Indeed, You Are.

"You are a cliff that I am trying hard not to fall into. 

You are inescapable."

 - Me

Something About My Thesis. NOT.

It has been a year ever since I started reading books about depression. I am not clinically depressed, as far as I'm concerned, but I was reading stuff about it for my thesis - a requirement in the University when I was still studying - which I eventually finished some months ago. I made a "study" (wow, big word) about depression and how it is manifested in literary works.

Anyway, let's not go further. That was just an introduction of what I will be talking about in this blog post.

So, as I've said, I have been reading stuff about depression, either those things talk about clinical depression or depression itself which is felt by some people. Today, I came to this site called "Hyperbole and a Half" owned by Allie, read some of her most recent posts, and then I suddenly realized something about depressed people who write for themselves.

I already said that my thesis was about depression, right? In that study, I found out that depression can be manifested in literary works through the use of metaphors. The author of "Positively Mental", Elvira Mata, who revealed in some of her entries that she suffers from clinical depression, used different metaphors just so she can "unleash" the depression that she was feeling. In other words, she used different images that served as her outlet in her writings.

I will not say more about this because this thesis had given me too much depression while I was doing it. Lol.

Anyway, on the other hand, this blog that I was talking about also manifested depression, not only in her writings, but also in her illustrations. Yes, Allie used illustrations so that she can express her feelings and so that people, her readers, may be able to understand what she is going through, although some of her works could be found out as something "humorous".

To make it simple, Elvira Mata used metaphors for her entries about her depression, while Allie used illustrations. She also used metaphors in her entries, but her illustrations are more visible.

But that is not the only thing I have noticed.

With these writings I have read from two depressed authors, I realized how "ironic" (I'm not so sure but I think this is the more appropriate term) depressed people can be in their writings about their personal experiences with depression. It is because of the humor they can provide in their writings that, of course, for them may not be funny or humorous at all, words that had just "flowed" from their hands. As for normal people, they would notice that humorous language or illustration. At the same time, people who are sensitive enough to realize what they are reading may also find it hard to gasp what the writer has talked about in his/her writing. I am not sure of the reason why they sound or seem humorous with their works, but really, this realization caught me. Now, I really wonder why entries about depression suddenly appear so humorous.

Does this mean that writing is or has become a mask for someone's real feelings that after fabricating the words they have written, personal entries would soon or might become fiction?

I know we already discussed this part in my last year in college. I need to be refreshed.

What I want to know is something about depression.

Maybe this realization of mine would be further analyzed if I will be able to read more entries about depression.

Should I continue this thesis when I get my Masteral degree?

Ha. Ha. Lol.

Gone in Spring

Note: This sounds like poetry (first draft), but it's more like a free fall. I felt good when I wrote it last night before going to sleep. Would love to know your comments. :)


Gone in Spring

I felt like I lost my chance ever since you answered that question of mine. It's as if the flower buds are about to bloom, in season, since spring is about to come. But then, after I learned about your answer, it's spring, and yet the flowers have died and they didn't even bloom or woken up to the sun for once. Maybe they did, for the moon or the stars, which only leave them moist with dew, like tears on their leaves, just before the sun is about to rise. Those feelings I had, I let them die like those flowers. It's alright seeing them die that early, although it's spring. It's difficult to force them to live - you water them and care for them - and yet you'll see them die, more and more, the more you find pleasure in taking care of them. Seeing them die even you take care of them each day is worse than just letting them go all at once.

Words. Visions. Imaginings.

As I stare blankly at the yellow wall of my room where the cork board with sticky notes of different colors is hanging, there are words popping up my head, making me want to say them all to you. But you will not hear me, for you are out of reach, away. Far and away.

I keep seeing question marks, they seem confused as well. What would want you to know the truth? You keep ignoring me after all.

And guess what's inside my head? It keeps on wondering, thinking... "If I was in her place..." And then I don't know what it says next.

Words. Visions. Imaginings.

"...you'll have no regrets."

"...you'll be happy with me."

"...I'll let you do what you want to do in life."

"...we would be playing in the rain like kids and hide on the sidewalks when thunder claps."

"...every penny would be worth it."

"...you will be free."

And now, I'm running out of words. What remain are visions that cannot be translated. Imaginings that cannot happen.

You're a jerk.

What if it was you?

What if you are my long lost childhood friend? What if it was you who left for a very long time and never came back? What if it was your name I had forgotten? What if it was you I have wanted to talk to for a long time? My dear friend from the past... what if it was you?

All I remember was his image from afar, he was running away. Saying goodbye because he was being called by his Lolo. It was a sunny afternoon. And then my mind went white. I can't recall anything anymore. All I know is that he was my friend, my childhood friend. I forgot his name.

When he ran away and transferred I don't know where, I started to value friendship and remember everything my friends and I have shared. Perhaps that's why "best friends" are so sentimental to me.

I hope you too.

Thoughts on a Night in May

Westlife's Unbreakable playing in the background. The song I wanted to be played if I get the chance to walk down the aisle, slowly, with my parents beside me, wearing a long, beautiful wedding gown, coming towards you. It has always been you.

As I write this, I suddenly change the playlist settings on repeat. So the song will continuously play until I finish this post.

I'm thinking about you tonight. Well, every night. You never left my mind, actually. And too cheesy to say, but my heart as well.

The sparks may be resting from glowing. I may be resting, too, sometimes. But honestly, I never got tired feeling this way since that day in 2011. Quite confusing (the terms I used, I mean), but it's what I really feel. These sparks for you, they may glow or not, they may go away for some time, but they still return to me, for you. They always do. And now they are over my head, glowing and even flying like fireflies as I think of you.

I am happy with what we have, for what we are. You may just see me as your friend, but I don't mind at all. It's completely perfect. However, sometimes I want you to be aware that I have special feelings for you. Not just a friend. It's more than that. I know you know about it. But knowing is different from being aware.

For now, I just miss you. Not too much, but enough. Enough to make me create this post about you. I hope I'll be able to see you again. Just a glimpse of you will be okay. But a smile for me would be better. I've always wanted to see that smile... closely.

Oh God. This love is unbreakable.

Turns off playlist after the 6th repeat.