So I wrote you a letter wedged into my forearm

Plagued by my own perhaps self-afflicted emotional barricade, I feel like I have reached a point where there is no way of escaping having to put everything into words. A series of mishaps and misadventures in the recent weeks have taught me many things I secretly refuse to accept - all of it shrouded in a veil I pretend I am able to keep over it. But something's gotta give, man.

The past year has been nothing but one big life lesson to me. I mended, I broke, I mourned and I celebrated, all seemingly at the same time, and being on my own has given me more perspective of what my life truly means, to myself.. and to others. I have arrived at a crossroads with oncoming traffic from all directions, and my way of coping has obviously been to deny myself the chance to acknowledge it, by simply allowing myself to drown in the ever-seductive pool of my own emotional madness.

I am told, on a regular basis, that I am un-tamable. Whatever brings people to brand me with such a strong and rigid label, is quite possibly the career path and lifestyle I chose for myself, now that I am on my own, for the first time in years. Yes, I do have a wall up and around me, but nobody has any idea of the feelings that I am bombarded with every day, presumably "safely" hidden behind my walls. Maybe it is my determination, not to let heartbreak change me, or maybe it is just trickery that my mind plays on my fragile soul. I hide it well, the depth that not many people see, I hide it well under my smiles. And for the most part, it is how I choose to stay, not because I am afraid of showing weakness, but because I am prouder of my unwavering strength.

They say, do not judge a book by its cover. I say, do not judge a book at all. Because while you might think that you know what it is all about just by looking at its appearance, and someone else might think they know better judging it by its words, maybe the real truth is hidden, between the lines, in the fine print, in the absence of certain words, and perhaps can only be found in the root of the story.. Or not at all.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I am proud of it. I have no shame in admitting my struggles, and how I love, and how I hurt, and how I heal. It is all a part of who I ultimately will be remembered as, when that day arrives, when I am without my body, and only a faint hint of an aura that once was. And nothing, not even your sharp words, not even your stubborn judgement or your blatant ignorance, can ever convince me of being anything else but myself.

And if that only means that my struggle will never find an end to it, well then so be it. It's not like I'm not used to it..

XOXO

Photo taken in Balesin

I know now that you are my destino

 I know that at close to 3am I should long be gone in lalaland but my migraine is keeping me up and chain smoking while watching my favorite short film over and over again. It was a collaboration between the great masters of their arts, Walt Disney and my favorite eccentric legend Salvador Dali. 

"Destino" is the story of the god of time, Chronos and his agony over losing the mortal woman he loves. Watching it makes my heart bruise and blossom at the same time and the song sets off an incurable case of nostalgia, leaving me spellbound and sad.

"for you came along out of a dream I recall.."

You reel me out then you cut the string

[ wearing Dunnes tuxedo jacket, TopShop necklace ]

Photos by Allyssa Heuze

There are mornings when you don't wake up on the wrong side of the bed, but on the wrong side of existence. Those are the mornings when the only option is to seek refuge in the warmth and darkness under your sheets. When the only thing your stomach can handle is a cigarette and a flood of tears. And when absolutely anything verbal thrown at you can quickly turn from comforting to soul-shattering. 

These are the mornings when everything around you feels like it is moving too fast, and you are caught in the middle, curled up into a ball, eyes forced shut in silent hysteria.

Last night I unintentionally revisited the past and was surprised by how raw and open to taunting my wounds still are. It hasn't really dawned on me until recently, that I had made the mistake of disregarding some of the pain I was feeling in the past, and how I have therefore shot myself in the leg by now having to allow myself to have my days taken over by this seemingly forgotten sadness. It is as if I had skipped the task and danced around the process in such a convincing manner, that I myself am taken aback by the intensity and alarmingly brutal resurrection of all those feelings I had tried to convince myself didn't exist. Now I stand here, puzzled, apprehensive and perplexed beyond words and I have but an idea of how to make any of it go away. The only seemingly obvious option is to wait and allow time to work its wonders. Oh what a vicious process this is all turning out to be….

It's just all so fucking infuriating.

In heaven warm souls flutter

 [photos by Francesca Woodman]

Aimlessly browsing through my Tumblr feed this morning, I came across photos by the astonishingly talented Francesca Woodman. I dug deeper and tapped into a story of a tragic artist and dreamer, who did all her greatest work before the age of 22, which is when she committed suicide in a haze of heartbreak and confusion. Her photographs feature mostly herself in the nude, and in unusually beautiful poses and settings. I searched all over google and drowned myself in her images, the melancholy and sadness cutting through me like knives. And after watching her documentary, I had fallen in love with her story. In her diary she writes about her lover: 

"I am happy

except when he treats me like vermin

or when he acts like my sexuality is a pain in the neck

and then at 2 in the morning

he looks up at my pictures

and says he doesn't see

what that has to do with art anyway."

How mindblowingly appropriate was it for me to find her at a time when my current state of being reflects exactly the things she expresses in her photographs. I am no stranger to the exquisite feeling of being forlorn and with time, crying has just become a routine way of cleansing my soul from all that brings it down. Sometimes we tap into the same pile of shit over and over again, hoping to walk off with clean soles. As human beings, we are almost guaranteed to be subjected to becoming habitual slaves to our desire to believe in the good. And when it doesn't work out, even if we knew to begin with that it wasn't going to, we are disappointed anyway. But I am glad still. Because even if I have to crawl on the floor picking up the the shambles of a shattered hope, my heart is still whole. My biggest fear in life is to live with regrets.. and regrets I do not have. I tried. I believed. But now I know..

Lesson learned.

“I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ.” 

― Anaïs Nin

And I wear my sunglasses at night so I can, so I can forget my name while you collect your claim

[wearing zebra print Headware as tube top, gifted red wrap skirt and flower print RayBans (gift from Australia)]

At this point in our lives, we all ask ourselves the same question: "Where do I belong?" I, for one, have been seemingly living out of my suitcase, in an endless flurry of excess baggage charges, airport massages and weather changes. At some point, I have started feeling lost in my own life. My constant priority shifts have turned one or two sunny days into some kind of a nightmare. I feel like I am being chased by my own white rabbit, yelling and pointing and pushing me over the edge. The lingering feeling of "Am I missing out on something?" is one that wont easily be shaken, followed closely by the much dreaded "Am I on the right path?"- And so, more questions start rolling in..

Some days, I feel safe only with a pillow over my head, protected by chemically induced sleep. Ah, sleep, what a wonderful thing.. when it's available to me. It's like time stops and you need not worry about anything, you need not ask yourself anything, and you need to go nowhere. What a luxury. It is my most favorite way to pass the time..

And when I cant sleep to forget, I guess all I can do is to dance to forget.

(Photos taken at the Boracay FunBoard Cup "Siamese Twins in the 80's Party")

You always take the sweetest rose and crush it till the petals fall

 Photos by Denise Tolentino (more photos on her blog)

If my absence has become blatantly obvious, I'd like to explain by saying, sometimes life brings you down to such a degree that words fail even an emotional writer like me. Everything becomes a kind of nothingness, a collection of feelings, thoughts and memories, but once I try to bring myself to vaguely verbalize a sickeningly simple summary of my life.. I draw a blank.

I wish tears could turn into words, maybe then I could find a less exhausting form of release. Quadruple shots of Rum at dinnertime isn't really doing much in making me forget, and the obviously excruciating "same time, same place" last year recollections are enough to drive one to the brink of all things bad. I guess I have somewhat accepted that I just am one of those people.. I feel everything with such intensity that the simplest emotions become a ride to hell, or heaven for that matter. No matter how hard I try, nothing can be suppressed into something more bearable.. if its happy, its a blindingly bright happy.. if its a sad, its the gateway to the longest tumble down a cliff. Such is life, when you are walking in these shoes of mine.

They do say, "Enjoy life to the fullest." What's that all about anyway? Does this mean I am halfway on the right track? Sometimes it seems like the only way to survive this eternal weather change is to lock one's heart away, never fall, never care, and therefore never cry? Is being jaded and withholding the only way one can be assured that we don't get plowed over by all our emotions? I envy those who can be indifferent and cold.. maybe they have it all figured out, instead of playing a sad copy of Sylvia Plath's persona, chasing one momentary high after another and crashing all the way to the bottom of the universe each time around. My girl friend says, we are addicted to pain. Could it be true? But if I was so addicted to it, why do I wish for the world to end each time I have to succumb to it?

I'm so tired I just want to stay asleep.

But will my heart be broken, when the night meets the morning sun..

There comes a time in all our lives when we have to re-evaluate the direction we are going. Most of the time, this all happens in our mid-twenties. Lately, I have been asking myself the same questions over and over again.. driving me to the brink of absolute insanity. My family has expectations, goals they have set for me. Marry, have a child, settle down.. give up my life. I cringe at the thought of it all. It seems the older I become, the more I know what I do NOT want out of life.

I, for instance, do not want to marry out of convenience, or because it is expected of me, I want to marry out of love. Undying, undeniable, head-over-heels, cant-live-without-you love. I want to never hold back my feelings, and run free, and live, most of all, I want to live. I don't want to fear mistakes I can learn from, I want to attempt the impossible and lose myself in my thoughts and daydreams. I want to change my mind, until I get it right, and then again, when I am bored. I want to travel and see and learn and laugh. But most of all, I want to fall in love, over and over again.. with places, and people.. and maybe the same one person. Over and over again.

Last night I was looking through the thousands of photos I have been tagged in on my FB account, and I felt my heart crumble. I didn't think I was going to get here so soon, but I miss my old life. I wouldn't want it back the way it was exactly, not now, not ever.. but I miss some of the experiences I was able to enjoy, and the people I was able to meet and come to love. I especially grieve for the loss of my kite-life.. it was good to me but was not a perfect fit once I grew a little older and maybe none the wiser at all. The times I stood on a podium, the costumes I wore, the beers I devoured and the winds I felt gushing through my hair.. People always say to me, "You are so lucky to have lived that life, and to be the person you are.. You are this.. that.." and I never see it. My heart is insatiable.. But I cant deny that the last 6 years have almost felt like a mini-movie. "The girl who danced barefoot and rarely slept." or something of the sorts.

I guess ultimately, change is good, change is necessary. We need change.
This is my attempt at embracing change. Complete with panic attacks, excessive drinking, denial, paranoia, plan-B-plottings, doubt, distractions, over-indulgence and lots and lots of sleepless nights.
Hey; they don't call it a quarter-life-crisis for nothing.

Photos by Allyssa Heuze who now has a blog ♥ [shot in the summer in Boracay - extra points for the one who can spot the big blurry lady ;) ]

PS: My Formspring is back up and running!