SEALED AND SENT

TO MY FUTURE SELF

I still don’t understand why I feel alone in crowded rooms, but you probably do. I still don’t get why staying up until 3 AM to study, while drowning in cups of coffee, doesn’t always get me good grades, but maybe you do. You’re older and wiser than I am now–- for that, I am proud of you.

I am clueless about a gazillion of life’s ordeals. Still, let me tell you this (and I’m quoting Frank Sinatra here): “If you can make it there, you’ll make it anywhere.” You made it to 25. You’ll make it to 30 and be at the height of your passion and career. Mom and dad will gleam with pride. At 40, you’d have seen countless sunsets and heard the most heart-warming whispers of the soul.

You’re young and free-spirited. I know that because you’re me. I’m struggling right now and I don’t know how I’ll make it somewhere, but my guts tell me not to stop trying. I’m writing this letter to you, the older me, to remind you of what your guts once told you. The arduous world out there frightens me but my desire to get somewhere pushes me to go further. I dare you to go further. It will take time, but I promise I’ll make it there, just as you’ll make it anywhere.

DOORS AND TUNNELS

Life is continuous journey through doors and tunnels. Each door opens to a new place, a new opportunity, a new discovery, but that doesn't mean that it’s all good. There are times when it’s not. Maybe that’s what happened last week. Maybe I lost it.

Good things come and go, but so do bad things. Although it doesn’t always happen when it involves you. When you discover something about yourself it sticks onto you like a leach, it’s sitting at the back of your mind, resting, waiting for the perfect time to pop back in and make you remember. And that’s where my problem lies, I didn’t remember until I saw.

Life’s a tunnel. It’s a dark journey guided by a light that you could hardly see, that you’d rarely see. That journey in the dark, is where you’d find the most unexpected things, where you’d feel emotions you couldn’t think of.

Last week, at 12:51am, betrayal, fear, and madness conquered my mind. A hurricane conquered my body. Upon discovering, a surge of questions bombarded my mind. Why? How? Who?

Why did this happen? Why me? Why now?

How did this happen? How did this get here? How did I get here?

Who did this? Who is this? Who am I?

Now, staring at the wreckage of broken vinyls, shattered glass, torn down walls, an abandoned piano and a lifeless body. Closing my eyes I could still see the cold body that’s in front of me, I could still hear my screams and my cries. I could still feel the pain that’s burning me from within.

‘No! This isn’t happening!’ I shouted once again, and as I did, I scratched my arms until they scarred, I pulled my hair until my head hurt, I bit my lip until they bled, I screamed until my voice gave up.

Discoveries aren’t always good, especially when you stumble upon your own lifeless body.

THE OTHER SIDE OF FORGIVNG

"I'm sorry,"

You uttered those two words perhaps in the sincerest way you could; faultless, even. Your eyes went the same, too—no doubt, they blinked like yuletide lights during half past eleven—waiting for mine to somehow go and blink the same way, too. You probably told me exactly everything what you wanted and showed me the precise emotion you really had inside maybe too deep--but still, you managed to pull it out for me—yet could you blame me? Could you name me heartless if I decided not to forgive you on the exact period of your subjective remorse?

I’d always thought that I’d live with the popular principle that states, “You forgive people because you still want them in your life.” And that’s the difficult part—it’s the overflowing love you have for that person that makes you forgive over and over again. Then, I suddenly developed another musing—because of that overflowing love I had for that person, I didn't even notice that the same type of love I should have given to myself was slowly drying out; it screamed help but it was a bit too quiet. I never imagined that forgiving seemed somewhat so scary, because I suddenly realized that bit by bit, it consumed me.

Almost every ‘kind-hearted’ person I bumped into--like elementary teachers and unfamiliar grown-ups who looked like they had a huge bag of wisdom-- had always reminded me of the importance of forgiving. Yes, they were right. However, as I grew up, there's a brand new drive that popped inside my teenage mind: if I should be sincere when saying sorry, I should be sincere when saying "I forgive you", too.

Then we met again. Paths were crossed. Stares were exchanged. And brain waves came splashing once more. At first, your eyes blinked not-so-the-same; unlike the last time we talked, but thank goodness—I sighed figuratively-- after some seconds, they blinked and looked at me like yuletide lights again because I knew, I looked at you the same way; so sincere, faultless, even. Time and a lot of thinking were spent before I could finally have the courage to say it. And so, with open arms, I uttered,

“I accept your apology. And you know what? I’m very, very sure of this.”

Written by Gela Tangente (1st letter), Mia Salazar (2nd), and Jelou Galang (3rd)

Photographs by Nicolo Carlos Rosales

Writer twitter: @gelaaato

          Gela Tangente instagram: @gelatangente

Moonbeam drifter
Private 21st century bard
Everyday food magnet

Web Editor twitter: @_emsalazar

          Mia Salazar instagram: @_schel

A tiny winy schlemiel in a simulacrum
Daytime messed up nightmare writer
Married to a journal named Shhh,
Having a not-so-secret affair with the piano

Editor-in-Chief twitter: @jeloughee12

          Jelou Galang instagram: @jeloughee

Sometimes in outer space
(But maybe just spaced out)
Full-time rockstar alien on Earth

Photographer twitter: @ncrrosales

          Nicolo Carlos Rosales instagram: @ncrrosales

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