Thursday, August 28, 2014


"We all have our own romanticized notions of what it will be like when we find true love

We imagine how it'll go. What it'll feel like. What he or she will look like, sound like, act like, kiss like. And every once in a while, we actually meet that person. There they are! In the bar standing next to us! Or down the hall at work! Or in the line at the bookstore! They're perfect. Everything we imagined. And so we engage. Chase. Pursue. And assume our very best behavior. And fight for a chance at that perfect union we've imagined in our heads for so long.

And sometimes it works! We get their phone number. And a date! And a second date! And sometimes it even goes a month or two! But then at some point, it runs afoul.

What once seemed effortless becomes arduous. The perfect conversations suddenly don't flow as easily. Something's gone awry. What once was easy is now work. And who has time for that? And here's where many a relationship come to an unfortunate end.

Because the other person thinks it should only be constant magic. That everything else is merely a false symbol. But we still chase them! We want it back! We think of what we can do to possibly salvage this sinking ship. Should we change ourselves? Adjust our behavior? Change our whole personality?

After all : this is love. Surely it's worth sacrificing for, no?

No, I'm here to say. It's not.

Because there's a big horrible idea out there in the world of romance. That if it's not hard, it's not real. True romance must be earned, we believe. Struggled for. Barely survived. If it comes easy, it's wrong. Shallow. Too simple. We must suffer for love. We must cry with certain regularity. Lose our faith time and time again only to barely regain it.

I humbly submit that such a belief is the romantic equivalent of 100 percent grade-A bullshit.

Perhaps it comes from our culture's puritanical beginnings. The notion that anything great is worth suffering for.

And while I agree that love takes work, patience, laughter, tears and forgiveness, I don't think it should involve perpetual, ongoing damage-control.

If the relationship you're in takes constant, multiple acrobatic maneuvers to keep it in flight, then it's not a relationship; it's a doomsday project. Relationships, in general, should be easy. If they're taking a tonne of work, a tonne of time, something's wrong. Chances are either that :

A) One (or both) of you is not a stable enough person to even be in a relationship to begin with, and you need to go off on your own to learn how to keep yourself perfectly happy with nothing more that yourself to sustain you. (And yes, I've been this unstable person myself.)

B) One of you has unrealistic expectations of what the other is supposed to provide them on a regular basis. (And yes, I've been this person, too.) They think you're supposed to keep them constantly entertained. Or wined and dined. Or sexually pleasured. Or emotionally rescued. Or financially bailed out.

Neither of which is sustainable. Which is why I say the following :

Don't chase the person you can barely hold on to when you're at the top of your game. Seek out the person you can be happy with even when you're having a bad day. Or week. Or month. Because those days will happen, many, many times over the course of a relationship. And the person who's only happy with you when you're a superhero will not stick around when you finally become a mortal again - and need them to be there for you, instead.

So skip the supermodel. The pursuit of your own personal dream person. It might be heaven for a week or two, but they'd probably dump you (or string you along) as soon as you failed to be the emblem of perfection for more than 2-3 seconds in a row. That perfect pairing with the Mister or Miss Right we've all imagined in our hearts isn't going to survive the endless ordinary days that real life is fraught with.

The person who's truly right for you is probably cleverly disguised as the one you work with every day/ Or the one who you've casually known in your circle of friends for five years. Who has seen you at your best and at your worst. And is still there, a big believer in your immense potential. And is probably an amazing kisser if you'd just give them a chance.

That's the person it's going to be genuinely easy with over the long haul.

So the next time you're looking for the one, don't look up on some stage or pedestal for some shining realization of your fantasies. Turn around and look behind you. At the person you might have overlooked. The person who you let go. The person who is waiting for you. The person who is quietly everything you need them to be and more, but might have missed.

You just have to give them a deeper look."

So do me a favor, and ask yourself these questions :

Will the easy, nice times you have with me be worth the few hardships you will go through as all relationships will?

Will I truly, really make you a happy person?

Will you be able to love me for the person that I am?

Am I worth sacrificing for?

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Dear Mr. Anonymous

"Who's going to love you and hold you when you're at your worst?

Who's going to love you and give you their best even when you hurt them so bad and you just don't give as much as they do?

Who is always going to be there even without regular talks and communications, but still manages to always know what to do when you break down and need support?

Who's that one person who stays even when the times are hard?

Who's that one person who stays after knowing the darkest, most embarrassing secret from your past that not even a single soul ever know before?

Who's that one amazing person who stands so strong on their own and supports you to go after your dreams?

Who's that one person who sees you breaking apart and pushes you so hard to get you back on your feet?

Who's going to take care of you when you're sick, and looking so horrible, and they still find you the most attractive human being on this Earth?

Who's that one amazing person who puts up such a fight and gives an enormous effort even when you don't acknowledge them?

Who's willing to stay awake at 3am in the morning just so they can listen to all the things you need to talk about when you had a rough day?

And while you read this, who popped into your mind? You remember that person at this very moment, don't you? You remember the time when you told them your secrets and how relieved you were when you did not see any judgment from their eyes. You remember your first date. The first time you told them that you love them, and the amazing feeling when they told you that they loved you, too. You remember the time they cried over you, and how you witnessed how sincere their love and affections for you were.

You remember giving them a list of reasons for why it would not work, and how they should find someone else. You remember giving them reasons why they should just walk away. But they did not go anywhere, they told you that they don't want anyone else and they refused to let go. But you let them go anyway. No one can do quite like they did, is that it? And you're pretty sure that no one will ever love you the way they did, aren't you?"

Mr. Anonymous, my answer to all those questions above is you. It has always been. You asked me if things between us would be okay. It would, if it wasn't for these feelings I have for you. I love you. I always have; and I always will. And your answer for all these questions is not me, and that's where the problem lies. Will you be able to ignore my feelings and treat me like a friend without feeling bad? Will I be the one dragging you down like I always had? I don't want to stop you from finding the person you truly love. I lost that game; the game that I kept wishing, on and on, that I will not lose. A game that I try to stop playing but could never stop. A game that has to be played multiplayer, but here I am, playing it alone.

So, mr. anonymous, tell me, are you really, truly, ready to patch the cracks that I have?

Friday, August 22, 2014


Love me. Love the broken, torn me. The one that's always gasping for air. The one that's always trying to grasp life like it's going to disappear. The one who's so scared she shies away from touch, from affection, from love. The one who's burned and burn.

"Because you will fall in love with a broken person, at least once in your life. It happens to everyone. The odds are stacked against us that somebody or something will have gotten there first and wrenched somebody's affection apart and left scars in those things we call our hearts. And the broken person you love will be hesitant and skittish and nervous, but that doesn't mean they deserve any less love just because they're afraid of being burned again.

All you can do is love them. All you can do is be there for them. And if you're lucky, they will learn to love you, too.

If you're not, and if you wind up breaking, too, well, you're not alone. And if there's anything love stories teach us, it's that you can heal. You can grow. You can try again.

Because often, the broken people we find and fall in love with and help heal wind up being ourselves."

Your mum reads my blog.
Traces of love.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014


The laughter. The smile. The light in her eyes. "Are you high? Because you're so happy all the time it's almost impossible to see any sadness in you." Well, maybe she is. Maybe she is. She remembers how she used to smoke up almost every day, savoring the freedom that a few puffs could give her. Addiction was an understatement. Needed it to live was more like it. It helped her get through with life, to just be, to exist. 

There was a darker time when coke and meth was constantly available for her, and that hit her life the worst, spiraling it out of control. An OD and days spent in the hospital fighting for her life later, she's off it. Though, the truth is, that few moments when she felt her life slipping away, she wanted it to slip away. She wanted to just die, to give up. But no, the doctors saved her, her liver lost almost 50% of its function but there she is, still alive.

Woke up days after the OD, feeling the worst (physically) that she's ever felt. Her friends, all of them sleeping, strewn about in the hospital she could never afford to be admitted into. Having an IV hooked on her arm was awful; having a catheter down there was worst. Her friends were sober, the first time she's seen them so, having been taking care of her for days.

"Am I alive?" She started crying, all over again, asking them why is she alive, why didn't they let her die, why did they find her hours earlier than they were meant to. "You cannot die on us. You're not supposed to. We need you to be alive. You're going to stop all these. And we're going to help you through it."

The withdrawal was awful. Heck, it was hell. School has started, and there she was, trying to adjust to the innocence amongst her university peers while the lures of losing control of her mind was taunting her. She had no money, no suppliers, her friends refused to give her anything other than their support, and there she was, struggling, but she made it through.

It's been 7 months now. 7 months since she last snuffed up the white powder they used to jokingly name as baby powder. 7 months of not having to worry if she'll get caught doing it. 7 months of trying to stay sober while craving to go home and lose it. 7 months of not having to pretend that she is clean. It's been worthwhile, though.

She's seen things. She's done things. She's tasted some. Craved some. Got some. She took care of a friend losing his function, slowly slipping away as she begged him to live. She handed someone over to death when meth took over the life of her best man, causing him to turn into this crazy, hallucinating guy who in his moment of sobriety, begged for her to take his life.

"You will never see life the way I do. You're too innocent, too sheltered." When he said that to her, all she could do was smile, agreeing. Because what does he know? What do you know about the life of a girl who successfully hid every demon of hers?

Your mum reads my blog.
Plots and betrayals.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Blood and vile.

She looks into the mirror and sees a monster : a twisted, broken, spoiled, trampled on, horrendous creature. Others look at her and say she's beautiful, she's perfect, she's happy, she's smart, but that girl, staring back at her through the mirror, that girl isn't her.

Instinctively, she slammed her fist against the mirror, in that last vain attempt to cancel out the image she sees of herself; to be what they say she is. This time around, like her heart, the mirror couldn't stand her punch. It broke into pieces, like what's left of her. She surveyed the damage, broken mirror, perfect fist. Ironically, the ring that he gave her after she wrecked her hands the last time from breaking mirrors is what kept it uncut.

The thought of him made her smile; one of the few things that's able to do that these days. Then she remembered. How he left her, how she left him, how they ended before they even started. The guilt that she's been carrying around for 2 years, the guys she replaced him with only to stray away from them when her mind brings her to that part of her life.

Scrambling around for paracetamols that is able to numb everything. No, there's none left. Only last week she took all her stash in an attempt to just stop feeling, and ended up having to have her stomach pumped, feeling sick throughout her exams and still laughing and smiling and hiding her dark side in a corner. Tears and snot and blood mangling as she looks around for something, anything, to stop missing him.

Shards. Picking up the piece of broken mirror, taking it in her hand, cutting herself. 'Strategically placed incisions' was what they used to call it. She's been cutting all along, only once on her wrist, never wanting anyone to see the pain she's in. No one's ever suspected anything, and she's happy wallowing in her own misery, all alone, not wanting anyone to help her.

Promises to not cut broken all over again. She sees the blood flow and she feels it. The ecstasy, the rush, of having cut after stopping for 3 months. She's tired. She lies down. She cries. She falls asleep, getting ready to lick her wounds and put on that oh-so-convincing facade of hers tomorrow.

Your mum reads my blog.
How long more do you have?