It’s been 14 years. That’s 7 times more than the amount of time you stayed and kept us company. 7 more times than the life you were given to live. I miss you. And even if you’re not coming back, I’ll still miss you.
One more time, this Ate of yours writes a letter of loss like it’s just yesterday when you left. It’s been so long and still this dull ache wont fade. My memories are blurred to the times you were still here. I’ve almost forgotten the sound of your laugh and your voice is a distant echo in my head and yet, here I am writing you letters I know you’ll never receive.
Sorry, my love. I have burdened you with the responsibility of carrying this sadness I harbor. Often times than not, I feel like I make excuses of the beginning of this perpetual feelings when I lost you. It probably has to do with the fact that your loss was the first I truly felt my heart break. I’m sorry for putting this in your fragile shoulders.
Women are books. They carry vast knowledge about life, love and everything in between those. They have within them this secret in nurturing just about anything. They have ways in comforting even the soul.
They are books: magnificent in their cut and illustrations as they are elegant in their content and form. A woman though endowed with all these will never be understood by all. Mostly because she is written in a language that they don’t speak.
There will be some who will understand parts of her because they are similar in a way, some who will emulate and even imitate the best parts of her, some who will highlight a sentence or two, add-in their own version of her originality and then there are those who will rip pages from her and take with them.All of these will define her,eventually.
And then someone will come, they will pick her from the pile, dust-off her dirtied cover, open her and understand what is written even if they don’t speak the same. They will leaf through the pages of her wisdom and indulge in the beauty of her intelligence. They will caress her and memorize line from her stories.
Women are books. They hold a world inside them. Don’t read them if you aren’t adventurous. Don’t read them if you are afraid to be enlightened. Don’t read them carelessly and aimlessly. They are books that can be a burden. So unless you don’t mind the weight of responsibility, I suggest you put it down and let someone else more deserving to carry them.
My introduction to Linkin Park was back in 2000. I heard “In The End” playing on the radio. No, I heard it playing everywhere. It was an anthem for the teenage angst of that year along with “Crawling” and “Points of Authority”.
Back in those days, I did not understand nor appreciate the screaming voice popular in the alternative genre. A child does not usually comprehend the depth of lyrics, yet.
In 2003, they released their best-selling album to date with Meteora which included tracks that resonated personally to me. I knew by heart the lyrics to “Numb”, “Faint”, “Somewhere I Belong” and “Breaking The Habit”.
At this juncture, I have become a fan of the band and followed their releases closely. The songs resonate a darker part of my heart and it comforted me in a way that they give voice to that silence I nurse.
As a teenager, Linkin Park was a constant in my playlist. They introduced me to the world of Alternative-Rock and they have been one of my most beloved band ever since.
My musical genre is by no means narrow. I listen to classicals, jazz, blues, ballads, French Music, Latino, JPop,and Kpop to name a few.
But as I said, the voice of Chester singing “Iridiscent” or “Leave Out All the Rest” or “Shadow of the Day” or even “Until It’s Gone” continues to echo a part of me I rarely communicate to.
There is a reason why I would never read 13 Reasons Why and why I would never see it, ever. Because thats a trigger I dont want in my life.
Mental health issues are real. People need to understand that like many sickness, it is real and its plaguing our society. More so in this point in time than any other time in human history. Stop turning a blind eye on mental health! Its real and it needs to be confronted. Stop the stigma about mental health!
It had been a beautiful run, Chester. Your voice inspired many people and I’m sorry we could not do the same for you when you needed it. I know there is not rest in suicide but at the very least, things that haunted you in this life, I hope you dont get them in your next.
You play about it like you have endless tomorrows. You keep to yourself what your heart truly desires. You keep holding back. Satisfied with the crumbs you get.
Don’t. Don’t be like that. You have not enough time to be alive, let alone be in love. Dont take it for granted. Time is a cruel enemy. Even more ruthless than reality. Because reality maybe altered. But time isn’t as flexible.
You don’t have the luxury to hesitate on the things you know could make you happy. Live now. One day you are 10 trying to be friends with everyone in school. The next you are 18 trying to smoke, drink and have sex. Tomorrow you might be 35 hating the world and regretting all the chances you wasted. The day after, you might be 60 wondering where all the time went and the love you had at 5 was.
You cannot always trust to have time in your hand. Some of us are lucky to have a year more. Others don’t even have a month left. So take advantage of time you have. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever have. Whether it is enough depends on you.
That’s what it was/is. What else could it possibly be but utter havoc? The organize shambles flooding my mind in the wee hours of the morning. Ah, limbo!
When the world is barely alive and the silence and darkness envelops a person, making him more aware of how utterly minute and inconsequential he is compared to everything else. Or make you feel at ease and entertain the desires burried in the deep crevices of our logical selves.
At 2AM, you realize there is less noise from the throng of people. No screaming, no angry discourse, just murmurs of voices that tickles your ears like the birds of spring. There is less judgment in the crowd of tired bodies and pale faces. Maybe because they are also trapped in their on tragic travesty. There is little more courage in your veins offered by the dark. We may be afraid of the uncertainty but its outweighed by the very excitement thrumming in your skin.
There is something during this time that makes me want to leave the confines of my head but still wrap myself in the comforts of my bed.
What are you thinking?
I think about the nonsense, the past, the present, tomorrow and then 10 years from now.
I think of the love I lost at 11. And the boy who broke my heart at 13. I think of all the days I went to school and try hard to remember the people I shared them with. The blur of faces dont quite align with the names I could still recall.
I think about one stupid thing after another that I want to forget. Then I think of the if’s and maybe’s. I dwell on the endless possibilities I wasted and I have yet to open myself up to.
Then a familiar hum and suddenly I’m searching for songs I listened to when I was 15. I was a bundle of emotions waiting to explode then. What happened? What have I done?
Then a memory. A trigger. A laughter or tear may come after. What am I doing? Stop it. I’m tired. I want to sleep. Somedays you go to bed aware that you have gone to bed. Other days you just let it all go and dont even remember the moment your mind gave you reprieve. Then there’s those days where your head just cant stop and you see the early light of dawn creeping in your window.
I wanna know of the creature you hide in slumber. Who is it you see when you look in your mirror? Is it human? Or a monster? Tell me who you are when you are not trying to be anyone but your own demon.
When you peel off all the earthly materials that decorate you, who are you? I want to know. The scars you hide in that concealer. The monster you let thrive with all those lies. How are they? With time, do you forget them or constantly remember? I wonder.
You think you’re the only one with a monster. Dont be conceited, everyone has their own battle with their demon. We all put on a face that the world acknowledges and ponder. Because we all have a darkness that even the world cannot conquer.
I have a secret, do you want to hear? But thats not something you would want in your ear. You cannot unheard this once you know. So brace yourself to the onslaught of voices in a row.
I am the monster that the world created. In my attempts to build a life of lies my demon and I have blurred and merged. I wish you chose differently when the world forces you to change. I’m telling you my monster. That monster is me.