Wednesday, April 20, 2005
I am Back
I have forgotten many things. All though I am one to say never to leave things behind, I have to admit, honestly, that I have forgotten. The happiness was temporal and so were the smiles, this is the time for rekindled darkness; the darkness I once resided in. Isaac, the entity I drew from pure hate, you have come back to tell your stories and I, always your faithful follower.
I have grown to accept misery and despair. They go hand in hand to weave my tattered destiny; to live, cycling, between unbearable pains or inaudible cries. I cry alone in the dark no longer for darkness is all I am now. I can only move forward, I will NOT look back. I will live this god-forsaken existence until I come into a time where I can see that I would have no need for the dark to accompany me in my travels for as many friends and other travelers I have met, I am still alone in the dark. I walk a path of whispering ghosts and vengeful spirits but none so audible as from my own pained cries.
When I was a child, I had a minor operation wherein I was given an anasthaetic overdose. The dose would have killed me but instead held me in a coma for three months. Many times, I keep coming back to that dream because it was the closest I have been to death and maybe that's why I feel myself being cheated for something that should've happened so many years ago. I dare not say it to anyone else, and I dare not admit it so openly but this is how I feel. The years following that experience sure have surprised me. I have learned who my parents were. They were the people who cried at the side of my bed, praying and begging for God to bring me back. Now though, I don't think they would do the same. Does it have to be at the moment of imminent death that we show our true colors... or what happens is that we turn completely different, putting on a mask, praying to gods, in order to get something we want?
Questions. Questions.
As if they knew me. They never knew me. There was this time when my mother had to answer a questionaire abou me for my Days with the Lord but couldn't answer more than three questions; my name, my birthday and some other insignificance. Didn't know who my best friend was, my favorite color, my favorite food; all of it, she had to ask me, by text, on a cellphone. Who are we in this family? Strangers who just happened to share DNA? Why am I so different? Am I always in the wrong... and if ever, will I commit the same sins to my children one day? Dear god, I hope not. We came to a silent agreement one day; I vowed I wouldn't give a damn about them either. Yes, I would take their orders and listen to their outburts but in other times, I would not heed. I am wasting my time looking for attention from them, they never apppreciated anything I did unless it came in a certificate or a medal. They have no love for my interest in books, music or writing. None. People have called me many things over time, so many titles and so many stories with me but my parents, have none save the vacations where I slept, ate and read a book. What do they see me as anyway?
They didn't care when Red went to the US, or when Manuel went to Canada. I kept that from them, I fought my own anguish by myself. When I wrote about my dad, they secretly read it and couldn't understand the words and they just called it fictitious and exaggerated (mabola). They wrote me letters in my Days and they made me cry because I thought they really cared but when I read it again, it's the same words over and over; "We're proud of you" even if they don't show it, "Do your best, we're always there" even if what I did was never enough to earn an pat on the back, "We love you" even if they didn't know me at all. They were patterns and I was so stupid to fall into them for all these years. What have I learned really?
My friends were different. They are great people and I have grown akin to each one of them. I admire Richmond greatly for his pride. I admire Myles for his sympathy. I admire Ryan for his fortitude. I admire Berk for his character. I admire James for his will. And yet, what is it that they see in me? Am I seen as someone significant? And each one of them has their personal hells and who are we but ghosts who suffer quietly in the dark. I feel better with them around because they knew me, better than anyone else yet I still kept my secrets. I guess only Richmond would know my torments, being my best friend, yet there are still things I cannot say and things I still kept secret.
My hell is my own secret. I have embraced the dark a long time ago and it has always been... mine. For many times, I have thought that it was an empty feeling, like something missing or something broken but really, it has been there all along. The darkness where I cry alone. The darkness where I curse. The darkness where I hate. The darkness where I am home. I have realized and I have seen, that I cannot live without it. Not just yet.
I am back
Riding the Lightning
7:56 PM
