Where did the spark go?

Have you ever talked to someone whom you badly wanted to like, as in romantically? Maybe because that person have qualities and features that you find so charming or maybe because you simply like him/her for the person he/she is, the coolness, quirks and all.

You talked and talked, gave it more time and chances to talk while you’re being on the lookout to spot that something — for that factor that would tell you and convince you that you really are so into this person. That factor that would tell you that your attraction to him/her is actually valid.

That feeling of the mere mention of his name immediately sending high voltages of electricities exploding like fireworks inside of you. That feeling of just catching sight of his face instantly causes your blood to rush on your cheeks, giving them color. That feeling that of when your gazes locks, it makes you inhale a breath sharply then makes you wriggle as if you’re a worm sprinkled with salt. That feeling of when you catch a whiff of his masculine perfume automatically pulls your lips into a smile. That feeling of when you hear him utter your name, it’s as if the Heaven’s opened up and the angels with trumpets are serenading you. That feeling of when his hand grazes with yours, sending ripples of shivers down your spine triggering the hair on your bodies to stand up. That feeling of as when he’s walking towards you, it gives you butterflies in your stomach, fluttering energetically everywhere causing you to feel giddy and dizzy with so much excitement and expectation.

There’s this man, 6 foot 1 tall with chocolatey brown eyes matching with his brown toussled hair. I first saw him in his scrub suit with a stethoscope around his neck. A surgeon he said he is. Oh, I can only imagine the twinkle in my eyes. “How sexy.” says my mind. I love it whenever he talks about his patients and his surgeries, he exudes confidence and enjoyment of what he do which makes him a hell lot more attractive and charming. The way he talks, so professional but can crack jokes too, definitely not lacking in the humor department. Sounds so good to be real, right?

As I am watching him being in his element as he talk with his patient, I’m silently swearing and cursing at myself. Seeing with my own two eyes how rock-god-tastic this man is, I can’t help to question myself why. “Why?

That gorgeous of a man and I, we talk, we hang out. He tells me stuff that he doesn’t even want to mention or talk about with other people which makes me feel so honored thinking that he trust me. He feels comfortable with me, he told me so, and I too with him. I can be silly, goofy, grumpy even clumsy. I am myself when I’m with him. We have a lot of similarities and yes we have differences too but still we get on really well. His far from perfect, he’s got temper too. He can be blunt and cold at times and not too big of a fan of coffee. He’s gentle with kids, he likes them. He’s a filial son to his mother.

But why . . .

Why can’t I feel any of those intoxicating feelings of a woman who madly likes a man?

Is there something wrong with my heart? Didn’t cupid put enough dose of love in the arrow he shot me? Or was the arrow not intended for me? Where did the spark go?

What do I do? I like him but my heart is adamantly still. Should I keep liking him? Should I just give it more time and see if feelings may develop along the way? Maybe I’m just rushing my heart.

Or could it be that . . . maybe I’m just in love with the thought of him?

No.” my mind sighed.

Warm Mornings

The sun peeping through her window wakes her up,  her lips then breaks into a smile as she opens her still dreamy eyes whilst her mind goes on to thinking about what is more beautiful than waking up in a comfortable bed, in a gorgeous cheery bright morning with the intoxicating smell of brewing coffee wafting in the air. And to top it all that, having your man laying beside you, looking at you with those beguiling eyes as he says “Good morning beautiful. I made you breakfast.”  then gives you a smile so charming that certainly melts your heart.

Aching for You

The smell of freshly-cut grass is filling my lungs. My bare skin bathing in the warmth of the rays of the sun as the wind at the same time is embracing me for some coldness. The fingers in my hands are feeling the ground as I sat on it, then my stubborn mind drifts to you …

how I wish you are the scent of the freshly-cut grass that is filling my lungs, how I wish you are the warmth of the sun that is touching me, how I wish you are the wind that embraces not just me but all of my being

Just then, with an aching heart, rivers of tears pours down my face.

The Flawed Family

My father is flawed. My mother is flawed. Does that mean that we, the children, are flawed too? What a senseless question right? We’re just humans too; of course, we’re also flawed in many ways and reasons. Nobody is perfect.

Father has tripped and fell into the temptations even though he knew that he already have responsibilities, obligations and commitments to us. He tried his best to hide it but there’s really no secret that you can keep forever; so it was spilled. Mother have been pretty devastated, she had been a mess. Bawling her eyes out every day, no appetite for food, just not in the mood for everything and everyone, and preferred to be cooped up in the darkness of her room.

 It pained me seeing my brothers awaked from their sweet slumber and instantly cried that moment when our parents fought, not really minding if we could hear them. It was a shock for me and my brothers. There was a bang on the floor, seemed like something was thrown then there was the sound of a mirror breaking, seemed like someone punched it. But I couldn’t act recklessly, I couldn’t even let myself cry, I’ve got younger ones to mind and console. The crying went loud and uncontrollable, so I dragged them down the stairs, we stayed in the living room with me trying to comfort them but it was all too much to them, to me. The third brother ran up banging and begged them to open the door and to stop fighting. Then the door opened, they told him to go back to his room. The brother begged them again to stop fighting. Holding the hands of my other three brothers and pulling the third one, we all went to their room. They were asking me questions that I had no idea how to answer but maybe because of the exhaustion from all the crying, they feel back to sleep.

 I couldn’t contain my emotion, so I went outside the house and sat in the curb. The darkness and stillness of the late night made it even harder for me not to cry. My chest was about to explode, I was angry. Then the door opened and father came out carrying a bag. He saw me and told me to go inside, and he disappeared into the night.

That was just the start of the whirlwind emotions for me and the chaos in my flawed family.

Though still together, father continued what he did and mother moved on and sought solace from other people and even found happiness from them. Slowly we were losing them; they have paid attention to us less and less. Their time was mostly spent to the other people, which pained me even more and hated them even more.

Now, the brothers grew up, not 100 percent so nicely thoough. Second brother have cut classes, took the money for his tuition fee, tried marijuana, dropped out of school and ran away from home but fortunately, found his way back to us and came back more mature and is making effort to straighten his path. Third brother talks back to mother and even curses her, childish and immature, loves to come home very late or not come home at all, playing girls and brusque. In short, he’s still in the process of rebellion and the most hard-headed of all. Fourth brother have also loves to cut class, easily influenced by others, naughty, doesn’t like school, and on the verge into rebellion. Youngest brother is the well-behaved among the four and the one, who still listen to the parents and me, need a lot of guidance so he doesn’t end up like his older brothers and I’m trying my best in that aspect since parents couldn’t really pay attention to that.

I was hurt and still am hurting. Every day, parents are giving me new reasons to despise them though I know it is wrong but it is something that I really couldn’t help. They’re the ones who are provoking me to feel such a thing for them. The sacrifices I make are mainly for the brothers because of all people, it’s me who completely knows and understands what they’re going through and of course, the pain that they’re enduring. I was also tempted countless of times to rebel but ended up not doing it at all and yes, for the sake of the brothers. It feels like, if they lose me, who else do they have?

There are a lot of things and details left out in this story. I don’t know if the deep wounds in my heart will ever heal but I will still keep on wishing for it though it may mean leaving ugly scars in it. This is just one thing of showing how flawed my family is. How flawed is yours?

An Imaginary Man

Him. Oh him. His curly tousled brown hair together with his set of gorgeous brown eyes and his thin lips, oh how I’m dazzled. His broad shoulder together with his strong muscled arms, oh how I wish they are wrap around me. Oh how I love to hear my name the way he says it with his cold melodic voice which I wish to never stop sing songs for me considering how cute he looks every time he plays with his guitar. His wit, oh how I adore it so much and his humor, oh how he makes me laugh so hard until my tummy aches. He’s tall, oh how he loves getting everything out of my reach and tease me for being dwarf. He’s thoughtful, caring, loving and oh he’s just everything.

Oh, how much I like him. No! I love him.

I so much love him that it pains me.

It pains me every time I remember that I just created him. Yes, I just created him out of my imagination. I created a man in my mind. An imaginary man.