It took me a course of 4 months to write this piece filled with my bare and illicit emotions. It was inspired by the #NoFiliter monologue play about the millennial generation. (which btw will be having a part 2 yay!)

Initially intended to be released during my birthday about a week ago but things got pretty busy. Lines found in the piece below were basically written in any place and every place I can think of, from my room to the plane to a foreign country.

So here’s my take on how millenials are (or basically how I was) on relationships, time and moving on. Excited for this piece to go places!

P.S. Special thanks to everyone I’ve asked opinions and suggestions from. From basically listening to what I’ve written so far to those very, very special people who actually helped me get from my two points. Big thank you to you :-)

I’ve reached a point where staring at mirrors appalls to me more than it is to be of appeal. It started reminding me of what I’ve become, how tired I’ve gotten and my mistakes staring right back at me.

You left me once and that was it, but you’ve left me a thousand times more in my dreams and in different forms. You left me again that I time I passed by the spot we used to stay at. You left me again when I went back to our favorite restaurant. You left me again whenever I did our favorite past time – because every step of the way would set off a trigger.

I hope to wake up again one day without the faded smell of cigarettes in my hair, the taste of cheap beer and wine on my lips and the memory of you embedded on my brain. I found peace and comfort at the bottom of every alcoholic beverage I can get my hands on. I found calmness in every cigarette stick that I finished.

I’ve gotten tired of sitting in cars and open spaces, in bars and dinner tables trying to find solace and grab a hold of reality that you’re just not there anymore.

You continue to live in my dreams, haunting my sub-conscience with all the promises of what should have been. I should’ve asked why you couldn’t love me anymore. Then again, I’d be too afraid to know the answers. Not because you’d probably say “you cant and you won’t”, but because I knew that was the complete and utter truth.

It’s time to grow up and move on from what happened. But it really wasn’t about truly moving – but settling with the familiarity of your absence. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to escape the demons inside my head. They’re alive, they’re alive.

I think I’ve made peace with the fact that you may not be coming back anymore. But I’ve also made peace with myself to allow me to love you – to still be in love with you, to let it dwell in my just a little bit more – even though that meant to hurt myself a little bit more, then I will.

I wanted the idea of you to be stuck in my head a little bit longer, like some sort of lesson for me to never forget.

I’ve always had a habit of counting days. Day 1 was when you sat beside me in one of the stone benches in college. From then on, my days turned into ‘our days’. It then consisted of how long its been since we started talking, since we first kissed, since we were together. Remember that time when we got caught in the parking lot? That time as we fled, I remember looking into your deep brown eyes filled with adventure, knowing that you’ll be the one that I’ll marry.

As if it was so important to know how long it has been since point A to point B in every aspect. As if measurements even mattered. And when he left, I still continued to count the days of how much I’ve moved on since point A – but point B just seemed so distant.

So here I am, about to board a plane back to Manila. Hoping that this trip might’ve helped me move on a little bit closer to point B.

I’ve definitely moved on from point A. I don’t feel as depressed anymore after going back to the lines I’ve written. I still find them beautiful though – like the scars that mark your skin, further reminding you that you’re no longer stuck within the walls of point A, nor have I reached any sight of point B. Rather, I’ve recently found myself along the dotted lines of distance.

I hope we intersect paths again one day. Start anew. But this time, in a different point in our lives where point A and point B won’t matter anymore – just the path that eventually led us there.

This has been something else. Detox trip as some people would call it. I miss my old self.