Friday, December 23, 2016

Another year is about to end, and it ends like how it started:

Another year is about to end, and it ends like how it started:

Albert is crawling on the inside, there is a loneliness he cannot shake. 

Of course he is single. 2016 is marked with discarded names and memories like scratched-out stickers on a bathroom stall. The bathroom is unkempt, comically. The dingy bathroom stall might as well signify his life: room for one. Another could enter, but not stay long and only willingly at the start.

I make it seem like I am being left behind, being used. Let me clarify: I am done being used. I have been since turning 22. The dingy bathroom stall of my personality forces people out and what I am sad about is not them leaving, but them not trying to come back. But of course I am going to refuse, if ever they do.

And if they don’t come back, I am made to feel resented –well, seems like it. As if, I had been a huge waste of time, a pile of shit that was too close. But I did my best; I did give the boyfriend experience, without being a ‘boyfriend’ and without more than a few words. I remember being excited to show someone how beautiful Nagsasa Island was through an elaborate, uncontrollably giddy narration, complete with pictures. I remember having cooked and gathered dirty dishes to wash later in the sink. I remember cinema verite sitcoms. I remember being excited to drop by your office, to just see you –to frame you in my mind. I still feel connected to the building, even now that it has burned down and boarded. I remember the inside jokes and your slaps on my knee upon my barbaric jokes gone overboard. Because I am unkempt, and you are well made and even decorated.

I remember when it started being stressful, for reasons unknown. I remember thinking about being sad in the supermarket aisle. I was picking at a scab –maybe underneath would be something else. Why wouldn’t I want to find an answer? But the more I picked and scratched, the more hopeless it became. I may have saved you from myself by turning you away. I remember you telling me you were starting to get sad too, and it made me sad. More thinking and scratching, and I never avoided the questions and I might have burned out myself to a pause right in the middle of that supermarket aisle.

So maybe my problem is I turn people away. Let’s put it that way. Without you, and with this problem, where do I go now?

This year has not been great for the world –selfish but mine went sort of great because I got into grad school. I also had great sex. I suppose there’s satisfaction in that too. I have seen you on occasion in the hallways, your head bobbing through doors, and I guess you have seen mine, bobbing as I nervously navigate the hallway. But maybe you never want to speak, and I want you keep the door closed. I never want to see you again. Because you have to resent me and I want to save you from myself.

I imagine putting up on my wall a picture of you. I will touch your face and meet the glass: not even an inch thick but already too far away and too cold. 

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I have read some posts on your blog and made me realize that your life is a complete antithesis of mine. You seem living now for your own sake, not being bitched around by people who strangle you with questions about your own quest. You should tap your own shoulder/crotch (either works fine) for smoking a cigar not worrying whether your mouth gets burned or not. Kudos, Albert.