blase`

I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about what you think of me -- if you seem to think that my emotional growth is some kind of freak mutation or if you think that this new kind of liberty is an escape for a more sinister plot to undo your sense of stability. I’m tired of thinking what other people might think, what you might think, or what other people might think about us. I don’t care about old drunken pleasures nor do I care about faded tempting promises. I weary of these boring platitudes. Give me something new. Give me something original. Give me anything before the final wick turns to ash. I don’t care anymore. I’ve stopped caring about myself a long time ago, so why should I start caring about what other people feel. Call me selfish, inconsiderate, call me bitter, call me dry. My new name is uncaring. So what? I’ve willed my beating mass to stop throbbing. I don’t care anymore. So what if I cry myself to sleep each night your face mirrors in my dreams? So what if this contemplation lasts for eternity? So what if last night's earthquake brought me into a conclusion that my first thoughts and final prayers were of and for you? So what if I know that I will never love anyone as much as I’ve loved you? So what? I don’t care anymore. I no longer want to feel. I want to be left alone. My mind is already saturated with reveries. No need to share me yours. Stop sinking my ship. I’ve tried saving too many people from their own monsters. I want this moment to save myself. It will be eons before you could take it from my lifeless greedy grip. I want to be lost in this vicious cycle. Let me splurge. Let me bask. And in the end, let me gloat. I don’t care anymore!

infinity fall

Sometimes you ask yourself when is enough? Is the heart such an enduring mass that you just let yourself go thinking that it's a well of infinite possibilities? Please do not misconstrue, dear readers. I know that all of you mean well. A bruised heart takes longer to heal than a bruised ego. A stream may sparkle with the most luminous light but nymphs prefer to bathe when their mind is clear, and the atmosphere is warm. There will be other days for a swim.

and belladona leaks

Hello...

I just thought of you again while I was surfing. If I may ask... why do you, as it seems to me, use the word "ephemeral" with regard to you, your writing, and your words? Is it because of an awareness of mortality? Is it the knowledge that you consider this phase in your life as something easily replaceable, something that eventually will be subsumed by any future interest?

You've got a very interesting mind. It has a depth that is potentially immeasurable. What you seem to be doing, though, is tamping down on the very wellspring where substance leaps from... if given free rein. Focused intelligence is a product of hardship, and wisdom is the result of relentless purpose forced through a smelter. At least, that is what I think. I'm probably saying love is best understood by one who has undergone the sharpest pain, true joy best defined by one who has seen the greatest sorrow. But then, I have been mistaken too many times to underestimate a perspective other than my own. Nevertheless, you are -- like I said -- quite interesting, and in another place and time, I'd have been honored to share tea with you again (so to speak). I concede that honor to a luckier person, because to search you out now would probably be disastrous. You are a beautiful person, and thus, you are dangerous, and under the circumstances, I might be a danger to you. I hope you understand what I'm saying . Do not doubt what you are, what you can be. It is so easy to become what you work for. It is a far more difficult thing to become what you can be. Am I making sense?

Be well, pretty one.

weathered

As I've Matured...

I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is stalk them and hope they panic and give in.
I've l earned that one good turn gets most of the blankets.

I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people are just jack asses.

I've learned that whatever hits the fan will not be evenly distributed.

I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to others - they are more screwed up than you think.

I've learned that depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.

I've learned that it is not what you wear, it is how you take it off.

I've learned that you can keep vomiting long after you think you're finished.

I've learned to not sweat the petty things, and not pet the sweaty things.

I've learned that ex's are like fungus, and keep coming back.

I've learned age is a very high price to pay for maturity.

I've learned that I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy it.

I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, unless we are celebrities.

I've learned that artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

I've learned that 99% of the time when something isn't working in the office, one of your colleagues did it.

I've learned that there is a fine line between genius and insanity.

I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon and all the less important ones just never go away. And the real pains in the ass are permanent.

*The bamboo bends but does not break

The Old man at Mcdonald's

Life is one big charade. Just peer through the Cebu crème de la crème’s peephole. They’re awash with pleasantries and comfort – enjoying the dainties of feasts, smiling their perfect smiles into the camera, dressed to kill in fashion that are never less than to-the-minute mod – these people, the quintessential images of wealth, health, and fortune. I don’t begrudge them their lovely times. Most of the time, I’m envious (most especially by the way fate smiles cordially upon them). However, during these trying moments I find myself knotted in queries left hanging for conclusion with regards to the absurd boundlessness of life, and the ephemeral illusions of the less fortunate's torrents which silently fleets away. It mars whatever good things my early broodings have caused me, wiping the curve from my lips. It shows me the lacking in every perfect smile I see, leaving me with but the faint frailties of an early perusal I made. I think of this particular squalor, a gnarled and wracked body along McDonald’s Jones – lamentably dressed, reeking with a stench still unnamed, donning his rag-tuxedo, trash bag belt and mosquito cape – he sits there, hands outstretched to their farthest reach to catch a few coins and a handful of flinches and looks of disgust. In times of loss, whenever I expect people to be there, I can always count on this old man. Come rain, come shine, he’s present – more dependable than some politicians who are the difference in not reaching quorum. I’m sure he has his share of glory days but as of the moment, he’s there begging for alms, begging for mercy, for empathy, and probably peace – an end to his tormenting stature. I am turned from pity to bereavement as I contemplate on the series of emotions I transcend from as I carefully drop a coin into this soul’s eager hands. Would I feel pride? My ego-imp mischievously veers my eyes to turn around and check out if anyone has seen my act of generosity. How about stern cynicism? I then berattle myself for abetting the state of his being a beggar – I silently will myself to turn away and scold myself for his brittle bones look strong enough to support himself to work! Then the guilt inevitably rolls through me like a torrent, and I am moved to ineffable pity. But before I am reproached by any other emotion, forgetfulness visits my door to soothe my weary mind. Then I get out of there, anywhere else but near him, and when I’m home, the unnamed stench is still creeping in the alae of my nose, and that miserable face lingers with me for days to come, until I can’t take it anymore and I make a couple of sandwiches, bursting and take it to that dimly lit crevice to dump them all unceremoniously into his begging hands. But it’s never enough, so I make horrible rhymes, chanting them like a mantra to lull me to a more peaceful state of mind, because nothing I can do will make it right, and all the words I say will still be trite. Dusk will come and still, it will be a sleepless night until dawn claims my restless heart, and the world revolves, uncaring.

i'm back.... at least for now...

Been pretty busy... as in hell - bent and all. Been doing back to back classes for the past month and life has been really treating me cruel. Haggard! After almost six months of being in the evening shift, got transferred to the morning shift only to find out that the freakin' class was cancelled so I get to go back to the evening shift again starting tomorrow. (tough luck!)

Since I am not doing anything right now except wait for the photocopier to puke all the papers, I decided to grab the opportunity to sit and post all the pending blogs that I owe you. Enjoy... React and read on...

Life's pretty boring..

...

Him: So when am I supposed to ask you?
Me: Ask me again when your ready. By then I'll be ready with my answer.

sometimes happiness can cause so much pain... *sigh!*

....

Audible Whisper!!!

you just made me feel that I'm the loveliest girl in this side of the archipelago! sigh!

Him...

he who made me feel like am the prettiest girl in this world...
he who owns this oh so sad eyes...
he who makes me feel like a woman again...
he who owns the most immaculate of hearts...
he who made me believe that life is so beautiful to share it with someone...
he who is the epitome of life...
he whose life i worship and adore...

and he who broke my fuckin heart... :)

rants... just pure rants...

Happiness in guilded boxes. It's always a nice thought. It's November and I'm feeling a little better because the year is about to end. A lot of b*llsh*t happened last year and I'm hoping that everything would be uphill starting next year. Advanced happy birthday, Sigh! Currently, I'm listening to music from my this company pc. 3DoorsDown. The music lulls me to bliss. I remember being free. No cares. No qualms. Just me and my music. Some people drown themselves in amber ale; others, in the swirling swoosh of cigarette smoke; still, others choose to drown themselves in silence during times of despair. But not me. I'm too proud to admit my misery. Why waste time sulking when you can celebrate your little glories with music. (duh!)

duh!

Oh Freak! I've ran out of webbies to surf! This is what happens when you don't have a class to train, no bondpapers for the photocopier and my previous trainees are on OTP (Off the Phone). 1 hour to go and I'll be logging off. Dormant for almost half of the shift. What kind of work load is that?! I'm supposed to be sitting on my laurels and pampering myself with time (a lot of time) but I can't. MOnumental waste of time! Argh!

dream or promise?

Am I just make-believe? Is my life merely a figment of all my senseless imaginations? Or am I a promise? A being that has never reached that point of self-realization and has yet to unconceal her wings to the world? But is it a process really? Or is everything a choice of the thought? When you see the world in this particular light, are you being real? Or are you just trying to be somebody that you are not? When you touch another person's heart, are you trying to reach out to her as if to uncarve her from the sculptor's hand or are you trying to carve her into another?

When you touch me, do I touch you the same way? Or this is all skin? Or do I no longer exist at all when your fingers laced my heart?

To Audible Whisper

These are, hopefully, my final words to you.

You sat near, thanked me profusely for my words. I shunned you off, knowing it will be easier for me not to remember you more. The letter will always be with you anyway. I said my final goodbye and you replied you hate goodbyes, that this is just another leaf in our lives that we have to turn... That though this might be hard but you had to make a choice... I agreed and realized that everything has been all about you...

You who became my inspiration in this boring, routine job... You who, in your own secret endearing ways, encouraged me to excel and be the best that I can be... And because of you, I strive to become my best... And because of you as well, I had tried to change myself (because people always say that I am too good for you) but in vain... I realized later on, I can never have you but I can always be me...

But why have I not been affected of these feelings until now? Have I denied it then? If I should have told you beforehand, would you stay? But my disclosure came too late. Blame it to fate. Funny how we set our eyes on that specific somebody who cannot reciprocate the desires in our heart when there are a lot of others willing to do so. But this is reality. There can only be just one person whom one will choose to love... And in my case, it's you...

This is it. I have shed the last bucket of tears. I now understand perfectly your unspoken words. And as i sat here into the welcoming arms of abandonment, this time, I promise, it will be all about me. How many times do I still have to cry to finally let you go in my heart? I guess this time i will not allow myself to be vulnerable. You're leaving and that's all there is to it. No more what-ifs and what-might-have-beens...

Goodbye, dreamer's eyes... Don't worry i am trying to forget these feelings... I will miss you, I really will and I guess you know that. And the saddest thing, you did not give me the reason to hold on to something that might have been between us. Or could there be or nothing at all? I am weeping still... This might be the reason why I dont like working anymore...But i will not blame anybody nor myself... I am just human afterall, I love and fail, I am, fortunately, not a goddess...

epitaph

I told my friend Jib that I always felt that I am going to die young. Okay, I do not want to sound morbid but for inexplicable reasons, I have always felt that in a way, coursing through my thoughts and tugging my heart every now and then... I do not know though how I will die or when (being in one's 30's or 40's is still considered young anyway, I reasoned to myself) but I am always fascinated by this feeling... It makes me look forward to each day and knowing that I may not have enough time left in my calendar, I tried to make each day count, each circumstance worth taking into consideration, each moment a time for rediscovery...

There are certain fears though associated with death... And I guess all of us have the same fear, and that is first, to die alone... to lie on my deathbed and nobody to give my final words to... that sure is scary because i do have a lot to say before i die... second in my list is not to be able to see my (future) children grow up and live their lives according to the normal routine of our existence: preschool, facing adolescence, accepting our individualities, finishing school, getting a job, having a family, relishing life's meaning and finally, getting old... i believe that witnessing other people's growth defines one's purpose in life... third is to die and to still have people harboring a grudge on me and not being able to say sorry and finally bury the hatchet... it's too telenovela-unfortunate to have somebody laugh at your funeral when everybody else is shedding tears... and finally, the most important of all, to die without having somebody to love and be loved in return... that, of course, is a tragedy...

whew!

"a woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets, scoop the water out of it and you will unearth another deep well of water still..."

i am waiting for tomorrow... i cannot live for today, your silence is unbearable... yes tomorrow when you will become just a mere butterfly perched on my windowsill... i wish i could summon the gods to transform you into a fading memory... but they are more evasive... how can you teach a heart to disown itself momentarily?

i remember you still but now it is more like a passing thought... i am afraid i do not even know now if i can still recognize your voice from a distance. i have come to terms with myself. this is all that there is to it. there is more to waiting than the ceasing of wants...but this time, i have resolved not to wait for you.

WARNING: This Rant is very long!

Simply the thing I am shall make me live... (William Shakespeare)

After working for nearly five years in a call center, the most financially rewarding job I had and yet the most emotionally-taxing as well, I realized that I am bored. Sure I am part of the more favored department: the training team. And sure I get to visit the famous places in the country and buy the things that I need and I want. But the sad part is I began to realize that I am not growing professionally and personally. It hit me like a curse that courses through my being and manifests itself through an increasing clamor for meaning. The daily routine of work, sleep and a little recreation is like a dagger aimed on my neck. The days seem long and hungry for purpose. More than a vacation, I know I need a new perspective.

I remembered during this time last summer, I spent a four-day breather from work with my colleagues in the previous company that I worked for. After spending a quick one-night stay at gorgeous Plantation Bay, we headed over to bountiful Bohol braving the chill of the approaching rain. By the time the ship landed plus the 30-minute drive from port to hotel, it was already way past lunchtime. Another half hour or so and we are ready to take that ultimate sightseeing tour to several famous tourist destinations in the island. After the trek to Chocolate Hills, we headed over to meet the exotic tarsiers in a tourist spot near the Loboc River. There, we went on a sightseeing tour on board a motor banca. Our tour guide, a twenty-something young man with bronzed skin and sun-bleached hair, provided detailed descriptions of our surroundings. He was conversing in English and minus some grammar blunders; he was in fact very articulate.

According to him, he was the first person in their village to finish high school. The school is several kilometers away and children had to walk for an hour each day back and forth all for the sake of learning. That’d explain why others though would rather prefer staying at home. And that of course led to the low literacy rate in the village.

He said he had 18 brothers who all lived in the same village and that due to poverty; they were not able to get out of the village to seek opportunities in the city. And now with their wives and children, they were stuck on their village by the river which was both their life and bane at the same time.

Luxury was scarce. The village does not have electricity. The only major source of consolation was bathing in the river and basking under the folds of Mother Nature and relishing the scent of the cascading waterfalls and the stroke of sunlight under the green foliage. This is simple life redefined and yet with all honesty, I could not imagine trading places with these people. Here we are, tinkering with our computers and other technological gadgets, oftentimes complaining about the idiosyncrasies of our everyday life, complaining about not having enough and yet for other people from some undisclosed parts of the archipelago, enough would mean having to wake up each day to commune with nature, eat a meager meal each day and laugh and listen to uncertainty softly whispering into their ears.

But yes, until now, as I reminisce, I cannot guess who is happier. When we interact with them, we think they are more blessed for living a simple, uncomplicated life away from the hustle and bustles of our city life. But when you read through their wide-awed eyes, they think that we are so lucky to taste the technologically-driven luxuries of this world.

Are we really more blessed? Am I blessed having to wake up each day to get to my work, spend 8 hours each day for 5 days in front of people? Am I blessed because I know that I don’t have to spend my nights in total darkness, I can buy the things that I want and that I am given the privilege to harness my skills and abilities through extensive education?

Or perhaps they are more blessed - for having the security borne out of ignorance. While here I am, in this big, big world trying to survive through rough times in this economically-challenged country, working my butt out in this call center business and weaving for myself a financially-secure future. Here I am, trying to carve my own niche in this world in order for society to deem me successful. And yet here I am, restless and unfulfilled.

Almost everyday, my supervisor usually calls up to discuss about how we were doing and our performance. Humility aside, this has never been an issue for me especially since I know I work hard at least to deserve the post given to me. But lately I have been feeling especially detached with my job. I guess I was clamoring for something new other than having to stay for eight hours straight muttering those all-too-familiar words that have been my script for a long while.

Yesterday, while trying to ward off my sleepiness, I chatted with an agent about our common friend. She mentioned that Ria’s grandmother has just died battling the same disease she has been fighting through series of chemotherapy with: breast cancer. I immediately called Ria and she started crying uncontrollably. She poured her soul and I was trying to make her feel better. Later during our almost one-hour conversation, she told me about her passion for the art. With death looming on her door, she urged me to pursue my dreams (she knows I love to write, she is a painter) because life is too short to take for granted our dreams (oh, what credibility, those words coming from the mouth of one whose loved one has just died!).

Her words hovered above me like a looming eagle ready to soar. This has been my dilemma for quite a while. Glenn, a dear friend who also works part time in a local newspaper in Bohol, has been prodding me to join the team again or at least submit my articles since time immemorial; but I haven't had the motivation to collect my thoughts and write.

And then came Ria’s words: “You can still train people while you write. You don't have to sacrifice one for the other.”

She was right. Back then, I gave up the opportunity to work in a regional broadcasting company simply because I know this will not make me secure, financially speaking. I have to be practical, philosophy will take me nowhere. So I have made my choice and forgot about my passion for writing. Hearing Ria’s words however made me think otherwise.

She thanked me profusely for making her feel better, for giving her a shoulder to cry on. I was inspired. If only she knew she was the one who made me feel better. I did not only make the difference in her life, she actually did on mine. Before we end, I promised to keep in touch.

Perhaps, that is why I am writing now; to try to get back to the self I once lost, to recollect the dreams that lay barren on my field.

Dreams need only a little boost from its bearer and then the entire universe will conspire to work on it.

I felt the need to write again. I felt the need to be consumed by writing and be myself.

Yes, I will still keep this job but I do not need to detach myself from who I really am. And yes, I am, after all, blessed to have this job to keep me afloat and a dream I can pursue.

And to echo the words of my mentor and friend, Sir Ramir Uytico: “Remember too that you are first a writer, do not forget.”

...

Main Entry: obliv·i·on
Pronunciation: \ə-ˈbli-vē-ən, ō-, ä-\
Function: noun

:the condition or state of being forgotten or
unknown

thoughts

Dear [Audible Breath],

I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about what you think of me -- if you seem to think that my emotional growth is some kind of freak mutation or ifyou think that this new kind of liberty is an escapefor a more sinister plot to undo your sense ofstability. I’m tired of thinking what other people might think, what you might think, or what other people might think about us.

I don’t care about old drunken pleasures nor do I care about faded tempting promises. I weary of these boring platitudes. Give me something new. Give me something original. Give me anything before the final wick turns to ash.

I don’t care anymore. I’ve stopped caring about myself a long time ago, so why should I start caring about what other people feel. Call me selfish,inconsiderate, call me bitter, call me dry. My new name is uncaring. So what? I’ve willed my beating mass to stop throbbing.

I don’t care anymore. So what if I cry myselfto sleep each night your face mirrors in my dreams? So what if this contemplation lasts for eternity? So what if last night's abyss brought me into a conclusion that my first thoughts and final prayers were of and for you? So what if I know that I will never love anyone as much as I’ve loved you? So what?

I don’t care anymore. I no longer want to feel. I want to be left alone. My mind is already saturated with reveries. No need to share me yours. Stop sinking my ship. I’ve tried saving too many people from their own monsters. I want this moment to save myself. It will be eons before you could take it from my lifeless greedy grip. I want to be lost in this vicious cycle. Let me splurge. Let me bask. Andin the end, let me gloat.

I don’t care anymore. F*ck!