The day starts out quiet, almost empty. The room is dark, a few people in and talking. People laugh and yet you feel alone. They're not your friends (probably won't ever be your friends) and you chuckle at their jokes, pretending you get it but you really don't. You don't share more personal stories—why should you when you know it's going to reach the smallest crevices of the institution? So you offer them morsels of your life; something they'd probably see on your social media pages. That would give them something to talk about, you think.

The day starts officially when the boss comes in. You sit there, typing away, staring at a white screen, words coming out and yet none of it making sense. Not to you, at least. You're interested but not too much. You can't sit still—you've never learned how to sit still. Or maybe you're thirsty for more? Whichever case, you can't sit still at all.

So you take your mug and pull out a tea bag, hoping to calm yourself and keep your zen. But as fate would have it, as soon as you have your calm, someone barges in and disturbs it. Ah, yes. It's the one person who always seems to test your patience. All arrogance without levelling. The superiority complex personified.

It was the one person who essentially ran you down and it pissed you off to no end.

So you choose to ignore him, pretend he was invisible. He was of no importance to you or your life. He wasn't your friend and he certainly won't be anything else to you than just a co-worker. He leaves after he talks to your co-workers, not even bothered that he didn't greet you either. The morning passes on until lunch time comes.

You take your lunch bag and leave, not even bothering to say anything to anyone.

And then you stand in front of the elevator, choosing to get lunch with the few friends you had in the office that wasn't in the one where you were assigned. Chaos was going on inside your head, hidden beneath bright smiles and loud laughter. You were good at that—hiding your feelings. You always thought vulnerability was something you shouldn't show to anyone.

You get off on the third floor—you've never really talked to anyone in the fourth floor. Lunch was a nice affair; a little teasing, a little eating, a few laughs here and there. But the loneliness was still there—hidden away by smiles and laughter. You've been lonely and sad for a while now but you didn't want anyone to know.

So you laugh and smile, continuing to pretend you're okay.

Lunch break ends and you go back down to your office. You sit down, type away again, pretending to be interested when you're really not. This was getting routine and you hated routine. But it's what you had so you were going to go and live with it—at least until you were confident enough to leave. Your phone buzzes and it signalled the end of your day.

And just like routine, you shut off your computer, you fix your bag, and you say goodbye.

It was time to go and you walk out, not even feeling the slightest bit guilty. Check out, the bundy clock reads. A press of a finger, a small beep, and you're officially off. You say your goodbyes to everyone you come across, leaving the building behind and walk off. You're starting to hate the days as it is.

Calm down and keep on, you think to yourself.

You're about to leave soon.

She was just so tired.

She wants to end the suffering they were feeling, but it seems as if everything she did, something always goes wrong. Too nice, someone suffers because they're not as nice. Too mean, someone suffers from how mean she is. She didn't want this; she wanted a normal life. She wanted life with no stress. She didn't want to think about anything but moving on and moving forward.

She just wants to shut down and rest.

And it was why she found herself in a nondescript bar four blocks away from her apartment. It was filled with smoke and it wasn't something she appreciated; but who was she to complain? They were all here for something. Or maybe nothing. Maybe we all just want to fade away into nothing, she thought. And then the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

She looked behind her, breath catching when she caught sight of the damn black cat with the different-coloured eyes again. She turned back hastily, trying to slow down her heart rate, pretending she didn't notice the cat at all. She just wanted to get away for a while because she was tired.

Why can't they understand that?

Taking another swig of her drink, the lights dimmed further and she was close to having a mental breakdown. In public. The sound of heavy boots could be heard, and she just knew who came with the cat.

Please leave me alone, please leave me alone, please leave me alone, she continued to chant in her head, keeping it down and trying to hide from the world.

The cat stopped at her table and she couldn't help the curse that came out of her mouth. She had no escape and there was no way she was getting out of this at this moment in time.

Nothing escapes them, after all.

You're tired.

You've reached that point of not seeing the reason for being anymore. There wasn't a point to everything you're doing and you're just so so so tired. Every movement you make is all just muscle memory, not finding the drive you once had. You're not looking forward to the day, and when you do start it, you can't wait for it to end.

You wait for that plot twist to come to your life, constantly striving and doing everything you can for it. Yet it never seems enough. It never seems to pick up. You have reached that point where you don't want to wake up the next morning. But life continues on because the world is like that. After all, the world doesn't stop for one person.

But whenever you think of quitting, life again is at the back of your mind, constantly blaring the fact that you can't quit. There's so much to live for, so many people relying on you to live for, that you feel guilty even thinking about quitting. The pressure to stay in top shape and not letting them know just what exactly it is that you're going through never goes away.

So you just grit your teeth and carry on.

There will be brighter days, you think to yourself. There will come a day when everything you're suffering now will go away and you'll find yourself happy again. That this is just a temporary thing and no one needs to know about it.

But you're just not sure if you're still here for those brighter days.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

You were so excited in the beginning, thinking of all the things you want to do and can do. One week in, you start questioning whether you were really excited for it or just excited at the notion of it.

You wonder if you're actually depressed.

You were manically happy one moment, then absolutely anti-social the next. You weren't sure if you wanted to be here or you were just here existing. You were confused and you feel lost but you bottle it up inside because you don't want to worry anyone. Tears unconsciously fall from your eyes but you brush it away so fast, it wasn't obvious that you teared up unless one was to look at you carefully.

Someone notices and it pisses you off.

You tried your hardest to fend off anyone noticing, but someone sees through your facade and you get extremely pissed off, you weren't sure if it was towards him or to yourself.

And then you become robotic. You go through the day by muscle memory, ignoring everything, hyperaware of everything. You both cared too much and too little; you become hardened. You tell yourself you don't want to get attached anymore—you only ever get hurt. There wasn't any point. And then you descend to darkness.

You're lost.

So many attempts to climb out of the well, drowning, drowning, drowning. You didn't want this anymore. A plea. A cry for help. Nothing.

Save me.

She couldn't breathe.

There was too much at stake and too little to sacrifice. Anxiety attacks her, hundreds (thousands) of invisible needles prick her skin, cold and hot at the same time. Her vision is littered with black spots and her lungs felt like they were collapsing. Too many thoughts, too little thoughts.

She didn't know what was going on.

There was silence, there was noise; too many things going on, nothing going on. She didn't know what was happening. Too many people around her, not one person around her. Her senses were failing, her senses were on overdrive.

There was both too much and too little.

She sinks to the ground, her knees weaken and give way. Her eyes see too much, too little. There was too much colour, there was no colour. 

Her hands make their way to her head, stopping too many and too little. Her eyes become blank then dilate, her breathing becomes ragged. She starts shaking, she pulls her hair tight. People around her notice; one attempts to approach her.

She suddenly starts screaming.

People around her jump in shock, almost disgusted, almost disturbed. She starts scratching her arms, rendering them red and almost breaks skin, until somebody pulls at her hands.

Strong, tight, commanding.

The smell of the ocean invades her nose, and whispers (snap out of it, snap out of it, snap out of it) pour in her ears. Her breathing calms down, she stops shaking, she closes her eyes.

She collapses.

Murmurs were everywhere.

(Who is that man? How are they related? It's not our problem now.)

And then suddenly, no one remembers anything—the lady and the man vanish.

In the shadows of an alley, the tall man carries the woman, and vanish into the wall.

A black cat emerges.

(Her power is far too much, far too great for her to handle. She was overwhelmed and finally collapsed.

Bring her back. Her training is nowhere near done.

Understood.)

The cat's green eyes become blue.

The pouring rain marked the end of summer.

She was walking, her face void of emotion, her strides confident but almost trying to be invisible. The pavement was wet from the rain, small puddles on the side. People were rushing about, occasionally bumping into her. Her pace was slower than normal (but definitely not to the point of annoying the people behind her), her posture rigid and almost secretive.

Too many things going on in her head. Nothing going on in her head. She had no idea herself but she was doing something.

She swipes her card and waits for the metro at the platform. Beside her, high school girls were chatting about. Behind her, a lady was on her smartphone, the familiar sounds of Candy Crush reaching her ears. She takes out her earphones and drowns in her playlist. She gets lost, her eyes shut.

A chill runs up her spine and her eyes snap open. She looks sideways and backwards, not seeing anyone suspicious, until she looks forward and onto the opposite platform.

A tall man, dressed in all black, was staring at her, almost piercing her with his look. She looks back, captivated, before a train gets in the way. She gets on immediately, trying to look at him through the glass, only to be disappointed.

The man disappeared.

Curious but also a little frightened, she resolved to forget about it. Five stops later, she gets off her stop and walks to her apartment. Caught in a junction, she wills the red light to green. Another chill runs up her spine and she looks to her right, stunned to see the same man from the station. She opens her mouth, ready to ask him something, when the light turns green and everyone starts walking. She walks ahead, eager to get to the other side, when she notices him gone again.

Startled, she walks around the neighbourhood, throwing him off her trail. She suddenly noticed that she arrived at the older part of town. Bright neon lights captivate her, almost hypnotizing her. Her face becomes devoid of emotion again, walking toward the place of neon lights.

The man in the black coat—the same man from the station and the junction—was at the gate. Her eyes become blank and she walks in, him following behind.

She never saw the sign outside the door—the sign that only someone like her could see.

Behold the haven of shapeshifters.

As I sit at the corner table in the hall, I see different personalities. Different, yet the same. A group of undergraduate Accounting students, ledgers and calculators littering their tables. One person's voice stands out, loud and boisterous but also very helpful. Another group, a bit more quiet, have their readings pushed to one side and prioritizing breakfast over anything else. A girl takes another table, her calculator out and her pen and paper on top. But she takes off her glasses and puts her head down, hoping to catch at least a few minutes of sleep. Professors walk in and out of the study hall, some with food and papers; others, just their phones. People are already milling about.

The bells chime and the students and professors stand up in a panicked frenzy. Exams are looming over their heads, wondering how many answers they could get right; wondering how many students are going to fail the exams. As soon as the last student leaves, the hall becomes a little melancholic. Nothing is left.

And it's another day in the university.

This was her first party with her college friends.

This wasn't her first party, but this was the first one she had with her college friends. She hasn't even gone on a party with her best friends. She went on parties but neither group of friends knew she did. She preferred going to parties alone, create a new identity. No one knew who she was when she was alone. She's met a few people here and there, but not close enough to add them up on Facebook. But this was a birthday celebration and if she declined, she'd be the only one who didn't attend. Plus she did kind of owe her friend for bailing on the after-semester obligatory party her friend planned.

In the car ride, she was being lectured about what to do and what not to do in the club. Pretending she had no idea about anything, she listens intently, schooling her features when they tell her not to get drunk. Partying alone has made her responsible of her drinks and anything else she intakes. When she wasn't on the dance floor, she was at the bar, chatting up the bartender. Sometimes, the best conversationalists can be found at the bar.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when the car stopped. Looking out, she sees the familiar club with the black and gold exterior. She hides a smirk when she sees the bouncer give her a subtle nod in acknowledgement. Her friends were wearing dresses in different colours and heels that she knew would get uncomfortable after the first hour. She mentally winced at the torture their feet would go through, until she remembered that she had to act like she knew nothing about clubbing. She managed to convince her friends that she'll be fine wearing her ankle boots. Heeled, yes, but not too high to get uncomfortable.

Two hours in, her friends were either getting drunk or getting hit on. She rolls her eyes in amusement before downing her own drink. Just as she was about to stand up and make her way to the dance floor, someone slides against her on the couch and puts his arm around her shoulders. She was about to tell him off when she saw who it was. She chuckles and relaxes against his hold.

You didn't tell me you were coming, he says.

You didn't tell me you were going out, she answers back.

They carry on the conversation until both of them heard the familiar name of the DJ they always danced to. He stood up and offered his hand, gesturing to her that they dance to DJ's set, and she takes it, letting him pull her to the dancefloor. She catches the eye of her friends and she could see their shock and disbelief painting their faces. Before she could answer back, he already pulled her against him and started swaying.

You gonna introduce me to your friends?, he whispered.

Only if you behave, she replies.

Both of them knew what she was talking about. He promises to behave and she leads him to their table where her friends sat. She introduces him to her friends and encourages him to sit with them. He declines, telling him that he was also with his own friends, then gives her a peck on the cheek and makes his way to his own table.

What was that all about?, her friends ask.

Nothing.

Because it was a secret she'd like to hold on to just for a little while longer.

It's six past midnight. You're on Twitter, on Facebook, on Tumblr, on Youtube, on various websites. You shrug and browse some more, thinking you still have enough time. Your readings are laying on one side and you turn a blind eye, coffee sitting innocently on the coaster. You're reading something else–something non-academic. You say, this is just a break, as if you're trying to convince yourself (and you are trying to convince yourself).

It's six past one o'clock in the morning. You reluctantly close all your other tabs and go back to your readings. Four lines in, you open iTunes and play soft instrumentals. They did say that listening to classical music would boost concentration. You pull up the playlist and Erik Satie's Gymnopédie No. 1 plays on your speakers. You concentrate for a while, until you feel your eyelids drooping and you immediately stop that playlist and pull out your collection of EDM tracks. It wakes you up, but it also distracts you from finishing anything.

It's six past two o'clock in the morning. You managed to get half-way through your readings and you applaud yourself for that. You convince yourself that you deserve a break so you go to the kitchen and make yourself a nice bowl of instant noodles–ramyeon so you stay awake. Your lips feel hot from the temperature and spiciness of the noodles and you get distracted. Your readings are lying helplessly on your bed and you're still battling against sleeping.

It's six past three o'clock in the morning. You finally finished the readings and started on the actual paper. You get tense because the deadline is closing in and you have just started on your paper. So you make yourself another cup of coffee and type word upon word. You have no idea if it makes sense because all you see now are jumbled words. You mentally curse yourself for always thinking that you work best under pressure or cramming because of all the results it gives you.

It's six past four o'clock in the morning. You're close to finishing the whole thing. But it frustrates you because the paper still lacked one page as indicated by the required number of pages. You curse out loud this time and type even more glorified bullshit just to reach the minimum number of pages required for the paper. It doesn't make even more sense to you, but you hope it does to your professor. You could barely understand the reading material and you force yourself to wring out more words. You finally reach the required number of pages and sigh in relief. Never forgetting to put in your References page (in APA format, of course), you immediately save the paper. You check it over once again for grammar edits and once satisfied (even if you could barely understand anything because you're so tired), you save it once more. You copy the file to a hard drive and send it to your own personal e-mail (because you're that paranoid), then crash on the bed. Before going to sleep, you set your alarm for school. Doesn't matter if you only get three hours of sleep–as long as you get to class and have a spotless attendance record. That, and you liked the class.

A week later, you get your paper. You grin put your paper in your bag. A 98% perfect was written in red ink, along with one of the most comprehensive papers on this subject I've ever read. Keep up the good work! scrawled on the side.

That four-hour insanity was definitely worth it.

It was in the middle of October when you met.

Rain was pouring heavily in the city, and people were rushing about with their different-coloured umbrellas. She was on the sidewalk, waiting for the lights to go green, when you approached her. Rain was steadily pouring heavier and you asked if she could share her umbrella with you—at least until you cross the street and go your separate ways. She says yes right away and you thank your lucky stars that she didn't turn you away. The light goes green and the both of you cross the street. It was there where you noticed that the school uniform she was wearing was the same uniform you saw at the all-girls high school beside yours. She offers to share her umbrella with you until the both of you get to school. Apparently, she noticed the uniform you wore as well. You invite her to coffee, if only to thank her for the trouble she has to go through. She accepts and you wonder how no one else is blinded by her dazzling smile.

One coffee date turned to countless weekend hangouts. Your mom noticed how happier you seem when you talk about her, and your best friend constantly teases you about her. You ignore them, content that you found a new friend. Nature takes its course and that friendship turns into something more. So you court her, and it was a long affair. A lot of your friends tell you to give up, but you don't listen because you know she's worth it. It takes a year and half before she finally says yes. The feeling of elation, of finally being able to call her yours and her finally being able to call you hers was incomparable.

But you have fights. Other couples say its normal, so you take it all in stride. But one day, the fight was bad. It was so bad, you called your friends and had a boys-only day. One of them breaks the pact and brings a female friend. You and the unexpected female guest got to talking and found you had so many things in common. When it was time to part ways, you exchange numbers and promises of talking to each other again. There's a feeling at the pit of your stomach—that this wasn't right. But you ignore it and chalk it up to the residual anger from earlier on.

But things escalate from there and you start hating yourself because you know you're cheating on her. You don't deserve her, you don't deserve her, you don't deserve her keeps playing in your head, and you think of breaking up. But you're selfish and you don't want to let her go, don't want to let either of them go. So you continue on, pretending that everything's fine.

One day, she catches you with the other girl. You couldn't run after her because you deserve this, you deserve this, you deserve this. You think you should finally be happy because she's far away from you now. You won't be able to hurt her anymore. That if you can't be happy, then at least she will be. You even sever your ties with the other girl because the both of you know that you don't love her. Sometimes, you see her from your classroom window. Your schools were literally only separated by a wall and your chest goes tight when you catch her. After graduation, you never see each other again.

Three years later, you're in the same situation as to when you first met her. The only thing that was missing was her. You see someone waiting on the sidewalk and you gather enough courage to ask if she could share her umbrella with you, just until you cross the street. What you didn't expect that she would be there. Both of you are shocked, and you wonder if fate was rearing its ugly head and threw this at you. No matter how much you convince yourself, you've never really gotten over her.

You're caught off guard when she gives you a smile and says yes. You take back what you said about fate and thank your lucky stars once more. As soon as you get to the other side of the street, you thank her. You think about asking her out for coffee, just to catch up on old times, when she does that dazzling smile again.

Only, it wasn't directed to you anymore. You turn and see a man about your age, only taller and tan (compared to your pale complexion). She hastily says goodbye to you and you see her run up to the guy and give him a kiss. You wonder why anyone didn't hear your heart shatter to pieces when it was so loud. Your chest tightens, like when you broke up with her, except this was worse. So you walk away because you can't stomach seeing her so happy without you.

You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

That tick-tock sound of the clock on your table is pissing you off, if only because it reminds me you how much time you have left before everything goes south. You had half a mind to take out the batteries, but you remember how much you needed it to tell you how much time was left.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You mentally applaud yourself for having enough self-control to not hurl that clock all the way across the room. That, and that you can still continue having an internal monologue and attempt to finish what needs to be done by noon. Your close friends don't really know this habit of yours and your best friends know that when you get like this, they have to leave you alone.

Beep.

Your phone goes off and you wonder who in their right mind would send you a message when you're in this state? You frown when you see that it's a message from someone you didn't really want to hear from. Literally the person you pretended didn't exist in your world. So you ignore it, pretending once more that he didn't exist, and went back to the task at hand. This paper won't write itself, no matter how much you will it to happen.

I got you under my skin.

You wonder if your iTunes picked today of all days to mock you. You put your iTunes on shuffle because music always did help you with your tasks. At the moment, however, it was being a total jerk and played songs that you know would most probably put you in even more of a rush. The six cups of caffeine plus all the deadline anxiety has you on edge. You were about the click Pause when you remembered you hate the sound of the ticking clock even more. So you sigh and just let iTunes win this round.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

You smile in satisfaction. The paper was finally finished and it was now printing. But what really made your day is that you still had an hour to spare, just enough time to grab a bite from the convenience store a few walks from your dorm. Paper done, bags ready, freshly showered and a smile on your face, you start walking to class.

You always did work best under pressure.

Running. Running. The earthy scent of the grass fills your nose, but you keep on running. You pass the ball, you run some more. Waiting. Waiting for the ball again. And you run again. You see it; the end. The frame. You run, even if your legs are screaming for you to stop. But you can't. Because this is life-or-death. And you take the shot. It curves. You pray to every deity that the ball goes in. And the screams deafen you. The ball went in. It's a goal. A goal.

Fun, yes? That's football for you. The euphoria of finally scoring a goal. Because even getting past the midfield and the defense is hard. But when you do get past it, you charge. The last line of defense, the goalkeeper, is your biggest enemy. When the GK is nervous, scoring a goal is easy. But when the GK is someone like Germany's Manuel Neuer (who won't even let you past the box, let alone the goal post), you have to be creative. You have to rely on your footwork. You have to read the GK.

But the thrill doesn't stop at the field. The thrill goes forth and infects everyone watching. From the bleachers, from the people watching from television sets, from people on the other side of the world, staying up at ungodly hours, streaming the game from their laptops and mobile devices. Emotions run high, and the game is under a blanket of passion. Screams and curses could be heard. You sincerely hope for a win by your team. 87 minutes in, you wish the score would remain at a draw. Because you'd rather take a draw than a loss.

For the people living on the other side of the world, sacrifice is almost always on their menu. And sacrifice always meant staying awake at two in the morning, streaming the game from their laptops or mobile devices. It was the only way they could keep up. They didn't want to go behind on the game. When a game like El Clasíco is on, one forgoes sleep. You want to see who has the better offense and defense. You want to see if Lionel Messi will get past the Real Madrid defenders with his knack for finding lapses, or if Cristiano Ronaldo will take the first goal with his fancy footwork and incredible speed. Or when the English Premier League is having one of the greatest games scheduled, and you're excited to see Oscar donning the blue uniform of Chelsea once more. And what of the Bundesliga? When Marco Reus, using his knowledge of Mario Götze's play, runs past him and takes the shot that propels Dortmund the lead. And you can see the unpredictability and genius of Jürgen Klopp through his coaching.

Transfer windows are both a fan's dream and nightmare. Sometimes, the players you love are the ones getting transferred or sold. Imagine the despair Chelsea fans went through when Frank Lampard was not renewing his contract with the Blues and went on to sign with Manchester City (myself included). Or the Madridistas' sadness when Özil was transferred from Real Madrid to Arsenal (again, myself included). Or the anger of some of the hardcore BVB fans when Mario Götze and Robert Lewandowski transferred from Dortmund to the rival team, Bayern München. But when something goes wrong, something good will replace it. The pain of losing one of your best players is still there. But you have new players to look forward to.

And in the midst of all this craziness, you find yourself feeling so at home with a team, considering them to be part of your family. Or you consider yourself part of their family. In any case, you're so emotionally-invested in the game.

The coin is tossed, the whistle blows, and the ball is kicked. The game starts and you lose yourself in the game all over again.

The darkness is seductive. It's always been calling you, beckoning you to come hither. There always was darkness inside you, caged and sleeping—waiting for the right moment to pounce. But you pay it no heed, because that's something you can always ignore. And you will never pay attention to it. You had no plans to.

You were held in the light by something. You had a lifeline and you'd do anything to keep it. You don't what you'd do if the line gets broken or worse, severed. You sincerely hope it doesn't, because you're not ready to let go—not just yet. You hold on, because that's what you know you can do best.

But Fate was a harsh goddess. She refused you your lifeline, breaking it in front of you and you can never fix it again. And then there was just so much anger. The darkness inside you was cackling in glee, then it breaks out of its cage. Suddenly, it grips your heart. It holds on to it and whispers in your ear about power. About what you can do with the darkness beside you. Because the darkness will always follow you. Hurt and defeated, you succumb to it, feeling a great surge of power come inside you as your last bit of humanity left.

For a time, you forgot who you once were. The darkness was a constant companion, and you found yourself destroying anything that reminded you of the light. Your guard is always up, never letting in anything or anyone take away that one thing that made you who you are: the shadows. But what they didn't know—what they will never know—is how much you still regret letting Fate take away your lifeline. You let yourself drown in memories, refusing to let even darkness get to it.

At some point in your life, there comes another piece of a puzzle that you have long forgotten. You forgot that even the darkness has ways to betray you. That even if you thought you had everything handled, you see that you never will. Because darkness has always been playing you, using you to keep everything in the black blanket. And one day, the darkness thought it best to let you fall. You fight it—because you always did fight everything that came in your way—until eventually, you get the light back.

But with it comes a price. You have lived far too long in the darkness. The light was suddenly too much for you to handle. But instead of going against it, you welcome it. You know it was time. And you smile because suddenly, your lifeline appears in front of you, basking in a silvery glow. You reach out and take it.

And then, you disappear.

This work of creative writing was inspired by Star Wars, particularly Anakin Skywalker. Star Wars is the work of George Lucas. No copyright infringement intended.

In this fast-paced world where you don't have time to breathe, you go into deals or jobs that looked fine on the first look, until you realise you're drowning in the sea and no one there to offer their hand for your to hold on to. And for a good period, you have no idea where you are. Just that you're in something that you took without seeing the bigger picture. And now, you feel stuck, suffocated, and on the verge of a panic attack because you have no idea what you're doing.

And when you finally make a decision, you're afraid. You're afraid because you have no idea where you'll be after you leave - just that you're finally leaving. Leaving is going to give you room to breathe. It's going to give you the freedom you so desperately crave. But that doesn't mean the trepidation isn't there. The apprehension of the unknown. The confusion of going out of the sea and diving into the ocean.

Yet you can't help but be excited at the same time. The unknown that you were so worried about also gives you the sense of thrill that you absolutely love. You still have no idea what you're doing, but this time, freedom is right beside you. And you're using whatever you have gained from the past to guide you. Because you know better this time. Because you have matured. Funnily enough, you have no idea if you're really supposed to be apprehensive and excited at the same time. And it adds to the mish-mash of emotions waiting to burst out. Confusion adds into the mix, and you wonder (again) why you're still in one piece. Why, with every emotion in your pores, a combustion has yet to happen.

But the ocean is getting bluer. And you're getting more and more interested about what lies beneath it. You're worried for your safety, but your curious mind won't let you rest; not until you get the answers you're looking for.

Learn a local language.

Learn a local language and find yourself getting big discounts from merchants at the market. There will always be two sets of rates and prices for food and pasalubong: one for the locals, and one for the tourists. They can tell you're a tourist when you only speak either Tagalog or English. Most of the time, just speaking the local language can give you at least a 10% discount (emphasis on AT LEAST).

Learn a local language and find yourself having even more fun during festivals. The country is absolutely festive, having at least one or two (or more!) fiestas in one month. If you find yourself on a mission to travel around the Philippines to attend every festival, you'll have an easier time finding your way through the throngs of people in the streets.

Learn a local language and get the warmest of greetings from food places and lodging. They know you're a tourist, but they (or at least from what I have observed) find it amusing that you took the time to learn at least the basics of Ilokano or Bisaya. Granted, they may be amused because you can't get the accent or pronunciation right, it's still A+ for effort on your part. And you don't sound snobbish too!

Learn a local language and immerse yourself in their culture. Find yourself in a culture so unlike your own, yet so like you at the same time. Find yourself fishing with the Ilokanos and Pangalatoks, or eating lechon with the Cebuanos. Go horseback-riding in Baguio, or looking at the eagles in Davao or the tarsiers in Bohol. Swim with the butandings (whale sharks) in Sorsogon, or with the pawikans and the dolphins in Ozamiz. How about looking at the difference between the crocodiles in Palawan and in Davao? Whatever the case, the local language is one of the best ways to immerse yourself in a local culture that you know it exists, but you have no idea how it feels like to be part of that.

Learn a local language and see the difference it makes.

Learn a local language and give the local cultures the love they deserve.

2013.

For some, this was the dreaded "13" year. For others, this was the year they felt was the best because let's face it, we "survived" the supposed doomsday.

For me, it was a bit of both.

This was the year where I was in transition. In just a matter of months, I went from being a student to being part of the real world, or the world of the working class. During the first three months of the year, the only problems I had were passing every subject and handing in a stellar thesis. When April came and I graduated from college, I thought, "what's next?" A month-long sabbatical was in order, and the vacation in the US was a welcome break from thinking of the immediate future. This trip was a milestone in my life, it being my first time to the country. Coming back from that dream, I realised that I couldn't put off the hunt for the job opportunities.

It was hard, I could tell you that much. I probably sent my resume to multiple companies and organisations, yet not one answered. Frankly speaking, I was not used to having page after page of my planner blank. I was in a slump for a week, until I pulled myself together and thought ahead. If, by the end of October, I still had nothing, I would pursue my dream of a career in international relations. And the only way to do that is to go back to studying, this time for an MA.

But fate was playful, and here came the opportunity. Currently, I am employed in an NGO and while I have no regrets to joining the organisation, the transition stage from student to employee is still a bit hard to overcome. While I may have adjusted fairly well to the environment, I still can't help but miss the feeling of being a student.

But those aren't the only changes in my life. To be quite honest, my taste in music and film has gone back to whatever I liked before K-Pop and some sort of revelation came to me—that K-Pop really was just a phase.

Friends are also a matter of interest this year. Just last February, we had our class retreat. I was rereading the retreat letters I received and I noticed that a lot of things changed since then. Many of the letters I got told me, "I will never leave you, no matter the circumstance, because that's what friends do." In a matter of months, about half the people who told me that were suddenly like strangers to me. I have no idea what they're doing and they have no idea what I'm doing. On the rare situations where we meet, the conversations are suddenly clipped and detached. The realisation that words could only be just that makes me feel disheartened. But I like to believe that these people may not be really meant to be part of my future. Rather, they're part of a past—a bright and colourful past that I will never forget. Plus, I won't lose my optimism over this—not when I think that a person out there somewhere is someone who could change my life (hopefully for the good and not the other way around).

For twenty years, I felt year after year pass by so fast. And in the last two years, I finally noticed that I was missing something. I still don't know what it is I'm missing and I'm pretty sure I haven't found it yet, but I'm in no rush to find it. My friend did tell me before, "take it easy, everything will come when you least expect it."

Still, 2013 is gone in a matter of hours and 2014 is coming in. A new book starts, a new planner is waiting to be filled, and new adventures are starting to arise. Who knows? I might find whatever it is that I'm looking for this year.

With this, I raise my glass to the New Year.

There's a little kid, probably around 7-8 years old, who was standing in front of a shelf at the Young Adults section of the bookstore—the Fantasy section, if we're being specific about it. His eyes scan the titles until it lights up when he finds what he's looking for. He struggles to get the said book, tiptoeing and reaching out with his short arms. You smile in amusement but still keep a close eye on him, just in case something unfavourable happens. He falls back on his feet and huffs, and you couldn't help but chuckle. He hears you and looks on with a contemplative look on his face. He smiles and suddenly, he's approaching you.

"Hey, miss. Can you help me reach for the book? I'm still growing, you see. And you're already so tall!", he says. You laugh and tell him, "No problem. Lead the way, sir."

He leads you back to the shelf where the book was located, and he points you to the book. You look and you see him pointing to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. You feel a swell in your heart because it was the very same series that you often got lost in. You reach for the book and hand it to him. He looks so incredibly enthusiastic when he finally touched the hardbound cover, and you couldn't help but say, "You know, I read the first book a year before the first film came out." And he was so enthralled, he asked if you could tell him a story about you and the book.

And you agreed because you just can't say no to that adorable face. You wonder who he's with, but all that gets lost when the kid looks at you in anticipation.

So you started telling him how you read the book so diligently. You tell him how your parents scolded you before because when you got back from school, you blew off your homework to read the next chapter—they then resolved that before they gave you the book, you had to finish all your assignments. You tell him how you got Harry Potter merchandise for presents during your birthday and Christmas, because everyone saw how you couldn't let go of the book. You tell him how different your opinions were from most people because they hated Draco but you loved him. You tell him how you got into arguments with people because they kept saying that Slytherin was the House of Evil, when it really wasn't. You tell him how you always waited for an owl to show up and they never did—but one day, you found your acceptance letter and you literally jumped with glee. You tell him how you went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and experienced the magic, even for a little bit. You tell him how you always imagine yourself being part of their circle of friends, as you imagine them being part of yours. You tell him how you were brought to tears when JK Rowling said, "Hogwarts will always welcome you home." because you were so overwhelmed by so many emotions. You tell him how the book changed your life.

And he listens intently, soaking it all in. When you do finish, he goes quiet and looks at the book. You ask him, "Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" He looks at you again and answers, "I'm fine, miss. I'm just really happy I met you! My brother, you see, tells me to stop believing in Harry Potter because he's not real. That magic's not real. That it will do nothing in my life if I keep reading about him." Flabbergasted, you wanted to look for the boy's brother and give him a piece of your mind. But you calm down, and just tell the boy once more, "He's real when you want him to be. And between you and me, I think the wizards are actually here, pretending to be Muggles."

He smiles again and goes back to looking at his book. Then he whispers to you, "How do you know they're here?" You smile and whisper back, "Because I'm a witch myself. Take a look at my scarf." His eyes widen and darts to the scarf covering your neck. He looks at the ends and sees the Slytherin emblem stitched on. He gasps and touches it, wondering if it's the real thing. He looks at you again and smiles. You hear someone calling out a name, and the boy suddenly stands up. You see him walk to a man—his dad, you assume—and gives the book. His dad goes to the counter to pay for the book, when the boy looks back again. He waves and says, "See you soon, miss witch!" People are looking at you in confusion but you just chuckle and wave back to the boy.

When you get back home, you dart towards your shelf and take out Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, getting lost once more in the world of the Boy Who Lived.

It's that time of the year again—the time of dark days and cold nights. The time when you'd rather sleep in during Saturdays, and forget about going out. From August to November (or until December, if we're lucky), the rain would pour down incessantly—as if it would not cease until the next year. Several names have already been brought up for this: bed weather, cuddle weather, and even London weather. During this time, the aroma of coffee would be everywhere—in the kitchen, in the dining room, and even in the bedroom.

A cup of coffee is, by all means, somewhat of a saving grace for everyone (except, of course, the children). It lessens the headache that's sure to come of the guy who has been out drinking until 3 in the morning; it wakes up the lady who has to go to work bright and early; it keeps that college kid awake for an all-night session of studying; it warms the old lady from the cold that's bound to seep into her quaint house very soon.

And that little cup of coffee can go with almost anything. It can go with biscuits during merienda; it can go with your favourite tapsilog for breakfast; it can even go with that cake in your fridge for your midnight snack. That cup blends well with the French Jazz Trio song that your dad insists on listening for relaxation or that new Arctic Monkeys song that keeps you awake at night while you're writing your paper due tomorrow.

Still, you wonder how you fell into this sort-of love affair with the beverage. How you've gone from refusing to take a sip of the bitter mix when you were a kid to not functioning as properly as you'd like without a cup. But all that gets lost in thought when you realize you have far too much to do.

Because really, a cup of coffee would be lovely. Thank you.

You can feel it. You felt it as soon as the rays of the sun hit your face. You felt it when you were taking a shower. You felt it when you were eating breakfast. You even felt it when you were on the way to school.

You're finally over him.

You smile at the thought. That little smile turns into a grin. You want to laugh but you're in the train so you just grin. You're going to laugh about it anyway once you meet up with your best friend.

You then think back. You remember how you cried over him just a little over a week ago. You remember isolating yourself because you saw him talking to someone—someone who's not you. You remember the argument that pushed the both of you to the brink. You also remember that day when your heart broke and resolved that you will never get over him.

Yet here you are, grinning. "It's a good day today", you think. Because it is. You're getting off the next station so you permit another five minutes of contemplation.

You ask yourself what suddenly made this the day. You can't find an answer—nothing satisfactory anyway. You question everything, thinking of answers.

Until the automatic voice inside the train announced your stop.

So you step off and see your best friend waiting for you. She's still sleepy (she always is) and you have just the thing to wake her up. She waves at you and you wave back. You were walking to her when you suddenly bump into someone. The both of you fell down, and it's crazy because you're still in your school uniform. The other person stood up and offered his hand. When you look at him, you see that he has the loveliest pair of blue eyes. He hoists you up, and says,

"And here we are, standing up again."

He apologizes and walks off. You look at him curiously, and then smile. Your friend approaches you, asking you if you're alright. And you are, you know she knows that. Still, she asks what happened. You answer, "Nothing", and add,

"Because we always will stand up again."