journey on dark waters

It's bad enough, that the people I work with wants me to change everything: my looks, the way I dress, etc. (not that it's not good or anything), but my flesh and blood had to dictate to me who should I fall in love with. The last time she did that, it made me clean a mess that wasn't mine. Where's the guy now? Married. With a family of his own. Me? Still here and pretty much broken. Can't my own sister be happy for me for once? I'm always happy for her whenever she finds her love. But with me? No one is good enough. It's either he's not good-looking enough or something. And even if she wanted someone for me, would it be the same time as the last one? Another who will slip through my fingers. I wanted a life of my own, different from hers. I've been wanting to go to law school and medicine school, but she's been telling me that it won't mean a thing when I get married. At least, for me I know I have a back-up, a dream and more importantly: a ...

Dreams usually tell us what might lie ahead. For me, it was a recurrent dream that I have encountered two years back. Something that was hard to forget, for it has involved a house in the middle of a forest. It was nighttime in my dream and there was a thunderstorm outside. Lucas, the little boy who visits me in my dreams is sitting at the bottom of the staircase with a scared look in his eyes. He was afraid of thunderstorms, although he loved the rain. "Why are you still awake at this time? It's getting late," I told Lucas sternly. "I can't sleep. It's too loud. Will daddy be coming home?" inquired Lucas pleadingly. "He's coming home, I'm not just so sure about the time. Why don't I tuck you in and I will let you know when he has arrived. Would that be fine?" I asked. "Yes that would be fine..." his voice trailing. A knock on the front door interrupts Lucas for a second. "Now who could that be at this time of the ni...

It's been two years. Two years since the pain. It was exactly the same time, same month when he began saying goodbye. I wanted to let go so badly, but I wasn't given the chance. I was asked to hold on, because it wasn't over till it's over. I already knew, months before, that it was over. The moment when I was approached by someone close to his heart and claimed him as her own, I knew I have lost. But then I was asked to hold on. A photograph that could only tell me of what once was, is still saved on my cellphone's internal memory. Before he left, he made a promise that he would write or call. That letter never came, my phone never rang. And I waited against false hopes that he would return. I would receive occasional hi and hellos through our common friends where he was. But was that even enough to make me stop crying? Will it comfort me of how he is? Like a woman of the desert, I await by the dunes, hoping only for a second that it wasn't merely a mirage that...

It's been two years. Two years since the pain. It was exactly the same time, same month when he began saying goodbye. I wanted to let go so badly, but I wasn't given the chance. I was asked to hold on, because it wasn't over till it's over. I already knew, months before, that it was over. The moment when I was approached by someone close to his heart and claimed him as her own, I knew I have lost. But then I was asked to hold on. A photograph that could only tell me of what once was, is still saved on my cellphone's internal memory. Before he left, he made a promise that he would write or call. That letter never came, my phone never rang. And I waited against false hopes that he would return. I would receive occasional hi and hellos through our common friends where he was. But was that even enough to make me stop crying? Will it comfort me of how he is? Like a woman of the desert, I await by the dunes, hoping only for a second that it wasn't merely a mirage that...

The last thing that I wanted to happen is get a call from someone connected to my past. It's a slap to my face telling me what I have lost. I've moved on, but it takes only one call to bring all the painful memories. My mistake, was I took the call, only to hear what would've been. Call it condescending, but I have tried. The caller would've been, should've been more than a friend, but a brother. I was asked to wait for something that would never come, by the person I trusted the most, my sister, my own blood. I thought it wouldn't hurt, but it did. In the end, I lost. Promises were made, but were broken. I know I would fake it by saying I'm fine. But that would be another lie. Maybe, just maybe, I would be saved someone before I drown.

I was looking at a painting the other day, trying to figure out what inspired the artist to paint such hues of red and blue. At some point it made me realize that I do the same thing with my writings. Some ask what inspires me to write from the inner sanctum of my soul. I smile. Secretly hiding the real meaning within, for no one will understand. They never will. Something inside of me was willing to run away and never look back. Instead I write. I pour my soul out onto a piece of paper and write. A question traced the lips of one. Query into how I really feel. Was I okay? Was I doing fine? How will I survive? My answer will always be the same: "I'm fine, life's going great never better." But inside I am slowly melting into a quicksand of pain. Each grain slowly sinks me in sorrow. I have managed to smile despite the bitter tears that cascades from eyes. People knew. But never asked me, with respect to how I would feel. Yet in their eyes I could feel the pity. Their l...

If being nice means stepping on others' feeling, then that is not nice. Recently, being friends with a 'so-called' nice person, opened my eyes to the difference between nice and not. Normally I send messages on my mobile phone (which averages to 100+ messages depending on whether I am on unlimited text load). My messages ranges from quotes (inspirational, morning, love etc.), jokes, or just plain hi and how are you doing today. So receiving my messages within the day (let's say 5 or more), think of it as normal. And if I send a text message that happen to center on love, then it was probably just a forward (like I am doing at the moment). If by any chance that the message was misread, it's on the understanding of the reader, whether he or she would like to read it as either tragic, inspirational or for that matter a professing of one's own feelings. On my case, it happened. It was misread, without asking it personally from me if I meant the message or not! The w...