I have this weird way of rewarding myself. For some reason I think that I shouldn't be blogging while in the middle of an academic endeavor. This is my unorthodox way of ensuring that by the time I get to have my fix of blogging again, it's gonna feel a lot fulfilling.
I pay attention to the analytics embedded in this blog. However, although I know that the numbers tell me that people read and read and read the stuff that isn't about me, my day, or how life is to me at the moment, I cannot find any other way to go about the feelings that are consuming me right now but to blog about them in the hope that it would make me feel better before the start of the event that's to be held today at Uni wherein my friend and I were invited to be speakers. I believe in the importance of roles and how (when roles are given to you and you accept them) they should shape how you carry yourself. In my world, this should hold true despite personal circumstances... For now, the goal I carry is to make sure the guys who paid for the seminar feel they learned things proportional to the money they spent.. I wanna bring my happy self to the seminar..
Part of me that was fighting to finish Uni has always been fueled by the admiration given to me by people who I claim to be important. I draw strength, that I can't find inside me, from their rumors and unvalidated gossips.
The good one year and six months of being inspired finally came to an end last night over a butt of cigarette. As I was walking down the avenue where Uni was, it felt clear that the flame isn't anymore what it once was. It isn't anymore the same flame that warms me when I'm freezing. It has become fire that consumes, merciless and daunting. It felt as if the dimly lit road was telling me it was too good to be true anyway. It's just awful that it ends a night before I really really needed to be inspired. A night before I really really needed to know that I matter. A night before I reap something I deem to be a personal success and be all pious in crediting you for being the flame that fueled me.
I can't work with mixed signals. As gossip begets gossip, I tend to rely on it again. It's funny *what? It's not funny you moron it's pathetic! Get your shit together*slaps self** that I'm aching because of something that I'm not sure about and that's stupid. I do not anymore know how to behave. How should I take things and react? I'm laughing now, because I can't understand why I let myself into this rut. That's how mixed the signals are, it's messing me up inside.
Where on earth do you buy your cigarettes Christopher? Coz they seem to make your troubles go away... Why is it that in my case, it just makes me succumb to depression. Why is that? I'm fascinated by the light the cigarette emits... I was looking at it and still can't figure out why it has been the reason that I've been a battered child during highschool. The light on that cigarette is the last thing I see every night whenever my eldest brother would come home drunk and would beat me up... The last scene being me, lying on the ground half-conscious, staring at the cigarette in his right hand as the sparks come off from its tips whenever he would thrust his feet towards me to deliver a kick. Why is that Christopher? You must know a secret store where the cigarettes they sell make people who smoke them happy... Can the smoke really cure the hurt inside? Anyway Chris, thanks for bearing my stories and for letting me discover who she really was for me, I'm waiting for the thing you call the 'next bracket', hopefully that's where and when I'll do things right. I'm sorry that death scared me a lot and that the attempt I made because of her was a bold move to unburden myself of all the unspoken thoughts before the thing that I thought would come comes. I promise not to cry over her anymore, but you have to promise to tell me where you buy your magic cigarettes.
It's 3AM, and i need to finish the slides for the seminar... Good morning Angels, have a good one.
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