The Last Bus Ride

“Can I take a last bus with you?” I fumbled. Not A last bus! “I mean, a last bus ride with you?” We were approaching the end of our story and I wanted to close the chapter the way I liked it.

We missed a few possible buses because you wanted Bus 14. You said it travels a shorter route. I was getting worried you’d not make it in time to the internet cafe to edit and submit your resume. Bus 14 was going to take another 30 minutes or so because we missed one on purpose believing the darn bus arrival time board. Up 16 we went.

The night swept by us outside. You were on my right – at the window seat. Something new. I kept my gaze left, watching familiar sights pass by. They would soon be melded to memory too.

“Do you ever feel like you’re younger than your age?” you suddenly asked.

“No, I feel my age but sometimes I feel that I should be acting more like my age. If you put it that way then yeah.”

“I feel like I’m stuck at 24 or 25. Oh man I’m gonna be 30 soon! Gonna be an old fart!”

“Yeah. You know, when you’re 26 you can still ‘lie’ to yourself and say you’re a year from 25. When you hit 27..I’m sure you know the feeling – 30 comes quick.”

I sensed your worries and your heart. I sensed your internal conflicts: the struggle to be someone against flowing time that is slipping through your hands like sand; to be a responsible person; to be someone who will rise from the ashes and produce results in independence. I saw the pressure you’re feeling to live up to others’ expectations because they’ve never asked much but the pressure worsens with the more kindness they give. Then I understood why you say you feel younger. Perhaps it’s because part of you wishes yourself younger to escape and live free, or you feel mentally younger because you think yourself ill-equipped to handle the situation.

Such is life. I want to be your friend, your soul mate, your support. I want to listen to your rants and your exclamations of delight at the simplest of things that surprise you. But the story goes that we have to walk our roads separately to grow.

It is not simple to be you or me. 

“We will get there,” I replied simply. In truth, I didn’t know and don’t know how I’d get there myself.

Four words – but it encompasses so much more I wish you’d know.

広告

I forgot

I was ablaze last week – on fire to start writing again, so eager to dive into blogging again for it provided a distraction.

And then I got caught up with my sadness I lost my motivation to write. Well actually, I was also busy looking at a new distraction or possiblly, my new goal at this stage in life – A Master’s in translation. Anyway, more about that next time perhaps.

There’s this saying about having 3 great loves in a life. I googled that on my journey back home today and found a writer/blogger I particularly like. The style of her writing captivates me. Her story strikes a chord with me. Her thoughts make me think of…me.

Words are her anchor as they are mine. But in my fear of confronting my sadness, I hid from what I love. Part of me wants to document my growth; part of me desires to escape.
She made me remember again my love for writing and her perserverance encouraged me.

Thank you – you have given me some hope.

Flashbacks (well, the sad ones)

Flashbacks are funny things. They lie in a dormant disguise of memories and emotions buried, an inert but silent ache that stays constant, as sure as the heart which beats with each passing second. So long as they remain unearthed, they are deceptive liars that mask themselves with Time. For a moment, you whisper self-assuredly, I’m okay, I’m alright.

All it takes is a certain line, a familiar scene, a random tune you hear as you walk down the street, a picture that slides pass your scrolling thumb – that cause what you’ve kept inside to unravel. Like a sneak attack, memories start to flash by, a conflict of sadness, pain, and happiness you felt at those memories entwine and resurface – you smile wistfully and gaze into the distance.

And then you panic. Your mind swerves sharply into chaos. Because this was unplanned. You thought you were fine. You start to hurt. You don’t know what to do with the pain and wish yourself curled up on your bed at home.

 

Flashbacks. Sneaky little things they are.

 

I’ll be okay, I’ll be alright.

Date A Man Who Writes You Love Letters

This girl is like me. She has voiced my feelings! I am that girl.

Thought Catalog

“I don’t write often, so don’t judge too hard,” the text message read.

I opened up my email and there it was, waiting for me. My eyes could not read fast enough. They scanned and rescanned, checking to make sure not to miss a line.

Every word of his made my heart flutter. It was not that his writing was particularly good, but that I could hear his voice in my head speaking to me with each sentence. “I didn’t think I’d be falling in love with you.” Me neither, I thought. “Thank you for letting me break down your walls.” It was my pleasure.

“It’s beautiful,” I messaged back, not knowing what else to say. I meant it.

I had sent him my own word document a few days prior, at his request.

“You know,” he said, “you made me fall for you a lot harder than I meant…

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The Kind Of Girl You Should Date

Food For Thought for the Men out there.

Thought Catalog

Date a girl. Date a girl because she’s a girl and she’s beautiful that way. Not because she reads books or is illiterate. Not because she dresses up or doesn’t. 

Find a girl who challenges you. Don’t care about how many unread books she has in her bag. Don’t care about how much unused space she has in her closet. Care about how many unread looks she has on her face. Care about how many unused smiles she has on her lips.

When you buy a girl a cup of coffee, or buy her a bottle of vodka — if you do it just to get in her bed, she’ll know it before you do, whether she reads, or whether she doesn’t.

On anniversaries or birthdays, don’t gift your girl books — she can buy all she wants. Don’t buy her expensive dresses; she can buy all she wants and more…

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A 100 words for the First

There are many times when I space out, other times when thoughts come to me in the heat of the moment. I am one of those whose inspiration seems to ride on my emotion waves (did I just imply my emotions to be my Muse?!). I feel more useful and less put down by my lack of argumentative-intellect when I write. It is my outlet and solace. Especially now, since I’ve hit a snag in life. Setting up this blog gives me a strange sense of achievement writing emails at work can’t.

So here I am – fourth blog in my life.