vintage thoughts

Words are sharp weapons, that’s what i learned from my previous job and so we were trained to be careful with what we write, who we’re talking of, who we’re talking to, who’s involve and what’s the subject all about. Is it intended to ruin someone’s life? relationship? friendship? or self?

I was assigned to write about a clothing line where i have to interview all the managers, owners, stylist and guests. It was my job to get all information with a paper and pen or a recorder. When I get home I listen to the tape and begin writing down the details and making sure that what I am to write will not hurt anyone this is where the second rule applies; It’s a free country but it’s not a free press…freedom to write is a gift to us that can kill us. I made sure this stick in my head. One time I asked my colleague, whom I thought that time is a friend I can trust, “Then where do tabloid writers get their stuff? How can they stand writing shit?” She laughed and said “Well, they’re the people who have so much time to waste that they write of the lives of someone else’s.” I was startled, I have to admit that I was simple minded then. I do listen to gossips and sometimes laugh at it if it’s funny or it’s meant to go public but I haven’t tried passing it on to people who don’t need to be involved.

I read it all and felt like screaming, I was having a hard time letting go of who I was but I have to…I made a promise,instead i let my heart burst and just cried it all out. I am a writer, I know the rules and I know I am permitted to write about pains and how awful I feel. I clutched my phone as tears began to burst out of my eyes, I asked…”What should I do? I feel awful…Have I done such to them? Tell me? Did I ever do such to them? Tell me? Did I do them wrong? I’ve been friendly? Tell me? Do I deserve this? Tell me?” I can hear my voice raising and I know I have to calm down. I looked at the book lying on the bed, he said…”Let them be. They’ve got nothing to do, don’t let it affect you.” I sobbed and tried to breathe normally, but it’s too late, it affected me and it was fucking bad. I started writing away and the tears stopped falling but the idea of sleeping had escape my mind.

My family didn’t have the time so i spent it in school and friends. I was happier there. My family didn’t get to listen, I remember locking myself in the room writing all my feelings in a paper it was the only thing that listened without being selfish, it never said I was stupid or unpretty. I left the house to find peace I barely dinner, listening to my mums rants about papa and us fills my empty stomach and heart with anger. I have a lot in my mind and questions i guess will never be answered. I always let go when i can no longer understand things and when there’s no one to nake me understand or give me a reason or hope. I guess i still haven’t learned from all the worst I’ve been

You can never win in your argument when you no longer understand each other. This is why I’d rather write how I feel rather than tell it in real time. I can never send the message of how it has been to me.

My pain is not just what happened last night, it has been an on going thing that we kept on fighting about. The stupid thing is we never seem to fix it because no one wants to do something about it. I remember someone told me that I am already hurting him, I sat quietly and read his reasons…I went blank I have to fix the problem to stop causing him pain and so I said I can never be friends to him again. The blank reply means he agreed. Did I feel sad? A bit…but the purpose is to put away all doubts so the sad feeling was replaced with relief.

I admit that I start the fights. I kept on looking on small details that don’t matter to him yet matter to me. I wish I could tell you that even if it no longer matter to you, you have to see that it matter to me and it hurts me.

If I was an important meeting, would you take a bath and dress up quicker to get to me? If I were a client calling, would you let it ring 40 times? But I know what you’re going to tell me…”so that’s how you see this? That’s what you think? Are you doubting me?” Then at that point I can no longer tell you how it feels, how it makes me cry and how hurt I was…I’m just expressing how I feel and how painful it was it’s not stating that I doubt you, that you don’t love me or whatever it is you think. It doesn’t mean that when someone loves you and you love her it’s okay to make her wait, it’s ok to tell her that I have no time not even a second to do that, that you will tell her “how about me?” when she never asked that.

What if I say, how about me, I am sick and barely got out of bed because of migraine can you pick me up? How about me, you said you’d not meet her…you promised? How about me, I asked a simple thing and yet you can’t seem to see that the point is it hurts me? How about me, I said I’ll bring you and promised but you don’t want to? How about me, when they look for the person I’m in love with, can I tell them he doesn’t want to be here? 

It’s not a question if you love me? I know you do, I can feel that you love so much. But do you hear me when I say that those little things hurts? Or whenever I say those you’d go…”I always make you sad.” when all I want is for you to do something about it. 

The last time I felt like a total idiot was 2 years ago…and now.   

I let Gary Lightbody drown my thoughts with his voice. I never thought I will be so deep with his song that it made me see a lot of what is going on in, what people calls it, relationship. I never considered it as a relationship, it’s not just a bond I’m building, not simply understanding, for me…I am building a new story in my life and in a story it’s not just rapport or bond that holds it together. “even if you cannot hear my voice, I’ll be right beside you dear…” The first time I heard the lines made me feel everything that has been happening and where I stand. I remember demanding for something to be removed, for images to forgotten…for it to be kept out of my sight. It never was removed until I did, it never was kept away until I did and when I said how it made me feel, that it gives a sharp sting in my chest. “I have a lot of things to do than that.” I can hear the lines in my head . “even if you cannot hear my voice, I’ll be right beside you dear…”

“I can hardly speak I understand, why you can’t raise your voice to say…” Then someone asked…do you love her? An answer was given…I love her, just as I love you and love them. I know why it can’t be said out loud but something in me died and I remember the lines “I can hardly speak I understand, why you can’t raise your voice to say…”

We have different interpretations that’s the beauty of people, we can argue and make each other understand to make each other feel better…but if the answer is nothing, what else is there left to be done? I know we can never ask someone to love us the way we wanted to be loved, we can love a person the way we know how.  And the song goes on…

“Have heart my dear
We’re bound to be afraid
Even if it’s just for a few days
Making up for all this mess”

My cousin taught me how to smoke cigarettes, the first time I inhaled the deadly nicotine sent a sharp feeling in my throat. It ran down to my lungs and I forgot to exhale causing me to cough, but the more you get hooked on it the sharpness becomes smooth…I barely miss the taste of it. Giving up the habit was tough but if it’s to avoid causing pain to someone you love so much? I guess I’ll endure the days when your mouth feels dry, when you can’t calm yourself in a very stressful time and when you get sick with what you ingest. No, you wouldn’t understand me you’re not a smoker since after high school and it’s hard to explain, I don’t have the patience to.

The cab’s engine kept on dying every minute and my frustration is getting in my head. I need to avoid a conversation with this driver; it might get out of hand. I fished my phone from my bag, I went to the gallery to stare at that certain photo that brings a smile on my face no matter how bad the moment is. You should call him…my conscience commanded. I click the green button and immediately his name flashed on the screen. It took several rings before he picked up, I was expecting that, he sounded pissed at the sound of my voice I pulled myself together not to cry. I don’t want him to hear my voice crack. It was a useless call I wished he didn’t picked up instead. The engine died again, the driver apologized and I didn’t answer, I’m freakin’ late you idiot! Written on my bubble thought. The slower I get to my stop, the more recalls occur in my head but I decided to just suppress it, I’ll just let it die in me.