[rune]

Thursday March 29, 12: 2.17 AM

I think I’m falling in love. It’s perhaps the most perplexing sensation I’ve ever crossed—and as a persistently analytical individual—the prospect of love frightens me. Emotions aren’t an equation, and as much as I try to fit them into such, I’ll only waste my time in trying to formulate feelings with systematic approaches. Love consists of input and output; however, no measurement of one can produce a predicted degree of the other. The inability to harness and rein such an unruly phenomenon frustrates me, but I’m not expected to, and this offers me a bit of comfort.

He was the start of an internal Revolution; he is my Awakening. I won’t—I can’t—ignore that.

Even now, as I try to pour out my feelings into text I find myself pausing, rethinking, erasing, perfecting, instead of recording the purity of thought that should be treasured. Initial reaction is precious in that it can only be attained once, before it is smothered by the immensity of speculation and second impressions. I desperately wish to prevent myself from overshadowing what I feel; yet, I’ve created the behaviorism as a defense mechanism and to derail a self-imposed method of protection seems to go against natural instinct.

Protection from what, you might say, well, protection from humiliation, confusion, being wronged, mistake and misinterpretation, to name a few. It’s almost amusing how I’ve managed to place fear in everything except the tangible present.


I kissed him so passionately my lips are raw from his skin rubbing against mine. I can’t help but find the chap texture a souvenir of a moment when I let myself forget about end-results and revel in the stimulation of senses. I remember the way it burned, the desperate need to taste freedom from my own restraint. My appetite for his touch seemed insatiable, but I simply didn’t want to stop, for I knew this way of unthinking was rare and difficult to revive. Only he seems to be capable of kindling such a desire. Before I can realize, he’s on my mind and overtaking my thoughts, causing within me a craving so appalling I’m not sure how to cope. I’ve begun to fear that I need him.

Don’t gather the impression that I’m falling in love with his ability to extract inconceivable emotions from me. That is the least of what he can do. On more than a few occasions he’s rendered me speechless with his startling questions, his immense gaze. Behind that stare is an ever-working mind that stirs the cogs of my own until together they work in a unified way of introspection and reflection. We’ve become each other’s mirrors; the type of glass that extracts rather than hides the aspects of each other we fail to see (or would rather not see).

Mirror, mirror…

I can’t say that I love him, not yet, but his mind is of the most beautiful I’ve ever encountered. He makes me want him unconditionally, despite whatever flaws he may harbor. To crave someone with such an unprecedented intensity terrifies me. My old self whispers commands for retreat, but this budding identity of mine that has begun to crystallize over the old screams to bottle up this want and watch it grow. I have the inkling that it will mature into something breathtaking.

I can’t shake the somber demeanor I’ve driven myself to. When he looks at me with his eyes, not necessarily narrowed but half shut in contemplation, as he tries to read the map of my facial expressions. He knows the way my eyebrows bend and the quiver of my lips will lead him to a conclusive destination (I know he’s figured out long ago that despite my efforts I still remain as transparent as ever). But when his lashes touch his cheeks a few times too many I’m afraid that I disappoint rather than intrigue him. My thoughts won’t organize into words, and as my tongue twists and flaps with the “ums” and “ahs” of complete mental discordance it seems as though his shoulders sink with the letdown of my lack of articulation. I want to demonstrate insight, not as a way of impressing him but simply as a way of enlightening my complicated self. But my words stick in my throat and claw back to the pit of my stomach where it turns sour and I lose courage. I’m afraid to say something wrong—there is no wrong answer he says—and I lose myself to the fear while potential sentences evaporate into the crypt of my brain. Maybe one day I’ll open my mouth and my reaction will roll rather than soak my tongue. Maybe one day he’ll coax them out with his own muscle of speech.

Thursday, March 29, 12: 5.31 PM

I write this on the same day as my previous entry, yet the disposition of my mind has drastically shifted from chaotic static to peaceful pondering. My ability to converse hasn’t magically corrected itself, but I’ve become more at ease with my faulty means of communicating. The threat of judgment will perpetually nag at me, however, I hope that my reaction to its inevitability will change. That fear may turn into acceptance, or it could turn volatile and I’ll burn everything. And I do mean everything. Bridges are such a cliché metaphor.

I listened to a poet speak about the embarrassment of being human. Her inability to comprehend the inconsistencies of moral expectations and the cruelty that surrounds allowed me to see that I’m not the only sane one in this sea of lunacy: humanity. “It’s too much… It’s too much.” It’s too much, yet she picks up her pen to the world and crafts her response in the most eloquent manner.

Thursday April 5, 12: 1:54 AM

I was assessed today. I’m confident that I failed him. I know he was expecting a reaction, a challenge. But I’ve already told him I don’t possess the sort of dominance to speak up. Of course, if I feel vehemently about a subject, I’ll counteract; but otherwise I’m inclined to let others walk all over me. That tendency seems to intensify in favor of those I keep close. In other words, I’ll let him walk all over me until I’m nothing but a downtrodden mess if that’s what he choses to do. But I trust that we won’t, and it is for this reason that I reserve such leniency for those I treasure. I simply know they won’t abuse it. There was an odd transformation in his behavior that gave it away, and when he apologized I was more than positive that he was consciously aware of the examination he proposed to me; the exam in which I neither decidedly failed nor decidedly passed. I wish he wouldn’t test me.

Wednesday April 18, 12: 1:49 AM

“I’m terrified of doing wrong. Not necessarily in the moral sense, but in his sense. “ I wrote this in my notebook not to long ago, and I recently rediscovered it. It still accurately represents my feelings and I believe it always will.

The touching is beginning.

I should have known it would come sooner than later. Scared stiff and all I could do was shut my eyes and cling to him. I couldn’t please him; I couldn’t bring myself to react. I was too busy panicking over the fact that I hadn’t prepared myself physically or mentally. Now our first intimate encounter will always be spoiled by the memory of my naivety, my disgustingly unprepared body and my frozen lips as they tried to tell him my hesitation, but finding that the subject of my statement impeded me. I wasn’t built for sexual interactions. When he tried to kiss me (as sweetly as he has plenty of times before) the night after, I turned to a shaking mess and I had no knowledge of how to stop it. I’m such a child. I need to learn to grow up before he leaves me.

[THE TRUE JIN]

updated

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I read this, had been meaning to move it. orz The diary format went very well with it.