Some nights, it's hard to know how you feel.

Some nights, it's hard to know how you feel. You push things to the back of your mind, push your emotions to the back of your mind. You do what you can to make yourself feel happy. Sometimes you only get numbness in return.

You try not to speak of it, but the thoughts still manage to rise up to the surface, and every morning on your commute to work, little things remind you of what went wrong. What you could have done. What you probably shouldn't have done. What you wished could have happened.

But it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Not because you gave up, but because someone else did. And it stings because it meant that no matter how much you've been true to yourself and loyal in your friendship or relationship, no matter how much they've meant to you, no matter how many times you've stuck up for them and did your best to understand them and invest your whole heart in them, in the end... they still gave up on you.

Supposedly, it's "because of who you are." As if who you are as a person is offensive, as if you're not good enough to fit their criteria. The insane part is that this someone has no clear idea of what they really want out of life. They try to convince you that "you're settling." Or they have the nerve to compare you to a deer, and completely take for granted and belittle every little thing you went through just so you could be able to spend an evening with them despite your family's disapproval or your friends' warnings. And they still insist that you're still too easily influenced by your parents and by your friends despite the evidence staring them in the face that you've already defied your family's and friends' advice, you've already made your decision to be with this someone despite the odds from outside pressures stacked against you. Countless times you fought, countless times you've defended this someone, countless times you've shed tears wondering if they're alright, if they're happy, if they need someone to talk to because they want someone to help them understand a situation in order to help them understand their own self. And yet they have the gall to say that "it doesn't mean anything," or that you "just want attention." As if they're belittling you and telling you that everything you've felt, everything you've ever done, every moment you've ever shared with this person, means absolutely nothing to them. As if you've never made a difference in their life. As if you, as a person, are nothing and are therefore of no consequence and not worth knowing, even as a close friend.

Yet, it's those tender kisses that they give you on your forehead as you're telling them how you feel that betray their own words. And what about those many letters and messages and texts that this person has written and sent to you, all of them filled with this person's tender thoughts and feelings toward you?

No, you know for a fact that you did not dream those letters or those kisses up. You're not the one in denial. You're not the one lying to yourself. You were honest about who you are and you were courageous enough to share your own thoughts and feelings with this person.

The more you think about it, the more it perturbs you. The more it perturbs you, the more it angers you. And that's when the numbness sinks in. Because you don't want to feel such heated anger towards anybody. It's a half-alive, half-dead existence when you find yourself in that angered emotional state. It's exhausting, and it sucks. And feeling this anger - it's not worth your time.

In the end, you just feel betrayed, and you curse yourself for missing someone who's clearly mistreated you and doesn't take you seriously. And it's not because you're naive. No, it's not that. It's because like Othello, you loved not wisely, but too well.

Yet it's your stubborn heart that still whispers that person's name.

Time is said to repair old wounds, to heal all ailments of the heart and soul. So you bide your time. Wait for another tomorrow. Wait for another sunrise. But you're tired of waiting; you're through with it. You'd much rather be living. And you're going to do your damned best to make your own dreams come true, with or without that person. They're still the one who chose to underestimate you. For you are simply far too smart, far too strong, far too courageous, and far too passionate about your goals and your loved ones for that person to truly understand and appreciate your essence.

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The Charm Bracelet: Thoughts For My Mother

I bought my mother a chocolate cake, and my dad got her a Bulgari perfume and clutch set for Mother's Day, but she still bemoans not owning a Pandora charm bracelet - almost as if her hopes and dreams rest in purchasing a $300 gold starter bracelet and then $40 for each bead/charm thereafter. I can't afford it, and even my dad says it costs too much for jewelry. I would make her a handmade charm bracelet myself, from charms and beads and things I'd find in a craft store, but she'd probably still be dissatisfied.

Which I think is missing the whole point of Mothers' Day, and defeating the purpose of building a charm bracelet in the first place.

The bracelet my cousin had given to my sisters and me. 

I've owned several charm bracelets as a little girl. They were tiny, shiny trinkets I had either bought or had received as a gift from my sisters and from some friends. And they were the most precious things I owned, in my eleven-year-old mind: because it expressed not just my taste, but who I was at the time, and it held the promise of the kind of woman I wanted to be when I grew up. I haven't collected charms  in a long time, but I still have them - I passed these bracelets down to my two younger sisters. I still have a charm bracelet that my cousin Kristen had given to me; my sisters also have bracelets identical to it. I think of it as a reminder of family, of sisterhood being bound, of a solemn reminder that these identical bracelets were given to us at a time when we were all looking for comfort after my grandmother had passed away peacefully in her sleep in a hospital halfway around the world, in the country where my parents were born.

The whole concept of collecting charms and adding it to your bracelet is supposed to represent milestones in your life - the significant things that have marked a special place in your heart as a memorable moment in your life, moments that you'd revisit decades into the future when you're older, when you've lived some more years with tears rolling off your face whether from nostalgia or a bout of laughter with family and friends. Each component has to mean something, and each charm or bead should tell a story that holds sentiment and personal meaning to you. And it should be a treasure hunt, in which you find just the right charm, just the right bead, to fully embody the emotions of the moments you're trying to capture in your own life - a manifesto, a chronicle, a beloved heirloom.

Which is why I refuse to buy into a commercialized franchise such as Pandora to manufacture and produce beads that every other woman who owns a Pandora bracelet will have.

I think each bead and each charm should be unique, and the bracelet itself as a finished whole should be so rare as to be one-of-a-kind that nobody else except my mother has it. Because there's nobody else on earth who is as multifaceted and as warm, strong, firm, and yet caring in the way that my mother is because of the way my grandmother had raised her to become. I don't think there is a charm bracelet in the world that would really, truthfully reflect my mother's tastes, let alone who my mother is.

Not that she'll ever understand it, let alone care to understand why it should matter so much. I only know that for whatever reason it is, she just wants that Pandora bracelet.

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"Mirrors" by Justin Timberlake

Even more fascinating than the lyrics of this song are the stories being told through the imagery.

It seems like there are 2 different stories being told: one ending in heartbreak and the other one bittersweet. Both stories involve longing and loss - and if I'm not mistaken, both stories also involve the same man trying to decide between two women.

He ultimately makes his choice. However, it seems that he left her life at an earlier time than she expected, and she's left picking up the pieces of their memories and the life that they've built together throughout the years. His presence is overwhelming that it's almost as if he's still with her, holding her hand and protecting her, as if she's the most precious thing in the world to him.

The third story involves the sequence with the funhouse mirrors towards the end, however, is rather eerie. Like Justin is embarking on his own journey, trying to find himself as well as his other half - his reflection. Perhaps that's why the music becomes discordant and somewhat distorted with the robotic vocalizations in the background. It's the reflection of a man still struggling to find not just love, but to find himself.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have much of an idea yet and seems to have lost hope. Hence, the fadeout into darkness.

It's haunting - not so much because of the eerie tone towards the end of the video, but because you're left asking yourself more questions about the people in the video (as pertains to the lyrics) than anything else.

Good stories are also a lot like that. What's your take on the song and the music video?

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