I hope I will not be able to say this again but... I'm sorry. I have wronged you. I have been as selfish as a dream snatcher that I've allowed you to dwell into the world of the past and made you pick up what you can barely get from your failures. You became sorry for some of the decisions you have made for yourself. There were also times when you thought that the events of the present could not have happened if a certain decision in the past branched out to the opposite of what you have picked. There were times when you thought you deserved the path you were treading on yet you were still mumbling to yourself that you could have chosen better. I admit it was all my fault.
If it weren't for me, you would be happy with wherever and whatever you are right now. If it were not for me, you would not cry yourself to sleep while dousing the feeling of being able to live. You developed a habit of always looking in retrospect and thinking that you badly misunderstood yourself when you thought that that dream would make you whole; or for your supposedly impeccable thinking that that other dream was just a phase and that more things are in store for you. I know that you can never have time back. This is why I am apologizing to you.
This is just the way I am. The past is my strong comfort for I dwell in it. So don't blame me if I speak more of it than others you know.
My eyes are filled with tears and my heart is in pain and anguish as I write this. Please believe me when I say that I deeply remorse the things I've done. If I were to turn back time, as you would have (deeply influenced by me), I would have chosen differently. I would have chosen a path that would've put a smile on your face and would forever set you in high spirits.
Having to decide between two things is a very peculiar thing, because you either choose wrongly or you choose the right decision. Either way, something is lost. And my influence on you made you think that your one decision caused you to lose a dream you deeply cherished! What kind of being am I? I deprived you of your secret longing; the thing I knew most about you. I can never give you anything; I can never undo the wrong. All I can offer is a silent prayer and a desire that deep down, you can somehow find a way to make things right despite of me. A friend of mine said that you are tough, for you have survived loads of adversities and foes. You can still make your life bearable, if not perfect. As for me, I have gone a long way. I have wronged you and it's time for the punishment- my punishment that I would humbly accept and embrace with open arms. I will be forever gone in your life as deep anticipation erases me from your presence. I will become just a memory, a talisman, like a reminder of how you scraped your knee, or of how your mother scolded you when you couldn't get to write a simple circle on your three-lined paper. I will be forever gone. And in my absence, I will ask someone to take my place. Please welcome her as you have welcomed me. Learn from her as you have learned from me. Challenge her, feed your memories of her and you would somehow be close to receiving what you truly deserve. Instead of me, the antagonist in your perfect story.
Please do not anymore remember me. I opt to be forever out of your life. For good. Really for good.
Sincerely,
Regret
PS. Please open your heart for Contentment now... before it's too late.
~anamellie, 060410
Friday, June 4, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Absence of
I was busy surfing the internet, looking at Youtube videos, commenting on my friends’ posts on Facebook and typing some diarrhea of words at my Blogger when it happened. The lights went out all of a sudden and sheer silence and darkness ruled the whole atmosphere at eight twenty-two in the evening. On top of that, I swear I could almost feel my sweat boiling (seriously not exaggerating here). No, we didn’t fail to pay our electric bill. Nor did my brother play his usual prank of switching off our main power supply. It was (insert drum roll here please) the schedule for power saving blackouts!
I and my four siblings hate blackouts. For my two younger brothers closest to my age, blackouts mean putting the electric guitar to a rest. My younger sister doesn’t want to miss her favorite TV show either and that I think is reason enough to justify her loathing for not being able to turn on “Panasonic”. The youngest of us, our little brother hates -not fears- the dark; I know this because he explained in detail that he fears ‘what is in the dark’ and not ‘the dark itself’. My six year old brother is like that and sometimes, I wonder if someone switched his kiddie brain with a grown-up owned one. I mean he’s so good with reasoning than other kids close his age.
Anyway, the four of us eldest blindly sought the dark to secure our flashlights while my little brother screamed for “Mommy!” who minutes ago was doing her needlework. All of us gathered for supper with only the candles (and the flashlight) to at least make us see the food we were eating hurriedly. After that, we all decided to make time pass by sharing stories with each other which was strange because we usually sleep our way through blackouts. Much to our little brother’s chagrin, I had so much fun telling ghost stories. I would lower my voice and give them an animated narration and with the dramatic use of the flashlight, I would achieve a haunting effect. Similarly, but with different ‘approach’, my seventeen year old brother was so good at telling jokes and lame stories that we ended up laughing our way despite the semi-darkness. My mother told us her childhood experiences and we gained wisdom from her witty and interesting attitude on storytelling.
Soon, everyone was playing with the shadows cast from flashlights. It was amazing how all of us could be creative at showcasing our shadow-casting talents using improvised 'materials' (hands). It was so entertaining that each of us almost had the same look on our faces when the electricity surged again at eleven thirty... and that was disappointment. Our dream world may be short-lived but its end created a new bond within us. It wasn't really all thanks to the inventor of flashlight. And it mainly wasn't for the power outage that things have been different. If we chose to sleep our way instead of opening up with each other, none of the surprising things would have happened. We would have experienced none of those thrills and excitement. I felt like a child again as I realized that most importantly, If we didn't welcome each other, none of us would have shared the individual lights burning within us. I would never forget that moment as slowly, each one of us leap to our beds as we said our ‘good nights’.
Almost an hour had passed, but I was still unable to sleep.
All the lights were turned off. I left them as is, grabbed my flashlight, pen, and notebook, and went out of the house. This was my way of battling my insomnia attacks. In a moment of sudden inspiration, I was about to write a poem about unrequited love. I beamed the light to the notebook I was holding. Then I felt as if someone was looking down at me, and I faced the dark sky and looked upon the glitter of stars scattered like silver dust on a black blank page. Then I knew I was up for a new topic. I mentally crashed out "unrequited love" and the earlier events of the night flashed through my head. I drank in the sight of the twinkling diamonds, muttered to myself, and scribbled on my notebook:
“Without the dark, we’ll never see the stars...”
I smiled to myself, and I smiled at that someone looking at me from above, because I knew it was true.
~anamellie, 060110
Authors note: Thankfully, this post is a brownout survivor!
I and my four siblings hate blackouts. For my two younger brothers closest to my age, blackouts mean putting the electric guitar to a rest. My younger sister doesn’t want to miss her favorite TV show either and that I think is reason enough to justify her loathing for not being able to turn on “Panasonic”. The youngest of us, our little brother hates -not fears- the dark; I know this because he explained in detail that he fears ‘what is in the dark’ and not ‘the dark itself’. My six year old brother is like that and sometimes, I wonder if someone switched his kiddie brain with a grown-up owned one. I mean he’s so good with reasoning than other kids close his age.
Anyway, the four of us eldest blindly sought the dark to secure our flashlights while my little brother screamed for “Mommy!” who minutes ago was doing her needlework. All of us gathered for supper with only the candles (and the flashlight) to at least make us see the food we were eating hurriedly. After that, we all decided to make time pass by sharing stories with each other which was strange because we usually sleep our way through blackouts. Much to our little brother’s chagrin, I had so much fun telling ghost stories. I would lower my voice and give them an animated narration and with the dramatic use of the flashlight, I would achieve a haunting effect. Similarly, but with different ‘approach’, my seventeen year old brother was so good at telling jokes and lame stories that we ended up laughing our way despite the semi-darkness. My mother told us her childhood experiences and we gained wisdom from her witty and interesting attitude on storytelling.
Soon, everyone was playing with the shadows cast from flashlights. It was amazing how all of us could be creative at showcasing our shadow-casting talents using improvised 'materials' (hands). It was so entertaining that each of us almost had the same look on our faces when the electricity surged again at eleven thirty... and that was disappointment. Our dream world may be short-lived but its end created a new bond within us. It wasn't really all thanks to the inventor of flashlight. And it mainly wasn't for the power outage that things have been different. If we chose to sleep our way instead of opening up with each other, none of the surprising things would have happened. We would have experienced none of those thrills and excitement. I felt like a child again as I realized that most importantly, If we didn't welcome each other, none of us would have shared the individual lights burning within us. I would never forget that moment as slowly, each one of us leap to our beds as we said our ‘good nights’.
Almost an hour had passed, but I was still unable to sleep.
All the lights were turned off. I left them as is, grabbed my flashlight, pen, and notebook, and went out of the house. This was my way of battling my insomnia attacks. In a moment of sudden inspiration, I was about to write a poem about unrequited love. I beamed the light to the notebook I was holding. Then I felt as if someone was looking down at me, and I faced the dark sky and looked upon the glitter of stars scattered like silver dust on a black blank page. Then I knew I was up for a new topic. I mentally crashed out "unrequited love" and the earlier events of the night flashed through my head. I drank in the sight of the twinkling diamonds, muttered to myself, and scribbled on my notebook:
“Without the dark, we’ll never see the stars...”
I smiled to myself, and I smiled at that someone looking at me from above, because I knew it was true.
~anamellie, 060110
Authors note: Thankfully, this post is a brownout survivor!
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