After Garden State

Garden State by Zach Braff after a long drought of films. The small screen and headset sharing my 1-o-clock-am.

So Sam and Andrew taught me to forgive life.

I like living and that's what I've got. And then maybe I can do a tap dance by the fireplace, or bonfire for that matter.

And to see the love offered to me, around me, beside me, which may come unexpectedly, or which has always been there.

Why don't I just let things be as they are, and let people be as they are, Andrew says.

And if I find my infinte abyss, I would have to accept that it is there for me to jump into, to shout to, to search... to keep with me as I sleep, eat, talk, and dream. Good luck to me and my infinite abyss.

I could be wearing garbage, but my infinite abyss is there to take in my shout.

I would have to let go of those who are gone now, of little Gerome and of Nanay. I do hope I had been good enough for them. Love after all, comes in the little things that you do, that effort you had trying to look for 25 cents for the medicine, or that blanket you had to wash, or the tears you had to shed because you see them there and you wonder why or how things happen as they are. Most importantly, why your part of sharing their pain is just seeing them that way. But then again, i have to learn to forgive. Forgive life.

And forgive myself for all the trouble I am giving to them who've stayed with me longer and with more patience that I can get from anyone else in the world. Andrew says family is a set of people missing the same imaginary place. I failed to see that. Perhaps they reached that place already. I have been staying behind too long.

I would have to try to stop thinking about Michael. He might have been the guy who would love me even if I were the alligator dancing on ice, or the girl who wears that crazy helmet. But then again, sacrifices have to be made. If we really have each other, then we have each other. If we don't, perhaps someone else is there for me, for him.

I'm so in it right now.
I'm so in myself.