Last call

I'm not the same person I was when I started this journal. Regardless if I'm more than just a bit embarrassed with what I've written during my peak with IDWTMYA, I find it necessary to forgive myself for having done things I shouldn't have. Having said things I didn't mean and being insincere at some point (to others and to myself for the most part), it all piles up and the expression "having a lump in your throat" doesn't do it justice. I lock up and hyperventilate when these things come to mind. Time, in whole or in part, translates to physical pain. I don't think I have to deal with that anymore. The welcome has long been worn. It's time to go home.

I'm writing this to let you know that I'm letting you go. Not a person, not a situation, nothing direct. In as much as people with clinical depression feel compelled to ruminate, I have to trim away at the fat to keep my heart going. Well, that and my terrible puns but I digress.

This is to forgive but never forget, to set aside but never neglect, to love and never regret.

P.S.

Fuck, I haven't written anything since 2010? Okay, this is out of line. I need to keep myself in check. First step? GET A DECENT INTERNET CONNECTION, YOU FUCKWIT.

You are interminable

With the time I've spent in stasis, I half-hopingly wished that the relevance of this journal would wane over the course of the past few months. Since my last entry, my persona has been no less fragmented. One truth I could step up to however is the belief that these fragments set themselves into a state of constant motion that lies both foreign and familiar to my long-jarred senses. I'm comfortable for once. I am at ease. That feeling when you peak at orgasm? It's like that, just a bit more existential and a little less (just a tad less) carnal. It's been that way since I got here. The alienation, once implied runs explicit. The feeling I used to only get from certain songs or memories has become so dense, it's palpable. The pulse and beat of temporal situation is almost tangible, really. Something I can embrace and walk hand-in-hand with.

How long have I hinted towards that emancipatory tension? Weeks? Months? Years? Far too long. Like a bootlegged M. Night Shyamalan flick, I'm nowhere near where I started. Likewise, I am nowhere near where I should be going. I'm somewhere else, somewhere "safe" and somewhere far. As with all starts, a less-than-noble birth has its pains. I still bear the heartache of leaving that cold, pink room to the care (more like reckless abandon) of my loving dog. A house with a basement and subdivisions lined with abandoned sister houses, all of that feels like a lifetime away. Time, all the time in the world to linger in a city's wake. I miss that. Badly. It's the anguish that comes with every long-term separation. I know it well. I do however believe that something good comes following bursts of emotional trauma.

If anything, the tension only leads me to believe that I've been just where I needed to be until today. Against my better logic, it does feel like I'm exactly where I want to be. Manila is the familiar face of a foreign flag, host to the rise and fall of empires and the sordid love nest of urban decay. Rotting from the inside out, I've come to call this home. I've always wanted to call you home. I've found a home in you. It's only been years since I've last been in bed with you.

Brought to life in softer lights

I'm still a transient. This time however, my words cease to ebb in retrospect. Perspective aside, history becomes an undertone, a hue in the palette of shared contexts. Today, I write to paint the future in words I could say I believe in. My heart has grown to a massive swell and love, as always, spills over in torrents. From this heart, I spill over; ghostlike and impermanent. What once was shall be again, formless and unending. Today, I love again.

Light spreads a certain way in this office. Present but never intrusive, I've been spending my days under the blanket of softer lights. I'm new here, new to the thought but old in practice. So much has gone by in ways better meant if not, never said. I won't try to compensate. I've been lying to myself about my relationship with this journal and this is a matter that needs to be addressed.

Good evening, everyone. My name is Francis Maria and I don't want to miss you anymore.