Written All Over My Face

I had been restless for the last couple of days. It feels like I was looking for something I'm not even sure what could that be.

Yes, I know how that sounds.

I don't want to sound melodramatic but that's just how it feels like.

I came in and out of movie houses hoping the big screen can give me something new to think about. I stayed hours reading in a bookshop which serves coffee as well. If only coffee can get me drunk, I might be wasted right now. But the smell of books mixed with coffee is just what I need to calm my restless self.

Come to think about it, those are nothing new. Somehow I want to do away with my usual favorite past time these days --- sleeping. But whenever I'm awake, there's just too much thoughts encumbering my mind that I feel like emptying it all up so I could start filling the cup once again.

I just can't stop thinking about it. I mean of the possibilities and the what ifs.

I want to know if I am pretty enough, smart enough, funny enough---enough for him to pick me out of the masses.

What if I am not? What if this is just another day spent by the sea? What if there's nothing really special about this? What if I am just in love with the possibilities?

I know what ifs are not good starters. But it's just so tempting. It's very much tempting for me to look in the mirror and see that it's written all over my face that there's nothing more than a girl who had been hoping/waiting too much.

When I was still six, we used to have a mango tree at home which bears fruits really really good especially during summer. I'm always excited whenever my brothers would climb the tree and go down with a basket full of mangoes. My usual task was to wash those and so I always get to choose first. There are only 2 things I was not allowed to do: climb the tree and peel the mangoes. My mom does the peeling.

I remember one time I have a particular mangoe in hand that I just can't wait to eat. My mom was still inside the house and naturally, I have to wait or peel the mango my self. Kids instinct --- I chose the latter one.

I had a knife in hand and held the mango just like the way mom usually does. I started imitating mom, rotating the fruit while slowly, the mango skin got peeled off. Oh well, you might have guess what happened next. Ten seconds later, the suppose to be yellow-green mango turned red from the cut I inflicted to my self.

I got reprimanded by my mom of course. But later on, in between my sobs and my mom medicating my cut was a motherly lesson on how important it is to wait, of how important patience is.

Funny that though the wound is now completely healed and the scar is no longer visible, sixteen-years later, it's amazing to think that I am still trying to learn the same lesson.



Kris Allen - Written All Over My Face