Tell me. Tell me how to live again.

I sometimes forget why we breathe.
Most of the time I’m not even aware that I’m alive.
I have lost the will to survive.
I think I’ve lost it ever since that time.
When I killed that part of me that possessed all the emotions so I can stop sinning the way I did,
I killed my survival, that attached itself to those emotions.
And even though they managed to be reborn, it wasn’t enough for a push of motivation.
I wish I could stop escaping reality.
I wish reality could be more appealing and lend me a hand
Rather than letting me go and flee again,
Wasting another precious day and night.
If only I could stop blaming everyone and everything,
Maybe I’d be able to do something about my wrecked future.

Stating the obvious. (because procrastination)

I wish I came from a society that encouraged us to explore the world the way that we want to.

To make mistakes and challenge ourself how to overcome them.

To meet strangers and learn what it means to be betrayed or to be hopeful that there is still good in the world.

To construct our own philosophy of life and its values.

A bit more freedom.

Rather than having these forced concepts placed upon us.

Giving birth to beings who are dependent on their family,

Like they’re on a cursed leash.

I wish and I complain and I still rant.

But I still love where I come from,

Even if I constantly damn them for almost everything.

I am a contradictor,

Sue me.


I don’t really blame him, you know.

I don’t blame him for the wreck that I am.

I was already a broken ornament

that was rigged together randomly

to survive this wretched world.

Attempting to stay strong and keep it together,

since I was a child.

The abuse.

Academically independent.

The abuse again.

Forbidden love.

Parental miscommunication.

Highlights of the bullshit I had to brush off my shoulder.

And he comes along,

turning this independent cold-hearted woman,

to an actual human being,

just because he listened to me carefully;

attentive to the smallest details;

with no judging remarks nor pity;

constantly commenting on my strength,

but also leaving room for my weaknesses,

because realistically speaking I have both.

I don’t really blame him

for any pain he might think he has caused,

because truth be told, he was my version of Hope –

if Hope was in human form.

He proved that this world isn’t as hopeless

as I might think it is.

But it’s easier to blame someone else

for the emptiness you have inside,

rather than on your lack of strength

to deal with this lonely life.

I don’t blame him

because he loved me;

the sinned me;

the abused me;

the weak me;

the strong me;

the hardworking me;


If anything,

I thank him.

For showing me that I still deserved to be loved.

An excuse or a true conflict?

I’ve been working so hard – academically,

to get the highest grades,

that at some point, I forgot why I was studying.

An honour student all through

secondary school;

high school;

foundation year;

1st year undergrad.

That’s a total of 8 years.

After eating the same meal for so long,

you don’t know what it tastes like anymore.

You’re sick and tired

and your senses become all numb.

Can’t I fail just once,

so I can understand what success tastes like again?

It’s hard to appreciate what you have,

if you’ve had it for a long time.

I want someone to tell me that it’s fine

to fall down and stumble,

to be the one who’s unsuccessful,

to see how the view differs from being in the ground

than the view from the top of the mountain.

I want to see it by myself,

so I can comprehend why I’m doing what I’m doing.

I need someone to tell me they’ll stand by my side,

when my parents find out that I haven’t been trying my hardest

because of all my internal conflicts.

They think that I am an improved version of them,

but all I am is anything but that.

I don’t want to be compared by them,

I don’t want to be compared by anyone else,

I want to only be compared by myself.

I wish people would understand that.

That the only struggle is how to be better than yourself.

How can I be better if I don’t know what is the worse version of me –

academically speaking?

Reflection: imagination

I’ve always asked myself how he could easily imagine a scene of us being together when we haven’t even met. The details he mentioned of the whole scenario surprised me every time. I was able to feel the emotions that associated with every scene, every element he mentioned but I failed to picture it clearly in my head. The images were like stars, too far away for me to reach and grasp it in my hands. It was like looking at them without my glasses on, too blurry. Because truth be told, I was afraid that if I opened the door for me to see us vividly and it doesn’t happen, the disappointment will never wear off. More importantly, I was afraid you’d be gone before we even get a chance to meet, after I’ve already daydreamed about you and imagined you sitting here next to me and imagined the things I would have done to you but can’t anymore because we no longer exist in the same world anymore. Now, where would I have trashed out all these images. My mind is not a computer, I can’t just delete these scenes in my head. I can’t undo what you did to me, what I did to myself. And this is exactly what happened. Just after I’ve let myself see you there in front of me, and I was stupidly smiling to the space next to me, 3 days later, it was all over. I didn’t have the right to picture you then. But I still do. I still do.