Writer's block

For weeks now I have been trying to write something really meaningful on this blog, but somehow I have never been able to produce. I can't really pinpoint the reason as to what is wrong, perhaps because there is nothing wrong, or there are just too many. I've been trying to put my mood into that which makes my hand an extension of my thoughts, but I always end up feeling some kind of void, an emptiness; I just can't seem to find that kind of passion that used to keep me going for hours, just expressing my thoughts. What's wrong with me? Perhaps this is the real me, and I simply have moments of inspiration which drives me to do something that I normally do not do.

I guess I am depressed in a bit. Alot of things are happening all around me that I can't keep up with; and being the control freak that I am I feel so inadequate, and perhaps outdated I guess. There are times I feel that I have burnt out my flame even before I even began to shine.

Well anyways, since this is the case, I guess I'll just do some plain story telling, instead of the usual philosophical approach.

There was this girl (those who know me know this line very well) I met 9 months back. She was pretty, somewhat shy, but quite a bit hmmm..how do you call that...masungit (stern?) in a way. I was smitten immediately. Oh, just to not leave anything out, I should also mention that she has a very hot body.

My typical romance is I fall for a girl, I try to become friends with her, we become close, I hint to her my feelings, she avoids me, I bang my head against the wall, we never talk to each other again. This one went like the playbook. The usual shy meeting, the moments I tell myself I'll never get to know her, the typical coincidence of meeting her somewhere, where the conversation and my hopeless romance began.

After weeks of just taking glances at her, I got to get to talk to her from time to time. And everytime I speak to her, my attraction just grows more and more. Heck, I even tried to learn Mandarin just to find a way to talk to her. such are my futile attempts to chase a star, the edge of the rainbow, the 7th heaven, or whatever what-cha-ma-call-it you have in your preferred metaphors. Of course all these ended up to nothing, and the moment she had to go back home to Taiwan after the project I was really saddened. I have never even got close to something memorable or defining with her. All I have are meaningless encounters (not those encounters I'm sure some of you immediately thought of) at the pantry, the doorway, or even the hollywoodish like parking lot scenario. I hated myself then because I was not ready to met her in the first place, and now she is gone. I knew I would never see her again.

Until two weeks ago, when she came back. And she was even more beautful this time. And her smiles, and laughter, and facial expressions just brought me back to the hole I dug myself into months ago. It was like de ja vu in some ways as I thought that this time we will never be talking as we used to. But talk we did, lots of talks more, in the two weeks that she has been here than the months I was given the first time. This is a second chance, I knew, and again a chance I was not prepared to take.

Who would have thought that I would get to have another chance of seeing someone I thought would never see again. And now it breaks my heart even more, as everyday I get to see someone who without effort dictates the motions of my heart, as if every beat is a moment that requires her permission to exist. Two weeks, and I knew that I would have two more weeks to enjoy the melody that I surprisingly found in her voice--that is until today, when I was told that I would be going home earlier than expected. My heart broke today, because the impending darkness that I knew would once again take over my life has come earlier that what I would have liked. It is like looking at a sunset in the northern skies this time of year, short but very beautiful, and just when you are starting to savor and bask at the gentle rays being reflected by the mountains serving as canvass to this wonderful painting, a thick fog suddenly appears to precede the eventual darkness.

I hate this day. And I love it too. It is more precious than the rest, though more fleeting too.

I hate my love story, and even this is debatable on whether this is truly about love. But with love having so many obscure meanings and descriptions, I would not be so different in calling this one having a definition of my own. I fell in love, no matter how shallow that sounds, to a girl whose smile and laughter breaks my heart everytime.

Darkness consume me now, for your cold embrace could no longer give pain much much stronger than what I am already in.


And that ends my fits of anger and depression...I feel much better now, and am ready to fall in love again for the first time. Hahaha...some say I sound like a drug addict, someone needing rehabilitation and psychological treatment. Some say I just need to get laid pretty bad. :P

Till my next writer's block.