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

Auricle

    I am afraid because I am religious.


      I blend in what the society dictates me to be, yet the strong feeling of change urges me to push the society to changing its mind, to broadening its thinking, and to living a life where everyone deserves an equal treatment.  I live in the status quo where a person like I am is not thoroughly accepted.

    What can I do? I am only human. I could also feel what others may see as magical. I could also do the effort of those who are seeking for that same ecstatic feeling of being accepted, of being taken care of. Everybody deserves somebody, and I deserve my own ‘somebody’, too. And that somebody is someone I already knew, I already found, but I am too afraid to let her know. I am too afraid to spill the doubts. Showing her what I feel is easy, but telling her the truth behind all my actions might push her away. I do believe it is much better to stay like this, to keep her close, because no matter what happens she is the only best friend I could ever have. The only girlfriend I wish of having. What is really wrong with me? Is there really something wrong with me or it just so happened that the Church labeled me as wrong that is why I am continuously devoured by my own conscience? Am I really sinful? Why can’t they just accept me? Why can’t they just let me be? Why can’t they just let us be? The prayer of salvation reverberates upon my ear. How many times should I pray this, so that I would have the assurance that I will be saved despite of this feelings which they call odd, which I call my own? I could not take this any longer, after church I called her up. I decided we should meet in our favorite spot. She served as a priest who would listen to my confession. She stared at me, a reaction I never expected from her. She cried, “since when?” I replied, “I can’t remember, what I know right now is I want you, I need you. I want to have and need you.” She replied, “All this time, we were hiding feelings from one another.” I stood still, she hugged me, I hugged her back. For the first time I felt that I was accepted. I was accepted by the least person I expect would accept me. She was feeling the same, no wonder, she responds in every action I give to her. But still there will always be that heartbreaking ‘but’ of reality. She told me that she knows this would not last. She told me that maybe both of us are confused. She told me that it was better to stay the way we really are. She told me that many might disagree. I know I am aware that many will disagree, but who cares? Why should we be really affected by the stinging looks of society? Why? If to please God is our role, it is His role as well to understand what we please! If the Bible disagrees with the situation of us being together, how are we sure that the Bible is always right, should it be simply because the Bible says it is always right? Who are we to enter the mind of God? Are we Gods ourselves to tell our fellows who to be with and who to avoid.

  "Why should we put so much effort into suppressing our basic most natural instincts?", Dr. Seigmund Freud once asked that, and so I am asking it now.

   Still, I strongly believe that in the eyes of God we are all equal. It is just in the eyes of men that we are judged unequally. I continuously cast myself in the blanket of religion, where mediocre people who pretend they are flawless pray together with us, whom they call the sinners. I am afraid because I am religious, but to correct myself, I am afraid because I have a religion. I should have been trained to be courageous by the same religion I am in right now, but my religion, itself, discourages me. Who cares if I am lesbian? Do you?

   Auricle. noun.– 1. the external part of the ear, 2. an upper cavity of the heart.

  If only they could listen with their eyes closed and their hearts open, maybe we are whom we want to be.