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She said some things out of the blue and received no response. She fidgeted about it for hours and hours. She thought: Well, that's it, maybe they're mad, maybe they didn't like what I said, maybe I should've kept quiet. Until one person responded with an innocuous remark, with no indication at all of the worries she kept close to her chest for hours and hours. Do these hours add up one day and bury you? Or do they collapse harmlessly under some imaginary weight? Either way, she worries. Am I using my hours wisely? I should start again tomorrow.
No news is good news. Good news can be bad news. Nothing is absolute or one-sided, ever. Bad news can be, surprise, good news. It's a Friday. Brain activity today has been off the charts, meaning—what does "off the charts" even mean? Context clues. Sometimes I make easy matters harder than they should be: Just for fun, just to pass the time, just to feel alive. In my hubris I voiced out a long-held selfish concern to someone and expected them to side with me because there are days I feel arrogant enough, and today’s one of those days.
Saturday: I’m watching the hours go by here from my bed as I play Two Dots endlessly. My arms hurt, the right one especially, as in it’s difficult to move and I wince every time I do. So what I do is, nothing. The last time I felt this pain was in 2008 during the height of a Diner Dash addiction. Anyway. I get off work early in the day and go up to my room then the next thing I know is it’s afternoon and the day has happened. Time to sleep. It’s Sunday again in 5 minutes. Pshaw.
Sundays are much kinder. For one, they last longer, or at least give the illusion of more time. There are Tumblr posts in my Likes page, most of them memes, some are text posts, some are whimsical photos, most others are Harry Styles photos, etc. The text posts I want to compile, specifically those that evoke an indescribable and insistent pain which is hard to shake off, really. This is pain that’s beautiful, helpful, necessary—mind you. On Sundays I aim to go out and ride the trains, only today the bed got the better of me. Maybe next week.
Ok. So. Monday. Last week’s fever dream is now an established reality that everyone has already forgotten. It was nifty, that. Also uncomfortable to watch from a distance. It’s hard when things happen to you, you sort of want them to be over and done with in a flash. You wish no one was looking, you wish no one perceived you being in that situation. It’s harder when…OK, this here is a conscious effort at shifting gear and focusing more on positivity instead of anxiety and worry and dread and all its synonyms. This is an exercise that’s getting easy.
Tuesdays are purple. They’re my favorite. It’s a chill week so far. There was rain again? The sound of rain on the neighbor’s roof is calming. The plants in the backyard are thriving. No one’s been there for months. That backyard may as well have been nonexistent. I remember my grandaunt in the backyard sweeping dirt daily, I could hear the walis tingting every day. It was a good way to wake up, knowing she’s up and about and that she may have prepared breakfast already. I would go down and see her smile. And the day would be right.
Wednesday was the same as the other days. Slept and woke up, repeat, repeat, repeat. There's a strange quiet nowadays, like it's color yellow—the calm golden hue—and there's distant singing. Words are hard to hear but you kind of know you know what the song is. It's strange because it's like we've entered a twilight zone in which we've accepted that this here, is life. This is it. Like we’ve accepted there’s really nothing big to do right now. When reality is (what is reality?), we can and should go back to how it was—chaotic, sensible, stubborn.
Thursday is like Tuesday’s cousin. She’s sweet and giggly, flirty, a bit more mature, a bit more certain. I don’t know what that was. I’m just typing here, passing the time. Waiting for a food delivery, watching the motorcycle icon move through the little map. This is my favorite thing to watch. When I unlock the gate and see someone on a motorcycle retrieving a brown paper bag I become a happy person. When I hear them confirm my name and hand me the bag, I become happier. I tell them, Take Care, and I reach another level of happy.
There's an imaginary nightstand. On its drawer she deposits the day's worries and she keeps it shut until the right day. What is the right day—she will know when she does. The self-absorbed version of herself has been taking over for months now. Inserting herself and her story every chance she gets. She looks forward to when she's much older, reminiscing about the first 40 or so years of her life when she thought of herself so highly. She may open the nightstand drawer then, chuckle at her worries, and realize no one was paying attention all this time.
If you lose your phone or if the Internet suddenly stops working, what then. Wait? How did we function without these devices? The landline will resurface, letters will be written, people will be brave again. Go out and travel, to be near their loved ones. Truly near. Somehow current events are encouraging us to keep our distance, but it yields the opposite effect for many. Sure, distance and silence is ideal. Preferable even. But humans have a tendency to look up, around—for connection. It will get harder before it gets easier. But the point is it will get easier.
There will be rain in the coming days, in the afternoon mostly. 4 p.m. up to when the sun sets. Nobody will be watching as the sky darkens because everybody would be inside, at the dinner table, awaiting the food not eagerly, but with a resigned detachment. Let's get this over with, let's go through all the remaining days, let's sleep and wake and wait for rain. After the rain is supper, then bed, then the sun on our windows. At first it was taunting us with a new day, now it’s comforting—knowing there will be an end someday.
Nothing new about the news anymore. He wondered aloud one day: Why isn't there good news on TV? Why is it all negative—what’s lacking, what someone did wrong. Isn't it more interesting when someone did something right, isn't that more novel? His exasperation turned into a chuckle, he shook his head and sighed. Smiled to himself and turned his attention to the radio. Music. Maybe it's a better place, the radio. Music isn’t judgmental, a lot of songs are made up of a happy moment condensed into about 5 minutes of eternity. Even the sad ones can make you happy.
Not very good at being mature today, I'm afraid. Stewed for a few minutes and succeeded at resisting petty reflexes, but, it's often easier to slag off people who aren't there to defend themselves. Some part of me always, always—and a lot of you can relate I'm sure—feels "superior" whenever there's a chance to point out someone's flaws or perceived shortcomings. Tomorrow is a new day blah blah blah. Will eat something nice and sleep this off probably. Be kind. Be kinder. It started raining while I’m typing this. The sky is kind, we can be kind, too.
It's coming back almost everyday now, that memory from 2017 when I was petty and dramatic and believed the world revolved around me. I can still feel the side glances while I was indulging in the most self-centered deed I ever remember doing. What a hoot. It's so funny now when at the time I believed myself the most important person at least in that room. It's funny yet still cringy and I wish I can erase that from everyone's memory. But then, that would be self-centered, too, to assume they even remember it. Pshaw. Move on. Laugh.
I'm all turned around. It felt like I was going to the future but this here now feels like the other day, when you still loved me. I know you don't anymore because, well, you said so. Why am I here? It's like I'm in two places—one where I'm happy I have you and one where I'm happy we're over. I was just waiting for you to say it; I knew for years. I held on because that place was warm and familiar. I guess I also knew how it was going to end. But, I'm all turned around.
We're on a high-speed train, hurtling through this year toward an unknown end. In the new year, kids will be happy because they will think change is afoot. They can finally come out and play again. As with most things you believe when you're a child, this is 50% not happening slash wishful thinking. They will be informed that, no, new years don't always mean new beginnings. It hasn't been like that for a while, maybe even ever. It will just mean we are using a new calendar. Not to despair, though, little ones: We can always make-believe.
Documenting a new fixation: The Masked Singer!!! Such a fun show. The costumes are A+ and it's good vibes all around! Entertaining, meticulous, campy, free! I can spend hours watching YT clips! Been fixating on T-Pain also as a result! His Tiny Desk Concert!!! Have you seen? I'm so happy right in this moment thank you. Wish we all feel a certain version of this happiness 95% of the time. I still believe in necessary sadness. There's a nip in the air now, isn't it nice? May be able to ride the trains tomorrow, very excited for the possibility.
Every year there's a perfunctory remembering. This one occasion is 18 years ago now, this other one's 11 years ago now, and so on. These so-called "highlights" probably haunting a younger version of herself, like Nell in Hill House, horrifying as they are happening but later on turn out to be not how they seemed. Still horrifying, but not exactly the same. Most pain seems funny in retrospect. They used to talk about a home, the average height of a room, what color paint is preferable. They used to talk like nothing can change. It's 18 years ago now.
Monday trains look almost-full. Did not ride the trains yesterday. Stayed in instead. Got out at 5 am for fruits and chips. Then it rained, and that's it, poof Sunday's gone. It was nice. Cozied up with The Masked Singer clips. Love The Turtle!!! There's a certain tint to 4 pm nowadays, greyish but hopeful, quiet and comforting. Warm and cold October, it's still confused how it wants to be. There's still time, and if it ends without determining, then maybe next year it can know. These days do we really even know anything? We don't, and that's fine.
It would be convenient to have a constant handyman around the house. Or maybe a friend, or simply someone you can regularly call on whenever you need help with anything handyman-ly. It would be convenient to know how to do these things around the house—install a light fixture, repair faucets and pipes, patch up the roof. Just...can everyone have their "person"? Then it would be like a symbiotic relationship and leaky roofs will not have to leak for years at a time, unattended. The simplest things are the hardest to do. There goes another cliché yes there it is.
She’s learned how not to be angry all the time. Less whining, too. The secret is this: Close your eyes. Close your brain. Close everything. Just exist in a bubble. That’s it. It’s not conducive for long-term life aspirations, no, she’s just typing these words and hoping that there is sense coming from them somehow. The TV is on and her friends are so far away and in the past so much she can’t reach out but some friends do reach out and it’s a good day when they do and she says Hello back and she feels much better.
There is a city where all fathers are caring and There-There. In other cities, some fathers are just There. Nothing wrong with that, really. But it’s hard to find something right with that, too. In this city where fathers are There-There, children grow up feeling loved, of course. Mothers are the same everywhere, perhaps. This knowledge is flawed, perhaps. Maybe some mothers are only There, perhaps. There is at least one child who can say their mother was not There-There. Perhaps. In this city there is a nearby ocean half-filled with tears of happiness. There’s celebrations in the harbor everyday.
Ending all my sentences with HAHAH for seven months (and going) now HAHAH. We LOL online more than ever and not see each other IRL in a way that’s becoming disturbing. TBH it’s not a big leap, this, for some people at least. IIRC 10 or so years ago this has been my life—inside, isolated, quiet. Obsessively clean, suspicious, careful. Nothing ground-breaking, really. For some of course it’s too new, this. I hope we can accurately see each other’s points of view even just for a few hours a day so we can understand each other more deeply. IDK.
How many chances have you given away today? How many near-mishaps have you prevented? How many times have you allowed yourself to let go, today? 24 hours is too long and too far, too heavy and too unwieldy, on you and under you, cloying and fleeting. How many times have you decided to stop loving and then restarted as if your heart can still take it, as if it wasn't bruised enough, as if it can go on being battered like this. How many times have you told yourself: Begin again. How many times can you be reborn, today?
Call me when you land. Let me know when you're home. Text me before driving out. Update me when you're near. Do you want food. I sent food. This reminded me of you. I know you will find this funny. I'm sure you'll hate this LOL (sends it anyway). Remember that day? We were laughing so hard. I only remember the laughter, not so much what we were laughing about, really. Are you okay? Yeah, but are you, really? I'm coming over. Just called to hear your voice. How's your day? Wish you were here. Can't wait to see you.
All our immediate neighbors know when our birthdays are. Oct 28, Nov 4, Nov 5. Byron, Katrina, Brian, respectively. We used to celebrate all at once. It's heartwarming how our neighbors (family now, really) still remember the exact dates. In a few days it's Byron's birthday and I'm sure he will get phone calls or even face to face greetings (Covid!) on the day. It's nice, no? Thinking about how the accumulation of years can result in something so familiar, lived-in, comforting. Sometimes I'm reminded how this is home, for real, this place I've wanted to leave for years.
Week 3 of my full-on renewed strengthened effort at being a better person, being more kind, being more compassionate. I'm not the best at being understanding, I blame other people easily, focus on what I perceive to be wrong, and just...insist on being prideful as if my life depends on it. It is so difficult to admit being wrong most times. Not sure why! Do you know why? Have to rewire some brain circuits to arrive at a kind place, to realize it's all that matters—being kind. Don't have to be right, just have to be nice.
And so today there was a glitch in that aforementioned Be More Kind project. I perceived someone being rude so I was rude back. Tsk. So easy, yes? To be petty? Other than that it was a good day. Tomorrow is another chance to be a better version of this Wednesday Kat. Today's Byron's birthday. Had some good food and good sleep and good vibes all around. Almost done with Dark on Netflix. Don't quite know how this month's 100 Words batch ended up being a dear-diary type situation. No complaints though. This month's been chill, largely. Hopeful. Brimming.
I'm 39 in a few days. One more year and 40. I'm excited for 40. What age are you excited for? We're just going to waltz out of this year like that, huh? In our house clothes, bit heavier from all the stress eating (others in better shape so yay), and clueless yet more informed in a way. How will we walk through the next days, knowing what we know? Isn't it exciting? We know so much and so little, and yet we trudge on. We can choose to wait it out, but a lot of us are now raring.
Two months to go. Are you counting, if so, from when and to when? There's still that calm I felt late last month (or was it early this month, IDK). There's also that "I don't care anymore" vibe in some of my interactions, not the negative sort though... Just the "shrug-whatever-come-what-may" type. That's not negative, right? At job interviews we are asked how well we do under pressure, who was it that thought it would be a good answer to say "I work well under pressure." Why should we work well under pressure. We should relax.
Finished all 3 seasons of Dark this morning. Maybe I ruined my experience by reading spoilers. Perhaps. Must resist from doing that next time. I'm not kidding, I may have lost friends because of my blatant disregard for people's no-spoilers stand. Anyway. Life is elliptical. It's a snake eating its tail (as you will see on Dark), was that a spoiler? No. Don't think so. Season 1 is fantastic. Try it. I enjoyed it! And now I'm sat here with time and memory and regret swirling around. But it's not a sad thing, this, here. It's peaceful, calming. Soft.
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