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To You. From an Angst-ridden Me.

Don’t worry. I’ll recover by tomorrow. Call me a coward but I guess I really can’t stomach telling you all this. If you find it, then great. Maybe we can act accordingly and fix this relationship. I feel like we’re about to break. I don’t want that either. I guess I’m just too scared of a freaking confrontation.

After all… who isn’t scared of their own parent, no?

Anyway. Here goes.


I wish you’d stop jumping to conclusions so much. I wish you wouldn’t glare at me like that either. I want to talk, but I can’t. You make me so scared I can’t even look at you. If becoming an adult makes me insensitive to the feelings of other people [read: those younger than me] then I’d rather remain a ‘little, spoiled, ungrateful, arrogant brat.’ Because at least then *some* people will understand why I act that way. They won’t jump to conclusions. And maybe even ask what’s wrong.

I want. Friends my age. Don’t really have them here, do I?

I want. You to understand that I’m going through something right now. And that I don’t know what it is so  I can’t tell you. It’s not obstinacy on my part. It’s not “I don’t want to tell you.” We’ve never had any secrets between us before. It’s just “I can’t tell you because I don’t know.” I wish you’d realize that. I.DON’T.KNOW.

I want. To know what it is I fucking want to do with my life.

Cut me some slack. You uproot me from my home—and yes, I do know it’s because it was best for the both of us. Believe me, I do understand that. It’s just very hard for me right now— you uproot me from my home and you expect me to be able to adapt so easily? I’m trying my best. It’s been what I’ve been doing these past two years. Please believe that. You’re not exactly helping, what with you breathing “do this, don’t do that, don’t you dare—” in my ear every step of the way (the way to where?).

Cut me some slack. If you don’t trust me to find myself, how can I trust my own fucked up self?

I understand you’re worried. I am too (about me, our relationship). I get it, you just want me to be happy in whatever choice I make.

Guiding me I can take.

Giving me hell for screwing up, sure. I deserve it.

I understand. Really I do.

I’m scared because I don’t know what I want, get it? I don’t know anymore. One day it might be to become this, and then the next something entirely different. How would it sound like to you if I tell you “I will be a —-” one morning, and then later on that night I’d tell you, “No, I think I’m much better off becoming a —-. Why? I don’t know.”

But please don’t smother me. If you do, I really will snap.

That. Now that is something that I don’t want.

Aiyena (Aiyena Kyra R. Garcia)

Stale words sift through the corner of my mind

Rebirth of memories left behind, resurrection of ties that bind;

My heart is filled with echoes of the past,

My head full of questions, oh why doesn’t anything last?

The evening sky is empty save for questions.

Blank stares meet my own as I pass by;

One bird catches my attention

As I edge to your side a last time.

Tears are carriers of grief,

comforting flesh along their way;

The gentle winds caress my cheek

They don’t take the sadness away.

Unnerving thoughts haunt me for countless days;

Most disturbing of all was when

I saw you,

Lifeless in where you lay.

Written some time ago, and I just found the notebook with this poem. ^^ It’s for a friend who died went ahead shockingly sooner than expected.

Still missing you Ky.

Listen to me: its only through Stories that you can get out into the Real world and have some sort of power again. When your story is well told, people believe in you; not in the way they used to believe, not in a worshipping way, but in the way people believe in stories — happily, excitedly, wishing they wouldn’t end.
~Luka Khalifa (Luka and the Fire of Life by Salman Rushdie)
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