mine

This is the shortest day of the year. I happen to feel it is the coolest day to be born on. The short, dark solstice here but it’s bright and long at the other side of the earth where its summer.

  

I'd like to think that my writing has matured, my content has evolved and my design style has grown. But above all, I know for a fact that I've learned the most about support. And I have definitely learned that from all of you! So thank you, my friends! Thanks to each of you for the sweet words, funny comments, true inspiration and overall support.

Knocked down ...

The spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly.

Starting off with the thought of holding hands with somebody, this gets a little bit nostalgic. I’ve held hands with people I cannot and care not to recall. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with that. People forget given a time frame but of course, people only forget those they want to forget and remember only the things that don’t hurt them. And maybe holding hands with somebody is one of those things we remember because it doesn’t hurt as much as its imminent and eminent aftermath. But it’s not like every time we held somebody’s hand, its context should romantic. Similarly, the context is not necessarily innocent to begin with. But it kind of feels good with the right person and it feels like death with another. Everything depends on the context.

Still, I’m like this right now because my hands feel lonely.

I’ve been holding your hands for so long; the duration being longer than anybody else’. And now it seems that it has become hard for me to let go. But I feel it slipping away. Gradually and expectedly, I’m letting it go primarily because it’s not mine to hold and secondly because you have to us for something else. It’s one of the hardest things I’ll ever do and perhaps you know but I’m betting on you don’t. Chances are, you’re a wall who’s unreceptive to anything.

I could’ve let you go easily. But now I doubt myself more because you showed me something I never thought I’d see. Rain fell from your eyes  and you caught it with your palms. I saw a man who’s tired. It made me aware of the gap we had between us. We live in different worlds separated by time. And I could’ve held your hand if I was brave enough. But no. when rain fell from your eyes during a summer afternoon, I stared, disturbed and mesmerized pretending that I understood. And now I think it would take a lot more than distance and time to make me let go of the hands that I held on for so long.

 D':

The Other Girl Nobody Noticed

I haven’t written anything substantial in a while.

This sentence has been an opening for one of my entries here. I forgot if I put it up for private or if I ever did put it up for viewing. All I know is that I know I wrote those words before. As for the time when I wrote them, it begins to go vague.

Looking back to my past entries, I can’t quite grasp how I had enough of myself to give during the times I wrote them. For one, during my most discerningly cheesy entries, I was being held by the neck by stress brought by academic work. That was well over a year ago. Furthermore, aside by being stressed by academic endeavors, I was being emotionally suffocated by some people I care not to mention anymore. Being that as it may, how did I squeeze enough emotion when clearly, I have already been exhausted beyond my limits?

I wrote plenty about love. Who else hasn’t written for that feeling – that young rush of emotion, of longing and impossible extents of passion? And who else haven’t been trampled by the pain it brings when the dream you had didn’t really turn out as well as you had hoped? Someway, somehow, somewhere, there has to be one person who thought that their first love would be their last. And I can continue to talk about this shit if you want me to but heck, we’re wasting brain cells on this. We’ve been through enough of this to know that yeah, maybe there are those people who found who they were looking for but as for us, we’re still at a lost.

I’m exhausted.  I’ve been talking about this shit endlessly. I’ve run out of words to describe it. It’s the tale we all know is as old as time.

Now we look at the three characters we know so well: Bryan, Diana and Amanda.

Once upon a time, there was a guy named Bryan. Bryan’s this guy who has the eyes you always dreamed of and the height you always desired. He’s great with people and he’s loved by some. And this guy, like all the normal guys who have good credentials when facing the adults, has his very own girlfriend.

And we know her as Diana.

He must’ve rescued her from a tower from a land far, far away. Or perhaps he battled the Lord of Darkness and carried her away towards the sunset with his armored white steed. Or perhaps he’s this typical guy with a celphone who texted her all night long. Eitherways, he got her to be his girl.

And yeah, they’re perfect. Everyone’s envious. You know the feeling you get when there’s a happy couple moving around – you ain’t exactly THAT happy for them. And as a bonus point for your ego, you have to suck it up and smile at them. You lavish them with affection because they’re happy and you can’t exactly do nil to break that up.

And maybe they would’ve lived happily ever after.

But before going to last colored page of their fairytale, right after the king gave Diana to Bryan and just before Diana got on Trevor (Bryan’s white armored steed), we see this girl who has, for so long, been kept out of the limelight.

You meet Amanda.

Amanda has hopes and dreams. She’s a good student. She’s the Mary Sue of all Mary Sues. She’s the one exception to every rule. By thunder, she’s the ultimate Deus Ex Machina if you ever saw one. She’s not the Amanda from “Someone Nobody Noticed”, not by a hick. She’s this other Amanda but just as equally perfect as the first.

What’s she doing in the ever after seen of Bryan and Diana?

She’s the other woman; the future home wrecker of Diana’s household, the future paycheck muncher of Bryan. And the one who must and will always be the secret of every other men of this planet. She’s their most guarded secret. She’s the trophy of every underlying bet.

She’s the other woman.

But you’ll never really know how it feels to be the other woman. Their reasons will always remain a mystery. And maybe that’s what keeps the men going for their charms – the enigma and the thrill behind the labyrinth of unsaid emotions. It must be fascinating; truly and irrevocably fascinating that the want of an Amanda becomes all the more overwhelming.

To be the other woman. To be the butt of every femme fatale line. To be able to relate with every curse phrase with bitch in it. To be the Amanda to a man who has a Diana.

And you thought this was a tale as old as time.

Be still, my heart, I’m hardly breathing.