weary:incomprehensible output.

Listening with lumps in my throat amazes me. It makes me close my eyes as if an unknown movie would replay (not play) because I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it. Softness as if strumming the guitar. Happy like the crushed ice of the red tea. Touching when you never want to be touched. A hammock, the breeze and a book. A flower, a kiss and a chocolate cake. The parts of it, the minute details. They conveniently contrive to fill up the violet edges, the semi-carved flesh and the half-empty rosebud. The completion of the thinking heart.


It may seem like a parallel universe to savor a being of a trance-like existence. When you see a tree not as green but a gingham print fresh from the west, when the breeze felt as if you were brought back to the nineties because it smelled a lot like big boy and those red cherry colored ball gums, and maybe because you tend to incorporate a wishful touch of not just breathing the past but inhaling the future you want so badly void of the in-betweens. I never thought I’d feel this vague because I hate the word vague, I prefer the “uhn” of the word vulnerable. Susceptive to succumb into my pixie world with my hues and my taste buds. I curl in my sheets and dream of never waking up but to feel warm, cared and pink.


I believe that to escape is absurd. But sometimes I don’t believe in it too. I believe in my flowing tears. When I’m tired, they run into my ears, sometimes fast and sometimes they’re hot. The hotness matches the cold rain inside the pump. Nevertheless I celebrate the abundance of my melancholy. Maybe because I am a natural masochist. I prefer the punch than the pinch because the latter seems trivial and deceiving and limited. The hard punch is real and painful and it happens. I’ve seen it happen not once and I don’t bother to count.


Today, I feel what I feel everyday. I am a motivation. I am motivated to cleanse the dirty tones inside and flaunt the happy ones. The happy outlook, the happy feet, the happy table, the happy water and the happy letter A are all outside savoring my motivation. Night comes and I’m back to my own dimension, my parallel universe. The cycle goes on and it never stops as far as I know, because by then to stop would mean to end my beloved absurdity.

overthinker one

its five in the morning. the hustle bustle of my keyboard knocked my thoughts. i surfed through my blog and realized i've been dong this for almost a year now. im sad because im not proud of anything that's written here. im not proud of my rantings. but this does not mean that i am ashamed of my entries as well because by then it would also mean i am ashamed of my exixtence. partly this is my outlet. this is reflective of my existence. part of it.

i don't mean to be profound about my thoughts. i believe people are born to be profound at one point in their lives, actually in many points of their lives. and this "profoundness" about our existence keeps us sane with all that we go through in this lifetime. see, this is literally and figuratively an example of profundity. fuck it. but i enjoy it most of the time. it makes me feel that i have lived my life thinking and thinking and learning out of that attempted or better yet innate thinking. yes, im still talking about profundity.

at nineteen, i am appalled with the vastness of my life, of other people's lives. i thought of every little thing that my mind permits me to think about. sometimes it gives me headaches. literally. sometimes it gives me heartaches. but most of the time it affects a unique weariness most likely incurable until i am alive. im saying this because i feel im blessed with the right exposure. ive meet a lot of people, a lot of situation, a lot of pain. all of them unexpected, absurd and pensive. i have learned the art of accepting every reality without truth. know what i mean? and i hate myself because of that. my dreams have gone unimaginable heights and pettiness, from pink heels to sincerely aspiring the greater benefit of my people.

see, this is going nowhere. but this is really something ive thought of each and every morning before i go to sleep. this is a journey.

once and for all id say i am beautiful. because i have learned. it feels good to be beautiful in this lifetime.

im flat broke

ive been thinking, what if i finally succumb to become a w*o*e. hahaha wishful thinking. of course not. of course not of course not...go on convince yourself

god.im flat broke.as flat as my chest.im starting to dream about my debts. the hardest times. my parents abandoned me, i choose to believe they abandoned me. its me against this wicked world.

i was never the well-off girl but i was not the poor girl either. i even used to get all that i wanted. my papa loved me that much. financially, we were okay. i could spare a few luxury every now and then. but these days, i don't know. times have surely changed, for the worst. and the sad thing (im not sure if its really that sad, i do need some company)is that its not an isolated case. my friends are broke too. they can't lend any spare moolah either.

i can only whine so much.

positive attitude can't deny a growling stomach. and im always thinking about buying a cute pair of pink heels! waaahhhh aikanasiraannangbaitdahilsagutomatpaitngbuhaynabwakananginangshet.

heels?

im killing myself by doing nine hours of training. so help me god.