Posted in Battlefield

Messy Heart

Everyone will totally agree with this, A broken heart is the hardest to mend.

At least, that’s to me. 

An open wound caused by accidentally falling from your bike could be healed by any Povidone iodine solution and hydrogen peroxide, alcohol and band aids. If infection occurs, antibiotics are always available. If the wound is deeper, it could be remedied by closing the wounds using stitches or staplers and covering with bandages and tapes, worst is putting in a cast. After several days or weeks, things will get better and the least you would get is your scar. 

Ahh. Scars. Reminder of your pain.

But how about mending a broken heart? I guess no one knows. And it’s a sad story for everybody else. If you accidentally fall (in love) for someone, no amount of self-control will ever make you safe. It could only get better, or worse. No in between. For the lucky ones, they could totally forget about it and move on. But for the not so lucky? Just a messy heart.

I believe that’s what I’ve been getting. Because who would want an overwhelming emotion? Who would want to catch overflowing feelings like a waterfall? Full force at the bottom, even ready to power up a whole town. It’s scary, right? Who would want that. No one wants a messy heart.

And a messy heart is a broken heart. And that’s the worst part of all these.

Posted in Battlefield, Broken

Closure

That’s all I needed. Until I know what I needed, it won’t end. The pain. The healing. The closure. It wraps everything and put things in order. If I need to get over it, I have to hear its end. Because I could never really get going and move on if I won’t face the end. 

Closure. I never knew it was all I needed. Not until now. And it helps. A lot.

Posted in Battlefield, Broken

Wishful ThinkingΒ 

I wish for times that you aren’t dead yet. I’ve seen moments like these, the hard ones, that you’d be by my side being the shoulder to cry on. I also try to close my eyes and think of you. It must be creepy to think of a dead person be at your side at that moment. But for me, it’s a comfort to think that way. You never died in my mind and heart, so you always stay alive.

If it’s my greed to think this way, I will forever apologize. But sometimes, it’s tiring not to have you here. It’s tiring to fight a battle without your “partner”. Although that one might be a little hypocritical because you fought a gadamned fight without me literally by your side. I swear I always wish I was there, though you told me for multiples times you don’t want me there. If it’s my greed to wish you weren’t dead yet, I’m sorry. But…

That’s unfair, Matt! That’s unfair to consider how traumatic that would be for me when you never even gave me the chance to tell that by myself. I appreciate that you always wanted what’s the best for me, and you never want me to be hurt. But either way Buddy I will be hurt. I am not immunized to that. I just hoped you let me be the best friend that I am when you needed me most. Fortunately, that’s all in the past but it still fucking hurts. It still does Buddy and it’s hopeless.

You died overseas while battling with your cancer. And I was informed last, again. Imagine that for two fucking years that you were diagnosed, I was the last person to know. It was your choice and you told them it was for the best. I didn’t have the time and energy to get angry about that because what’s all in my mind was how to cope up with my best friend dying away from me. Total torture. 

Sometimes I wonder if it was me who finished the race first. If it was me who died first, would you also be this miserable? Would you also remember me in your quiet times? Would it also bother you during occasions that it’s incomplete without me? Would you also wish for me not to be dead yet? It fucking hurts, Matt. It fucking hurts that I haven’t still moved on. I’m stuck in here sorting out me. The void you left? That’s too much to fill in Buddy. 

It’s hard to trust people. It’s hard to tell who are the true friends and who are the fake ones. Because before I always got your back and I didn’t have to worry about having another friend. For me, you & our few friends’ companionship was already enough that I didn’t need to extend myself more. That was all true Buddy. You were enough.

But not until the day of your death. It was not enough. The time you had on earth, the moments we had, the dreams you’ve achieved.  The laughs and sorrows, the late night dramas. Those were not enough.

So if it’s my greed to want you not be dead yet, I’m okay to be called greedy. I wish to buy some time, even a minute. If that’s all I have just to see you and hug you and hear your voice again? That minute will be enough.

I miss you and I love you. May you rest in peace. See you in God’s perfect time. I miss you, Bud!

Posted in Battlefield, Broken, self

Cutting Off The Toxicity

No man is an island.

They said that. Overused. They told us that no one survives being alone. No one did. Oh, no one did? I don’t know. I haven’t even proved that either. For a fact, the thing I believe is that I don’t believe it too. 

Sure, we are the kind of species who love connection with other people. We are that kind in nature. Interactive, affectionate, associated. We think of others. We give them attention and take attention from them. We have to feel that. That need. It gives us the purpose, like gas to fire, like oxygen to air.

And knowing the boundaries and limits is something we know but we don’t pay attention to. We expect more. We get hurt for inappropriate reasons. We set a foot forward when it isn’t needed. We give more than what’s being asked. We are that kind of species. The dumb-passionate. The blind-masochist. In one point or another, our need for others becomes a poison slowly killing us.

The draining energies. The expectations. The silent wishes. The unspoken intentions. We all have that. And it happens so fast that we most of the time don’t realize it’s already happening. We let loose and inhale the toxicities. We let certainties drain us until we can no longer put ourself back and hold it together. Just like that.

I’ve been a mess. I still am. I have enough of the criticisms but I don’t see it wrong to find that connection. If it’s not working I have to stop. If it works then I stay in it and hold on like it’s for my dear life. No matter what. Even if it’s exhausting. It’s confusing. It is painful. It drains me to no end. It makes me awake at night and renders no rest in the morning. Despite all of these, that’s still what I want- the connection. I can shut all the blinds off, but the door will always be open. There is a hand waiting at the doorknob. I could’ve locked the door. I should have. 

But I am scared to be a lone island. 

Posted in Battlefield

Who the hell are you?Β 


Apparently someone here in wordpress sent me this. I am hurt, really really hurt! Why are so angry at me? Why are you insulting me when in fact you don’t know me. My biggest question is why the hell do you care so much about my life to think that you even made a fake account with your fake email and have all the energy just to get on my nerves? WHY?

I don’t fucking care what are you thinking about me. You don’t matter to me. You can judge me all you want. Your words? Yes they can hurt me. But they are meaningless. Your words just reflect how envious you are, of how insecure you are. Of how PATHETIC you are.

So what if nobody likes my posts? If they are less than five or just one or two people? I’m not here for the likes. Oh, I don’t even have to explain. The irony of telling me no one likes & reads my posts but LOOK AT YOU, you know what they are about. 

Who am I flirting with?! Oh you look so jealous. I can’t even remember flirting with someone in here. As what you’ve said, NO ONE LIKES ME HERE AND NO ONE IS INTERESTED IN READING WHAT I WRITE, so, where did you get that idea? You just proved something here.


JUST SO YOU KNOW: below your email are my work emails from my immediate superior. I work as a Public Health Pharmacist. I visit health centers and validate their supply chain management and evaluate their utilization reports on public health commodities. And, I don’t have to prove anything to you. Why do you care how often I am here? Wouldn’t that also mean that you are also here often? The irony of all of this. 

Delusional? Wow. Then why are you hiding in a shadow so afraid to let yourself out? You are one coward person. You may attack me all you can! I don’t care. Haters gonna hate. πŸ˜‹πŸ˜‹πŸ˜‹

This hurts, but I won’t let a single tear drops. You’re not gonna win, bitch! 

P.S: Since you very much like the attention, I’m giving it all to you. I want them to read it too. But, I won’t step down to your level. I have my manners and I will never lose it for you. Have fun reading my next posts! You’ll surely love it! 


Yep, that’s me right there giving you a peace sign although that middle finger is itching to rise up! πŸ™‚ 

Posted in Battlefield

Being the morning person

Writing at 4:15am…

I’m trying to get some sleep coz I just arrived at our unit here in Manila. I know, my fault to travel at night…. I’m feeling restless but my mind is bitching me. Still hyperactive. 

I was planning to post something with sense but…. I’m just starving!!! I shouldn’t travel at night, again! No way!

Now I don’t know how will tire my mind up. πŸ˜•