My dad is coming home this weekend. He spent most of July in the States visiting my brother and buying ballet school supplies.

Is it bad of me to not want him to come back yet? I have to psych myself up. Psych psych psych.

Today, I was supposed to go to dress rehearsals of the show I was supposed to dance in but am not anymore because I walked out of that production and the company mid-May. I was supposed to be there to give moral support to my chicklet princess_trixie and to ask my former boss for thesis-related stuff. I discovered I don't have the courage to see certain people and I know for sure I may say something like, "I left because of you, dumbass..." I work in extremes.

I'm irritated at myself because I have this weird nagging thing poking me in the chest going, "Where are you going, huh? Huh?" Judging from my past, my future is never where I expect I'd be going - I would decide that this is where my life is headed only to have it completely destroyed a couple of months later. You would know, if you read my 20-10-5-years-ago meme.

The beloved I mentioned in the meme, my 10 years ago beloved, wrote me a couple of poems ten years ago; one was sort of as a friend, the other was sort of not but that didn't go anywhere. The pseudo-romantic poem was trying to tell the reader (me) to not think of the past or the future, "just hold my hand as we walk to the yellowmoon of tonight..." He wasn't committing anything, he couldn't promise me anything. But he was going to show me a good time. Something like that. He never was able to confirm the poem was for me, but he gave it to me. Before this, I wrote him a birthday poem and he chided me that "If you write a poem for somebody you give him a copy of it, not make him read it out of your notebook. Ano ba yan..." He never gave me copies of any poetry he had written but he gave me that poem. So I guess, he was asking me to just let us enjoy what we had at present. That never happened of course because I ignored that he gave me the poem and never spoke of it again.

Ten years later, I am thinking of this poem and I am thinking, am I strong enough this time, ten years later, to just reach out and take somebody's hand? I hate that I look backwards and forwards too darn much.

I can't see the moon tonight anyway, it's raining.