The Drunken Girl Inside

She wasn’t planning on meeting him tonight.
Her plans involved having a cozy Monday afternoon with her friends, catching up and doing the stuff they loved doing together. But life has a creative way of ruining plans. After hours of getting ready, she headed down to the mall and was the last one to arrive; unsurprisingly late. She met her friends at a familiar chicken restaurant and was convinced that she’ll go home early tonight. In the middle of their lengthy and juicy conversations, she was occasionally holding up her white feature phone to check if there was any message from him. There always was. That made her smile. So even though she wasn’t with him, she was all right.


“Now…?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said loudly. The speakers were booming in the background. “They want to meet you.”

“I’ll be there in less than an hour,” he said.

And so he arrived.
On the way home, he was gently holding her wrist the entire time. She was the talker and she talked about everything. He was steadying her when she can’t walk straight, sliding his hand down the arch of her back, guiding her, as they were walking along the pavement.

She couldn’t remember most of what happened (mostly because she got drunk). But what she could remember is him being there for her when she needed someone to take her home, him being the one who bought her favorite popcorn because she was kinda talking about it nonstop and him being the companion that she was lucky enough to have.

They halted in front of a small lilac gate. He looked at her, unappeased, but baffled by the sight of the woman standing in front of her. She was messy, but she was his. He leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he told her.

Before she closed the door, she was looking at him leave.
“Damn! I am a lucky bitch,” the drunken girl inside her said.


(image from:


Stages of Being Jelly

These stages apply to any relationship. They are arranged from calm to explosive. In this, you will be able to distinguish what kind of a jealous person you are based on the examples. Please be true to yourself. It is okay to feel things, you human. We all feel a little jealous sometimes.

STAGE 1 – The Bones That Are Made of Calm

The first stage is like the final stop of jealousy joy ride in a relationship. In here, you have already set everything free. You have feelings, but jealousy isn’t one of them anymore. You are calm. You are free. This stage is marked with the full potential of trust. This stage is also called as, “The Prestigious Stage of Nirvana.” Hallelujah, commitment is the key!

STAGE 2 – Almost There, But Not Quite

You have calmed your tits down. Your tight hold has loosened up now; you are beginning to trust your partner more. If it’s a friend, then he/she is now allowed to hang out with other friends without you feeling bad about it once in a while. This is the start of something new . . . you are slowly becoming aware of the fact that they love you, they really do. They just need some time with other friends, too.

STAGE 3 – The Silent Treatment Is a Façade

Lock the doors.
This is it.
“Hi, I am in no position to be jealous, but I am. Go; marry the person you chose to be with instead of me. Live a happy life, ok? No, I’m not jealous. But I hope you break your neck or something. Yes, I’m sure I’m not jealous. What’s your problem? I’m not jealous, I swear! Huh. Nope. What? Uh-huh. Not really.”

This is stage of denial; the stage where you’re so afraid to lose that person so you just don’t want to listen to the tiny jealous bitch voice inside you. But you are listening. You’re now feeling things. Little things annoy you, and it’s not getting any better.

Prepare for the next one. Cuz it’s fucking inevitable.



Relationships, whether short-term or long-term, go through this stage. This is that shit!!!! The! Shit! That! Makes! You! Go! AGGHHHHGHGHGHHHHH!!!!!!!!! You are a fucking bomb! Why are you a bomb????? What is this feeling??? Jealousy??????
No. Um, maybe.
Well, yes! You’re just really angry and scared and—you don’t know, you just want to punch someone in their fucking face.

Am I ugly? Are my thighs too big? Am I missing a leg? Do I look like a person cut in fucking half? Is my mere presence not enough? What? WHAT??!?!?!??

That motherfucker. I am a fucking gem.


This is the stage where you realize that you were just too hungry.
And you just needed to eat.
And Eat.
And Eat.


((image source: 1_1280.png))

A Star That Knows How To Wait

Warner is good,
Warner is great.
Warner knows why I’m always late…
He’s neither a crush nor someone I hate,
He’s a star that glows and knows how to wait.

“Stars are not here to be pretty,” he said.
“They’re here to guide us to what lies ahead.”
His words of truth remain with dread,
But lights me at night when I lie in bed.

He’s bossy, arrogant, and misunderstood;
A whisper at noon that searches the good.
Look at his eyes, they will tell you his mood.
He puts secrets in sleeves and trust in a hood.

His sword weighs too much, he’s anchored by the pain.
His body falters and drips with disdain.
He sees everyone taking two steps away,
He’s a thought—a clamor—with nothing to say.

Warner laughs when I tell him my dreams.
When he smiles, he can’t see I’m at the seams.
Warner has a voice that beats the sun’s gleam,
I think he’s the captain of the football team.

Warner hears muffled voices and a cry,
He sings to the trees asking for a reason why.
He laughs at his own joke and will look to the sky.
He’s a bird with broken wings, still learning how to fly.

You feel too much, young girl.
Nobody ever fathoms the shallow sense of emotion you have.
They all look at you with amusement and pity;
whoever notices seems apathetic anyway.
You are in your self destruct mode,
please do not go haywire there.
Because they will not care
or will be too busy to even see.
You are not alone, young girl,
but others are hard to find.
They crawl beneath their own skins
to satisfy the guilt of being alive.
They scream in shades of fervor and anguish,
but you see, others don’t listen
even if their tear-filled eyes continues to glisten…
just like you, they retreat in their shells.
Stop asking why, young girl.
They do not feel what you feel because you are special,
and you deserve to be punished
for being who you are.
Yes, they see that rope too.
Don’t be afraid to wear it,
no one will ever notice even a bit
of how swiftly this will go.
Alas, they will now be asking questions, young girl.
And then they will suddenly care.
And then blame themselves for not realizing
how you were so different
and special
and unique.
They will put on their plastic frowns—
the same ones they wear twice a week.
After the years have passed they will not have known,
how you cared so much
you’ve seen the trees full grown.
They will visit just to say sorry and sorry and sorry
but it will be too late.
You once tugged your brother at the hem
and you feel nothing now, just like them.
Aren’t they proud?


When the music starts,
it doesn’t feel like something nice.
The trees say hello
but the doors bang louder.
It keeps on telling you
you can’t
because you’re blue,
you’re blue,
you’re blue.
The tides splash in unison
that swallow you whole
down the seabed,
around the ocean floor.
When you tell yourself it’s time you do,
they remind you that  you’re blue you’re blue you’re blue.

The streaks of your long, vibrant hair
fall under your lower hip.
But why do you sell yourself short?

The color of your eyes begins to fade
and your life has been miserable for the past decade.
When the only person you can trust
is you,
it’s hard to forget
the blue,
your blue,
you’re blue.

(Artist yet unknown)

You are afraid.

“You are afraid to be beaten, to show up unprepared, and to lose in the only game you were winning in. You hate it. You suffer from a creative constipation and you don’t know how to get rid of it. It carries an unwanted feeling that itches inside, and the ticking of the clock reminds you that it can fly right between your eyes. You don’t want to give up. You don’t want to settle for less. Because you know you can do this. You know that when you stumble, you can rise up again. You don’t want to pressure yourself, so don’t. Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody learns the hard way. You need to set it all free. Remember the days when everything around you inspires you. Remember every little detail of your favourite song, or movie, or book. Remember everything that once inspired you. Because I’m telling you, if you don’t show your ass up tomorrow, or if you show your ass up tomorrow with an unfinished or not memorized speech, I can guarantee that you will regret it your whole life. Do things your future self will thank you for. Isn’t that what you used to tell yourself when you were feeling so lost? So go and do it. You cannot just sit there and wait for the perfect moment to happen to you. Go ahead and make it. Be resilient. Be confident. There’s no one else I know that can do this but you.”

Shizama Utami, “A letter I wrote to myself”


She doesn’t usually get why she feels like she’s never good enough most of the time.
But sometimes she does.
And when she does, the ground shakes. She falls. Her hands clasp and unclasp. She somehow feels like she’s been shredded to even smaller pieces because she knows she just glued her tiny parts which were broken before. When she does, she understands why he abandoned her in the middle of the road in the middle of the night. She fathoms the questions she always asks herself. Why he sends broken promises as his parting gifts and why she lets him. Now she gets why after she mends his ripped tapestry, he immediately bids her goodbye. Why she accepts him with open arms every time he comes back after he leaves. Why he doesn’t need to explain to her his side. Why she loves the mixture of his personality with a rebellious view of the world. Why looking at his eyes are enough. She understands everything- why she fell, why she keeps coming back, why Natalie chose Keith when she has Raphael.
But what she doesn’t know is that the problem isn’t her, it’s him and his blindness.
He doesn’t see the art that flows through her veins. He doesn’t appreciate the magic that sparks between her teeth when she laughs and when the dimple on her right cheek comes out. When he looks at the night sky, there are thousands of lights glimmering above, unable to distinguish which are stars, meteors, satellites, and airplanes. But when he sees a star in front of him, he focuses his attention on a satellite. It’s not her fault why she doesn’t have a face as lovely as a perfectly roasted marshmallow in the bonfire. She knows that no one likes it that her face is not fragile because it shows her stern, resilient personality. No one recognizes the worth of her smiles. He doesn’t see that deep inside, she’s a castle of glass… too easy to break.
And sometimes knowing that is enough.

m x

(image from deviant artist cartoongirl7)