The Four Stages of Life

The corrugated cardboard is old but intact. The neatly folded folding carton is heavy. Piled up in it are the notebooks with its papers holding thickly inked emotions. My parents, relatives, family, and friends know me. But does anyone sees through me? Nay, it's me who is aware of everything about me. I can't boast like that. I am the least known; these diaries mirrors most of my self. Do my notebooks carry mysteries? The mysteries as in the location of Cleopatra's tomb. 

It holds the long-gone things. The things that I need to erase. The happenings which I need to burn. I wish I could dump the box in the Atlantic ocean to feed the sharks. Or could hide them in the Bermuda triangle. I hate the thoughts of a trespasser holding my diary in their hand, even if it happens after my death.

How long I'm going to stare the sealed brown box. It didn't accidentally hit me while cleaning up my room. I'm the one who deliberately took it. What stops me? No one stops. But, haven't I sealed it on purpose. Never look back was the lesson I fixated in my mind. Who said curiosity kills the cat? I want to reword it. Curiosity kills the conscience. The box landed light, but my heart isn't. I dare to open it as the truth sucks my blood.

People see the light reflected through me. The dark is contagious, that's why I want to bury them and shred it with the past. Should burn the box before it goes out of hand. I admire the words, my words, my expressions even though it is painful. One last time, I will catch a glimpse and then thrash them.

The ribbon-cutting ceremony is delightful if it is for a riveting future. But it feels like a mourning ritual. I'm going to free the seized soul. No frills, no regrets because I don't belong there. 

The red from the carton flash my eyes. I adore red and bounded all my journals red. What if my life was, unattractive like the hardcover of the notebooks? Sounds easy, no complications. I arranged the diaries in chronological order like the school's yearbook. My belongings love to be in order, but my life doesn't. It was the first page of my diary.

Saturday, May 5, 2001

Moon soothes the summer heat. The air is cold, but my body is hot. I had hit one more sleepless night. Nightmares are easier to handle than the realities replayed in mind. 

Why did God create men? They seem like beasts licking children. I'm afraid, frightened, and confused. 

My desire was the gas balloon. I adored it when it took flight in the sky. I immersed myself in watching it soar. Along with the balloon, my skirt lifted. The rest is reality tied with nightmares. I'm gifted with years of sleepless nights. If he is right, why am I getting fear? If he is wrong, I am for supporting him and burying the truth under the soil. 

Granny said, "Plant the seeds and pull out the weeds." 

I have planted the weeds, and I'm pulling out the seeds. What a fool I'm? I'm suffering alone without the courage to pour out the words. 

Touch isn't pleasant anymore. A part of me got detached for the past five years. I'm shy, guilty, and ashamed, all at the same time. I knew something was not right when it happened. I was seven, but my instinct said it was not acceptable. I didn't know how to defend. What is the meaning of doing scary acts? I want to ask someone. My heart says it is not going to be simple. Fear runs down inside each of my cells. I'm feeling light, after talking with you, dear diary. I hear some sound outside. I guess mommy is awake. I don't want her to see me talking with you. 

Rest tomorrow. Bye, diary. 

I should have said it to my parents. To stand up and defend is my belated learning. The chain of the sleepless night was a never-ending pursuit in my life. Thank God, it ended at some point. The diary deserves more gratitude. At least it didn't judge me. 2003, I was in grade 9. My mind is cloudy; I don't remember any specific incident. Let me dig in.

Wednesday, August 6, 2003

He likes Popeye, so do I. He is my best friend but not anymore. Victor, why did you do it to me? Why, me? I hate you. 

He should have asked my permission. I'm not a soft toy to feel the fur. There is a mouth to ask. Why my face has pimples? Simple and straightforward. There is no reason to touch my face to feel the scar. I am quite uncomfortable. I won't smile at you, and won't sit beside you, Victor. I'm changing my seat in class tomorrow. No more friendship and no more talking needed.

I should tell him that what he did was wrong. What if his intentions weren't bad? It would hurt him. I don't know if it's care or something else. But, whatever I can't be a friend. I have no guts to speak my mind. I'm going to ignore him. It's a trouble-free runoff.

My body is changing. Boys notice them; it's a different look, which isn't casual. I can't hide my curves and growing breasts. I don't like my long hair and going to cut it short. All the girls wear their watches on the left wrist. I should wear it on the right like the boys. The change will make me tough. I won't be a ballad dancer; I want to be a kick-boxer.

At that time, I wanted to transform myself into a boy. I was working against nature. It was a defense mechanism to hide the cowardice.

I had no interest in girls. My first date was with a boy named Seth. But it didn't turn into love, and we fell apart. 

Tuesday, February 7, 2006

No one will stay with me for my attitude. Seth said it right on my face. What kind of expression is it? He could have explained more. Where I went wrong? I'm clueless. I know I'm not perfect, but am I that bad? I tried to reach him, but Seth doesn't wish to talk with me anymore. When will my nights be the moon and the stars? He is a good guy. Someone could be on his side to support him. Will Demi do it for me? She is my good friend, and I am sure she will keep in touch with him. I will call her immediately. It's better to watch the constellation through a telescope than with the bare eye. Some ideas are fruitful when done in private. I'll go for a sleepover this weekend and will discuss everything in person with her. 

That was a wrong move, and I regretted it. My pillows were wet for the subsequent years.

Friday, October 8, 2010

The red ball of fire grew inside my heart, and my temper was at its peak. Every time my life takes a sharp turn. It hurts when people think they are smart, and I'm a fool. I don't have any problem if they are in a relationship. If she had confessed it, I might be the happiest person. But she locked it up as a diamond in her chamber. 

Seth isn't precious; I won't steal him from her. Demi moved in with him without telling me, and it wasn't the worst part. She blocked my account on Facebook. But she added all our classmates as a friend in her profile. 

She is in contact with everyone we know but blocked only me from her life. All because she doesn't want to know she is with Seth or Seth doesn't like me hanging out with her. Our mutual friends don't like me talking about Demi. What the hell? Am I that evil? I am the one who bridged Seth and Demi. Now how can they put me in the ditch? I don't know. I'm the one with an attitude. Why can't I erase those words? It stuck to my heart like chewing gum. Betrayal is brutal, and when it is from a friend, the pain stings from the hood of a scorpion.

That day, I was in a mood to strangle her. But I didn't even take revenge. Sitting in my room, I mourned. Corners were my favorite spot since it felt like I was in the warmth of my mom's womb. Eight's went in fear, and Twelve's went in aversion. Sixteen's weren't sweet, and eighteen's were full of pain. In the twenties, I burned in rage. What did my mind think of when I was twenty-five?

Monday, June 9, 2014

What is Love? Mind over body or the other way around. If the body quenches its thirst, will the mind get served with love? Once the body gets fed will the love disappears like a rainbow after the droplets of rain evaporate. The rain hit a lot in my life, but no rainbows. I have searched the water in the empty pots. Thirsty is my heart.

That was the shortest entry in my diary. It had thousands of emotions and few people behind those. Each time I read this page, I have a different perspective. In this instance, my heart is thirsty, but one a good note. I remember the last day when I wrote my journal entry. It was at the age of thirty. I decided to seal the twenty-eight diaries (each for a year) in an old cardboard box on that day. 

Thursday, January 10, 2014

The thirties are beautiful. I can see life through the prism of love. Does love plant courage? The right one does. The heartbreaks are worth to land on a perfect runway. Dear diary, my journey with you was incredible. I asked questions to you and found answers for me. You are a lending ear, but unfortunately, I don't need you. I need a talking mouth. So I replaced you with Mike. Goodbye.

That was a happy ending to the saddest diaries. A child shouldn't live with fear; a disinclined teen's life is menacing. Young adults don't need rage. An adult should never get confused. 

If all these occur, don't track it, thrash the traces. I'm igniting the box full of diaries. With the smoke, let the powerless version of me combust. 

From the ashes, let me rise like a Phoenix.