Camille, I had met you for few occassions only, but you had left a good impression to me. How much more ur old friends who have spent more time with u. You deserve kindness.

This makes me feel really sad.

Some things I can stop running away from already

Dear You,

Thank you for being concerned and being nice and kind when I don’t deserve it. You have a reason to get angry at me. You don’t have a reason to be nice at all.

I’ve been running away from everything, but it’s time to take responsibility again. Especially for things that involve other people.

So far:

(1) Apologies.

(2) Start all over.

Truth be told, this is one bridge I actually want to save.


Some days I go through my writing journal and I think to myself,

“I can’t write like this anymore.”

There was, at a point, when I was very young, I wanted to experience everything I read from books, saw in movies, heard from adults. I wanted things to happen to me because I knew the best writing can only come from experience. How do you write about love when it has not happened to you? Of flirtations, confessions, confusions — feelings that get you so drunk, drama that burns painfully but beautifully make you make things happen in an attempt to take hold of that flame. How do you write about the slow process of breaking — the expansion of cracks that makes holes but in their deterioration creates an object more precious? How do you write about the exact feelings of disorientation, lostness, fear and anxiety and anticipation for the worst?

I welcomed the best things and accepted the most horrible and most painful because I try to convince myself, I have gained experience and one day I will write beautiful words with it. Maybe this means I can understand more people — understand their pain and help them with better advice so they may have better stories and happier endings.

But at that time when I was making that wish, it never occurred to me that residuals of many aftermaths can sometimes rock the soul. Gently, harshly, unknowingly, leaving marks that can either bring a smile to the face or tears when left with the solitude of silence.

And where am I now?

Sort-of at the process of filtering. Going through things that happened. Deciding what I want to forget and what are those worth keeping. Tucking away things that still hurt because I can’t deal with them. Floating, not going anywhere. In no hurry, just drifting along with the waves, wondering if I could ever really just run away.

This is for You

You are going away, and what will I do without you?

The role you’ve played in my life in the past year has grown bigger, in a way that I didn’t expect it to. You’ve been the person who held my hand and said, “Come with me, I want you there.” You’ve been the only person, at one point, who told me I was missed. I didn’t always listen to your advice, but you’ve been a good friend nonetheless. You never left me, unlike everybody else. You told me to be strong when I couldn’t, and I never could for myself. But for you I was.

You are one of the very, very, very few reasons that I’m trying not to forget. Because memories are painful, but you’re there and you’re part of it and I thought maybe I could keep these things because I want to remember you. But what do I do when you’re gone? Nothing’s going to tie those memories to me anymore. I have less reason to, when all I want to do is forget, forget, forget, and forget.

You are one of the few people I’d have stayed alive for. I would do anything for you. If I wanted to disappear because everything hurt, and if you said, “Stay,” I’ll stay. I’ll stay if you need me to. If you want me to.

You are one less hand I can hold.

You are one less hug I can give.

One less hug I can receive.

You are one less kiss on the cheek.

One less person to run to.

One less back to hide behind.

You are one less person I can trust.

I know you’re “just moving,” but it isn’t “just moving” anymore when there are fourteen hours of sea and land that separates my hand from yours, my arms from yours, me from you. And thinking about this makes the warm tears fall, because I will miss you, and I feel —

just a little lonelier without you.

I love you. Thank you for being the best person that you are. I hope I can see you again soon, and maybe by that time I’m not as fucked up anymore, and you can be proud of the person I’ve made myself into.