A PATH LEADING SOMEWHERE

I think she was four during the nights when she laid in bed together with her mother and sister. She will put her left over her right leg only to be imitate by her sister while their mother holds high an illustrated fairy tale for both of them to see.

It was a warm, cozy summer night and children should sleep early but her mother starts telling them the story of a princess from that far away castle. She can't fully understand the words her mother utters, though its in the native tongue, but the colorful drawings she saw makes her wonder if the illustrated princess her mother talks about is real.

One year from then, she will start to go to school so her mother starts teaching her how to read little by little while her father is teach her how to write her own name. Maybe it was her father to be blame that years later her handwriting is mistakenly took as from a man.

Then came the time that she had to go to school. The thought of her mother leaving her alone in that strange place with other children scares her, yet she can't help but feel excited on what that brand new world will reveal to her. She become fascinated of that small thin woods the length of her arms with different colors, that piece of rubber that can erase everything she writes on a blank piece of paper, those binded papers they call books and the group of words that when she read, is telling her a story just like what her mother did during those warm, cozy summer night.

Never did she thought that knowing how to read is the beginning of everything.

Years pass, she had gone to the nearby grade school and able to finished her secondary education after. She made a lot of friends and experience things. She realize the beauty of knowledge and the advantage of being a well read girl and for once, she actually believe that life is just like that, you make friends, please your parents, get a high grade on every subject, read good books, put on some lipbalm so the guys can notice you and try to do what everyone else is doing.

When she goes to college she discover a larger world. There is more to learn but little time to accomplish all. She gets the chance to meet people bigger than life, whose aspiration is not limited to wanting a big house, a handsome spouse, a faster car and more zeros in bank accounts. She experience things and enjoy her own skin. She read many good books, fiction, fantasy, adventure, romance and her all time favorite thrillers, in between the academic ones. When she look up at the sky she thinks of how maybe, just maybe, she was born to do great things. That maybe one day she can do something that will of worth and be able to leave a legacy behind. One night, as she smile to herself slipping slowly in a dreamless sleep, she decided that she will find that very thing that she is destined to do so she can do it with all her heart.

But life is not always with bright and blue sky. She learned that there are people whom she cannot please, that her parents, no matter how high grades she show cannot be satisfied, that her teachers and professors pretends to be all knowing when in fact they just learn the topics ahead and that not everyone can be trusted. So she turns to books to satisfy a part of her that others cannot. She turn to books during those empty nights when she wants to speak her mind but no one bothers to listen.

And one day, without realizing it, she grab a piece of pen and put a single word at the blank sheet of a notebook. Then she write another word that becomes a phrase which becomes a sentence. She felt good so she continue adding sentences until it became a paragraph and the paragraphs becomes, what the english books called, an essay. She read what she wrote from the beginning and she gasp in amazement, not believing that she did wrote it. But an essay is never complete without a title, so shethink of one, and after a day she pick up a pen again together with the notebook containing her essay and above it she wrote "My Favorite Book Qoute and How It Changes My Life."

She laugh at how ridiculously happy she become.

There is happiness in reading.

There is happiness in writing.

But is there happiness in being read?

After a year she manage to keep a journal and many unfinished short stories. But she did not let anyone take a look on them for fear that they find her outrageous, weird, neurotic and ambitious.

But what is wrong in thinking that one day someone will tell her that she writes good enough to make worthy stories, like the ones she reads at night, like the ones she cannot put down easily. What is wrong in wanting to be a person everyone around her did not even dare of becoming even in their wildest dream. What is wrong in being different from the rest.

I want to be a published author someday, she whispers.

And just like the stories she read, there comes the stormy seas proving that when it rains it pours. She lost a loved one, devastated she goes on isolation. The people who called her friend, nowhere to be found, those who promise that they will always be by her side are busy. Her grades failed many times until she loss all interest in everything. That night, she curled herself at the corner of her room, crying, gripping a pen, reaching for a blank sheet of paper. She writes. She writes the paralyzing pain, the coldness within and the absence of anyone. She gave word for what she feels even if its all empty. She construct the paragraph that will make her remember what she thinks at the very moment she wrote it. And she felt free.

There is beauty in suffering.

There is beauty in emptiness.

There is beauty in words.

There is beauty in writing.

Its not long before she longs for adventure. She finds herself sitting in a coffeeshop just to observe the people around her. She will go her way buying books far from her town just to watch sunset on the nearby shore. She open herself to stories told by any kinds of individuals. And at the end of the day, she develop a sight of seeing things some refuse to look at and the ability to wrote down the memories that time will not be able to snatch away.

She wants to live and she wants others too.

She wants to feel and she wants others too.

She wants comfort and she wants to comfort others too.

Each, possible through her chosen craft.

Her body craves for fortune, her mind wants fame, her soul longs for immortality but her heart desires nothing but to help others with the gift she have.

But above all she wants to write.

And write she did.

She realize that everything that happen, everything she absorb, everything she learned and will learn outside and inside the school premises, everything she witness and taken part of, everything, let her become what she is now.

Im not there yet, she thought, but Im closer than I am yesterday.

Yes, my dear.

Yes, you are.

Hold on then.

Be patient.

Love and live.

Embrace it because it is the path you decide to take.

She wrote this piece. Not sure if its good, really.

INTROVERSION

Y: Everything is possible love, if you really want to.

B: I couldn't agree more.

Silence. A deafening silence.

Y: What is it the you want anyway??

It was a simple question that requires a great, thoughtful answer.

What do I want?

B: I want to be a published author and reach the world.

Y: Not what you want for tomorrow.
What is it, that you want. Today. At this very moment.

Silence, again. I smile.

My brain tries to analyze that simple question. My mind wanders, seeking the very thing I want. Now, at this point in time, as  I breathe in and I breathe out.

*chaching*

Yes. That was right.

That's what I want.

The very thing that I need.

The air that will keep me from mere existence.

B: I want to live.

*chaching*

I want to lie under the sky, staring at the stars, knowing that I wouldn't be able to count them.

I want to be there, when the sun rises and lightens the dark corners of that face of the Earth.

I want to stand at the top of a mountain, with arms wide open, against the wind, against the limits of the society.

I want to float above the water, with the currents lashing on my skin, trusting that the waves will bring me to the shore, to where it is safe.

I want to sit together with men, of great minds, of big hearts, of souls as old as the ancient ones, listening to their stories, laughing my heart out, because some dreams will be beyond comprehension, but is not impossible.

I am longing for a world far greater than I am now.

I am wishing to be with people I couldn't get a chance to meet. They are secluded as me. Kept hidden, thinking that they are as rare as fossils, feeling empty and sometimes strange.

How ironic it is to long for a person that is you but at the same time afraid to open and know them.

tIt will burn every fiber of my being. It will set me on fire. It will leave nothing of me, but ashes.

I want to live.

I want to live.

I want to live.

Y: Then go.

You grasp that small thread that will give you capacity to do as your heart desire, grab it, burn with it, never ever let it go.

Go far away as your feet can carry you.

Climb that mountain and inhale the freedom that will be set forth before you.

Swim against the current.

Burn bright until your light can so set others into ashes. Until they turn blind just by a mere blink at you.

Don't ever come back.

Don't dare to glance behind.

The past is there. It will call you. But it never wants you back.

B: I will.

Before death comes knocking at my door, I will.

I want to live.

I will live.

I will live.

I will live.

Listen.

Feel.

Breathe.

I am here.

I am like you.

We are the same.

I will wait.

NOTHING BUT DREAMS

I just woke up from a strange dream where I saw myself in a room full of people I don't know, girls giggling and a handsome man lying sick in bed surrounded by people with grave looking faces. There are also black cats around me, which took turn biting my arm, creating little bloodless holes in them. Because of the floating feeling the dream gave me, I immediately reach for the pen and paper on my side and with eyes half open I make sure that I wrote it down before they slip away. You know, I don't sleep without those things on my side nowadays.

Later, through some reliable dream interpretation website I found out the meaning of each things I've dreamed of. I was taken aback to notice that each of them tends to tell me that there is some part of me I don't recognize yet. Either feminine, potential and weakness part, they suggest that I face that part of me that needs to be face. I was advice to let go of the things and people that slows me down and to examine my guard because some of the symbols in my dream says that Im letting my guard down. Too horrible.

Yes, I daydream but I am not a type of person who dreams a lot during sleep. Maybe because Im a shallow sleeper. I can get really sleepy anywhere, difficult to wake, but is used to wake up every now and then. I don't sleep without lights on, that explains why I cannot have a good night sleep other than on my bedroom. One of my weird growing up habits I guess.

Back to that dream.. as I ponder about it, I can't help but wonder what is it that I never accepted for myself yet. Im aware of my weakness and limitations that's why it bothers me that my subconscious is trying to tell me things in contrast. Then, I remember that I had a "small" arguement with my mother last night. Its plainly about me always in front of my laptop, typing or with my notebook, writing. I say that Im writing something sure (my manuscript). She thinks Im weird because people on my age should go outside, date, gossips, shop and do everything "normal". She reminded me that Im the weirdest person she ever knew and that reason alone is enough to conclude that if I stay being this way I can never have a boyfriend or lots of friends and that I wouldn't get anywhere. I never tell her that I want to be a published author someday, I know without doubt she'll laugh. Sucks. I know Im weird, Im proud of it, but my mother's utterance of weird sounds like I have an incurable disease or Im too disgusting and pathetic.

One thing I am certain about my relationship with her is that she doesn't know me at all. We may be having the same blood flowing on our veins but that doesn't mean I am going to be like her or that people can continue judging me through her. We are but different people.

Well, what Im trying to convey is that, yes, I know what she thinks of me and that I know she wouldn't approve my dream of becoming a published author (who cares) and yes, I accepted that long ago but that doesn't necessarily mean Im a stone Im not getting hurt anymore. I think it hurts me, the way my own blood sees me in that way, but its nothing more like a pinch now, it amazes me to realize I acquire an invisible armor built hard that no remarks can hurt me now, to the point of crying, from all the insults I've endured before. *laughs*

I guess it makes me realize that dreams should be worth fighting for. That if you want to make your dream come true you must be really brave to stand against all who will try to bring you down. It makes sense anyway, no one can fly without letting go of the things and people that's weighing them down. In the end, it will just fall on to you. You will be the only one who can make those dreams come true, some can help you but it will always depends on how determine you are along the way. If your dreams become a reality, great, when it doesn't, then you can never blame anyone for it. I owe Dumbledore for teaching me that "It's our choices that make us who we are far more than our abilities.."

This is my choice, my folks.

I WANT TO BE A PUBLISHED AUTHOR AND BE READ.

Its the only thing that burns inside of me that everytime I go to a bookstore and pick up a book I imagine Im holding my story instead, with my name under. Its the first thing that pops out of my mind when someone asks me how do I see myself ten years from now. Its the sentence I used on my goal setting stuff. Its a dream that makes my heart beat fast, my mind race and my whole body tense with excitement.

And Im going to stand by it no matter what. No insults will ever bring me down. Nothing from my family, friends or anyone can make me waver.

If I win, then I'll be happy the ground can swallow me whole.

If I do not then at least I try, I will have some stories to share to my grandchildren (if Im going to have grandchildrens, haha!). I said "If I do not" and not "If I lose" because I don't think I'll ever lose on this. "Only those who give up are defeated, everyone else os victorious." (Paulo Coelho)

ALONE, RARE LONELY

Here I am, at the Starbucks Coffee, the clock reads 03:26pm. Just by myself, with a french vanilla latte frapuccino recommended by a friend who works here, a strawberry glazed belgian waffle and my laptop in front, in which my unedited manuscript was saved, the Microsoft Word cursor blinking waiting for my mind to settle and type a damn word that can be of use.

Ugggh!

I came here to write because I cannot seem to quiet my mind at home since the internet connection feels like dragging me into different worlds everytime. *laughs*. Somehow, I think Im really getting used to this solitary stuff. I am eating and strolling alone outside this pass years, observing people, hearing murmurs their voices creates but not undesranding a word and talking to myself on my head. I did not find it bothering nor did I feel lonely. Im just getting really used to this that possibly when someone invited me to tag along, I will seem rather uncomfortable.

The art of solitude. It suits me in all aspects. I have come to learn the difference of being alone and being lonely.

Alone? I am always alone. No matter where I go and no matter how many people I come to know, at the end of the day, I am always alone. People around me never gave me a chance to rely on them. I don't hate it, I am but thankful because in my aloneness, I found and befriended myself.

Lonely? sometimes. Im quite irritated that no one even bothers to educate me before that loneliness also felt like fear. My lonely days in the past makes me dread the upcoming night and in some way, the breaking dawn. Knowing that you don't have anyone to talk to (freely, pouring your heart out), but when you do you never felt understood, is terrifying.

I am always this strange so it doesn't surprise me at all when people always concluded that Im someone friendly but not a friend at all. Yes I have walls, but sometimes, I too long for someone to listen to my stories but its like Im not deserving for anybody.

Its depressing.

All these people around me here have someone to confide with and here I am without anyone. Its much strange that I am happy. If you thinks Im not, I should tell you I am really glad and satisfied with this arrangement of the universe. There are just people like me who are destined to live like this. I don't know.... but there is an absolute happiness in being alone. :)

SO YOU SAY YOU WANT TO KNOW ME

For all its worth, I want to say that I am not numb.

Yes, I am that introvert who is socially awkward, can't handle being around in the crowd for a day, talks little but is boring when I does, doesn't have that friends and is single but one thing I cannot allow is anyone saying and treating me like I am a heartless damsel.

I do believe in love, folks.

I believe that love has the capacity to make my soul creep out from its hiding place. I believe that there's someone out there who can sweep me off my feet, make me forget how to breathe and make me question how on earth did I survive before without him around.

I believe that love can shatter my sanity, shine a bright light in every inches of darkness I possess, turns my world upside down and make me feel alive and existing and living and all things will be vibrant and real and sound.

The problem is...

I don't

want

to meet

the person

who will

make me

like the kind of person

I listed above.



That explains why I don't let anyone in in my world. My wall was one of the strongest out there and I spend every day adding bricks on it. I never let just, mere people, who thinks Im stupid enough to believe them, see through me.

Why?

Because Im damage beyond repair. I've never loved before but I know a lot since Im into these romantic stuff for several days (well, not really the usual romantic types, but love was there, uggh! whatever). The point is, I don't want to realize how lonely I am, that no one knows me and understand me and can accept my atrocities. Because Im different and weird and no one wants a strange, boring person in their life.




Don't say I never tried changing myself. I did before, I open up, they made me believe that Im one of them, befriend me, see through me and at the end of the day, throw everything directly on my face.

Yes, hurt is inevitable when you love and that to love is to be brave and to give your all. But I cannot seem to understand why do I have to pretend being someone else for people to love me back? Its pathetic.

Advices I am getting from people during these days...

1. You should be more outgoing and a little flirty.

2. You must do dates.

3. Try meeting some boys out there.

4. Want me to introduce you to my friend? He's handsome.

5. Your conversations should start with clothes, travels, movies.. like that so you won't be boring.

The disgust.

I hate it.

Why do they keep changing me? Can they just accept that I am an introvert and this is how I want to be accepted.






I don't even know why I am spending an awful f*cking time trying to explain myself here.

Oh my goodness.




Im bored again.

THE END

When did I become an ending hater?

I think it started long ago, my age I cannot recall. It happened when my mother brought me my first novel to read, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I remember holding the book on my hands with wide smile on my face, opening it apart and smelling the pages. Then I examined the cover, the synopsis on the back and ran a finger on the spine. The thing is that I opened the last page and read the last paragraph before starting it from the beginning. I don't know why but it became my unminded rule when it comes to reading books. The same goes with me watching animes and series. I always watch the last 10minutes of the last episode first.

Even in my first novel, I have not finish writing the entirety of it but I already wrote the last paragraph, which I planned to place in the fourth book. :)

It makes me wonder now that I realize this weird habit of mine, how did I become like this?

I am aware that everything has to end--eventually. Nothing and no one will remain, yes, with the exception of our Lord Almighty and that force which they say "makes the world go round"--love. Aside from these two, all things will be reduce to nothing. Actually, I can't help but ask why in all our mortality do we still believe in forever.

I think its because we cannot comprehend endings. We were made without the capacity to accept that there are some things we cannot hold on to for eternity. If that was it then it explains why we continue to live our life (still) with the people we lose along the way. Whether its death or circumstances, we keep thinking how and why will we live even if they're not here with us. This might explains why even though we reached the end of our favorite movie, series or book and the conclusion satisfies us, we still can't help but think what goes beyond it.

I kinda realized now... maybe we are just infinite creatures. :P Our bodies will wear out and die but we cannot die at all. There is no death and the concept of ending is nothing but absurdity. We all goes beyond that, living, breathing or thinking is not the issue. I do believe we all goes beyond that.

COVER THAT HOLE

In one way or another, I think, everyone of us is somehow broken. We all have that hole carved in our hearts and we become willing to spend an entire lifetime searching what ever is it that will make it whole.

We were living in a fallen broken world so the sadness that become part of me does not surprise me at all. It is a word that always describes me ever since and I have manage to survive with it. A curse and a blessing having the capacity to feel deeply about everything.

But isn't my longing a universal cry? Are all the people around me never for once long for someone, for someplace, of something that will free them from the heart wrenching pain of never being satisfied?

....

I therefore, in all the brokeness I have, conclude that the loneliness each of us mortals have actually comes from the Divine Power. He had made us with that hole in our hearts that only He will be able to fill. Our world is constantly changing, we somehow needs someone who does not have this sense of time to change Him. We need unconditional love. A love that will never require us to have that money, that power, mansions and cars, fame and titles to be worthy of. We have our own choices. I choose to welcome that Divine Power today because of that hole in my heart that tends to consume me everyday. Im getting tired of nursing that hole anyway.

I hope you do too.