And I still think fate has nothing to do with everything. Feelings, maybe. But I don’t think fate exist. I agree with you on this one, though.
It’s not love nor fate that decide things. It’s yourself. It just happens that love sometimes alter or affects our decision. But at the end of the day, every little thing still depends to us; we weave everything.
No. I, myself, is currently committed. That was just an observation that I noticed in a lot of people.
People get so stupid when they’re madly in love. I think it’s because their hearts beat so fast and loud that they can’t hear what their mind is saying anymore.
he asked her if she’d like to go with him
hang out at some cafe next saturday night
maybe watch a movie if there’s a good one showing
she said she’s sorry but she has other plans
he said okay
but it’s actually the sixth time she said that
even though there’s nothing funny
he was telling his buddy about the discreet rejection
his friend laughed
"man that’s because she’s way out of your league"
he laughed too
"well yeah a rat can’t date a peacock," he said
he felt sad
but he laughed anyway
"hey bud i gotta go home, my mom texted already"
"oh really what are you, 12?"
"it’s saturday you idiot, it’s family night"
he didn’t know what made him sad
the fact that his only friend left him alone
or that he has no one to share saturday with
let alone someone to make him feel a family
he pat his back and smiled
but he’s devastated
the day at work
"hey you should come hanging with us"
he heard one of his workmate asked the other one
he was waiting to be asked
but he wasn’t
and yet, he just smiled like a fool
Sometimes I hate how I’m good at hiding my feelings.
I don’t know if you are who I think you are, but thanks for remembering. I don’t think I’m doing better but I’m okay. Thank you!
I’ve never liked scorching hot weather but, geez, I don’t prefer this kind of weather either. I woke up last night with the loud sound of raindrops on our thin roof, plus, the rain was so hard that there were drips from the ceiling. There was no choice. I had to get up.
I decided it’s time for me to get up anyway since I have to go to work by 3 in the morning. I was planning to wear a button down and pants by that time but the weather was being a dick so I decided to go with a plain shirt, shorts—which I had to wait for my boss’ reply if I’m allowed to wear one—and a pair of rubber shoes. I was stupid, so fucking stupid.
I made a good choice of wearing shorts but I underestimated the rain because it doesn’t usually flood at the place where I’m staying, but by the time I went out of the house, I was dumbfounded by the looks of the area. It was flooded, knee deep. I stared at it for a minute, thinking of what to do then suddenly, this guy, I think a bystander or whatever, told me to go the other way. He said it’s not flooded there. I did. It was actually worse.
I went to work with my shoes bubbling inside every time I take a step, my underwear being the only piece of clothing in me that is dry and my bag having a little pond inside. It was a fucking nightmare.
This morning, before I went home, fearing that I might endure the same traumatic experience again, I decided to buy a pair of slipper. It was terrible. I had trouble looking for a size that fits me. I’ve had my thumb on my toe poking out of a size 11 slippers. Plus, it was fucking expensive. The cheap slipper that they sell in a market is sold as three times more there. I decided to suck it in and bought one that looks horribly on my feet. I had no fucking choice.
Where are my cheap slippers when I need them?
Mom, I know you brought me up into this world, but you’re giving me more and more reasons to hate you.
I had a dream about you last night. We were lying down side to side on the shore, staring at the sky and looking at the stars while the waves touch our feet. And God, there’s your smile. Your smile that can make any sad people smile without them knowing. Your smile that can make any crazy people sane and normal people question their sanity.
I know for a fact that it was a dream because:
1. You hate open water.
2. There’s no beach in the city and so are stars.
3. You barely know I exist.
I used to ask myself, Why do I always notice people who don’t pay attention?
Why do I always get attached to people who forget the one who remembers them the most?
Why do I always plunged myself into the depths of oblivion of not knowing if I meant something to someone?
It’s a constant torture that I just can’t get enough of and then one day, it just hit me—I’m in love with irony.
I’m in love with things that I know I can’t get in a million years and yet, I try harder. I abhor pain and yet I still find ways in every little thing to inflict one on me. I hate people who are so smart but fails to use their brain when their heart skips a beat and yet, I for one, know that already but still fall into the prey of having feelings and self-inflicted pain. I realized that I love things that violate it’s own laws.
You are that irony.
I woke up today with an uncontrollable smile on my face. I tried to hide it, but it’s hard. I realized it’s much easier to hide pain with a smile than hiding your smile itself.
I messaged you on Facebook right away to tell you about what I had dream of. I waited for your reply.
But I got nothing.
I’ve never been so happy and miserable at the same time.
"How are you?"
His eyebrows raised as he heard it. It was an odd question, mainly because he doesn’t get asked that often. The last time he was asked with the same question was when he was on his way to the bookstore and he slipped on the wet pavement of the road. It hurt like hell, but when the security officer asked, he said he was okay. He later regret the book he bought that day.
It’s funny though, because a lot of people call him smart, like, book smart. They say that he knows the answer to everything like the square root of whatever number you can give or the sum of all the thing a person can do for someone; the distance of the sun to the earth or how far can someone be even if they’re inches away from you or even the most useless things nobody even care if they know like the term for the smell of someone’s perfume when they leave, or what you call the feeling when you’re about to say something but you forgot it, or what you call the hard stick at the end of a shoelace.
He knows a lot of things— how to comfort someone when they’re crying; what to and what not to say when someone’s emotionally vulnerable or what to do when someone’s obviously lying to you. But the thought of asking himself if he’s okay didn’t come to mind.
The reason, most likely why, is because he was raised in a home where being okay is a must. His parents never took notice if he was doing fine because they know he was an independent kid and most of the time he was buried in books, thinking he got everything managed. He grew having friends having the mindset that he’s always okay, that all he cares about are his grades and being on top or getting everything in the right place. He’s not in the right place.
That moment was the only time when someone asked him and he thought of the answer.
He sniff, blew a deep sigh and then smiled. That’s what he always do when he’s either about to tell a lie or has nothing much to say.
He tried but no words came out of his mouth.
He laughed as he was shaking his head. Everything was an utter disappointment.
Tears were falling down.
Battle within one’s self is the hardest struggle.