Eres and I have grown monumentally closer these past weeks. She follows me around wherever I go. If I had to use the bathroom, she would scratch her nails at the door as a knock, or if I took too long to come out, she would just sit and wait by the door. Once I emerge from the bathroom, she would wiggle her tail and jump at me as if we’d been apart for months. If she was sleeping by my feet, she would be startled with the tiniest move I make, as if terrified that I would go somewhere without her. Forgive me if I keep writing about Eres lately. It is because I still find it fascinating how my heart has learned to love something that used to frighten me. I am amazed that love could seep out not just from human beings, but even from other living, breathing souls such as this dog lying next to me as I type this. Such love that is evident by the way she looks at me before falling asleep, the way she comes running to me for cuddle after blowing her a kiss, and how she never fails to return to me every single morning to anticipate my waking after everyone has gone downstairs. It surprises me sometimes. Perhaps every time still. I guess what I’m just trying to say is that I am grateful to find the friend I never knew I needed in Eres.
Eres, you warm my heart every time you show all sorts of subtle affection – placing your paw over my hand, or your head on my lap, or sitting near my feet as I wash the dishes, or lying next to me when you are terrified of thunders. Thank you for all the joy and love and wonder I never knew my heart could hold.
Please never go away.
I’ve gone places these past few months and the strange, sad thing is: the more I conquered territories, the more I lost my sense of home.
Authentic beauty seeks no validation. It remains beautiful even with the absence of a spectator.
Yesterday, I turned 22. Twenty-two. It feels weird to say, or to think even, that I have been here that long. I guess it’s true what they say – that it’s only the outer shell that ages, and that you’re still the same person inside. Maybe if people were merely souls and had no outer shells, the only sign of one’s age would be one’s wisdom. Maybe.
Anyway. I decided to skip school yesterday and go on a solitary trip to Tagaytay. The moment I hopped on the bus, a strange sense of liberation and nostalgia overwhelmed me. It’s been so long since I’ve gone somewhere or done something on my own. Maybe it’s because I’ve made some really good improvements with my social life the past year. I think I might have spent more time with people than I have with myself, which is not bad at all. But with everything that I have been working on recently, I couldn’t help but cancel plans that day which involved socializing (sorry, cousins). I wanted to give myself time to breathe and process things.
I bought my CD walkman with me and listened to the recent mixtape I’ve made on the way to my destination. The mixtape contained songs which reminded me of my grade school and high school years. I read a book in the restaurant where I had lunch, and I wrote on my journal in a small coffee shop later that day. Prior to leaving, I also managed to watch a coming-of-age film that morning, which was about how a child celebrates her everyday life despite living in a harsh environment. So, yesterday’s trip really felt like a throwback of some sort, because I was finally able to do the things that I haven’t done in a while.
I looked back on the life that I’ve lived so far and I guess I had to forgive myself for all the versions of me that I wanted but did not become. Maybe I’ll still have fragments of those as I go on in life, but they will remain only in periphery in the form of a side interest, or a memory.
Twenty-two years. I don’t know what version I’ll become years from now, but maybe the current -flawed, thirsty for improvement- version of me is worth celebrating in itself.
It’s that thing when you’re with someone, and you love them and they know it, and they love you and you know it… but it’s a party… and you’re both talking to other people, and you’re laughing and shining… and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes… but – but not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual… but because… that is your person in this life. And it’s funny and sad, but only because this life will end, and it’s this secret world that exists right there in public, unnoticed, that no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us, but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s – That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.
– Frances Ha (2012)