The most uninteresting things in this world run like the longest hand of a clock. You stare at them for an hour and they won’t go away. Sometimes you don’t stare at them, you feel them like a sharp knife with poisonous blade piercing through your existence and leaving a hole. The uninteresting things in this life steal your breath second by second.
She is alone. She is always alone.
The people she sees they’re like the waves that kiss her feet only to leave seconds after. Why is life so full of goodbyes? If the world stays the same for every revolving of a clock, the world could have been a lot more easier to live in. No changes of hearts. The wind blows, we breathe. There will be no birth so that there will be no death, man only lives.
She wishes. She is full of wishes.
She wishes she can paint how she feels about him like how Van Gogh painted the Paris skies. What she feels for him is beautiful and there is no great artist could ever express. Sometimes, she wants to kill herself for wanting him. No. She wants to kill that feeling. Shoot it with a bullet straight to its heart. That feeling is a viscous animal that needs to be silenced before it turns into a monster and eat her alive. To love is both a beauty and a curse.
She might be in love with him.
His comfort is the soft pillow she hugs at night. The four yellow corners of her room bear witness to the tears that were shed when the dreadful feeling was realized. He knocked on her door. She opened. But then he already left. Time screws everything up when it should have placed things in their right order.
She’s alone, wishing, loving and blabbering on and on.
I’ve always been a fan of kilig. My adventures and misadventures with kilig are much documented on this blog. However, in most recent months I have been romantically inclined to this one special person. This does not border to the “I want to marry you” kind of intentions but it is more of “your words always make me smile” kind of notions. Needless to say I have been getting doses of kilig through our regular banter and cute exchange of quips. I must say too much kilig has the tendency to be overtly disgusting but ours is being leveled by our little word quarrels that are oftentimes seal with us catching each others korni lines.
For starters, definition of terms:
Kilig: verb, adjective, noun; describes the feeling you get when a special person acts like they consider you the same way you consider them; is the act of getting those butterflies in your stomach that connects like electricity flowing through your veins making your face muscle stretch into a smile; is the actual feeling that makes you want to hug and bite your pillow in romantic excitement.
I could go on and on explaining what kilig is, but this video might explain it fairly well. Tom Hansen pretty much demonstrated the adjective, verb and noun meaning of the word.
Oh and korni, basically means corny. Same colloquial meaning all over the world.
Going back to the trail where the title is directing, I oftentimes do things that I assume will bring more kilig in my life. I would go as far as recreating scenes from my favorite romantic films. I often end up saying the lines and the other person not understanding me and will shun me up by saying korni. Which in return say things that I thought are cute in an attempt to redeem myself.
I am mental when it comes to liking a person. If I like a person I will like them no matter what other people think about him. I will still be there for him even though he is sucking all the happy emotions in my life and leaving me voided. Similarly, I can’t force myself to like a person. Never.
This blog came to me when I was telling my friend about how I walked a good 25 minutes only to find a comic book that I thought of giving to this special guy . I will be co-hosting a comic convention, his favorite artist will be there and I’m going to have the comic book signed and I will give it to him as a gift symbolizing how much I appreciate him adding a little kilig in my life, even though we both made it clear that we are just friends. After all, there is no rule stating that friends can’t have romantic feelings for each other. Anyway, I ended up at the bookstore not finding the comic book. And had to buy another book by the same artist. And quite frankly, I only said yes to the hosting offer so I can have the comic book signed. So, all of this in exchange of possible humiliation and impossible kilig moment.
I was kind of aiming for that scene in Seeking a Friend for the End of the World where Kiera Knightley knocks on Steve Carrell’s door and tells him “How can you let me go?”, because yes HOW CAN HE LET ME GO?
How can he let me go when I would willingly go beyond my way to see him smile back at me, that kind of smile that I imagine stamped on my face when he say things that make me smile. How can he let me go when he said I’m the only person who puts up with his eccentricity and his mood swings. How can he let me go when I never want him to.
See, I’m honestly not in love yet. This degree is not what I would consider love in my Richter Scale of love. This lacks the intensity. The last time I fell in love I did not hesitate to board a plane and see the person in a city I don’t know. When I fall in love, I become suicidal as a Japanese World War II pilot. Reevaluating this inevitable romantic feeling that is barely disguised as kilig, I might be in love with the idea of love and not with the person. That I’m very determined to find out.
I am afraid of death. I have toyed with the idea of waking up and realizing that my heart isn’t beating anymore. I have thought of that almost a thousand times. And every time, I ended up catching my breath. The thought of death is like dying itself. It sucks you into a meaningless vacuum. And traps you inside along with dark emotions. The more I thought about it the more I get scared. Death is an exponentially growing fear that engulfs every breathing minute of my day.
How does it feel like to be dead? Does it hurt? Will you feel the flow of your blood stopping? Will you suck in a desperate gasp of last breath? Will you see your body rotting? Death is the end. The end is a consolation of all bad things in life. Life is for the most part good. And that makes death not only sad, but scary.
What if there is life after death? Will we ever be the same person as we are in this lifetime? Will I still be writing things that no one reads? Or will I write a movie that everyone will watch? If death is a beginning, then what’s next? Do we have a clue? Shall we keep on searching in this lifetime? Why don’t we just kill ourselves, anyway we have another chance in another life.
I once was told that I was a monk on my past life, but I fell in love with a man and runaway with him . I am no believer of any other life except from the one where I am writing this pointless blog, but that may explain why I keep on running away and looking for love. Which to this date I havent found yet. Well, maybe in the next life? Do I have to fulfill the spiritual duties in this life for me to be eternally united to the man I have truly love in my past life? Someone call Hollywood I’m pitching them a good plot.
What if you have a chance like what Robin Williams had in “What Dreams May Come”? Would you rather have a little than have nothing at all? Would you go that far just to do what you havent done on your current lifetime? Death raises to many questions. But nobody has the perfect answer. or maybe, not getting an answer is the answer itself. Coz when no one certainly knows what’s beyond a point, isn’t it the end of it? Death is the end.
