I love writing. This is why I started blogging. It was an outlet for me to express my thoughts on life, the mundane and the mysteries I encounter. Nowadays, I only blog when something actually happens to me. Yep, I’m that self-centered. But again, this is my blog.
Anyhow, the writer in me awoke. Especially when one of my students started to write her own fiction. It’s not yet finished but I can see that she’s doing her best to make it into something fantastic.
Thus, I’m back to this burgeoning desire to simply write and write. Short stories or microfiction are more my style. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the patience to write a novel. The per chapter thing seems taxing and well, long. For now, I shall do my best to simply get back on writing. Wish me luck!
I have been plagued by this fear of failing. Although failure at something is a possibility, the idea of failure to meet the expectations of people is a different kind of circumstance that I would rather not endure.
I know that God gives us trials to test us and it seems to me that even before I begin to do what I’m about to do, I have already this heavy feeling of failure. The problem is that I let it hang over my head and over my heart. I don’t know how to remove it.
I tried not to think of it. Nothing has happened so far. The more I brush it away, the more guilty I feel when I haven’t even done anything wrong. I just feel guilty of being happy.
So now I’m feeling miserable and it should calm the fears inside me but I think it made it worse.
I pray and I pray and still the peace and calmness evades me.
I want to be thankful and happy but pretending to be any of those is too much.
I guess, I just want to write and somehow lose myself in words that no one reads and simply be.
I look at you from across the table. I try not to stare. Your sun-kissed tan and easy smile makes my heart skip a beat. It’s so easy to listen to you talk. I find it really hard to concentrate on anything else but I try, just so you won’t notice how often I let my gaze drop on you while trying to keep up with the conversation going on around our table.
All night long, I wanted only to be with you but you were all wrapped up with everything else and with everyone. You’re like a butterfly, visiting each flower and letting them in on secrets I want to keep.
You have not left my mind ever since we met and the thought of you not really knowing how I feel, tears me apart. It has been a while since I felt this way and suddenly I’m at a loss on what to do next.
My only refuge is here, writing how I feel and hoping for a miracle that one day, you’ll like me back.
It’s amazing that in life, you get to meet people who have had their fill of living, people who yearn to taste true living and people who try to live each day as something worth writing about.
People get inspired by different things because there are no two people in this world who are the same. I get inspired by other writers, by their lives and their words. Reading about them and learning how they have lived and what they wrote inspires me to re-examine my own life and how I can make it extraordinary.
I welcome to know more people who can inspire me to be the best me that I can be.
However, I realize that I am also tempted to simply give in to that road I took in the past, to get behind that curtain off indifference and pursuit of self-love and indulgence. Memories fill me with the desire yet I am reminded that I am still the master of my own fate. I can still control that dark side of me.
Letting words overflow and things that come to mind be simply written down to remind me that each day we are tested by life. Knowing that the prize is something beyond I can put into words, steers me to the direction I hope takes me to a better life, a better me.
I close my eyes and I feel you
I never knew that it was possible
To feel the rapture and glory
Of passions revealed
With innocence and honesty
Yet somehow covered in lies.
Today, I met someone. I arrived for an interview and he was there for the same reason as I was. He was already seated and he seemed nice and harmless with his eyeglasses resting on his thin nose. He had his hair somehow patted to one side and his lean frame suggested he was taller than me but not too tall that I had to look up far.
He greeted me and I sat down beside him with a smile.
We got to talking and he reminded me of this one guy who courted me back in college. He looked geeky and effeminate but he was not gay. This one gave off the same aura and we just totally hit it off.
Surprisingly,I found myself talking to him easily and we practically exchanged life stories. It was all good though. No judgement, disgust or even doubts. We were just glad we met.
I do hope that I will see him again. He could possibly become a new good friend. And I do want one of those.
This is it. This is just you and me and no one else.
I thought we had it right, you know. We have each other and it was enough for me. I was wrong. Reality crept in and suddenly, I look at you and all I see is my mistake. Why did I let you take my hand that night? Why did we even bother to flirt and dance? I should have just ignored you.
Now, three years later, we’re here. Nowhere, to be exact. You have your world and I have mine. That love we shared fervently is now as cold and lifeless as the floor I stand on. It’s a hard thing to realize that taking responsibility, becoming an adult and everything that goes with that territory is something you want to delay.
I can’t wait for you.
You should know that I mean this.