one of the more harmless habits that i have is this tendency to write blogposts, and then delete it two seconds after i publish it. or just never post it up at all.
i do it for a myriad of reasons. for the more serious posts, sometimes i fear that i may be revealing too much about a certain subject, and so i take it down. sometimes it’s for the cathartic factor - i just want to put my feelings into words, without having to show anyone what i’ve written. sometimes it’s just plain irresolution. or sometimes i just never finish what i wanted to write.
but whatever it is, i have a shitload of draft posts on my Wordpress dashboard and in Microsoft Notepad, just sitting around collecting dust. all these past accounts of what has already happened, things that i have already forgotten and put behind me. today i kinda just took them all out and read them. and i thought hey, since it’s all over. why not share them?
so here they are. all of the posts were really long, so i just extracted a small part of each of them to put up.
Title : How I Love
my love is not static, never consistent. it adapts and it changes, and happens for different reasons. sometimes for the wrongest. sometimes it is the complete opposite of the one before it. sometimes they are of different intensities and different levels. but each time, it is always love. i know because even though they are not the same and they dont look the same or make me behave in the same ways of the same loves, i just know. it just happens. like a breaking-news running commentary in the window of my mind, it just scrolls across without me ever really prompting it — I Love This Person. two seconds and a perplexed blink later, it is gone, but i know it was there, that freak occurrence. that revelation. that heartbeat-skipping secret that i never confess to the other person.
Title : Hypocrites and Visitor Tags
but somewhere deep down inside, under some uncovered trapdoor of my heart, i think i kind of miss school and the shelter it provided. things were simple then, in a hurricane sort of way, but simple nevertheless. people were so easy, they could be read like books. nowadays i barely recognise people, what with all their deceptive layers piled up on them. high school drama was fun, too. all our little romances and friendships and histrionics .. i hope college will have the same amount of em or else it’s just gonna be so boring.
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it’s so funny to watch people blow their own cover. even funnier to watch them scramble around picking up the bits and pieces trying to salvage the situation when they realize their mistake just a fragment of a second too late.
i like watching people i dont like suffer in this way. cos i dont even have to do anything to watch them come undone right before my very eyes. i know, it’s a sadistic predilection, but i get an odd feeling of wrathful satisfaction from it. i just have to keep quiet and stare at them with big round eyes, and the message sinks in far better than it would have if i had picked a fight or confronted them in a fit of anger.
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i once spat in an ex-boyf’s face that our 1-year relationship was ‘an absolute waste of my time’. we were in the middle of a heated argument, and after i said that he just froze and looked as if i’d slapped him or something. he stared at me for the longest time, until i started to feel uncomfortable. i was about to apologize when he said, ‘you dont mean that. please tell me you dont.’
Title : Inspiration
today’s one of those days. one of those days where i have a task, an impending deadline, and no inspiration. two weeks ago it was a speech. last week it was an application essay. this week it’s a fictional essay. i breezed through the first because MAS air stewardesses and their curt politeness (or maybe it was the Pepsi they tried to pass off as Coke) triggered some sort of creative chemical in my brain. the second task i chucked out the window. i could do the same for the third, only i dont want to, so now i’m sitting here with a blank MS Notepad open on my desktop, trying to squeeze some form of genius through my fingers, onto the keyboard, and ultimately onto a sheet of paper drenched in what is hopefully double spaced 10pt Arial literary flair.
Title : Like, Ew
if it happens to me once, or twice, or maybe even three times, i can tolerate it. i may not be the most patient of people but sometimes my compassion and pity capacity can run up to a rather decent level because i believe we should exercise a bit of magnanimity for the idiots of the world. however my tolerance meter is now bust, exploded, and completely detonated.
because i cannot stand jealous girlfriends. or their pussy-whipped lying cheating boyfriends.
Title : I’m Not An Adult
what is a kid relationship? it is the kind of relationship where no mind games are involved. no mental tango in a cramped space, and every meeting isnt a chess game to see who will outlast the other. things are easy, things are simple, i can ask my boyfriend, “do you love me?” without having to worry if it is something too potent to bring in at this point in the relationship. we can lie on the same bed and talk without me feeling like i’m being pressured into having sex.
Title : Comfortable
.. the way he looks so crestfallen when i tell him i hate the ice cream flavour he brought over. when we sit on his kitchen floor eating cup noodles at 4 in the morning. when he watches America’s Next Top Model with me despite hating reality tv shows with a fervor. that smile. the warm way he talks to the hired help. the way he immediately puts his cigarette away whenever i come in the room ..
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and dont you see? that’s what i want. alone time. i want to just GO AWAY. i’m tired of all that people demand from me. right now as i write this, there is a mute commotion behind me. it’s like The Scream personified. such horror preserved in silent, soundless suppression. it’s brimming with the tension of torture. sometimes when i cant sleep at night, i pray that when i get married, i wont turn out like this.
Title : Dedicated To You
but like i always have, i choose to ignore it. pretend that i’m daft and that i do not see or recognize what you’re asking of me. because i dont want to give it to you. why do you demand so much of me? almost relentlessly. you know how it is, yet you still keep coming back for more.
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the drop of the keys on the glass table is jarring. sharp, and like metal scraping on metal. it is such an awkward situation you have flung us into, why did you have to drop your keys on to the glass table? the air is terse, still, and it carries on its invisible curves a million and one possibilities. i turn around to look for something to talk about, but before i can turn around again you are on me, your hands are on my waist and your chin is on my cheek and your lips are on mine. i cannot help but yield.
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