Why do I feel this way again? I hate Valentines day...
It's a good thing I'm going far away this weekend.
An excerpt from my journal dated February 12, 2007 :
I am friends with the swing in the playground next to the basketball court where my two brothers grew up playing ball every summer. I am a friend of the weather, I feel rainy during wet season, and I feel hot during summer. I am a friend to this wooden bed, with its old red mattress, which makes a squeaking sound every time I try to move away from it. I am a friend to this electric fan – with its green blade and its white body – and I try very much to be caring towards it especially since it tries very hard to make my attic room cool in this hot, humid February afternoon.
I am a friend to my worn out pillows. I am a friend to the blue and purple sky. I am friends with the yellow and black felt paper canvasses containing my nude sketches. I am friends with the artists most of whose names I don’t know, and the canvasses and linen papers they lay at my feet, the pencils, water colors, charcoal, ball point pen, pastels they each use to mark my existence, catch the twinkle in my eye, the curves of my body, the nooks and crannies I’ve tried to hide from everybody else for 28 years, and my honey-laden smile at the start of each session.
I am friends with the Gardenia bread, the peanut butter and Chocolait I just had for breakfast this morning. I am a friend to my mouth, my palms, my stomach, my legs, my teeth, my eyebrows. I am a friend to the yellow bell flowers I like to put behind my right ear. I am a friend to the bright moon and the night sky filled with distant stars.
I am a friend to this spiral notebook which allows me to carry Charlie, Lucy and Snoopy – asking Is there No One to Rescue Me?— everywhere I go. I am a friend to this black gel pen which I carry with me all the time to assure me that I can write whatever I want, whenever I have a need to.
I am friends with this gigantic mirror adjacent to my bed, this golden yellow sarong with its pink and green stray lines that I am lying on, the blue roofs outside my window, and of course the windows which allow me a glimpse of the world outside, a world I choose to abandon for a while.
I am a friend to all kinds of coffee: 3-in-1, black, brewed, latte, cold and hot, macchiato and frappucino. I am friends with loneliness, bitterness, happiness, eagerness, cleanliness, sadness, dailiness, madness, and all kinds of words which has to do with being present in the now but also looking forward to tomorrow while seeing that yesterday is gone and cannot be summoned anymore no matter how much you would like to cherish it and hold it with you once more.
I am friends with dark nights and cold November rain, with salty memories of beach encounters and Mayflowers, with April blooms, with June’s excitement and September gatherings. But I have yet to befriend the other months in the calendar, the other 50 people in my 250-filled to capacity phonebook stored inside my cellphone.
I have yet to be friends with anger, sarcasm, with juicy gossip, with politics in the workplace, with stressful mornings brought on by my need to go home to my own bed inspite of my grogginess. I have yet to befriend my insecurities, my need to prove myself to myself, my hunger for appreciation, my thirst for love and companionship.
