On Leaving

I hate it when people I care about leave or move away from me.
They tell you things like "No, it's not you." or "I've got some issues to solve for myself." but you're not really sure if they're being a hundred percent honest with you when they say that they need to drift away or transfer and stuff.
I guess this is just bitterness, to be honest.
I'm not a very clingy person, so when I cling to someone, then that person is really special because that doesn't happen very often. And because I get so attached to said person, the leaving becomes a bit harder to cope up with, in comparison to the regular non-clinging friendship.
Every person leaves for different reasons. One leaves by taking up a different college major from me, another leaves by transferring schools, and another leaves by just not being what we were being. I tell myself "I'm happy for you! You're doing what you want to do.You're doing what makes you happy!" but that's not totally the case. I end up telling them "Don't go away. It's such a waste." or simply (and desperately) "Don't go."
I tell myself that what I'm feeling is genuine concern, that I don't want them to leave because I see the potential they have in staying the same place where I am, but that's not totally true. Maybe a part of me feels that way when I say those lines, but most of it is driven by selfishness. The reason why I don't want them to leave is because I don't want to be left alone. I don't want them to leave because I don't want to go back to square one and start making new relationships to replace the old ones that don't need to be replaced. I don't want to make an effort in catching up with each other because then I'll be clingy and I don't want to be clingy.
I just... don't.
And I hate this selfish feeling. I want to be someone who can understand and accept the leaving, to be happy for these important people who are making their own journeys in life. I can't explain how hard it is to want to let people go but also anchor them beside you.
Friendship is hard, man.

I Still Think About You

I still think about you even if I tell myself that I don't anymore, which is a bummer because if my brain doesn't listen to me, who will? I've tried hard to stop, to be honest. I close my eyes every time I pass your school, so I won't end up analyzing the features of every male dressed in a student's uniform, looking for your signature features. I hid the class pictures you and I shared, and I'm this close to blocking you from Facebook (which is a pretty bad move, because everybody will know that I'm trying to forget about you, and I don't want them to think that way even though it's true).
I think the problem about forgetting you is that I don't know where to start. Most people tell you to cut off connections right away, because that's where it all begins. Like taking out weeds, where you uproot them  because without their little capillaries of life sucking out all the minerals from the soil, they'd shrivel and die. The problem about forgetting you is that there are no roots to uproot, no direct spot to target. The part in my brain dedicated to you is very abstract, where the lines are blurred and the colors are smudged into different colors. You don't know where it ends, much less where it starts.
So I still think about you, even though it's poisonous and sad because I know you barely think of me. I still think about you and your stupid green shirt, and the way you lost weight over the year. I still think about why I never said the things I wanted to say, and why I don't feel remorseful for not saying them.
You're there in the rain, when the weather is gloomy and gray. You are there in flash floods and little rusty tricycles. You are there in little notebooks with cheap padlocks.
You are still there.
And maybe, to start not thinking about you, I have to accept that you will always be there. Maybe accepting the part that you will never really go away is the first step- the fact that you may be significant now, but in a certain time, you may not be.
You are a part of me in a sense that most of my pubescent years were dedicated to you. And in order to start another stage of life, your part has to end. It may be slow, but I'm getting there somewhere, somehow. And one day, I won't be thinking of you anymore.

An Excuse for Inactivity

I haven't written for about 6+ months, which is kinda weird seeing how this blog is almost a year old and barely has ten posts in it. So much for being a keeper of everything that's changed.
I've somehow convinced myself that if I got a journal I could make it a more private way of holding my thoughts. I did get one though, and I even wrote on the first few pages. I haven't added a new entry for about three weeks. I don't think that's very good if I'm making keeping track of my thoughts regularly as a New Year's Resolution.
The thing is, I keep telling myself that I'm just being lazy. But there are times when I do take an hour to sit down and put my journal and a pen in front of me. Nothing comes out. I pick the pen, open the cap, and flip to a blank page, but the pen doesn't come in contact with the paper. Is that laziness? I don't think so. I've already put it out, but I'm still hesitating to bring out whatever's in my head.
I've considered a lot of things that have given me this writer's block- probably stress, or maybe I'm too tired. It's only recently that I've admitted to myself that I'm afraid of putting my thoughts down.
Probably it's funny, how putting down how you feel can be so frightening. It's supposed to be therapeutic, so it's not supposed to scare you, right? But the thing is, I find it scary. The thought of immortalizing the dirtiest, darkest parts of you on a piece of paper or on a blogging platform is probably one of the biggest things that can make my chest feel heavy and make me squirm in my seat. Maybe it's because when it's all in your head you can convince yourself that you've confused your feelings with your imagination-probably with a TV series or a depressing book. When you write it down, there's no turning back. You've verified and acknowledged that these feelings are real and that they exist somewhere deep inside you. You cannot deny it- it's in your nature no matter how hard you try to hide it.
I'm not sure if I should apologize or not, and if I do to choose to apologize, who would it be? To my readers? To myself? I don't really know a lot of things anymore. I'm at this point in my life where I don't know where I'm going and who I want to be. I don't really know who I am anymore. I've lost track of the goals I've set in mind, and I'm not sure that my thirteen year old self would be proud of me.
So much for keeping track of everything that's changed.