Of Drink and Drive: An Analogy of a Journey

I did not mean to delay it but it just occured to me what I should have raised a glass to three days ago; It took a mini heart attack for me to realize that my road trip is finally making a detour.
It feels like a couple of mixed emotions. For one, I have this joy of completion, like finally making it to the finish line, but I know for sure there are lot of gears missing and might go missing. The whole crazy but fun jigsaw-like race course has been worth the trip, but it has left me with a feeling of being incomplete. Second, I have this huge excitement towards finally turning off the engine, but I know for sure that with the fuel left inside me, I might end up longing for the thrill of adventure, as I look back and look on the roads swirling around me. The whole idea of no longer being the person behind the wheel and finally being the one who has to experience the joyride might be exhilirating, but being all too familiar with the route, might just make me miss bumpy rides for a while. Nevertheless,  both set of feelings are like cocktails on a Friday night that give a sense of liberation with a cloud of challenge. They are frustrations over seatbelts snapped, fenders dent and gas run out, pacified by a bottle of faith and a shot of hope. It is the kind that leaves you tipsy in the wee hours of the morning trying to forget, and causes you a hangover every waking hour trying to move on.
This is definitely not the end of the road. There might be unique road signs and a lot of unknown destinations. I would even miss drag races, road rage, traffic jam, crossroads, flat tires, and a whole lot of fulfilling experiences (though sometimes annoying) of being on the road for quite a while.
Still, though some journeys are not meant for an overdrive, I will be here, reading my map, not feeling stranded at all, but more than ready to crash and burn with passion still alive.
Cheers to that.

Kaleidoscope

The thing is, we can never fully figure out each other. We can only be but mere pieces of complexities, bits of wonder, and fragments of thoughts.

I say ‘hey’. You say ‘hey’.

And we know exactly when to say so, why on earth, and what the heck.

I type my favorite emoji. You type a very long HAHA.

And we hear clearly laughter bursting from both sides.

You ask about my day. I have nothing nice to say.

And coffee starts to brew so many things to share.

You ask a question. I answer you with a couple more questions.

And we both start to believe we get the answers we need.

I go rhetorical. You probe.

And we stay on our respective sides of life without having to be one-sided in our judgments.

I speak of rarity. You speak of misanthropy.

And we have spoken our own truths even if we may not always agree.

I experience crisis regarding my stand on destiny with our numerous debates on the plan of the universe, the randomness of existence, and life’s best laid plans. You maintain an abstract but lucid picture of your dreams about the future like there is no stopping you from weaving a galaxy out of the stars you hook your dreams on.

And dreams and destinies will always be the conversations I most fondly share with you.

Now before I cross the line of my innermost chords, before I’d be tempted to spill stuff supposed to be off the record, maybe I should just seal this with an expression of joy and gratefulness that you have been born, and the universe has led us to see through the words we have pressed, because for what it’s worth, you are one lucky girl for knowing me—I mean, I cherish having you knowing me, especially in times when I forget who I am supposed to be.

You are priceless piece, beautiful bit, a fancy fragment to my kaleidoscope, where everything is a stunning mess, and nothing has to be all figured out.

Happy 18th birthday, my Maki.

Last Hour

I think I am going to faint.

 

I know I am more than ready as I expected myself to be three days ago when I did not even know how I would be able to come out prepared for today. However, I have been waiting since 2pm for a presentation I have to make and it is almost non-office hours yet I am still here, kept at the edge of seat, finding comfort in blogging because I cannot vent my anxiety in other forms of social media because many people would be able to figure me out and that I do not find nice. There! Do you notice how wordy I can go if I am tensed like this? As a matter of fact, I am out of words at the moment. I am trying to modify by cutting out slides from my powerpoint presentation because even if I believe I am going to share something substantial, the people who are going to listen to me had been sitting still since 2 pm over coffee and bread perhaps, listening to presentation after presentation, so perhaps there is a risk they would not like what I am going to present because they are too tired to take my pointers in already. On the other hand, they might be too cranky already and raise numerous concerns about my presentation and I would totally feel I am such a failure because I surely feel like that for the past three days. To add more mockery to my anxiety, I am feeling I have a bit of a headache because the AC seems to be having an identity crisis and is acting like a heater.

I just want this last hour over and done with.

 

Reply to 2016

1483198511937Looking back, I believe I have had interesting conversations throughout the year. The interplay of words, thoughts and emotions has somehow taught me lessons I never thought could ever smack me in the head with valuable reality check. Although I must say this year will never be among I would ever consider as the best year ever, I would not wish either to restart it so I could undo things or in more important terms, un-say words or un-think thoughts or un-feel emotions. Why would I do that? Even if there are episodes I do regret, I still hold on to the fact that there is more to life than the crappy truths that life tends to slap us. I won’t even un-mute the silence, which to me has been the most consoling of all conversations I have engaged in. However, I would not wish  to be devoured by the confusions, challenges and complexities of all these conversations. So I guess I owe it to myself to become the clichè “better version of myself”  by restoring the bits of my existence I have lost along the  way of reconstructing my life. I realize there is really nothing that needs to be fixed. I basically spent 2016 trying to fix my life that is not even broken. I must say there is one thing I have to do then: reset. Bye 2016, you have said a lot and I am tired of it all. For 2017, I have nothing to say to you just yet so~

(Makilan, 2016) — alpha-she

This day would not end without a tribute through the channel that made us meet halfway. We meet again, apluscafe. I will remember how the occasional comments and encouragements kindled the passion to pursue greater tomorrows. You were a witness to my raw realities—skinned and uncooked—and peeled me off myself, no matter it was done […]

via (Makilan, 2016) — alpha-she

High School High

Words have run out. What is left is MISSING.

Kenntativity

My Tune: The Bitch of Living(from the musical Spring Awakening)
audio link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=reqSQy_69m0

Spring_Awakening_by_bubbasaurs

Over the past few months, I’ve noticed that I’m drastically becoming one of those people who are desperately holding on to their youth. I know that the flower-crowned optimists of this world say that age is just a number and that one can stay forever young if he pleases to, and all those other metaphors and euphemisms they use these days to cover up ugly truths, but I feel like a realist today. And today, what’s real tells me that I am an unemployed twenty-year old artist with a lackluster social life somewhere in the jungle-like Western civilization. And I just can’t help but think to myself, “Dang, boi! Where did all the years go?”

Here’s the thing about me: I am lethargic. I am lazy. Bed-ridden. I mean generally speaking, I barely even…

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Time Check

I notice how every second seems to race with my heartbeat. I notice how the clock seems to give me mini panic attacks all the time. I notice how time seems to run out so fast.

What I do not notice is that, every second lasts the same way, the clock works the same way, and time goes by the same way.

I never want to notice how the clock strikes every hour because I know that I have not stricken out enough items on my to-do list. I never want to notice how the clock stays undaunted by pressure while I disintegrate at every turn of the clock. I never want to notice how the clock feels unthreatened when deadlines are undeniably gruesome.

I wish I could trade places with a clock even just for a second. But I can’t help but wonder, will it ever change how I battle against time—time and time again? I guess not.
Clock