My life is changing…

I’m at this point in my life where I’m realising that the person I am and the person I am are quite different, yet the same.

It is as much enlightening as it is confusing.

The things I like, the people I love, the places I want to visit… well, except the job I want to do… Everything is changing. Everything is different.

It’s scary.

But I’m falling in love with it all, at the same time.

Let’s see how this phase goes!

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I like you, but.

You don’t deserve someone who says, ‘I like you, but,’ just because he can’t get his act together. And J, I like you, but.

I like you, but

I can’t do this.

I can’t start something I know I won’t finish.

I can’t put you through more pain than you already go through.

I like you but,

I am not ready for anything serious.

I am not in the mood to settle down.

I am not the person you need by your side.

I like you, but

I don’t want to wait for you.

I don’t want to be the reason why you smile.

I don’t want to be the reason why you look forward to coming home.

I like you, but

I have nothing to offer you but pain.

I have no plans to keep you close.

I have not decided what exactly I want to do.

I like you, but

It’s not enough for me to act on it.

It’s not enough for me to take responsibility.

It’s just not enough.

I like you, but

I

Don’t

Love

You.

Rehab

Hi, my name is Jay, and I’m an addict.

I started using words at a very young age.  Yes,  words.  

I use words to express a certain amount of confidence, wisdom and boldness that are pretty much non-existant in my reality. I utter or write these words to give hope or love or whatever is required to keep the next person going, denying the fact that I too need them. Or perhaps I do not deny that,  but rather, I believe that whatever I say, it becomes mine. 

If I say I’m okay, then automatically, I become okay. If I say that I am not worried, then I automatically become laid-back. 

The truth is, those realities are self-made. A cover-up for the scars that tell an explicit story I’d rather not confront. 

So yes,  I’m an addict. 

I am addicted to the lies I tell myself so I feel better. I am addicted to the lies I tell others with consciously become my truth. I am addicted to lies, because they are as close to perfection as I can get. 
I guess that’s the point of these support groups and rehabilitation centers… To support us. To help wean us from the addiction. 

So here I am. 

I am an addict and I need help. 

We’re here for you, Jay. 

Letters to the Nice One.

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Hey Nice one,

I remind you each time about how I don’t make promises, but I never add why. I insist on being believed in, never adding the reason. I keep adding rules, but it’s definitely not how it’s supposed to be.

I wanted to start by apologizing. But these days, I’ve lost track of the things I do. And half of them aren’t much of a big deal. But I wouldn’t know. Hence the persistent need to apologize every now and then.
Another thing with an unsaid reason.

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Have you seen that movie #13ReasonsWhy?It’s about this girl who offed herself and then left tapes for people to listen to. The people responsible for her suicide.
I’ve been thinking about doing something like that. Clearing the air and whatnot. It’s harder than it seems you see. More because I keep making stuff worse every time I open my mouth. Another flaw of mine. Besides, that girl was long gone by the time she did all of that confessing thing. And I’m going to be right here afterwards. Doesn’t really look that comforting from this side of

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the fence.

I’ve been reading a lot of books lately. This particular one’s from Wattpad and can be found here. Pretty interesting. I kinda fell in love with it.
Anyway, I been reading a lot lately because that’s the only time I usually don’t think of you. Weird right? But… Nowadays, I find you in all the words. I don’t know how you do
it.

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But you do.

I actually didn’t plan on writing this long thing. I wanted to write something special that made a lot of sense than my usual blabbering. But look where we are now.
Another apology.
Smh.

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Well, these erratic thoughts are mine. These feelings though… Yours…
And these words, however senseless they may come off as, needed to be let out.

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Wattpad☺

-the awesome superstar.

To: You

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Dear Stranger,

I saw you in town today.
You had your hair up in a mess. Almost stylish. But a second look at it and I knew that it had lost a well fought battle with the wind. Somehow, the fight agrees with it though. Just saying.

I saw you take one cautious step after the other, almost afraid of the ground. Like you believed the ground could gibe up on you any moment. So even though the steps were cautious, they were equally quick. Or were you running? Away? What from? But I could tell it wasn’t always so. Like something, or someone, had stolen the assuredness in your steps.

I like your sense of fashion though. I hardly meet people who choose comfort over fashion statements and whatnot. You looked chique! Bold and confident. At least all is not lost.

Well, you don’t know me. And I hate to come off as annoying and whatnot. And it’s really none of my business either…
But you see, I live with pain. And I know you do too. You look like you’re new to this pain thing. No offence. So from someone who’s been where you are now –correct me if I’m wrong– you’ll live.

You may not recognize it right now. You may even insult me a little bit because I kinda come off as a know-it-all gossip of sorts. But just listen. Even if it’s with all the cynicism you posses. Listen.
And don’t break down.

One day, you’re going to look back on this day and wonder how you managed to convince yourself that all was lost. And perhaps you’d finally understand when I say that All is well.

I’m not saying your problem is negligible and all of that. No.
I’m just saying your story hasn’t ended. I’m saying tomorrow is going to be better.
I’m saying hold on and watch the sun rise.
I’m saying allow yourself to smile again.

I’m saying, no matter what, don’t give up.

Love,

A fellow stranger.

Essays and lies

When I was younger, I wrote stories. Loads of them. Mostly for my English classes. Many a time, my teacher, or friends, would ask if those stories were real. Then I’d have to burst their bubbles gently, saying, they may be real, but not to me.
I learnt to lie the right way. And I was good at it.

Who would’ve thought that the person I would lie most to would be me?
That I would convince myself that they were truths so much I believed them? Then again, isn’t that the purpose of lies. Make-believe. Deceive. Convince.

I grew better at lying. I even have the grades to show for it.
I also grew darker in hurting myself.
But there are no scars to prove it.

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dimiourgus.tumblr.com

Mosquitoes… Houseflies… Butterflies

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Okay, so this is probably weird. But I am quite the weird child so I guess I am right on the mark.
See, I have this mosquito analogy. I feel it’s not supposed to make sense but no matter how hard I deny it, it makes a lot of sense to me.

When I was in high school, I studied Biology. That information on it’s own is pretty meaningless. Apologies.
Anyway, I studied about mosquitoes and houseflies and butterflies… Among others. I was fascinated by each of the insects I studied. Their life cycle, habits, feeding, defense mechanisms. I was deeply fascinated. Well, except houseflies, those things just… I really don’t like them.
I digress.

Mosquitoes. If I remember clearly, which I think I do, they have three days to live. The adult mosquito, that is.
So this is where the plenty thinking comes in.

Do the mosquitoes know that they have just three days? Or does the time in Insectdom move slower than the time I know. Because three days?
I mean, if they knew they were going to die soon, why do they even bother feeding on me. What are they using it for? Survive. Live. I know. But they’re going to die in three days anyway. So, what’s the point?
Why bother?

I watch the mosquitoes coming into my room sometimes. Didn’t their colleagues tell them how much I hunt their kind down?
But somehow, these little fellows remain undaunted.
They even go about their activities singing. Calling for attention. Taunting me. That no matter what I do, they’re going to be gone anyway. Do your worst lady, we don’t mind, they seem to say.

A friend of mine told me that they are not singing but it’s in fact the sound of their wings that taunt me. I may know the truth, I just refuse to accept it.
Because somehow, I feel they do it on purpose.

But anyway, my question is, why do they keep going? Why don’t they just, wait for the inevitable?
I know that’s how they were created to be and everything but…
I mean, if I were a mosquito and knew what I know about my definite shelf life, I would not even raise a limb.
Starve? I’m dead anyway.
Fall sick? I’m dead anyway.
Die? That was going to happen anyway.
Really…
I just want to know why?

Warm memories

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🎶
Oh my sweetheart,
I love you so
In my heart
I love you so
When you go
Come back again
In your dreams
Remember me
…🎶

When I was a baby my mum sang songs for me. With her own lyrics in her ‘not-so-great-voice’ that I love but won’t tell her.
This was my favourite. And the one that stuck after all these years.

When I was growing up and I was in pain, she’d put my head on her bosom or laps, depending, and she’d sing to me while patting my head or rubbing my back.

I learnt love from my mum.

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Recently, when I went back home, I reminded her of the song. This song.
I’m sure she would’ve cried if I didn’t tease her.
She could not believe I remembered the song. Or anything for that matter.
But I was wondering, how could I not?!

When my siblings and I were growing up, my mum used to tell stories. Some afternoons, we’d all play football outside. My mum actually plays really good football, with her left and right!!!
Other times we went jogging. Well mostly her while we ran ahead till we were breathless.
There were times we’d have aerobics classes at home. She being the instructor, of course. With music and everything.
At night, she would tell us stories and jokes. Some she made up, others she already knew. With dancing and singing.
She taught us how to play many indoor games.

Among all of these, my mother taught us to pray. She taught us to pray in every given situation no matter how big or small.
Every time we went to her about a problem she’d ask, “Have you prayed about it?”
At a point, I found that annoying. I mean, here I am telling you about what is bothering me and you’re asking if I’ve prayed. Who said I came to hear that? Then she would let us pray. And she would explain that she may be able to do something, but God can do everything.

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One day, I needed to talk to her but I couldn’t. I wasn’t home anymore. She wasn’t at my beck and call. I was frustrated.
Then I realized, even if I spoke to her she would ask me, “Have you prayed about it?”
I didn’t have to wait for her to ask, I prayed about it. And I never stopped praying.

I don’t do the whole open display of love and feelings thing. But I guess today, I can cut me some slack and go all emotional.

I love my mum. A lot.

I may hate on her a lot when we are together cause we like our thing spicy.
But don’t get it twisted, I would kill for her. And not bat an eye.
Believe that.

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A little longer

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No! Don’t come out!!!

Have you ever seen a movie where the victim almost didn’t die? Like if they’d stayed in the closet or under the bed, or wherever they’d hidden for just an extra five seconds, they just might have lived long enough to see the bad guy die at the end?

Have you ever wondered why they were so impatient to come out? Why they couldn’t hold in their curiosity for just a while longer than they already had?
Have you ever wondered why the bad guy lingered when they obviously thought they had lost?

Do these things even cross your mind?

That perhaps the bad guy understood patience a little more than the good guy. That perhaps the bad guy knew that if they didn’t make any presumptions, they just might make the kill.
Or perhaps the good guy overestimated the good luck they’d been blessed with since the beginning of the movie.
Maybe they thought that the worst had already happened and they were still alive. What else could possible go wrong, they thought.
And how wrong they were.

So in the end, the one who stayed a little longer was able to kill the one who came out a tad too soon.

Most often that’s how it is all the time in my life. When I almost win, we assume I’ve already won. And then I let go… I come out… I die.
Other times I have been hanging on for so long, I feel it is finally time to let go. I feel I can let go now and not beat myself for giving up “too soon”. And just as I start to fall, just as gravity begins to drag me into this pit I refused to fall into, I look up and see that the help I so desperately prayed for has arrived. A little longer and I’d have been saved. If I’d held on for just a second longer…

A little longer…

So I am sitting here, with my plate already full of things that are screaming for my long overdue attention. Yet, somehow, I manage to have time to think about how and why the good guy died. Thinking about what ifs and could-have-beens. Forgetting one thing.
The good guy and the bad guy had a script.
I do not.

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🎶I’ve got sunshine🎶

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Early this morning, from my room window upstairs, I literally saw the day begin.
I watched as the sun rose from behind the mountains way up ahead, taking it’s precious time to come out… almost owning time itself. Little by little, it teased me with it beauty. A little light here, a little ray there.
And when it finally came out, so majestic and graceful, it’s magnificent splendor was worth all the time in the world. It’s exuberant rays dancing in my eyes, creating tingles on my skin, seeping into my heart, all the while engulfing my insides with inexplicable joy.
This morning, I shared a giggle with the morning sun. And in that moment, I believed that everything would be okay.

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