Minding Kikie

The day was hot. The trip to the venue was horrid. Traffic Jam. Sunny. Hot, I can’t even feel the Air Con. Good thing I had my mom with me to talk endlessly about anything she found worth mentioning (which was everything). For once, I was actually glad she didn’t stop talking. The event was gonna be the end to a ghastly week. It would hopefully answer my endless questions about how I really felt about the situation. How I really felt about him getting married. Him. The love of my life. For the past week, my feeling has been changing back and forth about this. One minute, I thought ‘I am all right. I never really love him that much anyways’, while other times –most of the time-, I was just a wreck about this, I kept on thinking that this is really the end of my love life. I will never find anyone that could fit me the way he is. Used to be. Has always been. And will always be. Growing up I always have a clear idea of the type of a man that will fit me in every thing. That is perfect for

It's here. It's real. A yellow invitation with his name on it. No sign that my name will be insight. I thought I'm prepared. I thought I'm ready. Well, here I am. On my knees. Brokedown. Cried. Sigh

It was Thursday, the last day we met. In front of a bus, we parted. We didn’t say anything. We just kissed and drowned ourselves in it since it’d be our last. Relax, nobody died in this story. Like I said, we only parted. Ugh! ‘Only’ is such a soft word, because ‘only’ will simplify everything, because the word will make our parting moment easier to bear, when the moment felt like the end of my love life. Now I know, it probably was. Six month prior to that parting scene. After screaming our head off at the barrack where we would be sleeping that night, my two exchange friends, Nina and Paula, and myself, headed to the big aula to meet other friends from all over Indiana. Since it was the mid-year conference, all exchange students from Indiana were supposed to come, so far, we’ve only known those who lived in upper Indiana (if that’s how people call it). Then, there he was. Playing pool with Oli of Switzerland, with his leather jacket and his skinhead-cut that was hidden inside his hat

I want to ramble about so many things, but haven't gotten the chance to write.. I want to tell you about what happened at work I want to tell you about Retti, who bought a new laptop I want to tell you about my little sisters I want to tell you about the love of my life who's getting married next week I want to tell you about my new teaching job that I turned down because I am so busy I want to tell you about the new book I've been working on with Retti I want to tell you about the bad date I want to tell you about my sadness that doesn't even make me sad anymore I want to tell you about how I miss Santi so much I want to tell you about my love life that sucks big time but don't even make me care anymore I want to tell you that people dissapoint you somehow, that you can't control their mind, but then there are some that will help you get back on your feet again I want to tell you about the losers I have the chance to meet I want to tell you about interesting pe

He's home. I love him. Oh, why can't he be mine? Oh, why doesn't he love me back? Oh, why couldn't he find a space in his heart for me? Oh, why doesn't GOD make our path crosses? He's home. I love him. He's perfect. He reminds me of a perfect man. He couldn't be more perfect than he is. He's home I love him. He makes me crave. He makes my heart beats faster. He makes me go crazy without even doing anything. He makes my knees weak. He makes me love. He's home. I love him. I love him. I love him. Oh, God, please let him be my perfect man. -For Mr. Haji, Welcome Home-