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things I tell myself I'll edit someday

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Love, exhaustion, etc.

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Much has been said, less has been done–on my part, that is. Perhaps I am a little too late to let you know that I know what’s weighing you down, I know what’s eating you up: I am a difficult lover.

I do things I said I will not do; I say stuff I do not mean. I stutter. I mumble. I speak out of turn. All because I fear the kind of hold you have of me. All because I think you are too damn good to be true, too damn perfect to even notice me, and too damn smart to even think I could be worthy of your affection. I make a fool out of myself. All because I love you.

You say it is easy to love me but so difficult to stay in love with me. You say I am too scared to drown myself in the kind of romance you want for us. You say I don’t love you enough to take a risk to be with you. How wrong you are.

I love you enough, maybe more than you think I do, but I just don’t know how. I don’t know how to begin showing it to you, because I fear that I might do it wrong. And I can’t let that happen. Not this time. Not with you.

But perhaps avoiding making a mistake is the most stupid thing I ever did. Now, I am losing you. I feel it in your sighs. I see it in your distant gaze. I am losing you, slowly and painfully losing you. All because I love you in the only way I know how.

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Written by Angel Santos

July 30, 2013 at 5:24 PM

To the strongest and funniest woman I know

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Dear Mama,

I have always wanted to write about you–about how you single-handedly raised three headstrong children, about how much effort and love you pour in everyday work as both a mother and a father to these stubborn kids who think and act differently, and about how you manage to survive everyday without Daddy, without help of anybody at all–but I can’t seem to do that without tearing up the page of my journal or without erasing inadequate words to describe how great you are, thinking that any insufficiency on my part might do you injustice as an awesome parent.

I guess, it’s really difficult to write about someone you love. It’s hard to write about you, because doing it is a personal thing. But isn’t it all that is written a personal matter?

Anyway, let me tell you that you are the strongest person I know. I am both amazed and pressured by your strength. I really don’t know how you do it. I mean, dad died when I was eight, and I never really see you cry after he went on a one-way trip six-feet below the ground. Not a single tear at all. My memory is blurred and somewhat inconsistent, but none of it includes an image of you weeping and drowning in misery. All I could remember is you laughing with relatives as if it were a grand reunion where you have to entertain every person in the room, and you bringing me tuna sandwich and orange juice when there was a lull time in our mourning period. You are the strongest woman I know, Ma. You work miracles with your emotions. The ordeal took a toll to the family, yet you stood up to it and faced it eye to eye, with fierceness and courage of a soldier in war.

I remember how hard it was, saw and experienced it myself, but you chose to get on with Life. I am not an expert in heartbreaks, but I guess it pretty much felt like that and more. I may have lost a dad, but you lost a friend, a partner, a husband–someone you swore your life with, and that was, I am sure, devastating (and I am not sure if that word can equal to what you felt that time). You had every right to mourn and to sulk in loneliness, but you chose not to, you chose to let go and move on for us. It must be hard, coping with the death of your other half, and raising and attending to the needs of your kids, who remind you of him, at the same time.

How you juggle sadness (I guess, you feel lonely sometimes, especially when we are in school or out overhauling our social lives), your duty as a parent, and your duty to yourself remains a mystery to me. I am left in awe every time I think about your superwoman skills. I wish I could be as selfless, amazing, and strong as you are.

Let me also tell you that you are the funniest, coolest, and liveliest mother anyone can have. You are so funny that I can make a living out of your witty remarks I posted on my social media accounts (now that is a good idea, hmm). Remember that time when you told me, “Anak, dati biik ka lang, ngayon baboy ka na.“? You were being funny, then. I know I don’t say it often, but thank you for being a cool mom. If it weren’t for your hipness, I wouldn’t have (drinking) friends today.

I am more than honored to have you as my mom. The gods must have known that you would be the best mom for a socially awkward daughter like me. You have done a great job in raising me, don’t ever forget that. And of course, I ~*love*~ you.

Love always,

Angel

Written by Angel Santos

January 23, 2013 at 5:48 AM

Posted in Unsent letters

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To the unhappy yuppie

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You want to know why you are not happy? It is not because you are a disappointment, not even because you are a frustration. No, it is not because of that. It is because you are too preoccupied with the past and too concerned about the future that you forget to live in the present.

Stop dwelling on your past. Stop thinking too much about the opportunities you didn’t take because you were scared to try new things, the things you should have done when you were in college that could change your life, the decisions you didn’t make when you were given a choice, and the mistakes you made because you were too drunk to avoid them. There’s nothing more you can do about it, but to just learn from it. I know it is a cliche, something you definitely hear now and then from people around you. But seriously, that’s just it. Quoting John Lennon, the thing with the past is that it’s past. You cannot undo what has been done, you can only cope and learn from it. Make use of your time. Instead of moping and sulking over your stupid decisions in life before, why not make new ones so that you’ll learn more?

Stop worrying about your future. So what if you screw up now? You are still young; you can still do a lot of things. I heard that you’ve been feeling worthless in your job. You are not happy anymore. You’ve been there once, you knew that feeling already. And you know that it is not a good one. It is the kind of feeling the keeps you up at night, blogging relentlessly, shouting to the Universe of the Void–asking for a sign, asking for something. You know that feeling so well: you get up early in the morning and dread the day. Though this is only a semblance of what you have felt before, it’s still a valid reason to quit your job. Nothing is more important than your self-worth and happiness. Go file a resignation letter. Look for another job. This cycle will continue for some time, but when you find the job that will not only make you happy but also worthy of something, you know you will settle. But for now, explore, experiment, enjoy. Apply for a law school, or maybe a medical school if you have a change of heart, get another degree (Economics or Creative Writing, perhaps?), take crash courses (web developing, welding, baking?)—just do it. You are unstoppable. At your age, you are limitless. I know that you feel old and tired, and maybe a little disillusioned, too, but seriously, you are still young. You still have the ticket to do the things that you want, to try new things, to go and seek The Great Perhaps. Do it while you still can. Do it while you’re still young. Do it while the possibilities are still in your hands.

Start living in the present. The past is a reminder, the future is a goal. Wasting your time regretting your past actions and worrying about your “impending doom” is not a good call. You are doing yourself a disservice. Live now or die trying (I can’t remember where I read that from). Now is the best time to live and to enjoy life, because it breathes into you. And honestly, you just don’t have the choice but to do so, because if you don’t, then you will die living a sad and pathetic life.

Sincerely,

Concerned netizen

PS:

I really have a thing with clichés, so pardon the French. I just want to be quoted or something…

Written by Angel Santos

August 18, 2012 at 6:22 PM

Posted in Unsent letters