Two Million Thoughts

I was born an introvert, a loner. I so often prefer the deafening silence of life more than anything else in this world. I don’t want to be seen nor heard, nor noticed. I hate society. I hate all this craziness happening in the world.

I have always loved and have always been fascinated with misery, sadness, loneliness. I think there is and there will always be a mystic romance surrounding a lonely person.

To quote a friend, I am a solitary figure, I exist in a daze. I float and flirt in a lonely haze. I would rather entertain the silent rambling of two million thoughts in my mind than talk to someone. I am always comforted of being alone, because it is only in that state that I get to be my real self.

Over the past few months however, I have carelessly opened myself to some people–people, who, I thought, were different from the rest. People who don’t judge you by your physical being but look into your inner being. I have become so fond of these persons in my life, to the point of being emotionally dependent with them. Unconsciously, I have allowed them to take control over me, to have the power to hurt me.

Now, I see them with someone else and it bleeds my heart to see them go. They are all gone now, enjoying a new chapter in their lives, leaving me stuck and longing for their company. And I hate and despise myself for allowing them to hurt me this much.

But I know that this pain is momentary. This, too, shall pass, just like these people. And when that time comes, I will be back to my me, myself and I state. And I promise never to let anyone get emotionally close to me then.

THis was inspired by my sister practicing her piano piece, a love song, that I am so sure of, but the title I could not just remember. Suddenly, I felt this urge to write, touched and inspired by the Muse.

I shared this poem in a petry-reading entitled Poetika, poems under the moon, last Thursday. This is dedicated to all the solitary figures in this lonely planet of ours.

Romantic Misery

Dreams. Memories. Thoughts of you.

Aching, Longing, Wondering–

What could have it been with you?

Your voice, deep and pleasing

I long to hear, to listen, to drown my inner being.

Your face, strong yet innocent

I long to touch, to caress, to hold close.

Sitting in this solitary madness

Wishing in this eternal loneliness

I talk to falling stars

And cry with imaginary muses

Of your gentle touch, your overwhelming care–

The very you that intoxicates my soul.

My mind shatters

With so many ifs and buts,

What could have beens and what could have nots.

My heart bleeds

Of wasted chances and hints that go unnoticed.

My soul mourns of a love

A love that–

      never has been

      never is

      and never could be.

THIS BLOG IS something I have always wanted to do but was long overdue for some, ahem, emotional reasons. Over the past weeks, my mind has been restless and eager to get near a computer with an Internet connection to publish my Friendster blog. But somehow, in one way or another, no words nor thoughts could flow from my fingers, so to speak. Either I start with a paragraph and end up not satisfied with it, or I start and end with nothing at all. As in, empty. Blank.

This is what I call as my writing tantrum– when I don’t get inspired to write, when  my mind is really eager to but my heart simply isn’t. The weather’s too cold, too hot, I lost my fave ballpen, I don’t like the PC’s keyboard, the music’s too loud– I always have countless reasons not to write. And writing, for me, is not just simply typing or writing letters and words on a monitor or in paper. There is more and greater things than that. As somebody said, you have to breathe life to what you write, and I like to add, fill it with burning passion and drown it with emotions.

So I waited for the perfect moment…And that perfect moment finally came last night! Simply just out of the blue, I felt the rush and excitement of directing my pen to form words and thoughts in paper. I felt the sheer joy of writing overflooding me once again– the sound of ballpoint against intermediate pad, the pleasure of simply scratching and making untidy marks in my work without any fears or worries! I was so happy I felt like dancing in a dreamlike mardi gras, my face illuminated with fire, my feet tramping to the beat of a gong, my skirt flowing and my hair swaying to the rhythm!

So here I am, trying to transfer my draft in this blog. I am overwhelmed by too many emotions and two million thoughts are running in my mind (as always). But I am happy I am writing again! It’s not that I haven’t written since but it’s just that I have not written about me, myself and my life lately. Boy, does it feel good get in touch with yourself once in a while!

I am also melancholic because this is exactly the same ritual I did for my first entries in my first two blogs. The pen and paper ritual, as I call it. Mind you, I need to feel the smoothness of my pen and paper before I can write profound things. When it comes to class requirements, however, I have to face the empty monitor first before I start firing words and thoughts! Weird, ain’t I?

Well, I know I have this obsessive-compulsive tendency to write too lengthy. So I’m gonna end now and I hope to blab a lot next time about this lonely planet of mine! tata!