it's all one big lie.

so, i have a confession to make: i've been toying with you. i only tell you what i want to tell you. there's a difference between what i tell you, what i tell my family, what i tell my friends and what i write down in my little blank book (and perhaps, also, with what actually goes on, because my mind is always playing tricks on me). there are layers of stories with meaning that hides behind words.

i was going through old journal entries, like i am prone to do especially when a birthday is quickly approaching, and i found that one year ago today i wrote two things, one here on this site and one on another private writing space. i read the first and thought, oh. how noble and strong i was! i read the second and remember, oh. i was actually quite sad.

{what was said}

one of the children in rosarito held a plastic cup in one hand and a box of gum in the other. when i dropped in 50 cents, she lifted the gum, motioning me to pick out a pack. when i nodded no (as in no, thank you), she looked puzzled and just stood there, waiting. she couldn't have been more than 5. i imagined her mother telling her to just walk up to anybody who passed by and hold her cup as high as she can. i thought of her going home to a small shack with a corrugated tin roof and thin plywood walls, many like i'd seen before.

i keep hearing his voice telling me what a child i've been, because i whine about all these problems that are really nothing. he did not say it nicely (he said it far from nicely), but there was truth in those words. i get spoiled and take so much for granted.

tonight, i will go home into my two-bedroom apartment, ten blocks from the beach. i will slide into my warm, flannel pajamas and turn on the heater if i'm cold. i will pop in three CDs in my CD player and then check my e-mail. i might read a book or watch some TV or maybe i'll just fiddle with webthings. then i will crawl into bed, underneath my fluffy, down comforter and close my eyes and pray, but instead of asking for all of these things that i have to have maybe i should give a prayer of thanks, because i already am one of the luckiest girls in the world.

--maganda.org, 16 nov 1999

{what was not said}

i am realizing how much i miss him. even if i can still remember exactly why i'm mad at him and even if i am not quite ready to forgive and forget, i miss him. but i don't know what to do with that knowledge. every encounter we've had since our fight (as he calls it) has been filled with resentment and confusion. i talk. he doesn't hear. he talks. i don't understand. we just can't seem to communicate anymore.

but i am not willing, perhaps, to let it all go just yet. and i wonder if i'm being weak and naīve. i always pitied the girls who just couldn't walk away from a bad thing. why couldn't they be strong enough, i wondered, why can't they just see that they're beautiful and deserve so much more?
--my own super secret journal, 16 nov 1999

years from now, when i look at this site, what will it reflect? what i was or what i wanted to be? what happened or what i wished happened? maybe it doesn't matter. i fill in the blanks with the truth. the truth is in my eyes and smile, in my voice and laughter, in the way my face lights up or goes blank with sadness. i'm the girl sitting right here in this chair. this is just what i write.

seen:

who says we don't have seasons in southern california?

inspired:
i have been so productive these past two weeks, you'd be awfully proud of me.

lost:
i should have listened to my gut in the first place.

found:
a new place to live. yes, i might move soon.

overheard:
"everyone i know is acting weird or way too cool." -- aimee mann.

nonsequitur:
25 looms. my birthday is in less than one week. (apologies to those who mistook last month for the day. poor sentence structure.)

momentarily: