the last of us

Out of all the times I started and ended a blog, the easiest to write is always the last.

I don’t like who I am right now. I don’t like the thoughts that circle in my head, the things I do, the decisions I make. Some days I just want to disappear and reappear as an entirely different person. Life kind of fucked me up like tissue paper, and I need much more than time to be my myself again.

Crafting words have always been in my arsenal though, and this goodbye does not mean I won’t write again. But I’ll be doing it somewhere else, in an address that does not carry my name.

Come find me if you can.


Featured Photo by Al x on Unsplash

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party and inner crisis

I am not a party person. I was already 24 when I first stepped inside a club. I couldn’t tell whether the thick cloud of smoke was from all the cigarettes or there’s a smoke machine somewhere for added effect, and I went home ten minutes later.

The second time wasn’t the charm either; I was 27 and it was as uneventful as my first. So when my buddy Joe invited me to another clubbing activity — it was an exclusive lesbians-only party, by the way — I was ready to shoot the invitation down. But she was saying how excited she was for the night, I didn’t have the heart to bail out.

And I enjoyed it. Immensely.

I enjoyed holding my beer while making small talk. I enjoyed ordering at the bar for someone else’s drinks. I enjoyed the program games. I enjoyed watching other people scream and have fun. I enjoyed dancing with awkward moves nobody cared about because we were all quite drunk. I enjoyed striking a conversation with people out of the blue.

Before heading to the party, Joe said I was good at making conversation. I may not be the best at body language, but it seems like she was right about the conversation part.

Is this just the novelty? I know I enjoyed it, but maybe because the enjoyment is a total contrast to the pit of misery I was just wallowing into since two months ago. Maybe it’s a distraction, a break, an escape to the thoughts that are still haunting me.

Plus, I don’t know her — this part of me who enjoys these things. And I’m not sure if I should be in touch with that version of myself. I’m not sure if I’m ready to become that person. Standing in the middle of a dark room with multi-colored laser lights, playing buddies with strangers, making flirtatious eye contacts — I thought I was more old school and romantic and introverted. And I’m quite scared, to be honest.

Do I let her out, or do I rein her in?

Love is luck and misfortune

I always hear people say that when life closes a door, it opens a window. Behind me was a door made beautiful by its imperfections, a door I would never have come out of if I had the choice. Whether it’s going to unlock itself again in the future, I do not know, and the window that’s supposed to open next does not give me any comfort or feeling of anticipation.

As I was driving from work earlier, I passed by a bunch of young students and couldn’t help but feel envious of their romantic relationships untainted by love. How lucky that they do not know yet what true love is, even as they hold hands or have an arm wrapped around the other’s shoulder. There’s high chance that by the next school year, someone new will be walking beside them, and moving on is more of ranting in social media for a few days before hooking up with the next guy or girl.

How lucky that they don’t know yet that love is more than just the butterflies  you feel when you see her text message in the morning. It is more than walking her home from school, sharing stories about your favorite music genre or most hated teacher or scariest ghost experience. It is more than letting every one of your friends know that you’re dating and revel in their reaction that you scored such a ‘lady.’

How lucky that they don’t know yet that love is also the pain as you feel yourselves drifting apart. It is laughing at 2 PM because you’re with friends, but crying at 2 AM because you’re alone. It is missing her while you have no idea if she misses you, and even then you couldn’t exactly stop. It is having all things go wrong but you still fervently hold on. It is fighting a losing battle with nothing else but an undying hope.

How lucky that they still don’t know that love is not having her around anymore but still seeing her everywhere you look. Because for these kids, an “I love you” is not yet loaded with so much promise and commitment, and dating is simply the sort of stuff you do to have someone you can label as boyfriend or girlfriend.

How lucky, while I stand in front of a closed door wondering.


Featured Photo by Alexander Rumpel on Unsplash

#inktober has officially begun

Thanks to my office buddy and fellow creative Third who endlessly nagged me to join this year’s #inktober — it’s my first time, yay! — I just finished my entry for Day 1 with the theme poisonous. And honestly, joining this massive creative movement feels great.

When I first saw the official prompt list, I was at a loss on how to turn those single-word suggestions into something artsy. The idea didn’t come until I was finally being confronted by a 4″ x 6″ blank index card, all white and clean and seriously impatient.

“Take your broken heart and make it into art,” Carrie Fisher once said. Hence, today wouldn’t be the first and last time I’d make a reference to personal circumstance during the course of #inktober. Art is therapy. I hope, after 31 drawings, that my feelings are going to get better.

Who’s doing the #inktober challenge as well? Tag me on Instagram (@heyitsodee) so I can view your stuff! ^_^