Space Between

What happened to me? What happened to me? What happened to me?

The past months with my home being the place both for my personal and work stuff have been crazy. For the social person that I am, breaking down is already introducing himself but I refused to entertain anybody. Good thing my little niche are not mediocre and are sincere enough to give the much needed light for these dark stages.   So for the past months, I developed some things. Some I may not be proud of, but are helpful in dealing with my stress and anxiety during my sleepless nights:   1. Art of stress-eating. Junk food, check! 2. Art of cutting ties. 3. Art of being treated special. 4. Art of not looking too far ahead. 5. Art of not thinking too much. 6. Art of cropping imagination. 7. Art of tightening a shorter belt. 8. Art of being apathetic. 9. Art of accepting reality, it hurts. 10. Art of slowly moving on from things that  may  not happen. 11. Art of slowly moving on from things that actually happened. 12. Art of praying harder and hardest. 13. Art of ...

I have been not the best person ever since the lockdown has been implemented. For a social person that I am, the corners of the house seem to be so suffocating. The isolation has been sinking me further in a pit hole. The noise inside my brain is getting louder and louder. Anxiety has comfortably saw its own room somewhere inside myself.-- This is sickening. I need a break. I want to live longer. But, I can’t be social, just yet. Recently, friends have been making me feel their presence even from a distance. Got a few things, some happy food and even basic necessities without even asking for any of it. More to these are the best words in every conversation to at the least help fight the bullies in my mind.  Haaaay. This is actually one of the reasons why I still feel lucky despite all the awful and regretful things that happened in my life. And I am everyday thankful for that. So today, I realized, I could have done several bad decisions in my life, but, yeah, I have ...

How do you know if things are worth it? How do you know if things are worth giving a try? How do you know if things are not just a waste of time? I don’t know.

I miss going out. I miss the gate outside our village. I miss riding in a car. I miss the breeze outside. I miss the scent of the mall. I miss the night lights. I miss chitchats. I miss laughters. I miss conversations. I miss the noise of people I love. I miss travelling. I miss eating out. I miss shopping. I miss walking. I miss the sight. I miss my clothes. I miss my watches. I miss my jewelries. I miss my shoes. I miss my bags. I miss dressing-up. I miss my blush. I miss my lip balm. I miss my lipsticks. I miss my perfumes. I miss my self made-up. I miss coffee. I miss cakes. I miss pastries. I miss the days. I miss the place. I miss you. I miss her. I miss them. I miss all of you. I miss life. My fingers are tired doing the talking. My butt is tired carrying all my weight. My mouth is tired entertaining myself. My brain is tired working with things alone. I'm exhausted and I miss myself. *Not a homebody. Hence, this craziness.

He said, “Just tell me when”. And I smiled with tears. 12.5 years. They still see you as the same thin girl from the corporate world seemingly unfamiliar with the works of the industry. They give you various kinds of work. They made you dance. They made you sing. They made you do what you never imagined when you were even younger. They make you write anything they want to. They make you invent things. They make you do regular jobs and expect you to produce the same with those thought with greener degrees. They make you do tasks they will never ask other people to do. They make you work fast, faster and even the fastest when things are running out of time. They even make you work like there is no time. They make you do the dirty work. They talk about you. They make stories about you. They smirk at you. They frown at you. They drop you. They forget all about you. They made you do this. And one day, they will miss you.

So many demons running in my head. Replaying events which remained a question for a while, answered but were not parallel to what really transpired. I was not born yesterday. In fact, I was born years ago, with battle scars here and there. Some have healed. Some, still hurt inside but look better in the naked eye. Today, I’m wondering why I am writing this. The last time I penned one ended after so many times of struggling. Is this a sign I always tend to smirk at? Admittedly, I sometimes become naive. I am stupid. I am stubborn. I am uplifted by all the butterflies inside me. But, I don’t want to be like that anymore. I want to know how it really feels to be happy. Not only because someone said that I deserve to be one, but I think, that is what any person passionately doing her job actually deserves. So yeah. I have a right to ask myself. I am free to find what will make me believe. I can look around for my own sanity. Because no one else will do that for me. Not in this lifet...