Re-Offender

I haven't been blogging as much for the past ... 6 months or so, and that's been a routine. I blog like hell for a few months, then I go on hiatus for a year. I just don't know if anybody actually bothers reading this stuff, not that it should matter, but I like knowing that some people are interested in my thoughts. I'm contemplating moving to wordpress or something, because Blogger just feels so outdated. I don't even know the pros/cons of wordpress lol so that might be pointless. Not like moving will help me write any better.

Anyway, I'm in that pickle where you don't really have anyone who'll understand the complexities of your mind except yourself, and writing it all out is the best way to put your thoughts into something concrete. There's always the problem of wording it, though. Thoughts are so intangible, but so potent. It's so difficult to put what you really mean into words.

Oh, language, you're a funny thing.

I'm a bit inconsistent when it comes to trusting. It's so hard to gain, but so easy to lose. Like a reputation, I guess. I've always been a bit too trusting. Once you're a regular in my life, I don't really hold back when it comes to trust. I'm always wary, though. With everyone. I always assume something bad might be brewing, or that a friend might have a secret grudge against me. I guess that doesn't make me so trusting after all. Or maybe it does, I'm probably just paranoid.

There's this one person who constantly lets me down, and I always pull out more chances. I guess when you love someone you start off by saying "one more chance," or "this is the last time," but you never really mean it once that second, third, fourth, time comes around. I'm lost in that grey-zone of "What I Should Know" when it comes to another person's life. We all have things we hide from certain people, like from parents, people you aren't close to, boyfriends, even. I guess I don't like hiding things from boyfriends, and I don't like things hidden from me, I like to know exactly where I stand. But based on all the recurring issues, I suppose that the universe is trying to tell me that it's naive to assume you know everything.

It's probably also naive to assume that someone can permanently stop hurting you.

It's also naive to assume that you aren't hurting the other person.

I'm naive.

The Whale Song

Adrift on the ocean floor; weightless and numb.

Searching for a feeling from long ago.

A thread of memory, uncut in the clutter of yesteryear. 

Salty breath and seafoam hair, I cannot place myself.

Oil-slick pools in the night sky; turquoise glass by daylight.

Therapeutic powers of the sun, awake me from this idle dreaming.

Awake me by the monstrous crash of waves beneath fishermen's boats.

Rust up my windows and stiffen my clothes that hang on the line.

White, crisp, scent of sea.

HONG KONG & MACAU 2011

It's hard to look back and see the truth.

I feel somewhat sad. Not the obvious sadness, but the kind that creeps up on you and reminds you of a time long ago, where things were much happier and vivid, and the nostalgia leaves you feeling funny because you realize that you no longer live in colour like you used to. It's like finishing an episode of your favourite tv show and realizing you have to wait a week for the next one, or submitting a project when you know that you could have done so much better.

I don't know if I've matured or if something inside me died.

Maybe it's the paranoia, I've been so paranoid lately, and by lately I mean a year or so. I've been growing up a lot in the past few years and faced things that not many of my peers have faced. Maybe that's what makes some of the daily happenings seem like pointless footnotes in a world of such bigger events.

And it worries me, because I don't want to be that grayscale person with the cloud constantly overhead. Wasn't I a fun person, once upon a time?  Wasn't I carefree and loud and energetic? I don't feel that way anymore, I feel like there's a barrier that stops me once I reach a certain level of energy, and now I just can't be bothered to get any higher. But it makes me so sad to think that I'll never be that childish again.

Is this growing up, or is this just sadness?

I've always been saying that when a person you love dies, a part of you dies too.

But it's not just that, it can't be.

BLACK PROM.

So, the theatrical musical I was a part of for the past 2 months has finally come to a close. I don't know how to feel, because Black Prom gave me so much to be happy about. Acting is one of my first passions, and to be able to do it again seemed surreal. Yes, the hours were long and it was hard to balance sleep, school, friends and BlueRepertory, but it was so worth it in every way. I don't know what I'll be doing from 4pm-10pm now. I don't know how I'll spend my breaks in college. I don't know what jokes I'll be telling! This is horrible. But nonetheless, I'm so grateful it happened.

The summer we sat in the sun, we raised you.

Saliva dried up in our mouths like an August drought, and a thin layer of sweat filmed our faces. Eyes squinted up at the sky as the sun burned holes through our eyelids. We were children on the bridge to adulthood, teenagers, still discovering our place in the world, questioning if there was even such a thing.

Ripened peaches fell from the trees and hit the ground like canonballs, their fuzzy skin bursting with juices; flies hovered over the destroyed fruit, sucking up their nectar. The sweet stench filled the hot air, both refreshing and sickly.

It was the peak of summer, the orchard alive with birds and bees. We were tasked to stay outside and scare the pests away when we would much rather be jumping into cool, clean waters, drenching our clothes, and playing with the frogs. 

Those days were the epitome of summer:  lying in the orchard and swimming in the lakes, walking through the amber woods, hours of car drives going nowhere in particular, and nights around the dining table, stuffing our faces with mom's meals, fighting and loving and dancing in the living room, carving our names onto the porch and meeting that one boy secretly in the middle of the night.

Braulio's keg party