mindful mondays, thirty-five


the world has been slightly upside down lately.

words and writing have been difficult. my thoughts dry up before I have the chance, the quiet moment to note them down. and when the time does come, I feel drained and exhausted. not capable of anything creative. my writing has been reduced to instant messages, drunken emails written in the dead of the night, pouring my soul out. fortunately, I am always sane enough never to address the person the words are addressed to. I don’t know. I have had enough of heartbreaks, ups and downs and the constant lack of feeling content. I have had enough.

I’m in search of positivism and good things. I haven’t written one for a long time, so here it is.

things I’m grateful for this week:

+ beautiful, blue skies. the crisp and cool air when I open the balcony door first in the morning.
+ coffee; I’m always grateful for coffee, because it makes life easier. even the cheapest coffee tastes nice. one day I will try a cup of marley coffee goodness and I cannot wait.
+ seeing three high school friends at the same time over a couple of drinks. there were laughs, and jokes, and high-fives, and ridiculous words and funny things. it was good to see them, and I already miss that.
+ for that moment when you pick up a random book at the bookshop; you start reading and you get completely immersed in it. I’d always had a completely wrong idea about empress dowager cixi and there’s something about the chinese history that I just love. going back this week to buy the book.
+ little black dresses.

mindful mondays, thirty-four

seasonal changes; it is cold now. we sit in a cafe outside, sipping wintery beverages. hot chocolate for him, coffee with nutmeg for me. we look at each other, sensing the time pass. it moves around us in swirls of air, circling around our heads and then slowly dissolving. disappearing. another minute gone. but we sit for hours. sometimes, we laugh; sometimes, we are in a serious discussion. but it’s always something. the days pass, and soon I won’t even be here anymore. I am trying to focus, but no. it’s not happening. life isn’t happening the way I would like. contentment is missing. every day is bleaker than the one before. a couple of years from now, when someone asks me, this is the period of my life I won’t remember anything about.

I question everything, but have no answers.

mindful mondays, thirty-three

I have been spending a lot of hours trying to figure out what exactly is wrong with my life. because I am not content. I am not. occasionally I am happy, sad, excited, exhausted, furious or angry, but most of the time I feel numb, empty, ambivalent. I walk through like days as if they are clouds. I don’t see any beauty around me, I barely pay attention to any details anymore.

and then one night, I realized it. I am not obsessed with anything. there used to be times when I was adamantly focused on a single thing. most of the time, it served absolutely no purpose, but it kept me going. it was giving me an inner purpose. early and mid-teenage years were marked with kurt cobain and nirvana. I was breathing them. everything was about kurt cobain and I thought he would have been my soulmate, if he was still around. he made me start writing letters and lists. the way I dress, even now, is entirely influenced by the grudge period. I used to read pages and bits and pieces from heavier than heaven, every day, like it was a bible. and it was to me. had it not been for cobain’s journals, I would have been cheated for some four hundred bands and artists that I would never hear of otherwise and my music taste would never develop the way it has. I will, without feeling a pinch of embarrassment, admit that kurt cobain and nirvana left the most lasting impact on my life. I barely ever listen to them anymore, but they have never fully left me, either.

when I was younger, it was harry potter. everything about it. I memorized spells and the way how to cook up various lotions and potions. I memorized entire lines from the book. and the films, I knew every single frame by heart. I even skipped school to watch the pre-premier of the first three films. I think of that with great fondness. then there was white oleander and everything about it. I attempted to read or at least know as much as possible about every single book or a work of art mentioned on the pages. then there was sisterhood of traveling pants, which I must have read over a hundred times. as I grew older, I saw myself in a different girl every few years. there was also a period of time lasting about a year and a half when everything in my life was about my moleskine journals and keeping my handwriting straight. I obsessed over goddard’s cinema. I obsessed over lion king, which is perhaps my longest obsession, which started in 1994. I obsessed over buying films and never downloading them. I was proud of this fact. I obsessed over keeping my books in perfect order and color-coded according to the pantone. there were dozens of things throughout the years that kept me sharp. or at least, it’s how I saw it. it was purposeless to the outside world, but it was giving me purpose. it kept me busy, it kept me interested and educated in a way that had nothing do with academics.

but no more. I dare to say, the last twelve months or so, no more. I’d lost that. that feeling, that drive. that willingness to obsess over something that isn’t even remotely relevant, but it is. these days I am just floating through my interests. watching films, but not really. instead of foreign cinematography, I’d turned to american television shows. my interest for chinese and/or french almost disappeared. I’d forgotten all the kings and queen’s of england that ever lived and I could probably just name one bone in the body, instead of all 206. in latin. I’d lost interest of any kind. and that’s why I am not happy. nothing keeps me going forward.

I am just floating through my days and I am completely clueless as how to return my drive. just because you’re breathing, doesn’t mean that you are alive. what a waste of words. I honestly hope I will find my way back one day. I have to.

mindful mondays, thirty-two

+ we saw a couple of beautiful, sunny days with clear blue skies. I am missing them now.
+ super typhoon haiyan has taken over the southest asia, especially the philippines, and we feel it as well.
+ the boy and I spent a lot of nights in the cinema. I am still collecting the ticket stubs; one day I will be greatful that I still have them.
+ I drink less coffee. I drink less altogether.
+ I don’t sleep enough. in fact, I sleep three hours a night on average, which with the lack of coffee is an amazing fact.
+ I could eat at mama africa five times a week. and we do.
+ my entire world shattered before my eyes the other night, when I decided to sneak in where I should have not. but it was nothing new. the only question now is, where is the limit and how much is too much?
+ separation anxiety is taking a hold of us and the days are getting shorter now.

sunday snippets

a tiny bottle of tomato, orange, pineapple and grapefruit juice. cranberries and chocolate-dipped raisins. a mug of coffee. ticket stubs from the cinema. messages from the boy. reggae radio in the air. opened balcony door and spread out curtains. I don’t like it when the light comes through in my room. I slept in this morning, just the ideal number of hours. I lingered in bed for another twenty minutes. I checked my phone. four messages, sweet words and kisses. I felt a pang at heart when I thought that soon, maybe, I won’t be starting my days like this anymore. I looked at my dirty walls, scraps of tape and teared posters. there are words next to the headbed written in drying-out permanent marker. a list of things to keep in mind. I lose them often. I looked at my books, an entire wall of rainbow-sorted books. I decided they’d all be coming with me when it’s time to move. I switched the writing editor from text to visual, but I can’t decide whether it makes it easier to write. I want to go back to paper journals. again.