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I don't know what I'm doing here.

I haven't written in years, it seems. 

And yet, I find myself wandering to my livejournal at midnight, feeling the intense need to write something down. 

I can't sleep.  I can't think.  I don't know why I'm here.  

It's been way too long, and I feel like I'm just trying to remember how good it felt to write.  Especially since I haven't really written in so long.  Nothing important, at least.  Nothing that I felt compelled to pour out my heart and soul to.  

I fear that I don't feel anymore.  If I do, they're muted versions of emotions I used to feel.  And really, in order to write, you have to feel.   The stronger your feelings, the better the writing.  At least, in my case, it is.

I've grown up, grown old, become an adult. 

I am getting married.  Starting my family.  Starting the rest of my life.

And yet, I can't write anymore.

Words don't quite flow as easily as they used to.  My pen, mightier than the sword, has gone dry.

So, why am I here.

Maybe I just want to feel the way I used to, when I used to write.  I am going back to a time when I did just that.  I'm reopening a relic, buried deep in the back of my heart.

I am hoping this will work.  Because I refuse to believe my emotions have run dry, and that I will live the rest of my life saddled with life's worries.  I don't want to live with the blah, not now, not ever, not anymore.
Finally, he's home.

Best birthday gift in the world. Ever.

Happy New Year, everyone.
I was supposed to be in Phuket when those waves crashed to the shore and claimed thousands of lives.

For weeks, I had been obsessed about how my ass looked in my bikini for the beach trip, and despite seeming like an extremely depressing concern at the time, now, it feels utterly petty.

While cursing under my breath for having my leave revoked, thousands of people died.

The news felt like a tsunami in itself - destructive and deadly.  My beloved gayfriend Ricky went without me.  A few other friends backed out as well, and whilst stomping his pretty feet, he boarded the plane and blamed us for ruining his vacation. 

"May the next few days be extremely cold, while I'm sipping Pina Coladas in Thailand, bitches!" he said over SMS.

But of course, he knew we loved him, and we knew he was kidding, and we knew he was going to have a good time.

The past few days have been especially difficult.

The worst news of all, is no news.

I haven't cried so much in my entire life, and don't remember when my heart was ever that broken.

Today, a phone call.

"Darling, I'm okay...I'm sorry I worried everyone."

He wasn't in Phuket that day.

He heard of some porn shows in Bangkok, and headed there with a bunch of people he met in Phuket.

I haven't been more thankful for porn in my entire life.

* * *

But still.  So this is how it feels like.  To be spared.  To have a person you love spared.  While thousands of others didn't even stand a chance.

* * *

Click here to donate to the relief effort.

And be thankful. It could have been you, or me.
I still long to feel the warmth of your hand in mine.

I remember how long and graceful your fingers are, compared to my short and stumpy ones.  I remember the sprinkling of hair on your forearms, and the scar on your palm.  In the green veins of your arms, I could almost see the blood pumping oxygen to your body, keeping you alive, and your fingers warm.

I toss and turn at night, and wonder why I'm alone.  Why I choose to be alone, when all I ever wanted was to listen to you breathe while you sleep.

You are in my dreams, still.

I just wish I bloody knew who you bloody are.

Hi everyone!
Half the year is over, and already, what a year it has been.

I've gotten comments and e-mails from a few of you, saying I was missed, and that I should write more.  And you're right.  I should write more.  Thank you for reminding me.  I've almost forgotten how liberating this feels.

My sister Katia married her much older beau last month.  She is twenty-two, and has never been so sure of anything in her entire life.  I watched her walk down the aisle, a vision in her simple white dress, in this small church.  Her face was shining.  Her eyes were aglow.  Her cheeks had the rosy hue of happiness.

I envied her as much as I was happy for her.  Not just because she was happy.  But mostly, because she was sure.

Diego had flown in that weekend to attend the wedding, and as we stood in church, hand-in-hand, I realized one thing:

I'm still not sure.

I don't understand it when people say "you just know".  How does that happen?  How do you just know?  Why is there no logical explanation to this state of knowing? 

He is a good man, and I'm lucky to have him.  But I felt like I was being unfair.  He was trying hard.  He loves me.  He thinks I'm the one.  He just knows.

That night, I told him that perhaps, we should take a break.  I need to be alone to figure things out.  I need to know.

He understood, and said he would wait.

But I didn't want him to wait.  I wanted him to explore the world, to find someone who will look at him and just know.  And I told him that at that moment, at that particular point in time, that person was not me.

It's been a month.

And I haven't been so sure of anything in my entire life.

That person is still not me.

On My Own

He is gone, the river's just a river.

Goodbye, Love.

And the plot thickens.

He's leaving me. He's moving away. He's going. In two weeks, he'll be gone.

What bothers me is that apparently, this whole thing has seen at least a month in the making, and I had no bloody clue whatsoever.

He applied for an overseas position without telling me. It's a step up for him. He's leaving the Poofy News section, and will actually manage something significant. Something that matters. Something that makes sense. He's saying goodbye to stories about monkeys, malfunctioning costumes, and old men in Siberia who use their schlongs to fish for trout. (I made that last one up.)

Worst of all, he's saying goodbye to me.

"I want this to work out, Alexi. I really really want this to work out. In a way, that's why I'm doing this," he said softly in the middle of my sobs.

Tell me, how do you get something to work out by leaving?

"I need to do this. Not just for me, but for you, too. This post is a really really good opportunity. For both of us."

Of course, that's probably because The Big Boss asked me to come to his office today and asked if I was interested in the position of Editor of the Poofy News Section.

"Isn't that Diego's job?" I inquired politely.

"Yes, but not for long. I'm sending that boy over to InsertNameOfCountryHere by next month."

"What? Why?!?"

"He applied for that position two months ago."

Two months ago. TWO MONTHS AGO! Two months, in the three months we've been together! How's that for going concern? Especially since he was offered the position a week later.

I'm mad and sad. Angry and emotional. Annoyed. I feel betrayed, almost.

He knew he was leaving, and yet, he didn't tell me.

Not until it was too late.

If this is how he wants things to work out, I don't know if there's still something to work out.

Maybe I should break up with him before it's too late. For me. Emotionally. Before I invest too much of my heart into this relationship. Before he can break my heart harder than he's breaking it now.
Diego told me three hours ago that he's been reassigned to a different department.


Oh, God, why can't I stop crying?

The Very Late Update

I forgot my bloody LJ password.

How stupid is that?

In any case, I do realize I've been gone for quite some time. Sorry about that. I've been quite busy, and hardly had time for extracurriculars. In case you may not have noticed, LJ is actually an "extracurricular" for me. A therapeutic extracurricular, but an extracurricular nonetheless.

Updates, done in a concise update style, not an Alexi-fied manner, because if I wrote it that way, I have way too much to write. It would take me ages, and I don't have that kind of time.

Since I've been gone...

...I've decided that working things out with Diego was the best way to go. We've been together for almost two months now, but it seems like much longer than that. If you add the time this whole shebang started in the first place, then it's three months fifteen days, to be exact.

...I've decided that I'm willing to work this out because he's a great guy, and hell, I have a huge crush on him. Which is retarded because he's my boyfriend, but I don't care.

...I've decided that since I'm now labelling this as a "real" relationship, I should probably tell people. So I did. It's official now. My parents know, my sisters know, my friends know. We're still keeping mum in the office, but if they don't notice anything, they're blind.

...We've worked out the suffocation issue. I told him that I needed a bit of breathing space, and he's stopped offering to pick me up in the morning. Which, of course, is my actual downfall. Without the pressure to get out of my flat at a certain time to get into his car, I have now reverted back into my old schedule of coming in late. Which does not make the boss happy at all, but hey, a girl should have some perks for dating the boss.

(I said SHOULD have perks. But no. The Rabid Slavedriver is in full swing when I'm late in the morning. Of course, this means no sexual favors in the stock room in the middle of the day, but that's to show him who's really boss. And yes, I'm kidding. You sickos.)

Life is just peachy.

Maybe it's because I'm falling.