Collection of Recollection, Part IX

Sunday, April 9, 2017 Comments Off

you don't
worth the weight
you have on me
measurement

do soulmates
have
an expiry date?
time limit

they say
you don't meet people
by accident,
then meeting you
must have been
a predestined scheme,
something that even
the universe has conspired.
or perhaps,
it's just our atoms
calling out to find their kin
lies

all these
imaginary scenarios,
of us existing together
with each other
for each other,
where do they live
when reality rejects them?
unlisted location

maybe this is what
we want from
each other:
affirmation
that we are not
as harsh, as intolerable,
as difficult, as impossible,
as cumbersome, as unlovable
as we thought we both are
confirmation

I am addicted to
the way you made me feel;
how you claim
our intimacy,
our connection,
our closeness
as something valuable
personal achievement

it feels like
your soul
trying to
claw its way
out of your skin,
out of life,
out of reality
anxiety and heartbreak

I am collection of:
passion,
need,
want,
longing,
and questions;
all for you
fullness

where does
romance go
when it is not
realized?
directionless

what's the
aftermath
of an almost?
a question mark

the saddest part
about us not happening
is the fact that
we can never be
each other's support system,
even though
we, desperately,
can
and need one
despair

Side Note

Sunday, April 2, 2017 Comments Off

Dear Hofstadter,
We are a side note: something you'd put at the end of each of our biographies. An afterthought. It is there as an additional something to make the story more colourful, to make both of us more relatable; because, well, who would want to be misunderstood? Who wouldn't want to find a passing soul as their mirror?

But that's all we could ever be: a passing. Not something that settles, not something that rests, not something that stays. Only a passing moment in between both of our orbits, both of us blooming and blossoming into spectacular comets. In this vast cosmos, our chance to collide is slimmer than none. Perhaps we are better if we weren't to collide, well, at least that's what I've been trying to convince myself. 

I used to think that we are better off in a safe distance, where both of our own gravity keep us apart but close at the same time; but it would only hurt me. I could have gone off on another path, discovering everything that is to know about the universe while making you just a temporary pit stop. A pit stop which mimics my non-physical attributes; though the big difference between you and me is the fact that I'd crash into your course anytime, yet you try to manage a distance between us in order to keep yourself safe. But, being safe from collision, consequently from explosion, also means that you'd be safe from the bang, from the brightness that could envelop us, and from the fire that could consume us.

There are a lot of things that we could have said to each other. A list full of dismantled truths and kind intentions. We deserve honesty from each other by disclosing our wants, needs, fears, and anxieties.

Maybe all that we could ever be is a casket full of longing and an urn full of what-if scenarios.

Real side note: everyone wants us to explode. Can't you hear them humming around us?

Warmest regards,
Your faithful mirror.

Collection of Recollection, Part VIII: Inebriated 2.0

Monday, March 27, 2017 Comments Off

these pieces were written in order for me to be able to completely flush you out of my system.
it worked.

the first time you kissed me, it was a hurried kiss--as if you were afraid if you didn't consume the moment, everything that we had done up to that point would disappear and we had to start all over again.
the time after that, it was all soft and forgiving. you allowed yourself to be vulnerable in front of me. the best kindness that you had given me that day. 
my expectation for the third kiss was that it would be like me riding a bike for the first time, with training wheels attached. a learning moment for me, but perhaps for you it wouldn't necessarily be, and you would require more patience and understanding than what you have generously given me before.
while the kisses after that wouldn't be able to be counted since, by default, the excitement would recede and sexual intimacy would increase. these kisses would be different, and from each one I'd learn new things.
and there would be a type of kiss that we both would hate. the type that would end it all, whatever it is.
but your kisses—your mercy—only worked for one night
and now, all I could ever hope to receive from you is understanding, giving up our sense of intimacy and kindly retaining your distance.
one merciful night, nothing more

even with my mind,
all lust-clouded
intoxicated;
I always knew,
just like you,
that bottle of wine
was never mine
(un)possessing

you do not want brutal things—
like falling in love,
clinging your soul to mine,
or maybe needing me,
yet you are giving me
the most ruthless
of them all:
a glimpse of something great
that could only exist in
both of our wanting eyes
and our needing minds
collecting your empty promises

maybe this is how
it feels like to have
your soul caressed,
your mind rested, and
your figure taken care of.
maybe this is what
it feels like to have
someone at my disposal
heeding all of
my wants and needs.
this is how it feels
to have this
temporary thing,
something that
life has deprived me of
our non-date

stealing you for a night,
wishing you were mine to hold tight,
drowning out noises in my head,
collecting enough of your stories to be read,
wanting to be drown in it,
knowing that you wouldn't submit to colliding our orbit,
being unapologetic for asking what I wanted,
accepting the fact I'd always be haunted.
— disassembling

by blurring the lines
between nothing
and something,
you've taught me
something entirely new;
something I hadn't thought
I'd get from you:
loneliness borne
out of learning that
both of us has
the ability to connect
without necessarily
establishing the connection
almost

thanks to you,
I'm inspired to write more:
more heartbreaks,
more almosts,
more unfinished tales,
more what ifs,
though they're nothing new
 history

well... almost.

Collection of Recollection, Part VII

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At the beginning of the year, my dear mother gave me a succulent.
It came in an intricate plaited pot, something that's not customary on other pot.
My mother told me that she would teach me how to grow it—how to see it bloom to its full potential.
It has been three months, and my plant is shriveling. Its leaves are rotting; what were once sturdy, flourishing with life and naively hopeful are now depleted of lush. All that I am left with is pale stem, currently withering from the lack of proper care.
I have tried to find ways to watch it blossom, not only as a decorative purpose, but as a living being. Yet, this trembling hands could never hold anything without breaking.

At the beginning of my life, my dear mother gave me a heart.
It came in an intricate figure, something that's not customary on other people.
My mother told me that she would teach me how to grow it—how to see it bloom to its full potential.
It has been twenty three years, and my heart is shriveling. Its faith is rotting; what was once sturdy, flourishing with life and naively hopeful are now depleted of lush. All that I am left with is pale hope, currently withering from the lack of proper care.
I have tried to find ways to watch it blossom, not only as a decorative purpose, but as a living being. Yet, this trembling hands could never hold anything without breaking.

succulent

Admitting

Friday, March 24, 2017 Comments Off

Pre-Admission
Believe me when I say that I have prepared to draw back, or at least, I am preparing to do so. Drawing back from a battle that I know I'd lose even without having to necessary let it play out in front of my eyes. It has come to my attention that I should admit defeat and move on. By admitting defeat, I would let myself free from the burden of waiting impatiently.
I have collected enough of your empty promises to know that you could only provide a sense of intimacy while retaining your distance. But I promised myself to be true, moving on by acknowledging the truth. Moving on by being honest, setting the truth free to the world, all the while asking your kindness by supporting me to move on.

Admission
I deserve a certain degree of respect for being able to admitting the truth, for asking a kind of help that people do not usually ask. But you won't give me any of that. You prefer seeing me confused and helpless, all the while not letting me either apart from or close to you.


Post Admission: Day I
Insanity. You won't let me draw the line. You carried out, expertly I might add, a performance which I fooled myself into thinking this is real. But the only thing that's real, out of the whole act and performance, was your solid presence; neither your words nor your acts were real.

Post Admission: Week III
I envy my three-weeks-ago self. She was happy for having your solid presence in her life, even if it was only for less than twelve hours. But in retrospect, I won't let you play me like you would with your games. You cannot win when I am not playing at all, sweetie.

[Mabella Rehastri]

Flaming Star

Wednesday, March 8, 2017 Comments Off

or, as it has been requested by someone, Paradox in Love

my restless mind is asking for
kindness, and
silence.
but all I ever got from you are
speeding heart, and fire,
and flame, and flame, and flame.

I'm tired of this impossibility;
being in the edge of
romance and
nothing,
with the knowledge that we can,
but we aren't,
with the fact that we could be,
but we'll never be.

Read more »

23 in 32 hours

Monday, February 20, 2017 Comments Off

I'm turning twenty three in a few hours. Or if you'd like to exactly count the hours, then I will be turning twenty three in 32 hours. How exciting.

I cannot remember the last time I feel this jittery, and I know it's not the delicious coffee that's making me this way. It's something else; something is in the air. Something wicked, and unfamiliar. Something that makes me want to simultaneously run away from and run towards. Something different.

But I am still lost, still trying to find a place for myself; aside from this three-seats-too-much table in this quaint coffee shop in my hometown. I long for a place where my thoughts would not run as fast as speed of light, and I would stop being so nervous all the time.

What did I learn by having to come this far, only this far:
I learned that being twenty two, almost twenty three, life passed by faster than you thought it would. But also slower, so much slower, when you are lonely, everything is amplified including time. Half longing for the day your state of loneliness would be amended, but also half wishing that you would make peace with being lonely.
I learned that it felt nice to have someone recognize you, to have them say, 'I see you'.
I learned that you may never find something to replace or fill in the void. You can only learn to live with it, to make it a shelter for something else in order to make it less of a cruel reminder but more of a niche to place broken dreams and childhood naivety.
I learned that you cannot forge and force love.
I learned that your physical presence can disappear at any moment without notice, but you still haunt minds.
I learned that being alone, for so long, makes me tired; the kind of tired that only human interaction can fix.
I learned that when you are starved for affection, attention, and romance, you'll try to get your fix from pretty much anything and everything. Even the ones that would satisfy your tongue but leaves you hungry for more.

I want to end this post with something witty, or perhaps even quotable. But the fact remains, I am lost. And I stop wishing that someone would take me away from this madness.


but for those who are interested, tomorrow I will be releasing essays. please contact me for further info.
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