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Chronicles of a Road Kill


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#1 GintaMan

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Posted 19 November 2015 - 01:40 PM

If life was a highway, I'd definitely be road kill. I tried to cross but miserably failed to see there are no traffic lights to guide me, no pedestrian lane to control me and no mercy can be gained from speed demons. 

 

And so I write, with nothing but a hinge-defective laptop and a dastardly slow home internet connection. 

 

Welcome to the street. Please don't step on me. 


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#2 GintaMan

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Posted 19 November 2015 - 03:54 PM

Chronicle #1:

I had the chance of going to the best law school in  the country, passing one of the stringiest exams. But I blew it. I failed my last semester as an undergraduate due to a lot of reasons and then I dropped out.

 

I used to be that guy in school where they think "He'll really go a long way." I was that kid who shouted I'm gonna become President one day. 

 

And now as I type away, I'm still asking myself as to what happened. Is this regret that I'm feeling? Should I throw it away?

 

I tried sweeping it under the rug, telling myself that I am the product of my decisions. And lawyers in this country of mine normally turn to unprincipled ass kissers. All the arguments I can muster, all to convince me of what I am right now.

 

And then I wept. And slept. And dreamt -- of a future that never came and a door that's now almost shut. And I hated it so much. 

 

But the good thing about crying on it is that you get to realize how pathetic you are. You only realize what's precious when you lost them, or in my case, when you almost had them in  your grasp but you did not grip enough. And they slipped to a place no one knows where.

 

I still haven't forgiven  myself. Maybe I won't anytime soon. But I should. Instead of avoiding the regrettable feelings, I might as well embrace them. Go on with what I have right now, pave a road most people won't expect me to. Until that day comes when I can finally say, "You  know what? I'm glad I did that."

 

#A_StreetCar_Named_Regret


Edited by GintaMan, 19 November 2015 - 04:19 PM.

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#3 GintaMan

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Posted 30 November 2015 - 02:44 PM

Chronicle #2

 

The night is long and without tremors,

the silence that leads me to burying myself

into your welcoming bosom. 

 

And yet that warmth is nowhere,

this four-cornered bed, where languor lingers

and shall forever linger,

'til our shapes mingle.

 

The days passed and I passed the day.

I slept and woke, and your side's

still empty, I'm empty.

From nowhere heart shards stabbed. 

 

I lied.

The nights were short 

and full of tremors.

Of waiting, and wanting;

turning and tumbling,

falling and rolling,

toward the memory of you, of us;

of everything we are.

 

The only tremor I welcome

is alongside the sound of 

the door hinge squeak

and the bed frame creak,

when you come back home

and fill that space beneath my arms.


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#4 GintaMan

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Posted 15 December 2015 - 06:24 PM

Chronicle #3

 

Short-lived thoughts.

 

 

The beauty in every escape is that you get to face forward while doing it at break-neck speeds. 

 

The tragedy is when you look back even for just a second. And then you trip and fall face first. And nothing's broken except this piece of your soul that you sold off, just to escape for a bit. 

 

Congratulations. You've become a roadkill again. 


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#5 GintaMan

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Posted 04 January 2016 - 02:54 PM

Chronicle #4

 

 

I spent my New Year's eve asleep on a couch. While the fireworks outside were booming, the room I am in was eerily silent. There was an attempt to be festive and yet one can't fully be. A white casket lays at one corner, illuminated by white and yellow lights. A wreath on a stand with lilies was beside it. Inside that white block of ornate wood was my grandmother and 68 years worth of battered and broken body.

 

Cancer brought her down to her knees while the complications killed her. It was hard to imagine, given how strong she was 2 months ago. 

 

I'm not sure why I'm even writing this here. I'm not that particularly sad, imagining the pain she must have felt during the last few weeks of her life, battling pain from the cancer metastasizing to her spine. We wished for her pain to end, and it was a good thing that it ended swiftly.

 

What do I do when that time comes for me? Would I have lingering regrets? Would I be able to submit myself to the inevitable fact of dying? A few years back, I would have said yes. Being young and rash, I never really cared if I died. I did stupid and reckless things, and was saved numerous of times by luck and kindness of some people.

 

As I grew older, I met a girl who would make me want to live my life a little bit longer. Somewhat like the others before her. And yet so much different. And just when I thought I forgot how to care, happiness came and blueprints of a formerly bleak future were made. Somehow, everything made sense. Somehow, this tired flesh would catch its second wind. All for the sake of fulfilling plans and promises. Which was odd. I'm bad at following plans and fulfilling promises. But she makes me want to do more just by being there beside me. 

 

I'm afraid of dying now. Not because of what I will become, but because of what I will leave behind.


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#6 YoWid

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Posted 04 January 2016 - 11:56 PM

Chronicle #4

 

 

I spent my New Year's eve asleep on a couch. While the fireworks outside were booming, the room I am in was eerily silent. There was an attempt to be festive and yet one can't fully be. A white casket lays at one corner, illuminated by white and yellow lights. A wreath on a stand with lilies was beside it. Inside that white block of ornate wood was my grandmother and 68 years worth of battered and broken body.

 

Cancer brought her down to her knees while the complications killed her. It was hard to imagine, given how strong she was 2 months ago. 

 

I'm not sure why I'm even writing this here. I'm not that particularly sad, imagining the pain she must have felt during the last few weeks of her life, battling pain from the cancer metastasizing to her spine. We wished for her pain to end, and it was a good thing that it ended swiftly.

 

What do I do when that time comes for me? Would I have lingering regrets? Would I be able to submit myself to the inevitable fact of dying? A few years back, I would have said yes. Being young and rash, I never really cared if I died. I did stupid and reckless things, and was saved numerous of times by luck and kindness of some people.

 

As I grew older, I met a girl who would make me want to live my life a little bit longer. Somewhat like the others before her. And yet so much different. And just when I thought I forgot how to care, happiness came and blueprints of a formerly bleak future were made. Somehow, everything made sense. Somehow, this tired flesh would catch its second wind. All for the sake of fulfilling plans and promises. Which was odd. I'm bad at following plans and fulfilling promises. But she makes me want to do more just by being there beside me. 

 

I'm afraid of dying now. Not because of what I will become, but because of what I will leave behind.

 

My deepest condolences. I totally can relate with what happened between you and your Grandmom--especially after reading your last line in that post.

 

Been there, doing that.

 

.

.

.

 

I could learn a thing or two from you, especially when it comes to making coherent, less-jumbled-ideas piece of writing. Keep writing, man.


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another story for another day

 


#7 GintaMan

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Posted 05 January 2016 - 09:16 AM

My deepest condolences. I totally can relate with what happened between you and your Grandmom--especially after reading your last line in that post.

 

Been there, doing that.

 

.

.

.

 

I could learn a thing or two from you, especially when it comes to making coherent, less-jumbled-ideas piece of writing. Keep writing, man.

 

Thanks, @YoWid. You're already a capable writer based on how you present your ideas so I doubt you can learn from me. Haha! But I  mostly write to vent nowadays, I'll try to create short stories for you guys one of these days.


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#8 GintaMan

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Posted 22 March 2016 - 11:07 AM

A 6-word story:


Regret is a painful dance partner. 


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#9 GintaMan

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Posted 30 March 2016 - 10:56 AM

Mind crumbs:

 

A 6-day vacation just passed. I spent it talking with friends and loafing around. Most people of my age would go out and take an adventure to a foreign land or a paradise refuge. 

 

They say that it's about making memories outside the comforts of your current life. So that at the end of an almost extinguished light of being, you get to remember that paradise you went to or that place you escaped with someone.

 

Though I love that thought, I appreciate the conversations that could have been left unsaid, the rest that I probably  needed before battling the hardships at work. Someday on my death bed, I can say, "You know what, I had the chance to go out and play in the sun for 6 days, one time. But I loafed and fooled around with friends at home. And that was fun. Catching up, lashing out and bumming around. If I had the chance to do that everyday, I would."

 

I guess, we choose the adventures we want to live.


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#10 AlphaTakoyaki

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Posted 04 April 2016 - 09:48 PM

Gotta love these short stories. Literally though. 


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 ~In honor of Sir Theodor Herzl. 

1860-1904. 





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