for the past twelve months, I have been between empty and filled.
it was the exact day before the beginning of a new year I didn’t know that would bring an unwarned paradigm shift to my life. I was seeping through holes and filling gaps within myself for the previous months. and little did I know, I contemplated that being at constant war with myself is also just self-love in the form of thorns knocking at the doorstep of my heart and mind.
january and february are something I would call memoirs that I keep going back to…
it just seems giddy that the first month was also the month I yearn for a new start, a “breather” as I would say. my five years relationship quickly slipped in the palm of my hands of december last year. and I would have lied if I said it did not strip my entirety as a person. because it did. it left me wondering; it left me out with all these questions and reflected what were the things I have done for my own the previous years?
it hit like rock bottom, drowning in the abyss of regrets that I cannot even remember having skincare routines. stumbling upon a picture of me last year made me fall at the edge of the chair. hyperbole aside, it’s like seeing a different reflection mirroring how I didn’t in the slightest inch forged to be better because it was at the expense of my comfort. it was way beyond the box that I tucked myself. I settled down.
when was the last time I go out with my friends after class? my love for studying for my majors— how I would ridiculously spare a tremendous amount of time making digital reviewer. if not, then training my mediocracy on calligraphy by rewriting my old notebooks, and making doodles of human organs. all hardwork pays off eventually when I ace my exams. I almost forget how I actually want to be something, to be able to serve the people I owe my success to. my pieces were thrown far out from one another, and swiftly, I have to start somewhere.
I do not know who I was in the first place. I didn’t know how my heart would unambiguously search for the right words before when I’m sharing the best pages of a book to someone. how ironically I was not the first to see that my eyes have large iris and how it is one of the best asset, how contradicting my dad is, he would act like he hates grand gestures but I would always find out from my mom how he would complain about not being hugged and kissed whenever we go outside (pre-pandemic), or at least he comes home from long hours of work.
believe me, I wish I was sugarcoating and making my loneliness an aesthetic, “the girl who’s crushed by the world, and gets back up”, I just wished this was as cliché as it sounds.
going back to my story, I did not take the chance to know myself— the things that make my heart grow weary but also fulfilled, and the people who constantly loved me in the first place. it took some time before I started noticing that they were just in corners and carcasses of washed old paint while I was busy upfront in my swirling fantasies of what-might-have-been’s. the already’s was the rays of my ghost comforting me that what I was seeking for, was within me all along.
there are no other alternate reality happening somewhere in the parallels, only what is taking place in mine. decisions was done, commitments already made; my postulation of a lot of if’s is just a facet of my unforgiven self who didn’t know better.
January seems so vivid to me now; I took the liberty of being my own lover and chaos.
I went to different museums and all the other places I planned forever to visit. looking back from where I stand right now makes my head hurt and turn my stomach upside down because the past is something I no longer belong to leaving a constant reminder that all of these happened within the year.
February was full of shape-shifting happiness coming to me all at once.
It was the end of January when I told AJ (who is now my current boyfriend) that I wanted to go see a live performing band, since I haven’t gone to one. and he was grateful enough to insist, talked to some of his peers if they happen to know one who’ll also perform that week. to our surprise, his bestfriend’s a vocalist of a band and somewhat invited us that they will be doing a night gig somewhere in manila. and so we went.
it was a rainy evening and how the night turned out to be one of my best days still takes me back every single time I recollect my sober thoughts. we walked side by side to find the venue. we slightly had a hard time locating it since it was unnoticeable through the blurry traffic lights and tall story buildings.
I was wearing a white off-shoulder pair with a denim high waist ripped jeans and a white shoe, which AJ, up to this day, had labeled as his favorite look.
being early, there were a lot of seats available we can choose from, but we picked a two-seater table close to the windows, which were the best hitting two birds with one stone decision because unexpectedly the event was jammed pack with crowd.
the street was dampened because it was raining on our way there. the earthly petrichor matches the cold breeze of the night as the band announces they will be covering the infamous araw-araw. I remember it was the peak of ben&ben and OPM’s decades-old band as well as underrated one discovery. everyone knows the song as if it was talking through the window of their soul.
we drank our beers and were chit-chatting in between the video recordings I did. but to be honest, my eyes never left the warmth it seeks through the song. every strum and melody made its way through the core as if it knows what I needed to see for myself that night.
it was quarter to twelve and I wished I never have to go home because it was also the same night I eventually fall in love with beginnings. how it was the universe sign that endings does not define me. changes are frightening but can also be beautiful at the same time. with an untamed heart, I felt short-lived yet clear sight of the woman I wanted to build for myself.
‘Let Us Now Praise Stupid Women’, Good Bones and Simple Murders (1994);
Gleipnir (2012), watercolor, gouache, ink, pencil on paper, 69" x 120" x ½".
to end my writing, which clearly, I have no idea just like how I overcome what life throws my way this year. it is a relief I already relinquish and share my story of courage— whatever that means to me.
blaming was not the culprit of the just and might’s that outweigh me now, but it occurred more of a distress call. I discern that sooner or later I still have to outgrow the people and patterns of my solace.
for the past twelve months, I have between empty and filled. but in-between the spaces is also something that gave me kindness. to look forward to literally a new beginning as the new year unfolds.
“we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever...” – haruki murakami
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