Seek and you will find…

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Cambugahay Falls in Siquijor

Funny how in the last few weeks of 2016, a surprise work assignment saved me from work fatigue in general. It wasn’t really a breather (it was work!) but it was still very fun and very much what I needed (water, spelunking, good food, new friends, new lessons, new opportunities). I am thankful.

I will finish the assignment, pack up mine and the team’s deliverables, and then focus on enjoying closing 2016: with a happy photo story about this experience, my sister’s wedding, spending more time with our baby Fourth, Ranie, family, love, provision, belief.

Everything has its own time and season.

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Doodling on my phone

Having fun drawing using my new phone.

I can’t write about my feelings.

I can’t write about my feelings because I am still feeling them. After 45 minutes, I felt that I was still unable to say what I really wanted to convey. I felt that you still didn’t understand me. I felt mostly angry, confused, and also heavily frustrated. I felt that I didn’t want to do this anymore. I felt that this was the same thing we argued about weeks ago. I felt that this was the same issue we’ll be dealing with years from now. I felt hateful of my feelings. I felt afraid. I felt dread, and I am still feeling all of this.

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I can’t write about my feelings because I didn’t want to feel them. I grew up with you. I changed with you and you changed with me. Seven years ago, my feelings were of gratefulness and stillness – a peace which was new to me; a peace which I wanted to carry over past graduation and working and life. But slowly that peace was repeatedly replaced by something else – a fear that we will never change into something better. Even though I knew that there was more to us than that, even though all the sage advice I have heard was to ignore that advice. I know better, I know that feeling these feelings are bordering on irrational. That I need to be more giving, more patient, more understanding, and I need to trust you and the world and myself. But I can’t feel these things, and instead, I feel all the things which I thought I’d never feel. I can’t write about them because I deny them as I think about how I really feel but they sit there, staying, clogging, sinking, rotting.

I can’t write about my feelings because they’re strange and complicated. I used to write about my feelings A LOT. It was the only thing I knew how to write about. I learned about feelings by reading about them and vicariously experiencing them – and then when things happened, they only sort of validated things I learned about. Feeling was simple – it was a process of validation and epiphany. Every feeling I was able to define and compartmentalize and chalk up to experience and growing up. Feelings were simpler when things where simpler. But now feelings are compounded and molded and heavy and layered and striped and flexible and questionable because there are memories, too many things have happened, and the things that have happened do not happen anymore in the books I read and the movies I watch. There is nothing to validate, there is nothing that other people can explain, these are things only happening to us and I have done a bad job so far of recording these things because often, going home at night, I’m to weary to write, or I’m so confused that I don’t know where to start. I developed the habit of posting images and metaphors – It was easier. Outlets became trickier because now more people I loved and worked with were into reading what I write. And it wasn’t always helpful to have everyone know what you feel (realized this the hard way)

I can’t write about my feelings because they make me aware of how much I’ve changed and how much you’ve changed and how much we’ve changed.

I can’t write about my feelings because I wrote to be able to look back on things and to remember them better. But now sometimes I wish I didn’t feel things, more so remember them. My feelings now are harder to keep and harder to commit to. I can’t write about my feelings because they hurt you. They hurt me. I don’t want my feelings to be actual things, I want my feelings to be fixed, I want things to go back to the way they were AND to be better. I hate all this middle-feeling part.

I can’t write about my feelings because some nights, storming off, silent and deliberately hurtful, I try to look inward, and amidst all that blackness I feel nothing, I feel emptied out, I feel done with us. Then I go to sleep and dream flowing, aimless dreams. Then sunlight kisses my eyes and I wake up like this, intent on writing my feelings, intent on being sad, intent on forgiving and being forgiven and looking forward. But now writing about not writing about my feelings, I still feel afraid. I feel afraid of wanting you and wanting this because I’m not sure if this is the right thing to feel. I feel afraid because what if one day I stretch too far, snap, and don’t come back to rationality? What if this is what we’ll keep feeling and we’ll never have the happiness?

I can’t write about my feelings because this is not a story I want to tell, but at the same time, it’s a story that is so true (even though it bucks all my notions of concrete, specific narratives) and so affecting my whole being for a long time now.

I can’t write about my feelings because I don’t know how to stop writing about them, or to quit them altogether.

Until tomorrow

Hump Day 🙂 Thank u Mia for organizing this!

Miss you sea you

I need…

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Grabbed from http://pamperedandpolished.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Nail-Rock-Gold.jpg

Money. Not a lot of it, just some of it.

No scratch that – I don’t really “need” money. I just want something (it’s not a NEED) and I’d have to have some money (aside from what I have) to get it.

And… I’m sad because usually I’d be OK with not getting what I can’t get but now I want it because I almost could but I can’t.

And basically that’s why I’m messed up sad. :p

nikewomen:

Calling all abs: we do yoga now. 

Ranie’s birthday dinner 🙂

Birthday boy chillin (actually bukas pa ang birthday but today is the holiday)