Waiting No More

I am the type to suddenly disappear when I no longer enjoy the company, or when I feel I have overstayed my welcome. I'm also the type to burn bridges and never look back. I have done too much of that before, it has become a trait; it has become an art form.

But sometimes, there comes a thing, or a person, that would turn your world inside out, until suddenly, you see yourself changing that basest part of you that you thought was impenetrable and immovable. Suddenly, you are no longer you; you have evolved.

This thing, this event, this person, comes only once in your life, and you see yourself hanging on to dear life; hanging on with teeth and bone in order for it to stay -- to linger -- in your life. For it has become your life, and no amount of sacrifice is too much just for that momentary glimpse, that fleeting touch, that remotest of presence.

And so, the person who used to perform spectacular disappearing acts has been taught permanence. The man who used to flee at the sign of complexities was taught to brave; and suffer; the conflicting emotions associated with staying.

And so I stayed -- and waited -- fueled only by the hope that things will fall into place; that things would be as it was; that the feelings will be returned. Against all signs and information, I waited -- and waited still -- for the return of that one emotion that I was sure was there before.

http://www.lyrics.com/index.php/artists/lyric/anggun-lyrics-snow-on-the-sahara-t-5411203

Still I waited, hoping that my Desert Wanderer, my Immortal, would come back. Even though I know it is futile.

http://www.lyrics.com/index.php/artists/lyric/evanescence-lyrics-my-immortalt-7368727

I've waited too long; I'm waiting no longer. But I don't want to burn any more bridges. I'm closing the door, but will keep a window open. I wished for the hope to die in order to sustain the friendship, for I, too, value friends more than any.

Thus, I will no longer pray for Snow. Hence, the Immortal too, shall die...

Why I Blog

It's been almost a month since my last entry here, and more than 3 months on my friendster blog. It's very unlike me to run out of words to write. And it'd be long before I once again question whether the life I live is boring.

The heavens know my life right now is very far from boring. It's just that I can't make myself freely write about it. Damn this compulsion of mine to automatically censor myself. But then, again, I seldom blog about things that are still brewing on my mind.

I write to get over most things. It is in writing about these topics that I draw out of myself the underlying emotions attached in a specific event or person. When I write about something or someone, it is done so I can get over that thing or that person; to remove that certain topic out of my think-file and set it under the archives.

This logic then follows that when someting is still brewing in my mind, I wouldn't easily be writing about it, for I don't really know yet how I feel about that certain topic.

This logic also follows that I wouldn't be writing about a certain topic when I'm not yet over it. And I wouldn't be writing about it when I don't want to be over it.

Why then, do I blog, if I will only limit and censor myself?

I don't know the answer to that, honestly. I write because I want to, and I will write when the compulsion to do so would hit me. But I cannot force myslef to write about something just for the sake of writing.