Rendezvous
03 July 04 : 11.37 PM
This entry was long. I wrote it thrice, and spent hours on it. Twice, for unforeseen reasons, the entry couldn't be published. The third, I'd posted, reread, but decided I didn't want to be too honest. So I have replaced that entry with this, a much shorter note.
My first weblog, at the age of 11, was at purpelic.com. In there, I'd written a lot about my life, and mentioned names all the time. The pages were, amusingly, filled with words like fuck, bitch, whore, loser, asshole, dyke, bastard etc. Glenda found out about it, somehow and pretty soon I stopped writing in it. I was bitching too much in it.
My relationship with online diaries is temperamental. One moment I'd be writing incessantly, and the next, I'd probably close the site down. If I'm not wrong, this is my 6th.
But this time, it's different. My words here are dressed up with fancy bodices and exquisite tiaras. They are words that I could not recognize as mine, sometimes. I did that and tricked people into telling me I write beautifully.
The bodice is too tight, so suffocating, and the black laces are torn. The gleaming jewels of the tiara need polishing up because it's now dull and oh no, did the heart-shaped gem fall off? The words are crying hard and I don't wanna dry their tears.
Being with Cliff, I gradually stopped writing. It used to be like a reflex, for me to take my book and a pen and start writing trivial teeny emotions and rants. Now it doesn't even occur to me to write on paper at all.
There's a patent difference, typing it all out on /pause and writing it on paper. My words are more raw, more real perhaps, when I write with my fingers wrapped around a pen.
I'm always bemoaning my inability to write anymore, but I think it's because I've ripped all my soul and tried to turn it into something else, so much so that maybe it's for the better that I can't write. I take my thoughts like a fictional story and place them here, on digital pages for others. Or, for you to see and maybe think of me the way I want you to.
I'm feigning my whole life online. The events did take place. But sometimes the lyricalness and poeticality are things that didn't happen there and then. They happened in my mind and through my bleeding fingers with the help of my accumulated vocabulary. A lot of times things happen that linger in my mind for a long time after, but I don't write them, or I write them with such vagueness, though I want to write it all, it doesn't happen because I don't want to be judged, or feel that it wouldn't be an entry worth letting others view.
I don't want to be judged.
He, She, Them... Sometimes I don't mention names just because.
But on top of it all, the reason most tangible would be that I've been ashamed of things I'm doing and embarrassed by myself and almost disgusted that I would never want to have a book, memories of the person I am now.
So understand when I write things that don't make sense or is completely out of place. In my mind, they do.
Lately, I seem changed.
I used to be able to watch MTV or CNN at odd hours, alone in the living room with a book to write in ceaselessly. It would be quiet, save the sounds of the television. I would fall asleep with the television on, but would wake up in time to see the transition from night to day. The best part of a day, is the dewy night-turn-mornings with the melodic chirpings of the birds and chillness of fresh air. Funny because none of the windows in my house are ever open.
I think of that time, doing that, with great nostalgia because for some reason, I'd enjoyed the solitude so much. It was like I was in tune with myself and my thoughts and for once, everything was clear as water ice crystals. I can hear my own breathing while it felt like everything else in the world was holding their's.
I can't do that anymore. I can't abide the quietude.
Just now, I'd sat there while they smoked and I was looking over at the busstop opposite and the people that walked off the descending esculator. My thoughts were flitting about in my mind. Yesterday too, while we walked from Far East to Heeren's. I thought abt this distancing and felt maybe, maybe that's why girls like Esther and Sylvia used to feel uncomfortable with me.
When I'm with you, am I just as distant? Or am I talkative and giggly? It shows a lot about how I feel towards you.
He says I've got one façade too many, that I should start being myself.
Isn't it ironic that among my 1,374 mp3 files that I'd placed on random playlist, Bon Jovi's Never Say Goodbye is being played at this moment? I had to switch it to Guano Apes' hyping rock music, or it would have been so depressing.
I'd write soon. I promise. Take it as a hiatus. I have some taking out to do with myself.
Maybe I'll strip the bodice and put on a brand new chiffon dress and find that heart-shaped gem again.