"Sige, go ahead, kill yourself. And I hope you go to hell too. On top of that, ang baba naman ng EQ mo. Wala kang kuwenta. Sana hindi ka nalang nabuhay.”


That is the most daring thing someone has ever told me in response to one of my infrequent psychotic episodes. Brave words from a man who does not even have the slightest clue on how my life has been in the last couple of years.
Woi, you got me there ha. You bought yourself time with that. Why do you always know what to say?
Yes, I have contemplated suicide. That I won’t deny.

But deciding to die isn’t just defined by the acts of slashing one’s wrists or drugging one’s self to infinite slumber or jumping off some bridge; it's a personal choice of a man to save himself from himself.
Suicide does not equal to self-destruction. Not necessarily, in my twisted opinion anyway. Yet it is an option only among the foolish, the reckless, the weak, the self-serving. And it is, no doubt, the utmost piece of chickening out.
I am foolish. I am reckless. I am weak. I am self-seving. Because I have chosen to die. I will. I simply must.


Killing who I am at this time is the only way I could think of to redeem what is left of the person I once was. The long buried me. The one I have always liked being. The one I wanted to forever be.

downpour

Maybe the reason why no one likes goodbyes is because they will always be sad.

Mine were, too. Because I'm always the one who's left behind. Because they pass by without a trace, leaving me clueless.

Because it rains when they happen.

Last night, I wept like I haven't shed a single tear before. The heavens joined me in my sorrow. Up until now, they continue to cry in buckets. But I no longer could.

I once believed in never bidding farewell. Ever. Yet, we have to. We just have to.

And since I did, I engraved every detail in memory. The morning route. The familiar but nameless faces. The silence. The warmth of a hand. The comfort of a shoulder. The aimless twist of a thumb. The songs in my iPod. The descent from the mountain to the city. The piercing stare. The sad smiles. The spoken truth. The open palms. The peace from within.

The freed butterfly.

The downpour.

I'll remember.

good things

Halfway through my fries and Coke float at noon today, my phone beeped. Checking it out, I suddenly had this feeling that I so badly wanted it to be someone. Only, it wasn’t him.

I know I’m missing him. I realized I may have talked to him, from time to time, exchange thoughts and gossips. And yet I STILL MISS HIM. It’s kinda funny when one would think about it. We both have each other’s mobile numbers, e-mail addresses, Friendster accounts and yet, not even once after long years had there been a mere "storya ta.mingaw ko nimo?” sent out.

But there were a lot actually.Yet I hate to think we both ignored it.

“Were they?”

I remember how we laughed heartily in between swapping stories of our previous stabs ,no holds barred living and recalling how sheer idiocy, childishness and insobriety stole reasoning and sanity from us during the crests, troughs and waves of our lives. I even remember how we tipsily agreed on which is the least evil of the three.

And I choose to remember that particular instance when he professed how much he appreciated him and me at that moment, and how I only smiled and showed the same understanding in a blush.

Maybe I’ve given what we had too much significance that I failed to actually preserved it right. I should probably hang myself for putting heavy doses of emotional attachment into everything and everyone I get tangled in and up with.

Reasons:
1.) Because I was stupid.
2.) Because I didn't know what I was doing.
3.) And there's the incredibly annoying fact that I love him. I cant draw the line though.. x.x

“Just how could something so good be so sad to think about?”