Framed in a Japanese Dream

I had this dream about 12 hours ago. Incredibly surreal, I have to say. Let me paint you a picture first. About four days ago, I burnt what I think was all my “mementos” of my ex. I also realised how rubbish I am at burning things. Three years ago, my wallet that had money, an ID, and my ex’s letters to me was stolen.

The dream, as far as I can remember, starts with me walking alone in a small street lined with low-rise buildings in Tokyo. It was a cold and grey day. My red and black winter jacket was up my neck. The black beanie I wore didn’t do shit so I bought a pair of brown earmuffs. I wore black mittens that did nothing to protect my delicate woman-like fingers against the weather so I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jacket. I passed by a couple of traditional Japanese ramen bars. You know, the ones with the wood and paper sliding door. I kept walking until I saw this shop that sold accessories. The glass windows that reached from the ceiling to the floor were the most modest not that I know what a boastful glass window looks like. There wasn’t any door, which I didn’t find strange at all. The walls were a kind of sea-foam-green with glass shelves upon shelves bolted to it. Some shelves had bags and shoes, some had magazines.

One rack near the entrance caught my attention since it said, “Used wallets. 50% off.” I was convinced that people came to this shop and had pawned their wallets. Following that logic, the rack of wallets of different shapes, sizes, colour, and material were those that weren’t bought back. The thought that these could be stolen was non-existent. I looked at these wallets like how I was looking for books to buy–by appearance. I only ever buy wallets that are made of leather, folds, and has many slots.

My eyes widened when I saw a leather wallet with black lettering on a red canvas. For a moment I turned into Indiana Jones in the Temple of doom, slowly reaching for the wallet. It certainly was the same brand (Tough Jeansmith has the best Japanese leather wallets btw). I slowly unbuttoned it open as if it were my lover in a rainy day. It had nothing but the letters from my ex. “I can finally burn everything,” I mumbled. Continue reading

No Right to Fall in Love

This will sound completely stupid bordering absolute absurdity but at 2am, anything probably makes sense. There is this one person that I wanted to fall in love with ever since I first knew about him. It’s been five years since then, and all I’ve been able to do was stalk him over the internet. I try to look for decent photographs but he’s never out. I wanna know what other people think of him but he never interacts. He loves jazz on vinyl, coffee and alcohol with decent food, and incidentally has opened a coffeehouse and jazz bar because of it. Tokyo night life is probably the second thing he’s most interested in. Not the host clubs and karaoke, the I’ll-smoke-this-pack-till-4am kind. The first is probably love or some sort of human relationship, just in case you were wondering. I wouldn’t want to leave a thought out. Many of his colleagues, who are in the same line of profession, criticise him. He just loves breaking boundaries, and he’s good at it. That’s why I’ve always wanted be in love with this man. Yet I feel like I have no right to be. I know many things about him but know little about what he loves doing–write. I guess that’s what Haruki Murakmi does to people. I told you this would sound stupid bordering absolute whateverity. It’s 2am so who gives a fuck. It will probably take me years to finish all his works given that I’m taking my sweet time making notes on every page.

Headache

A sick mother, I have no job to help pay for medicine and the operation (let alone save for grad school), and a father that’s apprehensive on giving help. This is pulling me down. I can’t go anywhere with this. I unfortunately have to take responsibility because I really would like to see mother live longer. It’s a disgusting thought to know that my father has abandoned his role as a loving husband, which is why I bear the responsibility. I’m jealous of friends that don’t have a two-ton anchor weighing them down. Fuck you all.

The Effects of Being Rejected for Employment

I’ll keep this short since I don’t have much drive in me. For about three months, I’ve been sending CVs, going to interviews, and taking tests. I told myself that feeling disappointed after getting a rejection letter was normal but as more rejection letters kept pouring in, a cesspool of depression began to build inside of me. It wasn’t the companies’ fault that they rejected me, and it isn’t even my fault that I was rejected. “I just wasn’t good enough.” That thought found itself in the crevices of my brain wrinkles, and it was pure poison.

This poison couldn’t be stopped. It was the truth. Doing my best wasn’t good enough, and there are an infinite (well not really) amount of people who are infinitely better than me.

I went to a job interview a week ago with high hopes of getting accepted. I got there early, an hour early. There was a 7 eleven nearby so I decided to grab myself a cup of hot water with soil and milk. Sitting there and staring out the windows with dozens of people whizzing by made me feel alone. Everyone needed to be somewhere because their work told them to do so. I was a stationary rock with an affinity for hot water with soil and milk. I threw the joe away and made my way to the office. All my confidence had mysteriously disappeared.

I saw an acquaintance from uni at the office, and my stomach began to churn. Needless to say, I got rejected. The interviewer told me upfront that I was just going to be frustrated in this workspace. I will never forget her words, “You’re so young. You’re like 24? 23? And yet you look so weathered out.” Lady, you don’t know the half of it.

At the elevator on the way out, my friend asked, “What are you going to do now?”

I drew a blank. I didn’t know what to do next. “I guess I’ll just go home then.” I said.

I was so depressed that I didn’t even hug my friend good-bye. I just waved and walked away. Each step I took to the bus station was a pang to the chest. My teeth began to grit, and my hands turned into fists. The poison had hit me hard. On the way to the train station in the bus, I broke down. I just started crying. I covered my face with my bag but everyone could hear me. The only thing I could think of was, “Why wasn’t I good enough? Why am I not good enough? WHY WHY WHY? FUCK!!”

For 20 minutes, I cried in that bus. For 20 minutes, I tried to hide my red eyes in the train. For 20 minutes, I cried at home.

My Once Attraction to You

There’s this girl at uni that I had the pterodactyls for. It’s like Watsky said, “She didn’t give me butterflies. She gave me pterodactyls.” She seemed so unrealistically beautiful. Each time I was near her, I was pushed down the rabbit hole and got lost in Wonderland. Curiouser and curiouser, I wanted to know about this creature. I call her Snow White. She thought she’s called that because she looks like White, but it’s the enigma that makes people flock around her. I stayed away since the dinosaurs flapped their wings harder and harder as I got closer and closer. I was afraid that I’d fly away, fly away to Wonderland and never come back.

Never in my lifetime did I think I would be good friends with White. I worked, ate, traveled, hiked, suffered, shared stories, slept (literally), smoked (just me though), partied, looked for jobs, and laughed with her. I was cloud nine.

As I got to know her better, her personality opened up or maybe she was changing. Either way, she wasn’t the White that I’ve known for years. White, as it turns out, is just like any ordinary girl–weird. She wasn’t an enigma but an introvert. Her ordinary side of her hooked me to her, and I couldn’t stay away. I imagined what it would be like dating her, holding her or at least making her happy like no one else could.

On my last two days of internship, White and I played an honesty game. I asked what makes her hate me. She hates that people care for her too much. She wants to be alone but she can’t reject people’s feelings. But she has. She’s been going through a lot and with this new knowledge of how much she hates being choked with caring, I tried to be less intrusive. Nothing really worked because she ignored my messages.

I’ve realised that I can’t like someone that pushes people away, would rather be alone, or has to understand that people care. She told me that she wants to be alone with her thoughts. That’s natural but to be left alone indefinitely is not healthy. I’ve been through the same type of loneliness and being open with friends and loved ones is the best way to get through life, not fending off life by yourself. Humans are social beings not hermits on a deserted island.

It hurt so much when White was pushing me away. I truly and genuinely did care for her. I wanted to help her in some way. And now, I have to detach my feelings for her before I get hurt even more. I’m not sure if White has trust issues, but she needs to let people into her life especially that ones that want to help her.

P.S. I’m not sure if you truly did care for me. The only thing you cared about was me getting a job or getting through a day of work and not the other personal troubles I told you about. Was this your way of showing that you didn’t care but thought it was rude to say? If it was, then you really are an asshole.

Mother’s Painful Memory

When I was still very young and living in England, I one day felt a tremendous amount of sadness from my mother. We were going back to the Philippines. My mother acted like someone had died. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was so confused. On the plane, my mother started crying. She looked out the window and cried silently. I looked to my father and expected that he’d explain what was going on. I was ignored like how he ignored my mother. I thought we were going on vacation, that we were going back. Fear overwhelmed me when I saw the slums of Manila. This was not a vacation. This was permanent. “Is this Hell?” I remember telling myself. That was how I knew my father was not a husband to my mother. He had forced us to go with his stupid decision, and he knew that a child and a submissive mother would not do anything about it.

Blue Sky and White Clouds Mused Me

This is my last term DLSU. Yes, I am opening this blog entry with the idea of leaving. For the past months, that seems to be theme I’ve been living in. Goodbye academic world and hello working world! Please take it easy on this unemployed fresh grad with zero professional work experience. Wouldn’t that be Utopian?

Thesis and internship invaded so much of my personal life that I haven’t been able to finish three books since the start of the year. My mother’s finished four books in a month! I drowned in a sea of envy during my “thesis writing sessions” when I saw her reading on the couch whilst drinking tea. Since thesis is done, I get to read my book during breaks at the office.

Interning is giving me some rather interesting things to think about. A few days after I started, I rode a jeepney to said company, and the driver was this really jolly guy. He had friends everywhere along the route he drove. His smile revealed rotting teeth but he wasn’t afraid to show his happiness he created along that route of his. It hit me that this guy, someone who’s probably never gone through college, high school or even elementary, is happier than I am. I pretty much have everything I could ever need–opportunities for a better future. Yet this guy has found the happiness that I’ve been trying so hard to find. Sure enough, he’d be happy if he had a better paying job. But I think he’d miss the people.

Anyway, I have 3 weeks, 3 day, and 5 hours left in my internship. I hope something interesting happens.

I’m perverse. You always knew, but I’m saying it.

My chest was invaded by pieces ever-expanding shards of ice. What was happening to me? I considered that a long shower would calm me down.

My invader liquefied into a thick hot stream of satin which coursed my arteries till my heart realized it was drowning in adrenalin. I felt so hot, unstable, and dizzy that the wall that protected my naked body from the outside quickly became a mother’s embrace while my shower head continued to rain on me. I tried catching my breath; I say I tried because I only got worse.

I relinquished myself to my veiled invader, not knowing what it was that made me concede. I concluded that I was longing for someone. Why? I thought. I don’t know why, but I wanted it. Of all the people I’ve been with, fell in love with, kissed with, held hands with, gazed eyes with, caught scent with, touched skins with, and shared silence with, there was only one in my mind. I had an unnatural desire to have her.

My synapses sparked for her when I had seconds for myself. This time was different; she just wouldn’t disappear from my head. Continue reading