January 17, 2016

As dusk draws near, a stout, sluggish figure stumbles out from a smoke-permeated bar around the corner and onto the cold Manhattan streets, where fluorescent billboards brood over suited worn-out men and overly embellished women, where lights blind cab drivers and colorful expletives strew the ocean of traffic. 

Oh, pay no heed to the stout, sluggish figure. Heed should be given to the boy who is watching the figure. You see, he isn't just any other boy. He is the boy. With a heart beating to clicking Jimmy Choo stilettos, clonking Italian loafers and thumping rubber soles. With the naivety of a toddler and the ferocity of an explorer. With a fervent soul. And a dream. 

As he strides toward the staggering figure, he realizes that his subject of attention is a well-dressed man in his early forties. He catches a glimpse of the man's eyes - soulless. Their brief eye contact is broken by a series of retching followed by vomiting. 

"Sir, you alright?" inquires the boy, offering the man his handkerchief. The stench is undeniably revolting.   

The man, completely ignoring the handkerchief extended before him, wipes his mouth on his expensive sleeve. "What do you think, boy?" he replies in a drunken slur as he manages to stand straight. He reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out a cigarette.  

The boy, fully aware that it is a rhetorical question, says, "It's Valentino, sir," 

"Huh?"

"Your suit, sir. It's Valentino," answers the boy, staring at the vomitus-stained sleeve. No longer expensive. 

The man, with the cigarette now lit between his chapped lips, lets out a little laugh. A melancholic laugh. "You new around here eh, kid?" 

Another rhetorical question. But this time, he answers, "Yes, I just moved in a couple of days ago," 

There is a moment of silence, perhaps ten seconds of silence, amidst the blaring car horns, the purring engines, the brawling in the bars, the indistinct chatter between business associates, the muffled squealing of trophy wives and heiresses comparing their Harry Winston jewelry over a table of caviar canapes and champagne.

"Well..." the man begins, dropping his unfinished cigarette onto the frozen concrete and stomping it out with the heel of his leather brogue. "I'd love to stay and chat, kid... but in this hell of a weather, I'd rather not freeze to death," He starts walking away, slowly. But then he stops. Without turning his head, he shouts, "Good luck, kid! You'll need it!" He starts walking away again, but this time, with more assurance. 

The boy hasn't moved an inch as he continues watching him lurch deeper and deeper into the congestion of flesh and cheap eau de parfum. He continues watching even after he has become nothing but a figure. A figure now so familiar that he can instantaneously distinguish him from other figures. A wobbly yet unwavering figure. 

Lights begin to burn brighter as the sky grows dimmer. It's too late to have dinner, yet too early to go home. The boy, though clad in a Shelton wool sweater, a fleece-lined jacket and a leather coat, is crumbling in the bitter cold. The relentless wind howls through the jungle of concrete and glass, sending shivers down the spines of skyscrapers and men. He sees groups of friends, parents and their children, and couples huddling into coffeehouses and cafes to escape the horrendous mid-January freeze. So he follows suit.

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks! What can I get you tonight?" the barista asks warmly, her smile widening as if she's worried that her "welcome to Starbucks" doesn't sound as convincing as she has wanted it to. But she does have a beautiful smile. And very white teeth.

A small metallic badge pinned on her chest catches his eye. It reads Hi, my name's Louise. "You can just call me Lou!" she giggles, slightly blushing. "Oh...umm...sorry about that...I didn't mean to umm...I think I'll just have a bottled mocha frappuccino," he mutters, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Alrighty!" she chirps, almost too enthusiastically. "Are you sure you don't want anything warm? You know like a steamy cup of latte? Or hot chocolate? I heard it's like Antarctica out there,"

"Umm...no I think I'm fine with just that," he replies, smiling awkwardly.

The coffeehouse is filled with idle talks, laughter and opened MacBooks, filled with life and warmth, filled with strangers with untold stories and forgotten dreams. The boy nestles in a heavily cushioned pod-shaped hanging chair next to a large window that, sadly, doesn't provide viewers with any view of the outside world. They can only see their reflected selves, their hurried moments of affection, their lipstick-stained coffee mugs, their involuntary facial nuances, their unintentional displays of vexation. It's like watching a reality TV show, watching the lives of other people on a glass screen. But then, only then, they realize that they've been watching themselves all this time, watching their own lives becoming other people's lives. On the other side of the window, passersby can peer into the lives of others: a woman with her lover but not her husband, a divorced father with his two daughters, a group of teenage boys trying to woo one of the pretty baristas, two college girls munching on birthday cake pops while trading dirty secrets, a boy sitting all alone by the window staring into space. It's like watching a family sitcom, watching the lives of other people through a glass screen. But then, only then, they realize that the thespians they've been watching are actual people and that the lives they've been speculating are actual lives.

From his quiet corner, the boy observes, taking small sips of his frappuccino every now and then. In between soundless sips, he thinks of her.

The way she laughs. The way she talks about her dreams. The way she tilts her head and squints her eyes when she doesn't get a joke. The way her eyes gleam in the dark. The way she hums along to The Beatles' PolyThene Pam. The way she walks barefoot on grass. The way she chews on her fingernails. The way she...

His reverie is suddenly disrupted by a voice. A shrill, merry voice. "Hey! I got you coffee!" Lou is standing next to him with a cup of coffee clasped between her long, slender fingers, displaying a set of impeccably lacquered nails.

Before he manages to get his consciousness completely out of the clouds to utter a word, Lou has already put down the coffee cup and started walking away. One of her colleagues is trying to suppress a snicker, while another is smirking at her. There is something written on the sleeve of the coffee cup.

Salutations Earth people... it's been weeks since my last blog entry, and I suppose it's safe to say a lot have happened, On June 9, at 10:43 p.m., we broke up. For real this time. And, as shocking as it may sound, he was the one who asked for a breakup. I remember how my eyes widened at the sight of his text, and how I managed to let out several incredulous gasps before replying him. We ended on a good note, though. We promised that we would remain good friends, and that time would prove if we were really meant for each other. I was literally choking on my tears when he said he would always love me no matter what, I couldn't cry my heart out because Khoa (my housemate) would hear my childish sobs from the kitchen, so my muffled bawling and indignant whinpering would have to suffice. Well, now that I no longer have relationship problems to worry about, I can finally worry about other things in my life, like my grades, my job (I haven't even found a job yet LOL), my internship (I haven't found that either), my career (I haven't had a career yet actually)... I honestly don't think I have time for a relatiosnhip because I barely have time for God and for myself. When was the last time I actually sat down, emptied my head and enjoyed a good cup of coffee? When was the last time I actually ran barefoot on sun-kissed grass and painted flowers in the evening breeze? Watched the sunset with a book in one hand and a bar of Hershey's dark chocolate in the other? 

  

Anyhow, let's end this on a good note, shall we? Here's a little advice for all single people out there: don't just walk past a garden, stop to take in the beauty of each flower, observe every detail and love every petal, even the fallen ones; don't just shove a donut down your throat, relish every sugary bite of it and forget about the calorie count; don't just spend your Saturdays on your couch watching TV, take a walk in the park or grab your favorite book and have a little picnic on your backyard; don't just cook for yourself, make food for your loved ones; don't just drink coffee, have coffee. 

Your life doesn't have to be mundane and purposeless just because you're single. Being single means more time for yourself, more time for your family, more time for your friends, more time for God. It means endless possibilities and self-embarked adventures. 

Be free. Be yourself. Love life. Love yourself.  

Have you ever felt so overwhelmed with emotion that you find it almost impossible to speak to anyone about it? But it's not just any emotion, like anger, or delight, or sadness; instead, it's a concoction of fragile sentiments, overlapping each other, interwoven. Lately, I've been feeling this way. Whenever someone asks, "How are you?", I would just smile and lie, "Good." or "Doing just fine." or "I'm hanging in there." The truth is I'm not good, I'm not doing anywhere near fine, and I most certainly am not hanging in there. That's why I've stopped talking about my feelings. But you know what they say, once you stop talking about your feelings, you would stop feeling. Your heart would harden, grow numb even. It would become a void, a hole through which every happy moment or melancholy song falls. In other / less severe-sounding words, you would become less of a human. Well, that doesn't sound much of a comfort either.

Since I'm incapable of talking about my palpitating pot of emotion, I've decided to write about it. 

I guess it all started when I told my boyfriend I wanted a break from him. I told him on the phone (no, not even FaceTime or Skype, because I knew I couldn't bear watching him cry), but the moment I heard him sobbing and blurting out 'but I love you's at the other end of the tenuous line, I knew I would never be able to love the same way again. The pain of breaking someone else's heart is always greater than breaking your own. It was also in that very moment when I began to simultaneously feel every possible emotion. Guilt. Because I made him cry, and I made him think thaat I don't love him anymore. But I do, I still do. Just in a different way now. Relief. Because I finally said what I had been dying to say. The "We need to take a break" phrase had been sitting on the tip of my tongue like a cold slab of marble for months, so imagine the relief of  'losing some weight'. Staccatos of joy. Because I finally mustered the courage to face fear. I was tired of running away, I was sick of being scared. Indescribable agony. Because after I faced my fear, I realized that my boyfriend was my fear. He, once my drug, my soulmate, the only being I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, had become the one I wanted so badly to get rid of. Disgust followed by bursts of rage. Because I was disgusted by and with myself. How could I? How dared I? He gave you all his love and more, and this was what you repaid him with. Followed by bursts of rage. How could I be so selfish? All I ever thought of was what I wanted, but what about what he wanted? I was furious at myself, I wanted to punish myself, but then I realized that this was my punishment, this was the death I had unwittingly sentenced myself to - guilt.

Being able to feel is a privilege, and that's what makes us human; but being able to feel everything simultaneously is torture, and that's also what makes us human.

      

deafening silence

numbing pain

found missing

clearly confused

almost exactly

genuine imitation

bitter sweet

living dead

Some people worry too much about tomorrow

that they forget to live today

Some people live too much today

that they forget they have tomorrow

Tomorrow might be better

tomorrow might be worse

But it's hope that makes us believe

in a better tomorrow

Have you ever felt so small,

so minuscule, 

so insignificant 

in this great fantastical world? 

So small that the weight of the world

is crushing upon your shoulders,

so insignificant that you cease to exist...

Perhaps,

existence is an illusion,

illusions are nonexistent...

Perhaps,

it doesn't matter if we are merely specks of dust

floating in the moon's orbital belt,

or if we don't exist at all;

what matters is our absence,

what matters is us knowingly existing in nonexistence.

" we have to explore our own thoughts before exploring the woods,

understand our wants and needs before understanding the wind,

discover ourselves before dicovering the world " 

It's been such a long time since I blogged anything, it's been years. When was the last time I posted an entry? I can't even remember. 

Well, here's a quick update about my life.

I'm currently studying at East Central University, a nearly invisible university in a nearly invisible town named Ada. In case you don't know where Ada is, it's in the state of Oklahoma. And, I'm currently in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend who's now studying in the University of Waterloo. And, I'm currently typing this while sitting alone in an empty cafe, with a mug of caramel macchiato clasped between my fingers and a half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich resting in a basket next to me. 

You must be wondering why I'm here alone. Well, let's just say everyone else has gone home for Christmas and I'm still stuck in this God-forsaken town with nothing but words to entertain me. I'm so glad that I'll be going to LA this Saturday - I can't wait! 

Okay, so you guys must be surrpised that I finally got myself a boyfriend, how in the world did this happen, you ask. I was brusque, desperate and stupid. A stupid young girl rushing into unfamiliar things, sailing into uncharted waters, stumbling upon a strange world of love and compromise. Don't get me wrong, our relationship was great. It started off great. We were both in love, and everyone said we were perfect for each other. I would always get butterflies when he looked at me in a certain way, I would always get excited when I received his texts, I would always wait for his replies even if it meant sacrificing my sleep. Things began going downhill ever since I came to the States.


I don't know why, but I just don't like talking to him as much as I used to. I find his texts annoying sometimes. I lie about not having a stable Internet connection to avoid Skyping with him everyday. I would rather lay on bed all day and rot in bottomless boredom than replying his texts. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!?!

Sigh.

Okay, enough with the depressive news, let's have a change of topic. I've recently picked up water-coloring, it's time-consuming but really soothing. Earlier this morning, I trespassed a private golf course (it's located right beside my dormitory), sat on a patch of freshly trimmed grass under the sun for nearly 3 hours, painting. I have to admit, I'm not very good at it.




Have a great Christmas break everyone!