Keeping

To talk is not innate to me - and I guess, never will.

Since time immemorial, I have always kept a journal where I could write my thoughts and shout outs without being misunderstood or hurting anybody. Over the years, I have dragged myself to be a better communicator - for my own damn sake and somebody else's. There was even a time, I "stopped" writing because I have to hone my "talking" skills but there's always something that pulls me back hard enough to make me write again and just shut up.

There was never an incident where I opened up to a "loved one" where I was understood. It was always the other way around and worst, the conversation ends dramatically. No matter how hard I try to explain and differentiate "complaining" from just mere "opening up" - at one point or another, things will never conclude without being told the same old lines, "If you cannot deal with me or this, might as well leave."

It was a major blow for me. I saw Kat of old again - afraid to "talk" and to "trust".

I carry a heavy heart today and that line keeps on playing in my head like a busted recorder. I hope that in God's sweet time, things will be bearable.

Oh well.

Maybe I should take his advice then - marry my damn notebooks, get used to "tough love" and be strong like a man.

Miss Potter

I loved children's books since time immemorial - looking back, I've realized that my childhood life will never be complete without mentioning such books. Ah, all those nursery rhymes, hymns that I so oh lovingly take me by heart.

I have to give my parents (especially my Mom) and Tita Kuh (Mom's only sister) credits for this. They encouraged me to read and write.

Recently, I have seen Miss Potter and it was marvelously portrayed by Renée Zellweger (minus the way her lips moved - annoying!).

I definitely agree with what one writer said about the film, " does justice to a singular imagination, a mind that conjured lovely, benign images that have spoken to people for more than 100 years. It presents both worlds Beatrix Potter inhabited, turn of the century England and the colorful enchantment inside her mind, while specifically showing - and this is important - how such an artist, living in two realities at once, navigated through life."

Ironically, I've seen myself in that character - minus having a manipulative mother who always meddles with her daughter's affair and no, we're not a social climber who loves to throw parties and invite "distinguished" guests. I live in two realities - one is where I work, breathe and study; the other is where I solely write and enjoy the company of those "images" I have drawn and written. I lovingly call them my "intimates."

Ahhhh, its good to be reminded of the things I have always loved.

It's also a pleasure to see Miss Potter spending her childhood summers in the country, where she would always feel most at home. The movie was shot both in the city and the country - both of which did not fail to mesmerize me. Oh those country landscapes!

This one's a must see.

Writing Nonstop

This morning, I have been told that I am cleared. Not entirely cleared but I am getting there. It was a pleasant surprise.

Life indeed has its own way to jolt the nerves out of me. One moment, I was crying (almost silently cussing at almost everything) and then this, I am smiling and I feel better.

While last night was not a very endearing way to make things worthy of waking up the next day – I have chosen to move on. It was hard and nonetheless, buckets of tears had to be shed but I have to.

It dawned on me for the past months (or even years) that to stay is not quite healthy for me – believe me when I say, I went nuts. I grew tired of having this mixed feeling of loving, hating, denying, accepting, crying, whining and hiding.

I have had enough bouts to last me yet I feel am not as strong as I expect myself to be. Crazy. I still breakdown and it seems that there’s nobody out there whom I can completely trust. For some reason, I have learned to hide and lurk.

Yes, I hide and write my emotions.

I would often find myself locked inside my bedroom and write non stop. It has been a routine. Healthy or not, I am not sure. All I know is that I am at most comfortable being alone – inside my bedroom, where no big hands can hurt me, where no big voices can stain me and where I am allowed to “talk” and write non stop.