Category Archives: Post A Day 2011

There’s A Little Bit of Trouble


Then I knew what the trouble was.

I needed experience.

How could I write  about life when I’d never had a love affair or a baby or even seen anybody die?

~Esther; The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

I was reading Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar and I came upon these sentences. Why was I reading? Why was I reading so many books? I want to write someday. I’ve been seeing the words being sewn into sentences, then into paragraphs. I had scenarios and some nice music was even playing at the back, even if I cannot include that to what I write. It was legendary in my mind. I could even smell the ending of my story.

And then I write. And everything seems wrong. And parts were not coming together. And then I realize that I cannot write at all. I’m no good as a writer as I am no good as a person.

I thought reading can supplement what I lack in experience, and they do. They let me in on the writer’s out of this world stories but still not enough. I now know, that If I just feed my hungry mind with reading and less experience, I would just end up copying what I read. Consciously and unconsciously.

That sucks.

Kthnxbye. I’ll read on.

😐

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Dreamare


How do you classify dreams? How can you say that a dream is a dream? And how can you say that it’s a nightmare?

Dear Lim,

I have been in love with you for a very long time. I think I was in love with you before I was even born. Whoa, I exaggerated that quite a bit. I just want to say that this feeling is long overdue and should’ve expired years ago.

I don’t know what led me to believe that there was something between us. Maybe it was just me over thinking things, or maybe it was you who toyed with my feelings and thought it was a good pastime to make someone believe in something so surreal.

I hate you.

For quite quite sometime I did but hatred is such an overwhelming feeling that eats my whole being and I cant afford to lose bits and pieces of who I am just so I can hate you. That’s why I retorted back to just loving you.

I was a teenager. Just turning 17 and still being stupid about things, love, life, and responsibilities. I thought angst was the blanket that would hide my emotional persona, and I thought you broke through that giant bucket of angst I wore on top of my head.

I was too close to believing.

You know why fraud is a crime? It’s not because somebody’s properties were taken away. It’s because people hate it when other people they are supposed to trust played God with their mind. And they don’t want the feeling of being the stupid one that unconsciously played into the con man’s game. People hate being stupid.

And they hate the person that led them to the stupidity. They hated that the reality they thought, was just something that was schemed up so smoothly to match perfectly their taste and to lead them to the choice the con man wants them to go for.

You’re a fraud.

You’re a con man.

I hated you for that.

I don’t know what else to believe in. You know what I thought at first? Oh crap, now I’m someone else’s laughing stock. And that’s why it stabbed me so hard at first.

Years pass by and I can’t even seem to look someone in the eye without thinking of you. I always compare them to who you are. Everything. Even you’re long black hair. I thought I was being stupid, and yes I was being stupid. Hell you made me stupid.

But then I still love you. At the back of my head, if you say you’re sorry I’ll still love you. Even if you don’t say you’re sorry, if you’ll just connect with me again, I’ll still love you. For the record, I never stopped loving you. I wanted to! But I just can’t.

I needed the lies, and the smiles, and the stupidity and the lies, lies, lies so I can feed the monster that’s eating my whole being. And that monster is you. Those lies were the happiest days of my life even if they’re just lies.

You know how far I’d go? I’m willing to become the mistress. Oh yeah, I heard you got married, and I heard she’s a mom now. Fuck, now I’m the bad guy. I don’t hate her, and I’m not planning to hate her. It’s not about her, this is about you and unfortunately, also about me.

I dreamt about you two nights ago. We were having fun, and laughing and you were staring at me. Then I woke up, and the hurt rushed back like a gargoyle slapping me with his backhand.

It was a dream that turned into a nightmare when I woke up. I would’ve stayed in that dream but I’m a human dude, I have to eventually wake up, and live the nightmare.

Wow. that felt really good. This is the first time I let this out. It was living inside me and I thought that this thought would’ve stayed inside me, and build it’s tent and live inside with me, but writing about it… I feel so good that I did.

With still lots of love,
Stella

Sixteen Three-Point Shooter


Topic #76 : What’s your favorite number and why?

Now that I think about it, I never changed my favorite number for ages. It’s been 16 since I was in grade school.

It was kind of a long story, but I’ll tell it anyway.

When I was young, my dad, my brother, and I used to watch NBA in the middle of the night. It was usually played around 10-12 in the evening, I think. We would grab something to eat, and get drowned in the couch, and watch the game vigorously.

I wasn’t really a fan of basketball at that time, (yes I did become a fan of the game later on but the fandom has faded now) and I would just sit there asking tons of questions, and I really didn’t understood the game I just wanted to spend that time with them. Plus I didn’t want to be left out at their basketball talks during dinners, and whatnots. I’m nosy, I know.

They were (and still are) a big fan of the Lakers, and Kobe Bryant, and stuffs, and yellow, and purple. Pfft. I don’t know why but I never really came to like Lakers and Kobe Bryant and stuffs of yellow and purple. (?)

So every time the Lakers is playing, I would cheer the other team, and of course they’d boo me, and cheer the Lakers out. Then they played against Sacramento Kings, and I fell in love with Peja Stojakovic’s awesomest three-pointers (I don’t know if he’s still the awesomest, I don’t care anyway), and guess what his jersey number was SIXTEEN (16).

And I was immature, yeah I know, and I wrote it on papers, and it tagged along after my name, etcetera, etcetera. I never got rid of that number.

It’s funny how I’ve forgotten that was my favorite number, now I remembered how much I used and abused it, and still is my favorite number 🙂