I thought losing grasp of religion meant losing hold of tangible objects to believe in since there seemed to be nothing else that came after it (the state, who are we kidding?). When I was younger and everything was new I thought Art was an alternative or perhaps Film as its form or Music or you know essentially there’s always Humanity. But as I got older I see what monsters Humanity has to feed and live with to keep itself afloat, and these monsters have pulled the sheet off Art and everything else that nothing really feels real enough to believe in anymore.

Then, this past year, there was you.

This past year the future became easier to think about. It is, after all, the first year in a really long time that I was with someone, actually it’s the first year of my first real relationship. I say that because I know now, and only now, that love is, in fact, tangible. I know now that it can, so effortlessly and swiftly, transform landscapes (move mountains?), make beliefs, break them, and, as corny as it may sound, make dreams come true.

I’ll stop talking about moving out (together). I’ll stop till a)he starts talking about it or b)till I stop believing he would, whichever comes first.

With that means letting go of a future altogether. I can no longer talk about things beyond “what do you want to have for lunch?” or “are you sleepy?” or “can we watch something else?”

This relationship will now rely on today and only today. It will expect nothing planned for tomorrow, or worse, promised then in hopes of making today better. From now on, we rely purely on the desire to be together–in the most basic, and at the same time, most baseless, of ways.

From now on, I will cease to move forward in time with you–for you. We cease to believe that there is something better beyond now, to actually hope for “forever.”

I feel anxious. Maybe I’m just lonely. Or maybe because I’ve been thinking a lot of late about stuff I shouldn’t really think about now.

The ball of emptiness is growing inside me and the need to withdraw strengthens. I want to leave and I want to leave for good, if not for the fear of putting my life on hold again. Because I’ve been running home too much.

I don’t really know where to go, what to say from there. Just that we may. Or that we’re actually most likely to. And that I don’t know if it can be helped, by what or who or an eventual why. Is the why, if it exists, really eventual? Or is it just you and I wishing that there was some other way for this future to take shape. What then is eventual for us? Shall I go back, go back to my first sentence?

All this hurts, don’t get me wrong. But everything now hurts the way it hurts when bruises are made–when a blunt, unintrusive object collides with a part of you, as if forcing the unintrusive to intrude, the closed skin of your body to receive.

There is more confusion than fear, more blunt pain than real sadness. What is there to mourn, if death is made constant in almost every day that we spend together?

I wish we knew what all these meant.

I told him about my Camay soap phase. When they launched the moisturizer ad here, I was 4, think, and it featured a Camay soap that opens through a hole where the logo is. Then lotion comes streaming from an off-frame magical container, it streams into the hole, seemingly filling up the soap. It was so amazing, I went crazy. I’d throw tantrums so my mom would buy me at least three bars, and I’d, well, excavate through the soap, thinking I’d be pouring the lotion out soon as i get the logo off.

It took KC a few more packs of instant noodles to accept what “suggested serving” meant. It took me around 10 bars of Camay soap and my mom, older brother or whoever else watching TV with me to change the channel every time that ad was aired.

We were frustrated, obsessed, but as easily and as quickly these feelings went in our systems, was about as swiftly and quietly those feelings left. We just, without even knowing it, let go.

It was so easy then. Now, our frustrations and obsessions aren’t even half as easy to lose. Now, we’ve ceased to have the right to say “I’ve grown out of it”, because now we are grownups–THIS, whatever your this is, is how it gets, is how it is.

KC and I are moving out soon. And I know, even if we don’t really tell each other this, that we’re as excited as we are terrified, as willing as we are hesitant. But then we both know that this is what we’ve always wanted, as determind I was to get that lotion out. I just fear that the whole thing can be a bigger-scale fail experience of KC’s instant noodle expectations.

I guess that’s how loving is, or even life is itself, like most of the time–an erratic cycle of wonder, doubt and acceptance.

I used to be lost in a found way, now I’m just at a loss. At a loss for something I can’t even put to words. Everything just feels unsure, unreal.