When Life Doesn’t Give You Lemons, Go and Get Them: A Unending Memoir of Contradictions

by nmnvillamor

Where I came from, life didn’t tell me where I was going. And I am glad it didn’t  Because everyone around me was just bent on knowing. I tried so hard not to be one of them. I believe that knowing where you’re going takes out the mystery it promises to offer. But I won’t lie and say that I haven’t thought about it. Of course there are those moments, just right before I fall asleep and dream, that I wish I knew where I was going so I can find my way back. Life didn’t really hand me breadcrumbs. I have this need to place myself in a sea of busy people. I love standing idly while I watch them. And I love watching them watch me. I love the rush, the movement, and the sound. Maybe I can drown with them and never come back up. I have a feeling that when I am right there, in the middle of it all, I might be able to think better. Because finally, I am where it’s all real. I would like to try and eat in a restaurant by myself, where nobody judges me, where nobody knows anybody and everyone is just happy in their own little world. The way I would laugh at your jokes depends on how much I like you. If I like you too much, I’d laugh so hard I’d end up doing something clumsy. If I didn’t like you at all, I’ve already finished the drink in my hand even before you’re done talking. If you’re still awake at 4 am because you just finished reading a book, or watching a movie, or you just like sitting in the dark, I think that you’re brave. If you cry because of sunsets and babies, I think that you’re braver. If you like the smell of the rain and counted the stars at night and listened to Simon & Garfunkel, you are my soul mate  I want to be alone, but I also want someone to sleep beside me. My mattress is too big and I don’t like brushing my hands on an unruffled surface. There are things that I want to do but I am too afraid to do them. I constantly find myself dreaming that someday, I would have the courage to seize them. I don’t want to live with regrets, but I have a room full of boxes, labelled with every single thing that I wished I did differently. What if I looked back, would you have become a bigger part of my life? Or would you have stayed a memory? What if? These are words that will haunt me forever. I pretend that I don’t like pretending. And every day, I am as pretentious as everyone is around me. But I secretly love everything about it. I secretly love the pain of repression. I secretly love the pain of things. If I am being honest, the only time where I can’t pretend to be something I’m not is when I take off my shoes. Because when I do take them off, it means that I am done for the day. It means that I can sit on my bed and obsess about everything. I tell everyone that I hate liars and that I hate being lied to. But I just wish everyone who ever hurt me just lied to me. They say that the truth will set you free, but it screws you over like a goddamn bitch. Life didn’t really come with a lot of guidelines. Sometimes, I wish it did. I worry that I am too ordinary for anyone to notice. I wonder if the strangers that walked pass by me ever thought about me. If I die, I wonder how many people would attend my funeral. I wonder how many people will remember me. I’d like to think that out of everyone who knew me, someone was good enough to really know me. I am not sure if there ever was. I don’t really remember a lot, only faces and a string of blurry memories. I wonder, if I am seconds away from dying, will these strings of blurry memories become clear once again?