maya

i'm everyone, everywhere, with you, without you, unbound, set free, in limbo, lost at sea

post-goodnight existentialism

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i'm in a different place now than i used to be before and it makes me wonder how different i'll be next year. and the year after. i'm drifting away from everything and everybody that i thought were the constants in my life and i just don't have a sense of trust anymore. i don't know what will happen next.

old poetry i don't understand still seems to apply to the present day- "fearing the future, missing the past." is life wasted if all i ever do is look back? i digress. maybe someday i'll get over it.

change is something that, i think, i've already accepted. it's just harder to get back up on my feet once it's happened. and it's as if i'm on a stranded island with everything i once had, lost in the ocean.

at least i have you. you're the only thing keeping me together.

i miss...

"is it weird that we only miss things when they're gone, or is that inherent in the meaning of the word?" - bryan lee o'malley, lost at sea

 

...rollercoasters
santa monica
2nd floor lunch
may 20th, 2016
agroreosautrus
el gato gordo
meowanese
iskuwad
the ladies
december 2016
kyoto sushi
innocence
tuesday on the couch


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practice makes perfect

Piles upon piles of stapled booklets, the

highlighted print read so many times
he swears that they’re burned onto the inside of his eyelids.

for it’s his responsibility to shape his voice,

his character, until the puzzle piece fits perfectly with all the others,

locked into place, just what the director wants

it’s just a bit of a long process, that’s all

translating his lines from two-dimensional text on paper

into raw emotion, articulation, projection

from his eyes to his mouth.

A flawless performance doesn’t come from sitting and waiting.

 

She, too, has got piles, not

filled with colons and light cues but

of watercolours, of abandoned

shapes that she has given up on.

It’s tough, chasing the artworks you

envision in your mind’s eye, and then

making eye contact with the monstrosity that

greets you from the page.

Haphazardly she flings lines of grey on to white

sheets bound together as an exhibit of trial and error,

flipping through will show you that
fully completed works are few and far between

yet she doesn’t give up. She never drops the pencil.
She’s not simply waiting until she gets good at this.

 

And myself? Well, I’ve got piles, not

splattered with paint or purple highlighter but

adorned monochromatically with printer ink

with staffs, clefs, and, how’s that rhythm go again?

Not much variation at first glance, other than

weird jazz fonts that make me squint. But

I digress. Sometimes I wonder how my

flimsy little fingers have made it this far,

how my lungs haven’t caved in

and if, upon hearing me, the composer would

wince in sheer agony, or perhaps his skeletal remains

perpetually have his bony hands over his ear-holes

because of those just like me.

Sometimes I retreat to my room, hands

aching, bewildered by the sudden absence

of sun (was it dark out when I started?)

and I tire, but stress and injury aside,

I cannot wait to play those melodies again.

I cannot wait to grow and improve.

family

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i didn't expect that spending 6 days away from my family would make me grow a fonder appreciation for them. in fact, i viewed the trip as a getaway from just that. an escape from those i share a home with. however, as soon as i felt the dull rumble of the plane as the ground fell farther beneath me, i knew i'd be coming home in a week with some souvenirs and a little more love.

 

i guess i should be more grateful. growing up the stoic indifference towards my parents and childish aggravation towards my brothers that just happened to be the default began to bloom into the frustration of wanting freedom and coveting the way my siblings were raised differently because of their gender. more so recently, being a (gagging noise) teenager and all. but coming to the realization that my parents really are not out to get me, they're just raising me the way that they were taught how, is sort of bittersweet.

 

am i still frustrated? yes. but do i have the same lack of empathy towards my parents as i used to? no. i understand a little more now. and i'll just have to sit tight and endure it in this weird stage of life. 

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continuation

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adding onto poems written years ago, branching out, resolving 


I
the scent lingers from your coat
sundown
silhouette mountains
a voice like misty moonlight
sneaking in through the clouds
whispering
and i sigh.
it's not that cold tonight, is it?

II
the ghost of the bubble tea was clingy
much like myself.
i could still taste it on the roof of my mouth,
haunting my tongue as the rain drenched us
we remained staring at the ground
and conversing about
everything
and nothing at the same time.
the moment i dreaded waited around the corner
you told me to be careful,
although my house was right there

III
late at night
i fall asleep
because i am afraid of hanging up
of course,
not before the "i love you"'s are exchanged
the next week
you say you love:
no one
and have:
nobody
did you forget about those calls?

IV
my scent lingers on your coat
and you breathe in deep
i'm clingy
and so are you
on the phone
we talk about everything
and everything
and everything
and i love you
and you love me
and i have you
you have me
and i'll never forget, even if i tried
all of those failed attempts
the tears and ache
were worth it

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i miss you

...like a ghost misses tangibility, how it can only watch hopelessly as skin brushes against skin, fingers trace patterns on arms and backs, looks down at its own translucent wispy form and can think of just one word: incomplete.

...like a pet fish misses the sea, how its pathetic rectangular confinement and plastic plants cannot compare to the simultaneous thrill and comfort of home. torn miles away from the place it holds dearest.

...like a blind man misses sight, how he clings desperately onto the treasured remnants of colours, faces, moments that he'll never let go of, and how he replays them over and over in his mind's eye like a faulty dvd player.

come back. i promise i will try to be better company than anyone out there on that island could ever be.

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resolved

have you ever made a new year's resolution that you kept?

 

no. i have commitment issues lol

also, isn't the name kind of funny? new year's "resolution", like you're trying to resolve an issue? to me, posing a resolution for yourself just seems like creating yet another issue, yet another hurdle, to tackle. like you're already just fine as you are, but you're just weeding out small discrepancies to fix. improving yourself just for the sake of improving yourself.

i don't have a problem with new year's resolutions, nor do i have a problem with those who decide to make them. i just have a problem understanding it all. it's one of those things that, at my age, i have the privilege to dismiss with a simple "maybe i'll get it when i'm older and more experienced." there are other things for a teenager to be worried about than using a new year as an excuse to fabricate life issues or resolve already existing ones.

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