Wednesday, April 28, 2010

...but there's a little truth in between the words we've spoken...

Currently listening to: Till It Happens to You - Corrine Bailey Rae

Jakarta skyline - taken from Grand Indonesia, March 2010

Why do people live with secrets?

Why do we gravely fear that the people we love, the people we care about, will turn away and leave upon seeing the entirety of our existence?

Why are we so concerned about keeping some - if not all - parts of our lives hidden from others around us? Why do we rely so much on these little treasures to keep the scattered fragments of our identities together, to hold them firm?

Why do we, being so helplessly immersed in our own insecurities, often attempt to conceal the sweet bites and sour nips of our imperfections solely for the sake of making peace with our battered, less-than-adequate selves?

Sometimes we're far too preoccupied with our twisted perceptions, all the nitty-gritty, the seemingly-endless fine print lines, that we fail to grasp the numbing reality of our stance. We get lost scrutinizing the details in the fabric, entirely missing the bigger picture all the while. More often than not, we willingly trap ourselves inside our own misled assumptions, believing that begging for the approval of others is our exclusive path to social salvation.

Concealing certain parts of ourselves in the name of pleasing others; this concept is nothing short of foreign to me, being the acute people-pleaser that I am, as regrettable as that may sound.

But it's true. We worry about the safety of our deepest, darkest questions, for we know those little puzzling mysteries, those closet skeletons, are just as crucial to our identity make-up as everything else we have - or are still aspiring to - become. Our secrets make us whole. The secrets we keep tell us about who we really are just as much - if not more - as the parts of ourselves, those claims, those solid truths we disclose to the rest of the world.

Why is it that we, as a collective, value acceptance - and therefore conformity - so highly?
So much that most of us have to resort to camouflaging the most important aspects of our lives and making them secrets, only to gain a hollow, meaningless sliver of affirmation from our surroundings. I mean, what good does that do to us?

I am thoroughly against the idea that we should be embarrassed about all the details of our lives our society might not deem "acceptable" or "appropriate", whatever that means - those vital yet insignificant details like age, gender, family issues, personal troubles, history, preferences, sexual orientation, ethnicities, religious beliefs... The list goes on and on.

I do think that keeping secrets is necessary in maintaining the wholeness of our identities; after all we still need privacy to stay sane, right? What we do behind closed doors should not in any way be subjected to the judgment of others, and I believe this notion has to go uncontested. That is why having secrets is, in a way, healthy.

Our secrets, however, should not become our tickets to social acceptance; we are all good in our own little ways, and nobody should be given the right to take our worth away from us and make us believe otherwise.

Like, we don't have to lie about our sexuality to feel accepted. We don't have to abandon our religion, or change our music taste, or alter our dressing style, in order to fit in. We don't have to keep any part of our lives a secret to make us feel like we belong somewhere. If anything, it should be the exact opposite; we should be accepted for who we are, not for who we aren't. Remember that.

Maybe that's why Agent Vermouth in Detective Conan (I know, I'm a nerd, sue me) once said, "A secret makes a woman, woman". This quote hits a certain spot in me whenever I think about it. Pretty powerful stuff. Although technically it doesn't apply to me since I'm not a woman... Whatever.

I really think life would be far less complicated (albeit less entertaining too, perhaps, in a sick, twisted way) if nobody bothered to keep secrets anymore. I mean, transparency is all fine and good - our lives would certainly be easier without people backing away everytime a sensitive detail about their lives are discussed - but where is the fun in that?

I, for one, have enough skeletons in my closet to worry about, thank you very much.
So I guess I'll just stop here and move on.

...God I do hope I'm making sense here. Somehow.
It's too cold, and I can't even keep my legs warm let alone stay coherent.


Tuesday, April 20, 2010

...and if my words don't come together...

...I think I did.

Sorry for the extreme lack of posts as of late. I've been feeling pretty uninspired. Just ask my bandmates - or everyone else around me for that matter - if you don't believe me.

Will try to get back into the swing of things soon. Promise.
In the mean time, kindly bear with me.

*blows kisses*

And, oh, a very Happy Birthday to a certain fragment of the past. You know who you are.
I have never missed a single April 20 ever since we met, and I'm not about to start now. So here's to a long, healthy, joy-filled life. Have a great one. *raises glass*

Lates, loves.

Monday, April 12, 2010


...Sometimes I miss you too much I just don't know what to do with myself.

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

...your voice comes thrashing wildly through my quiet bed...

Currently listening to: All We Ever Do is Say Goodbye - John Mayer

12 Panorama St, April 2009

I wanna be like Peyton Sawyer.

I wanna be able to draw like she does. I wanna know what she thinks of life, and of the people around her, her perceived mortal enemies. I want her extensive music collection. I want her outrageous, edgy fashion sense. I want her obnoxious attitude. I want her freedom, her world, her personal realm of calm, undisturbed solitude.

I wanna know how it feels like to love something, or someone, with a passion, like her love for art, and music, and her mother, and Brooke, and Lucas. I wanna know how she can somehow manage to be so protective of her own feelings, how she closely guards her heart, choosing to observe others from a safe distance instead of jumping headfirst into her own pool of endless insecurities and letting herself go.

I wanna know how it's like to be convinced to believe, stubbornly, that at the end of the day, everyone in my life will always leave, no matter how hard I try to keep them close. And how it's just plain useless to open my heart and let them in, because just when I'm sure that they're gonna stay by my side forever, they'll always pack their bags and disappear, leaving me behind with a space lesser than what it used to be.

"People always leave", she says. I wanna believe that with all my heart.
Sometimes I wish I could be just a little tougher, a little more obstinate in my ways, so as to be able to grasp, and rightfully appreciate, this beautiful, intricate complexity.
Heaven knows I'm not ready just yet.

I wanna know where the source of her impeccable emotional strength lies. I want her independence. I want her reasons. I want her unchallenged certainty, her sadness, her personal philosophies. I wanna witness her happiness. I wanna share her sorrows. I wanna understand just how difficult it is to stay whole, unbroken, when everything in my life turn their backs on me and walk away.

I wanna know how it's like to be so delicate, so fragile, yet unbreakable at the same time.

I wanna have a Lucas Scott by my side; someone I can fully trust, someone who's always willing to share my burdens and help me believe, unconditionally.
I wanna have a Brooke Davis, too; a best friend who's equally complex, if not more. Someone who curses but never judges, who pushes but never suffocates. Someone close who always has my back no matter what, even in the darkest, most uncertain of times.

I think Peyton Sawyer is one hell of a lucky girl. She may think she's a loner, a hopeless drifter, yet she's surrounded by a bunch of good people, those who think the world of her. She just doesn't know that, and so she never begs for love, for pity, for a tiny trace of thorough, undivided attention. She locks her heart up and keeps the key to that vault in a safe place, buried deep within her many layers of optimism and pseudo-confidence.

How I dearly wish I could do the same with mine, somehow.

She has everything I don't. She knows everything I know nothing of.
She has the kind of unbeatable strength I can't even force myself to muster.

I wanna be like Peyton Sawyer. I wanna possess both the softness of a rabbit and the hardiness of an eagle, just like her.

I wanna guard my heart and keep it intact, unbroken, whole.
So when people leave - and they always do, I'll know how to cheer the fuck up and not linger on.

Help me find my way back, Peyton.
I've learned a lot from you, though you're not even real.

Maybe I'm delusional after all.
Or maybe I've just been watching One Tree Hill a little too much.


*Artwork courtesy of One Tree Hill and The CW. No copyright infringement intended.

"At this moment there are 6,470,818,671 people in the world. Some are running scared. Some are coming home. Some tell lies to make it through the day. Others are just now facing the truth. Some are evil men at war with good and some are good struggling with evil. Six billion people in the world - six billion souls. And sometimes all you need is one."
- Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, One Tree Hill