If time played well beside you

And everything stood still,

Know that I still love you.

In fact, I always will.

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((Image from www.btsbedtimestories.com))

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Out of shape

I miss my old self. I remember the days when it was raining and I had no umbrella, but I still felt happy and thankful for the rain. Now I wonder why. My world was multicolored and now I live in black and white. Nothing’s changed me entirely. I guess I’m still a bit shaken internally. It was only a few months ago and I was so eager to learn. I was an optimist on almost everything. I was contented and proud. I was great. Huh. I feel like I’m talking in an autobiography. I feel like I killed my old self, or at least somebody killed me and I let that happen. Nothing’s missing, but why do I feel so lost? When it rains, I feel so down even if I have an umbrella now. I guess the storm here is nothing compared to the storm inside me.

Have you ever felt this way too? Like, you’re lost at a point in life and you don’t know where to go? It feels like a dead end. Everywhere I look at, it reminds me of a distant place in my mind where I was once happy. And I’d remember that so much has changed. Then I’d get sad. Then I’d mourn over my old self. I haven’t been able to write recently. Well, I write often. But I don’t get to write about myself anymore. Writing was my passion but since I became part of the campus journalism club I wasn’t writing about myself anymore. My passion felt like a job I started loathe. I also can’t even stand my club adviser. She’s angry at us most of the time. And in worst cases, I would be the one she barks at. I guess I never expected that the writing life would be so dark. And that journ advisers would be THAT cruel. *journmates screeching in the distance*

A few months ago I was excited, because “now I’d be able to do what I love and I’d see my name on paper!” Quoting me, five months ago. But no. Hell NO. Since I joined that club I started worrying “often”. And for a person who worries a lot (plus that aforementioned “often”),  it was doomsday everyday. My friends remind me that I should relax after a tough day of an editor’s meeting plus a football training. But when I get home I receive notifications on my Facebook account from our editor-in-chief demanding the articles. Yay relaxation.

Classes on mornings, meetings after class, and training after meetings. When I get home it’s already 8pm and there’s still so much homework to be done and there’s still so much chores to be done and there’s still so much articles to be edited and there’s still so much that I forgot to keep track of my life. I want a break. Is this God’s way of telling me he doesn’t want me to be a writer someday? Because honestly, this is really depressing. In class hours I survive a day without actually learning anything. Literally. My butt gets tired of all the nonsense my teachers talk about the whole day while I’m forced to sit and listen to them. I used to love school. A year ago I had the best teachers. I actually learn new things everyday and they inspire me to be a better person than I was before. Now I wish I was the person I was before. I wish I still have the teachers I had last year. My classmates cheat. They cheat on exams, quizzes, and even in recitation for crying out loud. Then their names go on our Top Ten Students every quarter.

I don’t know if this is called a slump or something. Hey, don’t judge me for being a part of the school paper. Geez, I still have a grammar errors and misused lines. I’m not going to kid myself, some moments of this school year was good. But all I want is to be the “me” I was before. I’m still haunted by the real-life nightmares I encountered, but the me I knew is resilient enough to roll with them.

Can I still bring her back? Ang kalaban mo ay ang sarili mo. (A Filipino term which means “You are the enemy of yourself”). But is change possible in this situation? It’s like telling someone you don’t love them, but not promising anything. You might fall in love, or you might not. Who knows? This year started so good and I ended up wounded. I should just hope for the best.

(artwork by Hans Vandekerckhove)