The Art of Concealment

Everything is a work of art. From living to non-living things, one could always see beauty. Relationships are also considered as a form of art. It has a purpose why one was built, the effort on trying to create it, well-chosen materials for its composition, a determination to finish what was started, and the art of concealing the imperfections it acquired.

I wish to talk about my sculpture.

I wanted to make a diamond out of mud. This is impossible but I want to make a diamond out of mud.

My purpose is to be the happiest lady in the world. Yes, I am one of those few people who believe in happy endings. I want a "happily ever after" kind of life. Ever since my parents separated, I was trapped in a thought that "I don't deserve to be happy". What brought about the change was the time wherein I was left alone to deal with a situation which filled me with extreme anger. As I suffer alone, I was close to being insane; then it got me--why should I lose my sanity over stuffs that don't matter to them? It was then that I decided to focus on my happiness.

The steps I took were never easy but I have my Personal God. I tried my best to not give up the fight and looked forward to seeing my victory in the end. There were all sorts of distractions: friends, foes, even my own will was a distraction. I played with mud and made a sculpture of all the things I wanted until it formed a beautiful man. 

The materials never mattered to me, I have all that I need within my grasp. Engraved on it were my goals, ambitions and dreams. It was embellished by the wants of my mind, garnished by the heart of my soul, made by my own two hands--there I am almost done with my masterpiece.

I wanted this done so badly that I made haste to finish it on time. There were cracks as the mud hardened and the defects were quite visible. From here, I was disheartened. I tried to remember the time it took me to make a beauty out of it only to find out that it might not be a perfect diamond after all. The heat did some concealing yet the imperfections were still there. My sculpture is a waste--I thought.

I'm still thinking about whether or not that statue will turn to a diamond. Right now, my eyes are set on the flaws; not knowing a better way to hide them. Seeing these, I hated my creation. Why can't it be the way I wanted it? I prayed that the statue itself would do me a favor and turn itself into a diamond. Then again, that would define "impossible".

Should I go on with it? Can I make this? That I do not know...just yet.

This is art.

WORTH.THY

My emotions put words to my blogs. It's been some months now since I broke my silence from within. I still write about him.


It was only the other night when I cried myself to sleep--the reason was no other but sin
.
I was and still am jealous.

"She's just a friend"  he says.

It was just by accident or fate when I came across their pictures. They were together that night sharing smiles and a so-called "never"... He went home drunk then and I was trembling in anger. I went over his messages and surely hers were there. She was telling him things that are of no help. I am sure she's in a relationship but why would she feed his mind with the thought of him not finding the right one--yet.

I cried. I texted her and expressed my honest opinion about her existence. I don't hate her... I just hate what she is doing.

Came morning, my eyes were swollen. I could not help but hate what had happened. I was really literally hoping that time would stop because I just can't go on. I attended the morning mass with his mom; and my tears fell as I tell her what happened that night. She said that I should not pay attention and that all he said were not true--he's just drunk.

A lot of things played in my mind. The words he spoke...those words... they burn.

He asked that I leave him because he is never worthy of my love...my goodness. "I'm an a**hole"--this he said over and over again.

Worth. How do we measure worth? Worth...is it not what we give to those we love?

If someone loves you, you are then worthy of that love...so take good care of it.

Why can he not see that I give him love because he deserves it?

As much as possible, I would want to give him all that he desires; if that's how he measures love then so be it. I would like him to feel the most wonderful thing in the world while I live... while I still live.

"Why do you love me this much?", he would ask.

~"Because with you, by loving you, I feel love. and loved."  my heart whispers.

When in Rome

When in Rome, do as Romans do.

More often than not, we find ourselves “adjusting” to a culture we seem to not understand--it could be at work, school, seminars, gatherings and the like. The most obvious reason as to why we try to adapt is to build a good relationship. We try to please people and promote peace and harmony—we adjust ourselves to each other’s likings. However, it seems like the “adjustments” we do lead to “pretention”.

Are you really adapting or are you pretending? Hmmm, let’s do some serious thinking.

In life, we face challenges that test our ability to handle critics.

tears run dry

You know what makes me happy?

Him.

For the past few weeks, I had spent many nights with him. We had wonderful talks and shared blissful memories doing things spontaneously. We cooked, watched movies, bought a dart kit for fun, and lots more. He shared his stories and I did so too. For the time being, we were caught up in our own world; not minding what others would think or say.

Came one day, he asked that I wake him up early morning only to find out that his mom was brought to the hospital. Hurriedly, we decided that he’d watch his mom and I go to work. We spent the night in his home together with his sister telling ghost stories and eating on a fast food diet.  It was fun and I felt like I belong in his world now; at least for that moment.

Suddenly, I felt like I must be on guard. Everything seemed to be perfect—at some point, I know I would experience the opposite. Good things come in twos; bad things? Well, in threes.

Last night, after watching a great movie, “Shutter Island”, he went to the bathroom and I snooped on his mobile inbox. There it was, her name; it meant princess (in her religion). I browsed over and my heart pounded as I read the messages.

Babe…lunch…mwah…sorry…I miss you…schedule…honey…see you…I hope…take care…

I felt pain. Agony. And my heart cried adamantly.

I laid down. He came out.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Nothing.” I replied.

I wish I could tell him what’s really going on in my mind. If only he knew how painful it is seeing his messages for her, the likes on her wall posts, their name calling, frequently communicating, and the like. I wish he knew how I struggle to fit in; feeling like I am but an option to his countless choices. Why can’t he just appreciate me? Why? Yet “nothing” was all that I could say. The worst part is, I knew somehow that I would reach this point; I was just not ready for that blow.

I cried.

He begged that I tell him what happened so that we could fix things up. I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know what’s WRONG; with me. I cried. I wanted to get drunk right there and then but the bottle of vodka seemed to be on his side. I cried my heart out and I begged for him to tell me what he sees in “them” and cannot seem to find in “me”. He said he was sorry and asked me a question:

“Now that you know what I can do to you… now that you know who or what I really am…do you love me still?”

Tears kept on filling my eyes as I feel pain clutching my chest as though It wants me dead.

“I love you.”

Those words came out almost instantly. I didn’t know what else to say but the truth.

I love him. Despite the flaws and the competitions going on, I loved him. I cannot see myself not loving him. I apologized for feeling hurt because I know I am in no position to feel that way; I do not own him. He was never mine. I apologized for reading the messages because I invaded his privacy.

He promised that he will stop communicating with her and everyone else. I do not believe him but I appreciated the thought. I will only believe in his words if he’d gave me his all—his love. Til that day comes, I choose to love him unconditionally; not knowing how… or why… or until when. But I will love him because I love. Only him.

I know this seem to be foolish. But only those who truly love could understand. 

betrayal

I am a mess. My heart is a traitor.

Have you ever felt betrayed by your own self? I tell you, it’s not a good feeling. All I wanted was to love and be loved. I am not that hard to please. I blame myself for the pain I am feeling right now.

1.)    I knew you were owned by her yet I played your game. It was never my intention to ruin a relationship; neither do I intend to fall deeply. Then again, I let my guard down and here I am now…acting desperately...shit.

2.)    I was completely aware that every moment, spent with you, is equivalent to an excruciating pain if ever you leave. I know that I could not handle such torment yet I went on.

3.)    I promised myself that I won’t end up being treated like a fool; not by you. I don’t want to be in her shoes. But I stayed; stepped in voluntarily into your trap.

4.)    I believed you; every word you said… every story told by you.

5.)    I allowed myself to be just an option… I knew they exist but I was okay with it.

6.)    You penetrated my system; you made me cry.

7.)    I gave you the permission to lie; because I believed that what you say is true…

8.)    I made you stay; I didn’t want to let go.

9.)    I am staying; I just can’t let go.

10.)  I still love you; I guess I never stopped doing so.

These are all but random thoughts in my mind. I knew it would end up this way… I was betrayed by my own self. I betrayed ME. I really am not asking much from you. It’s just that, I am afraid to go through this alone. Though your words say “I am here”… it’s just not enough… I can’t feel you. But I can feel this anguish…inside…it’s killing me…