The Lost Touch

A quarter past one in the morning. Here I am inside my room, in front of my PC. I’m trying to think of something to pour out into this keyboard, something to put into writing. I’ve spent almost an hour now, trying, thinking, speaking to myself, searching the dictionary for the most appropriate words to begin my article with, typing, and afterwards, deleting the text I just typed. Still, I haven’t come up with anything, not a single sentence, not even a single word. I’m definitely sure that something’s not right here --- something’s wrong with me.

I’m not usually like this. Writer’s block is not in my vocabulary. Back then, I only had to think about what I was gonna write for a few minutes in front of my computer, type a few paragraphs, do some editing, and voila! I’m done with my writing! Being in the mood to write or not wasn’t such a big deal for me. I could always find enough reason for me to work on another article. Whether I was inspired by someone or something, or compelled by someone (who, most of the time, was myself), I could write just anything.

Now, let’s see. What seems to be the problem? I don’t have any problem. If I had a problem, I would be able to write something. Problems inspire me to write, and make me come up with very nice pieces. Why so? Because I draw all my emotions out of my system and into my pieces. And that gives them the voice and the emotion. It makes me feel a lot better, being stoic, and being able to write such articles.

If I’m not experiencing a writer’s block, and my mood’s out of the question, and I don’t have a problem, then what is it?

Have I just lost my touch?

Or…

Have I ever had such a thing from the very start?

You decide. You read my chronicles.

My Heart Asks The Silliest Questions

Will she ever turn back to me?

This is the question that is tattooed on my mind. I just keep on thinking of the answers to this one day and night. You got it right. Day and night. Well, yeah, this isn’t a very difficult question. There will be only two answers, no matter what. Just a simple yes, or a simple no. I know it’s the stupidest question you’ve ever heard of. But when your heart is jaded and wounded, you don’t get to realize all that. All you know is that you’re hurt, exhausted, enervated, and you don’t wanna think about anything else. You’ve given her all you’ve got, but she thinks you’re not good enough. You think she’s the right one for you, and you can never find another girl. You think you’ve just had enough, and you evaluate yourself. You ask yourself questions. The stupidest and mushiest questions. You come to think if she’ll ever turn back to you. That’s what I’ve been asking myself since time immemorial. That’s what I’m asking myself now. And another thing that keeps on bugging me is if it’s gonna be yes, why? And if it’s gonna be a big NO, why not?

She will turn back to me.

Okay, let’s say she will turn back to me. Why? I don’t know. She has her reasons. I think she just realized that I’m a big loss of hers. That she won’t be happy with another guy. That she finally found love in me. That’s it! I got it! Oh, and don’t think that I’m so vain and arrogant. These are just presumptions, you know. I guess one of these will be one of her reasons for turning back to me. And what if…

She will never turn back to me?

Oh, this is gonna be a big disaster. Talk about losing her my entire godforsaken life! I guess I would just have to admit it if that would be that case. Why won’t she ever turn back to me? You don’t know? I don’t know either. But she definitely does. Lemme guess. Hmmm, she thinks it’s not gonna work out? Nah, stupid answer. Her friends don’t like me for her? How stupid can you get? You’ve got the same set of friends for god’s sake! Err, she has a boyfriend? Good shot. She’s had enough of me? That’s another one. I’m not her type of a guy? Maybe. She loves the bad-boy type. I’m just not the type of a guy she likes.

Well, I guess all the questioning will lead me nowhere. I won’t know the answers if I just keep on asking myself. This is nonsense. I won’t even try picking petals one by one while chanting “She’ll turn back to me, She’ll turn back to me not.” I still have my wits together, thank you very much.

It’s just a matter of time before the answers are revealed.

As for me, I’ll be waiting for that very moment.

Un[der]appreciated

There is nothing wrong.

Nothing’s wrong with me.

I’m nice. I’m cute. I’m tall, dark, and handsome. Don’t laugh at me! I’m serious here, you know. I’ve got kind of curly hair. What’s with having curly hair? And quit that “kulot-salot” thing. Stereotyping is definitely a no-no. I’m kind. I used to ask you out to lunch. I took you home from school in my car a number of times. I gave you a lot of things. Love, affection, attention, caring, a nice-looking glow-in-the-dark shirt, a Blue Magic glass thingy with a condom inside and a message that read “Break Glass In Case Of Emergency,” a cell phone, and hey, you still have my Benetton sport perfume and my stupid brother’s pathetic big big big high-school-fashioned elephant pants!

What the fuck is your problem?

I don’t know what’s with you that keeps you from appreciating all the things I’ve done for you. And I don’t know what’s with me that keeps me doing those things even if I am unappreciated. Well, I love you. And when I say I love you, I don’t expect anything in return. Call me stupid, loser, dunce. Call me whatever you like. That’s what love really is, isn’t it? Or maybe, it’s only me. No, it’s not me, I think. It’s you. You got a big problem. You are selfish. You only think of yourself, your looks, and of course, your ego. You don’t know when and how to appreciate the people around you, especially me. And why me? Because I’m always around you. Because I never fail to lose my breath at the sight of you. Because I go nuts when I’m with you. That’s why.

Well, yeah, I know I haven’t been always good. I could be really nasty and bad bad bad sometimes. I know I uttered offensive words when we had a problem one time. I thought you just deserved that. And I know I was wrong. I know I smoke. So what if I smoke Davidoff? You smoke too. You often asked cigarettes from me. At least, I don’t smoke weed nor crack. I know I drink, but I only get drunk when I’m depressed. And more often than not, you’re the reason I find that causes my depression.

Now, tell me. What’s the matter with me?

There is nothing wrong.

Nothing’s wrong with me…

I guess…

Thanks

Thanks a lot.

I’m so thankful I was craving for coffee that Friday afternoon. I’m so thankful I ran out of powdered coffee in the kitchen. I’m so thankful I had a few hundred bucks in my wallet. I’m so thankful I decided to go to the nearest Starbucks Coffee shop and get a Mocha Frap and two slices of Oreo Cheesecake. I’m so thankful I was really careless about the world around me that day. I’m so thankful I accidentally bumped into you as I entered the shop. I’m so thankful you had geeky glasses and a big big bag. I’m so thankful your bag fell. I’m so thankful I picked it up and handed it to you. I’m so thankful I met you. I’m so thankful I got to know you.

Thanks a lot.

Why am I so thankful about all this?

Because you saved me. Me and my ruined life. You never gave up on me. You made me get over all the bitterness that used to paralyze my entire being with melancholy and emaciation. You helped me get out of this shit I had been in for the past 5 years. You helped me gather the broken pieces of myself and rebuild a new me. You helped me move on and find some new meaning in life. You gave me all the love and caring I ever needed. You brought me bliss.

You’re truly one of I kind. I often wondered if you were for real. I never imagined I would ever meet someone like you.

Then suddenly, I woke up.

You’re not for real, but I’m still thankful I met you…

Once upon a dream…