She Thought

 

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who thought that the world is a beautiful place.

 

She thought that it was made up of pretty, little things. Wherever she’d look, she’d see pretty flowers, smell the red and pink roses, and feel the cold breeze caressing her face. She’d hear the humming of the birds and close her eyes and revel in their sweet, sweet symphony.

 

She’d walked barefooted upon the soft grass, her pristine white dress billowing about as the wind gently blew. Her golden hair tangled upon itself, and she has to sweep it away from her face with a tinkling laugh. She’s happy, she’s comfortable, and the world is a beautiful place.

 

She lived in her own bubble of comfort, enjoying her pretty life. Her eyes are closed, smiling sweetly, arms wrapped around her feathery pillow, sighing contentedly.

 

The world is a beautiful place.

 

Or so she thought.

 

When the girl awoke, her dress was white no more. It was stained with mud and blood. The crown of roses she’d set upon her head has become thorns, cutting her, piercing her pretty skin. She can no longer hear the symphony of the singing birds for the air is filled with the wails of the damned.

 

She hugged herself as she tried to fight the angry lashes of the winds. The grass, before so soft, are now sharp under her feet, and the girl who once thought that the world is a beautiful place, sank down on her knees, tears streaming in her face.

 

She thought wrong.

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Last Night

He was standing there, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding the roll of cannabis resting between his lips. The pungent smell of smoke emanated off him, billowing in wisps in the air. He was silent – his arrogant, lopsided smile on those lips, his eyes boring holes into hers.

She was sitting on the floor, exhausted, naked except for the blanket that’s providing her protection, her eyes bloodshot from her crying that started the night before. She was tired – she hasn’t eaten nor slept. And yet he has the audacity to touch her, to demand her body’s submission. How dare him.

He didn’t want to force her. He cherished her… but last night. Last night he wasn’t the man he is. He was fucked. He was stoned, and she started screaming about his “irresponsibility”. He snapped, angry that his buzz was destroyed. He didn’t want to hold tight her thin wrists in his fists, didn’t want to cover her mouth as she screamed for him to stop, to get off, to have pity, to please, please stop.

She didn’t want to beg. It was beneath her. But last night, she swallowed her pride, and pleaded for the man she thought she knew, to stop. Tears were streaming on her face, yet he ignored it. Something in her broke – she willed for her body to separate from her soul. She wants out. She wants to escape.

He knew it was wrong. But he can’t stop – she was like a drug, and he was hooked. He had let go of her hands, and she was thrashing, writhing, against him, her nails digging in his back, raking, drawing blood. He was travelling between pain and pleasure, he was hooked. And he wanted more.

The pillows swallowed her tears as she submitted to his domination. His hands were rough and hard on her. She’s already sure of the bruises that will appear on her hips, her thighs, her shoulders, and her back. His lips, though, were a contrast of his hands: sweet and feathery kisses travelled through her skin. Until they reached her nape, and bit hard. Another bruise. She felt him pull her hair, and she prayed he’d pull hard enough to extinguish all the oxygen in her brain, so that her heart would do the thinking.

Her whimpers sent him over the edge. As he lay on top of her, kissing her back, he felt her heart hammering. He felt her struggle to get him off, but he held his place. He kissed her shoulder, rested his head between her shoulder blades. He knew he was hurting her, his weight too much for her thin body. He knew he hurt her.

She felt empty, dirty and tainted. He had never done this before; she’s now questioning the love he said he has for her. She struggled to get him off; he did, after a while, feeling her discomfort. Her tears started to fall again as she turned her back to him. She felt his arm pull her close, and as he rested his head on her shoulder, he cried his apology.

She felt his tears on her shoulder, sliding down. She felt his body shudder as sobs wracked his body. Her heart clenched. She knew she shouldn’t forgive him. She knew this is wrong. But at this point, she doesn’t care anymore. The hazy smoke has clouded her judgment perhaps, but fuck it, she doesn’t care anymore. She turned to look into his eyes and kiss him on the lips. As she moved atop him, savouring her slow descent, his hands strong yet gentle on her waist, she kissed his tears away. This is her, this is him. This is them. Eyes locked, fingers intertwined, together they knew, this is right.

Assumptions

When I was little, I thought love was magical, eternal.  I thought wrong.

Growing up in a house torn by flames of ice and screams of silence, I thought love was impossible. I thought wrong.

The first boy who made me smile despite my fears, I thought he was love. I thought wrong.

The first man who made me follow my heart, I thought he was love. I thought wrong.

The first man who made me fight, I thought he was love. I thought wrong.

I’ve collected a notebook full of all my assumptions

I’ve stored a memory full of my thoughts

I’ve kept a heart full of tears and pain, sealed it with an ice chain, and threw the key into my river of wrath.

I am alone.

I am happy.

I am strong.

I thought wrong.

The first man who listened to what I have to say, I thought he was love.

The first man who made me feel like I belong, I thought he was love.

The first man who faced my fears with me, I thought he was love.

The first man who gave warmth to my cold heart, I thought he was love.

The first man who brought light to my dark soul, I thought he was love.

I thought right.

But he has stolen my heart and ran away with it

And now all I have left is a gaping hole in my chest,

Which only his name could fill.

I thought love could kill.

I thought right – it always will.

Happiness

February 1, 2015.
I wonder if you still remember that day. I do. It was the day you asked me that question: “How would you define happiness?”
It started everything.
My answer varied from time to time.
After months of being in love with you, here’s my answer:
Happiness is seeing your messages on my phone.
Happiness is going through our conversations.
Happiness is waiting for your free time.
Happiness is the moment your name appears whenever you call.
Happiness is hearing you sing for me.
Happiness is making up after days of fighting.
Happiness is asking for forgiveness every time I push you away.
Happiness… is not always there but..
Happiness is knowing you want someone else but still stayed with me.
Happiness is picking myself back up again after you broke me.
Happiness is when you chased me again when I gave up on you.
Happiness is you putting me back together after I inadvertently broke myself again.
Happiness is seeing you change.
Happiness is feeling that finally.. this love isn’t unrequited anymore.
Happiness is loving you unconditionally.
Happiness is holding your hand.
Happiness is looking at your eyes.
Happiness is being with you.
Happiness is knowing that I can  love more than I thought I can.
Happiness is being loved by you.
Happiness is loving you.
You’re my definition of happiness.

Rue

What would your life be today if you only did what you didn’t?
Has it ever crossed your mind that you could be happier than you already are?
If you only…
Took that single step?
Looked back before running away?
Given than chance?
What if that single choice could take away all that pain and regret?
If ever you’re given the chance to go back in time to change the past, will you take it?
Will you exchange your experiences and lessons learned for that single thing every soul, including yours, is searching for – happiness?
But what if your happiness would mean someone else’s sorrow?
Will you be truly happy then, knowing that while you smile, someone will cry?
You are aware that for every action you make, every step you take, will affect the lives of all the people around you, right?
Knowing so then, will you still change the course of your life for your fulfillment, at the expense of the happiness of everyone else around you?
Will you be selfless, giving way for their sake, sacrificing your personal contentment, letting go of the promise of hope?
Or will you be selfish, putting them aside, fulfilling your heart’s desire, grasping what you regretfully let go of a long time ago?
What if everything hung at the blink of an eye, in that split second you’re given to decide?
What would your choice be?

Jump!

“Maybe tonight you’re scared of falling, and maybe there’s somebody here or somewhere else you’re thinking about, worrying over, fretting over, trying to figure out if you want to fall, or how and when you’re gonna land, and I gotta tell you friends that to stop thinking about the landing, because it’s all about falling.” 

                      —   Tiny Cooper
Have you ever wondered why we live our life the way we do? Why do we do the things we do? Has it ever crossed your mind to ask, “Why am I living like this?”? Do we live the way we do because we have no other choice but to do it? Do we live it like this to seek greater glory? Or maybe to fulfill the “mission” supposedly given to us? Or do we live our life the way we do because we are afraid to take that leap over the edge?
Tiny Cooper’s quote of brilliance hits dead-on the dilemma of living our life. Almost all of us stay within the circle of safety, braving life with hesitancy and doubts, all because we are afraid to get hurt. Because we are afraid to be called failures. Because we are too afraid to be laughed at.
This just proves that we humans are too stubborn to learn what life keeps on telling us: at some point or another, we are bound to fail, but it should never be an excuse to stop. Because, at some point or another, we are also bound to succeed. Life is a balance – successes and failures, happy and sad, black and white, yin and yang. But between the two extremes lies the medium that leads us the way: the journey.
As the famous cliché goes, “It’s not about the destination; it’s about the journey”, the journey – the “falling” of Tiny’s quote – is what life is ultimately about. It is not really the glory of success or the pain of failure that consumes us – it is the journey we have taken on the way to the extreme. Life, as tragic as it may seem, is almost always a series of constant failure. It is as if it is programmed to give us humans failures upon failures upon failures, giving success a “one shot only opportunity” quality. This is where “falling” comes in. We fall and fall and fall to land painfully on hard ground, just so that we can jump and then fall all over again.
It’s a cycle really. You jump, you fall, you land, you stand back up and then jump again, repeating the whole process, until finally, you seize that one-shot-only success. Until you’ve done the whole harsh thing, you could not say that you’ve lived life to the fullest. Living life to the fullest means jumping, falling, just to land to jump all over again. It’s about taking risks and facing challenges head on. It’s about facing your fears, braving life with a certainty that you will eventually achieve what you are trying to achieve.

 

So live your life – jump over the edge of fear, land, and then jump again. Because that is life: landing from a bad fall only to jump and fall again. It’s picking the pieces of your broken self and starting all over again. It is about never stopping and making excuses. Because as you fall, as you live, you realize: life isn’t just actually about falling; it’s about embracing it, so that it becomes about the floating.

Beyond the Glory

“Hey, congratulations!”

“Whoa! You’re so amazing!”

“I want to be just like you…”
I’ve been hearing this all day long. Wherever I go, people would stop to shake my hand or clap my back. And all day long, I have been smiling and thanking them. Putting on my biggest smile, booming out my loudest laugh. Pretending that I’m okay.
I want to be happy. I’m supposed to be happy. But why can’t I feel the joy of success? I have met the people’s expectations. I have made them proud. So why am I unhappy? Why can’t I be happy for myself?
Is it because, in the first place, I did not choose the path I am now traveling on? Maybe that’s the reason. Because I have been so caught up in obeying and yielding to other people’s demands and expectations, I have set aside what I had really wanted. In order to make them “proud”, I threw my dream away…
How can people just let go of the future they are hoping to have? How can you just let something like your dreams slip out of your hold? How can humans just give up what they’ve worked on so hard, for the sake of other people’s opinion? How can we just chase other people’s dreams, while our own gets left behind in a wispy strand of memory, trailing in our wake, taunting, haunting?
No one expects to hear this kind of stuff. Well… the people you least expect to be unsatisfied, more often than not, turns out to be the people with the biggest regrets. You might think we’re happy because of everything that we have achieved. You might think that we’re satisfied, that we have nothing more to ask for. You’re wrong.
I wish I could go back in time and did all that I should’ve done. I wish I made my own decision. I wish I was stronger. I wish I had a louder voice. To speak out. To be heard. I wish I had the courage.

 

For now, all I can do is go on this path. I know I am not alone. There are a lot of people out there, feeling the way I am feeling, suffering the same way that I am. I hope no one gets lost the way we did. And as I continue my journey in this travel-worn path, I am hoping and praying that someday, I’ll find the courage and the strength to seize freedom, spread my wings and chase my dreams.

I’m Not Her

 

Looking at your smile hurts.

 

I’ve been staring at you for the last half hour or so, just following you around, trying to get a glimpse of your face. Not that you know; I’m too scared to even think about how you would react when you discover what I’m doing. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but that smile.

 

But looking at it hurts.

 

Do you have any idea how you look when you are happy? It’s like looking at the sky opening up for a downpour of sweet, sweet rain after a drought.. it’s like seeing the stars when you look up at the night sky after a week of rain.. the way your face just lifts up, the way your eyes crinkle and twinkle, the way those lips turn up for that smile..

 

Looking at your smile hurts, because I know I’m not the reason behind it.

 

I want a glimpse of the smile she gives you because I know that’s something I couldn’t give. I cant make you look at me the way you look at her. I cant make you hold my hand as tightly as you hold her’s. I cant make you wrap your arms around me to make me feel safe like you do for her. I can’t make you wipe my tears away and promise me that everything will be okay. I cant make you say my name in the sweetest way.I can’t make you love me… Because I’m not her. I’ll never be her.

 

It hurts so much because I’m not her.

 

I’ll never be as graceful as she can be. I’ll never have her pretty face. I’ll never be as desirable as her. I’ll never have that carefree, fun attitude you’ve always wanted. I’ll never be as brave as her. I’ll never have you loving every little thing about me, the way you do for her.

 

And it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I cant ever make you happy the way she does. I just want to see that smile playing on your lips. But I cant. Only one person can bring that out. And I’m not her..