When what you do clashes with who you are.

I have fluttering thoughts and images I can’t dismiss, feelings I can’t let go, and dreams I don’t wish to give up. There is a completely different person in my head than who I am acting out, a front in for an audience that stares me down, and there are days when I wish they’d all just stop and leave me alone; let me be me without looking. But I am also craving for attention– the kind where somebody comes up to you and talks to you just because you seem interesting and he doesn’t want to let you go before he knows your name. I have invisible watchers in my head and it’s time I let them go.

What happens if the person you are isn’t you? Everybody always said that it’s the actions that define a person but then there’s also the saying that you are who you are when nobody is watching. How can I be a completely different person in my mind than who I am to the world? How can I be so hidden when I am not fine; when I am struggling to be known and to share myself with the world. I don’t want to keep to myself anymore. I’m tired of the clash. I’m tired of losing myself again and again before anybody gets to come close.

Please close the distance between you and me. It’s not that I don’t want you; I’m just shy and scared. I could smile but you’d never know all the emotions that shake my core to grief, to love, and to inflict pain, and I realize that sometimes all you need is a human being to take a chance on you to get you to start on living again.

I need somebody to come help me up. I don’t think I have it in me to do it alone. It’s been too long. I’ve been too long and as usual, I am always too little too late.


I am thinking about death. And all the little things you would’ve done different if you knew. I am thinking about how unpredictable it is; like death could come knocking at your door any second and you wouldn’t know. You’d skip out on saying goodbye to your mother because you’re late for school, ignore your little sister when she asks to play with you because you’d rather watch television or read or do something else than little kid stuff, tell your brother to go away when he barges through the door because you’d rather be alone. I’m thinking of all the moments I would’ve changed if I knew I’d die tomorrow. I would reach out to my dad for one, and ask him to come home, just so we can have a family dinner once more. I would call all my best friends and all the ones I wished were my friends, tell them how much I admired them and inspired them, all the things I was too afraid to speak out, let them know that without them I wouldn’t know who I’d be. I would lay under the nightsky on spiky itchy field grass and look up at the stars, watching them twinkle, letting my thoughts and emotions rise like the world has stopped moving, like I didn’t have better things to do like homeworks and projects, and feel so small. I would reach out more, to a particular boy, tell him I like him and kiss him under the rain, wanting my chance at love. I wonder about death; the unfathomable kind. The one that enters and takes away, leaving nothing but gripping coldness and ache at the now empty space left. The universe gives and takes and I am afraid I won’t be able to do the things I’ve always dreamed my life I’d be doing: doing the things I love every single day, never held down by insubstantial matters. I don’t want to worry about accounting or theology, about school papers or losing weight or the fact that I don’t know where my future is headed. I wonder about death, and it taking away those who barely had a chance to live, or have lived but not in full. I wonder how it chooses, in random or in kind, a fate that comes to play as punishment or maybe gratification, an end to the suffering at its tail. I wonder about all the people I’ll forget to say I love you to, all the people I’d never tell goodbye, all the secrets that would be buried with me when it’s my time to croak, and all the life that slipped away under my fluttering fingers, a one-winged butterfly crashing, crashing down to the blackout. I think about death– the sad kind of not being able to live enough, and I wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to be taken away first before anybody else gets taken away before me. After all, the only thing that’s worse than leaving is being left behind to face the wake.

You’re like a firecracker. You look plain on the outside, but your insides are ready to burst into flames, so much magic and wonder if only you’d ignite.

I think about falling in love. With a boy so beautiful and mysterious I’d get the shivers trying to uncover him, wondering him at nightfall unable to sleep, thinking about all that runs through his mind. I want to memorize his favorite song from his favorite band, know if he’s closer to his mother or his father, if he likes school or thinks it’s a complete waste of time, what he thinks of God and going to mass, if he’s the kind of guy who texts or calls, if he snores when he sleeps– all he is when he thinks nobody’s watching. I want to know his favorite game and soccer team (I will deny he’s a basketball lover), his dream car and the kind of girl he always imagined being with, his dreams for this life and others.

I wonder about the boy I’m going to end up falling in love with. If he wonders how I look, the treasures hidden deep behind my protective soul, the prayers I sometimes forget to whisper before I go to bed, my first thoughts in the morning when my eyes awake from slumber, the books I enjoy reading and the movies I enjoy crying to just because it makes me feel human. I wonder if he thinks about me, about all I am and all I could be in the future; about all the kind of love we are going to make, and if he knows that we’re going to create a love unlike a time bomb but everlasting, so beautiful and sweet and deep it’ll move with you forever.

I wonder about love between a beautiful boy and a hidden girl, whether it’ll come true and last long enough for an entire novel to be written, strong enough for songs to be sung and music to be played, and fought enough so it’ll last till death does them part. I wonder about the kind of love that springs so powerful, the words meant of a single promise, a single vow with the winds and the Heavens as witness, the birds and the leaves singing in chorus: “No matter what happens, I will take care of you. No matter what happens, I will be here for you. No matter what you do, I’m not leaving. Even if you grow fat and unbearable to look at, I will stay. Grow white hairs and huge pimples and become the ugliest girl in the world, I will hold your hand for the whole world to see that you are mine. Be a pain in the ass most times and thrash out on me during your monthly hormonal days, I will hang on tight until the morning. I love you in spite of the things you do and not because for our love is inconsequential. Our love is real.” I hope to make myself worth it for this boy and this kind of love. Please come, please come. 

I am so humiliated.

Let me tell you something I’ve never told anybody: I am a chatter. I am one of those people who discovered the mystery of chatting on the web with random strangers and somehow finding solace, or joy in knowing that if I can’t find friends to attract in life, at least on the web I am somebody. Not that it counts for much, it started when I was about 13 years old. Imagine at that age, I didn’t know what to do, and all people ever seemed to care about was whoever looked pretty enough to talk to because people on the web are losers who have no life, and it wasn’t that way for me, it was more of boredom and needing somebody to talk to even if it were somebody I didn’t know, to me it mattered still. I was young, naïve, and safe so I used fake pictures and names– and of course, you wouldn’t want to fake a picture of somebody ugly so instead I used beautiful people and soon, people started to flock every time I came. It became an addiction. It has defined who I am and I am not proud of that person, and I am terribly sorry for all those people online whose lives I have touched and lied to, by saying I was a person I never was. Today I got found out, and yes this has been going on for years and look where this has me: still the same, still stubborn, still unable to let go of this silly play.

I am tired of feigning to be somebody I am not. I am tired of lying, of being too ashamed of who I am to hide and choose to be somebody instead of revealing me and that is the biggest sin; to think less of myself when God has made me a beautiful being deserving of recognition for who I exactly am. The thing I learned through all this is that although the truth hurts, lies hurt worse. It not only hurts the people around you but it hurts yourself further. I don’t want to do that anymore. Lies always catch up to you in the end and it has taken me this long to realize because through all those years of pretending, nobody caught me out or nobody told on me, until now.

I am not proud of the person I used to be but I have to move forward and learn from my mistakes. My experiences produce growth, and I just wish I could say sorry to all the people I ever lied to and hurt, to the people whose lives I never meant to come across but did, as another person instead of truly being me. I am stopping all things that have to do with meeting strangers online, or pretending to be somebody else, and I wish I could confess to all those online people but I’m not ready for that yet, and I don’t think I’ll ever be. It’s a good thing nobody talks to me as much anymore so I won’t be missed, and they can move on without ever wondering what happened to the fake me that I was. I am ashamed and I am sorry. Useful advice: Don’t tell lies. Don’t fake yourself. It only hurts. Say no to different realities. There’s no point. Live only one. Be You. Love who you are and be true to yourself. I will finally be.

I am truly sorry to you all, and mostly to myself for letting this on too far and for belittling the giant person I know I am inside.