i'm a(n oxy)moron

it's weird. sometimes i can't understand if i'm a lone wolf or a social butterfly. (god, i hate phrases like these. as if a butterfly flits from one flower to the other because she had nothing better to do, or that a wolf wouldn't stick with the pack because it cramped her style.)

i've always been good at being alone. as long as i had a good book with me, or my ipod, or an odd piece of paper and a pen. i could spend time meditating too. especially if the atmosphere is good--like in ryoanji, near the pond when it's not too crowded; or at the college church in ateneo when it was empty except for the choir practicing in the background; or when i'm soaking my feet in the river on a burning hot summer day.

when i was home, i wouldn't mind not going out either. i could always talk to my dad about theories, or with my mom about the past or the future, and my sisters were always great company. if and when i wanted to be alone, i could bike to the beach and listen to the waves, or immerse myself in a book.

running is an excellent way to be alone, too. and let me tell you, when you're concentrating on your breathing or on your muscles not cramping, your rhythm and how many minutes you've got left in your routine--well, there's just no room for anything else in your head, much less other people.

the thing is, i haven't been wanting to be alone lately. i craved the monochrome personality of a crowd, the buzz of a party, and the forgetting of being drunk. i wanted to fade and not be recognized; i wanted general opinion and not well-thought arguments. i wanted my concerns drowned in alcohol, or at least postponed until the next morning. i sought automatic nods, shallow laughter, tenuous bonds. i really couldn't care less--it was easier that way.

i haven't been very good at being alone with people i love too. i would make up stories, instead of going into details; i would be quiet, or try to be funny all the time. i found myself screening things that i wanted to say, even things that sometimes had to be said. i hurt my parents for not being open with them with plans and problems; and i made my sister cry when she read the posts here--i think i scared her. i put my best friend in a tricky position with my family because she's my secret-keeper. and i have perfected being calm and cool and careless with my love, even if my heart felt like it was being squeezed. hell, i couldn't even be bothered to write for so long. it was all too much commitment--and i was safer this way.

now people think i've changed so much. my mom is so worried she asks me how i am (in a disguised manner, of course) almost everyday. my old friends hardly recognize me (and they hardly hear from me, too). my new friends, well (i think) sometimes they think i'm crazy and give me odd looks. acquaintances that i've fed too much bullshit are so full of (it) themselves, they think they know me. and (i wish) my lover is confused. maybe they're all disappointed with me for one reason or another (i sometimes am).

and sometimes, my being alone is being nowhere. being caught in fiction. being deafened by music. being drunk. being with stupid people who demand the minimum of me. being stupid, period.

being nothing.

sometimes, my being alone is by distraction from solitude and loneliness. and my silence and introspection is my defense against giving too much away to others, especially those that deserve it. i'm afraid of loneliness, yet i'm afraid to commit. i want to be comprehended, but i don't want to be apprehended and labeled. i'm scared of being, but i'm terrified of nothingness.

i don't know. it's weird. it's an oxymoron. no, it's a paradox.

i can't figure out if i'm being brave or being a coward. (now these, these are entirely in human terms.)