Strange

Bus Rides Home

Whenever I ride a bus home (which isn’t my usual mode of transportation) after meeting my friends or watching a movie by myself, there’s a different kind of air I breathe in. Something with a hint of sadness for being alone, of feeling proud and courageous for traveling late at night (coz you know, rape culture), and of getting along with the noises around me (which is mostly the reason why I don’t bring earphones). I’m always lucky for getting the window seat because thoughts and realizations come naturally that way. And what better background music can I have than the soft voices of the bus people chattering and the blaring sounds of the cars from time to time. The ride home gives you your moment—one the people you know don’t see much, and it’s up to you on what to make of that.

As for me, the heavy traffic rarely matters, I’m going home anyway. And I enjoy looking out and seeing the world go about, oblivious of my existence. A timid smile will creep in when I notice something familiar or when I see sweet gestures of strangers. There was a time when tears formed in my eyes, for I remember a memory I hold dear but can’t bring back or I realized again that thing I cannot have. I would crinkle my nose whenever embarrassing moments flash in my mind or when my silliness reminds me to have fun. And I also get excited when I think of the events I’ll go to on the coming days, when another idea that will make the ones I have better comes, and when I’m nearing my stop.

Although they’re the most beautiful, sunsets aren’t the only the thing that could turn your day around, bus rides home could, too. It’s what you make of your moment, after all.

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Strange

I’m Brave (Not?)

Not friends, not enemies, just some strangers with some memories.

Every time I cut, color, or change the style of my hair, this particular man comes out of his house right when I’m about to pass the way. That particular man is my friend, or rather, was my friend. Coz now, we’re strangers. And I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. What I’m sure of, however, is that it’s really brave of me to share and publish this now. The first time I talked about someone so obviously (yes, it’s already obvious for me) that he would know it’s him. If only he reads this. Which I hope not.

Speaking of brave, I think it’s fair enough for girls to say that donating 8 inches of our hair for the benefit of children with cancer is a brave (and kind) thing to do. Which I did earlier, which prompt me to write this post. Now my hair falls right exactly at my collar bone. And I have to deal with it.

Like how I have to deal with what’s going on in my life right now, and all the drama hidden behind my eyes. I have to iron it out and at least straighten some of the curls. But there will be days when you just want to leave them be and be free. From all the heat and chemicals surrounding it. I hope the time comes when I have to worry less, if not anymore, and live life the way I want it to be.

Writing 101’s Task: Hook ’em with a quote.

P.S. Sorry I didn’t elaborate on the quote and my story. It just hurts so bad. Of course, I’m kidding. Also, the last paragraph speaks true for both my hair and my life. Maybe it also rings true to you. ☼

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Bitter

What Used To Be

sad-woman-street-walking-girl

The street that gave color to my childhood is dull and empty, figuratively.

What was once a playground for kids who knew nothing is now a mere path which connects us to our houses, literally.

Innocence turned to ignorance, frankness changed to silence, and those who used to be friends are nothing more than just neighbors at this moment.

The familiarity of the place is not comforting anymore.

I never wanted to get out.

Before.

Daily Post’s West End Girls.

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Strange

Love Love Love

I’ve read a really interesting article last month and it was To Fall In Love With Anyone, Do This. You might be raising your eyebrows now just like what I did when I first read the title but that’s completely normal and valid, especially for those of us who believe that romantic love doesn’t work that way. But I read it anyway; you know how curiosity works, right?

The writer, Ms. Catron, shared her experience on trying Dr. Arthur Aron’s study which was to make two strangers fall in love with just a series of questions. Although they didn’t really follow the procedures for the experiment, Ms. Catron and her partner fell in love and according to her:

Love didn’t happen to us. We’re in love because we each made the choice to be.

I was hesitant at first and didn’t want to read the 36 questions, but I looked into it anyway. They were divided into three sets, each one designed to reveal more about the person than the previous. After answering everything, the strangers have to stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes. Yes, four-super-long-minutes-that-feels-like-a-year to people who have just met. You wouldn’t even do that to a close friend unless it’s a dare or you have a reward after.

However, the weird thing is, I want to try it. I wanna try it even though I still believe that romantic love isn’t something that comes out of an experiment. Because love is an unexplainable thing, one that you can’t reason out. But I’m allowing myself to consider a small probability of falling in love to a stranger through an experiment. I just need someone who is also open to the idea. And I don’t think I will meet him any time this year. Or ever.

The quote mentioned above had me asking, does love happen or do we choose it?

A question I have yet to figure out.

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