I thought I would have a simple and a wonderful Christmas this year…

…But as usual, it is crazy.

Turns out, father wasn’t going to celebrate Christmas with me, for the reason that I refused to come with him to celebrate Christmas at his girlfriend’s family residence. Another, I promised myself to serve the choir this Christmas season because maybe I wouldn’t be of presence in the season of Lent. Morning, when I got home from the mic-check-test at the Church, dad informed me that my Aunt and a family friend, Mrs. Lilia died.

As usual, I turned off my humanity just not to be too emotional, when we visited her to mourn at the family’s residence, dad cried with her living husband. He’s emotional because during the times when he and my mom got separated, Mrs. Lilia gave him numerous advice and acted as his confidant.

I too, was a regular guest inside their house, when Mrs. Lilia was still alive and walking, she would told me to come anytime and eat if my father left me at home unattended.

Later in the afternoon, Mom visited and as usual, I turned her away, I’m not yet in the mood to talk to her even if she was the only parent present at that time.

Evening came and my eldest brother called. He ranted about dad leaving me alone for Christmas just like what he did to him before. I told him that I’m alright, that I’m used to being all alone, but then he insisted that I am not alright. I assured him that I have a company of my kitten, will be serving the mass with the Choir (who are also my beloved family in some other way.) and will be staying at Liane’s house (as usual I came over, ‘cause it’s the only place I can go to whenever I’m alone and in need of a family atmosphere.). He even felt guilty that he should’ve move me to his home if this happened, and he got really, really worried of what might happen to me.

Many times, I said to him that I am fine, and that I’ll get used to it, that it’s just a thing to get over because one day I’ll be leaving abroad and be independent. He said that I should not get used to it and that he said that I should not do the same thing to my future family. “I have better plans for them” I said;  satisfied that I will call him when I reached Liane’s house.

Days of loneliness, I realized that a lot of people worried about me, many times I would shut off my humanity just to get over it, but times like these made me vulnerable and in need of comfort.

 I went to the Church and serve, turns out, I got unexpected gifts from my choirmates  (although they gave everyone, but the thought is still there. :D) . When I got to Liane’s house, I got a surprise gift too, she also even got worried because I may have been harmed by a lunatic man and that all of his victims were women who are alone inside the house. I told her that I am fine and she said that I was abducted before, but then I told her again that it doesn’t matter anymore, but she insisted on telling me that I should really take care of myself and a lot of people got worried. I am thankful that I celebrated Christmas with them this year; to my surprise, I even learned how to cut ham into thin slices.

I received lots of Christmas greetings in my cellular phone, but as I got tired of replying, I got another worrying tweet from Kat (whose my friend ever since 2^nd year high school, and we keep in touch through the wonders of modern technology.) and looks like I owe her an assuring message and a sweet greetings on the morrow.

Dealing with loneliness is what each of us are fighting for, struggling to overcome its torture, but as we come over it, it makes us stronger and still in hope of a better simple life ahead.

P.S: a tip whenever you feel lonely: Pray, letting all your troubles and heavy burdens lay up to His hands and remembering that God is in our midst, will make you feel comforted and burdens light.

Reblogged from the Late Bloomer's post entitled "Crazy Holidays". This post is the complete version.

Pain, at first, could be bearable; you can keep it all to yourself and deny it. You can tell the whole world that you are fine being that way, that life goes that way. How deep is the wound, you try to stop the bleeding, and not seeking remedy. But the more you try to hide it, the more it triggers itself to be revealed, and what’s more worse, makes you vulnerable.

Pride. Yes, pride. Pride is what makes a person keep all the pain to itself. To be strong, to exceed expectations, to handle pressure when it’s on the limits; being called as weak, vulnerable and stupid is such a shame. Too much pride may lead to independence, could lead to self-reliance and in the end, leads to selfishness.

It is much better to work alone, to handle things alone, but the reality? It’s hard to be alone. Loneliness and pain when paired together, can lead to depression. True, you can fight it, but the damage that has been done, when one cannot stand its overbearing power could lead to death.

It’s hard to stand alone when your knees are still shaking. It’s hard to seek comfort when you couldn’t reach anyone, it’s hard to let the hard feelings go away, to let the burden light. It’s even more harder to think that you are not alone and to think that one day, you’ll seek peace despite of these numerous sufferings.

I’ve been told many times that I should learn how to handle things on my own, that all I could ever rely on is to myself, that I should bear everything because that’s how it is.  I tried, I tried to keep every insult, every words of disdain to myself, I tried to work hard, but it seems that those efforts weren’t noticed. It’s hard to keep up, it’s hard to please everyone, it’s hard to wake up and think that it’s better off to be gone.

Whenever my head snaps, and the pressure taken all over me, I let it all out, but then in the end, all I ever seek was comfort. I looked and searched for it, crying, pleading for help, but in the end, I was like a child being left alone as an orphan. In the end, all I have to do is to calm down and muster up the courage to stand up again.

That’s how it goes, always, a cycle, until in the end, I got used to it. Snapped. Just cry and shout. Look for someone to talk to. Failed. Keep calm. Think of important things to do. Getting back to normal. Back to reality.

This is how I fight loneliness and pain, but unfortunately, as time goes by, it slowly kills me, and everytime these things happen, I still hope to regain back the lost pieces of my humanity.

Stories of scandals and love affairs were mostly the theme of my “preferred” stories to read. It made my heart beat up two notches high and my mind swirl with sweet imagination making me a fan girl lunatic. I almost think that I was born in a wrong century, a realization that draw unto me that it has been three years ever since I started reading historical romance.

It all started with a friend named Keidy; she’s one of the few friends who I lost contact after high school, but fortunately we still keep in touch when time allows. As a certified “weirdo-nerd-geek-bookworm” or whatever the “queen bees” and gossips say about me, Keidy and I shared the common hobby of reading books. When the time comes that I don’t have anything interesting to read in the school library, she offered me to read a historical romance novel.

The first historical book was “The Loving Scoundrel” written by Johanna Lindsey and it was part of the Malory Series; later on, she advised “The Bridgerton” Series written by Julia Quinn and got me hooked into buying and reading it.

Now, even though I am single and a college student, who owns a copy of the first two books of the series, one couldn’t help but think that I am a hopeless romantic, who dwells on reading these “cheesy” stories. Janelle even told me that reading these books make my standards of my “dream boy” different considering that the desirable “men” in the story were gentlemen, who wore cravats, part of the peerage and rode on a white horse. She told me to consider reading books that are for teenagers, but I said that the plot was too immature for me and that I’m planning to “level up” by reading sci-fi or classics, even the novels written by great authors.

It’s true that I am a hopeless romantic, but the more I dwell on that unfortunate fact, the more I become desperate into entering in a relationship, which was not a good move. It’s not even true that these stories changes the way how I see men, but reading these kind of stories comforted me and made me forget the present melancholy; Somehow, putting myself into the shoes of the heroine, to pretend to be in-love is also another way to battle depression, much more better than skulking in bed and think of my problems when I’m home alone or couldn’t manage to sleep.

Reading is my dandelion, a sweet escape from the harsh reality,  that makes my day whenever unfortunate events happen. Historical romance novel or a bestseller, makes my mind imagine happy scenarios that was written, run my imagination wild and  the quotes and the lessons also enlighten my mind, my heart and soul that equips me into a future that waits ahead.

It was a warm Friday evening with new friends, I usually hang out with them from time to time but it’s worth keeping them.

Somehow, the silent boy with unruly hair, imperfect nose and fair complexion caught my eye; I never liked fair skinned men, but his was an exception. It all started when the practice was finished and finally I have two junior members to accompany me when I go home in the subdivision, it became a routine and we talked as if we are comfortable with each other.

The only fact that was bothering me is that he’s a year younger than me, and he thinks that I am his superior, he calls me ate and I too acted as an older sister.

I hated whenever I feel infatuated to him, it came into the point when I started to look at him, trying to make a conversation to him, but then I keep in mind not to be obvious or else it will be a social suicide.

The more I suppress my feelings, the more it became stronger and stronger, the more I avoid, the more I wanted to be nearer to him, but I have to be modest, I have to act civilized.

And so I must find another way to dwell onto something else, but then why not fall for it? It would be nice to let go and have an inspiration….

….But what if there’s no turning back? What if I couldn’t stop it? Would it lead to worst?

I hope not, since I am not the kind of a bad girl who ruined an innocent.