Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Comment left on friend's blog and a lot of rambling (warning ... will be depressing to some)

"Now you can't say no one reads this ... because people do. That's the nice thing about the internet and blogs. You can write down the things you want to say but can't actually say without being afraid to say it. Okay, never mind because you (and I'm using that word broadly not directly) are afraid to say it, but it's easier to say it in a blog than it is in person. Hello, I for one would know. Then again ... there's still a part of you (again broadly used) that's afraid to really say what's in your heart and in your head because you're afraid that maybe, just maybe, there is someone out there who will read what you wrote. Maybe they'll understand, maybe they won't. Does it help? Sometimes. Not all the times. Sometimes that's the great thing about being a girl. Once you've cried over it, talked about it (in some way, shape or form)... sometimes (just sometimes) it does feel better. But not always. Then again ... I find myself wondering sometimes if just maybe it's in the dark hours of the night is when we feel at our worst and things we think we feel are just exacerbated by the late hour. Because come morning ... it seems like the darkest hour has passed and the sun has come up again. It seems like everything you (broadly used here) felt the night before was just a memory. A bleak one at that. But it seems out of reach. Until the next time a dark cloud passes over in the dark of the night. Then it begins."

I left this comment on my friend's blog entry on myspace. Then I thought ... I ought to put this down in mine. Because it is something that I have thought about many a dark night. For example. Right now. It's 1:32 AM. This is the time when I usually write in my journal. Is it because it's the end of the day, or is it the only time of the day I find myself able to sit down and jot down my thoughts and feelings? But I find that especially at night, my thoughts and feelings tend to be darker than they would be during the day. Is it because it's late at night, and I'm the only one still up? Is that why I feel more alone because I should be asleep?

Like I was saying above ... I think that's one reason why I keep a journal. Because there are so many things that I want to say that I am afraid to say. That's probably one reason why I keep a blog. I can say a little bit of what I want and hope to get some feedback. It has always been easier for me to write what I want to say than it is to say it. Especially when it comes to my emotions. Because I tend to get emotional and then find it even harder to say what it is that is on my mind, or my heart at the moment. I think part of it is that I am afraid of what will happen if I say what I think. It seems like fear is such a big part of my life, the biggest one is the fear of failure. Of course, that's probably natural and the important thing is to not let that fear run my life.

But I look at my life and wonder ... where is it going? How did it get to where it is now? As much as I like my job, I don't know where to go from here. I'm afraid to try something else because what if I fail at that? Relationships, personal and otherwise, are not my forte. I probably tell more to my journals than I do to my friends. Forget about family relations. I have said it before, probably in my journal, that I feel like I live in a house with four other strangers than with family. I can't remember the last time I sat down with my family for a meal, like I do with Nina's family. I can't remember the last time we went out together as a family. I feel closer to my cousins than I do to my own siblings. The same goes for my uncles and my father. I bet many girls who imagine their perfect wedding usually imagine their father walking them down the aisle. I don't think I have ever pictured that. Ever. Hence, that's why I say if I ever find someone willing to marry me (not likely to happen but you never know) ... I wouldn't want a traditional church wedding. It would be too weird. I can not imagine my dad walking me down the aisle. I don't even know if I want him to. I had completely forgotten about a father's day several years ago. I had grown close to another person who I viewed as a father figure. So, on father's day, I called this person and left them a message on their answering machine. I'm not sure exactly what I said, but it was along the lines of wishing him a happy father's day because he was more a father to me than my own dad was. Where is he now? No longer in my life. Do I regret that? Very much. And it's probably a good thing I never had a boyfriend. I probably wouldn't make a good girlfriend anyway.

Then there's the dozens of notebooks and "journals" I have lying around. There are the ones that I have filled with stories that have never been completed. And the other "journals"... let's say those are for my eyes only. Because I don't know if anyone could understand why I keep them. And no, they're not the "dear diary" type of journals. They're something much different. I carry one around with me practically all the time, in case I find myself with some dead time to use to write in it. The funny thing is, people will see me write in it and ask me what is it? Is it a journal? What am I writing about? And the usual answer is some vague answer, like no it's not a journal and I can't tell them what I'm writing about.

Are you still following me? Probably not. I think that's also part of my problem. I seem to talk and ramble on about things that no one else cares about. Except me. It's not important to anyone else. Except me. So that makes me feel ... quite ... insignificant. Like I don't matter. Like I'm nobody important. Funny because that's how I've been feeling lately. A friend made a comment about my texting habits and so I quit texting that person. I even considered maybe not texting at all. After all, I texted three people who I haven't heard from in a long time. And yet no one has texted me back. Okay, I get it. People get busy. People have lives. Guess that's why I feel like more like a loser all the time. Because I devote so much time to trivial (I think that's the correct word) things like blogs and baseball. Okay, so maybe they're not so menial to some people, because they're not to me. Especially when it comes to blogging. Because I love to write. It's a love that has developed over the years and grown stronger. Hello. I did mention notebooks and journals filled with probably useless stuff. But it's a solace to me. Sometimes it's a great joy to me too.

I've probably written myself in circles now. I do that a lot in my personal journal. I'll start off on a topic and then lose myself in the entry. There'll be long rambles and I'll write myself in circles till I forget what it was that I wanted to write about in the first place. But it doesn't change. It hasn't change. Some of the same feelings I had back in high school are still around today. Though I think it's harder for me now than it was then because so much of me has changed. The people I had counted on back then for support are no longer around, whether it's because they've moved away, we've lost touched, or simply ... the bridges have been burned since then. And I have changed. That's natural. Change is the way of life. You can't go through life without change. All you have to do is try to change for the better. I don't think that's what happened in my case.

A friend from high school write in my senior year book: "Now that high school is over, I wanna say that I'm glad I meet you. You heart is made of gold and you were one of my few true friends. You always cared for me and always called me on my birthday. For all this and your friendship, I am glad. Never change and never forget me. I will always remember you. Love" his name.

It's been six years since we graduated. Six years since he wrote that. And six years since we last had contact. Okay, so not quite six years. But it will be six years come June. Where is he now? I don't know. Does he remember me? I don't know. Have I forgotten him? Obviously not. I still have special memories of him, memories that make me smile. And memories that make me wish I had done things differently. The same goes for a lot of guys actually. But that's in the past. And I can't change that. I can only learn from them and try to be a better person.

Sadly... I don't think my heart is made of gold anymore. I'm not sure if it was made of gold back then either. I don't know if anyone sees me the way he saw me then. Or my other friend who thought the world of me. That made me feel so incredibly ... I don't know how to describe how that made me feel. After all the years of feeling unimportant, I can't tell you how it felt to know someone felt the world of me. A lot has changed since then. One of the things was I am no longer sure if this person, who said that, was the same person I knew. Because I heard something about this person that I don't know if it's true. I spent a lot of time with this person. Thought I knew this person. I don't want to know if what was said was true. Because if it was true, then the person I knew wasn't really who he was. It would mean the person I knew was a lie. And I can't believe what I heard because I can't let go of the person I knew. I can't let the memory of this person be damaged by what was being said. Because I can't lose that. I can't lose this person who was so important to me. He may be lost to me now ... but his memory isn't. Does anyone get that? I would love to have this person in my life again. But that would mean finding out the truth. Was he really who I knew him to be? Or was it all a lie?

It was nice, knowing that I meant a lot to someone. Especially when I've played second fiddle so many times. There have been so many times when I have felt not good enough, not wanted. It's kinda like when you're getting ready to play a sport, like baseball or basketball... and it comes time to pick teams. Unfortunately, all my life, I was one of those kids who was picked last. Even as I got older and I knew I could play the sport pretty well, I still ended up getting picked last. I know it sounds silly. But I hate getting picked last. Another example, a friend of mine had a poll. It wasn't meant to be mean or a popularity contest. But of course I came in dead last. There are so many times it seems like I am least liked or most expendable. In some cases, I'm sure it's just my mind going into over-drive. Others cases, I'm not so sure. It's like all my life, I've always been that third wheel that no one wants. It's in those moments that I think about deleting my bebo account, in deleting my blog. It's in those moments that I think about getting rid of whatever it is that I'm doing that people don't like. Like my camera. I'm a known shutter-bug, or paparazzi as some may call it. In those moments, I think about leaving my camera at home. That way I don't have this horrible reputation as the girl who has to take pictures of everything and everyone. That's just one of my many flaws I guess.

There are a lot of things on my mind, and in my heart, that usually is left unsaid. Sometimes it's better that way, isn't it?

Okay, so this blog is a little more personal than I intended. And probably a lot more personal than any of my readers have seen. Unlike my friend who thinks no one reads his blog, I know people come across mine. In fact, I know there are a few friends out there who do read this. The funny things is ... I also know there are people who stumble across my blog by doing a google search on something else entirely. So I apologize if you came to this blog looking for something else and ended up with this too long blog entry.

And to borrow from my friend's blog who started me on this whole entry ...

there is no real way to end a blog that is on this subject so i just might put down something a little dumb

....and he leaves the blog feeling no better than he had before.

And for anyone who's curious to know. It's now 2:42

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