child, that’s not love

breathe in, breathe out
suck in all the nervousness
gather all the anxiety
then release them out
repeat

the heart beats a little faster
cheeks turning pink, no —scarlet
he’s here! he’s here

breathe in, breathe out
repeat

but that’s not love
these are merely feelings
a liking; an attraction
the excitement, the anticipation
these will fade
they will

because love is not a feeling
it is —instead— a choice
on whether you’re willing
to be committed (for a lifetime)
to be vulnerable (to hurt and pain)
to sacrifice (money, time, so much more)
for this person you dearly like

things go well at the beginning
thinking that this responsibility is easy
oh so wrong, so so wrong
not even two steps ahead of the starting line
and we say something so foolish
we laugh at our innocence in the future

it’s a liking, an attraction
this is simply an infatuation
whether reciprocated, it will fade
it will

trust me —i’ve been there
i was once just like you
(and they were once just like me)

 

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as it is

what else is there to explain about love?
why bring science into such a beautiful thing?
emotions, expressions, deeds —compassion
love is love
there’s no other explanation
let it be as it is

the discovery

If I were to go back in time at that young age I once was, would I answer yes again?

No, maybe not —not yet.

But it was in that spark of that moment (where I was fifteen for a few months) I had to say yes. Still with a mind of a growing child, and eyes that held innocence so pure. I have not seen all horrors of the world and not learn entirely how the world works.

Clearly, I wasn’t ready.

And yet, I answered yes.

Just by an awkward hug he have given nights ago and a tub of popcorn shared in the darkness, my emotions stirred and I swayed. The flutter of my heart. The falters in my voice. The fantasy in my head. Fifteen-year-old me thought she was in love.

She wasn’t.

Infatuation, I call it now. It has come and go like the wind when there’s a presence of every charming wonder. It is that sudden pull. A sudden attraction. A crush.

Love —as I learned over the months after I said yes— was much more than a flurry of feelings. It was when disagreements were no longer unavoidable, I started to realise that it’s more than just give and take. Sometimes, to love, is to do something you do not like, like wasting your cellular data just to listen to his favourite genre: heavy EDM. And watching the links to uninteresting videos he sends. And bearing the wait for him to come back from his busy, packed day. And also shattering your pride to apologise first. And also trying to mild my jealousy and stop myself from shooting daggers at every girl he meets.

Love is something I am learning, and will continue to learn.

But if I were to go back in time at that young age I once was, would I answer yes again?

There’s nothing much I can gain from this question for I cannot go back to past and change the decision I had made. I only can do two things now in this current time:

  1. Kill it off with pesticide.
  2. Take responsibility of my actions, and make the best out of it.

Because honestly, I don’t think I regret my fifteen-year-old made choice at all. I was young, silly, and rash and at this moment I am still young, still silly, and (I hope) much less rash. Although in that first few months we connected was more of buzzing excitement, I eventually grew to love.

I have to admit, however, I have not explore every crevice of the globe and mankind. Hence, to have someone much older (like an adult) reading this would made me cower in embarrassment. Humble apologies adults young and old, I may not know what love love is, for I still have umpteen things to discover.

Actually I frown upon teenage dating. I still do. I admit that most of us are immature and want to quickly find a companion for all the wrong reasons. My case is not an exclusion, I was possessed by my emotions. I wanted to be in that ecstasy quick. It was like signing up for a three month long sugar rush. Then you get diabetes and suffer from it.

In a nutshell, I can’t find a proper conclusion to sum off this manure I wrote. Everything is so hypocritical I apologize. I don’t know what will happen in the future, but I believe things will go well if proper responsibility is taken by the two parties and ten thousand truckloads full of patience.

Relationships, like almost everything else, are neither black nor white but grey. They make you happy but they also depress you, because heads up, you are making yourself vulnerable to the other, not to mention that you have ability to hurt them too. Only you yourself know that you are ready, and if you aren’t, are you willing to bear the consequences?

For in the end I wish that the union of two people will be fruitful as they start a new beginning together called marriage. Perhaps in this era this is considered a ‘close minded’ opinion, but I hope my wish applies to you all as well.

 

 

 

 

the battle within you

dashing into the trees of the dense forest
running away from the world and its tremors
succumbed into your doubts and insecurities
as you broke the ice, plunging into the water

where were you when she needed you the most?
in the middle of a tangled mess you have made
crouched in a corner, shielded from the world
but the problem has always been within you
no point of fleeing -it follows you without fail

break down your walls, breathe in humility
mend your broken heart with forgiveness
start gathering your guts and fix things
it takes two to clap

(and she can’t do much more)

 

be in the bliss

rash decisions bring good things too
who cares about what people think?
as long as in this spur of the moment
you and i are happy with each other
and that’s all we should care about
though with every bliss comes misery
let’s not think about this for tonight
now we reflect on the contentment
like the kisses under the moonlight


we’re gonna take away the sorrow;

 

inside the examination hall

in maroon sneakers he rushed in
and sat on the desk beside me
time ticking, legs of the chair
scraping the cemented floor

we started without him
already scribbling in blue
when he just started reading
the instructions and passage

sweat beaded his forehead
eyebrows scrunching as the
pen quickly formed strokes
hurry, not much time left

a drop of a ballpoint pen
which shattered the silence
was rolling towards a leg
of the desk belonging to me

should i?

too late.

i heard footsteps nearing,
bones cracking as the aged
teacher bends down to reach
for the common writing tool

surprised that the teacher
knew who the owner was
he set the object on his desk
instead of mistaking it for mine

and so the boy retrieved his lost pen
but i lost the chance to get him to notice me