This is seeming to be a regular happening each end of the sem. I go on a writing frenzy for a few days because guess what, I'm late again. But even if I'm always late, I submit/pass just in time. I'm confident, overconfident.
Just the other day, in one of my coffee-fueled writing frenzies, I was writing about the concept of egocentrism, "personal fable". It's ironic but it's almost confirmed now that I have it. No matter what I do, I won't fail. No matter what I do, I can't fail. I'm *****, I do not fail. And yet again, at the end of another sem, here I am at 3AM in the morning, slightly panicking at the submission I just sent incomplete. I'm supposed to be working on it right now so that when my prof wakes up and sees it, it'll be complete. But here I am, writing this instead. No, this is good. It's all good. I need this to calm down, Give me this, at least. I need it to calm down. I need it. You know, I texted him last night that I was slightly panicking. Of course that was an understatement because so help me God, I was panicking, and I'm still panicking-- and my body gave up on me like it sometimes does. It just doesn't understand, "Hey body, I don't care so much about you but I care about my grades so fucking shape up." Actually the deductions aren't even gonna be that bad if I submit a perfect paper but I'm panicking and I'm spiraling and I'm filled with guilt now. Can I still make a good paper? I'll cut myself a deal, I'll do what I can in terms of this paper until 8AM. Afterwards, I'll be working on HoA. After that's done, I'll work on this again. I'm tired, so tired And it's not his fault, you know, so I shouldn't even be roping him into this. He was sad, about something. He told me. I said he was gonna be okay. (I'm not okay.) That unsettled me, I asked him if he wanted to talk. He was still outside so the signal was bad. I said, okay, I'll nap. And it really isn't his fault and I can't get the things I don't communicate enough but I wanted to be comforted, you know? To be told that all this shit is going to be alright and that I'll pass this sem, somehow. I am a horrible person and a horrible groupmate. I wanna fucking k*** myself, except I don't want to anymore. It's funny how that works. I used to. I really used to. But I don't anymore. I'm just tired, oh so very tired. And I'm guilty and tired and I know that no one else would answer me this late but I fucking want someone to talk to. I want someone to tell me I'll be okay and that it's all gonna be okay. And that this shitstorm will pass and that I don't have to be perfect, I just need to pass. I just need to do what I can. But what if I know that this is not all that I can. That I can do more but didn't or didn't have time to. I'm spiraling, I'm spiraling. It's not a fun ride and I'm typing rapidfire now to an imaginary audience, and... I'm tired, oh so very tired. But I should probably get back to this paper soon and finish it before my prof wakes up and sees it.
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Wishing that I'll be The man that you'll touch and see I'll give my love that can't explain We will be running in the rain And I will hold your hand Hold my hand On the first few weeks when we started talking, we would talk through midnight and into the morning. We would fall asleep, not knowing how much time has passed. I know you're busy, I'm busy too. I hope you don't look at me differently. I've noticed some awkwardness lately. I'd hate to interpret it as you getting bored of me-- even as you reply with short, generic messages after I've possibly just peeled another layer of skin of my personality to you. I said I'll be your friend and I stand by that decision. So even with these feelings still lingering around, remember that I'll be here. Even if you don't ask for it. Even if you don't need me anymore. Even if I'm no longer the one you miss. I'm still holding onto the sleeve of your shirt. Give me some time to let go. I'll get over you, I promise. But that time is not now. It's past midnight again. It could be a bit of an unsatisfying feeling-- to want something more than the label of "just good friends". But adding "just" to that equation can make it sound so negative. Let's transform it to "good friends". Even then, it would still be unsatisfying because perhaps what you were hoping for was something more-- and no, not more as in "best friends" but the more that transcends the camraderie, we're talking about the "girl/boyfriend" category. And you can't deny the feelings when they come. The hugs you wished were even just a few seconds longer, especially that one that surprised you because he hugged you so tight that you were suddenly made aware of your height difference and how you had to tiptoe a little bit to properly embrace his shoulders with the same amount of force, causing the two of you to sway lightly side-to-side as you try to keep your balance. The eye contact and the faces you make while teasing each other without even saying anything. No words were needed in those moments, you've formed a deep enough bond to understand what the other person meant. The shy laughter, the awkward banter, and the way he tugs at your shirt sleeve when you have the upper-hand in a conversation that took so many twists and turns neither of you even know how you ended up in the topic of whose innocence is still more intact. The pats on the shoulder, and the silent pleads he does with his adorable brown eyes that disappear whenever he sheepishly smiles as he stretches to shake off some of the awkward tension, like a cat wakening from a nap. The way he finds your height difference adorable as he comments about how he can see the top of your head before proceeding to pet it as you pout up at him, and he smiles at you gently. The first time he wanted to call you, he was out on vacation in the place he loves, in the place he met and spent time with his first love-- which made you perplexed when he messaged you with the intention to call. He was out on vacation, in such a special place, with the special people in his life-- people he's known way before you-- but he wanted to call, you. You found it shocking at the time and reacted in a way that caused his shy self to quickly retract his request. The time you two finally talked on the phone, it was because he was having a panic attack. He asked you to distract him, to comfort him-- perhaps because he trusted you. At first, you tried your best through chat, to talk about random stuff that you hoped would help get his mind off his breathing, then, "can i... call you?" You accepted his request and you guys talked on the phone, well, mostly you. You can hear the distress in his voice so you scramble your head of a topic that might cheer him up. So, you talk about the topic that always cheers you up and brings love and warmth back to your heart-- your cat. You talked about your cat so enthusiastically that you hoped the warmth in your voice was enough to melt the cold he was feeling. You were there for him-- and you were hoping he got the message. The way you get a slight "kilig" at the little signs that probably don't mean anything. Like that time you guys went to see a movie where you were seated in between him and a guy friend of yours he didn't know yet at the time. You were making little comments throughout the movie, so did your friend, to you-- whispering and giggling lightly at each other. And with each passing remark between you and your friend, you notice him sit straighter in his seat, spread himself wider, and perch his head on his arm leaned on your shared armrest. That's when he started making comments too, ones for you to hear so you'd look at him. It could've been nothing. It probably was nothing-- but that doesn't make it less amusing to witness. The way it makes you feel slightly flustered when other people question your friendship as possibly something more. The comic artist both of you love so much who air-quoted your introduction as "friends". The friend (he was jealous of) at the cinema, who pulled you aside after the movie to ask if you were perhaps in a secret relationship. The mutual friends you both have who suspected something in the way you two act publicly on social media. Perhaps even the grandmother who sat across you both as you talked about life and other stuff on the couch at the floor where conversations just seem to flow. But just as there were good, there were also the bad. And they're hard to shut out when they come. You hate the way you feel pangs of jealousy when you're not supposed to, because why would you? Why should you? Do you even have the right to? You wait when he takes long to reply. You feel an unwelcoming sense of green when he's out with people, and wait a second, it's that girl again-- the same one who keeps posting photos of him and tagging him and stuff. You try to ignore it when he mentions being matchmade by a friend with some girl. You hate it when you don't know what to say or what face to make or if you should even look when he's interacting with his other girl good friend much in the same way he would with you-- which basically makes everything you've written above less special. He's like that with everyone. You hate the way you feel when you expect him to give the same effort and comfort you when you're sad, just as how you're there for him when he's sad. You hate how he makes you feel like you're doing too much and at the same time, not enough. You want to show him that you're there for him without sounding too eager. It bites at your self-esteem. It triggers your fears of abandonment. You hate the way maintaining this friendship with him makes you question what your true intentions are-- if you really just are being a good friend. You hate it when the doubts come in, that all of the words written above are empty; that you've attributed to them more meaning than there actually were. That none of the words above hold something special. You hate it when the voice at the back of your mind tells you that perhaps it's just because you're not special, at least not to him. You hate that you don't have the courage to just end it. That's because as much as you hate it, you have hope that all these things that you hate are just your own fear and insecurities talking. They're not real and you'd hate to not see this through just because you let fear take control of you. So at the end of it all, you decide to just accept the fact that whichever of the things you think and feel are true or blatant lies-- you will choose to be his friend. You left them all here, written down-- your feelings. I hope you're ready now.
It's okay to be just friends because... this way, it's only you who gets hurt. You don't do that. You just fucking don't. You probably know something's up by now. Oh boo fucking boo, you probably know I like you. But that doesn't give you the excuse to screw over my plans, bitch. I invited you, to hang out with my friends-- and I had the decency to give them a heads up first. You don't just fucking invite other people over like it's no big deal. Fuck you. Go to the movies yourself. Take your uninvited guests with you. I'm bailing. Peace out
There's no denying that I'm inexperienced. I've never done this romance-shmance before. I was so angry at him yesterday. I was so overcome with emotion that I'm an irrelevant part of his life. I literally told him that I don't feel special to him and his response was, "You're special like how my other friends, and family, and basically everyone he knows are special." Then the dude. The dude fucking calls in the middle of the night after a panic attack. You're the one he calls. No one else. He calls you. And then suddenly you feel all special inside. In times of vulnerability, I'm the one he calls. Fuck that. It spiraled me back to all the lovey-dovey feelings again. Fuck that. Fuckity fuck that. And then suddenly it hits. It could be that other thing, or it could be that you're entering the bestfriend zone. Remember your closest guy friend? He calls you too when he's upset.
. . . Nothing changes. He's still Summer. Think of it this way, Tom thought that Summer was the one. Despite all the red flags and despite the lack of respite, Tom thought that Summer--was the ONE.
But let's not forget the acting verb here-- thought. He THOUGHT she was the one, He THOUGHT, they were meant to be together. He THOUGHT that he was gonna be her only one. Unfortunately, reality could be a bitch in the best of times. You've waited so long you thought that hey, I deserve this. I deserve to be with her. I deserve to be loved by her. But you're forgetting one crucial question: does she deserve you? You may be the protagonist in this story and she maybe the object of your love. But in her story, she is the protagonist and unfortunately, you are not the object of her love. And hey, calm down it's okay. It was hard explaining it to her, how you worked; how you thought; your dreams and aspirations. She tried to understand but she said all the wrong words. She doesn't get you. Thus you may not be the one. She may not be the one. You guys weren't meant to be as one. So hang on in there, snowflake. Wait just a little longer. It's another year, snowflake. Maybe this would be the one. |
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![]() ![]() ![]() The cover artwork featured above is used with special permission from IG: @squackoud
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