I feel that a part of me has died.. or is dying.

I have not written anything sensible and endearing for a couple of months now. Writing had always been my faithful means of letting my soul wander free - when I want to open up things that I can't say to living things. Written words had always been my way of expression. Take that away from me and you might as well have taken my ability to breathe at the same time.

Thoughts are always present: how I would've liked to talk about how exasperating this "hello-I-am-seeking-a-job" is; or how I absolutely loved and seemingly will continue to love the old classic sitcom Friends (I've just recently finished marathon-ing the whole series and it was one of the best things I did for a long time - Rachel, Monica, Phoebe, Joey, Chandler and Ross taught me things and made me laugh in a way I'd never forget). I could write about how healthy I have been feeling this past few weeks (my friends tricked me into going to the gym regularly and it has been, sort of, nice). I can choose to spill the mixed-up emotions I frequently feel when I think about my future; I could have written about Christmas and how it was going. Or take myself on an amusing ride and write about how I feel I am finally, finally, thank God - moving on. From her. But the thing is, I kind of.. can't.

What's the matter with me? I oftentimes open this place thinking I'd write something to soothe my self, but then I - what is the word - struggle? to find the right words to explain things running through my mind.

A guess.

Maybe I have chosen to be quiet for so long now and never letting anyone in - again, that I am, little by little, forgetting how to open up, again. And I am aware of the truth that I can't do that to myself. I cannot and should not take written words away from me, even if I wanted to.

Write more, Lorelei. It's all you have. It's the only thing no one can take away from you. And I know you can't live without it.

It's raining again. The season of rainfall has come once again. It's at this share of the year, when the weather gets really unpredictable and, most of the time by surprise, drops fall everywhere. Sometimes, it falls silently, like a quiet weep; wanting to be forgotten, and at times it falls deafeningly, like those voices in your head that never stops.

Oftentimes at these moments, things of the past haunt me. All of it returns - those parts of me that I rarely go back to. The things that happened to me that made me what I am now; those long-lost words, glances, thoughts, that people shared with me; all those lingering touches and whispers from the people I treasure the most; my mistakes, all my doubts, the fear of those surely-will-end happiness ending. I wander up on these memories and drown myself with them, as the rain continues to say hello and goodbye hastily from outside the window. I know, I know - it's bittersweet and nostalgic and all, and a man shouldn't have to deal with these kinds of, er - things, but I can't help it. Maybe it's because of the rain. It doesn't always come, but when it does, it stays for a while. While drenching everything.

And..

Maybe I've said this a lot of times before (I can't remember, I haven't checked past entries) - but I frequently, at times reaching the point of always, feel the need to talk to someone. Of course I have friends. I have people around me. They are available and can listen whenever they like. I'm not sure what the problem is, but they don't seem to fill the need. Maybe I'm the problem. I've always felt this way, wanting someone to know what I think, what I feel, what I wanted to say - although truthfully, that someone who would listen, who would just stay quiet and look at me and sigh and on occasion, smile - doesn't really exist. People would come, ask me questions, listen a little, tell me their stories and what they think - and go.

As much as I could I avoid asking for favors and requests from people, because I always feel I ask too much. But when the time comes, I'd probably need to.. well, ask.

Can somebody, for a change, stay?

I'm still here, I'm still here.

This must've been the longest time I haven't written anything. I mean, absolutely nothing. Well, except for that handwritten letter I have given to the woman I was talking about on my previous (long-due) post. And I still don't know what to write about, now. But I have felt the lust to write something, anything, before my thoughts eat my self away.

Graduation has passed and now I'm reviewing for a licensure examination. But, really, I don't want to talk about that. I know it should be my top priority, yes, but I just.. don't find it important enough. I mean, I could be doing great things now, right? I'm out of school. I should be off exploring the world, or getting a suitable and thrilling job, or studying different places while meeting all kinds of people. But here I am, stuck on another thing I do not wish to do, again following society's ill-believed norms (that titles are necessities and a high-paying job and career makes the world go round) and laying my supposedly life on the line just for an engineering license.

***

It's been ages since I last talked wholeheartedly with the woman I love (yes, the one who took two posts, I think). And it feels like we're to be leading different lives now. How fast time make herself seem to fly. I know I still have feelings for her, but I guess things are easier to bear when you don't enjoy the luxury of always being together - graduation tore the remaining together-time we had apart.

Actually, I have already told her everything I wanted to tell; all those hold-backs and emotions kept inside. Not for anything grand but just for the honesty. I told her it'll be all right; that she didn't need to worry about anything trivial (example: my feelings), and that she shouldn't take my bare honesty as something to cause more distance between us - but rather, it's me being completely open to her. Secrets cause distance; I've learned once upon a time.

Now we talk once in a while - but never did those talks have the same warmth of what we once had. I have no idea what's running inside that fickle, peculiar heart of hers; but at the same time, I have no idea what I am supposed to do. Old cliche - you know, that hang-on or move-on quandary. Sigh. Let's set that aside for the moment, shall we? I don't want to wallow on sad fairy tales being story-told yet again.

***

I had planned to take up Korean languages to kill time last summer. I thought the review classes wasn't starting up until early June. But depressingly, classes commenced last April. That meant no time for my half-baked attempt to learn to yell "Anyeong haseyo" properly.

Somewhere far away - I would love to take a vacation, and on a more long-term scale, to work at Korea. I mean, it's a unique place (disregarding the infamous war on North Korea - or so I've heard). There are a lot of places to go there, not to mention the rich culture. Plus, their women are a sight to behold. Ha-ha!

If I could still pull myself to, I'd continue with my plans on Korean lessons. It wouldn't hurt to learn another language. And the positive part is that these things can in fact help me find a wider selection of opportunities and jobs - because truthfully, being multilingual is an edge on the outside world.

***

Friendships and close ties. I've been currently, continuously, seeing its raw worth.

Just days ago, I went out with my friends from high school. The old crowd. We hanged out - the same old crap we do - played some bowling, ate at a resto with unlimited rice, laughed about. And we told each other how we were all doing. Most of my friends are already part of the workforce. They are already seeing life as it is. But still, they're the same old people; funny, childlike (at least when we're around one another), listeners, people you can just close eyes with and savor the moment of everlasting hilarity. The comfort they bring - it never gets old, like a worn-out pillow that you can still take out and lay your head on when the world takes too much of your life away.

People from my beloved college class are also just jumping around the corner. Despite the dismal state of a life that is mine, they never fail to make me spit my brains out in merry amusement. In my review class, I am with a set of friends who were with me when my car tire went flat; when it was raining and I had not brought an umbrella, and when I felt like ditching the class itself. They're one of a kind. Really. Never had a dull moment with them.

I'm not looking for another woman to love, but nevertheless, I am happy that some women I am closest to are telling me their stories and hearing my own as well. It's very much different when you tell your thoughts to a woman - they're more mature, more sensible, and understanding; qualities that my (pretty much insane) male friends probably do not possess. They hear me out - and that's what I think I need the most now. Souls who could listen and understand.