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    Short Story, Things I Learned, Writing

    The Wrong Kind of Serendipity

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    Her

    I told my older sister once, I may be one of those who could be in love with two people at once. She laughed and said, it’s probably because I am in love with love itself. In fact, I fall half-in love with almost everyone I meet.

    It’s quite true though. F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, “There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.” I didn’t get it before, the first time I read his words years and years ago. But now that I’ve gotten older, I want to slap myself for foolishly thinking that out of billions of souls in the world, there could only be one who’s meant for you. It’s not fair, really. Because I finally knew what Scott meant when he said those words, and I knew it so clearly I could see it burn through the back of my hand and pulse its way through my wrists and settle through my veins: love exists in many different forms. And whether or not we’re meant for one person in the entirety of the universe, we can have more than one soulmate in our life time. Not every soulmate has to be romantic. Read more

    Writing

    Unfinished Story // 2

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    It was dark and it was raining and if it were a different circumstance in a possible different universe, you would’ve hated it. But you were in this one – the realest one – and you both were laughing and running and for a split second, nothing else mattered. You think to yourself, if you could spend the rest of your life just laughing like this, raindrops kissing your cheeks, not caring about the inevitable morning that lies ahead, and the next ones after that, then it wouldn’t be so bad at all. The whole world seems so much brighter despite the rain.

    But even though her smile reminds you of the way flowers turn to the sun in spring and she smells like frail hope and a splash of promise, even though she is here and she is laughing and she is real – it’s quite funny how close someone could be to you and yet there is so much distance. You can feel it, as the skies cried and the wind gets harsher, that she would someday pull away. So when she looks at you, millions of words unsaid, hanging above you both in a trail of what if’s, it all shatters down and falls around you with the pouring rain.

    Because there was no other reality that existed besides this – you love her, but she belonged to someone else. And when she hugs you her last goodbye, you wished, in that second, that there could be thousands of other moments just like this. You wished time would stop, like it would’ve happened in movies, just so you could hold on to this – to her – just a bit longer. But reality only lets you have two seconds at most, and it was completely unfair, and when she walks away you stand there, frozen, helplessly staring at the empty space that stretches farther and farther between you and her.

    There was nothing else, but the rain.

    Read more

    Writing

    I Only Have Beginnings

    paperantlers.net

    Once upon a time you were only a distant dream, a memory from the hidden corners in my head that I could barely piece together. For a while it felt like you didn’t exist. You were simply a shadow in my wall I confided to before going to sleep. You didn’t consume every part of my being and turned me into a monster I only kept in my closet when I was a kid.

    Once upon a time he was my forever. I thought love was about waiting and promises exchanged in a series of text messages. We’ve had conversations past midnight and could even talk about anything else that would pass our minds. But whenever we meet in person, we only had silence. Turns out, text conversations are only good for moments that you have to think about, not for someone who thrives in something spontaneous and golden. He told me to say something once or twice, but I couldn’t think of anything. We simply had nothing to talk about, and I stared blankly into the space that was before me and wished I disappeared alongside it.

    The next day, he found somebody else, someone who could tell him things that he wished to hear.

    Once upon a time I had friends. I had someone who would make up scenarios in her head, just to see if someone cares enough to listen. It is through her where I learned that friendships aren’t forever and some people, are merely passerby’s in your life and none of them are meant to stay. It is quite a pity, since I turned my heart into her home and in the end, she wanted none of what I had to offer.

    Once upon a time people around me were falling apart. Some hearts that were stored for too long in cages were finally set free. Others threw away their keys. I only had to watch and wait patiently for the skies to swallow me. I thought I would fly, that I would be saved.

    I didn’t. I wasn’t.

    Once upon a time there was a girl filled with passion and fire, and every so often, she would burn her way through my lungs and tie together words in a way that would touch others. She would sit by herself and be comforted by her own presence, her own silence. She was at still with happiness.

    The longer she lived, the more she died.

    Once upon a time I wrote a letter and stashed it inside a bottle and threw it away into the sea. I watched it become smaller and smaller into a speck of dust as the ocean tries to swallow it with each roaring wave. I watched it disappear into the horizon and I hoped it would never come back to me untouched. Until now, I’m hoping for someone to read it and understand.

    I never got a reply.

    Art + Culture, Favorites

    Monday Things // Vol 3

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    One.

    Photographs of forgotten housing estates in Paris. I’ve been looking so much into this city recently. Not so sure if it’s my heart that has been doing all the calling (yearning).

    Two.

    I’m currently looking into learning another language. Okay, so I have to admit that I have tried learning a new language before: Spanish in fact, thinking it would be easy for me to adapt (since most Filipino words are derived from said language). However, after few weeks in, I gave up. The most I could get to it were a couple of phrases that I didn’t even learn from my self learning whim, but from Dora the Explorer, which I used to watch every morning when my two year old niece still lived with us. How sad, really.

    But this post from Victoria McGinley, How to Learn Language as An Adult is a true gem on its own, and me stumbling upon it has perfect timing. I’m hoping to take Global Studies as a certificate course later in the year and it would be a great help once I start taking my Japanese (or Korean? Haven’t decided yet) language classes.

    Three.

    I’m currently drooling over this AirBnB Guide to Paris. By drooling I mean partly crying on the inside, as well. Until my dreams of visiting one of my favorite cities, this stays bookmarked and buried under a special place in my heart. Read more

    Midnight After Thoughts, Writing

    Midnight Afterthoughts / 6

    paperantlers.net

    I had a conversation with myself about you

    Earlier today I was stuck in traffic for about an hour. Usually, I would try to pass the time by putting my phone on shuffle, it seemed easier to measure the distance through songs than minutes of travel. But today, I was elsewhere.

    My thoughts drifted off far away from the corner I was trapped in, amidst cars and the scorching heat and little movement we all could make, inch by inch. I miss him, I thought so bitterly. I wish he were here with me, and then we could have a nonsense conversation about traffic and about other people in their cars, their habits and their stories, the happiest and saddest moments in their lives. Oftentimes, he would blast on music and I would have an impromptu concert on his passenger seat (he wouldn’t mind my high-pitched, off key singing). And I feel sad, thinking, why on earth, out of thousands of people who were closer to me, was I with someone who’s miles and miles away? If I would tell someone right now flat out that I was happy and content with what how we were it would be a lie. There are many things I wish I could change. I wish I could stitch islands together just so we’d be closer or that I could craft a sail boat out of winds and cloud patches so I could easily drift off to where he was. But life, of course, isn’t as easy. Read more