So much about L-O-V-E

Look what I found at the BenCab Museum earlier. 

I put you in a shoebox

In a room 

of thunder storms and blunders

of perfect summers and surrenders

of midnight fogs and early breakfasts

In this bed 

I sleep and wake up to the end of every rainbow 

dreamt swimming on all these pots of gold 

but knocked up to the aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread 

I lie awake and bask in the sun's rays, feel its warmth to my losing eyes and my palm surrendering to it, pamper 

on these mattresses, and think of our memories 

like butterflies fluttering 

So I slip my hand on to a familiar territory 

Under the bed where I contain all that

Is that is in this room,

All sensation

Catching butterflies and letting them live inside 

Alain de Botton, On Love

“It was no longer her absence that wounded me, but my growing indifference to it. Forgetting, however calming, was also a reminder of infidelity to what I had at one time held so dear.” 

Brings me back to one of the scenes in the film Before Midnight, where this old woman was talking about remembering and forgetting her deceased husband. 

Who wouldn't shut the virtual world off?

If you’re reading this on a computer, on the internet, you have more than most of the world does. And yet, despite this, you find reasons to complain (we all do). The lesson? The more you have does not translate to the happier you are.

23rd March

Dear You, 

I don't even know what I am doing, where I am going, who am I becoming. For two months now, I have been dragging myself to work. I have two insignificant missed assignments in less than two weeks and I keep asking myself if I still love what I am doing.  I used to be more than this but right now, there are a lot of questions in my head that desperately need answers. I wish I have you to talk about these things. I wish I could tell you how deeply alone I feel right now despite the company of my friends, that my quest of seeking my Great Perhaps has been failing me pretty badly. I wish, you could tell me this is just a phase, that I just need to give myself time to motivate so I'd be back with a new energy, new eyes to see the real beauty of  this life unfolding before me.  I wish I could have, not your shoulder to cry, but your arms to keep me warm in the coldness I feel towards dreams, reality, and everything in between. It's as if something in me longs for something I can't grasp, may it be something I lost or something I have yet to discover. I don't know, I have yet to find my place in the purgatory of Nirvana of myself, of people, of my parent's eyes. 

Perhaps I never could have contained these feelings, that I have revealed myself to a complete stranger. It was one of those early morning flights, that this stranger whom I was flying with for today handed me a pack of M&Ms for nothing. He stands tall, his complexion fair, his body yet to meet the gym. His eyes were a set of almond hazel brown with his long thick lashes looking afar as we tackle about our industry's jargons. It was his 6th productive flight, which made me think that I am indeed getting old with my almost 4years flying. That left him with no choice but to sit next to me in the next 5 hours. Five hours that used to be just some 2-sector flight to General Santos but I felt like I would be working all day, tired and unhappy. 

 I didn't know how it happened. In my sleek hair tied in pony tail and face paint of foundation and blush and black mascara, I said, "I am lost these days." The second I uttered those words was the moment I wished I could curb  myself into a ball, or shrink or be a bubble that vanishes into thin air. Okay, so the cat got my tongue or probably, more on I actually handed the tongue over to him. But instead of shrinking or vanishing, we kind of ended of talking about college, the sunrise in Angkor Wat, about Alaska and Gus and Hazel Grace. He listened to my Spoon and Fork Legend that I made for Children's Literature subject despite my many ummmhs and sighs and never ending 'and then' which is quite funny because I never told anyone about that except for my closest friends who have the patience to wait for my words  when I talk too slowly. 

Five hours had gone by so fast and then we were back to our own worlds where I am too impatient to wait, and too fast to do office duties  and too excited to go back to sleep in my own bed across the office. The social networking sites really delay sleep and our caretaker told me somebody was looking for me, a guy was looking for me and I asked her who the hell was it while heading to the door and then there he was,  the complete stranger smiling by the door, handing me the commission from inflight sales I intended to forget. I told him he shouldn't have dropped by for some 30 bucks. I should have texted him, I said , since we got each other's digits for John Green books he promised to lend me so I can read his favorite, Looking for Alaska. Too many reasons mentioned and I said thank you anyway and we said our goodbyes. 

That felt good, though, like a breath of fresh air. I have never talked to anyone about writing for the longest time. This guy writes, by the way. I really think there's a lot more to him than his pretty face. It's like college all over again.  I  wish one day, we could talk about things like these too. Things that I am interested in that interest you too. 

With all love and waiting, 

Me