cmsvgp's journal

I went to sleep late again yesterday, despite knowing that I would wake up tired. I always think, 'No, tomorrow will be different - I can enjoy my night,' but it's a lie, and I know. I am foolish and this is the type of silly mistakes that get me a tired and moody, like now, having problems focusing on classes.



I fear a lot and I have the habit of hiding from things that make me anxious. Constantly avoidance, like a turtle living inside it's shell. As I said before, it's too difficult to take the jump, without knowing if the floor it's too far down. I fear of going blind, but it's a irrealistic terror of mine. I find .myself having to press my eyes closed to read the white board and street signs. I can't recognize letters from a few feet far from where I stand, and it scares me.




I'm probably fucking up my vision more and more while using electric stuff, like my ipad and phone. I want to read more physical books, but they are expensive and too heavy to carry around. Of course, further down the line surgery is a possible solution, but I don't like to think about hospitals too much, even thought I'm studying to have a chance to become a doctor. I wish I didn't have to, or feel obligated to. Though, after so long, I can't seem to differentiate at what point other's desires end and mine begin.





Yesterday, in the morning, me and Dad went for a walk by the beach. This time we stayed by the sidewalk, and didn't step on the sand - the tide was high, covering all the stones the marine animals habitat. I wanted to stretch my legs a bit, but there was already a race happening, so I couldn't go to the track, sadly.





I got home, ate, and promptly slept for three hours. I was so tired! But I'm guilty that I did not study too much today. I will try to be more responsible tomorrow. I will be.





The image displayed here is of my childhood plushie bunny, Pirata (Pirate). He is pretty old, around 19 years of age. I really can't remember the reason behind his name, but I think it suits him (it's a him, despite the pink color). I dragged him from his hiding place up on my shelves and boy, isn't he dirty! His feet were slashed, so I had to learn how to sew so I could treat his wounds. It's a bit botched, but everything is closed and firm, so nobody can complain against my first needle job. I will probably use a bit of fabric to cover it up later, but now he is fine as he is in my bed.

Today me, my brother and my father went to the beach in the morning to test the new bike. It was pretty cool. We got to ride until we were tired and it was very freeing to be able to go so fast while viewing the beautiful scenery. But i got tired pretty fast when I was going back because of being against the wind even with the march being on the lowest and easiest mode. We are going to ride more tomorrow, and hopefully I feel better. Oh, and I almost hit a pigeon-he was in the middle of the bike lane!

My mom bought me a new bike. I was really surprised, because I talked about getting one a long time ago and my dad didn't want to buy it. He thought that I wouldn't use it much, and said that was better for me to sign up on a academy. But he didn't do either. I really did miss riding a bike. But as my mom bought it without him knowing I have to wait to use is until the shoe drops. At least now that I'm on my school holidays I will have time to test it at the beach.

I am sad today. And was yesterday, and the day before yesterday. I even cried. But then I saw the calendar and realized why-it is that time of the month. I also became aware of the reason for my sudden vicioness over chocolate and foul mood.

I am still felling down, but at least I know the feellings are being intensified by hormones and that I`m not really this sensitive. I almost cried again in class because of a poem! Also, my mom came back from her trip and brought me a little statue of Boruto (is made of clay) and when I was oppening I thought it was a Saint.

My parents also came home tonight with a cart full of my deceased gradma stuff from her apartament. It was strange to see this things again: the Jesus that used to hang up at the top of her door, the little trinkets and glass sculptures that stayed on top of her shelves, her paintings, the huge "Lord's Supper" frame that watched over the dinning room...

I usually don't like to think much about her death, mostly because it was the first time I lost someone close to me and also my first burial. It hurt a lot when she died even if we weren't very close due to me spending my childhood on another state. But it became better and now I just feel a little heartache when my parents talk about her. I think I was affected most because of my father-her son- and the fact that she was my only grandparent left, and the only one I knew.

I wrote this after the funeral:

Dad was not to the one to cry on school presentations or during a sad movie. He was the one who would make me laugh while cursing soccer players on the tv, or making a good joke. He would be mad at me sometimes, be disappointed, proud. But I never saw him cry. At least not before that day.

I wasn’t very close to my grandma, you see, given the fact that most of my childhood we lived in different states, far for each other. We would only spend time together during vacations or Christmas, but it was good. After some years, we moved to where she lived (she was getting old and more old as the years passed, and for my dad, phone calls weren’t enough anymore). So, we weren’t that close. But I guard these memories very dear to my heart. The time we received gifts when father would come home after traveling for visiting, the calls always ending with a blessing, the Sunday mornings with the church live, the funny show after dinner, the lunch we shared every Sunday, her cat who always rested on the same chair, the bed me and my cousins used to play in, the smell of her perfume, her paintings on the wall, the coolness of her shower, the going to the shopping, always supporting her arm.

These moments are nothing but memories now.

(It passed very quickly. It feels like it was just yesterday.)

I didn’t / don’t go to her apartment since she passed away. I didn’t saw her cat before he died too.

Her funeral was the first one I attended. I was sunny. My father was silent on the way to the cemetery. We all were.

…

I don’t remember if all of her children were there. I remember when she was being buried my father was the one who pleaded the workers to stop. He said to them to wait a little bit.

Just a little bit. He told them to calm down.

(Why would they want to make her leave so soon?)

He was the one who took out the fabric covering the glass above her face. Dad was the one who cried the hardest. Who had to hold the coffin cause he couldn’t stand any longer. I started crying with him too, I think every one did. It didn’t hit me until that very last moment. Dad was the one who said the last goodbye, the last ’i love you, mommy’. The one who held her until he couldn’t anymore.

After the funeral we went home. My mom was the driver now. He stayed in their bedroom until the other day.

It was very silent inside.

And then life continued.