#through death

listen i didn’t know that tumblr had a tag limit and the whole bunch of my stream-of-consciousness-public-journal-entry is missing so im rewriting everything bc, of all the times, this is not one i want to forget

listen my queue is about to end and im about to drop some very emotionally-driven language formulations. the hell is language formulation even. i just dont know how to put any of this into words

tbh i feel like i havent really come to terms with everything

your girl just went through an unfortunately loss and went back to home for it. and philippines has some funeral customs i still cant wrap my mind around. tbh i feel like i haven’t mourned at all here. most grief ive experienced was from the three days it took to plan getting here

and im already anticipating the most grueling “return to normal” when i get back to canada

like i go back to work literally the day after i land (thank god its wfh tho). but i want to wail. i want to be unable to breathe bc i cried it all out. not just the loss. but the missing of home, the missing of family. again.

god i hate it. i always know its going to be like this whenever i leave home. but it just never seems to get easier. like i cried into my eye mask two days ago. we shouldve gotten drunk. thats why i didn’t cry yesterday. i was kinda elated even. i was like i should go home tomorrow (today) bc the night ended so well. not that tonight didn’t end well. but theres just a certain feeling looming. and i just want to cry it all out already. like rip the bandaid. but not here. not in front of everyone. especially not in front of ma. who also seems to be trying to choke things down.

no time ever feels enough but there’s always that thought of i need to make money, things are waiting for me. and tbh my lifestyle and comfort just isn’t for here no more. but anywhere the family is, i’ll go. no matter the mosquito and ant bites.

not to make this anymore complicated but church, man. i already know there’s something waiting for me there. and i don’t want to hear a second of it. i dont even think i can bring myself to be around people i can genuinely be myself with much less the ones who just orders and tells me what to do. that one is hard to explain as is. but ig thats just another bandaid to rip off when i finally have the guts to

“funny” things is that im this close to cursing god. after how i took in technoblades passing, he really thought to send another one my way. thats just cruel now

theyre all talking about me coming back next year december. and december is the known preferred time now bc not only is there more to do but the weather is nicer. more expensive but a more worthwhile trip. plus i have a list of what to bring back now. chocolates obv, the halloween sales ones esp. water bottles seem to be a current trend but still useful even out of trend anyway. ill try to find books for a particular cousin. and maybe speakers bc they love the bluetooth one. oreas and pringles and candies overall which are honestly cheaper here but whatever they want. the kids love toys still - i haven’t seen that kind of exciting in forever and i want to see it again. these kids got me running around and sweating. dont got their stamina and endurance for heat and itchy grass

all in all i think money goes the furthest here (as is anywhere). ill just buy experiences. ig thats movitation to stay in the deadend job for now. and to commit to pursuing something hopefully better for my future.

There was this grief of a Permanent kind Etched upon her face – Light playing shadows Christened, “Solitude,” And a dark that’d dance before The grace of those long gone. And so, he’d grabbed her hand, Nudged her cheek with a Nose broken crooked, Tender was the trust bent her back And failed was the promise As “tomorrow,” never was; It’d never ever be. Sure, tomorrow, the day after And tomorrow once more Happens for others, But one more year, for her, Would be carved upon brow Come one more drink, One kiss and the other, dead. That door’d been destined to slam And soon it did with tear drops Abandoning the never delicate face; Eyes like a reservoir missing fish, Pupils with paddies depleted rice, And once again, but one, “tomorrow,” Shy an hour or twenty. Crippled, she’d carried, crippled And carried on, All the way And with only pennies to show With a back bent epochs and Crooked to bury crook; Under dirt, Under home and alongside The love she’d never lost for him.