find it harder to express to them my real thoughts. Especially the controversial ones I keep hidden. Also, I must say, putting my heart out on my sleeve isn’t something I am particularly good at.

Writing here is easy and between the two paths diverging ahead of me, I choose the easier one. As much as I know everyone who reads this are human, I do not put an identity on any of you, no faces attached to the views I get everyday. I am detached from you. So, I do not care what are your perceptions of me after you have done reading what I decide to tell you.

What I could do instead is maybe start a project like one of my friends have done. She writes letters to all the people around her. Despite the fact that she never sends them, it still serves the purpose: She gets her thoughts cleared up and it is kept private. Maybe I should start one as well. And maybe unlike her, I should hand them to people when I feel like the time is right. And just maybe, you might have one with your name written in block letters (cause I cannot write cursive)on a worn envelope with dog ears on two out of the four sides.

As for now, I have taken off the link of my blog from my public accounts. The only ones who have access to this blog now are people who have visited it or people who stumble upon it after being on the wordpress reader and they aren’t many of them. So now, this becomes more personal to me, well at least as personal as a public blog can get and I feel more safe writing what I feel like writing.

Ps: Also, recently I was hanging out with my sisters and I asked if they have read my blog and they told me that they had but they could not really understand what I was saying. They said it was too poetic (in a bad way). If you agree with them please tell me. I guess I sound like I am trying too hard half the time. Have I? I am not really sure myself.

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It’s been a while

I think, I think too much
And that’s another thing to think of
Besides the subject that is you
Running laps continuously around my mind
While I am always known as a slow walker
And I cannot keep up

My friends tell me they never know what I want
And I have never minded just settling with ignorance
But when every mention of you is accompanied
With multiples ‘i don’t know’
This once, I really care to know if I care for you

I seek left and right for some sort of advice
And there is one straight ahead who could help me
But how could I possibly ask you about you?
Even if your insights would be the most insightful

Timing is everything, I agree
So tell me if I should reopen this after a year
Or should I just let it go like I did three years ago?
You are 7 hours away but it does not matter
Because what are years and hours and memories?
They only make this sound more tragic than it is
When the only tragic thing is us stuck in GMT-friend

I’ll be honest, I am nervous
And if I’m lying I’d say I’ll talk to you today
All this time knowing today will never happen
Shall we trade experiences once this is over?
Today I wish for you to read this
Today I hope you could magically read my mind
Today I will stop being complicated and mess things up
All this time knowing today will never happen

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A reply to ‘Raison d’être’

Raison D’être

 

There are days when I force words out because my brain seems to act like a car sitting in the garage for too long, needing a few attempts before the engine purrs to life. Those days are hard and most of my work produced usually ends up in the draft folder I never revisit.

Then there are times when thoughts start to suffocate me and I cannot function. When my life looks like everything is right where it should be, but my mind is a mess I need to organise. It is then that my work seems less pointless. I guess because that is when I write the truth. Sentences that are not laced with exaggeration or randomly placed jargon to make it sound better.

I guess I write because there is actually so much about myself I do not know. This is partly because I never question anything really. When I am asked how my day went, it would take me a few seconds for me to actually think of it because I never do. I live knowing that I have to go through days however they turn out to be, so I never really cared if it was a good or bad day when I should.

I never really knew what I liked and what I do not. They used to be the same to me. I just power through whatever it is that comes my way. Maybe because growing up, I was never really in a position where I could choose for myself. Lessons are pre-chosen by my school or parents, I wear what is approved by my family, I do what seems to be appropriate to everyone else. I am a produce of a relatively constraint surrounding I would say.

Writing makes me question every underlying assumption I previously had. If not, what I write would not be convincing and if I am not convinced by it how would it ever help me sort out conflicts between the thoughts I have in my head? I do hope whatever I write would bring people pleasure or some sort of joy or satisfaction but essentially, they need to fulfill the main objective: for me to fully understand this loaned soul of mine and once I achieve that, hopefully I get to be a better person. Although that is arguable.

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13 years

There are some things you just cannot seem to forget.

She came home when she was 8, report book squashed between multiple other thick textbooks in a bulky Digimon bag. Like any other night, after the 8 o’clock news, when both of them are resting in front of the television, she entered the room. The thin green book in hand as she made her way to the right side of the bed where he lay. She must have been smiling. She was probably 3rd or 4th in class. Never the smartest but it did not matter to her.

She handed the book to him, and he shifted further up the bed, leaning against the headboard, the flimsy book in his right while his left hand lifted his glasses above his eyes to rest on his head.

‘How could your average score be below 90?’

She had never thought of why she did not do better than she did so she really could not answer and just looked some place else. Her score was 86% or 87%, she could not really remember.

‘I’m not going to sign this, get your mom to do it.’

She was a little shaken and confused, mostly confused, so she took her book back and walked out of the room. It was either that or she moved to the left side of the bed, where the other lay and got her to scribble her initials in black pen instead. She must have slept on a salty pillowcase that night. The book was later returned to her class teacher, with the other’s signature on that page.

And all the pages after that. Every single one. She had never bothered to ask him for his signature after that day.

She is 21 now but she still remembers. Each time, it hurts the same way it did when she was 8.

I am sorry.

I love you, but I still remember.

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You take up too much of my sleep

You take up too much of my mind
And I hate how I allow this to happen
It is like I am saying
‘Hey, I see you lurking around the corner,
Come closer and let’s see what you have for me’

This is not a poem of devastating sadness
Of a love unreciprocated
Or about undividided attention
This is me too lazy to write paragraphs
But not poetic enough to write lines that rhyme

There are things I need to say out loud(figuratively)
To validate and maybe promote them
From being muddled thoughts
To half-assed poetry or whatever you call this

*

The people you love are not the ones
You whisper sweet nothings to
But the number you dial immediately
When you feel like the whole world is closing up on you

The people you trust are not the ones
You share your deepest secrets with
But the ones whose advice you accept
Because you have allowed their opinion to shape your decisions
Almost similar to consensual dictatorship

The people you respect are not the ones
You speak politely to
As if your tone would hurt them physically
But the ones whose words you value
Even if they are completely not what you stand for

And if all these made up assumptions
Are actually true
Then you are the person I love, trust and respect
But that does not mean we are anywhere better
Than we were before I said it
We are too deep in debt with our own selves
To even start owing each other a part of us we cannot provide

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