This Is Today

I’m not even sure I want to forget.

I’m not sure if he’s now just a man I’ve made better by the fantasies in my mind. Maybe I have blocked away everything that was wrong with him. They do say that everything looks better in hindsight.

But I remember loving him all the while I was there. I remember wanting to let go but never being able to. Something about him kept me there. Keeps me here now. Still loving him.

I’m so tired. Of all this. Of him.

If I never met him, maybe it all would have been better. But my life would have been so, so different.

And I can’t ever regret anything, because only when I met him did I learn what it meant to live.

There is a Delusion. A Delusion Called Life.

There is a delusion. A delusion called life. How we live it, what we do with it, and how we take it. We try, all of us do, try to live. We try to ride life out as best as we could. We move forward, convincing ourselves that our life has meaning. That in this world, that being one of almost seven billion people existing in this very moment, we matter. We look for meaning. We look for purpose. We seek out the things which make us happy. We find ourselves drawn to people who put a smile on our faces and make us forget about the question of why we even try to live.

The world we live in has created so many avenues of diversion for us to pursue while we are still breathing. As children, we dream of what we want to do when we grow up. We dream of what we want to be. The life we want to live. As we grow older, we try to pursue that dream. Perhaps the thought that we are doing what we want to do assures us of the significance of our existence.

We look for things which give us purpose. People, religion, professions—anything we can grasp to make us believe that nothing we do is in vain. That nothing is taken for granted. We live out this illusion. We live out the illusion that is life.

Eventually we find peace in our fantasy. There are all sorts of reasons that people conceive to make themselves believe that it all means something. That life means something. We hold on to the things we are passionate about, and when we can no longer hold onto that, we try and move onto something else. Another thing, another dream, to give us that sense of direction. All for this delusion. This delusion called life.

And yet are we really any more significant than the tree standing tall in our backyards? If one would take the time to consider the reality of how things are, one cannot say that the tree has no significance whatsoever. It gives shade, cleans the air, and maybe even bears fruit for that occasional pie or drink that will be of use to us. It is not that we are without purpose or meaning. It is only that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, which we can say for certain, that truly sets us apart from everyone else. But then again, perhaps to another person, a life we have touched, we matter. And yet one has wonder, if our life is significant because it gives another’s life purpose, what is that person’s life significant for? Or is significance only another thing that this world has created to keep us moving forward?

No one can be so certain as to claim to know the real reason we exist. But each of us finds little things which we can believe to be a reason to live. No reason is better than the next. Everything is subjective, and everything is consequential.

We move forward because we must. We live because there is nothing else for us to do. We make do with what we have and try to be happy because the alternative is too dismal a thought to consider. We are in this world, and we were never given a choice in the matter.

So we create this delusion. And we have called that delusion life.

Say the Words I Couldn’t Say

My mind wanders as I sit in transit. It wanders back to last night. It wanders back to last night when he held me in his arms and brushed his lips on my cheek. It wanders back to last night when he looked me in the eye and said… and said nothing relatively near those three little words that even I could not muster enough strength to say to his face. It was a dream to think that he would have more courage than I, knowing the kind of person that he is.

But it was more than just a cordial goodbye.

“I’ll miss you.” “I’ll see you soon.” The sweet words, the caresses, the kisses, the embraces—even the last glances back. They were all there. They were all absolutely perfect. More than once have I mused that our story was fit to be made into a film.

And yet the three words that make all the difference in the world remained elusive. I could not say it, neither could he.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

And I do. I do love him. But I can’t help but wondering just what is it that keeps me from saying it. I tried. Heaven knows I did. But all I could muster was “those three little words that you already know.”

I LOVE YOU.

My mind wanders as I sit in transit. It wanders back to last night. It wanders back to him.

The Final Chapter

What can I say that I haven’t already said? I am anxious to write the end of his role in the story of my life, and yet somehow, I cannot bring myself to put into words a conclusion that has not yet arrived between us. A conclusion that I loathed to one day face. To hell with what the world thinks. I promised myself that I would take it for as long as it lasted and walk away with good memories .  Brief as our moments were, the rapture that came with it was too divine to give up altogether. With him was the sinful gratification that I found myself aching for.

I write him out to seem perfect. In truth, he is anything but. Then again, neither am I. Alack, the end I have so dreaded has come so soon. And this will be the last thing I have to say with regard to the matter of him.

In this passage is my farewell to those days. In this passage, I write the words I know for certain he will never see or hear. And so I throw it out to the gods of the blogsphere. It’s all I can do.

I am without shame. I know some things should be kept private. That one should not hang out dirty laundry for others to see. But this isn’t dirty laundry.

This is me.

Bared.

There was a time, not too long ago, but long enough, that I thought I wanted so much more from you and I. Believe me when I say that it was not my choice that I came to think that way. In truth, during those first few weeks of our acquaintance, I thought little about what certainty I wanted to have from you.

It was you who changed the way I thought. Those words you uttered, words that I have heard so many times from people who meant them, that I foolishly assumed it was the same matter with you. That you wouldn’t hurt me, that the last girl who caught your interest as much as I did was your girlfriend, that I made you happy.

I disregarded it at first, disregarded you. But then that night you told me to trust you, told me that I could not kiss my way out of it. It was not so much as what happened that night that moved me, but those words you whispered in the soft glow of the light.

So how did I lose you? What did I do that so suddenly changed things? These questions I need not ask, for I knew the answer even before I began to think and feel the way I did. It was the same thing that screwed up every good thing in my life: circumstance.

But for one moment, just that one moment when you told me that I made you happy, I forgot about circumstance altogether. In that moment, I thought that maybe, just maybe, you would be brave enough to stand by me despite the ever present cloud of unfortunate circumstance that follows me around wherever I go.

But you didn’t. And you turned to someone else even while I was still standing there, wanting you, loving you. I deserve better. Even you acknowledged that. But you see.. I didn’t want better. I wanted you.

And now it’s ended. And now our moment has passed. It doesn’t matter what I wanted, because I now know that it was never yours to give. I don’t want to stand here anymore, making a fool of myself. And so I won’t.

Screw words.

It was fun while it lasted.

The Certainty of Uncertainty

After everything that I have been through, after everything that I have felt, I never expected myself to come to this point. Finally, finally, he decided to take matters into his own hands and ask me the question regarding which path we were taking. He could no longer tell whether or not it was just a physical thing. No matter how hard I try (I cannot be certain if he tries as well), no matter what I did or said, all our moments seem to lead to the realm of physical pleasure. Not that I am complaining. Nor will I ever. One should not begrudge the pleasurable.

I could have left it to him, I could have said that I would go wherever he wanted to lead us to. I could have very well told him about how I felt—or rather, used to feel. That I wanted to make him happy. That all I wanted back in return was the world I was willing to give to him in exchange for my being the sole reason for his happiness.

But I didn’t.

After longing for one single word, after tearing my soul apart in want for reciprocity, it boiled down to that one moment when I realised that he and I had no common ground but the physical aspect of our relationship. And when I learned to accept that, I also learned to be content with what was present between us. Suddenly, the lack of what was concrete did not seem so dismal.

My answer was simple. My life was far too confusing for me to consider men—not that there were other men to consider but him, but there it was. Stability is something that I lack in my life at this point. I know not where I will be four months from now. I cannot possibly imagine to allow myself to build a relationship when I am moving through tracks of life toward an unknown destination.

And so I told him that I only went with where every moment took me. That in this unstable life, the only certainty I had was in every moment.

Carpe diem. Seize the day. Live for the moment, in the moment.

Oh how it once enticed me so! But now that there is nothing I have to live for but the next moment, I find that things are not at all that I expected it to be. It sounds so romantic to live in the moment, and after that, for the next. But the reality of the situation is that it is tiring. And though there is never a want, need or lack for hope, there is a yearning for something more than the certainty of uncertainty.

I suppose I knew all along that I could not count on anything from him. Two people who live their lives waiting for the next moment to come, with absolutely no plans or expectations, cannot deign to hope for more than what the moment gives them. It was foolish of me to imagine that he would have stepped in to say that he would be the one stable thing in my unstable life. That I could count on his certainty in spite of every uncertain moment that passed. It was a dream and nothing more.

I cannot complain of my situation. I chose this path. I chose the allure of uncertainty instead of security. If there is anyone to blame for this less than cheery disposition that I find myself in, there is only me.

It occurs to me that all this time, I have only been considering how I felt and what I wanted with absolutely no regard to his person. Perhaps, after all, it is better this way. I wanted to make him happy, because the knowledge that I did made me happy. It was never about him.

I have no right, nor do I have any reason for bitterness. None whatsoever. So why do I feel as if I’m standing miles away from solace?

Haunt Me No More

I'm tired.

I don't want this anymore. I made a mistake, and I want to just wake up tomorrow morning and forget everything that happened in the past three months. It's not that I regret anything. I don't. If things would only turn out differently, I'd do it all over again. But things did not happen the way I wanted them to. And because of that, I just wish I could so easily turn my back away from everything.

I turned away from him. The way I was supposed to. I did what I had to do. So why is it so hard to keep myself from looking back?

I so want to hear from him. See him. Talk to him. But no. If he wants to talk to me, he will reach out. That's how it should be. I will not impose myself upon someone who does not want me. I have no losses. He was never mine to lose.

I was his. And sometimes, at night, I still half-wonder if he realises that he lost me. Chances are slim.

I am not undesirable. I know who I am. I know what I am worth. Why he did not see this, I can only wonder. I scoff now, why am I deriding myself for the stupidity of someone who will never make me happy? No more of this nonsense. This melancholy.

It's so easy for me to say "No more of this," to say that "It's over." And I do mean it. I do. But time and time again, it comes back to haunt me. He haunts me. No. The idea of him haunts me.

He's just an idea.
He's just an idea.

And a very bad one he was--is--indeed.

I need a permanent fix to rid myself of his memory. I'm so sick of not caring one second, and then the next moment being flooded by intoxicating images of what has passed and never will be again.

Why I obsess over a wanker, I have no idea. But it has to end.

Now.

I've found the thought: That we'd never have worked regardless. There is comfort in that. Now if only to push all the awkward silence between us aside, clear the slate, and talk about it as it is--a fond memory, and nothing more.

Serpents, Sinners and Saints

Food for thought (ironic, since this thought occurred to me at the dinner table). Christians say wisdom comes from God. And yet it was the serpent who enticed Eve into eating the fruit that opened her eyes to know good from evil. So who do you thank now?

Chains on Fire

Sometimes she felt fine.

She could never truly figure out just what it was that was wrong with her. Perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps she was just different. She always did feel as if she were set apart from them all.

There were colours, beautiful, vibrant colours that brought together her world in one beautiful wash. It was all she saw. Felt. Tasted. She knew so well the taste of yellow. It was sweet but unbearably short which left a subtle sour aftertaste. Not many were aware of that. Many were too distracted by the sweetness to realise how fleeting it was. She knew. But there was nothing in her world to have but that.

She would take long walks alone, seeing nothing in the world around her but for its colour. What was a tree but splash of green and brown? Sometimes she wished she could see the lines that everyone else could. Was it something that she could truly choose?

Wish.

The wind, so elusive in its colour of transparency, called out and breathed what she thought was the solution.

Wish.

She shut the world away and uttered three words that she would regret for the rest of her life. She dared to dream. She dared to imagine.

Wish.

It was her greatest regret. The beautiful wash of gold and orange fire that faded into deep ebony was now broken by the condemning lines of an intertwined barrier of chains that formed her cage.


Photo by skynab.

The Existence of Reciprocity

It strikes me as rather ironic how just a little over a month ago, I was so afraid that he would get attached. Why is it that I am now at the other side of the playground? What happened? Somebody please tell me why it is seemingly me who has lost her footing and fallen off the precipice of that cliff they call love. I was so confident that I was the one who was in charge of this whole situation. I was so assured in the supposed control I had over how things were going. What road has life taken me? What moment have I seized that I now am stuck in a limbo of one question after another?

This is not how things were meant to be. This is not how I ever envisioned one single of moment of my life to be lived out. There is no living with all these questions in my head.

I took the plunge. Forgot the stairs and steps and all of that. This is where I ended up. What went wrong along the way?

I can never understand men. I probably never will. Whoever said that men were simple clearly did not know men. While it can be maintained, and never disputed, that women are far more complicated than any group of beings, men, I believe, trail closely behind.

But then again, I'm not being fair.

Men in general are vastly predictable. Women know this to be a fact. Do not mistake me. I am no feminist. In fact, believe it or not, as headstrong as a woman that I might appear, I do wholly believe in the traditional way of thinking that women should know their place behind the men. I have long ago cursed whoever gave rise to feminism and insisted that women be granted equal rights with men.

The world was a better place when women knew how to properly pour tea and to so eloquently reject the affections of a gentleman she had no interest in. It was a better place when it did not take much for a man to claim his own woman and call her his love and be done with all the complicated mess of 'being certain' and 'making it real'.

Because if there is a spark, then there is a spark. And one must not tarry while the flame flickers and the firewood burns away with no one feeding the flames for it to sustain its fire.

It is an unfortunate existence. One I would assume other people also live out. Surely I cannot be the only one suffering such a fate? Then again, it is not fair to wish this feeling upon others.

When Kian and Jem were always fighting because Jem kept on stressing about their future, I used to tell Jem to simply treasure every moment that she had with Kian. To be thankful for it. Grateful that every day, she had 86,400 seconds to appreciate his love. It did not matter if it was over when she woke up, because that 86,400 seconds was more than enough to be grateful for. And that when she woke up the next morning and realised that she had another second to be grateful for, wouldn't that feeling just be the best?

What I did not realise at the time was the agony of going to bed with such an uncertainty. I claim to love change. And I do. But just because something changes does not mean that it has to be uncertain.

Then again, I cannot fault him for his uncertainty when I am in argument with myself for half the time I am not bemoaning my fall from the safety of loving only myself. I keep trying to convince myself that at my age, I am far too young, and that there is a whole world yet ahead of me to explore and to appreciate. That this is not a point to commit to a relationship.

And I do believe myself. I do believe that there is so much more to live for.

But living NOW, in THIS moment, without the completeness that his reciprocity toward my affections can bring is enough to drive me mad. It is as if I am being denied the life I am supposed to live.

All I want is the moment.

Is that really so hard to give?

Strange Realisations and Caffeine Fixes

Let this moment flutter by. I am entranced by a song. A smile is on my face. I cannot help but feel happy, even if there is absolutely no reason for me to. Maybe it’s the caffeine. I had four cups. One cup for each page of the paper that I had to write. He seems off tonight. Or maybe I’m just extra bouncy because of this caffeine fix. Either way, we’re on different levels tonight.

Levels.

Ha. I laugh. I don’t know why I see him the way I see him now. It’s impossible. There is absolutely no structure to this little song we’re dancing to. It occurs to me that I do not quite know how to place my feelings at the moment. I used to be so certain of how I felt. Everything used to be so clear. I lived for the moment; that was it. Now I have all these emotions inside of me that seem to dictate that I take a closer look at my situation.

Three days hence, and it will be a month since I met him. Has it really only been a month? I guess so. I still barely know him. But I do know that he’s promising.

Let’s face it. I’m going to face it. I, that girl who swore against relationships, now has this ‘thing’ with this guy. It’s official. Yes, indeed it is. It is a ‘thing’. At least that’s what we’re calling it for now. It’s too soon to call it anything else. For two people who both live in the moment, we seem to be taking small steps toward the relationship phase. But maybe that’s why we’re taking small steps. Because we tend to live in the moment.

A relationship is long term. It requires work, commitment, dedication. Things that I’m not sure I am capable of. Maybe he is. He was in a relationship for three years anyway. On and off but what does it matter? It still happened over a span of three years. THREE YEARS.

My relationships barely lasted three months.

So to be fair to him, and to me, even if I do claim to live in the moment, even if I tend to take risks, this is not one cliff I’m jumping off so easily. I’ll take the long road down, the stairs, the steps, or whatever you call it.

It’s not like he’s going anywhere anyway, and even if he does, I’m not so much attached that it would break my heart for me to lose him.

Yes. Yes. And yes.

I don’t know him well enough to trust him yet. Heck. I don’t trust me with anyone. How else can I trust anyone with me? I’ve been independent for so long, after all.

Oh no!

After typing that last sentence about independence, a thought occurred to me. Could it be that it is my independence that is hindering me? That I cannot take a plunge because of this security that comes from my independence? Talk about irony.

No, no, no.

I swore I would not lull myself into securities. That was the very thing I was afraid of in relationships. That endless routine and that complacency that comes from security. I cannot have this now can I?

How different this conclusion is from what I had anticipated it to be when I first started writing. I suppose that is the good thing about chronicling how one feels. Realisations come that would not otherwise if not forced into words.

Living in the security of something, without the thrill that life brings, is not life at all.

Maybe I should dive down. Forget the stairs, the steps, or whatever you call it.

Standing in the Waters of Safety and Living

Lately I have been obsessed with trying to control every aspect of my life. It seemed to easy to follow the example that my aunt and uncle have set here, so tempting to be in charge of things so that life would be manageable. So that life would be easy. But it was never about being easy was it? It was about living. I woke up this morning and realised that even if I keep on saying that I need to live, I have not been doing much of that.

I keep on thinking about what’s going on in my life, what’s happening, what I’m doing and what its consequences are. I pre-empt them, I crush whatever consequences might come before even allowing myself to revel in the glory of what I have done. Picturing a life so perfect in that box of which limits I set seemed so beautiful. But I would be fooling myself if I allow that to go on.

I have to stop. I have to stop thinking and start feeling. Experiencing.

Maybe that is one good thing that people with religious faith have—that unquestioning surrender to a force greater than they are. But it is lacking, with their surrender comes a surrender of their own emotions, of their own experiences. “All for His Glory,” they say. Perhaps I am a selfish person for wanting to live my life for me and not for anyone else.

The world it far too beautiful. Far too grand. I cannot simply surrender it all to an institution that seeks to control my every thought, word and feeling.

As I reflect upon my thoughts early this morning, I ask myself why I bother at all to write it down if I claim I need to stop thinking and start to live. I’ve found no answer within my self, but for the fact that this seems the most natural thing for me to do. I am a writer, I write. Part of living, part of experiencing everything I do, of amplifying the gravity of my emotions, I find in the comfort of words.

And so I write.

Surrender.

Relationships were something that I did not fancy myself in because I believed it would hold me back. Because it would strap me down into an existence of a routine. I realise now that I thought that because of my experience with my past relationship. I allowed it to fall into a state of complete stability, of complete security that it seemed like it could never go wrong. Every single aspect was set in stone, controlled, and every motion fulfilled for the day to be complete. One cannot possibly imagine how hard that was for someone as spontaneous as I.

To be fair to myself, as kind as Kyle was, he never understood how my mind worked. He refused to see a certain side of me, that reckless side. He acknowledged it existed, but cast it into a shadowy corner so that he would never have to see it. All of the things I did which were not to his liking, he brushed off. He held not a mirror that showed a reflection of myself, but a portrait idealising the woman that he wanted me to be. Everything was so clear for him.

Life was never clear for me.

If I surrender to the wind every single part of my life, including this fear of commitment, stability and structure what are the chances that things would not fall into routine? I suppose it will be as easy to race back to the start again to leave it all coldly behind, coming back only when the path is devoid of those which I so fear. But maybe a part of truly surrendering is to allow myself to take that step into the unknown.

But I’m afraid. I’m afraid and I don’t want to leave this place where I feel safe. It now is as if I am standing at the edge of a lake, with my feet in the water, feeling its beauty to some minimal degree, but not experiencing it.

Jump, everything in me says.

But my mind refuses to allow me such an act.

Looking at Life Through the Window of Today

I am long past denying the fact that I am a cruel person.

I break hearts. And that's not me bragging. That's me stating a cold hard fact that has been repeated to me not less than seven times--by guys, girls, and my parents. I've been called callous, heartless, a bitch, and a lot of things relating to that. But I'm not insulted. Nor do I feel any anger by being given such titles. Why would I when I deserve them?

Commitment has always been something of a fantasy for me, but when reality brings it along, it frightens me to death. There were a lot of guys that came into my short teenage life. A lot of them I genuinely liked at first, but when the fun road of getting acquainted and flirtation drew to its end, the vastness of the possibilities facing me simply impelled me to race back to where I came from without a word of explanation.

I've left a few guys cold. I was a coward enough to do that. But cut me a bit of slack and give me some credit--I came back. I came back to the road I left them, finding them wandering back aimlessly, and guided them into the safer road of a stable friendship without the daunting shadow of romance's trees hovering over us.

I am friends with both of my ex boyfriends. And I get along amazingly with guys that I abandoned because of my fear. They all understood. They all accepted me back. And now they're the best friends I could ever have in my life. They all acknowledge that I was not such a perfect person for doing what I did, but the trust I have in them, and they have in me, simply is incomparable to any kind of trust a normal friendship could build.

Bono especially has been one of the pillars of my existence. I thought myself half in love with his wit and boldness at one point, but eventually came to the realisation that I wanted him to be there for me as a friend, not as a boyfriend. And now that he is, now that there's someone loving me for who I am without the pressures of a commitment, I found myself to be in no need for it. There are expectations that come with a relationship. A commitment, a responsibility.

The one time I decided to take that plunge after my disastrous childhood sweetheart episode was with Kyle. And even that did not turn out well, even if our friendship indicated nothing but the ideal relationship between us. The title of being in a relationship changed things drastically. Once again, only three steps into the vast forest of a relationship, I spun on my heels and took off without explanation. I came in there excited, wanting to experience something new. And when I found that all it was a series of going through the same motions of saying "I love you" before sleeping and after waking, of telling him how may day went, the routine disillusioned me. So I left.

That wounded him. But I had to do the right thing for me. He liked what we had. He liked the routine, that security. That stability. But it was not for me. "Live a little," everyone says. I say "Live!" I had to come back and explain things to him, and even if he was one of those who would never understand, he accepted my apologies, and now we live a life of coexistence, of complete trust and the thought that "Maybe, someday," when I'm ready, we might start all over again. But in my heart I honestly doubt that.

What is it about settling down to commitment that scares me away? Why do I have a constant need for change, when the majority of the world live their lives so that they could find a constant pace to settle down? I have had friends so content to stick it out in a crappy relationship, claiming that they loved the person too much to let go, even if they were already neglecting their own lives. It seems the norm, the thing that everyone must do.

Am I selfish?

When my aunt told me this morning of how she suspected that he dropped out of school for a while because he and his girlfriend broke up, I started to think a little more. He sounded like someone who would be attached. I got scared. This was another heart just waiting for me to leave it cold.

But then as I write this now, I look outside the window and realise where I am. I'm not home anymore. I'm in a new place, trying to build a new life. And maybe, just maybe, this life would be different. Maybe in this life, I can live and at the same time know what attachment is.

It's too soon to tell.

But it's also too soon to cast out that idea.

Or is it?

Life in a Fantastical Movie

When you’re an eleven year old girl and that boy sitting across the room meets your gaze and turns away shyly, you know it at once: he likes you. And since you were so obviously looking at him, it is undeniable that you like him too. I learned to flirt at such a young age. I had my first, well, you can call it ‘boyfriend’ if you’d want to, but I prefer to refer to him as a childhood sweetheart, at twelve years old.

His name was Julian. Even his name was so sweet.

It was at that point in my life, while I was an angst ridden teenager, still reeling from the remarriage of my mother to a man (coincidentally also named Julian) that I would soon come to love as my own father in the coming years, that I decided I needed someone to love me. He was perfect. That exact ideal that every young girl wanted to find in the guy she would fall in love with. He was handsome, smart, talented, had a great accent, and most importantly, he always, always said the right things.

Many would call me a film buff, and even I myself admit without a blush of embarrassment that I spend far too much time in the world of film than in reality. It should follow then, that my life was centred in movies. Everything that Julian said seemed absolutely made for a good sappy romantic movie that you would just love to kick once it’s over because of all the clichéd lines in it. But that was how it was.

I remember telling him that I felt that the whole world hated me, and that there was no one in the world who could ever understand me (did I mention I was filled with angst at this age?). Says Julian, “I’m a part of this world, and I don’t hate you.”

Nearly six years and countless ‘romantic’ interests later, I still remember his exact words. Funny how the stupidest things kids do and say could be one of the most memorable things in one’s life.

I’ll never forget Julian. I’ll never forget those things that he told me.

But I grew up.

A point came in my life where I became disillusioned by the realities of what a real relationship was and simply decided that I didn’t want it anymore. I did have one other real relationship after him. Kyle was a good guy. He was sweet, awkward, and basically the most important guy to ever have been in my life. I am actually proud of the fact that our friendship survived after we realised that a relationship just was not the right path for us to take.

However, even as I was with Kyle, a good long time after my childhood sweetheart and I fell out of each other’s lives, I still found myself comparing what it my first experience in a relationship was with what I then had with Kyle. They say that you’re never supposed to compare relationships, but whoever said that must never have been with a guy who lived up to the fantasy of an ideal. I did, and realising that that ideal was just a fantasy did not make me stop loving it any less. It made me more realistic in the sense that I knew it could never be, but I never stopped dreaming of it.

Why Julian and I broke up is not even a real question—we were young, and young people do stupid things. It was inevitable. Why Kyle and I broke up was mostly because of the fact that I loved him better as a friend than I did a boyfriend. He loved me though. I know he did, and he says that he still does. But love was not all that I was looking for. In my fantasy, there was life. There was beauty. There was... excitement. My relationship with Kyle came to the point where everything was always the same, where there was nothing new we each could bring to each other’s table. The security became so stifling, especially for me—a self proclaimed errant bird.

Carpe Diem is an adage that has lost its virtue in its popularity. Everyone knows it and says it. “Seize the day!” “Live every moment as if it were your last.” But do we really? We are so concerned with being careful, so concerned with our future that we forget that every moment that passes by could very well be our last. Kyle never understood this. He was the conscientious type of guy that my parents absolutely adored because he had the right personality, came from a good family, and was very goal oriented. But what about life?

What about slowing down to appreciate the beauty of everything around you, for one single moment simply closing your eyes and feeling the matter—yes—the matter, that surrounds you. It all seems so fantastical. All so much like a dream. But if you try to feel it, you will.

I have.

It’s funny because tonight I was talking to him, and he seemed to know exactly what I wanted to achieve by moving here, even if things did not turn out quite the way I planned. There came something in his life that changed his perspective, that changed his plans. I will not get into it for the sake of respecting his privacy, and mostly because there is no need to. My point is simple: he understands exactly what I mean. And he feels the exact same way.

It’s funny because what we have now seems almost like a movie. With the perfect lines, the plot filled with seemingly hopeless obstacles standing in the way, that excitement and fun, and the pace. It seems improbable. It seems almost too good to be true. And maybe it is. We have known each other for a little more than two weeks, after all.

But from two people who are determined to make every single moment count, what else could one expect?

Sunshine in a Foggy Morning

What does it mean when you’re crossing the boundaries of friendship and an actual relationship?

How does one deal when a guy thinks your friendship would eventually lead to somewhere, while you.. you’re still wondering if it’s all worth it?

Men have an odd way of saying, “You make me happy.” And us women simply fall for it—hook, line, and sinker—especially if they say it in a more sincere way. There’s nothing more fulfilling than being someone’s reason for a smile, than being the cause of someone’s sleeping at night with a smile on his face. I am no different from the rest of the general population of women. I have that same weakness to be needed and loved.

But for the past two years, that need has not been something that I have really felt. There was too much security in how much I loved myself. I used to say all the time “I love myself enough that I don’t need anyone else’s love to make me feel complete.” But now as I write this early in the morning, in a rush so I can get to school on time, I begin to think that while it may be true that I don’t need anyone’s love to complete me, that feeling of actually being someone important in another person’s life is something that I have not felt in a long time. And what’s more is that I miss that feeling.

What’s more is that actually making him happy is something that I find myself wanting to be doing. There’s that smile on his face, that twinkle in his eyes that I would be loathe to see snuffed out. And if what he said was true, that when he was around me, he always felt better, happier, then I would not want to be the cause of affecting him oppositely.

What began as being friends with him for the fun of it, just might turn into more than just a game.

Do I want this?

More importantly, am I just imagining this?

Can I risk hurting another guy just because I have this need of mine to fulfil? Or am I really starting to become attached to him? It’s much too early to tell. As he said, “It would be smart to take things slow.” But not in the context that he meant, because he was talking about the fact that if something did happen, it would be a big deal within the family. On my side, taking it slow just might be smart because it helps us evaluate where we really want to go with this. Me, especially.

I swore to never be in a relationship.

I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.

Is this just another escape for this errant bird to fly despite clipped wings? Or is this me finally taking a chance on something that I always saw as folly? No matter the case, it’s too soon to tell. Even if there were a spark there, even if something beautiful could come from it, there is one thought that I cannot shake from my mind:

What if he is leading me on the same way that I am now?

Don’t mistake me, I’m not leading him on out of cruelty or manipulation. I simply want to go on and see where this will all lead to. He said it himself, you never know what something could lead to if you don’t give it a chance.

But what if in the end, it’s him who decides that this isn’t what he wants while I’m left alone, yet again, an errant bird who cannot fly?

Clipping the Wings of an Errant Bird

I need this. I need to start writing again.

Since I moved to Oregon, my life has been one big blob. In the beginning, there was the beauty of it, that thrill of moving someplace new, of starting a whole new life. It’s painful just to write about this now. To say that it was everything I had expected it to be would be a fantasy. It’s so much easier to throw this out into the online world than with the people I see everyday. That is not to say that those friends I have made by writing online aren’t considered real friends, on the contrary—lately, they seem to be the only people I have to support me. They’ve been there, the only constant in this ever stagnant series of days that now is becoming my life.

It would be easier if they were not the way they were.

I never thought my aunt and uncle would be so protective of me. Back home, it was all so easy. My parents knew me to be a bird that they could never cage. Now that I am here, I feel as if my wings have been clipped off. One cannot possibly imagine how hard it is for a person like me to be confined to the house and not allowed to drive out whenever I want to, wherever I want to. The reason behind their rules is clear—they have assumed responsibility over my well-being, and they just want to make certain that nothing happens to me while I am in their care.

But the fact is that my parents trusted me enough to let me live thousands of miles away from home. Why can they not see that?

From being a social butterfly, I have been reduced to knowing only a few people. But despite the sudden loss of a social life, since I met him, the loss does not so much matter now. It’s so easy to put aside the thought that everything I am going through right now is anything but pleasant when we talk, and yet at the same time, it’s so hard to forget about it when all I want to do is to be able to hang out with him, and realising that I am a prisoner in this house.

That he understands my predicament, and does not tire of me (at this point) is to my great fortune.

But I need to break free from this monotony.

I cannot allow myself to be trapped in this life where everything has been set in stone. Where every waking moment has been planned, and every single day is a repetition of the last.

I need more than this. I need to start living again.