After a year...

It was more than a year after I wrote my fears, my despair and my lost hopes in life. That was the time when I am about to turn 25. On my plane ride back to the Philippines, a rush of memories surge through my mind at that time. I have been asking myself if all the while, what I am doing is right. Or, do I have to do this in the first place.

For more than a year, I wrote about my endless whine for material security. How I wish to have achieved even a part or a parcel of my childhood dreams. And now, as I am about to bid that quarter, I suddenly realized that there is more than what I have whined for in the past. It dawned unto me how sober I am and how alone I am. Needless to day, I came to realize how the world have offered me a life of solitude, which, unfortunately, I have embraced.

As the days are approaching faster than expected, it seems that I will end up with no one but my seven pillows until that day of judgment arrives. I could have done better. I could have matured more. And so, again, the endless questions, the endless bouts of anxiety and the endless irrational justifications which I have to cling on for sanity's sake.  Now, more to what I have dreamed when I was a child, I just wish to be with that someone who can stand up for me until I am nothing but dust.

After a year, I will only have my bottle of vodka perhaps to laugh or cry with, a lappy to talk to and a ceiling to stare at.