Dear life,
For many months I've resisted the urge to complain about you, thinking that by accepting what you are giving me I am being regarded as someone very patient, that by not succumbing to my constant bouts of depression and writing about them I am showing signs of improvement, hence a little part of me is expecting some sort of reward or at least a semblance of it, because I still happen to be a human being, needy and wanting, but as days go by and as I reach my wits' end I realize how useless it is to hope for something better, that the futility of everything is making me scared and weary at the same time, that whatever I do is pointless, that whatever I am is hopeless.
I feel sorry for myself, and I feel sorry for my misfortunes.
Miserably yours,
Cipher in the dumpster
Today is March 7, exactly a year after Nanay died. It's 8 a.m. and I haven't slept since last night but for some reason I don't feel sleepy at all. Must be the coffee or the need to wake my sister up at seven so we could visit Nanay's grave before she goes to work. At this hour she still hasn't taken a bath yet, so I decide to write this entry instead. At around 3:30 earlier I went out to buy a sandwich and soda and on my way home I was crying because I remembered Nanay in her last days at the hospital, unconscious, barely breathing, and there were instances when I was asked to watch over her from past midnight till early morning and it was OK it's just that I'd panic if she died on me but she didn't and she still died, early morning, and a part of me died as well, a huge part, a very huge part. I am looking forward to the day when I can finally have the guts to write about her, everything I wanted to say to her and about her, everything, because she deserves it, and I am the only person who can do it and who can cherish the short and unambitious and sometimes terrible life she led, in words. I have always felt insufficient so I don't want to try and ruin her memory. I love you, Nay. I always carry you in my heart. Always.
