I'm back to square one.

And I'd like to make introductions. I'd like to leave all the negativity behind, the shit behind, the worries behind -- and start anew.

Hi. Call me jammed.

I'm severely mediocre. I'm average-looking (maybe even below it), I get okay grades, my life is so-so, my foot and dress sizes are medium... yeah, I'm your girl-next-door.

Only I choose not to be.

On rare days when the sun is up but the clouds are overhead threatening to cover the sun up, while the wind blows but the rain doesn't fall... that's when I feel most invincible. I love cold nights, hot chocolate, soft beds, horror movies, psychological-thrillers, BlackBerries, pillow fights, daydreaming, teaching myself how to play the guitar, laughing, writing, Harry Potter, reading in general, debating with myself.

Honestly though, if and when someone asks me what I think I'm really good at, all I could do is shrug, because I honestly don't know. Especially not if you don't consider embarrassing myself in front of many people a marketable talent.

I'm not different from anyone, although I try to be. I fall for the most outlandish guys, laugh at the lamest jokes, think of the most sensitive topics, and - when things go my way - I stand out. However, it's better compared to a sore thumb than a nicely coloured pen amidst black.

I'm not spectacular, and though I do my best, I'm pretty sure I won't ever be.

Right now, I'm just a teenager, penning my thoughts down; hoping somewhere out there, someone's reading, understanding, empathizing, contemplating, learning; and wishing, wishing that the people for whom I write this blog for know I wrote it for them. The same goes to me as well.

Throw it away, forget yesterday,

x

Tonight I Can Write - Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example: "The night is shattered, and the blue stars shiver in the distance." The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. That I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights like this one, I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too. How could one not not have loved her great, still eyes? Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered, and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight searches for her as though to go to her My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same the same trees. We, we who were, are the no longer the same. I no longer love her, that is certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her ear. Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that is certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms, my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer, and these the last verses that I write for her.

Puedo Escribir los Versos mas Tristes Esta Noche  Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche esta estrellada, y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos". El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta. Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Yo la quise, y a veces ella tambien me quiso. En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos. La bese tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito. Ella me quiso, a veces yo tambien la queria. C�mo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos. Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido. Oir la noche inmensa, mas inmensa sin ella. Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocio. Que importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla. La noche esta estrellada y ella no esta conmigo. Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos. Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Mi corazon la busca, y ella no esta conmigo. La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos arboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuanto la quise. Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oido. De otro. Sera de otro. Como antes de mis besos. Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido. Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa, y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo. Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche.

Source: http://www.links2love.com/poetry_12.htm
I have always been apathetic towards poems, but then again, I have always been apathetic about everything in general, so being indifferent regarding something so trivial such as poetry would hardly be the icing on the cake. 
Then I read this poem.
And honestly, it encapsulated everything I felt today -- for the past few weeks, months even. I honestly have to stop thinking about lost what-ifs and forgotten promises, so I guess this entry will be the last of the many entries I've written about that one person. The final breath, the last goodbye, the period to a sentence, the End to a novel. 
I'm honestly done being apathetic and merely existing. This time, I'm going to live. And already, I'm loving it.

Angst?

Learning no truth:
False pretense,
Fiction,
Abysmal lies.

This is a poem
About a flower
in the breeze,
A wave
with no wind.

A girl met a boy
Who loved a girl
who broke her heart,
by breaking his.
Pitiful.

She let him go --
Made him wander,
made him wonder,
What happened
to what should have.

It's quiet.
No more heartbreaks,
Lies, cries, excuses.
Just the rustle of leaves
above his encased body.

I'm going to start the year right with honesty.

I'm not happy.
   Not right now.
I laughed today and made people smile, but I never really felt that tickle in the pit of my stomach.

I'm not sad.
   Not in this moment.
I haven't cried in a while, haven't sympathized in a long time, haven't felt hurt in as long as I can remember.

I'm back to what I was a few months ago.
   I'm apathetic once again.
Numb. Indifferent. Neutral.
   But I want to feel. I honestly do.

I leave again tomorrow

That's what I learned for the most parts of 2010, and I guess it was my biggest realization. People leave. Sometimes they do so out of need, sometimes because they want to, sometimes because of no specific reason... but they do.

And come tomorrow (which, due to the postponement of this entry, is already inaccurate - I leave in less than 20 hours), I'll be doing the same; and while it is but a temporary leave, it still is as hard as it was when I first did it. I guess I can only sigh...

I don't plan to sleep tonight. Not because I'm insomniac, but because there's a tiny part of me that is trying hard to believe that if I don't sleep tonight, then the world will cease to spin, that time won't move, that I won't ever have to leave again. And however impossible that sounds, I'm holding on to that tiny part... mostly because I want it to be true.

A journey

Last year, aside from my 25 days of self-portraits, I attempted a 30-day project with Apple Cider, my small bear. Due however to unfortunate circumstances, I was unable to finish it because I wasn't able to find my last picture -- the picture for the 30th day.

 This year though, I plan to make a 365-day project -- and stick to it. The details are as follows:

• Do a 365-day project with weekly categories using my BlackBerry.
• As much as possible, no too huge tweaks (only color schemes, compare and contrast)
• Write about the picture of the day
• Learn

Support me here? http://mnemosyne-.tumblr.com/

P.S. Mnemosyne is the Greek deity of memory, and mother of the 9 Muses.