Tell me your name.

Please let me fall in love with you.
Be my safety.
Protect me from provocation.
Walk with me.
Love me like a best friend would.
Be someone I value as a best friend. I don't have enough of those.
Let me sing for you.
Dance with me.
Let me write for you.
Read with me.
Eat with me, eat for me.
Stand next to me, talk to me, engage me in conversation whenever other guys walk by so I wouldn't have to talk to any of them or bear their unbearable advances.
Let me keep looking at you, so I won't have yo realize how everyone else stares.
Be nice.

And don't fall in love with me; at least not so soon.

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You Should Know

I don't go out. I don't spend my free time hanging around malls and stuff. I sit at home and laze around with my dog and my baby and tumblr all day. That is what I do. I am incredibly boring.

I don't feel awkward. I am awkward. I don't mind being left out of conversations I don't understand. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. If you don't want to talk to me, don't. I'm not that fussed, to be honest. I am that antisocial and that much of a loner. Hence I don't really care.

I laugh at everything. It doesn't mean I find anything funny. I just have to laugh to get it out of my system.

I am surprised society is not ostracizing me from their midst. But then, we are not living in the open-rejection of the Victorian era. We are living in the 21st century, were alienation is done with fake smiles and behind backs. I honestly wonder which is worse.

I don't know how to be nice. I am selfish, and also a little scared. I don't want to deal with losing my friends. I don't want to deal with the possibility. I'd rather stay away from people than to befriend them and realize their ulterior motives. I'm not saying they're bad. I'm saying I'm a self-centered brat who doesn't know how to share and trust.

I will not, of course, beg you to bear with me. I realize that you would only do so at your own risk.

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Skinny Love

It did not suit her, that they were saying such things about her; and what was more, they were saying it right to her face. She could not blame them, for she knew that they assumed they were paying her compliments. She found it a little bit funny how people only accepted and ran along with things that they knew and understood, and that to them there was no bigger picture. But then she was just like them, so she should not have said anything.

But it wasn't right, you see, that these people thought it was pretty, and haute couture and all that, to be a couple of kgs underweight in order to appear what they called slim and beautiful and characteristic for a model. It wasn't beautiful. It was an unnatural, influenced, worldly and evil process. Not in every case, of course. In some cases, it was perfectly natural and good. But this was not one of them.

We couldn't all live in a Tinseltown world, where we were expected to rapidly pack on or shed kgs for another role. She couldn't at least. She was a normal girl with a God-given being that deserved to be cherished and respected and not treated the way it had been.

But they didn't know that. They didn't have to. So they continued paying their compliments and she continued saying her thank yous because it was easier than telling her story. But inside she watched herself in horror, at the way she had no restrictions in playing along to the norms of society regardless of how wrong they were.

They didn't know, you see. Sometimes she barely knew herself. But He did and He watched as He always did, very sadly and with tracks of tears on His beautiful, worn face.

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Given.

Isn't it odd how sometimes the most profound moments of life come by when we least expect it?

Tonight was one of those profound moments.

Never has it occurred to my mind that I might one day face having to forgive my sister for destroying something I cherished so close to my heart. But tonight, the first night of the new year according to the lunar calendar coincidentally, I was.

My sister and I are living reflections of each other and worlds apart. We follow the same code of moral conduct, we share the same distaste for Lady Gaga the Illuminati queen, we are both weight-obsessed chocolate gluttons. But she does not feel the way I do or express herself the way I would. Where I would toss her stuff all over the floor, lock the doors to the room and curse her with my thoughts, she would instinctively steal and vandalize my property - and in the heat of her fury, that which I prized the most.

Do you think I was mad at her? I suppose it might reflect better on my self control if I admitted I hadn't been, but then I'd be lying. Even Scripture tells us Jesus got flaming pissed at times. And at that moment I was, enough to think of her most precious possession I could take the scissors to in turn
You can call me a coward for not finding it in myself to pay her back in kind. You're probably right. I never have had the guts to give others what they rightly deserve in the eyes of the world. I am a weakling, you see, content to accept everything as it is even if it might screw me over.

But at that moment, I guess I also found ourt that that which I truly gave a damn about not my sister or anyone else could have taken from me. For the treasure with which my heart lies does not belong to this world.

Thus armed with the revelation, I unlocked the doors, composed myself, prepared my one-hour speech and marched down the stairs to announce her undeserved pardon that was within my royal power to bestow.

You may think even less of me, for none of that came out. I could barely whisper that I forgave her. But that carefully worded speech was never even needed - not that the cowardly me would have been able to say it anyway.

My sister never apologizes to anyone, if my memory serves me right. Not honestly, not to me, not even to my mother in tears. And my sister never cries. We have grown too strong, too cold, too bitter to reveal our tears to others.
But most unexpectedly, not tonight.

I am always proud of her, but tonight I am even prouder. I have never considered her any less than me. Now I have reason to hope she might believe that. I did not deign to forgive her because it put me above her to do so. I did it because I'd have hated to reveal her in such a light to my parents, because she was sorry, because I know it would suck to he locked out of the room again, because she's my sister, because I love her.

And also because I'm actually grateful to her for teaching me something tonight.

My softhearted sobs have been reduced back to my flu-induced sniffs, but I don't think I am much bothered. I will sleep well in my own bed tonight and so will my sister.

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Truth.

Now it seems to me, some fine things

Have been laid upon your table

But you only want the ones that you can't get

You ain't gettin' no younger

Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home

And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'

Your prison is walking through this world all alone

The exposure made me almost not want to look up the words. Almost.

You better let somebody love you, before it's too late

It's not. Right?

Song that's inside of my soul

It's been about a year and a half since I've read his blog, but it still inspires me the same way it used to.

http://readytobreathe.blogspot.com/

It makes me question myself, again and again. This is your life, Sam. Are you who you want to be?

Honestly? No.

I'll tell you what it feels like.

I'm disappointed and frustrated with myself - extremely so. I don't understand how I can keep making the same mistakes, keep doing the same things I don't agree with and keep pretending that everything's fine after that. I find myself constantly pushing against God, testing His limits even though I promise Him, promise myself that I wouldn't, that I'd be able to muster some level of self-control the next time temptation comes knocking. And after that, I find it so disgraceful to be thinking of how forgiving and merciful He is and how nothing can possibly change His love for me. It's not just that our human mind is so incapable of understanding how great such a love is. It's that despite my knowing that God loves me in such a love that cannot be repayed, I stab Him in the heart time and time again. I stab myself in the heart because I know He's there. Why I still do it, I don't know. But it's so painful I find myself pausing, closing my eyes and screaming inside more than a few times a day. And in that pause, I feel the longing, the intense, crazy longing that I know can only be filled with the one thing I'm not filling myself with. I tell myself the next day will be different, that I will sate that longing by setting quiet time. And then it doesn't happen, only serving to intensify the heartache the next time I close my eyes.

Sometimes, even though it's excruciating, I find it so incredible how I'm still here and that at the end of the day, I can't forget. That I can't do anything but try to cling on for dear life while I have to battle myself telling me how unworthy I am. Everyday is a struggle for personal redemption. I think sometimes it's not really the urge to redeem myself in God's sight but in my own, to reach around to the standards I've set for myself, standards which are breaking me but which I still somehow convince myself God has set for me. Every time I try to pacify myself with that, the guilt immediately takes over and the process repeats itself...again and again and again.

It's a battle, a tug-of-war of my soul. Every time I pray to be only God's and along comes my deep fears, dancing their dance around my heart and luring me away. Stability? Ha. There is no such thing as sure footing out in this deep and it will always be scary all the time. I don't cry anymore because I'm not terrified like I used to be. But it's still terrifying.

Dear God,

I'm not going to use my latest favourite syllable as a prayer again. In fact, I'm pretty ashamed of how I've let it become my favourite syllable and how much I've changed - not in the way that I wanted to. But God? Thanks for Switchfoot and Jack's Mannequin and thanks for putting Jack through ALL so he could come up with Swim. And, um...God, if You don't mind answering, why am I the one battling a psychological war because he's so intent on stealing me from You? Why can't he just leave me alone? But I guess that's more of your war than mine. In fact, it is your war, in every way possible. And for that, thank you soez much.

Baa.

Bounds and leaps,

I think I've found myself on paper.

Except, of course, that I am not a doe.
And I'm still with the herd.
And the intense loneliness is not manifesting itself very well now so I'm a little extra vain and coquettish. Not for long, but yes, at the moment.

Long Loneliness, The Ways of Peace by Fr. Nil Guillemette.

So that's what this is, this deep-seated longing I can't be rid of until I find what can fill it.
I know I can't find it by traversing the world. It's in me. I know it is.
Have you ever tried looking for something you just know is in you?
Because He's in me. And you. And that's really all we're looking for, isn't it?
I don't think I'm as much impatient as I am excited and nervous. I don't think I'd mind the journey so much if my end of the rainbow was that magnificent. And it will be because I can't stop until I find it. I can remember all the times I thought I'd found it. But it never seemed to last. Perhaps it's one of those things I really have to do alone.
That thought of being alone, all alone, like going on a solo camping trip (which I wish I could but really can't because I know nothing about survival in the wilderness and will probably die out there) or at least sitting by myself in an isolated spot away from civilization at the break of dawn or nighttime when the stars are out has always been so immensely compelling I can't rid it from my mind, whether I'm in a circle of friends or crowd of strangers.
I see myself finding at least a clue to my destination in the lapses that are those fantasies, in the pangs of hunger that burst out suddenly. It's an odd sort of hunger, because the more I try to feed it, the more hungry I become and more I ignore it the more I forget about it. But I don't want to forget about it. I could lose myself in all that forgetfulness.
I so greatly desire to fulfil this crave, yet I find I'm rather enjoying myself.

:)

Questionable.

At least, I've never felt it before.

I'm actually feeling guilty, ashamed, before Him. I've never wished that I could hide for doing something so unforgivable that I can't tell Him about it or beg for His grace and pardon. It's as if I can't talk to Him anymore. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to justify myself - and I think it's because I can't. I'm guilty.

I haven't been doing my best, have barely been trying. I've been falling apart right before Him, and all I can sense now is disappointment, regret, disgust and annoyance with myself. I'm not broken beyond repair. I can still save myself. But I'm not doing it. I'm not even letting anyone help me.

I'm alone. And I think it's piteous, how I've let myself become so when I definitely shouldn't be. I'm wallowing in self-disgust, self-pity, self-hatred and I even though I know I can pull myself out, I can't. I'm a failure, and miserably so.

You're a nice guy. No, you're more than that. You're an amazing, God-fearing, modest, sweet, funny, respectable, great person. At least, that's as far as I know. I'm afraid I don't know you well enough, even though I wish I did and I'd love to get to know you. Really, I would. I'd love to be able to talk to you, share a laugh with you, get to know who you really are. I would, if I had the chance.

But oh honey, don't fall in love with me. I can't love you now, when I can barely love myself. I'd be more than a handful to you, a mess, complete chaos. I don't deserve any affection right now, I don't know if I can even handle it. Hey, I can't even handle myself. You don't know half the things you might about me, and if you did, maybe you wouldn't be so interested in me anymore. Yeah, self-harmer that I am and all that. I couldn't bear it if anyone I cared about would ever have to suffer in watching me bully myself. (Considering that, I may not even be able to care for anyone at all.) I wouldn't want to be flattered with you and your character and return your affections unrealistically and with man-made love. If I loved you, I would want to love you without a doubt and not even for who you are, but because I just love you: deeply, passionately, earnestly and beyond all reason - extravagantly. No one deserves shallowness and superficiality, least of all you. And I won't let you have it. I want to love you right if I ever could.

I would love to take time out to spend it with you, but there are commitments I have, especially towards my family and academics. From here to year-end, SPM is just going to stay in the way of every possible romantic encounter I could ever step into, no matter how right. Unless, of course, it's like, really right.

Oh, how I would love to love you. But maybe not now, and if not now, maybe never.

I'll just leave it in God's hands...when I'm finally up to talking to Him again. He'd know best what to do with me and you. He knows best what to with everything. But at this moment I'm just somehow so scared of Him.