Retort Naiveté

Fourth of September

2012-01-27T02:32:00.004+08:00

Tonight I have unearthed the beginnings of a declaration of a stake that has stretched to twenty eight passings of the moon. How does one make another listen to silence? I was hoping it was possible to draw you to the emptiness of my words. I suppose you never really do linger long enough to notice. Instead you bid goodnight with the slightest of sound resembling that of a small flame being doused, like a final crackle before it is put out. The quietest fizz signal your departure. Could you not have spared a word?

I remember it all too well: the clue pretending to misdirect, the most ardent of invitations, the utterances that were so foreign in its warmth. Fire sure has its glitter. It must have made me blind. I am still groping for the heat long after it has burnt out.

Packets

2012-01-11T01:40:00.002+08:00

...of sugar and cream. I put four of each in my now-cooling cup of coffee. It has been three hours of aimless work here in Katipunan. There are less people than I anticipated, and less urgent. None of the usual hysterics, just occasional stolen naps and trays of black coffee.

The first thing I will do after writing this is pray. Plead the Universe to grant me another chance for I fear that I am the author of my own undoing. Even as I plan this, I know there is a chance my situation may have degenerated so badly as to be irreversible. I sincerely hope I can trade sleep in the coming days for a miracle to come my way as it has several times in the past.

I'll pray for hope and faith. What is stopping me is not mere indolence, but a fear of failure. Of course, the tragedy is this immobility may be bringing me the very failure I want so badly to avoid. May the Universe imbibe me with enough hope in the future, enough faith in hard work and dedication to always strive.

I'll pray for silence because I have lost myself in the echoes of my own words. I've been hearing nothing but my own voice and uneducated guesses of others, learning nothing. I'll pray for the humility and will to listen and discover myself and the things that matter.

I'll pray for humility and kindness, the very things I feel I am lacking. May I get over my self-serving beliefs of burning bridges and passing on judgment. I think forgiveness is harder to understand than anger. May the Lord grant me chances to make amends, and to pardon.

I'll pray for opportunities to earn for my family, to make the most out of the talents I have been generously given, to learn for myself, to build relationships with others, to improve and be better, to thank Him more meaningfully, to rest and admire.

I'll pray for assistance and second chances. He has been too kind and yet I have taken things for granted. I hope I can still turn this around starting tonight (er, this morning?). May He grant me another leeway after the million others from before.

I'll pray or strength because more and more I learn I cannot rely on my own understanding and abilities.

And if I'm being honest, I'll pray for the improbable again tonight. :) For persistence to bloom into good stories, for sacrifices to be meaningful, for friendships to be kept.

And maybe after I pray, I can begin rearranging my life, fixing myself, working on my plans.

But not before thanking Him. The very thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that despite the absurdity of my wishes, the arrogance of my inconsistency, the nature of my unworthiness and the unworthiness of my nature, the frailty of my faith and the recurring weakness of my resolve is that He is a God who gives and gives and gives.

2011-12-29T14:51:00.001+08:00

Tawad, limot, langit, 'di na uulit.

Dear

2011-11-13T22:53:00.003+08:00

It is never sufficient, is it?

2011-11-04T12:28:00.001+08:00

I never admitted to playing, but why do I feel like I lost?

Edit: Cutting the losses and moving on.

Some Thoughts

2011-10-20T00:05:00.000+08:00

I have no time for details. Just know that when I think of stars and skies, even grass, when I think of the relative luck of us who have the good fortune of seeing these sights, of perspective, I think, in part, of you. Just know that when I see the beauty of simplicity in a man trying his hardest to guard the cars in Katipunan or pass by certain places, I am reminded of you. Just know that it has become an urge for me to share the things I am learning and the things I already know. I rarely need validation, I do things well alone but lately you have become a reference and your thoughts have begun to matter to me.

I am not the kind of person to seek reciprocity but know that it would mean the world to me to know there are things which lead your thoughts to me too.

Snippets

2011-06-19T23:25:00.003+08:00

She stops herself from saying she's heard of that before. Never mind redundancy, he sounds so sincere and affected and so damned desperate for validation, for confirmation that his feelings matter. She listens and listens and inwardly hopes he finds the sense to change his mind this time.

Unrelated:
To that someone who walks in skies,
Happy birthday. May the force be with you. :)

Between the Lines

2011-04-25T01:20:00.001+08:00

I'll keep this honest and simple. There are songs so moving you feel like you could've written them.

Somewhere Only We Know

I walked across an empty land/I knew the pathway like the back of my hand/I felt the earth beneath my feet/Sat by the river and it made me complete

Oh simple thing, where have you gone?/I'm getting old and I need something to rely on/So tell me when you're gonna let me in/I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

(To begin, is it not such a blessing if you have a person -not necessarily a romantic partner- you can sing this to? Because this kind of understanding presupposes forging a deep bond with a person, something common to the dearest and deepest of friends.)

We somehow form this idea that old times were happier and easier days, that being younger, we were without a care or worry. True enough, there are moments that feel like that: that near-drunken state, that late-night conversation and the mutual neglect of the clock, that strain from your seventh lap around the oval, that knowing look you share when you converse without words, hysterical fits of laughter and that inexplicable peace and silence of good company.

Gaining years, we need to always move forward and that is why it is so easy to feel lost, without a particular direction, and jaded and tired. I suppose in the middle of our unending search for novelty, we begin to forget our place in the world and in such moments, it is just so soothing to return to the nostalgic, to the comfortable, to the familiar where you know what to do and what to say, if to say anything at all. :)

The Night Sky

We've been cowering so long/Oh what I would give/To stand at the bus stop/Or browse in a bookshop/To sleep and always be still

And we'll release this town from the people/Who are trying to knock it down/And then only city lights will brighten the night sky/And i will be set free from the people/Who are trying to bury me/And then only fireworks will light the sky at night/For all the world can see

As much as I enjoy stress and studying, this song is what I listen to when I need a reprieve or when sleep is hard to come by. Watching the video about little children caught in showers of bombs and bullets reminded me that there are wars waging in the other side of the world, beyond this little space I've taken to calling my own. There are kids born into this world who never get to wound themselves from too much playing and fighting with another over a toy. There is innocent blood being shed in places I cannot even name (literally). And so it becomes such wondrous things: being able to take a walk or worry about what to wear or eat, rant about badly-written laws and the evil of pragmatism, seeing other people waste breath over a particularly delicious tea or something, lose sleep over thoughts about a boy or a philosophy or both and mutter a heartfelt prayer about the future and dreams and good health instead of worrying sick over a missing parent or a burning house

This song reminds me how lucky I am to even have time to look peacefully at the night sky, that the world is beautiful but also quite sad and that it'd be a blessing to have a chance to make it a better place, somehow; regardless of how minute the change, and even for a single person. :)

Note to Self

2011-04-18T13:42:00.000+08:00

I take hints pretty well. Thank you and goodbye. It has been nice. :)

In Hindsight

2011-03-20T13:10:00.001+08:00

Twice is just one too many.
Even murderers get tried in court.
You got it all figured out.
They lied. Lying isn't fun.
Regardless of everything, you're still just too loud.

Year-end Post

2010-12-31T21:13:00.002+08:00

The time reads five after nine on my clock and I'm still figuring out how to encapsulate my year in the most meaningful albeit concise way possible.

This year I almost lost my scholarship (PE), nearly failed twice (PE and NBV) and only got by after bucketful of tears and fervent prayers. I learned how to drink, got drunk, threw up, cried, woke up disoriented and panicking. I stayed out late, went without sleeping for days, sang and danced. I went abroad and met one of the most inspiring people I've ever encountered, returned and felt more alive.

In a few hours, all of these will be worthless, all condemned to be part of the sentimental but useless past.

Though I am failing miserably to articulate my thoughts, I feel like the value of celebrating tonight is to be grateful for having survived the past year.

May the coming days be kinder to us all. :)

I'll look at fireworks tonight knowing some moments of the past year have been exactly like those: brief explosions in the sky, dazzling yet evanescent, rare yet short-lived but nonetheless worth every second, every spark.

Grateful

2010-12-30T03:30:00.001+08:00

I'm finding out that it's not so lonely on the sidelines and things are starting to turn for the better. There are times I regret not recording all of these (misunderstandings, waiting, memories, bitterness, silliness, confusion, conversations, calls, small but possibly decisive advantages, bad timings, good times) but I've always had problems with misplaced sentiments and unwanted attachments.There are too many occasions of drifting-aparts and falling-outs that it seems much better to feel things as they happen rather than mount expectations and keepsakes to look back on; sometimes things that used to matter so much end up being met with nothing more than indifference, anyways.

I'm learning to go easy on banking on the morrow for different, better things and see what I already have as something to be thankful for already. :) I'm not sure if I'd be able to say the same thing a week from now - we always keep on wanting more - but I shall try.

Right now I am secure and content that there is only now and right now is enough.

Thank goodness for words (and roads, and the night sky and songs and chocolates), they make up for a lot of things.

Now I say g'night. Tomorrow, I'll work on making my dreams come true. :)

Keepsakes

2010-12-02T21:58:00.000+08:00

How quickly ~~you~~ we forget.

We'll always be here on the other end.
Just in case.

The Way Things Are

2010-10-18T00:53:00.007+08:00

She stops counting minutes when she started taking in words and after she's had enough words to last her all day, she glances at her watch. Two hours, more or less. Time to get a move on.

She stares at the road, imagines the forks that twist and intertwine to lead to the same destination. She takes her place in the car. Looking out the window, her vision is blurred by tears threatening to fall. That's funny, she thinks, this isn't anything new. This isn't the first heartbreak the world has seen but repetition doesn't seem to make it any easier.

She glances at the row of places she passes by everyday and remembers how they looked against the solid blackness of night. She imagines them with lights on and tells herself, it could have been magical, this route, it could have been magical.

Blown Chances

2010-09-28T11:32:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I wish I had the courage to realize no, acknowledge what I want and the tenacity and confidence to actually pursue it.
This passivity is getting me nowhere. And I know I could have made a difference this time.
Sigh. Another one to put in my little boxes from now on.

Thank you, though, I never would've imagined.

Plane Crash

2010-09-19T23:15:00.001+08:00

Let us not, at the moment, create (or close in) distances that cannot be measured. Let us hold off changes and in the meantime, grant some time to prepare and brace for impact.

A little leeway, a little, a little faith.

All-Nighters

2010-09-12T19:08:00.011+08:00

Note to self: Had a wonderful dream today.
~
If you scroll down to a past entry, you'd see how I promised myself to resist future invitations to possible drunkenness but if you scroll down a bit less, you'd see how I failed myself quite miserably.

In all deference to fairness, I did pull all-nighter(s) and overdosed myself with coffee and work the past few nights leading up to Thursday so I had an excuse to take a break and "loosen up."

So it was settled, alcohol, chips, conversations and all the little things a bonding session is supposed to contain. All we had to do was to actually bond (drink, talk, be stupid, be drunk, be serious, be honest, be embarrassed, be hilarious, be everything and expose whatever true colors we had and become closer after). We went a little bit off schedule. Our group grew from 8 to at least twice the number. My head pounded painfully screaming mental exhaustion and blood loss. Later on, it was to be compounded. My friend's pass was too fast for me, it hit me in the face.

The night passed on and my head cleared up again. I had snippets of conversations in the grass, snap shots of relationships and problems, a bit of revelation to a friend I ordinarily don't talk to in class. Why does it seem easier to open up to someone you're not close to sometimes? Maybe it's because their judgments do not weigh as much as those we hold much dearer and so we're less afraid to expose our flaws.

We went to Loyola Cemetery and walked. Well, a friend and I did much of the walking while most of our companions teetered nervously in the background; understandable. Our little walk was cut because of a rather rude interjection by what I was told was a ghost (i.e. an additional shadow). Maybe it was the alcohol or the lack of sleep or mistiming of synapses but I hardly felt any fear. On the contrary, I found the silence enormously comforting.

We then drove to a place they call the helipad, a piece of elevated land somewhere in Marikina overlooking the city and the thousand blinking lights that illuminate it. I remembered being taken by my host family in Korea to a mountain to look down at the city of Daejeon and how incredibly fond I was of the idea that I was detached from the place where everything was happening; that I was watching the city as it falls from and to itself. Watching the speeding cars from where I was, it's always astounding to think of how we're always driving, off somewhere and how exceptionally stationary I felt at the moment even though, in reality, I am moving with the rest of the world in the slow but sure pace of continental drift.

Everything was routine after that: going home, eating, (finally) sleeping and recounting what happened upon waking up, including how extremely out of time I was after that night. (Finally. :) )

It's just too bad we couldn't escape problems during those few hours. Even now I join a few others in wishing a good friend luck with whatever it is he is facing. I'm not sure how he plans to but I know he'll deal with it in the end. :) All and just the best, if you ever get to read this, Friend.

As for me, I had two discoveries that night and I feel like I am forever changed because of them. I'll choose to keep it to myself for the moment. Let this blog entry be a testament to how we all really are: saying everything, retelling every single story, withholding nothing except things of value, those that truly matter. ♥

To You

2010-09-07T00:45:00.005+08:00

Now, I don't know what your situation is. You might be trapped in a place built on compromise or left alone in a space too vast for your own liking, unsure of what to do next. You might be dreading the morrow, fearful, about to take a test you can never study enough for. Else, you might be crying about the test you've already taken, how it's going to shape your possible future or lack thereof. You might be nursing a broken heart or trying to break a fall to avoid one. You might be trying to forget or remember, cursing Memory either way. You might be playing with fire, afraid of the moment when it catches on to burn you in the arse as it is eventually bound to. You can be at the edge of your seat, waiting for that one moment that will change your life, that might snatch way what you've always taken for granted. You can be typing letters addressed to nobody in particular, teeming with words too pale to verbalize the hope and thought you gamble with each character. You can be 'guessing at numbers and figures,' pulling puzzles - that are always far too many - apart. You might be reeling from a discovery you wish you've never stumbled upon, which changes your understanding of everything. You might be wishing for change to come faster, for time to pass more quickly to save yourself from the trouble of getting through all these. You might be missing people, wanting so much to talk to someone who actually gets it. You might be overwhelmed with too much work that you do not even know where to begin. You might be harboring a secret affection for someone you can only talk to in avenues provided by the internet, wondering how to possibly begin a conversation in real life without revealing that awkward timidity you bear so well. Or, you know, you might have already written him/her off as a lost cause, adding to your growing pile of old remembrances and keepsakes. You might be starting anew, or at least trying your hardest to, persevering to recapture some semblance of your old self or trying to carve a new and improved one. You might be calling for the gods to give you a more meaningful life because the one you're leading now seems hollow, void of any divine source of fulfillment or what-not. You might be asking to be someone else, envious of those who seem to have it all figured out. Then again, you can be none of these things, actually living a life happier than what most of us can only imagine.

Look, I don't know what's going on with your life and I sure as hell don't know how to deal with my own. I know first-hand how utterly devasting life can be, how completely hopeless and sad, morose and depressing, tiring and depleting but I take reprieve and comfort from telling myself that this earth houses more good people than we give it credit for, that there is good music and literature to drown away the worries with, that there is the inescapable displacement of time and space; that there will be distance to take you from here and now, to someplace and sometime else - different and even miraculously better. So while I have a messed-up financials plan to complete, certain faith in this project to build up and gather, and an impossibly effed-up life to deal with, I muster enough faith for a prayer and hope that whoever and wherever you are, you allow yourself to take a moment, a breather

I never was an optimist but I sure do hope things turn out for you and while it hasn't yet, I wish for your webcomic, mixtape, livestream, e-book, manga, whispered prayer or cup of coffee to work its magic.

Bottoms up

2010-08-25T00:54:00.001+08:00

I saw the ice cubes trembling because of my likewise shaking hands as I downed another shot a bit earlier. I have this tendency of finishing it all even as my mind protests to the unpleasant taste. I never could explain how it tasted except that it read Chivas Regal. 'Twas scotch, I was told, the kind that sends heat searing through your throat, the kind that makes the same warmth linger, the kind that makes you finally understand why people drink.

I know I have to stop and resist any future invitation. I think I'm nearing the tenth of my alcoholic encounters and I don't think I'm ready to forget the time when even the idea of drinking disturbed me. I have never gotten drunk before but I'm afraid that lately, I could feel a lightness in my head after so many shots. Maybe I was imagining it. I hope I was imagining it but either way, I know that such light-headedness is a treshold to a sort of reprieve, a momentary forgetfulness and such forgetfulness is one I do not mind living without.

Tight-lipped

2010-08-13T01:15:00.008+08:00

I want to take up writing but there's too much I choose not to say. Hence, the vagueness:

She steals another glance, paying too much time on the periphery.
Hiding words in vague phrases, borrowing meaning from songs.
Heed the call, close your eyes. Take a chance, ask for a sign.

You have to wonder, why this silence? When it seems all you ever want is to be known.

Random

2010-08-06T00:28:00.000+08:00

I'm getting tired of chasing pavements, hitting dead ends all the time.

Staring at the ceiling here tonight

2010-05-27T05:43:00.002+08:00

I am hopeless.
I haven't had a decent night's sleep for weeks. I have been reading on other people's lives and wondering why I've allowed myself to miss out on mine.
From this night (morning) on, I shall endeavor to change that..

&

In a brief but rather exciting, thrilling and fun-filled moment of my life, someone dared publicly malign me (although this is a problematic description because they didn't actually include the name oh and hint: sarcasm).

Their opinion is not worth refuting but it makes me wonder:

Why do you care if I cannot see (well)?

I was born into this world two months earlier than was expected. It was by a miracle that I survived. Yes, I couldn't see well and until now I miss the weight that the bridge of my nose used to bear. I want it back actually, but that is for another entry.

So why must I be insulted that I cannot see well? It is not a fault of my character nor a consequence of my actions. It's not a flaw in my personality or a habit I developed: it's just a result of circumstances predermined by chance or fate or some force in the universe other than my own (genetics, Will of God, the intensity of the incubator's light, etc.).

'Twas a petty insult but this kind of attack extends to a lot of things: being illegitimate for example which is a state one is simply born into, not a reflection of a derailment of some moral compass; a fault of the parents, if anything, rather than the child's. Or being poor. Or being black. Or being ugly, for goodness' sake.

The fact that these are mindless, senseless insults with no other but circumstantial bearing should have been comforting but it is precisely this knowledge that is biting. We punish each other for things beyond both our liking and control. We are condemned because of our circumstances rather than the merit of what we've achieved. And while we try and laugh remarks like these off, there is a pain in wondering why they'd expected us to be hurt for such things very much outside of ourselves to begin with. It's because in the end we'd realize the world puts so much weight on looks and status and wealth and gender and/or orientation and skin color and heck, even eyesight without stopping to consider the validity (i.e.logic) of such criteria and judgments and they begin to hurt when they shouldn't have, at all.

White Flag

2009-12-14T23:25:00.002+08:00

I give up.
Even in war, you know when you're on the losing end.
Still, it's the cause that draws pawns forward to their deaths.

'Tis Simply That

2009-11-27T22:47:00.002+08:00

It's something like, I apologize.

It's something I still can't decide. -Mraz

There's always a song waiting to be written
About the vastness of the clouds, the map of stars
in the near-darkness of the night sky.
A song to the rare ear who will hear
the dropping of a tear -
Singular, without the other-
the one that stayed behind for fear of being forgotten
After it has fallen.
Sometimes it pays to keep it simple.
To say, perhaps, that this is it.
Instead of thinking
It's the repercussion of a thousand experiments,
Doses of lithium and chloroform, anything toxic and useful, necessary, even.
Of a thousand definitions only you cared to recall.
Of daydreams rewound more times than is enough to weave
an encounter when everything fits. Re-staging.
This is the discovery
more from a minimal error, the kind that is fatal to make.
The kind that spills words you drink hungrily from, without pause,
without consideration when enough's enough.
The kind that wakes the drought that ~~wasn't~~ isn't even there
to begin with.
The kind that's meant to be written in the skies, in the air that seperates you
and the ceiling, witness to a hundred thousand more remembrances, replays.
The kind that's stellar, that spawns explosions in the sky.
There is a reason my words have not touched on beauty.
The maw of a repository that dwells where it is not safe to tread
is brimming with colors, more colors than I can name.

But these words are no longer a cover.
So I am keeping the song where it cannot beg for answers.

(Not) Sleeping to Dream

2009-11-09T21:34:00.003+08:00

Far from being sympathetic, a college friend actually envies my condition of constant non-sleep whenever I (sort of but not really) pout and complain of having gone on with no more than 120 minutes of peace. For once, she said, she wants to pull an all-nighter so that she can read more instead of cramming in class. I guess nobody can fully understand the physical and mental exhaustion that comes with insomnia other than those who spend their nights tracing lines in their ceilings.

True enough, I've spent the past few weeks bombarding the Universe with silent pleas for sleep and found that the Universe likes acceding to this request at around 4 or 5 in the morning which is not healthy but currently cannot be helped. I use the time to think instead and a couple of nights ago, I thought of sleep.

Discounting bouts of insomnia, I have no difficulty with sleeping. Unlike some people who have a hard and uncomfortable time sleeping in another house, I can pretty much sleep anywhere without having to ward off terrible homesickness. Except for this one time.

Once, a distant aunt invited us to sleep over at her house to keep my cousin company. I, having felt the need to see another set of ceilings, readily acquiesced, feeling luckier than the rest of my sisters who answered seconds too late.

I remember eating dinner with my aunt and cousin. I remember playing outside and chasing pavements. I remember cleaning up and retiring to bed right after. And I remember having received the shock of my life after I found out that my cousin actually shares her room with another cousin: her (gasp) brother.

Now, I always knew I was too old for my age. Even at that time, I was a too-self-conscious little kid who had four sisters and zero brothers, who trusted no other man other than her dad and who, at that age, had no interest, whatsoever, of fostering any sort of friendship with a boy. Any boy.

Still, being the overthinker, I figured it'd be best to act cool and poised about it, pray for the sleep gods to kidnap me and get out first thing in the morning. It probably would have worked had he not started actually talking to me as if we knew each other and suggested we play and get to know each other. (Understand that I grew up a rather paranoid, overreacting kid.)

At this point, even my (female) cousin couldn't ignore the tears threatening to fall and she called her mom to tell her about it. My aunt, having sensed my very apparent discomfort suggested that I calm down and informed me that my (male) cousin would be sleeping outside. The insensitive boy told her he wouldn't and even implied we'd have to get over this initial hostility.

But this was too much for my innocent little mind and composure to take so I ran to the living room and sat down against the wall. I had forgotten my glasses; I was almost completely blind, I had made a fool of myself andI had nowhere to sleep. But I was safe.

And then of course, the dog got me.

They had a huge dog. Black, menacing and utterly unfriendly. (Think of the Grim) I've always been afraid of him. This fear was reinforced by the knowledge that even if I know I shouldn't run, I would, and I am not fit to last five seconds. I remembered seeing his eyes and tongue before closing my eyes to wish for a quick death that of course, thankfully never happened.

I racked my brains to remember what happened next, but I couldn't. For a moment, the recollection seemed surreal to me, and I seriously, seriously half-wondered whether it was real or a figment of my imagination.

And then I realized that pretty soon this moment, too, would feel like nothing more than a dream and only I would be able to half-remember the blurry fickleness of time. Already I can name half a million memories that are real only as I think them to be; almost as if the reality of life depends on the grips of memory. It's important to never take a moment for granted, to live it, instead, because memory only remembers so much. All we can ever do is guarantee that those things we don't remember can remain unremembered for they do not warrant lament and regret in hindsight.

Yes, not sleeping drains the life out of me but sometimes, staying awake reminds me of it.

Inconsequential Fluff

2009-07-28T22:18:00.001+08:00

18 years. 7 months and I am fixated with time.
Which have been since.
Going by unnoticed - until now.

No this is not another infatuation. This is not another wake up call.
I won't tell a soul, the song says.
And rightly so, do they have to know?

This is no negotiation with the stars. This is no staying up all night.

Caught up in your wishing well,
Your hopes inside it
Take your love and promises
And make them last.

This is not love. This is not a leap of faith. It's a faint spark of something potentially inconsequential, potentially sad. This not a poem, not even slivers of it. This is no revelation, no admittance, no song. This is fumbling with words, to make tangible the briefest of feelings so rarely felt.

There's no telling time.

Fixed Marriage

2009-07-01T21:09:00.003+08:00

There's a certain glint in the eyes of professors whenever they talk about passion, and whenever they do, I get crushed because that is the nature of things: that which can give you deepest joy are the same things that can irreparably wound you. And right now, I feel like a bride in a fixed marriage:

Consider the weight of the veil; it is heavier than how you always imagined it to be. Steadily you tread the marble floor to the beat and rhythm of a march you have long heard and hummed to yourself. The same hymn, only different. You look at the altar and instantly you see everything it is not, everything it should be.

You are the center of attention now, and you try your best to not let it show in your gait that you mind this greatly.

Focus, the rites are ongoing. Everything is symbolic. Don't remind yourself you have no use for symbols now, you have exhausted all your dreams to that which is not this, that which you actually love. Focus, you might spoil the fun with your tears. Oh but then again, you can always pretend they are of intense happiness. You know you can actually pull it off, pretension; only you're not certain you'd want to.

Perhaps there will be affairs. Short and stolen moments in dark corridors of words and prose and poems, remnants of your old lover that is not the one with you here in front of the altar of necessity, but you know this is fleeting. Perhaps time will not permit, perhaps priorities will not allow but most certainly, reality will insist on its stead on this short-lived obsession. Once again you'll swear off the part of being woken up from a dream so perfectly woven, so beautifully crafted.

It's almost over now, just a little more restraint; you've done quite well, considering the weight of this surrender. Hear their words, just don't care to listen.

They tell you you will learn to love and don't tell them you'd love to learn instead. Don't push it, perhaps they do not know it yet: love is a sort of wonder, sublime. It is the pull of something you cannot fully fathom which defies even the laws you have imposed upon yourself and which miraculously, even ridiculously does not make you feel weak at all. It is succumbing to something you do not and cannot fully understand but have accepted and embraced wholeheartedly all the same. It's something that compels you without you knowing why, only that it is right in itself. There is a sense of wonder in a magician's trick only before you see the flap in his coat, or the convenient opening in his hat where the rabbit is hidden, after which everything ceases to be extraordinary. Love is a sort of wonder, sublime. So is passion. So how do you trick yourself?

Stop thinking now. Stop looking at hem of the priest's robes wondering if they can sense that this isn't what you wanted all along, no matter how good you may look in that dress they did not even bother to pattern in your color. Stop running your index finger over the ring and thinking how this is bereft of any passion, faith and love. Forget your heart heavy with the weight of a loss they will never understand. Just stop. There is still a lot to live for, think that.

Because like any bride paired with her most unwelcome groom, at the end of the day, you will still have to commit.

Pardon my incessant remembrances. I get by most of the time, but there are moments when things sneak out of my little boxes. I have never fallen in love, but maybe this is how it feels to when hearts get broken.

Pork Barrels, Con-ning Ass-es

2009-06-05T22:48:00.001+08:00

Despite the increasing number of reported cases, at least they have developed a vaccine for the H1N1 strain. They would have to look for something more potent for the bloated faces of those Congressmen.

Where to begin?

House Resolution 1109 which "calls upon the members of the congress to convene itself for the purpose of considering proposals to amend or revise the Constitution, upon a vote of three fourths of all members of Congress" was approved near midnight last Tuesday after thunderous "ayes" from the members of the majority. Deliberations on the Right to Reply Bill and CARPER were postponed to pave for the approval of this extremely necessary resolution, its vague provisions and nonexistent propositions. Interpolation was stopped after a motion was made and passed to reduce the ten questioning congressmen to five for the very reasonable excuse that "they are asking the same questions". I have watched other Senate inquiries and while Senators do have a certain penchant for showing their paraphrasing skills, this time, the questions were not for buying time and media mileage. Their questions were met unanswered, concerns unresolved. Besides, they didn't have a recklessly drafted impeachment letter to defend that night.

But our Congressmen are good healers, they give us some balm for our jagged pride and intelligence. A sort of preamble was made to assure us all that the terms of the President, Vice President and other elected officials will neither be shortened nor lengthened after the series of following changes are made. They assure us further by saying that elections will take place come 2010. In case the dosage of tomfoolery has not done the deed for you yet, they turn to hypnosis by trying to make us all believe that a certain proposition involving foreign trade and investment, particularly the allowing of foreign entities to own land and business enterprises in the country is the main point of this resolution. That unless the manner by which amendments to the Constitution are to be ratified is not clarified because certain phrases have been deleted in the present Constitution making it ambiguous as to whether the Lower House and Senate must vote separately, independently, for the revisions to be approved.

They used voice voting. Viva voce vote. See? The legal jargon does not make it sound less insulting. It's perfectly understandable, though. Even I would be hard pressed to come up with an excuse for saying "aye", apart from saying I was following the Majority's caucus, that is.

I am angered and exasperated. Incredulity almost equals indignance at this point. To have legislators who hear doctors who either reinforces his doubtful sexuality or indulges in self-love through unauthorized videotaping of bedroom affairs, ride on first-class planes with Vegas hotel bookings for their very important appearance and support for Pacquaio at the expense of taxpayers, question the Presidency's right to rule by filing Impeachment cases the first chance they get while delaying the discussions of very important laws, who advertise about the laws they have helped passed as though we owe it to them and not the other way around, as though we should praise them for serving us when that was the job they signed up for in the first place, to be public servants... One would think there's some kind of immunity to such absurdities, the kind that would make you say, "here we go again", rather than, "they can't have just done that" but no. They continue to hound us with inanities of varying degrees that we are caught breathless each single time. Each stupidity, or display of belief in OUR stupidity, pales in comparison with the next.

The big question now is not whether we can do anything about it or not. It is a question of will we do something about this or not. If they can stage a conspiracy as elaborate as this, surely we can at least show them we are not as stupid and apathetic as they seem to deem us to be.

Regardless of what the Majority is claiming; that we will have elections, that terms will not be extended, that this is to clarify the particulars of legislative proceedings, we must not forget that the Actor President ousted by outraged Filipinos in Edsa is getting top marks in surveys and is very openly suggesting running for Presidency in 2010 regardless of his signed agreement. His lawyers think it is viable, politically, legally. They can override the fact that he traded the privilege to run for his freedom by claiming the preamble is not part of the law itself. Erap has to run to restore the damage done by the president who said she would not run too. There is no word of honor in this land.

Of course we question, what can we do? March the streets. Blog. Vote.

Let them know they have conned asses who feed off additional funds, asses who have not visited their districts and who have not a tiny speck of intent for real representation.

Something. Anything.

Rage is a very ugly thing, leaving you empty after the last embers of contempt have left your system. I hope entries like this one don't end up being an outburst in passing.

Else, this country is really in for the dogs. Or the pigs in the pork barrels.

More of Them Bitter Blunders

2009-05-27T22:10:00.001+08:00

Summer of 2008, when Life and its minions of circumstances and anti-heroes force-fed me with more than my normal dose of bitter(ness) pills, I was desperate and sad enough to pour my heart's melodramatic, emo-to-death, carrier-of-the-world's-weight contents to the confidences of an old friend I have forged some sort of closeness back in grade school. Oh my. Just the thought of it sickens me.

At first, it seemed as though this person perfectly understood where I was coming from. My lifelong dreams. My idealism. My intense two-page essay. My intention of working hard for my education. The pressure that would have come if I defied orders and went to do what I wanted regardless of their "better judgment". My inexplicable discomfort with mush and my appreciation of letters more than roses.

The pill was so bitter that I was not sobered by disillusionment even when he dismissed my 432-character text of my woes and dramatics with "ang lungkot naman ng buhay mo, parang drama." First of all, that so did not spell empathy or sympathy: it worded ridicule. Secondly. Oh my gosh. Goodness gracious. It was not even witty. In fact, I suspect he got that from one of those text messages sent for the whole contact list by people who do not have anybody to text with and who send overused jokes to milk the most of their 20 pesos. Why go unlimited when there's noone to talk to, anyway?

And to further violate my usual discretion, I say: he would even do that thing where he'd text nonsensical (oh my gosh, words are failing me) pa-cute messages. *loses consciousness from intense self-loathing* And I, poor me, too high--or down--pretended to not understand. (The best response to give, fellow unwilling souls, I swear.)

Luckily for me and the world, pills' effects do wear off at some point in time. For me, detoxifying was during the times I was trying to engage in deep, meaningful, insightful conversations that is the point of staying up to converse, anyway. After I defended my lack of enthusiasm with the concept of ligaw (courtship; for the reason that it is pretentious, the best foot forward shizzle), he confidently replied, "ako, ayoko ng ligaw kasi parang kailangan pang sambahin ang babae."

First of all, choice of words. Sambahin? Come on, boys should be nice to girls regardless of whether they want to be more than friends or not. Perhaps this has not been ingrained deep enough in us that to be extra nice is such a foreign practice it can equal/be construed as worship. I don't know, I don't want to know.

Point I'm driving at, it's funny how we can drown ourselves enough with induced blindness we can make ourselves believe some people truly understand us. Funnier still how we assume an air of self-mastery and self-knowledge. Truth is, we are all groping for some semblance of understanding, some form of correlation between who we are and who we think we are or should and want to be. Most of the time, we hit target but other instances, we end up playing the fool by doing what we said we won't. Life.

Oh. But if you can help it, whatever you do, friends, never overdose in bitter pills and even for a second indulge second-rate and slightly desperate flirtations. Else, you'd next be self-inducing amnesia.

Retort Naiveté

2009-05-21T22:38:00.001+08:00

What’s funny about people is when they see a girl who wears eyeglasses, they immediately conclude she is intelligent. I, having worn thick glasses before, have to keep on repeating the story of my premature birth and prolonged artificial incubation to explain that no, my vision problem was not a by-product of nights spent scouring the encyclopedias although the Nancy Drews, Agatha Christies and Ken Follets may have aggravated it. Regardless of my attempt to make them reconsider their first impression, though, I end up being the "deep" girl who knows a lot, which I found (and still find) to be extremely problematic because my idea of intelligence goes far beyond solving equations and delivering speeches and even grade point averages, but I digress.

I recall a strange and embarrassing instance from high school when I was asked about something and I replied I had no clue. A friend gasped in an utterly shameless manner and breathed, “may hindi ka pala alam!"

Ironically, though, while, to them, I appear to have known it all, I have the uncanny ability to appear clueless, lost and confused when I want (and need) to. This comes handy during compromisingly embarrassing and uncomfortable situations such as discussions of lewd matters. While I plucked up enough gall to enforce maturity and aplomb whenever this particular topic is raised - that is to entertain it intelligently as long as it doesn’t exceed a particular degree of vulgarity and not mouth scandalized, puritan comments -I found it is easier to fake innocence so that I wouldn’t be expected to react to the matter. Talk about learned ignorance. But more than conversations about the many disgusting ways (or, er, styles shet) by which humans reproduce, it is the knowledge about people’s behavior I pretend to not have absorbed.

It comes so easily. This friend who has a tendency to be reproachful because of an acquired sense of self-righteousness that is so bloated there’s no sense informing him/her about it (He/she wouldn’t listen). This other perfectionist who wants to be praised to compensate for his/her frustrations of being left behind regardless of historic efforts. This other person’s self-imposed sense of mystery, a response to the lack of personal identity and the desire to be more interesting. This person’s overconfidence, which manifests itself to his/her refusal to accept criticisms, reproach or remark which he/she justifies as having his/her own say, regardless. It’s one thing to be opinionated and another to be plain stubborn. And this guy’s (annoyed me to the point I am willing to disclose his gender) attempt at being cool by pretending to be what he is so obviously not (i.e. the deep, reflective, pondering kind who actually drives at something close to the truth).

In the end it is easier to act as if I do not know a friend is hurting regardless of his/her admirable effort to show he/she isn't because of pride and self-respect. It’s more convenient to act as if you are happy that he/she is not affected by something you know he/she invested so much emotion into. When I am confronted with things that cause me or others discomfort, things that threaten our self-made reassurance that we are inscrutable, sometimes I find it practical to respond with gullibility. Reply innocence, retort naïveté.

After all, I might need that same act of kindness someday. I might need someone to feign not seeing through the mask of indifference and compartmentalized expertise I’ve led myself to believe I wear so well.

This is just poker.