despite everything

you get your dreams for a while. you build them.

the world deals you cards you never, ever expected. you find yourself turning into someone else. hurting someone you thought you loved – so much, so very much.

how do you find it to forgive yourself?
how do you find it to get up the next day?

and you miss it all. you miss what it meant, what it could have been.
but that was then. this is now. now what? where do we begin?

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All hail St. Anger

Again and again the world has a funny, hurtful way of reminding me whom to trust and distrust. And again: How alone I really am.

It’s like the older I get, the less open I become to the idea of letting other people in. And then one day everything will just spontaneously combust.

I can’t remember where I read this, but I fervently believe: One cannot be honest and kind at the same time.

The longer your lies, the less alone you’ll be.

It’s sad that I’m just counting down the days left until I no longer have to see your faces as I pass the hallway.

You bring out the worst in me.

Multiple choice

A. I suppose I should feel better about not having been writing, having been seemingly happier elsewhere, plagued with more immediate needs, concerns, things that burn (i.e., schoolwork, possibility of failing, sort of).

B. I suppose I should feel better about being good at something I used to think I was bad at- but now all they say is “Congratulations,” or “Your face, it’s everywhere,” and sometimes I want to veer from the standard thank-you, oh-wow, oh-thanks, to something more like so-what, so-what-now, so instead I end up saying oh-kay.

C. I suppose I should feel less given that exams are near and I really have to do everything I can to hold on, become something useful, said the mirror, said the mother, said the memory of someone I used to love.

D. I suppose I should feel, considering you called me first, called me pretty, but baby all I feel is pretty plain, plagued, pressured to perform perfectly else everything is picked apart, piece by piece so instead I say thank-you, passively let a passing person pursue me instead: feign interest, pretty please?

Sealed with a present

Strange habit of deciding important decisions when I give and receive presents.

Birthday just passed. Tried to write about it, failed. Haven’t written anything in about 2 weeks. Not trying to. Happy to be somewhat happy (calm, less preoccupied with volatile things, views).

In the middle of all that though I realize unfinished poem is about you. Maybe I’ll continue placing things in it in the passing days, make something out of what would have been someone (making no sense, sorry).

Hello

I’ve been losing sleep the past few days typing papers following attempts to read and digest required documents. Desire has been subdued to a single word: passing. Pass this part of life, this phase hopefully not meant to faze whatever face I’ve left to put up. Pah.

I’ve been losing the time to eat early mornings as well. Seemingly silly decision but I pick a shot at being beautiful, applying color to my face over sitting down at the same span of time, gobbling cornflakes to add to my waistline. For now I realize a single gingerbread cookie hastily consumed while driving through a long stretch of street heading to school will suffice.

Routine: sleep in school, sign attendance, attempt to study, exchange daily stories with individuals of interest (usually D, F, G, K, or H; I miss talking to M but well, life. Happens). Drive back home, do work, dillydally, do something else. Other priorities pile up. Pretend to remain calm. Other people pop into the picture. Pretend to care. Friends send post cards and private messages at the dead of night. The body, numb to the rules of the international dateline, the difference in timezones, does not mind. Promise to reply soon anyway. Attempt to strike conversation via Skype cockblocked by imminent desire to sleep.

Updates: X broke up with Y but anyone who knew the entire tiring tirade of arguments and compromises exchanged between them of late, added to whine and cheese and tossed-in-your-face-I-don’t-want-this-anymore presents would agree- we saw this coming. X consults me for almost anything that resembles a decision these past few weeks. I tire but I try to be a good friend. N approaches imminent breakdown, lashes out on few friends s/he has; everyone watches from a safe distance, placing bets on imaginary players as if the winner would be anyone except this actual, living person. I still don’t have whom I want but I’ve come to terms with that (from the List of Things I Tell Myself: Terminal cases have it worse off).

Yesterday: Strict preceptor only took note of 5 out of 12 people in our group due to tardiness. We spent the rest of the time proving ourselves by examining infants in the pediatric ward.

Other situations: First time to encounter a patient who shares my name. Younger than me by a month. Confined to the Psychiatric ward. Convinced she is dying from love. Refuses to answer questions concerning object of affections. Most information extracted from her mother.

The other day: 10 year old diagnosed with leukemia was wheeled through the halls of the ward while we were busy examining another patient.  Friend assigned to that child said she was going to die soon and she didn’t know it yet. Another friend, formerly assigned to same leukemic child noted how strange to see the little girl with short hair now when previously it used to be so long.

Life is happening.