lafilledelune

[lafilledelune]

The past few days I’ve spent figuratively undressing myself to who I really am to my deepest core. I wanted to carefully inspect who I was, so I danced on the idea of stripping myself off of everything that made me who I am — everything that accompanied the roles that I played in this life — daughter, sister, friend, best friend, lover, teacher, peer, colleague. I pranced on the idea of skinning myself down to who I am without all this privilege, all these materials, all the opportunities I had, all the support I’m getting; without the financial hold my parents have over me, without the pressure of being the eldest sister in an Asian household, without the labels of who I should act to be. I wanted to know if there was anyone left if I detached myself from the roles I had to play in my day to day life. And that if there was anyone, I’d like to get to know her, and watch her play out her truth. I wanted to let myself exist as I am, literally and figuratively.

To do that, I had to inspect who I was, who I was not anymore, and who I am now.

I remembered.

I remembered what it was like to be the kid with the wildest imaginations, the kid who loved to read, the kid who loved words, who loved school, who loved books and stories more than anything else in the world. I remembered what it was like to be the kid who excelled at everything, and I remembered who I was before that. I remember being young and looking at the “it girls” from school and thinking to myself, “I wonder what it would be like to live a day in their lives?”, and I remember asking that out of curiosity, and not out of envy. In school, I looked at the populars and for a brief moment there was wonder at how everyone knew who they were, how everyone wanted to know what they were always up to. It seemed to me like they were a walking television show, that everybody was on their heels, and that if one of them ever did anything remotely scandalous, they would be the talk of the town. I thought it was an unfair way to live, to keep up with the expectations of others. I was then resolved to not wanting any attention for myself, and preferred a life of a follower, where I just hid or fit in like the others. Little did I know that I was going to become quite the opposite of that. The one reason I rose to ~popularity~ in school was because I excelled in my studies, kind of like a surprise. I sneaked my way into the Top 10, into the Top 5, and eventually sat myself in the 1st place. As a child, I just wanted to make my parents proud. As a student, I just wanted to make my teachers proud. But as me? I just liked to learn. I liked answering things. I liked that I understood the lessons right away. I liked that I found patterns in math quicker than most did. I liked to read, I liked to study. I liked writing notes. Most especially, I liked being right. As if being “correct” was a way to say “I am correct”, some sort of validation to my own existence. Like me existing was in itself correct.

I remembered all the weird things I did to “build” myself.

At such a young age, I was so focused on my personal identity that I carefully kept track of who I was and what made me, me. I was quick to notice when I started liking something, or disliking something. I was acutely aware of the experiences that I was having, and then recording them tangibly as something that I liked, something that I wanted to do again, and something that definitely wasn’t me. I remembered the words that I carefully spoke, playing with them to create a language that was my own. I worked to be cool on my own terms -- which, at the time, was me speaking English with a vocabulary that I built to have words occur frequently in my conversations. I remember writing in bullets, “say fool, I! instead of stupid me” or “use certain, instead of sure” and “ALWAYS USE PROPER PUNCTUATION”. I did not want to be influenced by people and the shortcuts they had in texting. I was often told, “do you always text so proper? you sound mad.” No. I sounded like me. So many of the things I did was all because I wanted to own me. I wanted me to come from me. So much, that people started using phrases like, “that’s so Lourdes” or “what a very Lourdes thing to do” or “do it the Lourdes way”. By 15, I prided myself in my own personal identity that I always asked strangers “how much do you know about yourself?”, because I was confident I had the answer to that question that many people didn’t have yet.

What I did not know was that each year that came, I changed. And I carefully took note of that, too. I crossed out the things that I wasn’t anymore. Habits that I’ve newly cultivated. Habits that I’ve outgrown. Food that I decided not to eat anymore. Every time there was a change in who I am, I took note of.  There were a lot of strikethroughs on the page, things that looked like this is who I am instead of this is who I am. I’ve kept it up for 8 years. And I looked back each year, at these people that I used to be.

I remembered my roots.

I remembered the things that felt like me. I remembered what it meant to be me. I remembered the things that I placed importance on. I listened to all of the old playlists I saved. I listened to music for hours. I inspected their lyrics. I read. I painted. And I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. I gave in to the seduction that nostalgia offered, so that I could understand how I went from being A to B. I inspected past relationships. What went wrong. What it meant to be Lourdes in a friend group before, and what it means to be Lourdes in a friend group now. I felt what it was like to be Lourdes in love; what it meant to be Lourdes in a relationship before, and what it means to be Lourdes in a relationship now. I remembered what it meant to be Lourdes before, and what it means to be Lourdes now.

And I remembered that I forgot.

I forgot that I was meant to keep reinventing myself. I forgot that it was normal to not feel “like myself” on days, because I’m not supposed to feel “like myself” always, because every day changes me. Every day that passes by brings a new information, a new feeling, a new emotion, a new revelation, a new thought, a new idea, a new inch of growth. And that for as long as I am living, I know I am growing. And growing essentially means “not being me anymore”. Growing means being scared. Growing means dancing on the edge of uncertainty. Growing means living with less fear each day. Growing means looking at your comfort zone and taking a step outside of it. Growing means waddling in the waters with your feet not having solid ground to touch on. Growing means “I’m not here to be made comfortable”. Growing means knowing that change is always around the corner. Growing means looking at yourself in the mirror and not recognizing yourself. Growing means accepting what you see instead of not liking what you see.

There will always be parts of me that I have the hardest time loving. There will always be parts of me that I am not anymore. There will always be parts of me that I don’t recognize because they’ve just recently grown into me. All of these days I was so focused on uprooting old, dried leaves stunting my growth that I completely overlooked the new sprouts of leaves that I have to notice, to pay attention to, and to accept having.

All these parts of me, I will continue to carry. To honor them. To honor the people who I became in order to be the person that I have become. Because without these parts of me, I wouldn’t be who I so uniquely am today.

[lafilledelune]

Rain. The sky weeps every time soulmates meet, only to bump shoulders and pass by each other. It rains harder when they make eye contact just a second more. 

Storms happen when they fall in love with other people. Hurricanes are when they break each other’s hearts.

Tornadoes when they realize they were meant to be together; typhoons for the chase, cyclones when they miss each other again, a second apart.

Blizzards when one of them gets married to the wrong person; a cold winter, as she gets divorced and he enters a fresh new relationship; leaves rustle in autumn, as he finds out the relationship was toxic thunder bellows as both of them tend to their wounded hearts.

Flowers bloom in fields of spring, when they see each other again at a random street. It was summer when they exchange stories of misfortunes, and the sky paints a rainbow to celebrate them finding each other, falling in love once again, just as they should have had from the start. 

[lafilledelune]

My mind is getting too dark. I hate to admit it. Not aloud, at least. I have been aware of the things that I have been feeling, but because I am a very emotional person, I do tend to feel things twice than the amount I should. I feel too deeply. I care too deeply. And more often times than not it’s a curse to me than it is a blessing. I know. Call me crazy, call me weird or overreacting. But it is how I feel, and it mostly applies to these days, anyway. I am aware of the sadness that I feel, the intensity of it. And I am able to trace it back to where it came from, or where it grew. 

I had stopped reading the news for a few weeks to protect myself and my sanity, but I don’t know what made me check them out one day. I think after reading a couple few I was just sucked into the vortex of it. Every single day that followed, I became more obsessive. I read the news everyday, I started keeping track, started to be informed of the chaos. Researched. Watched videos of all of the injustice. Witnessed reports of misogyny, the patriarchy and its stupidity. The mess. 

I also became a mess. I had harbored feelings of anger, of hate, of guilt. I realized quickly that I felt like I was not worthy of the life that I lived, the privilege that I had, the problems that I worried about. I felt undeserving of all of it. Not when there are others out there who literally have to protest to LIVE, those who had to fight in order to live not even half the good life I did. It came to a point where I archived and deleted all my IG posts because none of the content that I had posted mattered. None of what I had to say mattered. 

I was frustrated by the fact that I was the only one within the walls of my humble home that was angry about it. I think anger can be a positive emotion, with the right reasons behind it. And social issues were something I had every right to be angry about. All my siblings are so chill, both my parents are so chill, and I realized that just like them, many choose to turn a blind eye towards issues of social injustice because it doesn’t directly affect them. And that makes me twice as angry and twice as sad. 

I wanted to scream at everybody at the dinner table, for laughing and complaining about material things that weren’t even relevant enough to complain about. I wanted to scream at everybody at the dinner table, for not noticing the sad eyes I wore, for not noticing how silent I was these days, for not noticing how I was on the verge of tears, for not noticing how angry I was at the world. But I can’t blame them. You can’t see through depression. And that’s mostly because people don’t want you to.

I don’t want to show the darkest parts of myself to friends, to family. I am ashamed to show the parts of myself that are unlovable, the parts of myself that I have the hardest time loving. 

I hate -- I HATE -- feeling like this. I hate being in the dark. And I don’t know how to talk about it, or maybe I don’t want to talk about it, because I just KNOW people wouldn’t understand. I don’t want to be dismissed. I don’t want to regret sharing, I don’t want to feel like it would’ve just been better if I kept quiet about it. They just don’t know what I mean. I don’t feel like I’m drowning, no. I don’t feel like I can’t breathe, either. I’m just, waddling in the waters, a little afraid because my toes can’t touch any form of solid ground beneath me. 

Do I think suicidal thoughts? Yes, admittedly, yes, many times the past week. I think about how pointless everything is anyway. Like I said, none of it matters. There are problems bigger than mine. Lives that matter more than my own.

But do I want to die? No. I’m aware there is more to Life, and that there is more to live for. More moments to make. More beauty to see and appreciate. More love to give.

I guess, just, at this moment, I just want it all to stop. At this moment, I’d just rather stay asleep than stay awake and present to witness it all. 

[lafilledelune]

I hate mornings. I’ve always been the nocturnal type and slept around four AM, but with you around, I want to wake up earlier. I love tomorrows. I love 7AMs. I await the future. Because of you, I want to get up and look at you and love you more. You ruined my body clock, but I love you still.

body clocks, ninthsea (via ninthsea)

[lafilledelune]

another decade has passed and guess who’s still here? the moon. she’s always been here and she’ll always be she’s a Loyal friend to all of us say thank u moon

[lafilledelune]

[lafilledelune]

/for when my love turns to hate/

When I move on,       i will never forget       how you made me feel like,                i wasn’t worth choosing in the first place

     i will never forget      how you made me feel like,               i wasn’t worth taking a risk for

    i will never forget     how you made me feel like,              being with me was  s u c h  a  b a d  t h i n g,              you’d rather keep me at an arm’s length

    i will never forget     how you made me feel like,              i wasn’t worthy to have all of you,             but only little of you than none of you at all

    how you made me feel like,            i was a mistake                     a temptation                     a sin                     a moment of weakness

and i will never forget:

    how you loved me            -- only in bits and pieces;                           in stolen moments of time;                              in leftover minutes of a day

     Most of all,          i will never forget          how          you saw me -- all of me, saw          how          amazing we could be, and          decided to just place “what if” to label me          how          you never once gave me a chance          how          you never once gave us a chance. 

But that’s for when I move on. 

Let’s just hope I don’t.

[lafilledelune]

How great it is to find someone who makes carrying your soul so much easier.

didn’t know i was looking for you until i found you

[lafilledelune]

I'm going away for awhile. I'm sorry,        you're hurting me.  This thing, you, me. It hurts me to have found you and not have you be mine to keep.

the things we have to sacrifice just to do what seems right

[lafilledelune]

I remember being 15 and suicidal.

I remember being 18 and depressed.

I remember wanting to be the kind of person who would write emotional poetry about how my feet looked like in the bath, or how the water droplets glistened on my skin, trickling down my legs along with the sunlight that touched it.

I lack a staggering amount of Eureka moments in my life, but now that I’m 20 all I think is that I’ve become so many people in all the years that I’ve gone through that I remember being blur after blur after blur and then into one big smudge.

I’ve learned a lot in the two decades that I’ve existed in this cold, sad world, and now I know that to truly live is to remain composed, focused, humble, and in control of your emotions without giving in to anger and pain. I know now that every single day we get a restart, and that we can grow even in the worst of places.

Truthfully, I can’t wait for whatever is in store for me next.

[lafilledelune]

To my sister, about boys:

You will meet a boy whose smile will painstakingly choke your heart; whose face will dazzle you every time. A boy who will make your stomach dramatically drop to your knees, making shivers crawl up your spine. A boy who will take all of your breath away at first glance, but will also kiss you right after to breathe back in the amount of air that you lost.

In this life, you will meet all kinds of boys. But sister to sister, here's my advice. Find a boy who helps you breathe. Literally. 

The guy who reminds you to: 

Inhale

Exhale. 

There will be times where you will be a total mess yourself and you're shaking and your mind will float and you feel like you're in the periphery of being nothing and no one. This boy will help you keep your feet on the ground. This boy will hold you together, he will be the one that will keep you here, alive and in the present. 

He will be the one to remind you that sometimes, getting through a day is enough. "Let's try again tomorrow?", he will say. 

Find you a boy that can handle you better at your worst than at your best, because the latter would leave him stopping in his tracks to stare at you in awe because your best is too phenomenal that literally, it is something he admits he couldn't handle.

And although I've always been an advocate of strong, independent women, I won't deny that you ARE going to need this boy. Mother once told me that everybody needs somebody, so I'm pretty sure she approves of it, too. 

And it’s not enough that he understands the way that you think, that you never have to explain anything to him. What matters to me more is that he stays. So if you find this boy, hold on to him. Hold on to him and keep him at all costs. Especially when you know in your heart that you will never find another like him. 

[lafilledelune]

She always loved airports.

She loved the feeling of waiting for a plane to transport her into another place, waiting for the means to escape. She loved the airport noise and the different languages of the people she heard. She loved trying to guess which of the people were here to stay, and which ones were to never come back. Most of all, she loved being in the air above, looking out the window, and sailing in a sea of clouds, looking over the place she’s leaving behind.

Only having realized this now, he knew she was never meant to stay. 

[lafilledelune]

I am only yours that if I am not yours, I am not anyone's who is not  you.

[lafilledelune]

Here’s something I’ve learned in school back when we had group dynamics all the time:

People don’t willingly tell you what they’re supposed to tell you because far too often sappy things are regarded as something awkward -- intimate words are special and as such have to be delivered in letters, sealed tight only for the naked eyes of the recipient; not said aloud in daylight with a bunch of people who could easily hear from a distance.

Most often when you’re able to depend on yourself, you forget that there are so many people out there who have the power to lift you up a bit more than you yourself can do. You just need to knock on their doors, or throw a stone to their windows when they’re asleep because you know they’re the kind of people who will rub their eyes and blink themselves awake for you when you need them.

Most often when you’re sure you’ll do fine on your own, you forget that not everyone’s the same and that in this sense, even when you think of yourself as a tunnel, there will always be someone who will think of you as the light at the end of their own tunnels. 

In moments of weakness where doubt in self is at an all time low, you have to remember that there are those out there who understand.

And that no matter what happens in your life, trust that you will never run out of people who believe in you. 

Because you won’t. 

[lafilledelune]

“What are you doing New Year’s Eve?”

In a sea of strangers,  1) drinking poison from the third wineglass that sits in my hand. 

2) Sifting through people, because I know in truth everyone’s closely thread to each other like sand, through the miles and miles of skin covering secrets and dreams.

3) Looking for a strange stranger to kiss when the clock strikes 12, thinking of that sweet NYE snog people keep talking about; wondering what it’s like to kiss someone I don’t love.

4) Embracing that intoxicating feeling of knowing something is ending, and that we humans have a loud chance of starting over fresh, new, void of all the mistakes and chains of our past. 

Mostly tonight though,  I spend it 5) being jealous.

    -- envious, 

    of the strangers who are home, in the living room amidst their loved ones, even furry loved ones, all smiling in between episodes of cheap reality television; warm laughter beating the cold weather.

Maybe next year will be better.

[lafilledelune]

Call me your sky, not your sun; for I can not be your ray of sunlight, as you so poetically try to imply, because sunlight to me is harsh and it burns. I can be your skylight, -- a rush of blue, faint clouds and everything soft, warm, comforting.

you can try, but it wouldn’t sound impressive to me

[lafilledelune]

A poet’s words are at the expense of his heavy heart, for a perpetual writing process: 

skin alive his pain cut open a vein let it bleed all over his loss relive a tragedy before his very own eyes and then painstakingly,

heave all of this sadness into the hands of a poem,

“  I hear that you can make sorrow look pretty. Take it,           it’s yours.  I already have so much. I don’t want any more of it.  ”             , he cries.