my words banked along the walls of my heart and so did my stories. seemed like the internet isn’t my thing anymore; am now traditionally writing down my day-to-day experiences with a pen and a paper. found out that my words are different when I blog: sentences are tinged with subliminal after thoughts, letters circumnavigate the spaces via the use of digressions, and a certain kind of satisfaction is attained at the end of the paragraphs. this is clearing up the head, a process taken to address the question of identity, to know enough. yet enough is highly understood by some, like me, as another prudent way of saying ‘more’. the word enough is subjective like beauty, like wislawa’s preference of cats over dogs. there is no threshold set by the greater good. I should know by now that I make my own.
today jeri sheila and I had quality good time. spent the rest of the morning at rodic’s with our varying perceptions about the event being carried by the stuffed air across tables. we spoke without our voices hushed down to secrecy because there’s no point in doing that. say we wanted to say what we want to say and say saying isn’t so much about telling and judging. would i rather reserve my lasting impressions than shed each layer of my imperfections? I ask myself about this constantly because we’re always bound to keep the specifics hidden from public for fear of spreading false rumors/letting the subject know indirectly. I still stand by my belief that there is no shame in telling the truth, however ugly it sounds.
on friday laura and I met up after the cancellation of my class in pi. we rounded the phan, in search of laura’s missing umbrella. the rooms were locked and deserted, and we were guided by the janitor. he helped us so kindly and opened doors for us without any complaints. felt like the afternoon was magical as we were being lead from one room to another. we didn’t have any idea what loomed beyond the closed doors—a lady cloaked in black, suspended in the air, or a little boy with bloodshot eyes and a missing hand—and the building was deserted except for a few students and a guard. in the end we scampered towards the waiting shed, trying to squeeze in to fit under my little umbrella.
found out later on that laura thought I was angry at her because of what happened during the week. I barely knew the details and isaac didn’t say anything substantial/hinting disorder to me. I really despise the inconsistency and isolation. why would you lie and make me look like I tricked her into telling on? I needed answers but for what you’ve been showing me, I don’t have the strength to talk to you anymore. it wouldn’t matter anyway, and you know well enough that I don’t prefer to talk to you as I very well told you that one afternoon. go fix your life.
I told laura what I’ve been up to, how the org seems like as of now, what my problems about this person are. she, on the other hand, provided information/reaction that made me feel okay and safe. we laughed the time away at sm via constant remembrance of our make-believe movie, HUH?! set in HUHllywood. HUHHUHHUHHUH! super epic! she also bought that book concerning twilight and I did not judge her. we all have our own guilty pleasures, don’t we?
hi laura if you’re reading this!
