i have made a peace, Joanna. i promise to you that i have made my peace.

i'm sitting in my childhood bedroom now. it seems like the entire world is fading away to the sound of the clock, ticking from our living room. i had hastily told my mother that i'll be returning tomorrow. i told her that i don't want to return, that i would like to just stay here and have her braid my hair for the rest of eternity. but i have to go back. it's a mission. she whispered to me. one you'd have to finish on your own. 

i used to love that city. if you go high enough you'll see how it sparkle. go higher and you can even see where the shore meets the sea. sprinkled with cruises and oil barge. it's a weirdly mountainous, dense, coastal city. so many hills to die on, i used to joke. i gave up a lot of things to be here and at a certain point it was worth it. love and recognition, chanted cheers, youth and liberty. oh but to be so high and isolated, Joanna, i think it'll wear down even the best of us.

i was in love with a lot of people too, Joana. the tall guy from Ethics. a socialist girl i met on a bus ride back home. another boy from student council. i won competitions, i volunteered, i applied for scholarships, i get perfect GPAs. it doesn't work. i tried smoking, i took sleeping pills, i found nothing. i then resort to divine powers, kneeling in church and temples for some kind of a savior. it was a futile cause. i lost the taste of life and you cannot stop the bleeding without crushing my bones. Joanna, i want you to know how i have tried so hard to feel things. i also want you to know that nothing could compete against my own disappointment when failure rings.  

i would love to grow old, Joanna. i would love to learn how to play the piano, attend some summer course, get a corporate job then quit after a year or two, maybe moves to Amsterdam, find a beautiful soul and get married. i just don't think i can handle this perpetual spiral. i don't think i can handle watching myself melts into all the versions of people i loathe. i don't want to be like my mother. whose devotion overpowers her needs and dreams. i would want to love loudly. i would want to lead a life i am proud of.

will you kiss my friends for me, Joanna? i'm writing to you because i don't think no one could understand this but you. will you take them in your arms and tell them that not a single day was spent without me singing prayers for their happiness? i don't believe in God, but sometimes i think God had sent them to me. they're the eye of my storm, providing solace in between raging typhoons. it's like i never learn how to be grateful, it's like i never learn how to stop wanting for more.

all that is done will be soon forgotten. don't call the police on me, Joanna. deep down you know how much i wanted this, how i long for this freedom. put down your hands, this was never your fault. i was the one playing God. you don't have to worry about me, or all the dreams i have left behind. you know how sick i am, how tired i am of trying so hard, how rigged this body had become. you know how much i want this, Joanna. so don't call the police on me. let me have what I want.

for once, let me have what i want.