Scattered

Eagle-eyed voyeurs of this blog have probably noticed by now that I have been tweaking the template mainly because my head is scrambled. I am currently floating someplace between anticipation, hopefulness, wistfulness, and that seductive blueness which is two miserable steps from self-absorbed depression.

So much about clarity. Allow me to be vague for now. I will write something sensible when I finally get a grip of coherence.

~ ~ ~

Dear N,

Remember third year, pre-internship midterm exams? Remember how I have lost all the will to persist on a misguided belief that medicine is the path for me? How, in that unexpected breath of gentleness, you brushed aside my unfounded fears and led me into the greatest revelation of my life: I did paramedical studies to please my Pop and shifted to Liberal Arts to please myself. Remember how, in those grey moments of indecisiveness, you made me realize that I am capable of recognizing that faint, warm feeling?

I cannot exactly put a finger on how or where we drifted; all of those overwhelming moments got diluted by our respective priorities. All I knew is we had it once, we had it great, and now looking back all that's left of us are a handful of anecdotes, a boxful of letters, three near collisions with the possibility of spending adulthood together and how can i forget, endless streams of laughter. Nowadays we are reduced to a smile creeping up our faces when thoughts of the aforementioned intrude into memory.

It stung like hell. I know it did. That I am not worth more than a flashy car. Since then I have made a promise: I will not spite our great moments by aspiring for a flashier car just to prove you wrong; that what you did was a mistake.

My dreams are shallow these days. I drowned myself with work and forgot all about owning something with no backseat, something impractical, something less homey. I perished—and still avoid—all thoughts of owning something suitable for PTA meetings or junior league weekend soccer practice.

Because I'd remember. Because it will only amplify the degree of my loss.

Yours, LC, wishing you favorable weathers on your trips to the pediatrician.

[song removed. will be restored when i finally figure out this widget mess]

~ ~ ~

I have deleted the awkward fiction and posted mediocre attempts at poetry.