Somewhere Distant

a year ago i was on the stage in my school uniform, handing out bags to the graduates. they were handing out academic award notifications — i’d gotten Biology. clar was leaving. i’d texted daryl throughout. something about people always having to leave. he told me, "you’ll have your chance to leave us all soon."

a year ago i’d jumped on dedrick, arms, legs and everything: the first one to congratulate him. today i’m the one being congratulated. taking pictures. smiling smiling smiling.

making my graduation speech. "the best one we’ve had," mr. bruce says. score one! ms judy agrees. i guess that’s score two.

a year ago there was clar, van, daryl and micha.
today there is jee. clar and van and daryl are there in their own rights as well. and then there are my girl friends, and they’re amazing.

but a year ago i wasn’t a graduate. today i’m on the brink of everything. i’m ready, i’m ready.

sometimes i look at him - the one person who isn’t there anymore - and i let a feeling — swoosh — pass me by. but that’s all it is: a feeling. and in a moment it’s gone. other times i look at him and he seems like another person altogether. not the person i cared for. maybe because my best friend from all those years would never have done what he has. and he can’t be that person for me anymore.

it’s not that he couldn’t care less about it. which is true. but that really isn’t the point. it’s that sometimes i still do. wonder if we can be friends. whether he wants it. or whether he cares enough to think about it, even.

i say i forgive him, and to a point, i do. daryl taught me how. so i’ll leave without bitterness. without resentment. nothing, nothing. it sounds idealistic, i know. so many times, i’ve tried to compare this with what happened with daryl… and it really isn’t the same.

"he messed up. he messed up big time." yes he did. one day it’ll catch up to him, and i pray to God on that day i am already content enough not to feel satisfied by his failings.

as for the alias The Loser? it isn’t meant offensively, really. well maybe it started out that way. but right now, he really is.

what did he lose, exactly?
well, she’s headed to berkeley in the fall…

back to square one.

.

scents of rose and sandalwood

tissue paper and nights that last too long

drifting, drifting, undecided

with the tv on and a dozen phone calls

and the music playing all the wrong songs

and the time ticks quietly but it strolls along

no wonder everything feels empty.

.

scents of your cologne seeping away from memory

and my perfume, the one you liked so much

and how you’d kiss me and how you’d smile

the "i love you"s that meant the world and made your days

now become so small and distant and

there’s so much space to cover now,

how can i fill it out on my own?

.

now the scents fade, fade,

and i claw them back but they pass through my fingers

i still want to remember our songs and your number

to have a dozen phone calls and your breath in my ear

whispering the big "i love you"s that no one else hears

when will you bring me back to square one?

.

there are salt and rain and willow trees

but your roses  and sandalwoods have died too long ago

in the empty nights when i was drifting

you say you want to take me back, back to square one,

if only it wasn’t broken

it’s broken

it’s broken.

it’s when you’re with someone and you forget the world

and you feel like time doesn’t exist and

if you could just stay in the moment forever you’d be okay

and it’s a dream, and you’re

asleep and conscious at the same time

and when nothing else feels real

when you’re scared of everything else to feel real

it’s when you’re not afraid of loving

i can’t fully describe it in words,

i could go on forever and still come up short -

all i know is that it is good:

Romance is a whoosh feeling personified.

Fall, fall
I am unafraid
There are clouds of cream
and a blanket draped over
this perfect sky
I stretch out my arms to
feel the air around me
that glides in
a mystery
softening its once
cutting edge
Float, float
I am unaware
Drifting away or closer or in circles
in slow motion, I must be dreaming,
Losing grip of the surface
Sink, sink
I will never drown
Let the air bubbles float upwards
as I close my eyes in this
unending water that
flows on my skin like milk
and I’m trying my best to remember
every sensation that washes over
all the tips of my fingers
and every moment my heart beats
with you
I am alive.

When the bitter pain has come and gone

In loves so lost but battles won

And days the leaves know rustle not

These seeds won’t  grow, they’re left to rot

When memories made still link with pain

The emotions felt begin to wane

The streetlights seem to dim in dawn

And wrong turns right, and right turns wrong

These lines that blur between gold and dust

Come all the same for hurt we must

When empty shells fill shores of sea

Will you keep a single memory of me?

Oh whites may gray and blacks may dull

And forget I may this love’s sweet lull

When nights of endless splendor last

Then end too soon and much too fast

I’ll feel a tinge of residue too strong

And perhaps I’ll keep it for far too long

Don’t pour this tasteless water down

And hope to turn Us back around

But still I linger, linger still

And hope this love won’t learn to kill

But for all the tears I will not cry

This love was born not just to die.

And so when winds unheard may dance again

And trees are tormented in heavy rain

I’ll float on rivers colored blue

And I’ll go back to you

I’ve come back to you.

he’s here again, my face lights up — emotions never well up the way they used to. remember butterflies, and rainbows, and those idealistic views of how each color might mean something? — these things don’t happen anymore. so once there were balloons of happiness, that burst at your disappearing acts, and somehow — though burst — make their way to fill me up again.

they smile, and they kill me over and over, and i let them because — because i loved you, i did, more than i think i’ll ever be able to describe — and it’s difficult to say how with you there were always colors — red, blue, yellow, green — each for one emotion, those indistinct for the nuances of how i felt, the ambiguity of how you did, and the fireworks that never failed to erupt when finally

i see you. — isn’t it amazing how the best things ive written come from what you’ve taught me, and yet so much of it so unhealthy, and so much of this bitterness…

bitter? i haven’t been bitter for a long time. i feel a constant tapping, almost imperceptible, something i may overlook for the rest of my life, and yet when you talk to me it feels as if the wound opens up and the finger that taps stings on the open wound, and i want so desperately to close it up again –

why such emotion? why such bitterness? why do i need so much energy to forgive? here he is, after all, lighting my days up with such a steadfast nature — he’s given me countless smiles to keep, to hold, to use for the days i know only frowns –

but i feel no depth, no desperate desire, no urging need –

where’s the blue? for the dreamer and his delight, for the sparkling water that sprinkles the days with a touch of fantasy and escapism

where’s the red? for the angry emotion, the conflicting fervor for something left unspoken, unsaid –

i miss the violet most, for when you return to grant me sweet wishes and endless days of mystery and adventure and a tangled web of roads untaken — or better yet, still left unfound…

some days i find him ever-smiling, ever-waiting, ever-patient and i think of the overflow of yellow and orange and pink and white, one-toned compared to what you’ve given me. i wonder what i do with them; i wonder if i let go of some, will it be better or worse?

but i look at the reflection in his eyes and find myself smiling back — so naturally, so freely, and in a way i was never able to with you, when it was all emotion, all so unhealthy and deep and dark at the same time — and i find

the different tones of pink

of yellow, of orange,

and the intangible shimmer of white that i somehow never noticed before,

perhaps because i never dared to look closely

or deeply enough.

and i realize: he may never give me emotion, emotion, emotion in the depths and heights and breadths and lengths you’ve given me. he may never show me the falsified ideals and theories of destinies and meant-to-bes, twisting me into an endless fall when i take that profound and much-discussed leap of faith –

but do you see these tones of pink and orange and yellow? they reflect all the different kinds of happiness he has shown me.

and that shimmering quality of white? i don’t know yet. but i’ve seen your colors over and over — they are not new to me. this frost of sand-like glitter, so fine and detailed in its fabrication, must hold endless potential

for when the sun shines it is a myriad of colors

when it sets, it is a myriad more

and at night, it is a mystery. it may capture the profound darkness of the sky, or reflect the twilight’s sprinkle of stars…

there’s no chance i’ll let go.

van. lol this is weird because i just wrote you a looonngg letter (u rly wnt believe it until u open it) and i still feel like i’ve got stuff to say. but i appreciate you and i really really want you to know that because i don’t think i’ve gotten that many chances to show you - what with you moving schools and now countries. but thank-you for the long phone calls - sometimes about nothing, sometimes about almost everything - and for the few times we get to meet up. i wish i could say more but i can’t… there are so many words locked up in my brain right now and they won’t come out because maybe less is more, and maybe all i needed to say i already have.

jee. po i could write an entire novel about you and still be short a few pages because i feel like we know each other inside out, through and through. i’ve never been so completely transparent to anyone as i have been to you, and it is so unbelievable how you just are so willing to accept me for that and actually love me. and respect me. and trust me. jee you know my faults and how i think and for some reason you still find an excuse to appreciate the person that i am… and i feel the same way about you. you are the truest friend i’ve come to know. honest-to-God. thank-you for being there so many times - when I didn’t need you and when I did. jee ng all the way!

clar. oh, gawd, here we go again. isn’t it brilliant how we pick up the phone and call each other and talk for two hours the exact same way we used to? you’ve been gone for so long but it really doesn’t seem so now! i think we just click - it’s natural, sorta - our sense of humor, our sense of adventure *cough girls-night-out cough* but fortunately not our taste in guys! to my other half — err no i don’t mean my husband. lol.

micha. hi stranger. you are my best friend because… i don’t know. why do we click, mike? we’re completely different people. for example, i’m good-looking, you’re not.. i’m really good in soccer, you’re not. hahahaha. kidding mike. i thank God for you because you make me laugh. i don’t know. you let me say the things on my mind and you let me not listen to you when you talk and you let me tell you when i want you to call me (i go, "u wna call?" like it’s your idea lol!) and when i want to hang up ("mike i have to go." ~ "why?" ~ "i dunno i just don’t feel like talking anymore"). you have your way of making me feel special and giving me lots of attention when i ask for it (which i know i do) and for being more careful with me. so there ~ don’t ever say i’ve got too big of an ego coz i just wayyy complimented you.

I’m trying this new thing.

It’s called forgiveness.

And I’m starting with everyone who has hurt me the hardest.

So I get down to start thinking - who has hurt me and known it, and yet never apologized, and I find myself thinking of one particular person.

I begin to vent. You see, I’m not consciously bitter about it. I’m actually outwardly pretty placid. I suppose underneath the folds of placidity, there is anger, and there is frustration, and hurt, and pain, and bitterness.

I told someone that I wouldn’t bother talking to him. That if he called me, I wouldn’t reject; I’d pick up just to relish in hanging up on him. And still, I don’t suppose him any right to contacting me.

But the Lord tells us to forgive. And if God could send Jesus to die on the cross just to forgive us of our sins, then there is absolutely no reason why I cannot be able to forgive him.

It’s true that he’s hurt me - I could write a book about how much he has, and to some extent, I have. When Cass found that twisted idea of love in Macon, I found him. And everything he told me I thought was real - so different from everything I used to believe, and somehow so much better. But however many lies he’s uttered, oh gosh, all that deceit and impudence…

I think when you’re truly over your ex, you learn to forgive him. And in some weird way, you learn to forgive yourself for all the stupid things you did to put up with him in the first place. So you know what? It’s okay. No, I don’t want to be friends, not because I’m still bitter, but because I know you can’t be "just friends" with him.

But I can honestly say that I loved him. And it’s okay if he didn’t love me. It’s okay if everything he said to me was a lie, and he’d only used me to attain momentary sensations he somehow found pleasurable, which, for a guy, seems hard to believe since I hardly give in to physical needs. But that is aside from the point.

The point is, out here in LA, it’s like physically I’ve taken a step back from everything that’s been steamrolling me over. And I can understand things a little better.

God let me have this experience because he wanted me to hurt. Because he wanted me to grow. He let me experience real pain and heartache before a lot of people get to even find that they love another person, and I really do thank him for that. I don’t need to get caught up about which girl he likes now or whether everything was just a lie.

The thing is, God also prepared my heart so that he knew I could will myself to be strong enough to get over it. He did it. He had faith in me. And if that’s true, then he must have had faith in me to be willing to forgive that guy.

I have a huge list of names, not in numerical value, but in the amount of effort I know I’ll need - and the amount of strength I know God will provide - for forgiveness. But God didn’t let me down. And so I’ll try not to let him down, either.

It’s sunday afternoon, and dad and grandma are off to the airport, LA-bound. i’m alone at home, and dedrick talks to me, and somehow it’s as if the magic that i’d relished in six months ago seems so tangible as it gathers around me, finally amazing in a way i can’t explain. Wasn’t this what i wanted? But I’m scared to have it again.

Do you think there’s too much to leave? But I’ll come back here again. Just a three-week spurt, to steal away and hold onto a last dose of miracles to last me the final sprint. But to blow it away…

Look at these possessions and you see my fingerprints on every one - I’ve sifted through these things again and again, felt the warmth of you once, and said goodbye so many times that hello begins to hurt. All these days I’ve blamed you for leaving, blamed you for going, and wished to the heavens for your tears on the day that I would finally be the one to disappear.

But what do I wish - that you would somehow persuade me to stop, turn me around and look me in the eyes to speak so many things and so little words? God wants me to leave you, and I promise I have, or I did. But I’m waiting on the edge of this, lingering at a corner, not ready to depart.

LA gave me that faint glisten of hope, or reality, and Oliver, and everything left for me over there: an entire world. I could try to take it all in my entire life, and still leave the most of it untouched, and yet I still waste my time on you?

I’d like to step back and blind myself to everything in front of me, breathe in to find the clear color of oxygen beneath these illusions of blue. But before I leave all I want is for you to grab hold of just one of my fingers, to remind me of everything you used to mean and everything you could, to realize - what did I call it? - the impossible dreams of December, and plead with me that the love that has killed me over and over isn’t done yet.

Don’t make me do this alone.