damnedyetbeautiful

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J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

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everyday he does his best

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— Margaret Atwood, Late Night

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If I ever see a flaw of yours, i'd say my eyes are the flawed ones.

-Mahmoud Darwish

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Franz Kafka, 1912

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grief is so crazy like what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. does she know i loved her. i miss her so much. i catch myself doing things she used to do. i wish i could call her. i miss her so much. i do a crossword puzzle. i cry while washing the dishes. does she know i loved her? my heart feels like a hummingbird. i miss her so much. what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. what if i forget.

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Chunking Express (1994) - Blue(s)

Wong Kar Wai / Christopher Doyle & Lau Wai-Keung

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— Daphne du Maurier

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Gustave Courbet (French, 1819-1877)

The Sleepers, 1866

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How can I blame the wind for the mess it made, if it was me who opened the window?

Because the wind whispered the promises of a spring breeze. It sang visions of blooming beauty and healing air. It promised to be a gentle breeze, a refreshing embrace, the life in my lungs. It lied in the voice of new beginnings and gentle love.

When the storm raged through the ruins of my trust the wind was nothing but proud. Then, when I finally closed the window, the wind whispered and cried and howled and put the blame on me.

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Memento mori ut memineris vivere

It’s taken me months to sit down and write this. I’ve read everything you sent me—letters, songs, videos, and photos—saved on emails, Tumblr posts, and our shared Google Drive. I’ve seen them all, cherished them even, but I never knew how to respond. Words escaped me then, and even now, I struggle to piece them together. But one thought has been constant through it all: I hope you’re well.

This year has been far from what I expected. It’s been a year of challenges and truths I never wanted to confront. I came back to the Philippines not for the reasons I initially told myself but because my sister needed me. Last October, she had depression and battled suicidal thoughts. Being here, close to her, felt like the right thing to do. Landing a job at the an embassy was a blessing, but my real purpose was to be there for her.

In April, everything just happened - I guess. During a group therapy session with my sister and mom, my sister revealed the real reason for her pain: she had been s*xually assaulted by one of our cousins, a guy four years older than me. Hearing her admit this broke something inside me.

In that moment, her truth brought mine to the table. That same cousin assaulted me when I was eight years old. I’ve carried that memory in silence for years, convincing myself that if I never spoke of it, it wouldn’t hold power over me. But I was wrong. That silence shaped so much of who I became—why I flinch when men get too close, why trust feels like a fragile thread.

That therapy session was the first time I said it out loud, not just to others but to myself. It was terrifying to name it, to acknowledge that part of my past. But it was also the first step toward understanding myself and the barriers I’ve built to protect wounds I hadn’t allowed to heal.

This year has tested me in ways I never imagined. It’s been messy and painful, but it’s also been a year of moving forward. My sister and I moved in together here in Las Piñas, and soon, we’ll move into a new house just a few blocks away. It’s a small step but one that feels like progress—like hope.

I don’t know where life has taken you since we last spoke, but I hope it’s somewhere beautiful. I hope you’ve found the kind of peace and joy you deserve.

As for me, I’m still walking in the aftermath of truths I kept hidden for far too long. I’m learning how to heal, how to let go, and how to embrace whatever’s coming. And yet, through it all, one thought remains: I missed you. Maybe that’s where this letter should’ve begun, but at least now, it’s where it ends.

Also, one of the reasons why it took me so long to write this is because I’m afraid that it’s only now you’re grieving over our relationship, and I don’t want to give you false hope. I want you to allow yourself to heal, to truly embrace your own journey, and to eventually find love again. The kind of love that meets you where you are, with someone who needs your love as much as you need theirs.

My heart and mind are still finding their balance after everything. I hope you find love in the most surprising and beautiful way, the kind that feels like home in every sense of the word.

I’ll leave you with words from Vita that have stayed with me: "I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way."

That’s how I miss you too, not with demands, not with expectations, but with the hope that you’re well and that happiness and love finds you in ways neither of us could have imagined.

P.S. All the songs you’ve shared always find the right moment in my life where I need them the most… here’s to The Bleachers’ I Wanna Get Better and Everybody Lost Somebody!

Love, Abby

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— Lina A.

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Love is not only deep conversations,stealing glances, warm whispers,lingering kisses,sweet nothings,heartfelt love letters,tight hugs.

Love is also the ache of missing you,the sorrow of not seeing you through my eyes,the desparate desire of witnessing you being happy and me being the reason for your smile,the haunting melody of longing for you,the emptiness of your absence,the pulse of thinking about you with every heartbeat.

Painting : Tenderness by Paul René Schützenberger