Six Years

Unedited, because I have a feeling if I try to I might end up deleting the whole thing.

Six years ago, today marked a new beginning and I didn’t quite see it back then. I guess it marked your own as well. You had plans to impress, I had plans to survive, and though we were lost and confused, almost as much as we are now, you gave me a present… both a blessing and a curse wrapped with a bow on top that took my breath away and gave it back to me with a surging pain. When I touched the corners of you, I realized how burnt I was. When I held the edges I heard every word you never said, every secret you never shared, every breath you breathed. I held your presence in my arms, a weight too large to carry and watched myself give way. I crashed, burnt and came down with a show. A show that attracted a small audience.. that cheered me and asked me to stand back up, and a much larger audience that asked you to keep pushing. I didn’t know what I was dealing with – there was no time to think, and having trusting you more than I’ve ever trusted myself I believed you, even when you said I was the criminal and you were the victim. I accepted your lie because with you, there was no such thing. I sold my soul for you, because that’s what you wanted me to do.. and to this day, I haven’t been able to afford it back. So, it lies there somewhere thrown away and trampled, once tendered to, then tampered with and thrown when it wasn’t important to you anymore. I’ve been saving my pride and collecting the pieces of ego I threw away hoping there’d come a day when I can buy my soul back but it turns out six years has still not given me enough time to collect it all. Still too expensive for what I am now. The only person who could have afforded it for me now sits behind a screen reading these words and wondering who these words are for. If only you knew, if only.

Like the poems I wrote for you back then, I write no more. Unread letters, thousands of them rest in sealed envelopes in a box addressed to you. I could send every one of them to you but they won’t mean a thing to you now. We’ve come a long way from that sunny day in November. I had so many questions for you, but I asked none… because I was afraid of what I’d hear. I still wonder what your answers to those questions would be and I still don’t think I want to know. Somehow that day, though it was only a glimpse of you that I saw as you hurried with a bunch of people flocking around you, as you held your head down and your lips turned down, I remember how hard I tried to avoid you. I wasn’t at all in the mood to catch up with the gifted story telling nature of yours but I bet you didn’t want to talk to me either. I remember so clearly how you walked away from the crowd you were gathering and left the people speechless and gaping at you. I remember how I was one of them.

I don’t know what you thought that day… if we could make it out alive or if you thought I wouldn’t. Maybe you didn’t give it much thought at all, because when I think about it now, I’m just as confused as I was that day. Just as shocked, just as lost… and all this time I’ve been preparing myself to answer the questions they could possibly ask me and I know nothing more now than I did that day. You, it turns out, have something special in leaving people speechless. Maybe that’s why I still write about you. To fill in to all the things I would have said to you if I could.

It turns out that six years didn’t change much… I’ve worn a shield since then, impenetrable by all but you. I’ve taken my mind on trips with no return hoping they’d lead me to you. I thought I’d know the answers by now, but I don’t know yet. I’d ask you, but I’m still not sure what I want to hear. Six years, everything has changed and yet nothing has changed.


An Anonymous Note

THINGS LIKE THIS HAPPEN :’) Can’t stop smiling 😀

one chubby blob

Today was a rather astounding day.

Here’s me browsing through the books – yes, I finally entered the labyrinth of a book shop – and was basking in absolute bliss. I picked up a copy of ‘Gone Girl’ and find myself browsing through it’s pages. I was immediately pulled in by the blurb and the whole mystery that it exuded. My eye catches another copy and I pick it up, and I notice a little note with a cute little symbol thing at the end.

“Breathe, now read these words. Everything written in this are words just for you.”

It was surprising, but also rather intriguing. I hope I meet the person who wrote this note one day, so I can tell him/her how they made my bland day just a little bit better.

Thank you, random person who keeps notes in books. You made a huge difference.


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Blog 14: Maybe someone needs a smile today

The Book Notes Project

Hello everybody, I hope you all are doing well. I realized that there hasn’t been much activity here recently so I thought I’d share with you something that happened to me today.

I’m a believer… in second chances, in love, in forgiveness… and sometimes I feel like the only person who still believes. But there’s always those moments once in a way where you realize you’re not the only one. That someone out there is trying just as hard as you to put a smile on someone’s day, to share their dose of happiness.

This year, I decided I’d try even harder to do just that. To share a smile, to say hello to a stranger, to leave a few MORE notes for someone who might be reading my favorite book, to be a little more humane than I have been. Maybe I don’t know but someone needs that smile…

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Your Day (And mine)

They’ve all gone to bed; their school bags packed, their shoes all polished and shining, homework complete. It’s a school night after all. Their parents have tucked them in, given them goodnight kisses and turned out the lights, before going to bed themselves. His grandfather’s favorite TV show just ended and now his glasses rest by his bedside. The girl hugs her brown bear as she visits so many different places at the same time in her dreams. I watch the lights go out one at a time, and in the time it takes for that mom or dad to walk from room to room, I visit places of my own in my mind. Places where goodnight kisses aren’t through skype calls and bed teas don’t have to be made myself. And as another light flicks off, my eyes dart to the house next door where a teenage girl argues with her mom. I wonder, about what… maybe she got home a little too late again, maybe she got a B in class instead if an A, maybe she had raised her voice to her little brother’s innocent arguments. I see a tiny head peek from the window next door, and realise it’s you. Maybe you’re wishing on an airplane that you think is a shooting star. A little boy with dreams too big to hold within himself.. someone who’d soon give them all away in exchange for a few more hours of sleep. It takes moving from primary school to secondary to have dreams crash at your feet, it takes a midnight cup of coffee to have the warmth rush back to me.

I watch you go to sleep, I watch your neighbours go to sleep, I watch you all go to sleep, somewhere you can explore all the unlearnt places and yet return to the comfort of your family with a tiny cry or a name pronounced aloud. I’m awake, still sipping my coffee, watching a city of lights go down until the only lights that remain are those of streetlights, distant cars and the stars of the night sky. The moon hangs very picture-like and I watch the red tail lights of airplanes that fly away or into a country the people on it have never been to. They do look like shooting stars, and even if they were, I realise there’s no number I’d pick up and say “Hey! Look at the sky tonight. WE are now complete!” Because ‘we’, apparently is child’s play.

I watch you for a long time, imagining all the castles you’ve built in your dreams, all the dragons you’ve slayed, all the girls you’ve got to sit at your lunch table. I smile… dreams don’t last forever. When you wake up you’d be back to building paper rockets in class, slaying your math homework and sitting with your usual bunch of friends at the lunch table. I wish I was you.

Hours pass as I watch my own dreams spread across sheets of discoloured paper folded in four where I’ve drawn your face with words that you’d never read. I stare at a drawing of a heart that stands unfaithfully in the middle of my unruly handwritten notes in black ink. I read back the words I wrote two years ago where I mourned about the death of a person who never actually died. Maybe it was I who did. No one knows.

It’s almost the crack of dawn; I’m sipping from my second cup of coffee for the day. I watch the light in your room flick on. You’re pulling your blankets over your face as if that can block the sweet sound of your mother telling you it’s time to wake up. Your eyes probablly dart to the wall clock.. maybe you realise she’s right. You jump out of bed with your star wars pyjamas and red socks. Your mom draws the curtains and when she draws them back again a well hour later, you’re all dressed up for a tiring day of science, math, history and play. You grab your school bag and leave your room. The sun is out and I pull down my window blinds, put my coffee aside, add this post on wordpress and hide under the blankets myself. You and I are both going to be having a long day. And when we see each other again, I’ll remind myself that someone out there is waiting for me the same way that I do for you.

Sunshine, Rain, Fires and You.

And you can spend the rest of your life pretending nothing happened. And I can spend the rest of mine like I just met you.

Where we parted, we took a bit of each other in our hearts and I don’t know much about you but I can describe every bit of you in my heart so well, that if words were to fill every tiny speck of skin on you, I could read you off by-heart. The problem, though, is that you aren’t a written script or even a painting off your drawing book. You are the words the writer crossed out in his mind before his pen touched paper; you are the blend of colours that made themselves loud and clear on the bits of paper no one bothered looking at. And this part of you in me aches… for something so distant and forgotten, almost as if you’re trying to draw memories of a past that never was out of me so you can fill yourself up with the fantasies you dreamed of but never had. I know where you left off like the back of my hand, but you know what you remind me of? The way little kids stuff their feet into their mouth but grow up and realise they can’t anymore. I know you like the back of my hand but I can’t read you anymore. You’re just there… like a sky full of stars that never goes away, only just hides on particular days. Your memories litter my mind like a patchwork of shooting stars and blooming buds sewn in place by a hand tired of writing letters that would never be read, and even though I’ve wrapped my solitude in that very blanket I never throw it away. Because that’s where you are… where your words echo in the core of me; words of a place we dreamed of together that has lately being fading away.

I wonder if you want to know how much of that part of you I still carry with me… so let me tell you, that your memory is still as alive as the day you waltzed away into the rain. The gash is still as fresh as the day I fell because you did too, and it burns my heart, though not as much as your words burnt wildfires of an image of a person they never saw. But now the fires have been put out and even though the smoke is going to take an awfully long time to clear my eyes, I can still see the sky a little clearer than I did yesterday. The rain may make you happy but the sun makes me smile and I’ve finally grasped the courage to leave the rain behind and walk into sunshine.

If you’re still wondering if this is about you, allow me to let you know that you found your way to stop yourself from hearing too much from me but my heavy words still echo your name on empty spaces of the internet where words are the best disguise. Yes, this one is for you… as so are so many more.