Don’t read this if you’re highly sensitive

This day felt like a day of survival. A day of waiting for the sun to set so it can rise again tomorrow. Such a paradox really but earlier i was getting a little impatient, yet again. Things don’t seem to be working. Walking along this path that has little to no form of lighting. It’s too dark but holding on tight with this wand of faith handed to me by God when He instructed me to go to this direction. My grip is tight, a bit afraid that it slips off my hand. ‘Cause it’s the only thing I have that keeps me going. To look past the limits of my eyes, to search beyond the unsearchable and to try to grasp the shaky uncertainty that tests me.

Should i keep moving or should i go back? What if there’s nothing in there? What if I’m just wasting my time? What if my intuition was wrong? What if this isn’t really where I’m supposed to be? Will there be light if i kept on walking or am I just fooling myself?

These are my everyday questions. My everyday eerie movie. My everyday battle against the demons in my head that are seemingly obsessive. Well, maybe the rollercoaster effect is to blame. The highs and lows of the ride that give the same amount of shitty feeling. The seesaw syndrome of my extremity. Of my duality that makes and then breaks me. It’s just, hard—To live in the present moment. To just be. But I’m trying. God knows I’m trying. But sometimes the pushing to be present hurts. Maybe because it requires of force. Not like a normal gravitational pull like how i am with my writing, with my words, with the world i create out of my imagination. But I’m not allowed to stay there for long. I HAVE TO stay in the present reality.

And I guess there would really be times like these where I couldn’t get my shit together and that I have to push things. And I think this rythym of pushing with so much force will never stop hurting if I don’t stop trying to control things the way i want it. And hell, I know this already, don’t I? Why do i keep on doing the same old shit?

Earlier i thought to myself: this transformation journey sucks. It fucking hurts. The breaking of old patterns just so i can be better. The changing of habits just so i can be consistent. The allowing of things to unfold at the right time so i can be patient. The loving myself first so I can love others more. The building of self-worth so I won’t be needing of validation from other people anymore. And the fucking slowing down and the fucking details! It sucks. It hurts. But it’s essential for my growth. And it’s all for my highest good. Fine. Let me convince myself of this positive fucked up self-help theme of the world right now. To be self-reliant, to know how to self-regulate and to be self-aware! They sound so simple but it isn’t.

P.s. I know this too shall pass. I just had to blurt it out and felt like posting it. If you reached until this postscript, then i guess you’re not highly sensitive at all 😁 (But please excuse my language.)

Pps. I’M NOT GIVING UP.

Invisible fear

I was listening carefully with every beat of it.

I put my right hand to my chest, to feel the message it brings.

I was bewildered by its deafening noise—it’s making me sick.

It seems like I was hearing a beat resembling them ones in horror movies.

Trying to decode the fear I can perfectly hear.

Is this even real?

Where does this fear come from?

Is this the fear of being alone or the fear of losing?

Oddly speaking, I couldn’t seem to find out its true meaning.

Perhaps, both or maybe I’m just hallucinating.

For a moment, I stared at the cup in front of me and then brushed off this phase of overthinking…

I sighed whilst smiling when I figured out I’m only palpitating…

this strong coffee is all but to blame.

😅😅😅😅😅

(Photo credit to Pinterest)

Sheer suffering

The ache deepens as I was having a tour of our old photos again,

I could hardly breathe, my heart seemed like being punched by a giant’s fist.

I shed tears as I cogitate the why’s of your unforeseen evanescence.

How could we end up as terrible as this?

How could you just let go of the dreams we vowed to achieve?

You left me hanging like a cat of multiple lives who was born again after a cataclysmic death—in this new life, there’s but no more of you.

Tell me, is there something I should have done to prolong the pages of our story?

(Photo credit to the owner)

How are you?

You’re not okay.

Yet you kept on fooling yourself that you are.

You fake that smile without knowing your eyes show nothing but pure sorrow.

You’re in denial of it, because you don’t want people to know you’re in the brink of falling.

You post that selfie in social media to let your followers know that you’re okay.

But little did they know that behind that filter, your naked face apparently shows that you’re on the process of healing.

It’s not even a scar yet.

It’s a fresh wound, it’s still bleeding.

Due to that heartbreak,

due to that love that’s unrequited,

due to the dream that seems so far away,

due to that person who caused you pain,

due to the quarter life or mid life crisis you’re experiencing,

due to being unhappy with your job,

due to not knowing what you want,

due to the envy you feel towards others,

due to the depression you’re going through right now

It’s torturing you but when someone asked you a how-are-you, you always answer them with the I’m-okay lie.

You’re not okay and you even thought about leaving the town or your country and start anew elsewhere.

Didn’t you?

But you didn’t know where to start and you don’t even have the courage to commence a plan of escape.

To escape from reality, from the inevitable adult problems that is so hard to get rif off.

But hey, listen to me.

Why don’t you acknowledge the fact that you’re depressed about something?

Embrace the fact that your skin is wounded upto the deepest layer of your soul.

You are bound to get hurt—whether you like it or not.

Feel it with every nerve you’ve got so you get to know better the kind of pain you’re going through.

Once you find the root of it, pull it out like weeds that need to get cut off, so it won’t fester in other parts of you.

Because you are beautiful and a one single cause of being not okay should never define you.

This time, I hope you learn how to confide in your best friend or whoever it is that you fully trust, be vulnerable with them and share them your inner thoughts, tell them the truth that you’re not okay.

Go to your room or to church or to your favorite place and cry it out loud, release all the tears your eyes are capable of bursting.

Or better yet, write it down. Everything.

You will see a massive change in you once you start being honest with yourself.

Remember, it’s okay to not be okay as long as you’re not in denial of it so you can find a solution for it.

You’re not okay today, but I promise you, as clichéd as it may seem, this too shall pass.

(Photo credit to Pinterest)

The Pyschoweirdo’s voice (Part 2)

Who said I’m gonna fall for that crap? Seriously??? Ha ha. You don’t even have the faintest idea about who I truly am. I’m a one hell good of a liar so I’m not one who capitulates to that kind of bullsh*t. There are two voices inside me, however, that keeps on battling with each other. The devilish one said I must believe him, the angelic one though is obviously contradicting it—this angel’s voice urges me to do what I think was right, and not what everybody else think IS right. She’s been overruling me and I loved it that way. Ash will always be Ash. And not even a single mistake of sleeping with a good guy could turn this around.

Whilst listening to the hilarious debates of the two voices in my head, I stood up and waved for a taxi and asked the driver to bring me to Revel Bar, a different bar this time, so I can fulfill the needs of my skin and the tingling feels in my bones, I need to find a bad victim tonight. Otherwise, it’ll be boring.

I picked up my compact powder and put a little of retouch to my face to unleash yet again the lost glow because of the devil that suddenly spoke and argued with the angel I’ve been listening to for more than two decades. That Robbie guy provoked the devil to make me believe that someone could possibly like me on a deeper level. But what if the devil is right? Ugh nooo. Scratch that sh*t. I am bound to stand out, to be who I want to be, just as what the angel inside me has been telling me. That angelic voice has moulded the Ash that I am perfectly well. She has always pushed me to be different, to be bold enough to follow what I want because no one else can tell me what to do, because she said no one cares for me, no one could ever love me, and she’s just right about it.

I made a grand entrance in the bar as usual and everybody seemed to shower me with their seducing eyes speaking of lust and hunger, for the body I’ve been taking care of. You see, I like the attention, to be the center of it, to be the life of the scene, to see them poor eyes longing to touch me and to witness them fight for a single night with me. Because only one man could taste me tonight, one bad guy I’ve been thirsty of since three hours ago.

I saw a group of three guys at the center of the room, by the playbar, heedless of my presence. The ones who initially ignore my strong aura somehow turns me on, like the thought of a hunter finding it so hard to seek for the bear who’s hiding in the woods, it truly excites me.

The guy in the middle with dark colored almost curly hair wearing a plain white shirt and brown trousers, is the bomb. He has thick eyebrows that has complemented his brown or perhaps black eyes and his weird but naturally curled up lashes that looks so hot. He looks kinda Asian with that beautifully tanned complexion. He had no choice but to notice me as I distract them by making my way to the play bar, breaking the group by half, cutting off their non-sense conversations like an arrogant bitch, but the act made them giggle like hungry beasts after all. My skin slightly touched his by the elbow as I order a Martini, as his eyes looking straight to me, and now I’m a few inches away from a fantastic night. I had to secretly find out if he wears a wedding ring so my peripheral vision tried to help me but i see nothing. He smelled of a bad guy anyway so maybe it’s worth a try.

(Note: None of this story is true, this is just a pure product of my imagination, trying to improve myself in my pursuit of writing a novel.)

A woman’s edge (Part 3)

Ryan turned right at Buick St and stopped by the big blue house. I asked the Taxi driver to please be patient with me and promised him that I will double the fare just so I can find out who that bitch is. My heart is pounding like the feeling you get when you continuously ran for 10 miles. I truly wish this would be over soon. My life in general boldly sucks from the recent miscarriage and now I’m about to have a “mismarriage”. There’s no such word like that, I know, but I’d like to think that could best describe the current situation I’m in with my husband. I waited for like 10 minutes but it seemed like forever to me. My husband didn’t go out of his car and it seems like he’s waiting for his girl to come out of that house so they could go to their tryst, most probably. The thought of it ripples my soul and every bits of it.

When the gate opened, my heart suddenly stopped beating with what I saw. Shit! Does this mean my instinct is wrong all along? I mean, how could a woman commit such a mistake? A woman’s instinct is a woman’s edge from men, I suppose. But now the strong throbbing of my heart has come to a full stop. What if he’s not cheating and I was wrong?

A white blond buff man in a light green polo shirt came out of the house and jumped in the passenger seat of my husband’s car. I know all of Ryan’s friends because he only has a few hence I was somehow surprised to see that he has a new friend. They probably have met in the gym, with the physique of that guy that kind of resembles my husband’s. My instinct was disturbed for quite some time but the worry is still there. I couldn’t seem to delete the idea of him cheating on me, because my heart says he IS cheating on me.

Ryan’s car is not fully tinted thus I can see clearly despite the roughly 100 meter distance that they’re talking about something, I reckon it’s something serious. Does this guy know my husband’s secret about his affair?

I instructed the driver to come a little closer but he refused saying they might figure out we’ve been following and watching them. The driver kind of irritated me but I ignored him and I just contemplated if I would show my face and create a scene or just wait til something interesting pops out. In the next 20 long minutes, nothing happened. I was getting impatient I wanted to go home and maybe just forget about it. But something dramatic happened. It’s when the guy was about to get off the car that made my heart throb faster this time. The guy wasn’t able to get off it because my husband grabbed him by the arm and seemed to like beg him to stay. So the guy closed the door again and followed Ryan’s demand. I can see it vividly that Ryan is now shoving his body closely to the guy as he was holding him tight, his face near his, seemed like he was trying to apologize for him as the guy looks enraged, looking away from my husband. When Ryan finally convinced him, they suddenly hugged in a very awkward way a man should do. It was a total feeling of disgust when after that unpleasant hugging moment, the two of them kissed like two lovers who make up after a fight. I looked down for a second whilst both my hands covered my head, my elbows against my thighs and as I look up again they were still kissing I almost puked seeing such a gay movie of someone I loved so much, who now realized he prefers the same sex.

Without thinking, I hastily went out and banged Ryan’s car and ruined their perfect moment. I couldn’t cry anymore this time because my heart is now filled with utter betrayal it has made me numb and careless enough to create a such a scene. Both of them got out of the car almost at the same time and my husband ran to me and held my hands. I took it off him as fast as I could and allowed the right hand to slap it straight and hard onto his thick dirty face. The guy was shocked when he witnessed what I did to my husband and I thought he deserved one as well so I gave him a punch in the face, his nose bled with so much pain. I looked at them furiously with a witch kind of smile on my face and spat in front of them and then walked away.

#fiction