Postcard to Alice #90811

Here it is, not much to say but just getting by.

Getting by and being alone. There's so much here. I have lost words to say things to you. I know you would understand.

I will write, I hope I won't for a long time.

Postcard to Alice #90211

I remembered telling you I want to write about better days. But better days are days when I can no longer write.

I don't know how things will be or how things have changed, if they really have. But all I could tell you is that I walk the streets with smiles. I see buildings like peaceful giants waving by.

I no longer look at people's expressions, I hardly notice them anymore.

When I walk I feel my feet are lighter and my steps are with rhythm. I enjoyed reading and drinking alcohol and finding peace as I do this.

It's wonderful, however long it may last.

Postcard to Alice #90111

I have fixed things, perhaps one of the most important things. My Dad.

All of the things that went wrong with all of the boys in my life was a result of my anger for my Dad.

Now that has changed I feel relieved. Much better and hopeful.

Postcard to Alice #83011

I opened my stack of photos and I did and can only one love one boy. I can't lie.

Travel Guide

Our talks have become a travel guide.
Each sentence, words and phrases
has become a map to the best sites to see.
Some for recreation and
most are for discoveries.
You give tips to the best museums,
I give hints to scrumptious restaurants.
Then like any travel guide,
it's unreliable and hard to decipher.
We encounter unfamiliar places and routes.
We get lost and we desperately seek
our way back to the route written on the guide.
Our conversations are like travels
to a country called life.

Postcard to Alice #82911

Today I spent time with friends. It's time for me to get back and stop this solitary confinement. It's been written, said, done and cried about. I have expressed anger, madness and above all love (whatever that means).

I have thought about it, wished and wondered. I believe it is time for me to be back to where I was and not ostracize myself from the rest of the world. We talked about life, him and me.

How things are and will be. I have no conclusions laid ahead of me. I have no written endings and I have no unfortunate expectations.

I am here, just here waiting for the sun to rise and to set at the same time. Waiting for my favorite song to be played on the radio. I just want to stay still and just watch as the world pass me by. To not wait and just be contented with the sight I see, because it is clear and subtle.

Postcard to Alice #82511

I want to write nice things to you Alice, however this place I'm in its just full of miserable and unkind things. I'm trying to fight with all my might but it seems I'm losing.

I want to tell you how wonderful the day was, but I don't know what the day is like anymore. I'm trapped here at night, I keep working at night with nothing to look forward to. I hardly see the sun and I hardly see the people that matters to me.

I keep asking God, what have I done to have deserved such unlucky streak of events? For years I try to look forward to things and to the future, but here I am broken.

Alice, how I want to hold those moments. When will they come again?

Postcard to Alice #82411

Today as I was browsing through Tumblr I discovered a poet. A poet that wrote what I was feeling. It was a connection I needed. I felt so connected that I kept reading his poems. It felt like a revelation. His words were something I've known but yet to be accepted. I am drawn to him.

Fernando Pessosa, Portugal's most celebrated Poet has reached me in a way. He isn't like Transtromer and he isn't like any of those Poets I have read.

I do hope I get to buy his books. Oh, please please.

Postcard to Alice #82311

I have come to accept things lately. Slow yet painful. Things that I wished weren't true. I have regained consciousness but I haven't been completely revived.

I have found such awakening with the use of the word "was." How awfully revealing such word exist. Today my head is filled with these words "I was falling in love," from an 80's song.

Was, I was falling in love. How thoughts have passed by and time. It slowly drifts, I'm waiting for time to drift me away. I use to rush, but today however I'm letting things pass as they should be.

Yes, I feel I was falling in love. "Was" - past tense.

Today I do not know what I feel. Today I'll let the unknown drive me to my destination.

I have decided not to ask questions and accept things - slowly and painfully.

Postcards to Alice #81611

I am haunted by the past and the present. I haven't slept for days, my eyes are tired and my heart keeps beating faster than it should. I am awake, I think about lost loves, lost hopes and what lies ahead.

It's a battle, it has started once again. Fear devouring my sanity and senses. All this lack of acceptance and all this wanting things I wasn't meant to have.

All those unreachable expectations and all those dreams that became nightmares, they keep me awake.

I still see him and I can see how he sees me. How his senses has deteriorated and how he has no interest. Today, I still feel the pain however this is how things are written to be. There's a lack here, a lack in what we see and feel.

As expected I am once again alone in my room. Strangers have left, enjoying a 24 hour drinking spree and driving all over town. As soon as the party ends, they get bored. Strangers leave like ants; in line and organized.

Here I am, I am just wandering completely.

Postcard to Alice #81011

Tomorrow is my Mother's birthday. She cradled me last week when I cried about everything. How I lost so much and gain so little. Today I finally called it quits, at least to myself. We talked and I could feel the coldness of his voice. His indifference, his honesty. I told him I'll wait for him, he said nothing. I am in love with this boy. This boy who caught me by surprise. I thought I could never love again, but here I am.

I admitted to a friend that I wanted to be with him, regardless of the differences. There's something remarkable between us. I told him I believed in fate. All he said was he could see fate but it's so far away out in the universe.

I am still in love with this boy, who couldn't love me the way I deserved to be loved. This is how he reasoned it out. Perhaps it's true. All I know is we're both not ready. Not now and maybe never. But I am in love with this boy and all I can do is cry.

I want to be ready for someone, it might be him or the last one. It might be a new one or it may never come. But all I know right now is that I am in love with a boy and that whatever this pain I'm going through will take time.

I am in love with you. However it may have been, what it will be, right at this moment I am in love with you. Tomorrow we will forget one another, but today I just want you to know...I am in love with you.

Postcard to Alice 080411-2

Part 2

Alone, like no one gets you. At one point we've all felt that. Lost, wandering off to nowhere. I feel that, it's a quest to think and feel. To give yourself this idea of what you are or what you're supposed to be. Suppose? another word for what if's?

There are days when I feel away from the world. Like there's no connection. There isn't a single person who understands how I feel. They try but it's not good enough. An ex struggled with this. He could see me fade, I felt I was fading slowly then rapidly. He held on but some things are meant to fade and I knew that. I wanted to fade away, to disappear. Why? To feel. There are days I lack that because subconsciously the concept of feeling was in doubt. I question everything is this love? is this pleasure? is this desire? is this happiness? How come it doesn't add up? How come I feel that this isn't it?

How can I authentically feel anything if I doubt it so much?I guess that's is why when I look at the mirror I see nothing. I smile, sometimes I feel life and sometimes its not real.

There's this image I love and posted on my FB as my profile picture. Let me show it to you.

I fell in love with this. A lone boat in white, at sea alone without anyone rowing it. There could be a story here, maybe the rower died of dehydration, or maybe the boat just sailed away or maybe the rower dived into the water and drowned. Truthfully, I never really cared, but the image was me. I am that boat and I have no one rowing for me, in an empty sea here I was, alone. I wasn't waiting to be rowed but I know I'm waiting for something. I'll look at this for hours and feel at peace, thinking whoever took this understood how I felt.

I'm chatty when I'm with people, but most of the time I am that boat. Sometimes I get lonely waiting so I try hard to connect with people. I am guilty of that, trying so hard to feel. It becomes unnatural. But it gets frustrating and I find myself lost and crazy. That's when the need of being with people arise. But once I'm with people I feel like that boat again.

It's a weird place to be in. I keep wondering why? Why can't I just be like everyone else? They seem to be pleased with what they know.

But there are also days, I feel happy there are days when I'm sure I feel something. And when those days come by, I hold on to it like it was the last. Recently I felt that, when I was at a balcony in a hotel room in Tagaytay. I sat there read my book and saw the clouds parade before me. I felt like a kid again, lost in my imagination. I saw the clouds transform into animals, people, flowers and floats of colors and spectacle. They marched and sang and waved at me as they passed by. The sun added the light that made the floats shine like the sea.
That made my day, I still hold on to that till this day. It keeps me going.

And then of course I feel so much when I'm around my kids. I see them dance and hope. Sometimes I imagine them as tiny ballerinas floating with pirouettes.And I'm one of the audience, I sit in this huger theater and watch them dance. I cry because the feeling is overwhelming.

These are the days I feel that feelings are random that I don't have any conscious effort. But after sometime when I'm away and alone I start to question it again.

I guess there's no answer to everything. Maybe we're nothing. But at the end I still want to know what I'm waiting for. I guess what I'm trying to say is...I want to be here because I want to know what living means.

Postcard to Alice 080411

I thought this process took days. I thought I was schizophrenic. I keep changing my statements, my choices but this process has been going on for years. I wasn't experiencing an identity crisis. I thought I was but I was just scared.

Connections they're needs to. I had a certain level of connection with someone. Where I could lose myself within the self and tell him things I never told anyone. It didn't matter if he couldn't understand it. It was a big leap for me to just share it. However for him it was different.I knew what he wanted he was referring to the "Johannes Vermeer and the girl with the pearl earrings" connection.

Connections, how important are they?

Do I pretend to know? I can't because I don't know. I guess there was a time I pretended to know things.

But most of the time I can sense it but I can't convey it in words. If I may I'll let this postcard pave the way of my thoughts on some of the matters I failed to discuss because I was too scared.

Philosophy, I have always had this interest because it's about origins. The self and the truth. It questions everything that exists. If I may question my existence. I do feel like the truth is lost from all this thinking. And that we all have found ourselves to be a fabrication of the past thinkers. Influenced by what was written and what was said. In one conversations I had with someone he mentioned this too, I couldn't say anything simply because I could never find the right words. I am a novice in Philosophy. But I reflect and think a lot. A hobby really, so far without the influence of Socrates and Nietzsche I have thought about my existence.

Me - this world, my role, the people around me, the feeling of being alone. Why am I here? Will I be eradicated until every bit of my existence can no longer be validated by historians of the future. Here I am 28, for years I've looked at the mirror and saw nothing. Was I nothing? When I put two and two together it doesn't spell a single part of me. At least I don't feel it. Do I really feel? or is it just me thinking that I'm feeling? Why do I feel like everything I feel, I've had some random conscious effort to feel it. Like even before I touch something have I decided if it's hard, soft, hot or cold?

There are days I question God, sometimes out of spite, sometimes out of fear and sometimes out of sadness. Then I question myself questioning his existence. Why? what am I looking for? Most of the time I know that what I'm looking for is not here. Not in this world or in this time. Do I want something from within? Then I look again in the mirror and there it is again- nothing. I can't answer my questions it frustrates me. No one can. Then there's this feeling of being alone.

(Part 2 next)

Postcards to Alice #80111

There's no conclusion to who you are. It's always going to be this blank unknown world you keep trying to avoid but find yourself still going through it. You get lost and hopefully the bread crumbs your parents and life has left you behind would be enough to find your way back.

I am now looking for those bread crumbs, wish me luck. I want to go back to Kansas and these damn ruby slippers ain't doing the job.

Postcard to Alice #72111-2

I am still here refusing to move. But like everything in my life I have to. My brown steel glasses is waiting to be taken to places, yet I am still here. Sitting.

Postcards to Alice #71411

However I try to fight this cold feeling of being alone, it keeps haunting me. I feel like I'm riding this huge carousel made out of white porcelain with prints of gold, pink and blue butterflies and flowers.

The mirrors are huge that when I stare at my reflection, I am but a small tennis ball. Up and down, the horse takes me. I try to hold on to the gold bar that holds the horse to the base of the carousel and the roof, it keeps taking me higher. I wanna let go but I just can't. I keep holding tight and mesmerized at the lights

The carousel, no matter how magnificent won't stop turning. It's porcelain walls is slowly cracking and crumbling.

I am here at this carousel. Alone.

Crossing Streets and Records on Repeat

We move like seconds, minutes and hours of a watch. Slow, tick-tock and a right or left (from wherever standpoint you're looking at) turn until we reach that 60 minute mark, then a new hour begins.

Today a close friend has finally made a choice to move forward, I am proud of her. It takes more courage to move forward than to remain rooted to the ground. It made me think of all the times I've said I have moved forward but in reality I was stuck.

That long call, from months back was my 60 minutes to a new hour moment. It was the most painful thing to do. To finally let yourself go and allow yourself to accept that it is gone and I can never go back.

I felt like a record on an old turntable, it finally stopped repeating itself. The turntable finally grew weary and tired. Sick of the same line playing over and over like a nagging mother telling you to stop whatever it is that you were doing.

We all grow tired of standing still and seeing the same old streets and cars pass us by. We always have options, you could turn left to the next corner or just cross the street.

At one point, I thought turning left was part of moving on. However I kept coming back to where I started. After that night, I've decided to cross the street.

To my dear friend who will cross the street, it may be crowded, cars may pass by like a bullet train but all I can say is... it's better than letting the world pass you by.

Abrupt Utterings (06.09.11)

Every time I get-up, go to the girlies room and look at myself at the mirror my hair ends up like Hermione Granger. And I’m not talking about Hermione - Emma Watson, I’m referring to Hermione from the book.

Saw that trailer of Breaking Dawn, why did I even bother?! Seriously.

I keep missing my responsibilities, it has come to a point that I AM annoyed at myself.

Scored Mary Oliver’s Red Bird for 75 pesos, STEAL!

I feel sad that I’m paying my taxes this payday, government screw you! How could you take my taxes and keep them all to yourself? Ahh the never ending political turmoil! Seize to exist pretty please.

Colored my hair Strawberry Blonde, and believe me it doesn’t even resemble anything remotely close to the photo of that curly girl from the box. What did I expect? I’ve been doing this for years and it still surprises me. Talk about bimbo, technically now I am a Blonde Bimbo. =)

Postcard to Alice #60911

It rained yesterday, I found myself sleeping on the bus once again. The cold empty seat beside me felt like a comforting yet confined space of security.

The fogged windows made the sky and that fraction of time more theatrical.

That bus ride alone, was beautiful.

Postcard to Alice #60811

They keep growing up, I can’t stop them from growing and soon exploring this world. It’s so hard I might not be able to let them go.

Postcard to Alice #60711-2

I should draw, even if I have no talent. Even if my hands has nothing but dreams and make believes. I have to try drawing and creating lines and circles all over again. I have to try to love my crayolas, chalks and neon markers once more.

I need a dose of my gold and silver gel pens.

Postcard to Alice #60711

There’s something about photos, those photos I keep taking. It’s really just nothing, I feel like every time I click away and fall in love with a moment I’m filling in the gap. This unexplainable gap in me. My photos are simply like that, fillers for a gap lived life.

Postcard to Alice #60611

I remembered drawing when I was a child. I saw this beautiful drawing kit in a bookstore and I remembered all the lines I traced and all the colors that went along with all my drawings.

Then it got me wondering, what is it that I wanted to do in this life? At that very moment I wanted to grab a pencil and just draw on anything my eyes saw. I keep forgetting things like that. I keep forgetting to imagine anything.

I should remember.

Postcard to Alice #60511

I have forgotten to feel something for you as I was browsing through old pictures in my blog. It felt like looking through one of those vintage photos that were black and white. I felt so distant like I was looking at two strangers. Photos of strangers I barely knew.

We are now foreigners, living in different countries far far away.

I guess this is how it is, the wind blows people to different places.

I’m mapping a new country inside my head and forgot the streets of the other.

Postcard to Alice #60311-2

Life in technicolor isn’t as fun as it used to be. But I still want that technicolor sneakers from the mall. I love the squares of red, white, blue and others. Reminds me of Colleen; colored pencils that I lived off as a child during days of nothing at home.

Postcard to Alice #60311

There will be times you won’t be hearing from me. It’s not that I have forgotten you but it’s more of I’m keeping you from harm. I’m disappointed, but I don’t want you to feel that. I will let you live and dream. I will come back soon, with smiles and wonderful things like cakes and balloons. But for now let us remain apart.

Postcard to Alice #60211-2

It is here when all is gone, you see that little face of lost memories. I see that child playing with her dolls and drawing with her crayons. The paper is all white, the crayons are all white, the dolls are all in white. How often does she wonder of other blues and hues. But perhaps white is safer for her to imagine everything. To illuminate her world with precision and vividness.

Postcard to Alice #60211

Momentary bliss, or is it?

There was no bliss just a conscious effort.

There was no dream just an imagination of the dream.

You keep writing, anticipating but there’s really nothing or is there?

Postcard to Alice #60111-3

Don’t you look gorgeous under that dark gray knit hat. I have stopped just to see you pass by. Your eyes they are blue and violet. You hold me under your dark brown strapped boots. Here I am enslaved by you in 3 minutes.

Postcard to Alice #60111-2

I’m blinded by my own promises and words. There’s this distance from what I want to know and what I want to find out. Little words of nothing but with so much meaning. Here it is, a solid path for sentences which is all written but never said.

I choke all the time but not of fear.

#60111

I love silence at home. I love silence despite my consistent chattering. I chat away so that I wouldn’t hear my thoughts. I love silence when there is no one around. I love silence when I’m with people I’m allowed to be myself. In truth, I bark like a dog for you, but If I had a choice I would stay in a corner and watch you dance and sing. Entertain me I beg you.