A Year To Myself

February last year, I became single after ending an 11-month long relationship, which was beautiful enough to last for a time but not forever. And funnily as if there wasn’t any better time, on that perfect lovely day when exclusively (or not) dating young men and ladies, boyfriends and girlfriends, engaged and married couples, and all other kinds of lovers were celebrating their love – February 14, 2013 – I declared to all my systems from my split ends to the callouses on my toes that at least for one year, I will have no other lover than myself. That was a deal.

And I made it to a year all to myself.

During little gatherings with friends or side chats with officemates, a usual question would make its way to the conversation, “Don’t you miss dating someone?” Damn it, of course I do. I miss that feeling, you know what I’m talking about.

But the question, though tempting and strongly suggestive, also appeared to challenge me as to how far I can go with the deal. And I’m glad I managed to keep myself at pace.

Through this period, albeit relatively short, I believe I’ve come to understand a lot about loving myself and the lessons keep coming.

1. Love yourself and love it more each and every day. Because it is wise to realize that if in case no one else will be there to love you, you have your very own self who will never leave you come what may.

2. Those who leave are not meant to stay. So please don’t allot an eternity to mourn over a breakup. You don’t have forever to fool around a drama not worth crying for. Always be ready to get your shit together and love again, with a little bit more caution than before.

3. If you love yourself, you become a sturdy foundation of a lasting relationship. Otherwise, your lack of confidence, trust, and respect for yourself might even cause your partner to question him/herself how s/he did even come to like you.

I know it sounds like I recommend staying single. Well, up to you. We all have our own preferences in life. Go figure it out. 😉

Love,
Ayna

Advertisements
A Year To Myself

The Song of the Last Tear

Stay there, play the guitar

I’ll sit here, listening from afar

Tickle the strings while I fix my wings

Play your music, the curse to our broken rings.

Sit there, play the piano

I’ll hear it and I’ll tell you, “Bravo”

My heart will bleed, blood coming out clear

Look away, I’ll now embrace to death my fear.

But if you see it, please don’t ask

Believe you only see a very sad mask

My pain is not yours anymore

Worry not, I’ll find a cure to what you tore.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and smile

At the love we shared for long but seemed just a while

Tomorrow, I’ll seek answers, please don’t care

Else you’ll see the pain in me, just beware.

And I’m telling you it’s not for you to see

This pain, this nightmare haunting me

So strum the guitar, play the piano

Close your eyes, my dear musico.

Play the music that broke my heart

Close those eyes I used to see as art

Take our memories with you or leave them somewhere

And now, I’ll close my eyes to free this last tear.

The Song of the Last Tear

Love is strange. The man I was happiest with was…”stranger”.

Now all I can do is smile in disbelief; a smirk onto a feeling I’ve got to figure what exactly.

Good Lord, how on earth can love be so nonsense? And in that sense, it’s just got interesting.

Need no beer, need no smoke, it’s all clear; I got myself into loving a stranger for a damn good year. “Somebody that I used to know” – a song whose singer I can’t recall and I’d rather type what I’m saying now than “google” it – is in my playlist. People, I feel for these lines:

“But you didn’t have to cut me off

Make it like it never happened, and that we were nothing…

Now you’re just somebody that I used to know.”

And only to realize and ask, “Was he really somebody that I used to know?” It’s striking, annoying, maddening, frustrating, and pretty interesting.

An exaggerated comparison but please let me, for the sake of honesty and liberty. One year felt like a one-night stand with a stranger. It was there, it was good, and then it’s gone, so what now?

Nothing, just nothing. After all, the end simply justified the mean. We started as strangers at a table with cups of coffee and tea. Love isn’t so strange then. Now, we’re back to being strangers, like we’ve always been.

Love is strange. The man I was happiest with was…”stranger”.

Written For Nothing

My dearest,

I woke up from a dream that I wouldn’t want to end; to thoughts of you just so wonderful, to a story hand-written by God. This must be a lovely day – one to celebrate in the name of this love we discovered a year ago.

The situation wasn’t easy, but the decision was; and in fact, I never had to make it. I only needed to say it so you’d know. It came as a surprise for you because you never thought that one hellish busy day could end up with the green light switching on to begin all that’s simply beautiful. I chose 8 simply for what the world has always known: 8 being the symbol of infinity or forever. And then it happened to be the number between my favorite 7, and yours, 9. Right, laugh now!

Forever. The word alone, what sense could it make? It’s the broken promise, the sweetest lie, and the fairy tale no one should believe in. But on that night, I believed in forever like I’ve always believed in every “happily ever after”, because on that night, forever, in your voice, sounded like every true story told, every love story to unfold.

I thank God for entrusting us this love, from which we learn to understand things beyond our own understanding. I’m more than happy to go through all this with you, because quite honestly, there’s no place like in your arms; that I wouldn’t have to worry about the danger because I’m safest there. Laugh and I’ll kill you!

You told me you couldn’t promise forever. Who knows what could happen next, right? I felt sad at that, but then again, I believed in forever…more than ever…when you promised to do your best to make this last forever. That was daring, touching, not a fairy tale at all. I felt my blood at that, and somehow the fear of a challenge proposed by no young love. But right that moment as well, I thanked the universe for the conspiracy it had planned for all that to happen in a time and place so serene.

Love, it’s been an amazing year, what more could I ask for? There is, indeed. May God hear me now that I pray for one more year for us, two, three, four, forever. Would that be too much, my Lord? Well, I hope not, because if God would let me choose one story to keep, I’d choose this, and I’m choosing this now, lifting it up to Him, so He could write on about us, about a fairy tale blessed to come true.

I’ve got so much more to tell, but I’m gonna have to start prepping up for a dinner date. So stamp  this now with a kiss, take a shower, blah blah blah and then put on your favorite shoes, because we’re gonna have a good walk on this damn good night. Don’t forget the keys, and catch you in a few for some cheers to our first.

All my love, M

A letter, which could’ve been written in messy handwriting, on paper pasted at the back of a painted canvass; one you could’ve been holding right now had there been something to celebrate today and until now.

Written For Nothing

Yes, I Regret My Mistake

Sure, there’s a sensical point in not having to mourn over and regret the mistakes we’ve made, the intentional ones especially. But whatever the point is, it kind of bothers me. Do we really NOT have to regret them?

I don’t know. Only that I’ve come to realize that it’s somehow scary to not regret your mistakes at all. It’s like you never fear them – not even for once – nor the possibility of committing them again.

I understand, we don’t want to regret the bad days that accounted for the lessons we had to learn from our pasts. It would seem like brushing off the morals we’ve gained from the shame and the blame. Or like cursing the selves we’ve become after pulling it through the acceptance of our mishaps and misdeeds.

But personally, I’d rather regret my mistakes. Not immediately; perhaps just after every one of them has pressed its sensical point into me.

And perhaps, that’s what we’ve been meaning to say: we don’t regret our mistakes for what we learned from them. “Experience is the best teacher,” they say. But if we come to the point where we’d decide not to do the same mistakes, we must have regretted them and have learned to fear them, that we wouldn’t want anything to do with those mistakes again.

We do curse our mistakes and we even fear them, I believe so. Only that we don’t have to regret them right at the start because we have to squeeze out the lessons first. But again, eventually, we will have to regret them because we have to fear them, because we don’t want to do them again.

No biggie! This is just how I feel about my biggest mistake, and I think I just got the hang of regretting it. 😉

Yes, I Regret My Mistake

Out of…waiting

There’s a couple of reasons to feel “deyyym” good today. Aside from the 38th anniversary celebration of my school organization (in college), it’s my older brother’s 2_th birthday! I’ve drawn two cartoon e-cards and posted them on Facebook for my organization and my brother. It was fun!

For my brother
For my school organization

And it could’ve been more fun, even in the simplest way, had I not been nudged forever by the thought that I’ve been waiting…pretty too long. And I guess I just had all the emotions I needed to make something as sullen as this, out of…waiting.

Image
Soledad (water-based poster paint)

I’ve been imagining this painting. If you’ve read Something To Paint, I mentioned “a ship’s silhouette on abstract background.” But admittedly, this isn’t exactly the way I’ve painted it on my mind. During the conception of the idea, I was imagining a more sullen ambiance with a higher contrast on the abstract background with the dark tones winning. I saw the ship was that of Jack Sparrow’s Black Pearl rather than one looking only a little bigger than a canoe; the Black Pearl seeming so small against the vastness of the Atlantic. No white light coming from a red moon and born to the ocean waters. No horizon. And so my hand had it its way.

Though long have been painted in my imagination, I never had it brought to life until now, and I know why.

This must be how sad I am. Yet having painted it two tones lighter than how I saw it, I must’ve unknowingly tried to rummage through my sad thoughts to seek for bits of good. And I’ve been trying to betray myself with the comforting thought that I should rather enjoy basking in this self-seeking solitude.

Unfortunately, it’s not solitude I need right now. Not now.

Out of…waiting

She’s Wasn’t Officially His

I heard a…

STORY. There’s this girl who’s a little too crazy for this guy a little younger than her. Age ain’t an issue. They work for the same company and for the period of time since they started talking, forms a special kind of friendship. Let’s call that MU – mutual understanding (damn cliche).

And in the name of mad admiration, the girl works her way out to gather the guy’s attention least of all. She wants him to like her, if not adore her. So traditional courtship aside, the girl works her plans costing her a little extra effort and perhaps a dozen more guts, at least at first. She asks him out, invites him over, holds his hand, kisses him, and what, turns a guiltless date around and heats it up. Rewarded for her guts then, the guy’s liking him back. Ace for that!

Now she’s happy and she’s not. She wants to get hooked up but that ain’t synonymous to wanting something official like commitment. She wants dating but not exclusive. She wants fun but nothing serious, definitely nothing serious. She wants a fling, not a boyfriend. Or maybe she wants a boyfriend but not this guy. Because he’s possessive, immature, clingy, and say…assuming. And she’s getting awful sick of it. Because he acts like she’s his girlfriend. And as she says it, this guy’s overreacting to the romance she’s putting up.

No, there ain’t no intention to whack him emotionally. He’s a good guy, way too good for her indeed: good-natured, diligent, friendly and sociable, a gentleman, stable with a job, family-oriented, God-fearing, handsome, not to mention rich. And young. But perhaps there’s an obvious misunderstanding here, if not a change of opinion. The girl now decides she pretty doesn’t want anything to do with the guy.

PAAANG! What do we…

SAY. Blame who now? The guy for unconsciously overreacting to the romance she consciously put up? The girl for making him feel like she was his because on a deeper thought, she pretty much enjoyed bathing in his admiration?

No one perhaps. Or maybe both. This is what people say, “No one is wrong; no one is right.”

No one is wrong.

After all, the guy had half the right and was half sane to feel that way if, in the very first place, that was how she made him feel, like, “Boy, I’m yours”. On the other hand, she couldn’t have seen it coming that he would behave in an unofficial relationship in a way a little too unpleasing. She got choked, you know.

No one is right.

He should’ve taken note what they really were, where he stood. She should’ve slowed down and took time to double-check her thoughts on what was she truly up to. He should’ve known better. She should’ve thought more.

SO. It wasn’t a game, not at all. Maybe an awful mischief of fate. But I felt sorry for the guy ’cause in the end, there was nothing else to say but, “She wasn’t officially yours.”

She’s Wasn’t Officially His