Memories

I’m supposed to be studying or asleep right now but I somehow ended up picking my book “Memories” by Lang Leav and I vandalized on it AGAIN. I think it’s becoming a habit now or maybe I’m just a poet wannabe but here’s what I wrote:

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I was busy procrastinating and letting my thoughts wander and get lost when i suddenly recalled some memories of things that never happened. And I wondered, should I still call them memories if they never even occurred? And because I was asking myself I also answered it myself (I’ve been bestfriends with myself these past few days).

I think they do count as memories cos they seem so real in my head. I could remember every detail and every moment in them as if they actually literally physically happened. Like I have this “what could’ve” memory of us stargazing in the mountain, at the back of a truck which was covered with a thick blanket and filled with pillows. I brought grilled sandwiches in a wicker basket and also got 1 garlic bread from Sbarro (a girl does not want to share) while he brought wine and wine glasses. We were just talking, there were moments of silence, yes, and just staring at the sky.-  That did not happen but in my head it felt like it did, I can recall it and I can feel it.

It was a memory of what could’ve, a memory of how I used to have wanted things to go, a memory of what I was waiting for to happen, a memory that was created in the depths of my heart and mind but never came out to happen in the light of day.

Just because it did not happened does not make it any less than a regular memory. Memories aren’t just of things that happened, they are also of things felt, of things remembered and kept in the mind and in the heart.

Maybe that’s why some break ups hurt no matter how uneventful the relationships are, because although there’s not much “regular” memory to hold on to there are “other” memories to be recalled. And what makes these other what could’ve memories hurt is that they were at one point hope and some cling on to that hope to help them endure another day while some to give them a reason to stay.

 

(I am gonna get back to this train of thought when I can, I just feel so sleepy now…and I really should be studying/sleeping for recitations later.)

(But if someone is reading this, let me know about your thoughts…it would be nice having someone anonymous to discuss stuff like this with)

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If I Ever See You Again

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Lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like if I ever see you again. Just another what if amongst the million others that may or may not happen. I have probably played out in my mind a hundred possible scenes of how and where it would be, I even incorporated some scenes from good movies in them and sometimes if I’m feeling fancy I’d play them out like how music videos do. But they’re all just simulations, too perfect portrayals of one possibility, and the real thing is always always a different story and it almost never turns out the way one wanted it to. And so I ask myself these questions…
What would I feel?

Would there still be butterflies in my stomach fluttering their way up to my heart? Would my mind stutter as bad as I do when I speak? Would the tip of my nose get all greasy from too much sweat? Would time fly by as quickly as it did before?

Or maybe it wouldn’t be butterflies this time, maybe they’d be beetles clawing (but beetles don’t have claws) their way out of it. Maybe my mind would black out and my tongue gets twisted that I wouldn’t be able to utter even a single word. Maybe all the sweat from my nose would now flood my palms from too much anxiety.

What would I do?

Would I go and say hi to you? Would I smile the kind of smile I used to reserve for you? Would I be able to talk to you like how an old friend would do?

Or maybe I would just turn the other way around and run as fast as I can and as far away from you as possible. Maybe I’d try to put on a straight cold face. Maybe I’d just pretend not to see you and hope you haven’t seen me or also pretend not to.

If I ever see you again, what would things be like? Would you even remember who I am or was? Would you still recall my face? Would our memories flash before you? And if they do, what would they be like? Are they about the good times? Or maybe the bad times?

Too many questions that stem from just one possibility that’s more likely to be impossible than possible. And the only thing I’m sure I would definitely do if it would ever happen is that I’d pretend that seeing you doesn’t bother me nor stir up emotions I’ve kept for myself all this time; I’d pretend to be okay even when it still stings a little. As they say, fake it till you make it.

Seeing you again is a test I have to conquer. I will never know how strong I’ve become and how much progress I’ve made until I see you again. It is like the rockiest path before getting to the summit; like the most slippery trail before getting to the top, it is a make it or break it and slide back to ground zero scenario for me. Now, do you see why I’ve made up a hundred stupid scenes of me seeing you again? I’m studying for that Philippine-bar-exam-level-of-difficulty test!

But if I were to choose what and how I want it to turn out, I’d want it to be like Before Sunset but only up to the part where they got to talk in the cafe. We’d be talking and wondering about the lost years of our lives and what lies ahead and then part ways as good old friends, unresolved issues aside and each one getting the closure he/she deserves. In a perfect world, that’s what would happen.

Why Does It Always Have To Be A Heartbreak?

I don’t know whether it’s just me or what, but why does it always have to be heartbreaks that compel people to take risks and giant leaps? Whether it’s to escape, to move on or to be better. Why do we have to wait for heartbreaks? What’s so powerful behind pain that motivates (OR MAYBE COMPELS?) people to make bold choices? 

Why do so many people put in the effort to improve on themselves only after a breakup? Perhaps if they tried while in the relationship, they’d still be together… Alright, that statement is very broad is could be taken as extremely insensitive, but hear me out. Of course I understand that a traumatic event will always result […]

via Don’t wait to be great — True Story

A Fresh Start or An Escape Plan

I’m alone in a big city. This is not by accident; it is a product of a conscious and firm decision, and boy it was a tough one too. I could have remained in my quaint and cozy place with my family and friends but instead I chose to go somewhere far away alone. “Fresh start” as I call it, an opportunity to start anew and to discover/rediscover my passion and to focus in school.

“Fresh Start”

Fresh start – I like  the sound of it, it sounds brave and exciting. I’d like to think that me moving here was a bold and brave move but sometimes I think it was instead a product of cowardice; that I was just running away from everything and everyone. Maybe a fresh start was not what I was seeking, maybe it was just to ESCAPE.

I thought I had it all figured out just months ago. Everything was going smooth especially school, at times a little bumpy  but nothing I couldn’t handle. Until a heartbreak consumed me and ruined everything.

The Heartbreak

It was pretty much like what every heartbreak was – boy meets girl, there was a spark, moments of bliss, then boy fell out of love, leaves the other with no explanation but instead explained it to other people, girl was left alone clueless, girl decided to move on but can’t so instead she went on staring at the ceiling every damn night while listening to her self-made playlist of pure heartbreak songs (Adele, you’re my patron saint) while also talking to herself inside her head. So yea, that was the recipe for the disaster and  that happened for months while the semester was on going. So instead of studying (which I do every night until well you know what it is) I instead spent my nights with Adele, The Perishers and Nina. I made a carefully arranged playlist detailing my heartbreak story and I listened to it every night.

I failed a subject which meant it was time to chop off my head (cue Red Queen’s voice saying “Off with her head!”), and off my head it was. And here I am now, here, alone in this big city, hundreds of miles away from home and everyone.

 

Was I just running away? Escaping?

That I really don’t know. But I would very much like to think that this is me being brave and bold, that wherever and whatever I’m in now is just a detour and that something greater and bigger is ahead and in store for me.

Ciao! 🙂

 

When you’re young and silly

I used to have a diary during 6th grade and I was so passionate about it that I had at least one entry every day. Selecting which notebooks to write on was such an exciting decision to make and I would always choose those which came with locks or those with garters which prevents the notebook from opening and spilling the secrets in them accidentally. I kept them up until high school but made a stupid mistake when I burned them after finding out someone else read them (I can’t remember who though but I’m very much certain someone did). Yea, stupid, I know.

I eventually got back on track during college but chose another medium which I though was intruder safe (it is, BUT) – my cellular phone. And so the daily angry writing (or typing) resumed UNTIL my phone got crazy and everything in it got deleted and by everything I meant EVERYTHING. It took me years again before I started writing again which happened during law school. I managed to write (back to notebooks) every now and then but eventually slacked off due to the pressures of law school plus I lost my diary journal. Unfortunate.

See, I am pretty much unfortunate when it comes to diaries/journals. Maybe I’m not meant to hold on those past memories in them though. Nah, I’m just making excuses. BUT tonight, I just finished reading wongfuphil’s blog and it inspired me to not lose hope given my experiences with diarying (it sounds like diarrhea) and journaling and continue writing down my life. Ugh, I wish I didn’t burn my diaries from 6th grade, I’d have so much to laugh about learn when I read them right now. But I think it’s not too late yet, eh?

Keeping Track

The thing is that our brains falter and the memories we think we have change from time to time. Basically, what happens every time we try to recall something is that it changes; just like pulling out a neatly folded shirt out from a closet, no matter how much you try folding it back to how it was folded before it won’t be the same anymore as you can no longer achieve the exact fold. Every time we pull out a memory we either add or deduct something to it or from it and over time it won’t even resemble or feel like the exact moment anymore.

This is where keeping diaries and journals comes in handy. It captures and preserve the exact moment as it is and the emotions that came with it. So that one day in your life when you decide to take time to step back and examine your life over the years you have something reliable you can look up to, something that didn’t changed even when everything had changed.

Dang, I really really wish I didn’t UGHHH I can’t do anything about it now.

But I’ll start writing now. THANKS, PHIL!