Hey, so:
I'm not sure if I should be doing this, but is it okay if I just tell you, like, these little stories? These stupid little things, these things that have nothing to do with anything.
Like the time I found confetti on the front pocket of my coat jacket. They were from this event I took part in. I was asked to get up in front and take part in the formal opening. As we raised our glasses of wine to say cheers, two... confetti guns? Yeah, two confetti guns went off, and we were all trying to cover our glasses so that none of it went into the wine. And then I'd learn that not everybody would drink the wine - the highest-ranking government official who stood in front of me didn't - and I felt guilty about drinking mine and thinking it was good wine.
Or the time I saw a butterfly inside the corridors to my flat. They do say if you see one it has a message from the other side, either from someone who's passed, or a warning that someone you know will pass on. It was the day after my grandmother's death anniversary, and when I saw it, I immediately muttered an apology. "Sorry, hindi ako makapunta," I said, officially because I was catching up with work, and unofficially because I don't want to meet my relatives. The next day, I saw the butterfly on the floor, dead. Maybe the message was for itself?
Or the time I was blindly scrolling on social media and saw someone post a birthday cake, and then...
I mean, these stories, they don't really matter. They're not about the universe, about where we are supposed to go in this life. They're not about our best-laid plans disrupted by whatever. They're not about what we're obsessed about. They are stupid little things. But sometimes I like telling those stories. I like telling someone what I've seen. And then I realize that I don't have anyone to tell them to, that nobody was always interested.
I know. I don't have to tell those stories to anyone. I can always, you know, keep them to myself. Smile at them, shed a tear for them, and then move on. Do not burden anyone with anything they do not have the space for, and all that. But you know how difficult it is, right? Learn to love yourself before you can be loved by others. It's just a nicer way of saying nobody likes you, so you should start liking yourself, because you're the only one who will.
So, yeah, I suppose I'm asking you for permission. Can I tell you those stupid little things? Not always. I won't spam you or something. I know you won't always have the space. You have your things, and I have mine, too. But, I don't know. I suppose I want that explicit yes.
Yeah, they're stupid little things. I just know I could tell you these things, but I don't deserve that joy, do I?
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