“You keep on pushing me away,” he looked directly at her, straight to her deep brown eyes, with a fuming heart that pounds of many different emotions. It needed to be said, he thought. It needed to be said and now he said it. He’d always thought— believed, even— that once he let it out he’d feel…
I see things in a very atmospheric way— maybe it’s my mind or my waning eye-sight, but the world to me always looks like a burning fish-eye photograph or a starkly-lit stage-show.
People actually are monsters. I see their insides like w-rays sometimes, with fur on their faces, tongues hanging out their bleeding mouths and their eyes-alight. But somehow, seeing them in such manner draws a smile on my face.
I want to go back to when my life was still as cinematic and simplified as a Gus Van Sant film. When the terrain of shopping centres was home turf and everything was fluorescent and pixellated and displayed in hyper-real hues on bulky digital-cameras and primitive mobile-phones. When existence was abbreviated and people wore braces and caked-on newly-discovered make-up and wore each other’s clothes (regardless of their ill-fit on their newly-developed bodies). Imitation converse sneakers and skinny-jeans and thinning scissors and failed-picnics and pseudo-parties where our first shots of alcohol were given equal parts a companion in a glass of Ribena and first kisses were delivered by friends of the same sex as an act of practice and we pierced each other’s ears and dyed each other’s hair and felt nothing beyond the most naive of young-pubescent emotions and the summer was agonisingly liquidly long and everything was interminable.
It was not just the carefree-state of our youth— it was the sense that everything was infinite. That life on Mars in familiar-yet-foreign malls would never end. This mythical period was a span of six-months at most. Sometimes, I misplace my sense of reality and forget that I’ll never be young again and that everyday I grow up and age.
Every time I look down, I marvel at how easy it would be to tear my own life-lines out & I wonder why I haven’t done it yet.
It’s when you whispered “Let’s go wherever you want” that she realised it wasn’t enough, that it’s never enough, that she wanted more, she needed more. It’s not about what you can give to her, not about what you can do for her, never about what you’ve got to offer but all about what you couldn’t and could never give to her and do and have for her.
To her, it’s more about what both of you don’t have. It’s more about the unseen, the invisible, the nonexistent. It’s more about the missing substantial things and the unheeded significant needs. It’s more about the forever in fornever, and the fornever in forever.
Ang buhay sa tumblr.
Iba’t iba ang katangian ng mga tao dito, malamang. Ang iba, nagpapanggap at ang iba nama’y nanatili parin na misteryoso. May mga tinatawag tayong “Legends” dito, dahil na din sa tagal nila sa industriyang ito. Nagsimula sa pagiging pala-reblog ang iba at ngayo’y sinasabak na ang pagsusulat. Kakaiba ngunit nakakatuwa. Pero tanong nga ng nakararami, may magagandang halimbawa ba ng blogger? Sa tingin ko, bawat isa nama’y may magandang katangian na nais manahin ng kahit sino, “We are unique in our very own ways” ika nga nila. Pero para saakin..
Sense of humor. Siguro, napakahalaga nito. Nagiging boring kumbaga ang blog ng isang tao kapag wala. Nakakatuwa nga kapag nagbabasa ka ng mahahabang text posts at sa kalagitnaan mababasa mo, nagmumura na sa sobrang galit at mapapatawa ka nalang.
Most friendly. Iba parin talaga kapag marunong kang makisama sa mga followers mo. Yung tipong hindi mo nilalagpasan ang bawat papuri nila sa tracked tags o sa TA man. Minsan kasi, nakakapang-buo sila ng araw. Hindi ako marunong makipagkaibigan, dito lang ako natuto.
Blogworm. Ito yung mga tipo ng blogger na “reader” talagang matatawag. Nakakatuwa nga at may nagba-backread pa sabay like o kaya naman reblog kapag sobrang nakakarelate talaga sila. Dabest!
Ayan na siguro ang tatlong napakahalagang bagay na taglay ng bawat isa saatin. Aminin mo, isa ka jan.
