"You see a nuclear weapon's intention isn't for protection but destruction. I'm betting that the invention has a function to determinate how much to exterminate..." -FUTURE, Dub FX
I am left-handed.
I can stay all alone in a coffee shop and feel good.
I do most things on my own. In short, I'm independent in my own way.
A friend coined me as an "alien".
A professor told me that I'm weird.
I feel as if my head is going to burst into pieces from all the thoughts inside it.
A photographer told me that I think too much.
My professor told me that I'm too idealistic.
Is this a bad thing? Is there something wrong with me? Or is it the just environment and the society? Is this happening because of all the lies that have been feed to me? All of the documentaries, films, and newspapers that have affected me and my mentality? Or is this because I'm just waking up?
I'm aware of all the crap about individual differences. I'm aware how of family upbringing, culture, society, and the environment affects a person and help an individual shape her as a growing person, a growing piece of meat with health issues because of all the chemicals and whatnot affecting her system?
I have to admit that I have so much in mind that I don't know where to focus and what to do, what exactly to think about, and, as it always has been, what to feel. Everything affects me as an individual without a huge circle of peers to talk about my insights and my whereabouts. Little talks about education, politics, religion, society, and current events fire me up, heating my body and make my brain run fast like in a marathon competing against everything that I sometimes forget that other people have the right to voice out their own opinion with freedom and explain their side.
I don't want to be biased. I don't want to have a hero-complex state of thought that might someday would grow inside me and eat me up until it can blow the balloon which is my ego for my shirts might not fit through my head and my legs would give out from the weight of it.
Yes, I will concede to the real fact that I am idealistic. It's because of all these frustrations that I have. The frustrations that I have developed from my low self esteem, from the reading materials that I immerse myself in and from my hatred towards the things that I cannot change. After all, I'm just a tiny spec of dust in this race of mankind, overshadowed by the people who are oozing and reeking with guts, name, power, intelligence, sharp wit, and so on.
I don't know what I lack, I don't know what I have and I am confused beyond doubt that I would always keep on ranting and blabbing about all of the little things that I want to change for the better. Like dreams about founding a Cancer foundation for hopeless little innocent kids, like fighting for the rights of people to promote openness in the public media, straightening out all of the wrong things in the society and what not. Justice, Peace, Equality, Freedom. All of the moral values that matter and now, the media with the magnifier, which we call the telly, are changing the views of the people on what is moral and what is not.
There is a reason why people are marching on the streets. There are reasons why people set themselves on fire. There are lots of reasons why people shout and cry out on the streets with their hearts breaking. Everyone and everything has issues of their own. Everyone have their own reasons why this and that should be like this and like that. It's all so confusing, all so biased, all having weak proofs and arguments, all having strong points that lack determination and wit and perfect analogy. Everything needs a reason like how a courtroom runs. It's always a case-to-case basis with all the norms in the society, all the taboos, and the phenomena which we have no control over.
Maybe I'll end up losing my sanity over these kind of things. Maybe I'll end up in a nut-house with lots of shrinks determining my future, enclosed in a white box of concrete and fed with hospital food that helps increase and decrease all of the wrong and right particles inside my functioning body. Maybe they'll drug me to sleep so I could stop thinking. Maybe they'll drug me with something else so that I would feel like I'm just floating in the air with my hospital gown, maybe I'm going to become a vegetable.
I want to help the world but I'm under-qualified. I lack so much in the wits department and my grades in school are like hanging on the edge towards another extended year repeating the same subjects over and over again. This is a sad thing, a total waste of money, a total waste of time. And the thoughts in my head will be like: "what to do... what to do..." "where to go... where to go..."
Friday, February 10, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Obsession is Like Fucking
You decided to make up your mind and go on writing about something that you have failed to do so a couple of useless nights ago.
Paper.
Pencil.
Coffee.
Cigarettes.
You then feel energy and art creep through your veins like an injected drug until you feel the right highness that will summon up your ability to write. And what more better subject to tackle is the very essence that you always have. The need and want for alcohol, nicotine, and whatnot.
Obsession.
Does it really make any logical sense? I think not. Why?
Well, for starters, it becomes a cycle, a part of your daily routine and your life that you cannot avoid and you don't even want to avoid, ever, until the time comes that you discover the senseless truth that you have been wasting much of your precious time indulging in the guilty pleasure that comes with the whole package.
In this course of obsession, you find that you cannot function as a human being without it, but then it will make you feel odd, trapped in your own little world that you find yourself alone and no one could ever understand you, see through you, and feel the same exact feeling that you do. The days will turn into weeks, the weeks will turn into months and you feel that you are lost in this fictional world, created by the power of the human mind. You, then, can no longer function in the real world and you find yourself completely strange and alienated once you go out of your room.
Insomnia and whatnot will devour you but you don't mind at all, your health doesn't matter to you anymore, for you have surrendered yourself to the guilty pleasure, ignoring the calls of doing physical activities that will make you feel fit and healthy and you then decide that you are not like the other people around you who are most able to function without difficulty in the real world. You can't go to school. You can't go to work. You can't socialize. And this, you did it because of the safety net of your obsession. Even eating is something that does not bother you anymore.
But are you really wasting your time? I think not. It's better to drown yourself in the sea of this guilty pleasure feeling a strong purge and locks of emotions than idling by, feeling bored, and just staring up the white ceiling, listening to the humming and buzzing of the air conditioner while tossing and turning on your pillow or fiddling with the hems of your comforter.
Then, the much awaited time will arrive unexpectedly, out of nowhere, mingling with the air your breathe, perforating through the thick smoke of your lighted cigarette stick. It will then make you realize that you are strongly repulsed by it. It, the dawning of truth, will make you sad and angry, confused and somewhat irritated that you have been tricked by your own mind, your heart, and your very own individuality and you allowed it without thinking of the pros and the cons, without being completely logical that you have even abandoned your own philosophical and political intellect.
This realization, that you have failed to notice before, will be drawn to you and it will eat you up whole. Wanting nothing and leaving you no choice but to let go with a heavy heart and unleashed tears. Let go of the regurgitating and sick obsession-like electricity trance. Then you will want nothing but liberation of the self, of your internal and calloused sick loneliness that is rather very much normal until you forget that your ego, id, and super-ego circles you like three blasted goddesses of you don't even know what.
You will soon realize that you're not the only one who is suffering from the kinky chains and venomous pangs of this heavy obsession but all you want is, again, liberation and utmost freedom from this psychotic prison and so, you make up your mind slowly and with hesitation, ready to let go and ready to give up and soar up the grey sky like a vulture, wanting to explore the wholeness of the world and ready to pounce on any cliche and dead thing, body, or heart that lays open for you bleeding with flesh and gut and this is for you only, and you then want to feel the harsh gust of the wind go past your skin until you can feel it co-mingling with your blood and then your eyes can see everything that is everywhere: reality.
Hence, you find yourself completely lost and sick in the stomach, eyes red from the gush of the strong wind and wings tired from your flight, making you feel completely weary and used, wanting more of everything, wanting more of the obsession and the powerful feeling that it makes you feel until you find another subject for your obsession, leaving your old guilty pleasure completely haggard and rotten.
Then you think, is this really your purpose? Is this really the end of your hunt? Confusion will overwhelm your being then you dispose yourself at nothing but it motivated you to give up and make you think that you have just lost your own identity somewhere in between during the cycle of your obsession. Dying isn't even an option, going back isn't too. Then what will you do? You are not even optimistic enough to let go and just to go and march forward as if nothing happened. You are now shaped by this obsession, stoned, and mocked that all you have to do is sit there and crumple into nothing while crying your eyes out until the lightning will struck you blazing directly your deathbed.
What is this really all about? I guess this is like fucking but you know, you have a reason. You get this feeling, out of nowhere, to fuck someone and you go on your dig until you can find someone to be the subject of your sexual exploits. You go in somewhere, at some time with the person that you have chosen, and get hyped up, arousing each other until you feel the adrenaline rush of blood towards your member. You pounce and pound until you come then you look at your body, covered in filth and then you feel disgusted by your own self so you decide to stop it ever. But then, upon the course of time, you feel the need and the want of it, you feel that you miss it until you go on your hunt once more and do it again and again until you want more more more and more of it.
You just need and want this to get the obsessions out of your system until you have forgotten about it and then later in your life, you will stumble upon the obsession again, remembering your past life and what it has done to you then you decided not to think again and with the blink of an eye, you want to focus and become sick in the goo of obsession once again.
Paper.
Pencil.
Coffee.
Cigarettes.
You then feel energy and art creep through your veins like an injected drug until you feel the right highness that will summon up your ability to write. And what more better subject to tackle is the very essence that you always have. The need and want for alcohol, nicotine, and whatnot.
Obsession.
Does it really make any logical sense? I think not. Why?
Well, for starters, it becomes a cycle, a part of your daily routine and your life that you cannot avoid and you don't even want to avoid, ever, until the time comes that you discover the senseless truth that you have been wasting much of your precious time indulging in the guilty pleasure that comes with the whole package.
In this course of obsession, you find that you cannot function as a human being without it, but then it will make you feel odd, trapped in your own little world that you find yourself alone and no one could ever understand you, see through you, and feel the same exact feeling that you do. The days will turn into weeks, the weeks will turn into months and you feel that you are lost in this fictional world, created by the power of the human mind. You, then, can no longer function in the real world and you find yourself completely strange and alienated once you go out of your room.
Insomnia and whatnot will devour you but you don't mind at all, your health doesn't matter to you anymore, for you have surrendered yourself to the guilty pleasure, ignoring the calls of doing physical activities that will make you feel fit and healthy and you then decide that you are not like the other people around you who are most able to function without difficulty in the real world. You can't go to school. You can't go to work. You can't socialize. And this, you did it because of the safety net of your obsession. Even eating is something that does not bother you anymore.
But are you really wasting your time? I think not. It's better to drown yourself in the sea of this guilty pleasure feeling a strong purge and locks of emotions than idling by, feeling bored, and just staring up the white ceiling, listening to the humming and buzzing of the air conditioner while tossing and turning on your pillow or fiddling with the hems of your comforter.
Then, the much awaited time will arrive unexpectedly, out of nowhere, mingling with the air your breathe, perforating through the thick smoke of your lighted cigarette stick. It will then make you realize that you are strongly repulsed by it. It, the dawning of truth, will make you sad and angry, confused and somewhat irritated that you have been tricked by your own mind, your heart, and your very own individuality and you allowed it without thinking of the pros and the cons, without being completely logical that you have even abandoned your own philosophical and political intellect.
This realization, that you have failed to notice before, will be drawn to you and it will eat you up whole. Wanting nothing and leaving you no choice but to let go with a heavy heart and unleashed tears. Let go of the regurgitating and sick obsession-like electricity trance. Then you will want nothing but liberation of the self, of your internal and calloused sick loneliness that is rather very much normal until you forget that your ego, id, and super-ego circles you like three blasted goddesses of you don't even know what.
You will soon realize that you're not the only one who is suffering from the kinky chains and venomous pangs of this heavy obsession but all you want is, again, liberation and utmost freedom from this psychotic prison and so, you make up your mind slowly and with hesitation, ready to let go and ready to give up and soar up the grey sky like a vulture, wanting to explore the wholeness of the world and ready to pounce on any cliche and dead thing, body, or heart that lays open for you bleeding with flesh and gut and this is for you only, and you then want to feel the harsh gust of the wind go past your skin until you can feel it co-mingling with your blood and then your eyes can see everything that is everywhere: reality.
Hence, you find yourself completely lost and sick in the stomach, eyes red from the gush of the strong wind and wings tired from your flight, making you feel completely weary and used, wanting more of everything, wanting more of the obsession and the powerful feeling that it makes you feel until you find another subject for your obsession, leaving your old guilty pleasure completely haggard and rotten.
Then you think, is this really your purpose? Is this really the end of your hunt? Confusion will overwhelm your being then you dispose yourself at nothing but it motivated you to give up and make you think that you have just lost your own identity somewhere in between during the cycle of your obsession. Dying isn't even an option, going back isn't too. Then what will you do? You are not even optimistic enough to let go and just to go and march forward as if nothing happened. You are now shaped by this obsession, stoned, and mocked that all you have to do is sit there and crumple into nothing while crying your eyes out until the lightning will struck you blazing directly your deathbed.
What is this really all about? I guess this is like fucking but you know, you have a reason. You get this feeling, out of nowhere, to fuck someone and you go on your dig until you can find someone to be the subject of your sexual exploits. You go in somewhere, at some time with the person that you have chosen, and get hyped up, arousing each other until you feel the adrenaline rush of blood towards your member. You pounce and pound until you come then you look at your body, covered in filth and then you feel disgusted by your own self so you decide to stop it ever. But then, upon the course of time, you feel the need and the want of it, you feel that you miss it until you go on your hunt once more and do it again and again until you want more more more and more of it.
You just need and want this to get the obsessions out of your system until you have forgotten about it and then later in your life, you will stumble upon the obsession again, remembering your past life and what it has done to you then you decided not to think again and with the blink of an eye, you want to focus and become sick in the goo of obsession once again.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
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"
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"
Friday, December 9, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
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.
**
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.
Monday, November 28, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, November 25, 2011
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?
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?
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Cynic and Fairy Tales
Cynical-
Adjective
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.
Adjective
- Believing that people are motivated by self-interest; distrustful of human sincerity or integrity.
- Doubtful as to whether something will happen or is worthwhile.
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.
Friday, November 18, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, October 21, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, October 3, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
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
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
Monday, September 12, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
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.
Monday, July 4, 2011
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.
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