When Walls Fall On Their Own

On certain occasions that I am bored, i have this habit of doodling down on any piece of paper i can grab my hands on. Whether it is a notebook of "great importance", an e-ticket or even pieces of scratch i happen to find in my organized chaotic bag. And what happens in those leaves of paper is that either i write something sensible or at most time, i just draw like a 5 year old.

I dunno. Its just my thing to write down whatever i feel like writing down when situations require me to do so (especially when the boredom bug hits me).

So imagine my surprise or i think i should say horror when Maam A told me that she accidentally read something on my notebook. It was one of those school stuff notebooks you pass to teachers for requirement purposes (in which she was not the teacher i passed that notebook to). I got taken a back because number one; what the hell did i wrote? number two; she might have been offended (i usually write certain biases about her profession) and number three; what the fuck was i thinking writing my thoughts out on that notebook. Obviously i wasn't thinking straight at all thats why i wrote something and whatever it was i cant wait to find out.

"One of the consequences of getting your heartbroken is it changes you completely. From what you used to think and the way you used to respond.

The most dreadful change that happened to me was, it changed the way I write.

I figured that maybe the reason why I retrieved from writing for some time was because theres that fear that once I hold on to a pen or when my fingers are placed on the keyboard, it will be programmed to write on something i could have never wrote before. Or when I come back to my senses I would realize that momentarily I was possessed and would erase the whole thing. I was afraid of change because this kind of change proved me wrong about myself, about the only thing i know how to express myself for real...

It did remind me though that even if at times im full of bullshit when it comes to writing, when it comes to the words my hands scribbles, i mean every single one of it. Because when i write i just do without any fear or retribution of being asked why...

And so i figured whatever... I cant restrain myself from putting thoughts into words. Or for bluntly divulging my vulnerabilities. I say stupid things, I at times make irrational decisions and even mundane deeds. Its part of being a better dysfunctional self that i am now..."

I wrote that?

The penmanship was soo bad i just could not deny that it was mine. It was soo bad, I even had a hard time reading it myself. Though my handwriting have not improved much since my elementary years, i was seriously laughing at myself. Partly because I wrote that more than a year ago and it occurred to me how rock bottom I was. The other reason was, it never crossed my mind that Maam A actually got a glimpse of that other side of me. She knew something about me that I didnt even know she knew! Its not really that alarming, I was just surprised of the circumstances considering that I never thought of having coffee and beer with her (until we did) and actually have one of the most meaningful conversations in one's lifetime.

I learned a lot that night and the top of the list was "Dont just write anywhere!" hehe. But seriously, I learned or i should say re-learned, that yes, we dont owe everybody explanations but we owe it to ourselves to be our most self, maybe not to all but at least to those have taken the chance to give us the benefit of a doubt.

Ma, thanks for letting me through...

Im not the only narcoleptic...