market

That path’s downtrodden
with souls fluttering here and there
And one skips in partial ignorance
Bearing trust of love's arrival
Oh, she’s been here before
She revels in the familiar sights
and finds comfort in the traffic
But nothing makes her gladder
than colliding into him
clasping onto his pleasant pleasantries
the present of presence
privy to his pensiveness
She stays in place except
in her mind she flows around him
She dances gracefully when he recites
She sighs abundantly when he smiles
She wants him to dwell in her heart
lowering the price with each encounter
disheartened by the missing demand
for he wanders, like her,
down the same roads
with serenity as his abode

crumbles

Your words fall around me
and I
catch them before they crumble
Unbeknownst to you—or any other—
they sink to the bottom of my soul
I use them to tinge humdrumness
inducing spells of sacred diversions
But later
they sink me, influenced and influencing,
undid and undoing me
even when you're quiescent
So you fill me
and I
nervously prattle in your presence
as well as absence,
failing to extinguish
the bleeding of our colors
Touched and touching
everywhere
Cursed and cursing
mishaps
I get lost in your pauses
and find myself there, too.

neither here nor there?

Talking about your weaknesses and flaws is hard. Talking about your strengths and accomplishments is also hard. Why? Because of the little voice in your head that constantly criticizes your thoughts or dismisses your feelings. These voices can be your own or from others over the course of your life. It's bad enough to be self-critical, and then you have other people who feel entitled to have an opinion about everything, including you.

Healing comes in different colors and sizes and shapes. What works for one person may not work for another. Because we are multidimensional beings, even the manner of healing will take on multiple ways. As much as I can open my mind to the possibilities of how human beings can be, I still find myself boggled by the close-mindedness that exists, especially among "open-minded" folks. Yes, you read correctly. Just because you think you're open-minded doesn't mean it applies in every situation you find yourself in. This happens to me as well, and it's not to discourage but to educate and help each of us grow. Without mistakes and conflict, we wouldn't step into higher awareness, a higher consciousness.

When will we realize that the things we find most difficult to open up about are what should be discussed? That's the first step to healing. People don't want to talk about things that make them feel ashamed, that can't be categorized into black and white categories, or that make others feel uncomfortable. Most people don't want to talk about sexual trauma or domestic abuse. Mental health problems and eating disorders are so misunderstood. The statistics are chilling.

I know I'm not the only one carrying around unspoken traumas. As I begin my social work journey, I pray that I can encourage or provide a safe place for people to share their stories.

writers

Recently, I discovered a writer named Lang Leav, who released a composition of poetry and prose in Love & Misadventure. I ordered her book but haven't received it yet. I came across this one on Tumblr:

Writers

I don't think all writers are sad, she said.

I think it's the other way around—

all sad people write.

— Lang Leav

This is just so that people don't think these recent writings define me. I carry a lot else with me, sometimes that which doesn't even belong to me. Being an empath, I carry other people's experiences. The mind is a vast place full of extraordinary magic and adventures. And, yes, I tend to write about the deepest hurts, not necessarily my own. My new work, once I get into a stable rhythm and routine, will cover other topics. Of course, there will always be writings of mine that I'll keep private. Follow me for updates!

photo credit: Βethan via photopin cc

mute

I write and erase and write and erase and write
Syllables, incoherent with afflictions, float around mid-air
I intend to reach out, and I'm left with this gaping silence, distance(?)
That overwhelms, has me taking deep breaths
But where's the ease?
If only I could paint for you, with light finger strokes
And listen to your heartbeat's intensity
If only I could take my fill for now and then later
If only
If only I could strum a melody for two
For me and you
Trace my lips in sensitive places
Leave my signature
And a note, too
…
But what foolishness!
My heavy sighs lament such thoughtlessness
At the emptiness of knocking on locked doors,
Of peering in private windows
Like a grief-stricken soul
Tired, I lean against the walls
Surrounding my own bruised heart
Composing unsent notes
And swallowing in sentiments
Of exaggerated hopefulness

May 22, 2013

rendezvous

Each time the breeze hit me, my body shivered. It was not a good idea to sit by the river when the temperatures were in a crisp 50's. The nostalgia made me feel even colder, causing tears to form despite the chill factor. Efforts to keep him off of my mind were in vain.  Exhaling sharply, I muttered under my breath about how cold it truly felt. With my hands shoved into my coat pockets, I used my shoulders to push the heavy wool infinity scarf over the lower half of my face. It would have been wiser to get away from the water, find a place to warm myself with a hot cup of coffee. There were plenty of cozy cafes in the vicinity. Or maybe I could have just gone back home since it was already past sunset and nothing was keeping me there. Nothing but the memories and the need to be alone.

The phone vibrated, and I took it out of my pocket to check it. It was a text message from him: "Hi, can we talk?" It had been months since I last heard from him, and it was strange that when I sat thinking about him, he reached out. What timing! Did he suddenly have time? Did he finally acknowledge my existence? But my heart was not happy hearing from him, and as if I could not hold it in anymore, the tears flowed effortlessly and I broke into quiet sobs. God forbid anyone see me in such a state of weakness. Part of me wanted to throw my phone into the river so I wouldn’t be left with the choice of responding to him. The other part, of course, wanted to respond. I felt I was betraying myself, a wave of shame gripped me.

What did I even want to say to him? His message was simple yet caused deep agony. I felt pitiful. Where had he been all this time anyway? Why didn't he talk before? My choices were yes, no, or maybe, and all of these choices weighed heavily on me. Each one led to a different path, but which path to take?

At that point, a walk was needed to clear my fuzzy thoughts. I got up and headed towards the train station, desperate to get home. The darkness of my mind seemed blacker than the sky, and I found myself suddenly angry at this mindless disruption. Of course, it would never be considered such a thing by him for he was oblivious to anything I couldn’t or wouldn't spell out. His unpredictability and the ease at which he found his way back into my life were disruptions to me. Maybe I was even angry at myself for allowing this to happen.

Still peeved, I grabbed my phone to respond in haste: "Why?" Almost immediately, I regretted it. Damn. Why couldn't they just read between the lines? It's not that difficult. You read the first line and the second and the third and you figure that a woman would want more understood than she actually says. And you ask if you can't figure it out. Why be so stubborn, fool? I was aware I sounded ridiculous and cruel. When it came to the matters of the heart, whoever had complete control? Falling in love caused people to behave unreasonably and irresponsibly, yet we continue to "fall" ill-advisedly.

As I reached the station, I sighed heavily, dreading the response I'd get for my impulsiveness. Before I knew it, I was secure in a corner seat on the train, paying little attention to much else but my thoughts. The phone was buried in my bag so I wouldn't hear it vibrate until I wanted to know his response. I thought back to his warm eyes and his powerful embrace, cursing myself at hurting over the absence of it all. He had been like an addiction that I couldn't get my fill of, for every time he was near, I was in a state of intoxication. Responding hadn't been the best of ideas. Every time he reappeared, I promised myself I'd keep an unbreakable fortress around my heart, suppressing whatever I truly felt for him. And every time I would hear his voice or lay my eyes upon him, the walls would fall, piece by piece. I would forget how to breathe properly. The world around us would blur, and I'd just lose myself in his essence.

I broke out of my reverie long enough for me to get myself home. In the warmth and dimness of my room, I finally faced my fear and checked my messages. There were three from him: "Sorry I was so busy." "Can we talk?" "Can we meet tomorrow?" Sure. Yes. And why not? Surely, what would be wrong with that?

Caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, I could not process the information. I needed time. I needed air. I wanted him. I raced back to the last time I saw him, and the grief hit like a ton of bricks. What do you call the feeling of loss over something that wasn’t really yours? Perhaps love really does make you completely stupid, neurons that went into a state of dementia! Normal people don’t melt at smiles.

It was a game. It had to be. He knew the effect he had on me. But I felt wrong to think so wrongly of him, for what was his crime anyway? That my love was unrequited? The nerve I have! I thought of our symphony whenever we were together, the harmony deviously deceiving. Every note of his, and every note of mine, we created tunes melodiously and passionately.

I shifted my attention back to the phone, now anxious to respond to him, to engage in actual conversation, and hell, to just see him again. Against better judgment, I said, “Okay.” The okay that felt like a broken rule to the commitment of honoring and loving myself, my state of being, my aliveness.  I was happy and unhappy, tormented over the possibilities and the impossibilities. A few more messages were exchanged in regards to the logistics of this fateful meeting. And for the rest of the night, sleep evaded me. Maybe it was disappointed that I couldn’t keep guard. It would return, I’m sure, once it realized we were on the same team.

---

The following evening, I found myself in a nearly empty cafe waiting for him to arrive. Being early was my thing--it gave me time to prepare for the exhaustion that would result from the socializing. He would come, and I’d smile, and we’d exchange trivial pleasantries as if it were simply not possible to proceed without! I’d listen closely to him, threading from one word to the next, securing knots to keep it all together so later I can sew it painfully into my soul. I’d bleed, oh yes I would, like I always do, but I hardly let it show.

Then I saw him, and I swear, my heart almost stopped beating. Was he aware of his wonderful qualities that made him who he was, that made him so lovable? His hair was shorter, and his face was covered with a stubble of several days. He looked weary, like he could use a hug, or maybe I’m the one who needed it more and I was simply manifesting. Paralysis kept me in place, though my heart was leaping with fervor. If I had the ability, I’d have thrown myself into his arms and kissed him with every fiber of my being. Control yourself. Don’t make a fool of yourself. Stay composed. Smile! I had practiced it enough to keep the pain hidden from others. Good heavens, where’s my acting award?

“Hey,” he said, with that half-smiling, lazy expression of his, as he came within two feet of me. There was a pause, and I took it as a cue to get up and hug him. In closing the distance between us, I was taken back to a place of reminiscent bliss, of his warmth and masculine scent. We let ourselves linger since clearly neither of us really wanted to let go. We didn’t want to, I knew that with my heart, but barriers formed themselves selfishly between us anyway. Those are hard to ignore. Knowing that my heart can be stupid sometimes, I pulled away first, almost awkwardly, aware of the gaping distance between us. It wasn’t just physical but emotional and mental, too. I would see him, and I would believe everything he and his eyes would say, trusting his affection for me, trusting him to be sincere, without doubt, without inconsistency. It’s like all that pain would fly out the window. What tears? He didn’t have the heart to hurt me--he just couldn’t!

As we sat across from each other, I gave myself time to form coherent responses to his natural inquisition. It was difficult to follow him the more I became fully aware of his presence. To have him so close but not have him as I need. He’s fine with my silence though I don’t like letting him think I’m unhappy. I don’t like anyone thinking that. I am happy though. Happy as best as I can be without him.

“Why are you sighing?” he asked, tearing me away from my abstractive musings. I swallowed back any tears that wanted to form as the realization dawned upon me, the tragedy of our story, of he and I to never be mentioned in poems or songs unless it was about heartbreak. My superfluous excuses were endless as I responded with words that ostensibly appeased him. But who was I kidding? He’d see right through me if he wanted to. Right?

What did I even want from him? What was I looking for in him? What was the purpose of this relationship that was neither friendship nor a romantic affinity? Without warning, he grasped my hand in his, and I softly gasped. His touch was so electric and familiar. And I unabashedly wanted to feel it all over me. He continued talking, speaking for the both of us, but I was focused on his fingers playfully caressing the palm of my hand and alongside my wrist.

With great effort, I shifted my attention back to the conversation so I didn’t lose myself completely in that moment, that ever-so-familiar moment. Why did I agree to see him? He made me so weak. Adorable, comfortable, attentive, happy, like he belonged to me, like something just kept pulling him back to me. We caught up with family, work, with what we have been up to, ignoring for some time the biggest question hanging between us. Seeing him there, everything rushed back from its stored place. I thought I had moved on for the most part. I found myself constantly forgiving him for his grievances, without even trying to. His fingers traced delicate patterns on my skin. There was less distance between us, but without a doubt some walls arrogantly stood tall. “I don’t like you,” I blurted without thought.

“What?!” I wasn’t surprised with his reaction. His fingers stopped painting. He questioned me with his eyes. I felt weak, unable to process or proceed coherently. And I did what I do best: I turned away. Maybe the words would be on the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Maybe he’d disappear into thin air or maybe I would. Maybe the ground would swallow me. Maybe he’d pretend ignorance for my sake. In my head, I counted to ten and wanted to cry at the awful predicament I placed myself in. Stupid heart, stupid feelings, and a clueless man.

I turned back to face him, to audaciously stare into his eyes and I wondered at the expression that mirrored mine. Why did I think I could feign an act of indifference? The silence answered most of what we couldn’t iterate. I felt like he was asking, “What did I do?” Nothing. Of course, what could he possibly have done? He never does anything, and that’s the problem. Again, I found myself choking back tears. I wouldn’t cry around him. Never that. I found myself slowly losing energy. I had prepared for the moment that I’d be drained of anything left in me. How fruitless that was.

My eyes scanned his face in an attempt to read his emotions, but his expression was difficult to read. Would he ever feel the same for me? Would I ever get over him? Will I ever take my power back? It was hard to tell where he stood or even where I stood. “What’s there to talk about? We only roam in vicious circles.” If there were nothing but circles for us, did that mean I was a fool for getting caught up in them, time and time again? My words should sting, and I knew I tended to speak my mind just to see what kind of reaction I could get. Seeing him brought back everything I had worked diligently at subduing. .

“I make you sad, don’t I?” He gave himself too much credit. Maybe I didn’t give him enough. His hands resumed caressing my skin, stimulating inner world destruction. I shook my head, “No. It’s not that. It’s just this...it is what it is.” My heart’s demise. Of course he made me sad, the foolish man. I mean, really, what else was there to say? Two people who are drawn to one another on more levels than one and couldn’t be together. If that’s the case, could you blame him or me? Didn’t we try hard enough?

I changed topics quickly. More like avoiding the melodrama of my life. I appreciated that he didn’t persist or push but equally loathed the lack of perseverance or interest. Did he struggle with his emotions the way I did? Did he wear masks of normalcy, of self-possessed maturity? I couldn’t hate him, blame or disregard him either. It was what it was, and that was the stark reality of our story. I didn’t know, and he didn’t either, of whatever had happened, whatever that laid between us. It was neither his fault nor mine, yet there were unspoken complaints and regrets, empty hopes and wants. I knew that whatever I was seeking was already within me, but to forget him was like trying to forget a part of myself. Surely it would leave a scar that may never heal. Alas, wherever our paths would take us after that point, I naively believed that I’d be saturated in the color of his essence, immersed in a seemingly weakening love that had long left its mark.

June 7, 2013

faasle (distances)

in kachhi lakeeron ko kaafi itraaz hai
intezaar mein jo bikhar gaye
kusoor kya tha waqt ka jo ke guzarta raha
phir bhi haath milaa na sake
ajeeb hai jahaan ke iraade aur shauq
kasmein bina nibhaye chale
bezubaan sa dil parde mein chup ke
lage bejaan andheron se gale

where do you take me?

On a misty evening, I tip-toe barefoot down the pebbled pathway as drops fall sparingly. I love the coolness of the smooth rocks against the curves of my feet. I love how the sky forms a protective blanket of clouds over me, reflective of my mood. I hurry, wanting to get away from the echoes of your desertion. In the closeness of the earth, I find sounds that swallow the residues of your absence. It’s true, isn’t it? You barred your heart and lost the keys, lover. I was kind enough to want to change the locks altogether, but you swore like I’d be trespassing. I pause to lean against a tall bark, entranced by my breaths. It’s cold, but I’m burning inside. And I burn every other place you have touched me. Carrying you feels heavy but where could I leave you otherwise? Besides you, what else stands between us? It’s you. It’s you. Tell me how is it that I feel imprisoned outside of your heart? With my hands outstretched, short of breath, I beg the universe with my eyes. I have traveled for long periods, searching for alternatives to the truth. I thought I could still find some way to be closer to you. The rain picks up, cleansing my tears. I hope it also washes away this loneliness. I withdraw my arms and gather myself in a hug, chilled by my fruitless thoughts and not the weather. I remember vividly. I play each conversation in my head. Sinking in the deep waters of shame, I re-live every moment of our lovemaking, of how close I let you get to me. I fall to my knees, reflecting on the way I had dropped all the curtains from the windows of my heart. You had peered, talking so passionately about vulnerability. Talking like it was an urgent matter and you needed to get inside.. I left the door open. I left it open. And you entered me, taking my breath away. I remember the trail your soft kisses left. No one’s followed since. I remember the imprint of your hands on my skin. I cover the damage with these clothing. I love the softness of the grass against my calves. I remember your caresses there. I love the drops trickling down my back. I remember the feeling of your body against mine.. I remember I remember I remember. Where else could I take you? I love you, and I remember the whispers you left in my ear. I remember. And you, where do you take me?

fancy

I lost myself
in the longing
heedless of the wait
resting in the doorway
my parched tongue
in stubborn prayer
verse following verse
fancying
your path
to once again cross mine

an ode

here's an ode
to the spaces between us
it fascinates me
your words
they carry me through darkness
like a lamp dimly lit
but how does it burn for so long?
(maybe we should let the world know
that words* aren't the only fuel)
your silences*, they too supply power
i took both, as well as your glances
creating threads of harmony
sewing together an embrace
that i wrap myself in shamelessly
here's an ode
to the mysteries of our hearts
and what was never said
of my truth and your crime
but don't mind me
i have no complaints of you
i despair of your coming someday
to fill up all my senses
madness!
i've drank all i could tonight
from the memories of your lingering touches
the flame still ablaze
deliriously
i stumble down those pathways
using your light
whispering
(kiss me)
(kiss me)
(love)
(kiss me)
here's an ode
an ode
an ode
to that kiss.

flow

a flow of words
traveling across the page
look at this poetry
how it bleeds into the spirit

my fault

It gratifies you when things go your way
As you find yourself molding me
Into a pleasure you can enjoy
But when I digress
You wander away,
Using your lack of love as your compass
Because why would you stay
When you didn't promise me a thing
You take, when you believe I'm on the same page
You give what I'm not seeking
My sordid affection comes from darkness
That you find appealing
Intoxicating
Is it my fault that I'm broken
Is it my fault that you're weak
The correlation between the two is so fine
It melts the boundaries
I swim in deeper darkness
When you unapologetically confuse
Your mistakes
With my intentions
It is my fault
It is my fault
I let my guard down
And you mistook me for a fool
I mistook you for a lover

difference

The way you see things
And the way I do
Will never match up
Love doesn't make you stupid
It just makes you vulnerable

our story

Talking to you
Is like having words bounce back
Like nothing gets through
Like there was no point to it anyway
And you wouldn't get what it's like
To balance what was said
With the remnants
Have you tasted regret?
Bittersweet
Like wishful thinking of keeping words
Locked in storage
Trust isn't in just standing there
It's in acceptance
'Cause I'm not obligated to constancy
I have every right to change my mind
From moment to moment
And your disappointment isn't my problem
Your subtle disrespect for my existence
In your expectation of how I should be
And not in how I really am
This common tragedy
Our story

disintegration

confined, senselessly tracing the curves of each letter
inching closer to the edge of despair
mad, but surely not a weakness unraveling
rearranging self to withstand the turmoil
reconciled, with inconsistencies swept under the rug
filing away griefs in a sinking boat
with clenched fists, travailing to let go

March 8, 2012

collapse

i extend my arms, reaching out for a hug
only to realize that i'm embracing shadows
this feeling of near-nostalgia
chains me
pains me
i choke back on the tears that never seem to fall anyway
and i wonder why i feel like i'm swimming
drowning in my own rivers
vicious waves that want to carry me away
but i'm shackled
helpless because i'm injured
worn from picking up all the pieces
the jagged pieces
from a heart that continues crashing to the floor
of distant wounds
of a blurry past
of broken promises
of superfluous lies
of (poisonous) lingering kisses
i close my eyes, dreaming of mercy
of warmth and light
praying
but it's bitter cold
feeling so unsheltered from the storms
left with dull pretense
and my echoes
a voice that goes unheard
and emotions that are suppressed
exhausted of trying
of giving
of loving
of submitting
of losing
myself
inch by inch
of holding my breath
of being devoid
and waiting for healing
exhausted of being
of pretending to be what you all need me to be
of slowly forgetting the real beauty that lies within
i'm composed
gracefully breaking down
vaguely surrendering
of throwing my hands down to my side
of falling to my knees
collapsing

chains

I'm fading, but you can still find me
I'm broken, but you can still fix me
What an obscurity, I bled chaoticly
Wandering aimlessly,
Almost wanting to say something
Always almost
Stuck in the middle of every conversation
Drifting away, almost a rhythmic abstraction
Always almost
Do I say hello? or goodbye?
But my words are a whisper, echoing within me
Oh you overpower me, devour me
Don't know where I begin or end
I'm fading, but you can still find me
I'm broken
But I'm sure you can still fix me
What a tragedy, I fell thoughtlessly
Crashed carelessly
A lonely solitude in need of something to hold onto
Grabbing onto that which taunts me
Intrigued by trap of stability
Dancing to the tune of your voice
Sensual, calming
Refreshing, intoxicating
Scented and smeared with love
I'm sinking, oh you should catch me
I'm crying, you should hold me
I'm failing, could you save me?
Wondering
Always almost
I'm waiting, but you can still leave me

November 7, 2011

bound

Many a night I lingered in the doorway
Glancing upon the road so empty
Under the massive sky, where the moon was lonely
The distance between us would scream
While the wounds became restless
My heart ached for release
As the chains had grown in weight
I was left with a lot of wonderments
Curiosities that plagued the mind
Your words bounced against a wall
Simply collapsing to the floor
How naive was I, striving to catch every syllable
Within the palms of my hands
Only to watch it dissipating like quicksand
I don’t remember being angry
I don’t remember being afraid
But I’d be free when you go
I could be free if I let go
Unconvinced, I am inextricably bound
Like a permanent mark that won’t fade
Indistinguishable reminders of regret
Between every thread of hope
I faltered with a heavy spirit
As my mind wandered familiar paths
Roaming in the vicinity of your heart
Uncertain steps fumbling towards your walls
Eyes searching for affirmations
Only to be met by a void
I remember being hurt
I remember being confused
I know I could be free
If I would just let go

February 21, 2012

this desire

It wanders in circles
Whispering promises of comfort
It settles into a corner near me
Heavy on my heart
Waiting for a commitment
This desire

the beginning

It's been years since I've wanted to start and maintain a blog. The hardest part is the beginning, but my perfectionist ways probably get in the way of me just jumping right into tasks. It's not that I want things to be exactly right since that isn't even possible. I am not sure. As much as I enjoy self-discovery, I find that I still have a long way to go.

Writing is one of my top three passions but regrettably don't do it enough. The least I can say about myself is that I'm an introvert, someone who turns inward a lot to reflect and explore the rich world that's in my mind. It is absolutely necessary for us introverts to get time alone to do this, otherwise it affects our mood, energy, concentration, work, etc. There are many misconceptions, one popular one being that we are probably just shy or have low self-confidence. Both introverts and extroverts can be shy or have low self-confidence. It has little to do with the need for alone time to 'recharge'. I'll get more into introversion and high sensitivity over the course of my writing.

Welcome to A Rare Ruby's blog. =)