The psychoweirdo’s voice

Do I really have to apologize for it? For being emotionally wrecked, for being entirely true to myself, for pursuing these sexual urges and for the poison in my head filled with strong trust issues? Do I have to abide by the rules of relationships and pretend to be the cool girl the society expects me to be? I ain’t doing that shit. I deserve to live by my own independent laws about how to have a full life. A life that won’t forbid me to do the things that satisfy my skin’s cravings for some touch. A kind of choice that eases the pain of being alone but I didn’t want that to last long, being with someone that is. It makes me feel ecstatic to be caressed by married men, by them bad guys who needed some punishment. But ironically speaking, I cringe to the idea of a long term bond, a serious relationship with only one man—it smells like a disastrous thought to begin with. I’ve always been true to myself but I’ve been lying to them for the most part. One of the most pretentious things I’ve ever done that I’m never guilty of is the lie that I had feelings for them. Ha ha! I’m a professional actress by nature. Most guys fall for my emotional acts, for the tears I faked before I would have to leave, for my big brown puppy eyes I was naturally blessed with that tickles their poor hearts. I ain’t sorry for them, I will never ever be. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate them, neither do I generalize men as playboys and idiots. Most of them are but I also would like to believe that there could be some who are decent enough to be loved. It’s just that, I don’t like the idea of it, of love that is. Of what the books have presented me, of what fairy tales have fooled me when I was little. Perhaps it’s not only that I don’t like it, I guess it’s merely because I haven’t really felt it. Sometimes I wonder if it’s really kind and if it’s really patient, I wonder if it’s truly powerful.

Last night, I met this guy by the name of Robbie that I slept with almost a couple of weeks ago when I was in New York. I moved in to San Francisco now and I was surprised to see him seemingly lurking around the dark flashy bar I was in. I had a feeling he was there to see me but I brushed off that thought in me. When I see no signs of him, I hastily made my way out of the place and waved for a taxi. Just by the time I opened the cab door, he abruptly appeared out of nowhere and strongly grabbed me by the arm and apologized to the driver then shoo him away. I get off of his hand that was somehow stuck into my arm then looked at him puzzlingly.

He gestured me to follow him and we sat to the bench near the colorful fountain by the park. His dominance honestly turns me on but his silence irritates me so I broke it in a very calm way.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. Or maybe something.”

“Huh. What is it?”

“I lied to you.”

“About what?”

“I ain’t married.”

“So?”

“And you’re the first woman I ever slept with”

My mouth slightly opened with this surprising news but I still managed to maintain a poker face. I pretended I didn’t care and said,

“So?”

“I always see you there, in this bar in New York. I chatted with the bearded bartender once when you weren’t around and I asked about you. He told me this gossip that you only sleep with married men and bad boys, so I decided to pretend like one, I even wore a fake ring to make it look real. I had to do that so I could get closer to you, so I could ascertain what I feel for you.”

“Haha nice story. Go on.”

“The first time I saw you was one Tuesday evening, 11th of November. You were wearing that shiny silver plunging dress. I thought you were really gorgeous, like what everyone else thought in that place. But I didn’t want to sleep with you when I saw you that night. I just enjoyed watching you giggle with the guys you were flirting with, I even daydreamed of stealing you from them and talking to you alone by the beach. I went home with a huge smile on my face and it remained in there everytime you cross my mind. I don’t know what this is, but I’m certain that it’s not merely sex that I want from you.”

I suddenly felt a pinch in my soul, not because I believed him, but because for the first time ever, it sounded so real. I have somehow memorized how the bad guys behave, thus his actions are quite foreign to me. If he is not a bad guy, nor a married man, then what is he? A nice guy? Oh no. This ain’t possible. I’ve just broken the code of promise I made to myself.

I didn’t know what to say so I waited til he say something again.

“I’m not expecting you to believe me, but can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Would you allow me to prove to you my pure intentions?”

“No. I’m sorry. But if you want, we can go to your place and have a really nice sex. But after that, you can’t see me again.”

I said it in a usual tone of voice of the Ash that I really am—the Ash that breaks men’s hearts. But for the first time in my life, I kind of regretted that I said those words to him.

“I’m sorry I can’t do that.”

“What is? The sex or the idea of not seeing me again?”

“Both. I’ll see you again soon and will ask you the same question over and over again until you say yes to it.”

He uttered calmly as he stood up from the bench and said goodbye. I contemplated about stopping him and following him but I stayed as composed as ever. I glued my eyes to him as he walk away from me, leaving me perplexed with the last words he just said. I never liked a good guy. And a good guy never liked my bold and liberating way of life. That’s ridiculous. What am I supposed to do with this?

#fiction

(This is in connection to my previous post A Psychoweirdo so I hope you read that one too. Thank you!)

Fresh eyes (Part 1)

This is the most nerve-racking moment in her life. By the time she woke up, she felt like she slept in a pond of sweat. She hurriedly wiped it with her bare hands as soon as she saw a seemed-like-a-slow-mo drop of it from her chin down to her lap. She suddenly panicked so she rapidly got up from her tangled bed, threw away her blanket and ran towards the mirror. She was startled to see her reflection but at the same time she felt some sense of relief. She looked normal, no bruises, no wounds, no blood.

“It was just a dream, Amma, ok? It will never come to life.” She said to herself whilst zooming herself in and out, looking for some sort of physical damages, examining her face and her body in the mirror. She tried to lift herself up with those words of affirmation but she’s utterly aware of a familiar scary possibility.

It all started when she was 16. Amma lost her parents due to the famous 2011 suicide plane bombing.She has a 10 year old sister, at that time, named Emma, who just turned 17 last December. It’s been exactly seven years since they passed away but the effect of this tragic event is still fresh in her memory. That was also the time she realized her gift that she sometimes refer to as a curse—because Amma can’t help but to blame herself, she thought she could have used her gift to warn her parents about what she has seen in her dreams. She could have went there and informed everyone she knew what’s going to happen, heedless of  whether they believe her or not—she could have saved her parents and 100 more innocent lives. But she didn’t. For she knows it’s absurd to believe that she could see the future through her dreams.

The premonitons that show up when she’s asleep are not usually bad dreams per se. Oft times it’s good and funny and sexy but last night’s dream was intensely terrifying. In this dream, Amma saw herself drunk driving, on her way home, with an unknown guy in the passenger seat who was laughing crazily, a bottle of Nils Oscar beer in his right hand, his left on her hips and as he was about to kiss her, she saw a silhouette of a man who’s about to cross the street, so she quickly turned the steering wheel to her right, unable to anticipate the ten-wheeler truck coming in the same lane she’s in. The unknown guy shouted at her, Watch out!, but Amma recklessly lost control and then BAAAM!

To be continued…

(Photo credit to the owner)

Prisoner of a faulty love

I enjoy staring at you when you’re oblivious of my presence. It’s but a chance for me to study your face, to memorize each move, to hear the voices within you—they keep on telling me to leave you, but I used to ignore all of them.

And then you’d catch me staring—hence you’d give me that wonted nonchalant smile, the kind that is inexplicably bizarre to me. A kind of smile I couldn’t correctly decode, a kind of smile I succumbed into, when it first showed up, in that park where I met you.

I enjoy looking at you despite the fact that you wouldn’t do it to me the way i do. I stare at you as if I won’t see you again—’cause I know mornings with you is vague and uncertain.

Then last night you said, I can’t leave her. I shouted at you, cussed you, hurt you. But you put an end to the war I created, using the same line you just said in the beginning of it—I can’t leave her.

Why can’t you?

I asked this to you, but no words came out of me. This query seemed so heavy, my strength is not enough to say them clearly. It’s outright lucid to me, that I am that girl you would go to, just when you’re feeling blue.

But today something’s telling me how wrong this is.

I know…

I am that girl who patiently waits for you but it’s getting tedious.

I am that girl who listens to you when no one else could, but now it’s suffocating.

I am that girl who loves you despite your blemishes, but now it’s making me sick.

I whined for the things you should have done, I craved for the words you should have said. I kept on believing there could be a change. But there’s none, guess I was insane.

I was insane—for I hoped one day you look at me the way I look at you. But now that I’m staring at you, your body seemed to be telling me that there’s no way you would ever do.

I wished that maybe one day you’ll make me first. But your heart seemed to be telling me—I only fit to number two.

Been looking at you for almost an hour now and you’re sleeping like a baby–you’re fully incognizant of what’s going on my mind, of my plan to escape.

Been couple of years since you jailed me in this house, it’s shaky already, it’s no longer enough for me.

I thought to myself, it’s time to leave, ’cause I have to live.

To live normally, to love conventionally, to find someone else who could make me his top priority.

I silently opened the drawer, picked up that old sepia colored piece of paper, wrote a five word message that said, “I deserve better than this.”

I put the note in our bed, at the side I usually slept in whenever he’s here.

I hurriedly packed my things, with no more thinking, no more hesitating.

I went to the door carrying a heart that’s crushing, trying to stop the tears from bursting, persuading my whole being to never look back again.

Before I could manage to close the door, before I reward myself of such freedom, I looked at him one last time.

In my head, I thanked him. I wouldn’t be able to know my worth if I didn’t let it melt with his hands, if I didn’t give my all to him.

I lost myself in the bed of this wrong love. I lost everything and that’s when I figured it’s time to flee.

Just like realizing one’s importance, not by its presence, but by the mere absence of it.

Love is a paradox

You make me feel safe everytime my skin gets touched by you.

Paradoxically however, you can also make me feel scared about what the future might bring.

We both know how crazy we became—from the time our eyes locked, we became insane.

Oblivious of the real world, unaware of the odds despite its sheer clarity.

It’s just so vivid to me—that we can’t be together tomorrow, that today is our last day.

That there really should be no happy in an ending. Because there’s no such thing as you and me, in this world full of rules and tragedy.

But how can you do this to me? You created a language only our hearts can utterly elucidate. It’s now making me hard to concentrate—can’t think of nothing else, but the now that we have that i will never forsake.

It’s merely now but no tomorrow. Just today so let’s make the most out of it.

Kiss my hand and hold it tight before it gets cold.

Tell me you love me ’cause I need some validation.

Tell me you’ll never stop thinking of me even if I have to flee, because my body is already killing me and i have to set you free.

But oh please don’t cry for me. Stop being vulnerable and show me your strength.

Because you are my strength, my main reason for fighting. But you know how hard the battle is, so please, now—allow me to surrender.

In a few minutes I will close my eyes and I’d have to give up enjoying the beauty of your eyes.

Your eyes have been telling me to fight, they said fight for me one last time.

My heart told them I wanted to. But my angels are almost here—I can see them carrying my wings for me.

My love for you is so intense it’s making me happy and gloomy at the same time. It’s the love i have for you that kept me alive for some time, but it has made me feel lonely most of the time.

I’m lonely because I won’t be with you when you get wrinkly and old.

I’m lonely because tomorrow you might meet someone new, and you’ll soon forget the idea of me.

I’m lonely because I don’t have enough time left, to show you how much you mean to me.

I’m lonely you will never be mine again but it makes me happy that I’m dying whilst entangled by your arms around me.

I couldn’t breathe anymore, i can see an utter bloom of light coming through.

I reckon this is it. The now that i spent with you is both the most euphoric and most soul-crushing thing that ever happened to me.

For love is a paradox, yet it is absolutely true.

(Photo taken at Oslo, Norway)