I've always worn my heart on my sleeve; always been honest about how I felt, no matter how stupid I'd look divulging every bit of secret I have about my past and my present. Always been so vocal, always been so open.
I tried. I tried to not be so trustworthy, but I end up eating my words.
End up kicking myself for doing the things I keep trying to convince myself not to do.
It's hard really, when I have so much to say all the time, and I'd rather say everything, before I explode, trying to keep all my thoughts to myself. I've always hated asking myself "what if"....
But then again, what if I don't end up saying what I want to say?
What if this once, I actually learn how to keep my mouth shut, and pretend like everything's fine; like I'm fine with my current situation, and all I have to do is breeze through it, be more positive, and I'll be alright.
Yea. Alright. If being alright is even a legitimate feeling. If saying "I'm okay" all the time will actually work...which I'm hoping it might, since the more you say something, the more you believe it, and the more it feels truer and more real than ever.
The lie, eventually becomes the truth; we create our own versions of what's right and wrong. The world is nowhere near black and white. We always make these excuses to justify what we do, because it feels good, even though at the back of our minds, we know it's wrong, we know it's bound to end, we know it's not forever.
So what do I do now. So much to say... to whom really? Do they deserve the truth? Do I have to choose whom to be honest to, or do I just stay this way - be myself, and pray that someday, someone truly accepts me for who I am, without that person having to wait for something in return?
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Risk vs. Reckless
So I've been 25 years old for 2 weeks now, and I've become more of a risk-taker than I've ever been.. but what does it mean to be a risk-taker? Does it mean having to become reckless? Does it mean having to drop every ounce of responsible voice in your head for the sake of satisfying yourself? Is there even such a thing as being responsibly reckless, or positively reckless for that matter.
I live life with no regrets. I kicked my birthday off by climbing up a mountain in Batangas, just because. Just because I am a risk-taker; just because I wanted to; just because I know it would do me some good.
A few days later, I risked meeting up with a friend at 3 in the morning because that friend wanted to see me; I then received my first Valentine present slash pahabol birthday gift. A few hours later, I received my first rose after 5 years, had dinner at Chuck's Deli 12 hours later, and mightily enjoyed it. They may have been small risks, but risks worth taking nonetheless.
Despite the sudden bouts of depression in the morning, when I have to talk to him and when I have to be reminded countlessly that it was my fault, I still find myself smiling about some memories that have transpired ever since my birthday month began. Roughly 2 days ago, I also reconnected with a friend over my lunch break. Somehow, the people whom I haven't spoken to for years, are those who have been quite responsible for my sanity these past few months.. makes me think if my decision to shut people out of my life has been more of a bad idea than good.
That's the thing; that's what he's made me do. I was blinded so much by my past, that I followed everything he's asked me to do...and now? He reminds me constantly about how much of an unforgivable person I was.. I am. Back in college, I know, I was reckless. But I enjoyed every minute of every stupid mistake I did...probably because I knew, I wasn't hurting anyone else in the process, but myself.. and I have always been accountable for my actions, and I never ever wanted to blame anyone else but me. After all, I am the captain of my own ship. I choose which waves to tread, and which island to go to.
Now, I'd like to think I have been more of a healthy risk-taker. My friend told me once, "keep yourself sane; you need it". How else will I be a good mother, if I'm sad or angry all the time? I need to keep myself in check; I need to be happy; I need to LOVE myself more, in order to give more love to my daughter. I need to appreciate myself more and to give myself more credit, NO MATTER WHAT OTHERS THINK OF ME. I need to be confident. Not for any selfish reason; not to have admirers; but to be the best mother for Laela.
I aim to take more risks, responsibly of course. A healthy balance of everything is what I need.
I live life with no regrets. I kicked my birthday off by climbing up a mountain in Batangas, just because. Just because I am a risk-taker; just because I wanted to; just because I know it would do me some good.
A few days later, I risked meeting up with a friend at 3 in the morning because that friend wanted to see me; I then received my first Valentine present slash pahabol birthday gift. A few hours later, I received my first rose after 5 years, had dinner at Chuck's Deli 12 hours later, and mightily enjoyed it. They may have been small risks, but risks worth taking nonetheless.
Despite the sudden bouts of depression in the morning, when I have to talk to him and when I have to be reminded countlessly that it was my fault, I still find myself smiling about some memories that have transpired ever since my birthday month began. Roughly 2 days ago, I also reconnected with a friend over my lunch break. Somehow, the people whom I haven't spoken to for years, are those who have been quite responsible for my sanity these past few months.. makes me think if my decision to shut people out of my life has been more of a bad idea than good.
That's the thing; that's what he's made me do. I was blinded so much by my past, that I followed everything he's asked me to do...and now? He reminds me constantly about how much of an unforgivable person I was.. I am. Back in college, I know, I was reckless. But I enjoyed every minute of every stupid mistake I did...probably because I knew, I wasn't hurting anyone else in the process, but myself.. and I have always been accountable for my actions, and I never ever wanted to blame anyone else but me. After all, I am the captain of my own ship. I choose which waves to tread, and which island to go to.
Now, I'd like to think I have been more of a healthy risk-taker. My friend told me once, "keep yourself sane; you need it". How else will I be a good mother, if I'm sad or angry all the time? I need to keep myself in check; I need to be happy; I need to LOVE myself more, in order to give more love to my daughter. I need to appreciate myself more and to give myself more credit, NO MATTER WHAT OTHERS THINK OF ME. I need to be confident. Not for any selfish reason; not to have admirers; but to be the best mother for Laela.
I aim to take more risks, responsibly of course. A healthy balance of everything is what I need.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Sanctuary
A place to call home. It doesn't have to be where I sleep on a daily basis, it doesn't have to be some fancy place I can relax it.
Sanctuary can be a person; a friend whom I can feel at home with. A companion who can give me a break from everything I have to do day in, and day out. A partner who can whisk away those negative vibes from work. From people. From him.
Someone I can walk around with, I can talk to, or not even talk to.
Someone whom I can enjoy the silence with. Someone who can understand me, without having to really fully understand me.
You don't have to be an 'empath' like me; you don't even have to say anything to make me feel better. You just have to be there, without any expectations of getting anything in return; without thinking that there will be an incentive once you serve your purpose...while I serve yours.
See, it's difficult to find this place we'd call home. Even our own houses don't serve that purpose at times, which is why we find ourselves running away.
Running away from everything.
Sometimes it would be just great to disappear; to be anonymous; to be in a place where no one really knows you; a place where the greatest judgment you'd receive would be about the clothes you're wearing, and how you look.
I felt that somehow. I went back to my alma mater yesterday to request for my transcript. And it felt great to walk around with a friend, to walk around people who don't have the slightest idea of who I am, or how old I am, or what I was doing there. It felt great to be unnoticed, to be anonymous, to be a wallflower. Having lunch where I used to eat served great memories. Walking under the heat of the sun - oh God. The sun, which I've missed terribly, as it heated up my skin and made me sweat, gave me a sense of comfort and that sense of feeling that I was alive. It didn't feel like I was dreaming. It felt more real than ever.
I've always told myself I was so glad to have graduated, to have started working, to finally earn my own money. Being back in Ateneo though, in that place where a lot of mistakes and wonderful memories happened, gave me back the feeling of being alive.. and yes, the feeling of being young. The atmosphere weirdly, oddly enough, felt like home, and it felt really comfortable, as if I had not left, as if the 4 years I have spent outside it weren't 4 years at all.
It was a mildly positive surprisingly pleasant feeling. That visit surprised myself, even though my only purpose was to request for a piece of paper. I'm quite excited to go back there this Thursday, and relive that same positive experience. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Sanctuary can be a person; a friend whom I can feel at home with. A companion who can give me a break from everything I have to do day in, and day out. A partner who can whisk away those negative vibes from work. From people. From him.
Someone I can walk around with, I can talk to, or not even talk to.
Someone whom I can enjoy the silence with. Someone who can understand me, without having to really fully understand me.
You don't have to be an 'empath' like me; you don't even have to say anything to make me feel better. You just have to be there, without any expectations of getting anything in return; without thinking that there will be an incentive once you serve your purpose...while I serve yours.
See, it's difficult to find this place we'd call home. Even our own houses don't serve that purpose at times, which is why we find ourselves running away.
Running away from everything.
Sometimes it would be just great to disappear; to be anonymous; to be in a place where no one really knows you; a place where the greatest judgment you'd receive would be about the clothes you're wearing, and how you look.
I felt that somehow. I went back to my alma mater yesterday to request for my transcript. And it felt great to walk around with a friend, to walk around people who don't have the slightest idea of who I am, or how old I am, or what I was doing there. It felt great to be unnoticed, to be anonymous, to be a wallflower. Having lunch where I used to eat served great memories. Walking under the heat of the sun - oh God. The sun, which I've missed terribly, as it heated up my skin and made me sweat, gave me a sense of comfort and that sense of feeling that I was alive. It didn't feel like I was dreaming. It felt more real than ever.
I've always told myself I was so glad to have graduated, to have started working, to finally earn my own money. Being back in Ateneo though, in that place where a lot of mistakes and wonderful memories happened, gave me back the feeling of being alive.. and yes, the feeling of being young. The atmosphere weirdly, oddly enough, felt like home, and it felt really comfortable, as if I had not left, as if the 4 years I have spent outside it weren't 4 years at all.
It was a mildly positive surprisingly pleasant feeling. That visit surprised myself, even though my only purpose was to request for a piece of paper. I'm quite excited to go back there this Thursday, and relive that same positive experience. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Monday, February 11, 2013
The truth is
I am an angry person. I have been, for quite some time now. This might sound a little bit too personal, heck, I expect more judgment from my peers after they read this, but I don't care anymore. Sleep has continued to elude me, for many reasons, that I cannot write down at the moment; but know this: I've been crying for hours because I did not know, rather, I do not know how else to let go of this anger I've been feeling.
Sure, climbing mountains is therapeutic. It gave me a new sense of fulfillment, and my adventurous side has been awakened. Spending more time with my daughter, no matter how sleepless I get, gives me a sense of happiness that no amount of money, haircuts, or manicures can give me.
But I have been angry. Ever since I left that townhouse, ever since I called up my mom to pick us up, ever since I hastily packed up whatever clothes I could get out of my cabinet, I have been angry. I have come to realize that these things, these unpleasant memories, will always be with me no matter what I do; and no amount of comfort, alcohol, or amazingly great sushi can flush those memories out of my head.
This morning, it happened again. He blamed me again for why I suffered all those years. He blamed me for whatever it is I experienced. In short, he made me feel once more, that I deserved every beating, every bruise, every curse. I. deserved. everything. And that this failed marriage was not his fault entirely, and that I too, was to blame.
Just like that, all of the unpleasantries came rushing back into my brain. My head is once again, filled with beating myself up for everything, for not being able to give my daughter what she deserves - a normal family, one that I never had growing up. I didn't want to make the same mistakes my parents did, but I ended up doing so. His usual line is, "I provoke him", and had I not looked the way I looked, or answered back the way I used to answer his questions, I would not have suffered a beating.
All this, has turned me into an angry person. I'd lash out on people who don't fulfill my expectations; I turn away from those whom I start to get attached to. I bitch out to see who would actually stay, and who would actually get provoked enough to hit me again. It sounds all too sick, dramatic, and overly pessimistic yes, but this is exactly how I feel, and it feels f*cking good to write about it. To let it out. To let my friends know this goes through my head a lot.
And I know that no one will be able to understand me; only those women who have suffered the same ordeal as I have would probably be empathetic, but it's a sad reality -- my friends & family, no matter how much they love me, will never be able to feel how I feel, because they are lucky enough not to suffer what I had to go through.
I am angry; not just with him, but with myself mostly. I allowed a person to treat me in such an animalistic way, thinking he would change; thinking God would change him, or have changed him, every time he had an ounce of goodness to show me. But who hits someone when she's pregnant? Who hits someone and tells her afterwards it's her fault?
I know that somehow, some day, I would have to let go of this anger. Those times when I'd plug my earphones, and walk around Eastwood by myself during my break, are times that I use to try and flush the bad memories out. I pass by the restaurant where we had our wedding reception, and yes, it does hurt. It hurts to know that you failed, that you failed to keep it together, that you failed to keep that life long commitment --- because a part of says, I had to fail. I had to let it go. I needed to, for my sake, and for my daughter's.
I honestly, do not know what to do. Yes, it's easy to say, pray. Go to church. Talk to someone. Go out. Have a rest day. Have some me time. Drink. Eat your sorrows away. Pray.
The truth is, I am lost, and I'm just well on my way to picking up the pieces again. Not just for my sake this time, but for Laela's. And I have to. I have to be strong.
Sure, climbing mountains is therapeutic. It gave me a new sense of fulfillment, and my adventurous side has been awakened. Spending more time with my daughter, no matter how sleepless I get, gives me a sense of happiness that no amount of money, haircuts, or manicures can give me.
But I have been angry. Ever since I left that townhouse, ever since I called up my mom to pick us up, ever since I hastily packed up whatever clothes I could get out of my cabinet, I have been angry. I have come to realize that these things, these unpleasant memories, will always be with me no matter what I do; and no amount of comfort, alcohol, or amazingly great sushi can flush those memories out of my head.
This morning, it happened again. He blamed me again for why I suffered all those years. He blamed me for whatever it is I experienced. In short, he made me feel once more, that I deserved every beating, every bruise, every curse. I. deserved. everything. And that this failed marriage was not his fault entirely, and that I too, was to blame.
Just like that, all of the unpleasantries came rushing back into my brain. My head is once again, filled with beating myself up for everything, for not being able to give my daughter what she deserves - a normal family, one that I never had growing up. I didn't want to make the same mistakes my parents did, but I ended up doing so. His usual line is, "I provoke him", and had I not looked the way I looked, or answered back the way I used to answer his questions, I would not have suffered a beating.
All this, has turned me into an angry person. I'd lash out on people who don't fulfill my expectations; I turn away from those whom I start to get attached to. I bitch out to see who would actually stay, and who would actually get provoked enough to hit me again. It sounds all too sick, dramatic, and overly pessimistic yes, but this is exactly how I feel, and it feels f*cking good to write about it. To let it out. To let my friends know this goes through my head a lot.
And I know that no one will be able to understand me; only those women who have suffered the same ordeal as I have would probably be empathetic, but it's a sad reality -- my friends & family, no matter how much they love me, will never be able to feel how I feel, because they are lucky enough not to suffer what I had to go through.
I am angry; not just with him, but with myself mostly. I allowed a person to treat me in such an animalistic way, thinking he would change; thinking God would change him, or have changed him, every time he had an ounce of goodness to show me. But who hits someone when she's pregnant? Who hits someone and tells her afterwards it's her fault?
I know that somehow, some day, I would have to let go of this anger. Those times when I'd plug my earphones, and walk around Eastwood by myself during my break, are times that I use to try and flush the bad memories out. I pass by the restaurant where we had our wedding reception, and yes, it does hurt. It hurts to know that you failed, that you failed to keep it together, that you failed to keep that life long commitment --- because a part of says, I had to fail. I had to let it go. I needed to, for my sake, and for my daughter's.
I honestly, do not know what to do. Yes, it's easy to say, pray. Go to church. Talk to someone. Go out. Have a rest day. Have some me time. Drink. Eat your sorrows away. Pray.
The truth is, I am lost, and I'm just well on my way to picking up the pieces again. Not just for my sake this time, but for Laela's. And I have to. I have to be strong.
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