A Human Mind

I want to acknowledge the fact that I want to push all the people away from me. This might be an understatement but what I mean is: not all of them, no. Just the others whom I mainly consider as mere acquaintances and whatnot. I must say, with hesitation, that I may have a bit of an anti social and introvert nature, believing that if I push them all away from me, they will cause me no harm and I cannot cause them any harm. Do not even try and start me with the no man is an island crap. I am aware that there is nothing wrong with wanting to be alone most of the time, seeing it as one of the factors that in the end transfuses the air and truth of independence.

I believe and the world holds further proof that I am not the only one, in this breathing lone planet, who is suffering from whatever it is that I am suffering right now. Vague as I may be, I don not want to hide my fault in this matter. The fault of having a limited vocabulary, which enables me to explain things, thoughts, and ideas without complete clarity and without confusing the human mind.   

Speaking of the human mind, it is one big complicated thing and thus, it must be handled with accuracy, preciseness, and will. Although these three methods might quite sound contradictory to the fact that "will" drives the mind to change so very often. Thus, this defeats the purpose of accuracy and preciseness but as my logic tells me, these three factors, which builds the human mind are also the very same factors that will break it.

Human emotion is confusing even more than the mind as it sounds. Emotion is a vital factor that drives the person to live and to act as long as the mind bids it and as long as it can handle the very soul of the emotion, no emotion will barricade the pleasures of human life. Feeling is important for it goes before thinking.

Going back, I am obliged to reason out my motive of pushing people away from me. It is not because I think of myself as someone superior and beyond them nor I am someone who is lowly down under them. I actually feel neutral with my own personal faults and prejudices but that's what makes me who I am and I feel equal to them without the need of comprehension.

I hate to say this but like what people say, love yourself so you can love the others around you as well and I guess that is what I am doing right now: experimenting my own self through emotional and intellectual methods, as well as scientifically. I know because of this some people may think of me as nothing but a fool, nothing but a stupid girl wasting her time. I am not sure how long I can keep up with this play of the human mind with the intention of hurting myself emotionally.

I do not want to get started with the psychological reasons of inflicting myself with pain for what I am doing is not even physical except only for depriving myself of sleep but I am doing this for my own good and out from my own accepted will. Everything has a reason that is why the human body is structured the way it is. The legs to walk, the hands to move, the chest to cover the basic property of allowing air to flow simultaneously in and out of your body, the heart to pump the fluid that fuels the very life and the head to shelter the main operational and monitoring office of a human individual.

There is a reason why the head sits above the heart. We, as rational beings, must think before we act even on an impulse so that we can maintain  being moral and reasonable. With this truth, I hold this as the very foundation of why I am doing so. I am taking the wheel to drive, taking the reins to show that I am the one who is in command, not somebody else and clearly not anything else.

I can think of a lot of things that can pain and hurt me emotionally and through the power of the human mind, I can allow the pain in without feeling anything except calmness and satisfaction, bliss and serenity. But then, that would defeat the purpose and definition of why pain exists at all. Not that it does not completely matter to me but this time, I will no longer yield to surrender in this battle even though I might plan to run away as a form of jesting directed to my own self.

Forgive me if I am not endowed with the gift of humor which, if I would try to do humor the people around me, it would just sound and end up in a very sarcastic form. Being sarcastic is one of the joys that I experience and hold and I must say that I am pretty good at it, learning from the novels that I have read and so on.  I cannot say that my Muse is not present at this very moment but she have left some of the things wherever she lives and those things, I daresay, holds some important matters that I may want to discuss and explain. I am glad or should I say pleased that I am not in the mood for bluntness and cuss words at this very moment. I do not want to make people think that I am an ignorant, foolish, and insensitive persons for in truth, I am very far from those attributes.

If I will dig deep down in this matter, I might get lost out of this reserved state that I am in now and I  ifam unleashed, trouble must thus be expected. Having and living a quiet life is a joy that I posses and no one with any amount of power can take it away from me. I need not to be driven by a certain being called God to know my very purpose in this planet. All I know is that I am someone who interacts with all that exists in this planetary sphere.

"GNOTHI SEAUTON"

Sleeping Pills and Whatnot

The very first time I took it, alcohol and whatnot were already inside my system, filling my blood, my flesh, and my tummy. A lot of things, both good and bad, happened to me that night as well but what can I say? I was with my friends, my debate-mates. The night before, I was out with them as well and yes, we drank, we smoked, we had fun.

The very first time I took it, it was already early morn and I didn't even bother to follow my doctor's instruction. He told me to take it between 0800pm and 0900pm after or before a glass of warm milk. So, yes, I took it the wrong way. I was so stupid that I didn't even bother to check the details about the pill but all I know is that it's going to be my savior from that very moment on. I clearly didn't even know that you're not supposed to take one if your body is filled with alcohol, nicotine, and well, a bit of a certain drug which I clearly believe is very medicinal even though it is purely illegal here in the Philippines.

The following nights went out well, I was able to sleep but then I would eventually wake up at around 0100am to 0200 am and so, I went to my doctor and he increased the dosage which seemed to work but had its side effects. Dizziness, nausea, and headache would fill my body and for sure, if I take it any more longer, I'll become drug dependent and there's no way one could stop me from taking it. I was fine with it. The very reason that I decided to go to the doctor is because my insomnia and anxiety have barricaded and disrupted my education. I missed a lot of classes and my re-entry forms were all unexcused. So there was no other way that I can fix myself up but take the wonderful pill.

The pill was a bugger and an angel at the same time. Why a bugger? Because it stopped and shut down my mind. I can no longer think once I took it. I can no longer stay up and read once I took it. I can no longer stay out and smoke all throughout the dark night and do the things that I usually do. An angel it is for it can make me sleep when it is very hard to do so. I can take a break from thinking, from confusing my own self even more without realizing that it's already dawn.

The doctor only allowed me ten tablets of the pill and I had to deal with it. As the nights went on, the pills dissolved each day until one night, two pills were only left. On the night of the second to the last tablet, I was in a very bad mood. I was confused, I was depressed to my bones. That night I went out to my smoking area: the parking lot. I sat there, looking at the night sky above, looking at the trees and chilled by the cold December air. It started drizzling and I watched the rain as it decreased until eventually the sky stopped crying, which was across me with fascination from the only lamp post across me, illuminating the parking lot. Sad indie songs filled my ears from my playlist and I had no one to talk to, I had no company except for my cigarette sticks, which I named as Black.

It's not that I was complaining that night. I was just happy that I felt sad. It can make me think whatever the hell I want to think about. All my frustrations, all my hopes, and all the things that I wish would happen to me. I welcomed every single thought that would come speeding at the sound of light inside my head. I entertained them, feeling the pain seep right through my skin and lounged itself right through my heart and mind. I cared not for it but I was happy that I was depressed once again. Don't think of this the wrong way. Sometimes, it's healthy to be in anxiety. Sometimes, it's a good thing to be depressed once in a while on a blue moon. 

As I way saying, a lot of things were bombarding and filling my head. I immersed myself with the idea and came up with a lot of things that were far from reality. It was one of my guilty pleasures in life. I had an outburst which I had no way to vent it and decided to hit the sack. I went back to my room and took the pill with my laptop on. After a few moments, I started to feel its effect kicking in my system. I decided to fight it, thinking that I can. I started to get "high" and was in a desperation mode that I need the feel of taking one more 10mg tablet. I started to chat random people, which I found out that it was embarrassing for me the next day when I woke up. Anyway, as I was chatting these random people, I started asking them if it's okay to take one more pill. I'm sure they had no idea what I was talking about but that night, I didn't just care and as what I have mentioned a while ago, I was feeling so desperate was a little high.

One told me one pill is enough, so did the other but the one had no idea and wished he can take pills like that as well. I went to the loo, walking funny like a drunk person, and felt like everything was moving as if there was an earthquake or something. I found my bed and crashed. The next night, I took my very last pill but before that, I was so giddy and in the state of euphoria which is one of the side effects caused by the pill. I decided to let go and slammed my eyes shut and it took me away from reality.

My neurology doctor prescribed me another drug and learning from my previous mistake, I decided to take a look at what the drug was all about. It was not a sleeping pill which surprised me but it was a drug to prevent panic attacks and anxiety. I was confused and I started to think why my doctor prescribed me this new drug which he provided three notes for the pharmacy to keep it. There are certain drugs that you can't just buy over-the-counter. Then it hit me. I remembered telling him that I had a history with a shrink. I used to go to a shrink who prescribed me three drugs: anti-psychotic, anti-depressant, and a neutralizer. I told him about my over-thinking problems and habits so I guess that was the reason that made him conclude that the reason why I can't sleep is because I think to much. What can I do? I like thinking even though I would always end up feeling confused and all. Maybe my doctor did the right thing even if my mold told me otherwise.

On the first night of my new pill, I was quite hesitant to take it for doubts filled me. I'm not some kind of a psycho, I'm still normal. It's just that I'm independent, I think a lot and my views on certain things are far from the views of other people around me. My lifestyle and my persona is different as well. I'm not bragging about anything nor I won't say that I am so beyond other people. So I was in my bed, lights all out, air-conditioning humming, earphones stuck on my ears, and an eye-blind blocking my eyesight. At first, as the pill was starting to seep in, my mind went blank. I tried to think but then would I would end up thinking another then my mind was taking control over me, making me think funny things and other thoughts that I knew nothing of. Until I blacked out and well, before I knew it, I was asleep until my alarm clock woke me up with my head hammering like mad. But on the other side, the one of the best feelings that I have experienced is when the pill would start to work even though it made me feel very uncomfortable. It's like I'm in a state that words are not enough to express it. Like Nirvana or something. It was like I'm in a state of a transcendental trance of something.

Now, I'll probably just find a way to deal with this and get a life. I hate it when people would tell me what to do. I'm old enough to think and make decisions on my own no matter how good or bad they may be. I'm aware of the circumstances that I will soon have to face and I know what I'm doing: I am living my life.

I Am A Slave

I am a slave.
A slave, by my own choice, driven by my own free will.
I am a slave.
Neither white nor black, but brown skinned, body ripening in youth.
I am slave.
Not paid, not commanded what to do or where to go.
I am a slave.
And this fact, I embraced without a doubt, with welcoming arms and a smile on my face.

The only Master I know and serve, lies within me. I have pledged my loyalty and life to Her. I will serve Her until Death strikes me black. Who She is, what She is, is clear. She's my Emotion. 

She lurks inside me, flowing freely inside my body, residing in my bones, pumping me my blood. She is the Shadow that follows my every more, the Words that come out of my mouth, the Thoughts that formulate inside my head. She is my Master and forever will I be Her slave.

I know it should be the other way around and I should be the Master. It should be that I am driving the chariot, holding the rein that keeps them in line, them horses. I should be the one who is navigating what road to take, how fast to go but no, I yielded like a Knight who has no honor. I had to let go and now they're in control, going to places I have never thought of going, meeting other whom I knew nothing of. Lost in this big sea of strangers, I lived with the flow, respecting my one and true Master.

**

I have been living the life of a hypocrite and now, I shall acknowledge it as I have failed to do so long ago. I have allowed myself to be tied up in shackles and I bolted myself in a dark and small cell, enslaving my own self to which, I gave the full power of command and taking over to my emotions which has then I considered as my master. I know what I am doing is wrong, and I know that it is supposed to be the other way around, me holding up the rein, striding gallant on the chariot, driving the horses that each have represented each and every emotion that I know of but it seems to me that I have given up the rein, threw them away, discarded and lying abandonally on the dirt road miles and miles behind me. I have given up my position as the warrior, the lady, and the navigator, idling lazily on the now worn chariot letting the horses go gallop and trot to whichever place that they want to go, not minding if the pace was too slow or too quick for me to comprehend, this I will repeat until I get to my point of being the one who's driven by the horses. Like what they always say, emotions are wild horses.

My belief lies on the books that I have read. My view in life, my motto, and all those sentimental perspective on things. I borrowed them, agreed to them but never conceded. To be honest, I didn't understand them at all but I would just underline them all, ponder about it for a little while then more towards the rest of the book. Dim witted, not smart, a person that I am. Ignorant beyond no doubt and with a tongue bluntly sharp but cannot poke enough to make you bleed and feel pain like a needle. I am nothing but sorrow, nothing but pain and confusion.

Perhaps I may be over reacting, you who doesn't? Touche, I'll say and I will give the toast to all those who are like me, hypocrites, damn us all. They say every being is a unique individual, going through their puberty and saying things like, “don't compare me, I'm not like the others.”, “I'm a different person and I don't give a damn to what people say.”, “I know what I'm doing and I know the consequence that I will have to face soon.”, “I'm unique! No one will ever understand me. No one ever does!”, BLAH.

This is a hard thing for me to go through, writing this all down with honesty as my mind says otherwise. A facade, as you may, I have planned and made and I promised myself to remain on guard and not let people come near me but I, for instance, have defeated the purpose of the wearing of masks, facades, a Truthful Masquerade as you might put it, a play of irony and sarcasm and these are the only things I'm good at. Not to brag about it but think of me as an arrogant person, but I have to say that I am completely proud of it. Ego, yes. Pride, yes. Call me names if you wish, nothing can stop me, no one can stop me, you, of all people, cannot and won't be able to stop me.

Let's just say that people change, given as a universal law, the only thing that is constant is change. Even the world changes, the people within it, even its physical aspect. The whole universe is bound to change whether we like it or not. We have to accept the fact that change is everywhere, change is the air we breathe, change is what we eat that fuels our every single identity. I change, too and I believe I instigated a foundation of a new change within me. People always say that we change for the better, but I really doubt it this time with me. This change will do me no good yet I want to accept it with my whole heart. This is my own prerogative, my own choice for a change and I will do nothing to stop it, I will do anything to keep myself away from not changing.

The consequence that I will soon have to face might not be good. It will twist my mind and turn me even more bitter and indifferent but I just don't care anymore. I have been focusing too much in analyzing and logically comparing and drawing out examples through endless cliches from around the world but nonetheless, I like doing it though. I'm not exactly planning to change for the better, to reach out to be happy. I'm done with it already and I have given up. 

Playing The Ace

I suck at lying. Well, I used to be really really good at it but now, my face or eyes would always give me away, even my lips.

I don't want to be a liar, well, I kind of want to now and I want to learn the Art of Lying. I'm not sure if this will make any sense at all or if I will gain any logical benefit from this process but still, I want to know how to lie without people knowing it and this time, I will play my Ace.

For now, all I want to learn is how to manipulate my thoughts and emotions in order for me to build up a facade, a mask, that no one will even recognize even if it means and even if it will come to  point where people will say that I have changed. I guess all I could reply to them is a shrug and then, flawlessly, I'll be able to shrug it off inside me as well.

I know how to build walls around me but then, for someone as impulsive as me, I can easily knock all the bricks and boulders down. Like what people always say, burning brigades is too damn easy. It's just a matter of striking up the fire.

Now I may some completely illogical, senseless, and unreasonable, bu hey, this is my own life and I'm in charge on whatever it is that I want to do, right or wrong, as long as I know what I'm doing and I know the consequences that I will soon have to face. Now, I don't give a damn, and I don't care. I'm doing this for my own good.

Manipulation is what I am going to do, even if it means that I will have to take control and monitor my own free self. A hard facade is what I need and for starters, no matter how much pain I feel there is, I have to learn how to separate myself from the pain. It's like being a water and not flinching or reacting when mixed with poison. I have to immune myself to any form of emotion that people will inject to me.

I'm sick of being the real me. I'm sick of people knowing me for who I am. It didn't work and now, I'm going to play their game. I will pretend, even to my own self and see how it feels. This way, I can choose who I want to be with and not break down in front of them. They will then begin to see me in a different perspective, a person they have never met before. Scurry, they will, I don't give a damn. I know the people who will still choose to be with my, defend my side, and it's already enough for me. 

I wont go running around and say that I'm sad, depressed, I need someone to talk to, blah. I've had enough of it. I will no longer tolerate the sarcastic sadness in their faces, I do not need their pity, for god's sakes!

This time my eyes will no longer have the power that can give me away. At this very moment, I'm having doubts, I must admit but then I know that this needs to happen even if I should experience this the hard way.

I am a human being, capable of reasoning and capable of feeling. I am a human being, and I am capable of manipulating my own emotions.

The Fine Line Between Politics and Religion

Human interest is one of the many reasons why sanity is sustained. There are many factors that contributes towards man as an individual being to form his belief on certain things and his rationality. As time goes on, manhood struggles to find their very reason of existence in this breathing planet. They have found things and regarded them as their very own life motivator to continue their path in this world. But the only think that have bothered me so far is the illusions and the wrong notions that people have gathered from different experiences, reading materials, and documentaries. They were not enlightened, but then, they were clearly blinded.

Going back to history, during the Puritan era, people fueled thier life with religion and their strong belief in the existence of the higher being, called God, who made the planet Earth, and who made them, directing their life, capable of bringing forth life and drawing it out as well. But some people went beyond and got crazed, overly engrossed that they have confused their own selves fearing only evil, misfortune, and death. But because of that, one philosopher stated that religion is an opium for the mass.

Some learned men, thought that this cannot be. The human beings are the highest form of power available in this planet. They resorted them to politics and called it power over anything that is reasonable and rational. They discredited the existence of God and turned him into an idol, believing only what is available in their eyes and devised a plan to topple down all religious body and cult around the world saying that it is pure evil, but then, if that is what happened, it clearly means that evil exists and by that, does it also mean that if there is evil, then there is also God. Isn't this a bit ironic?

Philosophical and Theological people have devoted their life trying to learn the mystery that is God himself but then what happens if Yeshua the Son of God, the only one true Saviour, and the Messiah comes running with the Holy Spirit in the picture? This can also be contradicted, given all the messianic prophecies and figures available from ages ago.

That, I don't want to comment on. People are subjected to respect everyone's own religious belief and spiritual belief and even those we have our own grounds as an individual, put in mind that the other around us holds the same as well. Living in this modern age, there is now a thin line between Politics and Religion. Political figures are now fighter over titles to become the leader of the human race, capable of changes the course of humanity disrupted by natural phenomenons but during their campaigns, one can clearly see that they have wrapped up their own religious background and pushed it inside the figure to make the people love them and think that he or she is the perfect leader capable of changing the human race for the better, which means, of course, to make them rich...with money in any form.

These political figures who are fighting over power even dragged religion into their political plans and contextualized their campaign speeches so that people will melt and believe in them. They are using power in the wrong way. They planned different kinds of propaganda campaigns and staged everything as if the masses are only puppets, slaves who would whatever the government wants them to do. Manipulation of power and the trick of the tongue became a chess board fight within these "high" people of ranking, reeking with lies and dirty money. 

Many bloods have been shed, people burning and killing their own self, crying for freedom and equality, mounting on revolutions that these High People won't ever give them. The "Tatsulok" or inverted triangle mentality will always exist in this era, that people are divided between class and race. Does it really matter?

Everyone eats the same food, breathes the same kind of air, works the same job, but it's as if the lives of the people have now been altered due to the thirst of other people. They thirst for power, not knowledge, they thirst to manipulate, not spread the truth. Pride always gets in the way and egos are puffed into big black holes inside their brains.

Even the media is reeked with lies and full of biases, siding a certain political figure, hiding his bad side and making up stories of his goodness and his intelligence. Wit and knowledge level is measured through numbers, numbers that don't really mean a thing. Now people are trying to be one of the High Ones, working their asses off the wrong way, and in the end, what? They still die like any other living being in the world.

Is this a life worth living?

The Cynic and Fairy Tales

Cynical-
Adjective

1. Believing that people are motivated by self-interest; distrustful of human sincerity or integrity.
2. Doubtful as to whether something will happen or is worthwhile. 

True as this accurate definition maybe, having Googled and witnessed by my own eyes, I am not satisfied by the vague definition that the search engine has given me.

Only one word made sense though: distrustful.

I can make it sound like this is about politics but then this isn't going to be a political analysis regarding the people's cynical perspective against the government's whereabouts. In fact, I think I'd rather dwell on a simple micro-level perspective of a human individual than do so but I must admit that this is rather quite tedious and well, very confusing and blunt. 

I'll summon up what's left inside this head of mine and try to adhere with the definition that I have picked above and fully wrap myself in it like a journalist, writing an article with over 400 bloody words out of a few given details.

Fairytales have ruined a lot of people's childhood. They made other girls daydream about things that do not actually exist. These girls would eventually end up thinking that they can become a princess, have a silly stick grasped in their right hand which they call a magic wand, a fairy, a mermaid, or any of those blasted fairytale folk available and spoon-fed to them by these creators of art and creativity spun nicely by the help of the human mind, when they grow up but sorry to cut the strings- this just won't happen or ever will.

Sure, I've been through my childhood, I've been engrossed with these fairytales and to some point, I was one of the girls, wishing that I can become a mermaid. I've read hard bounded books and collections about Cinderella, Snow White, Little Mermaid, The Princess and the Frog, Sleeping Beauty, Aladdin, etc., and different versions even!

What can I do? I was a little child then, and a girl, for god's sakes! Don't glare at me like you didn't go through your childhood fantasies as well. If you're a boy then you probably dreamt of becoming a knight or a prince defeating a large and ferocious fire breathing dragon and a knight in a shining armor, siting up on a large and gallant horse, saving and sweeping the love of your life off her feet.

I know that this is just like one of those cliche crap when you found out that Santa Claus is not real, that he's just your dad who made an excuse one Christmas night to dump the garbage outside but actually went to dress himself up as Santa Claus and trudged inside your house faking a merry "ho-ho-ho" but son, "ho" right now, actually means "whore".

The fairytales we know are twisted and revised to have a happy ending in the end of it but if you take a good look and spare some bit of your time to know the truth about an exact story, you might as well stare in shock, horror, or amusement that a happy ending never really did exist.Just like how Cinderella's evil stepsisters cut some flesh of their foot just so the glass slipper would fit them, like how Sleeping beauty was raped, and like how the Little Mermaid we knew became a bubble of nothingness and disappeared in the sea along with the waves.

I can think of a reasonable amount of cliche examples right now starting with novels, songs, and movies. Typical. But anyway, we don't always stay in our childhood. As time goes by, we experience change within and outside our body. The world itself also experience these changes, and we are one factor that have brought upon the change in this world.We then learn that there are a lot of good books beside the fairytales that have molded our childhood.

From fairytales, girls have finally leveled up and matched it with something that can satisfy them emotionally and maturity. They discovered the power and wondrous magic of romantic comedy, romance, and chic flicks. Yes, this is another cliche, but then, it never gets old.

People have diverted to modify and re-enact childhood fairytales into a cliche Hollywood romantic films and the results are even worse! The fairytale fantasies that have ran dry and remained stagnant as the adolescent stage took place was now re-awoken because of those infuriating and eye rolling chic flicks, (thank you, Katherine Heigl, for lying, thank you, Kristen Stewart, for being such a flirt, thank you, Julia Stiles for falling in love with a prince, etc., etc.) that have consumed and turned such intelligent girls into nit-wits and twats, working their way out to have a perfect face, spending money on make-ups and funny looking dresses, and completely ignoring all the good foods around them just so they can have the perfect hourglass shaped body, basing their life on movies and acting as if they're the lead characters. *Pukes.

And thanks to you, Taylor freaking Swift, for evoking tthe power of your crappy Romeo and Juliet song and those stupid shallow songs with irritating lyrics and your face is just so stiff! I know you have a reputation to uphold, but seriously, you're just adding up to the problem why girls right now are like zombies, making them feel a false feeling using the Doctrine of Ethos and stirring up to mess their heads to become so shallow. I mean, hey, your songs are love songs but I daresay that love is not just a simple thing that you can express in such a funny and shallow way, I mean look at the guys from Coldplay, from Snow Patrol, from Indie scenes. They have more sense than you have but why are you so famous than them? Is it because of your good looks? I don't think so. Maybe you brewed a perfume and enchanted the people with it? (Thank god, I wasn't affected.) Girls end up listening to your songs on hours and end, dancing and singing at the top of their lungs along with the beat but after a few hours, like perfume, it just vanishes, leaving them feeling more engrossed and, I don't know, maybe hopeless? 


Now, look at the world, everyone's like brainwashed already and now teens have resorted to some crappy vampire fantasies, (no offense, Stephanie Meyer, but really, it just sucks but how can I blame you? I mean, it would defeat the purpose of you being a writer and that's how you make your money, right?) making girls dream that someday, on a full moon , one dashing and mysterious looking man would appear inside their room, skin cold as ice, eyes burning shades of ember, and sparkling?!, and leave them with vampire marks on their necks. *Vomits!

Seriously, can things get anymore twisted?! I guess I'm just too cynical and very ignorant on this matter but then again, this is my opinion and I have to admit, with a heavy heart, that I have to accept and respect the likes of the people around me. I mean, I can't blame them for liking Harry Potter and making laughable fanfictions out of it, it's their own choice and it's what makes them happy or it even relaxes them as they daydream and think about what plot are they going to make to come up with the most amazing story, ever!

What grounds and reasons do I have to insult such people like those I have mentioned above? I guess none. I'm not even famous of something but I believe in the power of the human individuality, not afraid to voice out what I have inside my head even though I'll get criticized and hated. It just doesn't matter anymore. Everyone has hater, and I'm one of your haters, girls. Democracy it is!

I guess I have diverted away from what I have promised to write about but then, I'm me and I can't help it. I'm a cynic, who doesn't believe in such funny fairytales but I do believe that one day, my other half would take me and sweep me off my feet and we'll have our own twisted ending together. Someday...  and don't even make me start about soulmates. This might go on forever.

The Life I Live

The darkness is working its way to paint the canvas bright gray sky. Soon enough, dark will fall and the wind will howl with a little promise of rain that will cause the ground to emit an earthly smell that will remind the people in this industrialized age that the earth is to be heralded and nurtured.

Soon, the people in this side of the world will retire to their own respectable residences and rest along with the people around them while on the other side of the world, people will abandon their beds and go out of their quarters and allow the bright yellow sun to dance on their skin.

Now my heart is beating from the dazed state I'm in, perplexed and worried about what to do with my life at school. I seem to have missed a lot of classes and I know that it's half my fault and the other one is the fault of my bloody alarm clock that have seemed to stopped its duty to wake me up on ungodly hours.

I admit that I miss the old routine of my life that was full of bliss and purity, waking up before dawn to go over my meditation and chanting and doing it again before I go to sleep. I miss the food that I used to eat strictly without the tinge of blood or veins in it and therefore I have cleansed my body on such unwanted dirt made by human hands.

My physical body is out of tone now given the busy and lazy lifestyle that  have, depriving me of bliss and good flow of air and blood inside my human body. I miss the life where I would go on and read about the Vedic scriptures that have piqued my interest and brought me to the other side of the world, full of mystique possibilities that can happen in an individual's life but now I'm stagnant.

I'm stagnant like a sea of flood showered upon by the heavens to the land of the mortals with no path or tunnel to go. Stagnant, smelly, and dirty like a canal water that have remained, touched by impurities in a carved hollow earth. My vices are to be blamed, consisted of the heavy smoke billowed about by the crushed and dried tobaccos wrapped in a stick and the damned bottles containing alcohol that can make you do things that will make you regret after consuming it.

I know this is purely typical in the world of mortals, indifferent and ignorant about the life that they're in, shadowed and veiled by confusion. People work their asses off, making money and wasting it. Is that the whole reason of their existence in this world? I hope not. 

How about those damned religious fanatics who remained on grounds and ignorant as well at what they believe in? Living life like a martyr and following the foots steps of a man they have never seen? They are too crowded and locked in their own little heads, believing that religion can save them but alas not, I daresay, that it is their own and very faith that will push them up above to Nirvana, or the Pearly Gates, or whatever you may call the place of pure happiness and contentment.

I don't want to go on and talk about life since I'm just starting my journey. I am young, just slightly contented and wary about the world, not knowing  what kind of life I would lead on after a few years that will some to pass by in a blink of an eye.

People are subjective to change and so, there is no consistency and assurance. If things for me will change in the future, then so be it.

Journal 1

My life consisted of constant reading, heavy smoking, coffee inducement, and of course, writing until my fingers and hand would ache but then, I don't mind.

I am a Sophomore college student in a conservative and strict Catholic University as I have been on my past years of education. What's funny is that given the fact that I'm not very religious and I do not comply to the observances and daily routines of a Catholic person, yet here I am, educated in a Catholic institutions with obligatory Catholic subjects that I have to go through every single year.

Anyway, I know I have my own individual rights to voice out my own opinion about religion but this is not the right time to do it and I'm not in the right position and grounds to say anything against the Catholic and its people.

Right now I don't really know where this writing will take me. My Muse didn't arrive even though I was pumped up since hours ago to write. I've been waiting for her since like forever with my Black buddy, emitting smoke from its white and slender body. Anyway, I'm done with my guilty pleasure. Yeay! Although I just finished reading one, I can say that I'm not addicted to it any longer. Unlike before that I would like, stop everything and read until my eyes would burn and itch, not caring if I stayed up until dawn or something.

I have to say that I'm a nocturnal being. Given that I love the moon, the night sky, and the stars, I cannot just stop myself from doing nothing and go directly to sleep. I mean, I used to love sleeping more than anything else and right now I still do but damn, staying up late at night is taking it's toll on me and my education has to suffer!

I've been skipping my morning classes since that start of the second semester just to sleep in until noon or even until the dark is about to bite! I feel like an agent at a call center doing the graveyard shift! The reason why I stay up at night is because I want to get my body used to being up at night to study and make sure that the lessons at classes are stuck inside my head but sadly, I entertained a lot of distractions and they are keeping me away from opening my notes from school.

What the heck, I mean, I'm not the only one who's doing this, right? I guess there are a lot of people who are like me and it just so happen that I don't really know them. They might be miles away from me or they might be stuck in another country.

Anyway, I do have to go to sleep. Class at 0800 am tomorrow. Phew. I wish tomorrow, I mean, today is a Saturday so I could just sleep in without having time hot on my heels. 

The Sequel

My history consisted of: Puberty+ Suicidal Attempts & Rock Songs+ Rebellion+ Angst+ Obsessive -Compulsive Buying Disorder+ Anti-Psychotic & Anti-Depressant Pills+ Apostacy+ Peer Problems+ Teenage Labels & Stereotyping+ Late Night Parties+ Indifference= Making A Statement.

Pretty cliched? Or pretty familiar?

But seriously, I think it was mainly about “Gnothi Seauton”. You know, knowing myself and who am I, what’s my purpose, why do I exist? Blah. Because of that, I became a “suki” in my school’s Guidance Counseling Office where I shouted, threw a fit, laughed, cried (always), bit my lower lip in guilt and upon going out, of course: the usual new wave of sunny perspective and fresh air that it’s not always too late to change.

When I was in elementary, it was my favorite ENGLISH teacher who saved me.
When I was in high school, it was my favorite ENGLISH teacher who gave me my very wet wake up call: I was late in getting the exams because I went to Singapore to “clear my mind & get away” from school. So I took special exams and by the time Sir Boy gave me my English test paper, it consisted of my usual long essay, low score and well, a little note for me:

Tami,

Indifference and laziness will take it’s toll upon you… I am so concerned about you because you are so “gifted” yet you are not using it for your future. WAKE UP!

Sir Boy

And before I knew it, I was crying right in front of my girlfriends. Now, let’s see what will happen in College.
I graduated in high school without any major awards to be proud of. I actually had a messy graduation, due to the fact that I was called in the Principal’s office because of MATH. But boy! My wide smile erupted when Sir Boy published 3 articles that I wrote and made by heart in compliance to my English class. He took out my projects and published it on our school’s official publication paper and guess what, I actually had a full page back to back spot about my testimony that having “12 fingers” is nothing to be ashamed of.

Now you see, I was an Hija from Hijas, an Angelican from Angelicum, and now, I am a Paulinian from St. Paul University. Pretty religious and Catholic, right? But now I guess you’ve heard how much I abhor and rattle about anything that is religious and Catholic. Just ask my Rel Ed teachers. (Mind you, why did they named it as “Religious Education” when in fact they only teach about anything that is purely Catholic? It should be named Catholic Education or something.)

If you believe in such things as third eyes, auras, premonitions, precognitions, etc., I’m the one to talk to.

Before you continue reading, PLEASE DON’T FREAK OUT.

I’ve had my fair share of people freaking out and mumbling how weird I am.

My 6th sense WAS pretty much active. I used to see people, beings, I used to hear them call me, and 
they’re always with me. Well, they’re actually around us. Even right now. Yeap. Right at this very moment. (Oh dear, I hope you’re with someone. Your cats can actually see ‘em.)

Want to hear more?

Shocker: I am very active in dreamland which I refer to as the “Other World”.

I have talked to St. Dominic. I was kneeling in front of him then, he suddenly MOVED. Have you seen the book he’s always holding? Well, you might envy me because he actually let me read it, being the bookworm that I am.

The book was in an ancient language, duh, and guess what. I have read it fluently and that I have actually understood it! My, the earthquake right outside the church stopped as soon as I have stopped reading the paragraph which he instructed me to read.

And Yeshua. Yeap, THE Jesus. I was with him too, twice, actually. When I met him he was nailed on his cross but he was pretty clean, without the cuts, blood, and the bruises. Without the thorns, even. He smiled and gave me a small silver globe with a cross on the top of it. What is it? It felt so real that I had to transport back to “This World”.

My mom knew everything about it, in fact, she was even with me during my battles that I have bluntly told her that there was demon lurking on the wall.

Have you ever experienced that your soul was being pulled out from your body? Literally. I did! It only stopped when “someone” touched my forehead and there was a blinding light which came from nowhere then the pulling out stopped. That’s when I stopped seeing things and hearing them.

Oh, and I can tell the future, well, just a wee bit of it. My mom actually accused me of eavesdropping one time because I told her something that’s not supposed to be something that I should know about. But of course, it also came with advantages. I get to warn my family if something’s going to happen. Like one time I dreamt of a really big fire and later that afternoon, oh gods, some building here in Iloilo are burning down.
Strange, huh?

Coming to the “light” part: I started doing yoga, I became a strict vegetarian, and I started doing crazy meditations and chanting in Sanskrit before I got to bed and before Apollo would come out and drive his golden chariot up the sky to wake up half of the globe. It was pretty nice, I recommend it. I became radiant and blooming (char!), I became healthy too. But then college.

Holy Molly.

College had to ruin it. Or should I say that I allowed college to ruin it. Then, that leads us to:

Bang Bang: Apostacy

Faith is a rational weapon, more powerful than any implement of war ever made by man. A mass of dead people are walking in this Earth, eating with me, living with me, laughing with me, conversing with me. My thoughts about this matter are beyond words. I am an apostate.

 

I believed. I yielded. I learned. I deviated. Am I to be considered dead as well? i was raised as a Catholic, papers and act. I came from a family of devout Catholic believers. I was educated in Catholic institutions. I went to Catholic events and took part in its religious practices. I saw the Redeemer in my dreams. I talked to saints in my dreams. Then I became an apostate, a turn-coated rat.

 

Now I find myself extremely liable for my own accounts on whatsoever that is veiling this huge and revolving breathing sphere. Noticeably, I just earned myself a label that will soon provide no significant memory as each day would pass and die. As an apostate, what will become of me? A quisling capable of ruining my own youth?

 

Rotting in hell is a rational and sensible thought to give me the creeps for a moment but then, what comes next? If faith is rational, then so is fear. A biological being I may be, wandering this world with auras of things and emotions that my eyes cannot see, am I still subject to feel fear? Am I not exempted t be saved when the so called Rapture is transparently roving the face of this momentarily living planet?

I am an apostate, self-proclaimed. I lie. I laugh. I trick. I fool mt own self, utterly lacking the beliefs that was presented to me by my family, my alma matter, my mentors, and the last priest who heard my awful deviation during my last desireless and regurgitated confession on the holy grounds of a sacred and antiquated Catholic colony.

 

I looked up, today, at the crying sky and saw a big man looking at me.

 

He had a gun and he pointed the weapon at me.

 

Bang. Bang.

 

 

 

The Dean

We were alone for a while in your office.

You asked me, no. You demanded me, in a nice way, that I should write I letter of promise to you and I obliged. So there I was, sitting on a chair and writing the letter on a clean sheet of bond paper on your desk.

You, on the other hand, was facing your computing, typing away a thesis as you once in a while look at the bounded thesis propped open on the table beside you.

Silence emanated. My heart was thumping as your fingers pounded on the keyboard. It was an awkward moment. Well, for me it was.

I really forgot who broke the silence but my instincts right now are telling me that I was the one who spoke first.

You see, I really felt nervous that time. Okay, I admit that I was already nervous before that.

Right after class, I went to my favorite legit coffee shop called Madge which is located inside the La Paz market. I had my usual glass of iced coffee and I was reading the Time magazine and a novel titled Emma simultaneously.

Between 0500pm to 0530pm, I received an SMS from Eddyl. He asked me where I was and so I replied to him. After a couple of seconds, he replied and told me that I should go to Brew that very moment because you're looking for me.

Perplexity showered me that very moment so I jumped out of my chair, grabbed my things and went to the counter to pay and I made my way out of the market. It was drizzling that time and the jeepneys as well as the private vehicles are moving so slow.

I took a La Paz jeep, hoping for the little traffic jam to subside. I was unloaded at the loading and unloading area and I found myself brisk walking towards Brew.

When I was still inside the jeepney, a battle was going on inside my head.

"Why do you want to see me?"
"Probably it's about my grades and poor performance at school."
"No, probably it's about my tremendous amount of skipping classes."
"Still, what is it about?"

Or worse yet:

"Did I win an award or something?"
"Am I invited to a very important seminar or something?"
"Am I gonna represent the school for something"

Foolish of me.
My head was thumping hard and I really really felt nervous, I feel like choking.

Anyway, I arrived at Brew and quickly found Eddyl, Therese, and L.A aka Mangyan.
I asked Eddyl why did you call for me and he said that you wanted to talk to me about something at around 0645pm.

Oh shoot.

A stampede inside my head occurred again and one thought popped out:

"Did you found out about my family problem?"
"The transferring of school?"
"The QUITTING of school?"

Yadda. Yadda.

So, since 0645pm was still ages away, I decided to eat so I ordered.

I opened the novel and started to read but I slammed it shut. I just couldn't read!

I took the Time magazine out from my white folder and started to read, I just can't!

I talked to Eddyl. Laughed.

I blabbered to Therese. I shut up.

Food came and my god! I ate like a hungry fool while reading the Time magazine.

So the time came and I walked with Eddyl and L.A to school under the cloak of darkness.
I am a fast walker but this time, I was walking slow behind the two of them and I have to say that I had to put out a big effort just for me to walk slow. It's so hard and energy draining. No wonder models walk fast.

We arrived at St. Joseph building and climbed up the stairs to your office. The Mangyan came in first and Eddyl had to make a leak. After leaking, he went in. He closed the door.

I was left outside. It was my choice. I leaned my side on the wall next to your door, battling when to come in.

Screw it!

I went in and I felt really really awkward that I kept my mouth shut most of the time. Then the boys left and it was just the two of us.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

So, as I was saying, we talked for a while then we stopped.

Awkward.

Then, I decided to tell you something about me.

Now, I know that you saw the SUDDEN change in my face, right?
You saw the weight that I was carrying, not unless you're insensitive but then I know for a fact that you're not. You're actually good at "reading" people, being into Theater and such.

You see, I had no one to talk to. Yeap. No one. It isn't indifference nor introvert-ism but it was my prerogative not to tell anyone about it. I can't seem to find the RIGHT person to talk to and I just can't find the right words to say.

But then, there I was, sitting in your blue green chair, talking to you, while trying to push down the walls I have inside my heart and barriers around the portion where my spoiled emotions settle.

So what I did was, I called my horse inside my stable and let it drive my chariot of  "Screw it. You're not a robot, Jazmin so stop denying that you are hurt, alone, and well, Merlins knows what."

It wasn't easy. Nope it wasn't but I feel the need to talk to you about it.
So, I started talking and just as I was in the verge of softening--

BAM!

The boys arrived!

YAY!

 ~bottomline: bad news never had good timing.

A Song

How long will this go on until a night will come that I will have no tears to wipe?

How long will this go on until a night will come that I can sleep so tight?

How long will this go on until a night will come that I won't feel a weight upon my heart?

Salty as the morning breaks, forging a forced smile to etch upon my face,

Pale, my lips project, as I bit my lip to hold back the words in mind I left unsaid.

Grasp this hand again you once so held under the gazing yellow stars above.
Tell me you forgive me, inept I may be.
Tell me you forgive me and I'll never let go.

Cry, I did tonight again as I do so every single passing day.
Bleed, my heart beats only when you speak to me..

Look at me with those eyes under the gazing yellow lights.
Tell me you love me, inept I may be.
Tell me you love me and I'll never let go,
only then you'll know how you bring the color in me.

Harlequin's Arrest

What happened to the girl who can fight the urge to cry?

What happened to the girl who can remain still as a stone even if the people around her are shivering with silent sobs and sadness?

What happened to the girl who can manipulate her mind and emotions to stimulate nothing that will push her to feel something?

What happened to her?

Just what happened to her?

Now, she finds herself crying over lame things that are shallow enough to be thought of. She felt repulsed by what she had done to herself, felt repulsed and disgusted by the sensitivity she had recently developed for allowing herself to feel even the lightest feeling there is.

What made her change so easily?

What made her realize that it's okay to cry after all?

She felt like she's hanging on the edge of the cliff with the most unbelievable thick stream of salt-water cruising down her cheeks. She felt ashamed of herself that she actually broke down. Nothing significant happened to her, nothing tragic either and this confused her to bits, trying to remember what took place inside her mind before the tears flowed out from her brown orbs. She's shaking, mentally, heart heavy and breaths uneven. She needs a plan.

The world is no longer safe for her yet she suddenly felt that crying is addicting. She wants to cry long enough that it will lull her to sleep tonight but then she found it completely nonsensical. She must not cry, ever again. She must not cry, if that is utterly possible.

Stone walls.
Red bricks.
Heavy boulders.
Thick wood.

Decidedly, she started to act passive, eyes fixed and batting. With full determination she started to work and built several layers of defense around her heart. She blocked everything there is. Nothing can perforate whatever it is that she's trying to do right now. Nobody can stop her from the decision she have irrevocably made. Nothing. No one.

As world turned halfway to greet the moon's full potential, she went inside the cage and bolted the strong iron doors lock. Out from a small hole she inserted her hand. It was greeted by a harsh cold wind.She opened her hands, palm flat and facing up the dark sky, she blew the key that could only open the cage that she will permanently live in.

The key flew up into nowhere, traveled through thousands of miles into unknown lands. It landed somewhere. Somewhere for someone.

Lurking and sulking, she waited. She sat, cold and dim, heartless, lifeless.

She's waiting.

Waiting.

For someone.

Waiting.

Just Because...

One plain fact and truth hit me like a slap on my right cheek all of a sudden, although I would very much like to offer my left cheek as well but I don't think that it is no longer necessary. It wasn't really like a light bulb moment but it's brightness is like the same amount of light emitted by the fluorescent bulb above my head: I can never really write perfectly about love- yes, love- because love and I aren't in good terms for maybe a little longer than three years.

I have been in love, of course, since I myself is a human being and like everyone else around me, I'm capable of thinking, reasoning, defending myself, laughing, crying, and of course- feeling. But that was a long time ago, considering the fact the time runs fast, that I was actually in love with someone of my opposite sex and given that it was only brief, I daresay, and full of grief, it was still love. I was never good at handling matters that are related to love because I tend to get overrun by my emotions. What scares me right now is the idea and the "what if" feeling that I will never be in good terms with love. If this is to happen, oh by god, I hope not, I would be very sad and frustrated with myself. Tragic, really.

It would be a backlash for me, calling myself a writer of the inner sort, for lacking the ability to utter and write words and testimonies about love that were only generated from poems, pictures, songs, books, movies, and stories of the people I know of around me. What defeats my purpose as a writer, although not that good, is that I cannot dutifully finish writing about love, even with visible passion, with pleasantness or an upbeat motivation on such course of topic without being vague, redundant, and gloomy.

Right now I can feel that perplexity is creeping over me while I am pursuing my head to think and write with my trembling left hand and not to mention the tightness of my chest due to constant and heavy smoking of Marlboro. Anyway, with perplexity at hand, I am sure of the fact that I currently am not in love but just adjusting myself to like someone that I know a small detail about who happens to have the same interests as I do and as much as I can swallow, the vain proceedings of my feelings happen to be just some sort of admiration for him with the barring and borrowed line from a move- just because he likes the same bizzaro crap I do doesn't mean he's my soulmate.

Admiration, infatuation, and love are three different things, although they tend to blend and par as one in the center- an invisible sort of electric energy with crazy colors and neon lights that enables a human being to feel, do, and say silly things. They differ in levels as in comparison to Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I have to openly admit that I would very much like to actually finish one good and sensible piece of literature about love, all it's chains and knots, while being in love with someone, for all I have written about are woeful laments about angst, dark clouds, bitter and spiteful experiences, perceptions, and insights. The soft curls and sharp corners of my calligraphy would present an appropriate proof for all of it.

Just because I'm not good in writing about love doesn't mean that I can never will succeed in doing so. At least I know that I'm trying and maybe if I do try again, then the whole point of my piece would go in a different direction, in a different manner, and hopeful insight. Maybe I should try again, sometime soon, and remember the span of time wherein I was in love but then that would mean that I have to travel back in time and remove the white and dusty sheets covering my forgotten emotions that I wasn't able to understand before and unlock the treasure boxes containing the files of the decisions that I made with the ripeness of my mind from long ago.

No, I am not that old. I'm not even in the halfway of my life yet and I guess that is one of the reasons that I cannot write about love. Maybe love is simple and I am the one trying to confuse myself thinking that it is impossible to dice and slice like how the wrong knight with the wrong fate and heart tried to remove the Excalibur from the rock. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe I will have to give it my shot although I know for a fact that I will struggle in this project, wishfully thinking about when will love come to me and shake my hands so that we could be friends again and start over like it's New Year's day. I know it's utterly confusing and it would entail a person who knows how and what he feels to easily write about love with the exactness of words and sentences to make a lovely accolade to love.

Just because love is tricky, love is blind, love is a game, love is mysterious, love is deadly, and just because it's basis varies from one person to another, from one relationship to another, from one situation foundation to other doesn't mean that I will never fall in love again.

*char! :D

Unleashing The Freak

Cassandra.

She looked at the starless sky above her, sad brown eyes wandered slowly at the large mantle covering the wonderful things that the naked eye holds no capacity to see more than what's available for it so see. She allowed herself to relax and drummed her long delicate fingers on the concrete flat floor supporting her weight and resting beneath her as it breathes together with the rolling of car wheels and people walking, running, and jumping. She shivered as the wind passed by, making some strands of her long brown hair dance lightly before dropping back to her shoulder in a new placement and position.

Judging from the look of her face, one can conclude that she is at peace with everything there is. One can say that there is no amount of sadness residing inside her body. It's a big shame for her because what lies beneath her is the mad flickering of thoughts and unknown emotions waiting for her to be deciphered, comprehended, and accepted.

As the dark clouds glide by, she felt her heart gain more weight while doing its job to keep her alive as it pumps the very red fluid that is responsible for her biological existence. She made herself think that she is the very core of her own biased understanding about the world and its revolution around the dark universe that is the abode of innumerable magnificent wonders that are yet to be discovered.

As age traces down her body, Cassandra delights and resents the obvious and hidden changes that are taking place around and inside of her while at the same time she discovers and experience both the shameful and humiliating activities of a human being.

As the sky works to make itself look dark with the passing of time, she sighed to herself, unable to organize the sequence of her thoughts while summoning them ignorantly. She kept confusing the past with the present and so she stood up, ran her fingers through her hair and went inside her bedroom,  feeling the cold floor beneath her naked feet. She found her bed and collapsed in it while sobbing quietly with her eyes open wide and gaze fixed on the ceiling above her. Her mind started to make a short film for her, of what she had hope would happen, of what she hoped herself to be. Cassandra felt the cold and sharp pangs of loneliness biting her. It slowly ripped and damaged the skin on her chest, tore her flesh, and made their way to her heart causing its beating to falter.

The only visible light of sound she can hear is her slow and heavy breathing. As the little things go, so did her tears. They came out bold like gallant and shimmering pearls of perplexity and naivety. She savored the moment of crying, remembering the feeling when she was about to do so. Her chest would usually tighten and the amount of blood that her heart could pump would be enough to fill 6 empty Coca-Cola bottles. Her jaw would then ache as if she's teething her Wisdom Tooth while trying to resent and consume the unknown and pleasurable feeling of different kinds of amusing emotions present at the moment.

Thick emotions veiled around her body like a new skin growing and she can feel herself choke down into the obscurity of vast deepness and stillness. For a moment she wished herself dead right now and she shifted the course of her mind to the silly idea of dying. She flicked off the movie and pictured herself lying still on the ground, her chest ceasing the activity of rising and falling.

Then a new wave of thoughts washed away the dirt inside her mind and the big ball of fire stood up above the sky. That was the end of the fall and the freak was unleashed out from her chest, passing through her eyes, rolling down her cheeks with clarity and transparency. That was the main purpose of crying, of breaking down, of crumbling and shaking.

She was happy when things were lighter, when things where brighter. She was happy once and it's not hard to be happy again.

His Blind Side

Holding out a blue cup containing the hearts of those who have passed by and noticed his soul, he was situated under a post with his back leaning on its pole. Nestled between his tired legs is his little kid with big brown eyes, innocent by age, devouring a small cob of corn while wishing that it could sustain and fill his empty basket in the middle of his fragile and young body.

The old man, skin dark and wrinkled with age, portrayed a face that speaks a life lived with love and content amidst the mishaps that have shattered his being. “Ang bulag, gapangita tawo. Tawo man kita, gamiton ta ang ulo ta.” Mang Ernesto Inocencio, 59, said.

On 1977, his world blacked out, at the young age of 22. He was fishing on that fateful day in Carles, his hometown. Under the scorching heat of the sun, salt-aired ambience, and the pangs of misfortune, he met his Waterloo. Mang Ernesto was eager to bring home a good catch but instead, he brought home his body- minus his sense of sight. He released the dynamite into the open sea but tragic as it is, the dynamite backfired and left him a remembrance embedded in his face for all throughout his life. But mang Ernesto is bulletproof and God has other plans for him.

During his lightless manhood, he married Remedios who bore him 5 children. After she died, he married Linda and they were blessed with 4 children. After Linda died, unable to bear the loneliness and losses in his heart, he married again! Fearing that his heart would go stale, he found Ninette and together they promised eternity. She bore him 5 children to take care of but eventually, God took her away. “Tanan sila masanag kag ambot kun ngaa nagkalamatay sila.” Mang Ernesto humored the air with his way of words describing those who could see as “masanag”.

It was 1992 when he married Criselda. Together they raised 9 children; one of them is still finishing the cob of corn in his hands. “Ah, si Criselda, dulom to siya iya. Pareho kami.” Together they live in La Paz, contented with the simple life that they have as long as they can eat three meals a day, no longer minding what the food is or how little is available. “Love is blind.” He quoted, thankful about the past love affairs he has, with all of his 3 desceased wives accepting him as what he is. “Siling sang Diyos, go and multiply. Gina sunod ko man lang ang Bibliya.” Mang Erenesto’s youth may have stayed with him.

            For a few moments, Mang Ernesto would pause as the passersby would look at him, battling inside their minds whether to give or not to give him a little of the rattling coins inside their purse. He is thinking, perhaps, about the life that he is living in, thinking about what would happen the moment he leaves this place to pick up his children from school so that they could go home together, bringing with him his bag full of things like a clock and a flash light.

            How would he manage to do that, given that he is a handicap? Perhaps 37 years of a life deprived from light have taught him things that people who can see are blind enough to learn and realize? Maybe Mang Ernesto’s blind side had made him understand that the priceless and beautiful things in this world are not for the eyes to see but only for the heart to be felt. 

Other World

Traveling in the Other World is something that I always look forward to. It is an open space, secluded in secrets, and a place that can shell me with full-fledged possibility that I no longer necessitate for a ticket, a passport, or even a single dime just to crossover.

I can travel there.

Yeah, no doubt that I can.

In almost any time of any day, in any week and in whatever month and year, I can always reach the Other World. Without any restraints or the need for me to bring along my identification card or traveling permit, I can enter the portal to the Other World. I can even stay there as long as I want to, feel like home, without having to face reality based limitations and drawings of law from This World. I can do almost anything there, live a life full of freedom, and say anything that I want to say.

I love living in the Other World.

I love the wind that splits through my salt-skinned body like how I love the wind when it blows my dark brown mass of hair which covers my head and as it flows, windswept, I can breathe.
I love how my stale heart can feel deeply every single sense of emotion present around me, heightening my six senses and allowing me to feel even the strangest feeling there is.
I love how my pale lips can utter the words that I cannot even hear by my own ears, how I can speak without even realizing that I am talking to a complete stranger or someone from This World that I haven't even spoken to before.

Today, however, I have been trying hard summon my sense of sagacity for me to remember even the darkest and unpleasant experiences that I have from the Other World. Right now, I just can't. I cannot fathom even to think all those mishaps and sad occurrences, not to mention that I will have to find a way to best describe them and put them out to words and this would entail the sharp bottles of my memory to recover even the nearest emotion that I have felt during those times of trouble. I cannot bear to think of facing them and looking them in their eyes once more, reminding me that I have never even tried to face and defeat them instead of surfacing into the portal, succumbing my body to return to This World with my eyes wide open, shocked.

I feel that I can no longer share the darkest of my stays in the Other World for these are the still events of chaos and loneliness deep inside me. The Other World have failed to deliver the things that I wish would happen to This World. It is a disappointing truth, a sad trail of reality, echoing with my footsteps, in the dark of the doom.

--from Two Lives. part 2

Two Lives

I am salt skinned. My eyes are big, brown and expressive. Sometimes they would look like they are shinning, so light and full of bliss but most of the time they would look dark and black, utterly indifferent of what is happening around me and when my eyes are in the state of wonder, then anyone would know that I am currently living in the Other World.

My hair is brown as well, short but straight with uneven lengths. Sometimes my hair is soft, smooth, and shiny. Sometimes my hair is damp, dull, and dry, depending on the occurrence of the humid and on how I have combed it before going out of my house in This World.

I live and breathe in both worlds simultaneously. I legally exist in both, not considered an alien who got dropped out by a clan from another nowhere. I speak the same language used in both worlds. I live by the rules within the community I'm currently in.

Both worlds exist.

They do.

They Just do.

THE OTHER WORLD
I like living in the Other World. Life is crazy, perfect, scary, and most of the time life is enigmatic and confusing. My life here would usually appear blurry and quite hard to comprehend. Sometimes I would meet strangers and feel as if I have know them all my life. I am with them, interacting and living life as if I really know each of them. Sometimes, I would meet my friends from This World in the Other World. It's comforting to be with them somehow, knowing that they can still exist and live in the Other World. I know it's very difficult for them to crossover just to be with me while it is also hard for me to be with them all throughout my stay in the Other world.

One life in the Other World that I could best remember is the one where I was in an unknown place, sitting on a high rock. I can still remember the splashing of the waves from the ocean, crashing into the stone, spraying salt water into my face. I can still remember how the wind blew that day as well as the color of the sky. I can still remember how hidden the place i was in was, the position of the rocks and how big they are. That day, my life appeared in gray, blue, and white and it was something I could somehow remember whenever I feel sad. I can still remember how I felt after I have traveled back to This World, how my longing to return to the island swelled into my soul for a couple of days, leaving me restless as I toss and turn in my bed each night, how I struggled within as I hope to return to the place. I have been there for only once and I don't have any idea if one day I might find myself there again even just for a moment.

When i was in that marvelous place I was with someone. He was with me, sitting on a rock. I never got to see his face but we were talking about something serious. We talked and it was blurry. I know what was going on but I cannot seem to comprehend what we were talking about. It's not that I have forgotten what have we talked about on that fateful moment but I can remember that I do not actually know what we were talking about. I'm confused all the way but all I know is that we were together, happy, and alive. All I know is that it was one of the best days of my life in the Other World that even after more than four years I can still remember it, I can still remember him. He was wearing white and if only I got the chance to remember or see his face clearly. If only I got to hear how his voice and laughter sound like. If only I can see and draw in my heart how he smiles and the color of his eyes. If only...

Life appears in black, gray, white, dark blue, and blood red whenever I am in the Other World.

--part 1.

Bang Bang: Apostacy

Faith is a rational weapon, more powerful than any implement of war ever made by man. A mass of dead people are walking in this Earth, eating with me, living with me, laughing with me, conversing with me. My thoughts about this matter are beyond words. I am an apostate.

I believed. I yielded. I learned. I deviated. Am I to be considered dead as well? i was raised as a Catholic, papers and act. I came from a family of devout Catholic believers. I was educated in Catholic institutions. I went to Catholic events and took part in its religious practices. I saw the Redeemer in my dreams. I talked to saints in my dreams. Then I became an apostate, a turn-coated rat.

Now I find myself extremely liable for my own accounts on whatsoever that is veiling this huge and revolving breathing sphere. Noticeably, I just earned myself a label that will soon provide no significant memory as each day would pass and die. As an apostate, what will become of me? A quisling capable of ruining my own youth?

Rotting in hell is a rational and sensible thought to give me the creeps for a moment but then, what comes next? If faith is rational, then so is fear. A biological being I may be, wandering this world with auras of things and emotions that my eyes cannot see, am I still subject to feel fear? Am I not exempted t be saved when the so called Rapture is transparently roving the face of this momentarily living planet? 

I am an apostate, self-proclaimed. I lie. I laugh. I trick. I fool mt own self, utterly lacking the beliefs that was presented to me by my family, my alma matter, my mentors, and the last priest who heard my awful deviation during my last desireless and regurgitated confession on the holy grounds of a sacred and antiquated Catholic colony.

I looked up, today, at the crying sky and saw a big man looking at me. He had a gun and he pointed the weapon at me. Bang. Bang.

The Borrowed

In a trice she opened her eyes as they grew in mass, falling down from the lightless sky. They fell down together, armed and heavy, crunching on the roof.

Blink.

She looked directly straight at the blank ceiling, eyeballs steady. She blinked again and parted her lips. A line of yellow light appeared under the door, illuminating a small part of her room. She blinked and exhaled silently. The cold air entered her nose and filled her lungs, heart thumping, taking up speed.

Blink.

She blinked and her fingers trembled underneath the pillow beside her. The warriors from the sky grew thick, drumming hard on the earth, waking it up. Shards of the West Warriors flew through her window and entered her room, painted it with an eerie and cold air. She tried to hear her heart but it was drowned by the evasive enemies that have recently arrived. A West Warrior howled and she heard the trees shake in terror, stained with what was falling down. She heard a new sound.

Blink.

She turned her head at the door. Lips now closed, breathing hushed, she looked at the ceiling, confronting her own self. A hand touched the cold doorknob, she heard it, she felt it. She closed her eyes, tossed to the opposite side as inaudible as she could. She heard the cold ball turn clockwise, then countered.

It stopped.

She pressed her eyelids together hard, shut, wary. Another West Warrior howled and its comrades rushed through her window. She felt them through her hair and her lips trembled once, then again.

A second.

Another second.

The last second.

A creak.

A turn.

A crack, a two, and the door was apart.

It allowed a line of vertical yellow light to seep through the gap. The light grew and grew. She opened her eyes.

Blink.

She moved and faced the shadow, surrounded by the light. There came warmth but the West Warriors fought it. The shadow walked in, one foot after the other.

Creak.

Creak.

Creak.

Creak.

She saw her own eyes looking at her, her own lips smiling at her, her own body, in front of her. Abruptly, what was falling from the sky halted.

A Lightning.

"Who are you? Why are you in my bed?" the standing girl said.

The lying girl tried to compose herself upon hearing her words. She sat upright, trembling inside her clothes. "You will never be me."

The girl smiled and the thunder roared. "I am now, silly." She moved around the room, barefoot, light, as if she contains no soul at all. "You no longer exist so stop pretending that you're even alive."

The girl stood up from her bed, undecided. She screamed, words bouncing off the four walls, howling with the wind. She opened the window, tears pouring down, and jumped off. She stopped feeling the damp air, she cannot even smell the earth, but she can only feel her body dissolve in pixels, and her heart thumping down.

Blink.

She crashed on the ground.

Bloodless.

Soundless.

Massless.

Nothing.

Cassie

May.

Starless.

Cloudy.

She sat on a chair, embodied in a black dress, cross legged and hair down, with a burning cigarette between her two fingers. She brought it between her lips and inhaled deeply so the smoke burned from her throat towards her lungs. She held it in and exhaled so the blasted smoke scattered about, surrounding her. She is damned and she is aware of that fact yet she smokes with such contemptuous ignorance and profane probability that it makes her feel better.

Sadness took the vacant seat beside her, touched her hair and caressed her bare arm like a lustful biological being who burns with desire. She ignored him as another batch of smoke filled the air, suffocating all her thoughts and tying up the emotions that are trying to rush up her head.

"You're too late now," his dreary and bleak voice cracked in the cold air, "and you know that."

She sat still, unresponsive and mute, trying to consume every memory that are blazing alight right before her dreamy dark eyes. She grew sensitive to her lethargic soul, burning her gut out, and opened her lips to break out the words but her lips only trembled. The Phantom appeared in front of her, gazing idly with such amusement.

"Leave." was her flat response and it echoed in the dark. It made Sadness smirk like an elf. A blow of wind dropped by and she found herself alone once again.

emanon

You walk past me, looking at my eyes,
What was the color?
You walk past me, so close you are,
Your name, your name
How do they call you?

When I'm alone I'd think of you.
Your name, your name
I'd like to know.
When I wake up, a speed of light.
Your face, your face
Appears in time.

I need to hear a sound from you,
Your voice, your voice
What is it like?

Oh, the sparks in my head!
Oh, the warmth of your gaze!
You're name, your name
When will I know you?

Tears

I love the moment when I can feel something in my eye. The sudden urge of freedom from a tiny drop of tear would awaken me and when it  comes out of my eyes, it frees everyone, it's fellow tears as well as all that I have been feeling. I love how they moist away my angry and dull eyes, I love the way how it awakens me and when my boat is going to sink in, it would be the best experience that I would certainly miss.  

The reason why I cried tonight pays no relevance to my life right now. Maybe someday it will make sense to me, once I am old with age, joy, and perhaps regret. But what happened tonight made me realize that I have been long denying something that I should sometimes think about. Or maybe I should completely forget about it and go to sleep and in the morning, I won't be able to remember what was happened. Life is strange, perhaps. Once you fall asleep and dream, you are transported to another world, a world you fear and a world you have been wanting to stay. You see unfamiliar and familiar faces. You meet the superficials and you get to be in a place buried by age and time. How strange life is, by the time you wake up, they're gone and after a few hours, you won't even remember them, you won't even remember the feeling of waking up in the morning as the dreams you had comes speeding up your thoughts. They just dissipate without any reason, leaving you confused and bothered. 

As you fix yourself for a new day, you feel so happy. You go out with your friends, you laugh, you smile, you talk and you don't seem to notice what are happening to other people's lives. Maybe this is a reminder that we have our own lives to live but there will always be a time wherein we have to take notice. Is it because it makes us less selfish if we look around us and smile to a stranger or hand a coin or two to someone asking you for it? It could mean mostly anything. 

And you were walking around on a bright day and met someone. Someone who's going to make you smile for the rest of your life. Someone who will make you cry and stand up at the same time. Someone whom you can share your feelings, your life with. Someone... and then a kiss. A promise. The memories. Someone you will love. Someone.. how strange. You don't even know his name and you look at where you are, staring into the passing cars with your head in the clouds.

It's just gone.  

A Call from the Elephants

How can one call herself as an artist when she herself is confused of her own being? Surrendering or thinking about getting fulfilled by art is not some mere vogue of stereotyping. That person is struggling, perhaps, wandering around the basis of her existence and trying to locate and chart her place where she belongs. Thinking too much is a habit of that artist, up to the extent of nauseating her own self with complex and absurd things that lead to nowhere. Feasibly, she should try to be friends with her own thoughts but where does the majestic "Gnothi Seauton" fall into?

Maybe that scuffling artist has her own varied way of understanding things, things that even shallow people can understand but on the other hand they have a way of seeing and absorbing her ideas in a different manner, different time, and different image. Then she sits alone, somewhere serene in the heart of the city, bounded by two different churches and crossed by the trees beside her, thinking about her own unbalanced life. She said to herself that life is not that simply confusing but she made it all to hard for her to succumb.

Somewhere in her life she met a girl like her. She can still remember the fresh pangs of irritation that was brought upon to her by the girl for she sees her own faults inside the girl's soul. How can she not recognize the same call that was once used against her just to bring her into what made herself be someone like she is now? Unpredictable and violent her heart may be but there is something beyond this girl, something that can surprise anyone who have spoken badly about her.

What makes sense inside her now may not make sense after she wakes up. What she feels now may subside due to the stirring of her soul that will take place once she is sleeping. Funny the way it is how she thinks about Love every time she's about to sleep, tossing and turning in her bed, wishing that wonderful things will happen to her heart, but yet she panics and there is consternation within her every time she thinks of love and all that it is. Her thoughts send spark and trickling pains of discomfort, choking her own thoughts back from where they came from with fear that she cannot experience the hospitality of love that she has long been wishing for since she was still innocent.

A call was all that she needed. A call from the Elephants who are waiting for the rain to pour.

Saawariya

Saawariya...

My beloved...

There is always so much to say but then words would always fade away. What lies beneath my surface is an unfathomable force that goes beyond my normal self. An act of deep enthusiasm over certain shallow issues that my head cannot comprehend. How is it that I act like a dumb person where in fact there's more to what I cannot actually understand?

...then you fade away. There were different signs that came in different colors and shapes. There were these signs that I posted out the ground under different concealers and I have given them the full authority to shape-shift. How is it possible that you knew them all one by one but then you denied what you have been feeling? How is it possible that you are aware of the reasons standing armed at the tip of your tongue as you face me with ire and disorientation? Your heart seems to bubble and my blood gushed out from where its source. After a minute, there were bruises and my bones were broken.

Seeing you was too much for me. What is the source of my being? I have a mind full of perplexity and turmoil that adds nothing to help me bring about the good that is hidden within me. The Harlequin wasn't dead at all. It was just inside me, lurking, waiting with deep fury and resentment to what I have been doing to myself for the past 4 years of my existence in this tiny spec of dust. Still I hold the very key that will take Her out of the hell hole that I hid from myself. There are risks and there are sacrifices. I wish not to speak on the grounds of amusing what could possibly happen.

Why don't you just figure it out, Saawariya?

Priorities

What are my priorities? Are they really that important to me? How is it that I don't know how to make them feel that they are the most important people/things to me? I'm taking them for granted and that makes me less than a person that I am. What just happened to me is something that I have wanted but I'm afraid to say that it made me regret and feel bad about it. This is another clichéd issue as a matter of fact but then this is the first time that I have just yet encountered.

On the night of the rainy May 7 of 2011, I went out with my friend to have a few drinks and on that exact night, I just lost myself my "ardent" suitor.

It's not that I don't have feelings for him but it went out as if I took him for granted. He said I needed my friends and I don't need him because lately, I didn't feel like going out or being with him anymore. He was the price in exchange of having my high school friends back. So I beg to disagree that life, in some ways, is unfair.

And now, it just dawned on me and I feel so guilty and bad about it. I hope this soon will be over because I really feel sick thinking about this. Love is not always that easy especially when you're not prepared to make someone feel your love or you can't stand on your decision to award them as the person that you're willing to prioritize.

So, stop crying over spilled milk.

Nansensu

"You will always have a taste of what you have paid for... even if it's bitter."

A line from a song that I have improvised which I believe is true due to some "bitter" experiences that have trickled  in my tongue. Oh how is it that the taste lasts for so long? How is it that you can remember how and what it feels like? Regret is not to be put in mind but your own responsible idea for buying what you've always been wanting for even though you are well aware of how it will turn out to be.

What am I rattling on about anyway? Expressionism is not always the theme for this matter. A little distortion could make it because I know, somehow, everything tastes differently at a different cost. I did not pay for sweetness in the form of money but I paid for it in the form tears. I bargained my own risk for an impulse which lasted only for a split second that I believe would taste good but then when I looked in the mirror, I saw a fine line of blood slowly coming out from the cut made by just a split second.

I may sound vague today and prolly leave everyone, including myself, in a state where you have that feeling that you've done this before yet you feel guilty all throughout your bitter and vain selfishness of what it is that you've paid the most that left you broke and desperate for a fresh new start. I hope I'm right.

"There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you have paid for."
--STOP.