Sunday, August 20, 2006
remember mr crayon?
In my short nineteen years of existence, i've met people and i've read their life stories... halfway. I was never committed to any chapters, and only allowed myself to stay long enough to.. i don't know. I only drift, i never stay.
I kept on taking, taking, taking and rarely gave. What's there to pick up and learn, i did. I highly doubt i have left any mark on them. But little did i know i changed their history, and they changed mine.
My blogs doesn't last past a year or so because i keep running. This current one is my... sixth? Seventh? I've lost count. But in all the previous blogs, there was a recurring theme. I've pulled the plug since then, having withdrawn from what was an ambiguous connection between me and a friend. It was, at best, the most complicated relationship and at worst, a destructive one.
I remembered my lacrimal glands being the most active in this period. I shedded tears for everything we've encountered. Our violently conflicting ideologies, his post-trauma beliefs, my narrow-minded morally and politically correct principles, his jaded self, my naivete... all the while bound by the same thing which we could never put a finger on. Or, which i consistently deny.
We lived in a secret world together, i almost believed either one of us wasn't real. We do not have anything but purely memories. We don't leave footprints in the sand, we don't carve our initials on wooden benches, we don't pose for japanese picture-taking machines, we don't leave crumbs on restaurant tables.. we were just there.
Although we were so undefined, it was most painful, savage even, to close the chapter. I did. Stopped writing and shut the book. Needless to say, silent cries and phantom tears were the only accompaniment. There were several attempts to give in to temptations but the book remained shut. I scribbled 'The End' and that's that. I made the decision that enough pain has been inflicted and when we couldn't point a finger to the culprit, it's best we burn it all down. Leave no traces behind, no relapses.
I kicked an injured kitten -- describing it in analogy doesn't sound half as cruel but it was. He... left a farewell, strong yet gentle. Lacrimal glands overdrive: part two.
My words sound fancy, his words have depth. My words boggles the mind, his words stimulates the mind and heart. I continued reading his blog, a new one he set up after the first which i introduced him to. If anything, i'm glad to have introduced him to writing therapy. Blogging, especially. Another avenue to channel emotions, the better. And through blogging, i realized too that this world is microscopically minute.
He's got a job at my mom's workplace. Nobody knows this. Not he. Not mom. Not me. When someone tells you that fate is cruel, please believe it. I kept it long before telling my mom about him, but only the tippest of the tip of the iceberg. By then, mom has grown fond of him, so do most of the other colleagues. A darling, sure. However, i told her not to reveal me. She did.
Sigh (thirty minutes).
Mom comes home everyday and tells me things about him. How the people there adore him, enjoys his company and infectious laughter, touched by his genuine kindness filial piety and amused by his kid-like antics... stuff i usually roll my eyes at. She, however, do understand me and that there was something we both were hiding from her but she knows better than to probe. That's my mom. (=
Today, my mom came home bearing undesired news. My dear, dear friend...
But it's beyond me. It'll be too painful to find the book and rediscover its content once again. It'll be like opening Pandora's box. But i'm extending my prayers for him, though, as always. As always.
--------------------------------------------------------
fara // 17:46
remember mr crayon?
In my short nineteen years of existence, i've met people and i've read their life stories... halfway. I was never committed to any chapters, and only allowed myself to stay long enough to.. i don't know. I only drift, i never stay.
I kept on taking, taking, taking and rarely gave. What's there to pick up and learn, i did. I highly doubt i have left any mark on them. But little did i know i changed their history, and they changed mine.
My blogs doesn't last past a year or so because i keep running. This current one is my... sixth? Seventh? I've lost count. But in all the previous blogs, there was a recurring theme. I've pulled the plug since then, having withdrawn from what was an ambiguous connection between me and a friend. It was, at best, the most complicated relationship and at worst, a destructive one.
I remembered my lacrimal glands being the most active in this period. I shedded tears for everything we've encountered. Our violently conflicting ideologies, his post-trauma beliefs, my narrow-minded morally and politically correct principles, his jaded self, my naivete... all the while bound by the same thing which we could never put a finger on. Or, which i consistently deny.
We lived in a secret world together, i almost believed either one of us wasn't real. We do not have anything but purely memories. We don't leave footprints in the sand, we don't carve our initials on wooden benches, we don't pose for japanese picture-taking machines, we don't leave crumbs on restaurant tables.. we were just there.
Although we were so undefined, it was most painful, savage even, to close the chapter. I did. Stopped writing and shut the book. Needless to say, silent cries and phantom tears were the only accompaniment. There were several attempts to give in to temptations but the book remained shut. I scribbled 'The End' and that's that. I made the decision that enough pain has been inflicted and when we couldn't point a finger to the culprit, it's best we burn it all down. Leave no traces behind, no relapses.
I kicked an injured kitten -- describing it in analogy doesn't sound half as cruel but it was. He... left a farewell, strong yet gentle. Lacrimal glands overdrive: part two.
My words sound fancy, his words have depth. My words boggles the mind, his words stimulates the mind and heart. I continued reading his blog, a new one he set up after the first which i introduced him to. If anything, i'm glad to have introduced him to writing therapy. Blogging, especially. Another avenue to channel emotions, the better. And through blogging, i realized too that this world is microscopically minute.
He's got a job at my mom's workplace. Nobody knows this. Not he. Not mom. Not me. When someone tells you that fate is cruel, please believe it. I kept it long before telling my mom about him, but only the tippest of the tip of the iceberg. By then, mom has grown fond of him, so do most of the other colleagues. A darling, sure. However, i told her not to reveal me. She did.
Sigh (thirty minutes).
Mom comes home everyday and tells me things about him. How the people there adore him, enjoys his company and infectious laughter, touched by his genuine kindness filial piety and amused by his kid-like antics... stuff i usually roll my eyes at. She, however, do understand me and that there was something we both were hiding from her but she knows better than to probe. That's my mom. (=
Today, my mom came home bearing undesired news. My dear, dear friend...
But it's beyond me. It'll be too painful to find the book and rediscover its content once again. It'll be like opening Pandora's box. But i'm extending my prayers for him, though, as always. As always.
fara // 17:46
Tagboard.
Friendster.
Email.
♥ Fara. Forever20. Nurse. In the pursuit of kidnapping Happy.
+ Images:
deviantart