That Hurtful Place

I don’t know why it feels like it’s still haunting me but I don’t think I can ever go back to that place again. It gives me that feeling that I can’t even describe and that I am just sure that I don’t want it at all. But it’s weird that I have this longingness to go back.

I miss how I was when I was there. I miss the experience studying there. I miss the restless days and nights of practicing a dozen etudes and piece. I miss how it feels like when people around you overcriticize everything you play so intellectually and passionately. I miss how it feels to go on concerts on recital halls and auditoriums too boring enough for ordinary people. Mostly, I miss to have those kind of friends having the same passion and I miss that kind of someone who would always be there on a right timing.

But I can’t beause IT HURTS and it still does. Calling it (memories) a lie would be stupid enough for me to say just because I am hurt so won’t say it. But I am hurt. I can’t risk it. I don’t want that to happen again. I feel like there’s really a damage in me. A big part of me was broken in that place and I am just starting to fix myself again.

But I like those memories. I loved it and I miss it. But that’s what hurts most – the happiest and most precious time of my life. And I am starting to miss her again. I hate that I miss her (ex) again. I hate that I miss them (ex-friends and ex-bestfriends) again. I hate that I hate it.

To tell you frankly, I can’t even recall the details of what happened. I think my brain automatically deleted those parts because it’s just too painful for me too handle. I just know that I’m hurt and I don’t want to get hurt anymore.

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The Silly Thinking Of Me

I suddenly have this urge to play the guitar again. I missed it. After 2 or 3 years of running away from it, I miss it and I miss it so bad. It’s like a drug that I haven’t gotten in a while and it’s right here in front of me. It’s just the feels – more like I am longing for it and I want to be one with it.

I was so afraid. I played the classical guitar when I was at the conservatory. I fell in love with it – so with the people around it. Life there was practice, practice, practice then perform… repeat all throughout the school year. But things changed and it suddenly became a bad memory.

I have this fear that I brought everywhere I go. I can’t even get my guitar out of my case, more so playing it. Cause when I do, flashbacks hit me like nuclear canons, bombs, guns, knives that strike directly to my heart… and I feel the pain all over again. It sounds so melodramatic. Well, don’t judge because it hit me big time.

Through my escape, I tried lots of different stuff. But to tell frankly, I can getaway far enough from music. So first, I composed (bad memories can be a great source for original compositions). Second, I found myself composing and singing with a band – which I didn’t have for a long time. Third, I indulged myself and tried ukulele but don’t get me wrong, I met a lot of great people in an awesome community but sometimes I look for something deeper. Lastly, I tried going back to theater. It did brought me joyous moments and gave me a fresh start – awesome new found friends and mentors. In between those steps, I keep handling and teaching our music school. Yes, that’s the moving on me.

But lately, I find myself longing for it. Playing and practicing for hours, days and restless nights. My fingers long for the numbness and hardness of the callouses on my left hand. On my rifght, the long finger nails that is carefully shapes by a sand paper. I miss the addictive way of analyzing pieces and overthinking how it should be played. I miss criticizing every tone I make.

I miss it so bad but I think I still can’t go back. It’s weird that what I do now is play and play the guitar. I keep on arranging songs and make it an instrumental – close enough that I can get to classical music.

Will I ever go back? Can I ever handle going back? Because once I do, I think I am risking myself to be screwed all over again and my heart says enough and my heart wants more of it. Half of a half? A quarter of a half? I don’t know who wins the battle against this silly thinking of me.