The Nameless Road

I walked alone on this nameless road,
where only our heartbeats remain untold
shattered laughter were caused by you
reverberated in me in a tune anew

I walked alone on this nameless road
a name we never bothered to know
having the assurance that we complete the scene
the darkness kissed by yellow light was serene

I walked alone on this nameless road
where your hands held mine in the midst cold
it was never the warmth that remained in me
rather it was the mark stained in my memory

I walked alone on this nameless road
where teardrops hide in the tips of my imagination
where regrets cease in those yellow lights
where serenity was devoured in an illusion so bright


I walked alone on this nameless road
as memories of you walked with me
I was never ready to be left behind
by those fast feet of yours in another distant mind


I walked alone on this nameless road
never did it pass by that in the end
on this same road which was never meant for two
I walked alone

I walked alone on this nameless road
without the sight of you
rather the sight of a distant one
which I am sure was never you

I walked alone on this nameless road
eyes set on familiarity
same beating of the heart
and as I was in front of him. . .

yes, it was never you
but I did not expect
another one
came

alone
like I am

a familiar heartbeat
an ecstatic warmth
a sin for comparison

but who are you to blame?

an absurd feeling
an emotion longing
two hearts seeking

given an illusion of being alone
not knowing it was all in the mind

for the other one
was on the other end

on this nameless road
which I walked alone

I walked alone on this nameless road
a nameless road but filled with meaning
the meaning which you once took
the meaning which another one returned

all this time I was never alone
all this time I walked with the one who'll leave me hanging
not knowing that the one whom I waited for
was waiting

enveloped in those yellow lights

Happy Clutter

Today my mind is cluttered by thoughts of love, by thoughts of forgiving, forgetting, and letting go of the hurt. Then I realized I am wasting time; wasting time in thinking the "what if's" of those things that already happened. It is a warfare of my thoughts whether I will dwell into the refreshment of friendship ruined by a misinterpretation of love or whether I will not dwell into it at all.

It is but a normal reaction to be moronized by love. "Moronized" was the term I coy from our Philosophy class, whereas we agreed that it will be used as the act of being a moron due to an external force or urge. And that urge is what I call love. I am clouded on what I must prioritize because of this. A simple act of him coming back is such a great quake in my almost peaceful life. Today I may say that I am decaying into a moron again, which I must NOT permit myself to.

I am tempted to post a status about love. I am about to spill everything that I must say to him. Then a better resolution comes up to mind. Why not, NOT do it at all? What will it benefit me or him? What will other people benefit from it, if all they will read are rants and regrets regarding such an spectacular feeling called love? 

The more I learn of the things that are beneficial to the greater good, the more I set aside the lesser pleasures I have in life. And I see him as a lesser pleasure. He was the one who allowed himself to leave me, so be it. A decision once made, should be a decision he must stand for. No more points of turning back.

I changed. I know he changed as well.

Before I was ready to make my world revolve around him. Today I made a world without him in it. For him to show up out of nowhere is such a desperate act. Is he not aware that I am alright, better than alright without him? What is the point of coming back? Friendship? Well that is pathetic. I have high standards for friends to keep. He once debunked my idea of what love should be. And now, he is asking to regain an amiable relationship with one another. I can act as if nothing happened. But I cannot promise that I can be back to normal. A peaceful coexistence is executable. Having a casual talk with him is possible. And that's it. Nothing more.

I am happy surrounded by all the happy clutters I have in my room and in my life. There is no room for him to be a recycled clutter. To be fair, he once made me happy. But now, I see him as a clutter alone, no more trace of him making me happy for he continuously flood my mind with moments I do not want to remember anymore; with clutter I do not want to clean once more.

Stupid am I to clean a mess I already fixed. I am happy, give me time to have a better state, until I can forgive you, until we can forgive one another.

Cathedral Restoration

It has been a long time since I last entered my hometown's cathedral. It was as if all the prayers that I whispered before reverberated upon my ears; prayers such as passing an exam in Mathematics, entering UP,  surpassing a petty problem of love, and many more, which as of the moment I do not remember.

As usual I was late and I did not pay much attention on what our priest was saying, pardon me for that. I usually observe people in church. Thoughts of how I envy their faith rush in. I saw a woman who knelt even if it was time for all of the people to stand up. I became so curious of how heavy her problem was or how heavy her faith was.  Then there were some who sang "Ama Namin" with eyes closed, and sang it on the top of their voices.

Our cathedral was so different compared to the last time I saw it. There were thick pale-colored lines on its ceiling, indicating that the church will have a paint restoration. There was a tall, steel, barricade near the altar, almost blocking the view of the Holy Cross. Things like these, distracted me. So many people love the church, and that is it.

Beside me was an envelope which I do not know where it belongs, maybe to the old woman who sat beside me. The back of the envelope has a printed message saying, CATHEDRAL RESTORATION, where one must indicate the specified amount that one gave to the church. Accompanied by these words are assurances that the church will pray for the things that one wants them to pray. Like praying for the soul of your departed loved ones, praying for the health of those who are sick, and other things that one may find necessary to be prayed for.

Then at that point I realized, the church is rich because many are willing to give. And what can the church give in return aside from prayers and a well restored cathedral?

There I thought that the church is such a magnificent and hypnotizing place, where one may feel the kindness crawling inside his veins the very moment he is inside the church. But this kind of sensation only last when one is inside the church, and as one walks further and further away of it, comes a rushing deteriorating feeling of kindness. To this point one may see what he is really obligated to do, and that is to face reality; that is to face life, for life is not confined in the church which gives one the illusion that he is kind, that life is always kind.

Paradoxically speaking, people love devotion and not compassion. They love being in church, pacifying all the luxury that the church demands; wine, gold, bread, and coins. feeding them the idea that they are good because they gave something to the church; because they did something for the church. And yes, they did something but is it long lasting? Does it reach the greater good that God is looking for? Does this short term good that one gave to the church reached God himself?

It is so sad to experience that after such an invigorating experience in the church, after drinking in the cup of wine and eating His holy bread, later on after mass, you will see children with fragrant garlands on their hands asking for the same coins you put in the basket. They are asking for these same coins so that they too, could drink not wine, but potent water, could eat not just bread but rice, could achieve that same decent life you live upon an hour inside the church.

Maybe upon saying these I am sinful in the eyes of those who are devoted to devotion, but still I believe that true compassion is seen not in the grandeur of the church but in the simplicity of pure and lasting intentions.

Maybe the church needs more restoration than its facade demands, and so is the case when it comes to my faith. Faith not in God, but in our church, which needs so much work to be labeled as His own. 

For Lust of Judgment

Dwelling into the eyes of he who do not understand
My feet are rooted on the palm of his hand
Innocently looking into the soul that is in thirst
For the kiss that he drank, for that kiss I called first

Although I myself cannot decipher until now
The code behind his misleading vow
Promises that were spoken but was never there
Dissolved, vanished into these selfish air

Finding life into the scent of his exhales
Looking forward to reading those untouched mails
Words and letters he insist were sent
Though I held nothing; I never knew what he meant


Behind my vices that softly threatens
The old self I loved, the old self that ripens
Into rotting hopes that I have left
Forcing me to dig into lifeless; until death

And here I am standing in front of him
Begging: aware that he stopped remembering
No matter how judgments question my strength
I will never give up to the time that tests length

Here I am holding those petals blended with thorns
Gripping them tightly as white petals turn to bloody rose
With his ears closed from hearing most hurtful mourns
To give me my shattered rose's binding stem; he oppose

Those lurking looks of judgments I tried to bear
Just to be with him I did not seem to care
With anything or anyone else aside from both of us
Never knew that the thing which will tear us apart was lust

For the lust of judgment I failed to taste,
Here I am, stranded: a sentence I must face

Seduction of the Labyrinth

I miss no particular person, but I do miss a particular feeling;

a feeling that gives life to random 
thoughts I want to live,

a feeling that lifts you to the routine 
that this limited life could offer

a feeling that transcends you 
to the conventional

a feeling that recites the incantations 
that your heart desires

a feeling of longing, 
a feeling of holding on, 
a feeling of immortalizing

the intangible things you want to hold onto.

I want to escape together with the feeling

of being free,
of being infinite,
of being done with all the shackles,
of letting go,
of letting life let me go. . .

I want to fly.
Not to the extent of having literal wings . . .
I just want to fly.
just fly.

I want to be with the smoke; simply dissolves in thin air,
all its presence,
all its beauty,
all its sophistication. . .

It just fades away, unnoticed, forgotten.

Clueless and lost.

<3

This is a BLUR

Hello, is an awkward word to start this blog or any blog of mine, but still I am using it to say HELLO to whoever you are who was able to read this far. So, as courtesy, I say Hello to you.

I am wearing the same clothes that I wore from a recent heart break. This pair brings back memories, though. But still I wore it, not for the sake of reminiscing, but for the sake that I have no choice but to wear it. Maybe it is obvious that I am still embittered by the fact, but that’s how it goes. Well, maybe I am, maybe I still am.

My whole day was good. I call this day my PHILO DAY, because literally I got Wednesdays and Fridays reserved for three Philosophy subjects, which inspired me to write for this almost rottening site. In philosophy we talked about love and it lead us to a hanging question that says, “Why do we need talk about love? In relation to ethics,” which, by the way, lead our professor to a brilliant idea for us to write a one page reflection paper about it. *no sarcasm intended. Which also lead him to the idea that it must be handwritten. Maybe he was just inspired because all of Plato’s dialogues were handwritten and he wants us to do the same. So there, it’s due on Friday by the way, remind me about it.

We also talked about the things that we usually think about. The first thing that came in my mind was, “Am I improving?” I do not know why I came up to that but I did not raise this question bluntly in class because I realized their answers are more practical pour our time and mental energies with compared to mine.

From that moment I started asking myself; why does money matters; why should people bluntly show their religious insights; why shouldn’t we just live in a gender free society; why should our grades matter; why there exists grade conscious people, can't they just let things be; why am I asking this from the very start when there are so many things more important to think of than this?

These questions are my escapes.

These questions give me the limitless freedom to think of what others ignore, what others see as nonsense. It is metaphysical I know, but aren’t these things the most important things to have a worry-free life or am I right to tell that these are my escapes for me not to ask things that revolve in my reality?

Fears, I hate them. When you start facing them, people will misinterpret this as the folly that’s armed with nothing but bravery. Well, as of now, I kept on suffocating myself to the idea that I should not fear anything, because everything I see every day is but part of what we call life. But I must admit, no matter how hard I try not to fear still I am afraid.

I am afraid of the idea that of all the things that I want to be settled in hand will never be settled. I am here, not yet settled on how I must settle things.

Every day I meet people who inspire me on being a better person. But still I do nothing about it. I meet people who inspire me to be thrifty, to be religious or to at least have faith, to study hard, to be the best. But it’s hard to dwell into what they know is right, to what they know is best if you yourself declines the idea because you’re just putting too much pressure on yourself and you can’t live the life with life per se.

I fear the thought of being controlled, of being monitored. I am not stubborn. I just want to break free. Break free from all the inhibitions that they write on their foreheads and force me to write on my own, too.

Bottom line is, it’s hard to believe on something and so much of so many things. The reality I want to build is not yet finish, maybe ideal is far beyond my grasp.

Dear God,

If he's in heaven with You, I want You to tell Tatay that I miss him.

I want You to tell him that no matter what happens no one will be able to replace him. Although, I was never able to see him, I am still believing that someday You'll permit me to; You'll permit us to.

I want You to tell him that even though I hate this day, because everybody's greeting their dads a Happy Fathers' Day (and some people mistakenly sends me messages assuming that I still have one), still I want You to tell him that he's always the first person who comes in mind.

I want You to tell him that although there are no real and tangible reasons why I want to thank him I still do. I want You to tell him that I thank him because without him I may not be here, I may not enjoy the life I am in right now.

I want You to tell him that although I do not understand his reasons before, I am forcing myself in understanding it now.

I want You to tell him that although he failed to hug or hold me, I am assuming that he does that in my dreams.

I want You to tell him that even  though he left us I did not keep any grudges.

I want You to tell him that I whisper prayers directly to him every time everybody around me do not understand me at all. I want You to tell him that he is the only one I turn to when I do not have anyone in mind to tell all the secrets I have inside.

I want you to tell him that he is my inspiration in everything that I do. The lack of him sustains the creativity I have within.

I want You to tell him that I love him even before I knew him, and I still do that till this very day.

I want You to tell him that I am looking forward to seeing him till the last moment of my life.

Tatay, where ever you are, be safe. Keep us safe. Take care of Nanay, 'cause she loves you still.

Amen.

Eyes Wide Open

Albert Einstein said that ENERGY cannot be created or destroyed, it can only be changed from one form to another. From that, I realized that ATTITUDE is a form of ENERGY, and I based that from the definition of energy itself. We are but normal people with different forms of energies in hand. Since science made the concept of understanding easy for us, it is our responsibility to dwell into science and start to understand. We MUST not force other people on the idea that they should stay the way they are before. Because they are people, they have their own attitudes, they possess unique kinds of energies. And as people we are slaves of change. We have the right to utilize the kind of energy bestowed upon us; whether we'll change it or conserve it. 


Many times I ask myself why people kept on asking. Why can't they just be silent and observe, so that they can find the answers themselves? At that point, I told myself that we are creatures of wisdom, we crave for knowledge, we crave for truth. And since I am a creature of wisdom, I start asking myself. What is vague to me is the idea of living in a black and white world. Why should we continuously say that we must live in black and white, can't we put into consideration the existence of gray as a kind of shade. And also the existence of other colors we know. Why settle on the idea that there are only two things to put into consideration, what is bad and what is good? Now tell me how bad is bad, and  how good is good?


Since I let you follow my thoughts in existence, I have to admit that there are vices that I want to defend. Vices which started to exist in me. Yes, they exist in me but it doesn't mean I let myself live with those vices forever. I smoke. And some people protest against smoking. What I understand in such protest is that they want to totally erase the idea of smoking or smoking itself in every inch of the world. As if smoking never existed. There, I want to proclaim my stand that when something is already injected in the existence of the world, it is impossible to erase such thing. If some people would build up a strong and brute force against it, living in the idea of having clean fresh air. Then I call them ridiculous. Call me ridiculous as well, if I still respect them though. I am ridiculously respecting them, if that's the case. If they continue such protest or campaign, I tell them, STOP using your cars and start biking instead. It's clean air you're after right? Why turn up the heat against smoking if there are so many things around us that we could focus on? We're just wasting all our mental and emotional energies to life forms we cannot mold into a new. Why not start with having an ANTI-BOASTFUL campaign instead?


I intentionally, spilled a disgraceful analogy, which I barely thought of because, I wanted to open up something on respect. We have to respect everyone no matter how bad or how good they are. The problem is, we usually think of what other people should do, or what other people should be, not knowing that we are losing focus on our own improvement.


I love Buddhism, aside from the fact that they were able to build a gender-free religion, they never force anyone to be engaged in Buddhism because they believe in the concept that only the person could find a way towards his own liberation.


The liberation of the mind and the spirit depends on who searches it and how he finds a way towards it; not on the concept that someone pointed the way and forced him to choose that path. It's not important whether it took him a long time to be there, as long as he was able to get there, then that's it. We just have to respect other people's views on matters. We may guide them but we have to be open on the fact that guidelines are useless to people who do not want to be guided.


To this, I say, STAY FREE, because I am looking forward to your liberation, my friend. And mine, too.

So Far Away

I have so many things in mind that remain in there.

I have this plans like being a vegetarian or a fruitanerian; jogging around the Academic Oval in the wee hours of the morning; living a healthy life style; reading a lot of books. But all of those things remain undone. I do not know if it is just because I easily forget things, that is why I am not able to fulfill them, or I am just so busy thinking of so many other things that I am not capable of gaining enough will power on doing the things I wanted to do on the first place.


Of all this plans of change for myself, I started to notice that people around me started noticing something that was not me. I asked Rendel, a good friend of mine, directly. I told him whether he sees certain changes in me, and he answered with a fast 'yes'. I asked him again if I changed positively or negatively. Well, he answered in a vague "both". I asked him what are those things he noticed in me. Rendel did not answer. Instead he responded in a safe "I don't know."


Just last night I started a conversation with my mother. She wanted me to tell the things that is happening to me. Basically, last night, I was not in the mood in telling her my stories. I do not know why, I just don't want to. I just told her that nothing interesting is happening and there is really nothing interesting to talk about. I said goodbye and logged out. Just recently I read her message. She said, "Ang laki na ng pinagbago mo. Feeling ko hindi na tayo close." Well, physically and literally we are not close. Nanay works abroad and I am stuck here. But Nanay is the only family I have and I am aware of that. Before I read her message I had a really bad dream. I dreamt of Nanay dying of cancer. I tried to wake her up, instead of her waking up, I was the one who woke up. I woke up with moist eyes. I then realized that I haven't cried for a while now. 


I just realized that I started to I train myself on not thinking of things which were important to me before: my religion, the guys I liked and liked me back, the pictures which were corrupted in my malfunctioning laptop, some of my friends. Those were the things I did not mind of. Well those same things gave me enjoyment before. And now I give no importance to them anymore. It just hurts me every time I think that I am losing them, not knowing that the moment I accept that I already lost them I began losing myself as well. 

I am an open book. But I tried to hide things for myself. 

I do that to avoid being hurt over and over again; 

to avoid disappointing myself over and over again. 

First with my religion, I do not go to church anymore, because they were never tired nagging about the RH bill and ranting about the growing population of the LGBT community. Why can't they just promulgate a world that is gender free and a world that is pro poor? Why can't they open the gates of Ateneo, La Salle, and UST to the public if they really want to enlighten those who are folly and ignorant? If they are for charity and generosity, why does the church seems to be a systematized business institution?


Second, I do not think of those guys who have been in and out of my life because the latest one is a liar. I usually give second chances, then I realized how stupid I am to give it to those people who does not even know how to handle a second chance.


Third, I stopped being depressed about the files in my laptop because it just saddens me. Those were my collection. Then all of a sudden they were never recovered. I just told myself that nothing lasts forever and that includes my treasured pictures.


Fourth, I am able to let go of some of my old friends because I feel this sense that they, too, let go of me. I do this for my own sake. Friends just appear in times of need, but you will never have the assurance whether they will be there because they wanted to be there for the mere fact that you are there. The test for the genuineness of friendship is quite vague. So I'd rather not think of them anymore. 


As for my mother, she is way, way different. I do not want her to think that I stopped thinking of her. 


As for myself, maybe I am just a victim of the law of entropy. And I am towards more of my self destruction. On the optimist's thought, everything will be back to normal. Everything will be fine and that includes my self, even though that it is so far away.


P.S. I will get there. I will be back to normal. Soon. I guess...

I hope.

Flirting Cards Down

This is a spontaneous story of non-commitment.

As I lay all my cards down and reminisce all those things I failed to do and still failing in doing at, I remembered someone so close to me. Yes. I am still holding onto the idea that he is still close to me. So close to my memory that he is still the resting place of my travelling thoughts about guys sneaking in and out of my mind. Every time I think of someone to be with someday and get tired of it, he comes in mind and instantly I whisper 'what if'.


I am a fan of the first and last love story. I want to be someone's first girl and someone's last, too. The hell I care in the in-between's of those two words. As long as he comes back, I am contented. I am idealistic when it comes to committing myself to somebody. Call me immature and so laid-back but that is what I want. But everything was shattered into pieces when my best buddy had his first girlfriend. All I thought I was the first on his list but... I do not know what happened next... It was too fast.


From then on, I was disgusted in committing with someone else. I was disgusted with the idea of having a boyfriend because all I  want back then was my best bud; my other half; my painting companion, my worst critic. But some girl from high school caught his attention. The buddy chats were all gone. He became impeccable. Well, impeccable should have been a nice word, but he became impeccably ARROGANT! ARGH... The hatred it all pours in.


Here it goes...


He had his girls well lots of them. Some I knew by heart. Some I knew from a distance. Since I still tried to bring back our old selves, I tried to comfort him in all the heart breaks that they were going through. Martyr right? NAY! I am still alive! Martyrs die, OK? They are obsessed with helping, I'm just obsessed in him. HAHA. -the old him- to make myself clear.


I got my suitors, too. Some are thin. Some are blessed to have food on their plates. *evil laugh. Well, YES, some of them are FAT, due to karma and loads of Divine Intervention they became handsome and DAMN so HOT! But still, I never said yes, not even to one of them! I realized I will die as a virgin and ... *read no more nothing follows... Just kidding.


So there, that was our life. Well, my life. Almost all of my friends were teasing me and telling me that I will have a PhD degree for the span of time that I am bewildered by his presence. Maybe they were right -before.


He was one of those few people that I never said no to -before.


I can't help but stalk his accounts and see who's the new girl he's with -before.


I can't help but say 'hi' to him and ask him how's he doing -before.


And yes, that was before; Before the time we graduated in high school; before the time I tasted my first kiss and something more than that; before the time I was blinded by the ecstatic feeling of being free; before the time that I let go of the song of Katy Perry saying "Comparisons are meant to be done, once you've had a taste of perfection"; before I knew that perfection is not really the word for him. Maybe it will if I am in his love story but NO. I've grown tired of the idea. I've grown tired of those happy-go-lucky days that it's OK to flirt around as long as I am not committed. I've grown tired of taking care of him with him slapping me on the face while saying "I can handle my life".


If so, BE IT!

_______________________________________

Flirting for me was like alcohol. You know it's bad but still you're craving for more, cause you can't go back to the reality that there is someone out there that will give you real happiness but can't be yours. Flirting is like alcohol. Who says I am not hurt when someone I flirted played by my rules? So again, it is like alcohol because the bitter taste of it retains on my taste buds. Regrets after a hang-over on flirting gives me head aches. And YEAH! Let's drink to that.

_______________________________________

And so let's proceed to today.

Why am I in this kind of mind set all over again?

Well basically, I was letting the time pass by visiting all my flirting cards' accounts. I dropped by his account not because he's one of them but because he's special. I need to visit him no matter what! HAHA. OK. Look who's talking she moved on and not to mention let go... SILLY ME.

He posted on his status "its hard to see people change ... especially when you miss the way they treat before :("

I am guilty. I kept on ignoring him a lot of times. I know that maybe his status is for someone else. OR maybe it was posted by his recent girl. I do not care, but I'm guilty. Because as time pass by, I realized that I was not the best bud for him after all. We were not what we were years ago.

I opened my eyes to the idea that the world does not revolve around him. So I ignored him. I did not care whether he'll be present in our groups' outing. I thought he's matured enough to update himself about it and be on time in our meeting place.

Well, call me judgmental but still he's the same old pa-special person.

and... I am the same old-new friend? OR am I still his friend on the first place?

should I call myself as one especially now that I do not care about him?

Well, maybe I still do because I am wasting my time thinking of the right words that I should type here, or maybe not because all I care about is to have another blog.

THIS IS SHIT!

This should have been an spontaneous story of non-committance! <- OK, COMMITTANCE does not exist in the dictionary... I hope it will someday.

Well maybe this is still a spontaneous story of non-commitment. Because I remain as a virgin, never been kissed, never been touched but such a total liar! HAHA. Ok. I've been kissed. I was touched... by that someone whom I want to be committed to, but suddenly walks out of my life. One thing is for sure, this is a spontaneous story of non-commitment because I'm still not committed and his name alone is the main reason why I laid all my flirting cards down.

*this is my ninth blog entry
He was the ninth person who danced with me on my debut
He has nine letters on his second name
I secretly call him Lucky 9...


Because the month of my birthday was the eleventh and the day of his birth is the 3rd... when you deduct them it makes a 9! <-This one's epic!


What's with nine anyway? HAHA.

Creatively Changing

 

I do believe that I did not bump onto this video for no reason. I am an avid fan of Elizabeth Gilbert's book. I never knew that she will be speaking for me. And when, I say 'speaking for me', I never realized that she'll be unraveling all the emotional dilemmas that I am suffering, as I labeled myself to that narcissistic definition that I am a creative person.


Malaya, I may rename myself. But this time, the freedom I seized upon, took me to those intangible grounds that I never knew what I am stepping on or am I still stepping onto something. Those principles I held onto for years became ice cream that melted into the abyss of my thoughts. The sweet taste of inspiration began to be a not so inspiring imagination. I failed to hold onto the idea that I need to believe in something. I need to build the truth for my safety's sake.


I was so overwhelmed that I got freedom upon my hands that made me feel so omnipotent. I did not know that I am consuming all my mental strength and productivity to something that decays my creativity.


And so here I am, looking at Elizabeth Gilbert herself, as she slaps me on the truth of my messy, blurry, life. Here I am, in front of the messiah herself, as she scrapes down to the core of me, being an artist, being emotionally unstable and being myself.


I realized that I do not need to seek for an emotional crisis just to be creative, because the whole world I'm living in is in itself a crisis.

Eyes on Me

As of now, I am aware that I have approximately two and a half hours to greet you a very happy mother's day. I am also aware that I am a crammer and I know that you know that already. So here it goes...

I want you to know that I intentionally did not greet you the whole day. I want this day to end the happy way. I want this day to end my way. HAHA.

Today was the most fulfilling day of my life because I got the chance to stand as a guardian to approximately 32 children. Yes, Nay, you read that right, 32.

Everything that I did today reminded me of the things you've done for me. I taught them to draw. I thank you Nay for pacifying all my imaginations and letting me reveal it through my drawings. I thank you for buying me not just an eight set of crayons but 24. I thank you for fulfilling all my requests; for keeping my passions alive; for letting me live in a daydream; for letting me walk in a picture perfect life.

I thank you for letting me live a life filled with surprises. I thank you for letting me wake up in a birthday with a gift already beside me.

I thank you, for you never failed to read a good book for me during the night. Even though most of the time I leave you as the story continues its course inside my dreams. I thank you for leaving me alone in the bookstore as you laugh at me because I'm reading the book the wrong way. I thank you because you were able to drop me at the library and let me choose my favorite book. I thank you, because without you I cannot imagine myself being so interested in the course of learning.

I thank you because you know me more than I know myself.

I know that every parent is afraid of the monster within their children, because that same monster exists within themselves. I thank you because, at least in one way or another, you tamed my  monster down; that's how strong you are.

I thank you for staying single for eighteen years. I thank you for believing in true love; for trusting on the idea that Tatay is your one and only. 

I thank you for loving me more than you love yourself. I may not be the perfect daughter; I may not handle your work money well; I may be ranting all the time; but believe me Nay, it may not be that obvious, I'm trying to be a better person everyday because of you.

Thank you for accepting each and everything that I do (that I've done; that includes my vices). Thank you for the endless patience and forgiveness that only an omnipotent being could do. I thank you for being the living proof of His omnipotence. The only reason that makes me believe that He exists is having you in the first place.

Many may question the degree on how I love you because they know that I am hard-headed/ hard to handle. But I know that you're the only one who knows how to handle me the right way. Thank you, Nay.

I love you, in behalf of Tatay and well, myself, again Happy Mother's Day! :*

Just DON'T Wear Make-UP!

Here's how to make things clear. I have a personal bias on what they call a sensitive issue. I have a stand on what they insist is wrong. And as far as I can see things. Everyone seemed so narrow. Why not broaden your thinking? Think in the artistic way of expressing things; of seeing things. Art, I see solves everything. Art simplifies every argument they call is complicated. Art reveals the real sense of what they call is sensitive.

Now let me get things straight. The trending issue here is gays being in Miss Universe. Right? Everybody has a viewpoint on this. I'll share mine. I know this will not trend into greater impact, but at least an insight for everybody to see will do. An insight to how I really think will do.

First, I ask what is really wrong here? My eyes widened on the idea that gays are appealing to be in a Miss Universe pageant. Then sooner, I was interested into watching different beauties come to life. Be it the beauty that is from a woman and the beauty that is from a gay one. You see the answer are all in words.

You call it Miss Universe because beauty is universal. It comes in different forms. It is bestowed upon different people and we do not classify them being gays or women. We classify them as beautiful, that is why they deserve equal treatment into showing the world how beautiful they are. Besides both women and gay beauty pageant starts with Miss. Why not roll them into one and make it... Miss Universe, right?

Second, why should women be threatened by the presence of gays in that pageant? Again, this is a pageant of beauty. It is a battle of beauty and brains, not gender and what's under. Get it? Get the whole picture?

Third, I see gays as creative people; competent enough to be mixed with those they are comfortable in. There are some people who insist that everybody should be in the right place at the right moment. Now define, right again? How will we know if gays are not suited in such beauty pageants if we will not give them the chance to be in it? Equality between men and women were achieved through change. Why can't we give those who are in between sexes a chance for the change we, women once achieved?

To settle my point, if we will not open the doors to these creative gays in such beauty pageants. Then, don't let them work for the make-ups of your candidates. Don't let them sew the dresses of those women. Don't let them be the mind behind such artistry.  Just DON'T WEAR MAKE-UP yourselves! Women, why so selfish?

In their perspective, imagine the effervescence that gays feel once they see their own kind own the stage. Remember that they are the creative people behind such creative work of art you call, pageant... you call universal... They have the right to have a piece of cake in it.

Picture Perfect Memories

I  am  drowning…
            I know I am not perfect with my short temper and short hair. I am clueless on how they see me, how they respect me and how they describe me as a person, but one thing is for sure, whatever it is that they have in mind, I know them and I love them simply because they test me and repair my imperfections. But this is not for me, this is for them, through them you would learn life’s unspoken lessons.
            I do believe that people get irritated when they tend to be out of control, I myself get irritated with them as well. They love to play, they love to shout, they love to hurt each other, and they love the glory of their youth. They are immatures to its literal sense but they are the ones who remind me that I am responsible to think for them, I am the one in duty, I am the one who is matured. They unlocked me to the cage of immaturity, to the phase where I should face responsibility upon them, for I believe even though I am not that responsible, they see me as one.
            They are the ones who would cry in the middle of the morning because I pinched their noses, because I spanked their butts, but no matter how you hurt them, they would automatically forgive you and admit to you that it was their fault. They are the innocents who strongly shout at me and say, “YUPING BULOK!!!” that I tend to be so angry and slap the spoon right into their faces, revealing a red mark on them. Then suddenly I would regret what I’ve done and prepare ice to ease their pain. They are the ones who are scared to go upstairs alone because they strongly believe in ghosts. They want to go to church with me but I simply disagree because I see them too loud and noisy. They are happiest when you give them ice cream sundae from Mcdo. They are my young Vincents who would proudly show to me their art works and tell me how good they are, that is the time that you have to compliment their works. They are so stubborn that you tend to shout at them but later on they would make you laugh because they would dance in front of you. They are the ones who would spill their milks on the table while they tease you watching “Secret Garden” since it is so corny for them. They are the ones who would not be ashamed of you once they release green jokes, too young to do that, but yes they do that. They are the ones who would test your patience at its best. But no matter how they would make me so angry, I love them and I should love them, because if I would not, that is the time that I’ve given up on them. They are my blood, the immature drops of my blood. So if I would give up on them I have given up to my own blood.
            Everyday to me is a challenge. They ask endless questions. They are pampered with luxurious toys… PSP, PS3… but never P.S. I love you. They are in thirst with a mother’s love, with a father’s hug, with a perfectly complete family picture. I hate it when they ask me things that I can not answer. It is as if I am in a game show and their playing tricks on me again, but those questions are not tricks and I am not in a game show, thus they are not playing on me. They are victims of complication. It makes me shout, “My boys do not deserve that!” They just want attention, they want full attention which I know I can not give even I would stir thousand mugs of milk, even if I would give them thousands of hugs at night. I am not the perfect puzzle piece for the missing piece in their puzzling family picture.
            I see myself as blessed, blessed because I am obligated to be with them, because I am the witness for those things that makes one so proud. Simple things that make my heart grow fonder on everyday that I am with them. They are the ones who would recite to you the shapes that you taught them for three nights straight. They are the ones who would tell you to wake up and have breakfast because you have to teach them once again. They are the ones who would make you smile once they recite their full names. They are the ones who would laugh because they read the word ‘mysterious’ on their own. They are the ones who make funny sentences once you teach them new words. They are the ones who would reveal to you that you have a worth because you taught them something new everyday. They are the ones who would tell you that no day is to be of waste simply because you are with them.
            This summer I was not even at the peak of drowning at the beach… I am drowning by the breath that I hear every night, by the warmth of their hugs before they sleep… I am drowning with their innocent and eccentric portrayal of love. I am drowning because of them and the moment I gasp for air I learnt what patience and trust really meant. I was drowned by the sight of their innocence…and the sight of life’s unspoken lessons through those picture perfect memories with my little boys.

P.S. They are not angels but they are not that extremely bad. Let’s just say they are just too young to understand the word behave once you tell them to.

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Sa aking mga paboritong pamangkin,

I know you would understand what Tita have written when it’s the right time and you know how to master the English language. I love you both and please behave and study hard for me, for us, for Lola, for everybody… remember that you are my lucky charms. Still I see you both as lucky charms though I scold you frequently… just believe me boys… I do love you. Haha.

Love lots, Tita eka.

I am a transferee

                Before, I said to myself that when people get too overwhelmed with their blessings they fail to handle them well; and I agree to what I said till this very day.

                I prayed so hard to have a second chance to be in U.P. I failed to pass UPCAT, so I decided to settle in PUP instead. There I took B.A. Journalism. What amazes me is that PUP was able to sustain itself even though students are paying low tuition fees; then I realized it was not good to be amazed. PUP was not effectively sustaining the needs of its students after all. There I experienced the most drastic situations. The rooms have electric fans which are not working. These same rooms have poor lighting as well. Usually, we conduct classes in a three hour period. Worst part of it is when professors do not show up. So, we end up waiting for three hours without learning anything. The environment was not conducive for learning. During my stay in the university I firmly decided that I will transfer in U.P. I tried so hard to have high grades so that I will have a higher chance of being admitted.

                 I fixed all the credentials that I used in transferring. I went through a written examination and an interview. During the interview, they asked me why I want to transfer. I answered the most honest reasons I have in mind, highlighting on the situations I experienced in PUP. I remembered Dr. Elena Pernia asking me, “Don’t you think you and PUP match together?” I answered a firm yes and added that I am transferring so that I could experience the quality of education that UP gives and bring it back to PUP. For short, I have this concrete plan of going back to PUP to teach. Fortunately, I passed and was admitted in UP.

                It was hard for me to leave PUP. I gained good friends there. Maybe that was my point life when I have to think of my betterment for the sake of fulfilling the betterment I have in mind. I wanted to contribute in the improvement of the university I first loved, P.U.P.

                The first few months of my stay in UP was not good. It was hard to cope in a new crowd. I am also forced to change my study habit. What I thought was enough was never enough. I still have to study hard, the hardest I could ever imagine. It was so stressful that I failed Math during the first semester. It was not the UP I have in mind. Before, I was so excited of being in the university but now all I want was to get out, but I know I cannot do that.

                Finally, I got the chance to meet new peers. They changed all my stressful views. Each of them has good educational background. One of them is a valedictorian. Others are part of the honor roll. I can say that although they attained so much, they remained humble. It is unfair for UP students to be labeled as boastful or intimidating because not all of them are.

                Inside UP I learned that when you think you are intelligent there will always be someone more intelligent. Same with when you think you are rich there will always be someone richer and when you think you are beautiful there will always be someone even more beautiful. It was the time that I realized that students inside the university sustain the attitude of being humble, because other students inspire them to be.

                Another thing that makes the UP culture outstanding is the set of faculty it have. There I met professors who are really passionate of teaching. These professors are always present in class and always show up on time. The quality of students really reflects the quality of professors they have.

                Most of all UP have good facilities. I cannot see why UP students demand for more, because if PUP was blessed with those facilities they will be more than thankful. UP have great facades. Rooms are well ventilated; some are even air conditioned. Those rooms are well-lighted. UP is an ideal university for learning.

                These are the things that I want PUP to experience, not just PUP but also all the state universities and colleges. SUC’s should be given enough budgets for the improvement of their facilities and educational materials. I believe that through these there will be a higher chance of producing quality students. As they say, we are scholars of the nation and for the nation.

                I am not a student activist of some sort. Everything I wrote here is based on my experience. Yes, I am a transferee; and I am proud to say that I am one of the original daughters of PUP before UP adopted me.

                In my ups and downs I realized that giving up on the blessing that was bestowed upon me should never be an option. Like what I always say to my friends and fellow students, “When you are tired of studying think of those who can’t but are willing.” That is why I am never giving up; I am thinking of those people who wish to have my place and I am holding on to the idea that I have to give back something to the university which first cradled me; to the university I first loved.

Signs and Gestures

Photo by Robert Doineau
French Photographer
1912-1994

       Silence. All he could hear is bear silence. I know it. I understand. I am capable of understanding him in the nude silence he would always bring, yet his presence, the mere brightness of his effervescent personality, shatters it all. Silence is something that is so abstract to many yet the only tangible thing for us.
Many times I stare at him. He seems so distant, even though I could touch the softness of his hair, even though I could feel the strength of his muscles. As much as possible he tries to make things normal, between us, between everybody around us. I know he knows that it will never be normal. Things I wanted to share to him are things that I cannot explain. I rely on the simplest of his gestures. He does the same to me. I know he is waiting for me to speak, yet speech alone is not a way for us to understand each other. He writes me letters. I do not reply. He never forgets my birthday, I do not understand why. I know he loves me so much, I feel the same, but I have no assurance that he could feel the efforts in showing my affection towards him.        My love for him is true, genuinely true. Yet his language, my language are but clashing with words that we cannot settle on speech alone. He relies on the formation of my lips. He relies on the facial expression that is painted upon the canvass of my face. He does not know that I am wearing a mask. A mask of sadness, a mask of sympathy, I feel so sorry, not just for him but for myself.
Am I too self-conceited to say that I am surrendering? Am I selfish to say that I know this would not work? Am I too absurd to say that I cannot understand a single word he says? Maybe, the only answer among all my queries is yes. Yes, I am self-conceited and selfish because I thought of surrendering. Yes, I am absurd because I thought that I am not capable of understanding him without even trying. Distance alone is the only answer for me to stop questioning the credibility of my love for him. Yet he ties us together with his very own silence. His silence alone is the only silence I know that does not bring peace. Rather, that same peace pinches my heart with sympathy. He is there to rely on my gestures while I rely on his signs.
I admit it was hard mastering his language, I do not even know how to say “I love you”, in a manner that he would understand and appreciate. The only way I could say it is when I write it upon his bear skin. His flesh is the canvass of those feelings that I want him to hear, of those feelings I want him to know, of those feelings I want him to understand. My own brother is so wide minded he would choose not to speak for what could he possibly say? He is both deaf and mute. The only reply that he usually gives me is a hug and all I could give back is a tear drop.

Blind Second Chance

I saw love as something tangible yet fragile. I know it was so near yet I chose not to hold it. I was afraid to own it for I have no idea of handling it well. I have no idea of handling it at all.


And then love came rushing in...
I do not know if it is really love, but I held on the idea that it was.


I did not question the veracity or the main purpose of what his intentions were. All I knew was he is there and I am happy that he is.


All the standards that I set just to build the foundation of what love is, vanished in thin air. His presence alone devoured everything that I knew was true, that I knew was right, that I knew was genuine...


Holding Hands
It is something that I want to do with somebody I am comfortable with. My hands, I see them as symbolical; I see them as powerful. My fingertips are the most sensitive part of my body. I was blinded by the idea that once I am able to hold someone else's hand. It will last for long.


Held his Hand
I allowed him to hold my hand, for the reason that I started to trust him. I allowed him to play with my fingertips for it gives me the certain tickle from my spine. I allowed him to do something, I never allowed anyone to do to me. I allowed him to hold my hand because I thought he was different. I thought he will be different. I thought ours was special. I allowed him... but, where is he now? Where were the hands that gripped mine tight? Where were the hands I hold onto? Just tell me where.


Caressing
For me, it was awkward. So awkward! I saw people caressing each other, and I told myself that I will never stand to do that. It is just too touchy, so much part of one another's skin would overlap each other; and that is too much for me to handle. I do not like people touching me, in what I used to describe as an abnormal way. I just cannot stand it.


The Caressed
It started with a simple greeting of his hand with the outline shape of my face. His fingertips followed the anatomy of my face, as if memorizing all the lines I have. It started to be so ineffable that I saw it as something so innocent and artistic; something more than the word magical could offer. It is something so new that I had this ecstatic sense that I could allow myself to at least explore further. He gave a new meaning to that act I saw as disgusting. I allowed him to do something, I never allowed anyone to do to me. I allowed him to caress me because I thought he was different. I thought he will be different. I thought ours was special. I allowed him... but where is he now? Where were the hands that touched me close? Where were the hands that I look forward to? Just tell me where.


Hugging
I do not do this frequently, but the moment I do; it's either we are close friends in a span of years. Yes, I am talking of years here. I do not appreciate all the hugging because those are such show offs. I do not know. It is not in my personality of hugging people. I choose specific people that I hug. I barely hug my mother. I grew up on the idea that love is not something to be expressed in physical means. That is how I viewed love ever since. Something that is there but still so unreachable; and all the hugging is not part of it or better to say not necessarily a part of it.


Hugged Him Close, Hugged Him Tight
I never expected it, but he gave the warmest souvenirs. He enveloped me inside his arms; thought he will never let me go.The idealist inside me comes to life, because of him. When he is around everything is ideal. And his hug is part of that idealism. It was so beautiful that I demanded for more. It was so new that I never wanted it to fade away. I never knew that I will be this generous. It is as if there is something more powerful out there that whispers prayers for me to be generous when it comes to him. He is one of the few people that I cannot resist; that I cannot say No to. I hugged him back; held him close. Breathed the scent that came from his shoulder. I allowed him to do something, I never allowed anyone to do to me. I allowed him to hug me because I thought he was different. I thought he will be different. I thought ours was special. I allowed him... but where is he now? Where were the arms that held me tight? Where were the arms that I once hold onto? Just tell me where.


A Kiss
There is something so spiritual with a kiss, so sensual that I consider it as divine; that I wanted to do it with somebody who I call my first and last... those did not happen, because he came, and we did not last.


The Kiss
It was my first, I want the idea to sink into him that he was my first. My lips. I cared for them. I took care of them for years. Everything is still clear to me. He touched my chin in such an innocent gesture. I looked at him. He was looking directly in my lips. He drew me closer to him. He drank into the cup of my feelings. He spoke in the language without words. He locked his lips into mine. He is good. He is aware of it. It was something so special to me. I got to taste a parcel of him that is so sweet. He was hungry for an intimate companion. I know I am not the first one he was able to kiss; but I dwelt into the idea that I gave an equal response to an ecstatic performance he was giving me. Our lips knew what to do. Our lips knew how to respond. Our lips were connected to that burning desire of experiencing the delight of having one another. The kiss. The crave. The outrage. Shattered my innocence towards love. I felt sorry, he was too. I do not know why. Once we were through I never knew what was wrong or whether it is wrong. All I knew is it is good. He was too.  I allowed him to kiss me because I thought he was different. I thought he will be different. I thought ours was special. I allowed him... but where is he now? Where were the lips that devoured mine whole? Where were the lips that gave mine its purpose? Just tell me where.


I will miss you and that's for sure. I do not know if I made it out of what I called love or just mere curiosity. I do not know the purpose on why you were kissing me with your eyes closed but it gave me the creeps. Did you purposely do that because you have someone better in mind? I do not know.


Well, maybe you were right. We went too fast and yes, too far. I usually hang romances and leave it with an open end. But ours, is different for I do not want to end it at all. Maybe it is not that special for you, maybe it is just different for me. Maybe it is too different for me that I want you to teach me the familiarity.


Maybe you were right when you reminded me of praying.


Maybe you were right when you saw that there was something wrong with the fast phasing transition of our friendship. That you were one step closer to God then when we did it, you moved five steps backward from Him. I am sorry for that. I did not respect your principles. I was tempted by your presence. I did not know the shouting conscience running in your mind. I was not aware, call me selfish because maybe I am.


Maybe you were right for asking more time. Maybe you were right that it was tiring arguing about all the shits on romance. Maybe you were right after all.


But, what made you the wrong person was you left me. I hated the idea and yes, I am bitter for the fact. Still you left. I respected that.


You left and after you did that, I had all these sleepless nights; nights that turned into mornings. I was not productive at all, thinking about senseless thoughts, I cannot move because you cluttered my mind. You were all over the place and so am I.


Remember this, yes, I was badly hurt. But I just want you to know that I do not keep grudges. I forgive you, I forgive myself , too. I forgive us both.


Thank you for leaving me with a lesson that I should have hold onto what love is before; the love that I knew was true, that I knew was right, that I knew was genuine...

I knew much more then than I do now. I saw it as immature standards for love, but those were the standards that made me matured enough to weigh things, I just misweighed it when you came.


And so, here I am blinded by the idea of a second chance; on being hurt, on being left alone, on being kissed once more. I am taking the risk, but I am taking such risk praying that on the next chapter it is not you anymore.


P.S. I just want you to know that I am sorry if I loved you before I knew you. I am sorry for rushing it all and claiming you mine. I am sorry because I can't help it. You whispered words upon my cheeks and that I did not resist. I do not say I love you's as well, you were the one to force me to spit such words. And finally, I love you, I love you still. I promise you I won't wait. If things will fall on the right places then that is the time that I'm already over you. I hope. Pray for me this time, love.

&& I'll ponder on this, http://www.wild-spirit.net/post/19288375965/people-think-a-soul-mate-is-your-perfect-fit-and