Before the semester starts

Year III. Sem II. That's where I will be a few days from now. And that's how long this blog has lasted. I know I haven't been the most consistent, OC, and gramatically correct law student-blogger out there, and I have mentioned absolutely nothing on my law school experiences when I should have. But I have to give myself a pat on the back--this has been thus far my longest running blog that I haven't deleted, including the ones with my (real) name on it.

The reason for my relative lack of blog posts is not that things have gone by so fast. They have not! I can't remember ever going through a long-drawn, gruesome, torturous ordeal worse than law school. Some people hate it, very few love it, but I think everyone who's gone through--and is going through--law school can agree that it is anything but easy.

I can't describe it, really. The experience is one for the books, but I can't quite describe it fully without potentially exaggerating or understating exactly how it is. But what I know is, coming in, I didn't really have any idea what to expect. And when I had an inkling of what it's gonna be like for the first few weeks I was in it, I put myself under the insane belief that I could skate through with digests, bar tips, and other shortcuts. Thankfully, I learned early on that, as in most obstacles in life, there really were no shortcuts. You just have to go through with it. Of course there's always the option of joining a fraternity or asking a friend to help you out in the middle of a bloody recitation, but when it comes right down to it, you have to beat yourself at your own game.

I sound freakishly sentimental when I'm not even through with it yet! I guess what I want to point out is that I've come to my full senses, five semesters too late, and I'm ready to finally bring it.

I mean, I should be. There's nothing more I want right now than to finish law school, get my law degree, and find out what the future holds for me. I don't really have a clear picture in mind as to what I want to do, which is why I admire my boyfriend. He had everything figured out during med school, knowing what specialization he wanted to take and where he wanted to go. And now that he's finally a doctor in residency, he's making it happen. And it's happening right before my eyes!

I guess that's the kind of realization you have during law/med school, and dammit, it's the realization I want to have while I am still in it!  More than anything, really, I'm just happy that my perspective has changed.

I will get to the finish line, and I will get there before others do.

You Saved Me.

The plain truth is that you saved me.

The past five months could have very well turned out to be a disaster. I could’ve been cursing you in my mind right now. I could’ve been listening to Taylor Swift’s fantastically heartbreaking songs right now to relate with them, not to appreciate them. I could be alone. 

But strangely, quite amusingly, I’m not. Instead I remember your scent when you’re not even physically here, and the way you look as you sleep and I try not to wake you but wake you at the same time. And instead I think—five months, and you’re here. And I’m happy.

We’re building castles together, building dreams that are worth their weight in reality in my mind. I am starting to believe that you might be the one… No, wait. I actually do believe that you’re the one.

It’s a scary feeling, free-falling. You know he’s probably there to catch you, you know that it’s perfectly fine and safe. But you’ve fallen before, and where did that leave you? In the past you’d always believed the love you were living was right, but it always turned out wrong. What difference does this one more “try” make?

And then you start to count the ways how.

Because we could be lying on bed all day. We could be fighting all night. We could be having round after round of Korean lunch. We could be anywhere, whenever. And it would not even matter, because you’re here, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I wouldn’t trade the feeling of being with this someone for anything in this world. 

I’m scared. I’m really scared.

But fuck it, I’ve never been this happy.

I'm still alive, jsyk

I haven't been around for a while, and it's not because my life has taken a dull and uninteresting turn. Quite the contrary: junior year in law school has been a bitch, and until last week, I spent majority of my time with my partner.

I'm happy. I'm with someone who understands the thrust of my humor, my thought processing, and my mundane concerns in life. And this someone...I'm genuinely interested in him, in his happiness, and in his pursuits in life. Plus I find him hot. I wish I can go full circle emo right now, the way I always would in my previous posts. Believe me, I have an arsenal of passionate thoughts I can bombard this post with. But for now, I won't. For a change, I will choose to ride the waves and see where it brings me. I do hope it brings me to the end with him, and that's exactly the direction I'm headed to. (At this junction, the only things that're stopping me from having a happy ending are my paranoid thoughts about getting killed in one way or another no thanks to my Transportation law class).

I wish I had the time to write everything I'd tried for the past few months, amd getting drunk (or so I think) for the first time is one of those. I will have you note that this is such an accomplishment because 1) I don't even like drinking all that much (except when I want a good night's sleep), and 2) I'm 22, a law student, and I've never been drunk. But there will be a time :)

Also, a few of the things I hate right now:

1. Tito Sotto and his stupidity
2. Jesse Robredo dying (The moment I heard he was lost at sea, I was genuinely startled and I had to check for updates re him every now and then.)
3. Gossip in law school, but only when it's directed at me.
4. The lack of pets in my life
5. Getting sucked into the competitiveness of law school life, e.g., having to squint my eyes just to see the grades my professors give me every single time i recite.

There are days I feel like I take a step backward, and wonder what could've happened, and what would've been, if I took an alternate direction. But what's the point, right? This is exactly where I'm supposed to be. And this is precisely what I'm supposed to be doing.

And now I have to end this because I have major stuff coming up, all of which can be defined by one word: exams.

I know, I'm boring. Suck it.

An Ode to Desperate Housewives

In the relatively recent past, I sat through one of the most important 1 hour and 24 minutes of my life...spent watching the season finale of Desperate Housewives.

Yes, I had been watching the series since Episode 1. And yes, I found it interesting enough to watch until the eighth season. And yes, it had been damn amazing.

So right now I feel that I am compelled to write about something that’s meant a lot to me in the latter half of my life thus far. 

Now that’s saying something, because this is the half where (1) I dabbled into drugs (you have to understand that I feel the need to brag about this, to make my life seem marginally exciting,. despite the laughable “amount” that barely had any effect on me), (2) discovered the thrill of loving liking boys and sleeping with the same, and (3) studied like fucking nuts (and now I have to stop trying to enumerate what I’ve done for what I call this latter half, because nothing else of relevance comes to mind).

The point is, through it all, I found time to slip in a few hours (actually that’s a lot of hours, if you add up eight seasons’ worth of 45-minute episodes) to find out what’s happening in Wisteria Lane. Even for the most part I thought I was the only person I knew watching it. And even if Andrew Van De Kamp’s appearances became few and far between.

So anyway. Cheers to Desperate Housewives--by turns absurd, whiny, and unnecessarily dramatic...very much not unlike me. And cheers to Robyn for looking like a man in this video below.

Self-destruction and transformation

I promised I'd write today. I owe this to myself: to write about happy moments I conveniently and often forget, in plain contrast to sorrow which would easily launch me into a writing frenzy.

So today I write, because I'm happy.

I find myself opening up again, completely trusting another person in a way I didn't think I could anymore.  Strange, isn't it? We promise ourselves we'll never love again after a great heartbreak. But once the dust has settled, we draw ourselves back to the search. Maybe it's the way we're wired--we're meant to love.

I'm happy, because I found someone similar yet different. In those differences I can't help but be fascinated in and be drawn to, while in the similarities I find comfort. It just fits. It all works.

But I'm holding my breath. If there's anything I learned from my recent failure, it's that you have to take a step back, look at the big picture, and occasionally pull yourself back to earth. I'm trying to be careful.

One of the ideas presented by Sabina Spielrein, an idea I discovered after watching A Dangerous Method, is that the human sexual drive is about self-destruction and losing one's self in another, but it is also capable of transformation.

As a hopeless romantic and as a person who truly believes sex is for two people who have feelings for each other, I can't help but think that here I am again: possibly in the path of self-destruction, but, at the same time, possibly at the edge of the love that counts.

Free falling

Looking back at some of my blog posts, I realize that I’ve allowed myself to be sad for too long. Yeah, I’d have brief bouts of happiness, but they’d be overcome by long stretches of sadness in between. I even started to welcome the sadness right in, if only because there was a slight chance that I’d be happy at some indeterminate point in the future.

I’m still sure ending the recent pseudorelationship was the mature-slash-the-right thing to do. I’m telling you, it sure took a hell lot of guts, to see someone you care for leave. I was so sure that was it. I was watching the one walk away.

But I agreed to do it anyway, not because I wanted him to run after me—that wasn’t even in my wildest dreams—but because I knew I had to stop myself from sinking deeper into sadness just so I can get a few minutes of happiness. I don’t know exactly what love means, just that it’s supposed to hurt sometimes. And I was in pain pretty much half the time.

“We accept the love we think we deserve.” I never really understood what this meant. Now I understand that maybe it’s about allowing yourself to take all the pain that comes along with the love. For a while I was willing to take both the pain and the love in, but then it became unbearable and I had to grapple for the exit sign faster than I could hold my breath. 

Now that someone’s taking me along on another ride, I can’t help but wonder if this is the kind of love I deserve.

He’s incredible (only because I have no other word for it) in every way, and everything’s been great, and (again, for a lack of better word) I’m just happy…That’s precisely why I can’t help but ask: Isn’t this much more than what I should be getting? Am I way out of my league? Am I too unsure? A little too rash? Taking things a bit too fast?

You see, I’d been sad for quite a while and I’m not even used to writing about how happy I am. And the moment I start becoming genuinely happy, I start doubting myself. And the nagging thought that this is not permanent or that I’ll be sad soon starts creeping in.  I won’t even try to deny it: I’m scared.

But. It looks like things are finally looking up. Maybe I finally get to be happy. Maybe it’s finally about time I stop second guessing myself and just fucking go for it. Maybe it’s time to free fall. 

Wounds left dry

Since the breakup, I've developed a sense of entitlement I don't deserve to have. I pass writing assignments as late as a week ahead of the deadline. I've even stopped giving excuses, because by now, my clients must have realized how lame and ridiculous they are. Besides, at this point, I might have singled out every possible excuse to not write.

The only time I can ever really get words out of my mind is when I remember a certain memory that brings me back to when we were together. When that happens, wherever I am, I'd take out whatever device or piece of paper I can scribble on, and just let myself express.

I'm not in one of those times, but let me try to string words together without the requisite overload of emotions. Let me try to get back on my feet again.

Music helps. I don't think I've listened to music this much. Here's one song on repeat. I guess I could relate to the song--how something so good begins and progresses for quite a while, and how it has to stop all at once, and how the chances of running away start to slim down.... As for us, well, I think we managed to run away before the doors were too hot to touch.

It helps that I get to talk to him every once in a while. That I find out he's doing well. And that's reason enough for me to move on and get over it. If anything, I'm damn competitive. I don't think I'd allow myself to sulk in a corner pathetically living through the memories over and over again, knowing that he's quite happy with himself.

I get sad and tear up at the most random moments. I got sad when we landed from the plane. That one time when I was just reading a finance-related article. Even when I was fucking walking in the mall. And yes, I realize how sad and pathetic that is. I've been through five formal relationships for fuck's sake, but not once can I recall being so stubbornly stupid in love. I'm simply not supposed to be the type of guy whose life fritters away after getting his heart broken.

Am I still holding on to that slimming chance that someday, when, as he said, the world becomes nicer, he might consider this life? I think that saying yes would be blind optimism, and I'm not even optimistic to begin with. So I'm saying no. Because no is the probably the truth. Because no is pessimistic, and no is who I am.

When I'm sad I stop myself from asking him: "Is it possible to get back together?" Instead I take out a sheet of paper listing what the reasons are for breaking up. The blood isn't in my hands. More blood is smeared in his than in mine. I remind myself that it was a decision that had to be made, a decision that I have to be mature enough to stand by. So stop being so fucked up, because you brought this upon yourself,

This is also the point where I realize that in the end, there's really no one else to pick me up but myself. I've been dating, but it didn't change a thing. Once I took out my phone and rudely texted in front of the other guy. Texted him, in fact. I couldn't care less for the guy I was dating. I wasn't interested, but for propriety's sake, that wasn't a gentlemanly thing to do.

I did meet someone who understood my situation. I can't say I'm counting on that person just yet, or if i can ever count on anyone ever again. But just like music, I have to say: it really helps.

Right now I'm just trying to write.

The sadness

It can get so strong that it consumes me. I asked him how he does it, and he told me he busies himself with movies and books.

See, I can't do the same. because it's the kind of sadness that paralyzes me. It pains me that I can't really talk about it to anyone. It pains me even more that I have to purposely stop and forget something that meant so much to me.

A doctor told me the only way to deal with pain is to do just that: deal with it. I didn't really understand what she meant, but what I know for sure is I can't keep trying to put the memories in a tiny box and pushing it farther and farther off my mind. Trying to forget...it just doesn't work anymore. The only thing it does is give you a temporary calm. Trying to soak all the sadness in... it only ends up drowning me.

Then when you think you've moved on and stopped thinking about him...There it goes again. That fucking memory of just talking in the car trying to sort things out. Or of kissing like fucking teenagers. Or plainly fucking and making love.

I didn't think it was possible for me be in too deep.

I'd like to get out. But I'd love to crawl back in.

Habits

It takes 21 days to form a habit. But it took me much less than that to know that I wanted you. I don’t know how or why… I just knew.  After several failed relationships and random dates, by now I’ve developed the uncompromising ability of knowing whether something will work or not. And for a while I thought nothing would work out, until you came. And I didn’t have to wait 21 days to know you’d be a habit I’d be having a hard time forgetting.

Is it because I’m a visual person? Is that the reason why I’m unable to erase the memories off my mind? Is there any other explanation why I keep remembering the smallest most random things for the past four months? Because believe me, I tried. I am trying like hell to forget. I am trying to forget that we once held hands in your car. Or maybe twice. Probably thrice. I almost quit on you, because it hurt too much when you told me you could never choose me, choose this life. I said it was fine with me, then you told me you’d leave sooner or later—probably sooner. Then I said it was fine with me—that’s what I’m trying to forget.

Because kissing you was always better than the last one, and because every now and then you’d do something that would just cut right through me, and because, I swear to God I only wanted you to be happy.   So yeah, it was fine with me, really, because I wouldn’t trade the feeling of having you for anything, not even knowing that you’d leave me anyway.

I think I read into every word you said, every little thing you did—and I did—too much. Were you getting bored? Was I in too deep? Is it too obvious? Am I caring too much? Am I giving you too much credit for who you really are? Are you finally going to choose me? Am I crossing the vague line beyong loving you at the expense of hurting myself? Is there even such a thing as too much?

You see, it was never in my nature to just let go. I was never the type to just go with the flow, and throw to luck the off-chance that we might be together some day. But I guess that’s exactly what I did. I see now how stupid that is, because how can you choose a life you’re ashamed of? How can you choose a person you can’t be proud of?

So yeah. I want to forget. I badly, crazily, unreservedly want to forget.

But if I could? I’d gladly do it all over again.

3 Artists

One of the hobbies I have been able to sustain is listening to and scouting for new music. I think it's one of the things that got me through my Final exams month without going crazy, considering that I had been almost always alone during those days.

Let me share three artists I've discovered over the past weeks:

1. Birdy. If I'm not mistaken I've listened to this song a hundred times already, and to her entire album just as many times. Her rendition of this Postal Service song broke my heart, once I sat down and tried to figure out what it was all about.

As I understand it, the song talks about being kept a secret lover and eventually being left alone. By the end of the song, the artist realizes, "I am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving." Her voice and melody are simply beautiful, and the start of this song was simply heartbreaking for me.

2. Lana Del Rey. Her voice and her live performances and her beauty all come together to form what comes off to me as a sad and haunting artist. This song, I think, is pretty straightforward. It talks about how Lana struggled so hard to finally get on the radio and how she's loving her success so far. The song mentions cinnamon a couple of times and that's enough reason for me to love this song. Haha.

3. Mumford & Sons. Mumford & Sons isn't exactly a recent discovery, but I found a compilation of their unreleased songs recently and it's been on loop ever since. This song comes from their first studio album. It  talks about, well, what happens after the storm. There's an obvious gospel angle to this, which makes me love it even more.

Obviously, this post is a sad little attempt at talking about something I can't talk about to other people who are simply not as passionate and interested in the music I listen to.

And just let me add, I've been really happy--or should I say content--the past days. There's nothing like the thrill of learning something new and being genuinely interested in it. I wake up everyday with a sense of purpose as to what I want to do and how I will do it. I'm (finally) slowly getting over my fears, maybe because some of them have been realized and I'm still alive. I think I'm finally out of my dark cloud and ready to start doing happy things :)

Cold and maybe okay with it

This morning, I checked my Facebook account and found out through one of my Facebook groups that the little circle of high school friends I am part of (or used to be part of) will be going on a summer trip. I didn’t realize there were any plans at all, until it occurred to me that I hadn’t been checking out my account for quite a while.

We were a group of 11 friends and ever since we graduated from high school, they would get together. I never went to any, except one or two I think. My non-attendance was not a conscious effort on my part, but I somehow found a legitimate excuse not to go in one way or another. And at some point I guess they just got fed up and labeled me as the guy who was always absent. That said, I think it’s polite of them to invite me to their Facebook group.

I can’t tell when it began, but I can say now that I’ve mastered the art of small talk, of revealing just enough for people to think that I’m close friends with them, and of being utterly superficial. I’ve somehow ingrained in my mind that friendship can only go so far and although having deeper relationships with my friends has crossed my mind, I don’t think they have the same thing in mind. To be honest, I don’t like the idea of giving away my secrets, only for them to use it against me sometime in the future.

But I do reveal myself every now and then, only to a very few people I trust. I talk about my deepest insecurities and fears which I won’t even dream of letting anyone know, I let loose and stop trying to make an impression, and I just let my guard down. Often that person is the one I’m currently seeing. I realize how dangerous that is, because history has shown that my relationship with that person never works out. This leaves me with a terribly bitter aftertaste—that who I really am won’t ever be enough to make anyone stay. Sometimes I feel so alone in my thoughts, but then I’ve conditioned myself to thinking, aren’t we all alone anyway?

I know all the lectures that go with this kind of problem—that you’re smart, you shouldn’t be so cold and secretive, that you should open up more, etc. What these lectures don’t tell you is how to begin. Because I sure as hell don’t know how to—or if I even want to. Because I don’t want anyone to think that I need saving…I don’t. And because once I try to take a step forward, I realize that hey, I’m not in such a bad place after all.

Change

I told myself I'd spend the Holy Week trying to figure out if this was really what i wanted. Do i really want to become a lawyer? I'm almost halfway through yet i'm wondering if i can take two more years of studying every night for the next day's bunch of cases and laws, of walking right through the door and scrambling for cases i wasn't able to read the previous night, of the constant fear of failing. I am aware that studying may for all i know be a lot different from practice.

but i've been told that the practice doesn't get any better--because then you'd realize how blatantly the law is being violated. and how one by one, or perhaps even all at once, your ideals start to crumble in the mess that is the legal system.

Just last week, we interviewed a labor union for our paper in Labor law. We were supposed to look beyond the fallo of a decision by the courts, and explore the soundness of their decision. The case involved a bunch of employees laid off by a company in apparently unjust terms. Years have passed, but the employees related their pain as if it only happened yesterday. All the while I was thinking to myself--that was the pain they'd had to endure for years.

And, maybe, I think, for some insanely ideal reason, that's the pain I am capable of preventing should I continue with this track. I'm not even sure that's the track I'd veer towards (because a selfish side of me just wants a hell lot of money), but the chance of being able to effect change? Just to be able to have that tiny chance.... I figured it might be damn worth it.

I don't think I'm a bad person. But I know I've done bad things when I was all stressed and worked up during school days. I was mean to my friends and shut them down, I was always in a bad mood, and I was especially hard on myself. During those days, all I had to keep me going were the wrong reasons for staying. I'd just keep at it like a robot, not thinking of why I was where I was. I forgot how much I hated unfairness and how capable I am of empathizing with people. I'm working on getting that back.

I should write this down, I told myself. Because I know that in a few week's time, I'd be asking myself why the hell I allowed myself to go through all this mess. If that happens then, I won't tell any of my friends because they're just as jaded and I don't want to sound cheesy, given my recent record of not disclosing what I truly feel to pretty much everyone I know and love. So for now, I will write this all down. And for now, I will watch Desperate Housewives for as long as I want and try to prevent this stupid zit from surfacing.

A conversation

do you see yourself with someone who's going to leave? At a time when you can't afford emotional instability?

my analogy goes something like this. if someone you love only had a number of days left to live (say, family) because of a terminal disease, will you just withdraw, move on, para di ka mahirapan? No. Wouldn't you want to spend as much time as you can with him or her and just simply appreciate those moments?

For what it's worth, I wouldn't be able to leave anyway. Because for all the differences and the disappointments, and the good in himself that he might not even realize, it all just works out. He's enough. 

How to be happy

I am happy.

I know I’ll find a reason to be slightly depressed or disappointed over something for one reason or another. I know it’s been almost two days since we’ve stopped talking for circumstances beyond our control. In the fairly near future, this tiny paradise we’ve created over the course of ninety days will probably crumble—and I’ll more likely be banging my head against the wall for not stopping when I had the chance….

But I am happy. For the past three months and counting, I wake up, think about a ton of things to do for the day and somewhere along I remember how alive I feel again.

I can barely remember a thing from the past year aside from studying getting depressed studying being alone studying, and never measuring up to my goals. The school year was off to a terrible start to say the least (a topic I will set aside for future documentation), and a blurry haze of guys came and left. I felt nothing for any of them and, for a while, I thought I would never try again. I would never just jump and go for it.

But I did. And once I laid all my cards on the table, it just felt right: to let the guy who's vastly different but similar, full of life and happiness, in. To be honest, it's unlike everything I've been in before. But once I wore my heart on my sleeve even for just this one person, it started to just happen. Happiness poured in.  

Keeping myself sane

My ex, the one I was in a relationship with the longest, and I talked last night. Throughout the course of our conversation, we happened to talk about how we used to be as a couple.

I asked him about how I was as a boyfriend. He recalled how much I was in love, how swept off my feet I was. And in those moments, I did make him feel like he was the only person I would love.

He talked to me about how he would text me the plate number of the bus he was in, so I could wait for it in the bus stop and we could be together on our way to school. It didn’t matter if we were going to be 45 minutes late for my 8 AM class and that I might possibly miss a quiz, which I did for a number of times; what mattered was that we were together on our way to school.

He reminded me of my “grand gestures”  and how we met secretly after class, because we couldn’t risk anyone seeing us. But we did end up risking everyone seeing us.

Then he told me how fragile my love was. How I tolerated the difficulties at first but ultimately let go because of them. There were certain things I just couldn’t look past at, and it ultimately led to the demise of the relationship. That was one mistake he did, and it was one mistake that drove me away. And I never looked back hence.

I wasn’t surprised by this, since it seems to have become a habit of mine when it comes to relationships. There are certain things that must be corrected in the relationship, lest I fall out of love. I may not know myself well enough, but that’s always been my breaking point—whenever the going gets a little too tough for me, I get out of it altogether.

I didn’t need to hear it from him, but I needed his confirmation. I needed to hear his words. Because that’s precisely what I need right now—to take comfort in the fact that once in the far future, I will be able to move forward and get a hold of myself.  That I can forget and never look back and maybe if I’m lucky, be delusional  enough to believe that relationships like this can work. It’s what I need to keep myself sane.

Don't leave me hanging

There are days when I’m so sure quitting is the only way out. And then, by some stroke of unfortunate hope, I find myself crawling back. Wounded, but hopeful nonetheless. It’s basically a cruel cycle of optimism and misery, hoping that one day, for reasons unknown, he'd suddenly make up his mind. And that he'd choose me.

But at this point, I just want an answer.

Leave me or stay. Just fucking choose.

Recent events

I went on a random date last Saturday. He was a nice guy, but it's no big secret I already had somebody else in mind. Why did i do it? Among a few reasons at the top of my head is the need to feel desired. Of course, there was no guarantee that my date would like me--but I'm glad he did.

He told me I was too proper and that I should open up. He told me that I should have fun, then proceeded to ask me personal questions about how I am as a lover, what I'm looking for in a partner, and things I don't really think deserve an answer on the first date. By the end of the date, he concluded that I was an abrasive guy (but strangely enough, this didn't stop him from "attaching" to me).

I know that he's not exactly right. I may not be the type to blend easily in conversations. I get annoyed at the smallest things. I don't like being forced to do things that I don't like. But give me the right person, and I'll talk about my dreams, my private thoughts, my insecurities, and my unsolicited drama. I could be someone's best.

***

I went on a funeral of a friend's mom a couple of weeks back. Forgive me for sounding self-absorbed, but don't deaths and funerals make us realize how short our time here is? It can be as soon as tomorrow on my way to school, or a few weeks as I'm writing this. Mindblowing, that we can't really ever know when our time is up.

The point is: life is short. It's a simple enough fact, but a lot of people seem to forget it, including me. Life is short, so what's the point of sweating over the small things? Life is short, so why should we worry so much about what other people think at the expense of what will really, really make us happy? Life is short, so why do we allow ourselves to go through the motions and not give the very best in every endeavor?  Why don't we pursue what we really want? Why do we permit ourselves to get hurt when it's plainly unnecessary?

It is for this reason that I've decided (1) to actively work on worthwhile relationships and people, and (2) just go for it, which really just means that I should be more spontaneous. Haha.

I just don't want to be the person who wounds up at his deathbed, regretting all the failed relationships and endeavors he could've worked out by simply trying a little bit harder.

A slight heartbreak

It's been a while since I felt this feeling--the vulnerability, annoying attachment, .the desire to know everything about a person who clearly doesn't, or can't, feel the same.

I can easily classify myself as a private person, but I just found myself pouring everything into a person who wouldn't even tell me his last name. I'm pretty sure this will come down as one of the greatest ironies in my life--liking somebody who wouldn't ever be as near to me as I want to, when there are other guys who are willing to stay,

The only logical thing to do, really, is to run for self-preservation. But I reel myself back in. It's my own doing.

It's a shame, really. I'm finally ready to try again, but fate is too unkind. I know I should start moving forward, but how do I even start?