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Officially enrolled for the last term in my junior year!

Seriously, I didn’t think I’d go back to school; but here it goes… as the weeks ahead seem even more promising. We keep on fighting.

fgh

 

I have a story to share before I begin another chapter.

Last semester, before the holidays, I decided not to continue anymore – my journey in the University of the Philippines. I felt so fed up. I thought that all I cared about was academics and the grades I’d obtain from those sleepless nights and restless days. I couldn’t expound how painful it was to have all my thoughts convoluted inside my head. I wanted to take a break which was later on discerned as an escapism in disguise. That’s too coward and I know that UP breeds people of valour. To run away from my obligations is a shame.

I was thinking that I might be selfish for wasting other people’s time, money, and effort to send me to where I am now. I might be selfish for wasting other people’s hopes upon me. I fear I might be selfish because I could not give back enough. It’s true that I had been too selfish but not just because of the reasons stated beforehand. In reality, I am selfish for thinking that I could not go beyond. I became selfish because I tried not to fight against the fear that there is an end in the road so I could not go further.

I was determined to leave. I was already planning where I would apply for a new job. Until one day, my mom woke me up. She asked me to turn over my laptop. I was confused. She should know very clearly that I couldn’t do my works without it. She told me that it should be given to someone else who needs it. I deserve my laptop, why should I give it away?

So I wondered. I told her, “but I need it! what will I use in school?” She answered me with a question, “Who told you that you would enroll?” My heart broke a little, slowly, one-by-one, into pieces. I exploded inside but I kept myself composed in front of her.

Even if I already confessed to my parents about how I wanted to take a break from college life, I felt insulted about how my mom treated my Leave of Absence proposal. At that time, I already understood that they disagreed to their-daughter-who-used-to-be-the-most-passionate-and-successful-student-they-know-now-wants-to-stop-schooling. Maybe I hurt them for not seeming to care at all and I feel so sorry for giving them the worries. I was hurt when I heard directly from her that I am not going back to school anymore but maybe she was even more hurt when I told her I do not want to go to school anymore. I appeared to them as if I would remain as tough as my words but nobody had an idea how much it killed me to know that giving up was made possible.

There I totally realized that in spite of my willingness to leave, there was that shattered little part of me that wanted to stay. That part of me was scattered and was waiting to be picked. My doubts dropped that piece and I wanted to put it back again where it first bloomed. Once again, I am longing for this voice of mystery that would whisper me stay…

From the sublime feat until the sweetest defeat, I’ll hold on.

 

 

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I realized how dramatic I was haha!

I hope to make significant changes this 2016.

Upcoming posts on their way~

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I cherish the way I write

When I’m inspired

But it’s the fascinating

Troubles and aches

Which made me

Fall madly

Deeply in love

With the pain it causes

Terribly

It seems real

Feel what I see

See what I feel

I stabbed my face the last time I fall asleep with a pen.

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Pain won’t hurt if you don’t let it consume you.

Here I go again with the deepness of my character that is observably inherent through my thoughts.

Some days I feel in love I’ll type in Perhaps it’s terrifying to choose gray out of a thousand hues to be found; But still- I’m fascinated, not just with colors but, because you are around. Some days I feel frustrated I’ll type in The world is a battleground. Life is not a game and you’re not an spectator. What’s frustrating is that you lose just when you thought you’d be a warrior.

Even I – can’t predict myself. I think too much yet I have an impulsive nature. I have to make the actions even if I am not too sure. All I know is… I have to keep moving. I have to keep myself busy to get away from the negative things dragging me down.

When I was younger, I used to divert my attention into writing anything. I don’t care about rules, I just do the process. I learned to play games. I am involved with a lot of sports activities. One of my favorites is athletics. I’ve always wanted to run. In running, I feel free. It’s wonderful to just feel the air rushing against my skin. It’s wonderful to pour my sweat, and blood at times I fall, into the grass fields and the cemented roads and the muddy paths and more set-ups. It brings me anywhere. I won’t notice I’m tired because everything that I see is another dimension of the world which is beyond my control.

Now that I’m taking up more mature roles, I forget how it feels like not to be tired anymore. I am so drained physically, emotionally, and mentally. One moment, I’m happy. The next few seconds, I’m mad. I can’t calculate the momentum of my shifting moods. In fact, I am actually trying my best to stay inspired, to look at things in a positive way, to make myself believe that we’ll all turn out to be okay -but it’s not true. I’ve experienced downfalls and they all transform me into someone I’m not used to be. I’m striving to remain being the idealistic, excited kid. It just so happens that I finally decided to be a realistic, numb lady who’d become old staring at each error and hating herself for putting others down. (It’s a mystery when she’d realize she overlooks to avoid being too hard on herself.)

I’ve been writing and running all day long and through the night. What else is left to do? Could I ever find something that would somehow make me forget this sensation of being worthless? I need a sense of fulfillment, too. I need something that might let me feel I have a value. Pain won’t hurt if you don’t let it consume you. What does it mean? Huh, I’m too deep I shall be buried no more. I need a catalyst. I need a catharsis.

I work too much. I do workloads that are far different from my field… such as cleaning. Instead of wasting my time being a hardened potato in the corner, I choose to be a restless piece of walking disaster. I clean here. I clean there. I finish tasks I’m not obliged to do. I finish them with flying colors. For a few times, I want to make myself proud. I want to know again how achievement feels like. A reflection suddenly dawned on me: that other people’s affirmation do not actually matter as much as I thought they do. Before others could praise me, I have to first search the assurance that I got this because I have myself completely in this journey.

I clean the house- different parts of it. I fix my things- with details organized. These little acts are probably not seen as significant as they actually are in real terms. This is what people often take for granted- the silly dramas. Don’t you notice? …Society gets unproductive if all of its members let the pain of rejection (from their set of universe) permeate their way of living. Pain definitely comes from an irresponsible individual’s cultured disease called ignorance. It consists of the passivity and arrogance that fully consume a person’s flesh and cells. It hurts so much one is tempted to just let life pass by so he/she almost eventually die.

I don’t say clean your room to finally find contentment and peace of mind. I say be ambitious all over again enough to start rebuilding faltered hopes each time it seems like the end. Catch attention. Do good for others. Yourself is not the only creature residing on Earth. Contribute your own little ways. Never let anything stop you …no matter how much it freaking hurts. Haunt pleasure in pain, darling. We all suck at some point but we’ll be good anyway.

This article sucks but I’ll produce something good someday.

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You’re like nothing else to me but a shipwreck that’s full of mystery… the one that is quite you who’s been brought to me by the winds, by the waters, by the flames. We’re on the same ground now. We’re under constant storms… the one that is quite us who are both haunted by love that has not been chanted.

You are such the most symbolic form of sweetness. Most of them would think that I am composed of the bitter sands stirred in saltwater which when tasted, sour; yet you melted that belief. I could feel through you the shivers that make me feel comfortable even in the darkest hours. I could see a thousand colors in the dash of your existence. I could hear the painful music that would make me sway and forget all the hatred I have for myself. The world seems so alive while the other side is dead – but is striving to survive.

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Broken-hearted ako.

…kasi hindi nagkatuluyan ang mga karakter na binuhay ko sa ginagawa kong kwento.

Nakakaasar dahil sabi ko nga, “The process is self-consuming… dahil bago pa man mabigyan ng kulay ang mundo niyo, napaglalaruan muna ang damdamin naming manunulat.”

Ang isang manunulat ay guguhit ng istorya na malapit sa puso niya. Kasabay nito ay ang pagbibigay ng sarili sa mundong siya mismo ang lumikha. May mga kabanatang dadalhin ang mga mambabasa, tagapakinig, o manonood sa katumbas na pakiramdam kung paano nga ba ang umibig. Mayroon din namang kabanatang ipaparamdam sa kanila nang paulit-ulit ang sakit ng bawat pagkabigo. Higit sa lahat, bago ihain ang mga emosyong ito sa iba, nabugbog muna ng tamis at pait at pinaghalong timpla ang kung sino ba ang gumawa ng teksto. Sino ba ang unang nakaranas nito?

Akala ko noon ang pagsusulat ay napakalaya… tipong patuloy lang akong magbubukas ng pinto sa napakalawak kong imahinasyon na lalong nagpapaliit sa mundong ginagalawan ko. Ang pagsusulat pala ay isang sumpa. Kagaya ngayon, hindi ko sigurado kung may patutunguhan ba itong paglalahad ko sa kung paano binabago ng pagsusulat ang pananaw ko sa buhay. Saan ako dadalhin? Hindi ko alam.

Sa kabila ng napakaraming tanong sa aking isipan na hindi ko matuldukan, akin muling bubuuin ang mga pirasong kung saan-saan ko natatagpuan. Palagi ko pa rin tatanggapin ang mga bagong kwentong dapat maibahagi naman sa iba sa pamamagitan ng aking pagsasalarawan. Eh ano kung masaktan.

Eh ano naman kung hindi pala tayo.

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Told You

If I would compile all the words left unsaid

I could build a mountain-piled sheets

There are these novels you have not read

Hidden as mystery of loud heartbeats

Others might think of love like it’s a fairytale

While I write the story of jitters and blurs

Terrified that ink stains on pages might fail

Sweet and sad revealing wonderful curse

Somebody has gotten no idea he’s being written

It is but fair to do so for I do not know, too

Telling you that I love you has been forbidden

You didn’t know and I hope I told you.

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Marahil Mahalaga Ka

Hindi isang routine ang buhay. Kung labag sa loob mo ang linyang kasasabi ko lang, baka nga nabubuhay ka sa routine; pero hindi pa rin ito ang buhay. Pakiramdam ko kasi’y walang halaga ang paulit-ulit at nakakasawang sistema. Kaya nga siguro maraming nalilito maging iyong mga kabilang sa masang sumisigaw ng pagbabago.

Hindi nawawala ang pagbabago. Patuloy ito sa pagpuksa ng nakakairitang plaka na tila ba isinusumbat sa’yo na hindi ka makaintindi. Kahit na maintindihan mo, iiwan ka rin naman ng lumang istilong tinangay ng panahon. Lahat naman kasi ay pansamantala. Walang forever ba ang nasa utak mo? Tigilan mo ako.

Hindi nakukulong sa ilang pahinang depinisyon ang salitang maaaring bitiwan ng isang tao. Ang punto ko lang naman, bakit pa kailangang pag-aksayahan ng oras ang mga bagay na hindi naman pala sigurado? Oo punto ang tawag sa pangungusap na ‘yan bagamat nagtapos sa tandang-pananong. Ayoko naman na sagutin mo ako ng hinulaan mong parirala o ‘di kaya’y ninakaw na talata mula sa katha ng iba. Ang gusto ko ay unawain mo.

Unawain mong hangga’t may pagbabago ay may pagkakaiba. Unawain mong ikaw ay hindi tulad nila. Unawain mong ikaw ay may kakaibang hina at sigla. Ikaw ay may sariling halaga.

What completes me, breaks me in the process sabi ko. Paano? Alam ko kasing hindi madali na gumising na lang isang araw na okay ang lahat. Walang okay lang, sarkastiko. Nangangarap tayo. Ang pangarap kasi ay hindi lugar na magagawa mong pasyalan kung kailan mo gusto. Hindi ito laruan na itatapon mo sa nilalangaw na tambak ng basura kapag pinagsawaan. Ito ay paglalakbay. Nariyan na tamarin kang lumakad sa kung anumang dahilan. Nariyan na ma-excite ka, tumakbo, ayun nadapa. Nariyan na sasabihin mong ayaw ko na pero ang kailangan mo lang pala ay ang magpahinga. Mabuti nga at nabigyan ka ng pagkakataong magkaroon ng sarili mong lakbay. Nakakahiya naman sa ibang nilumpo ng nanggigipit na kalupitang kaakibat ng buhay. Itong hiya na ito ang nagpakapal ng mukha ko. Ang kahinaan ng iba ang ginawa kong sigla. Tila ba itinuring kong makina ang aking sarili upang magtrabaho hindi para sa sarili kong kapakanan; kundi para sa ikabubuti ng nakararami. Corny? Bahala ka. Para sa akin, isa itong sentimental na pangakong kailanman ay hindi ko iwawaksi. Kaya nga ganito ko na lang ipahayag kung gaano ako nasasaktan habang binabaybay ang peligrosong daan tungo sa kinabukasang siguro naman ay may hitik na bunga ng ating pinagsisikapang ipunla.

Madami akong isyu sa buhay. Halos lahat ng detalye ay iniintindi ko hangga’t mamaya, wala na pala akong oras para intindihin naman ang sarili. Alam kong ito’y mali. Anong klaseng pagpapahalaga ba ang maibibigay ng isang tao kung wala siya nito? Hayaan mong hanapin ko ang sagot mula sa mabangis na mundong kinabibilangan ng aking anino. Nakalahad ang palad ng naghihikahos na pulubing hindi mo alam kung kailan pa huling nagkaroon ng laman ang tiyan. Nakatulala ang manggagawang lugmok sa trabaho umulan man o umaraw na nadaya na pala sa kwentahan ng sahod. Nakapanlalambot ang istorya nila at ng iba pang mga kasama… silang mga biktima ng pang-aabuso ng dayuhan o ng kapwa Pilipino. Hindi mabibilang ang mga mensaheng nais iparating ng mga kaganapang hindi malutas. Nasa loob pa pala tayo ng giyerang ginagamitan ng basyo ng balang tumupok na pala sa napakarami nating mga kawal. Anong silbi ng ipinaglalaban nating mga aktibista kung patuloy palang nagaganap ang iba’t ibang uri ng karahasan sa paligid? Isang routine na paulit-ulit tumatatak sa nakapaninibughong kasaysayan ng pinaghalong tamis at pait. Isyu ko pa rin na hindi tayo malaya.

Ikaw, na bumabasa nito, ay mahalaga. Pinili kita kaysa iba. Pinipili kita higit sa anumang luho. Pipiliin kita sa aking pag-iisa, sa tuwing ako ay may kasama, kapag ay ako ay pagod, kapag ako ay inaantok, kapag ako ay nalulungkot, kapag ako ay natutuksong itigil na tingnan kita bilang mahalaga.

Sumusulat ako hindi mula sa ideolohiyang ipinipilit sa akin. Sinusulatan kita dahil marahil mahalaga ka.

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Damn You

Thousands of footsteps

Brought me somewhere

Today when my mind

Seemed deeply sunk into

The depth of a million

Contrasted, unfathomable

Thoughts that strongly

Persistently led me home

Tonight when my heart

Went trapped in an endless

Tinted flow of unfading hues

Embarked in shadows

Tarnished by your remarkably

Irresistible existence

Damn you

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Hanggang Sa Muli

Ito na marahil ang unang post na ginamitan ko ng diskursong Tagalog; ngunit hindi ito ang nag-iisang post na gagamitan ko ng puso. Gusto kong maiba naman ang atakeng aking gagamitin upang maipahayag ang bugso ng aking damdamin. Sumusulat tayo hindi dahil inutos, hindi dahil pinilit, at higit sa lahat… hindi dahil upang magmalaki.

Ako ay isang manunulat hindi lamang dahil ito ang napili kong trabaho, kundi dahil ito ang aking buhay.

Naaalala ko pa ang mga lumipas na taon kung kailan ko ginugol ang aking kabataan bilang isang indibidwal na sanay na mag-isa at nabubuhay nang hindi humihingi ng kahit anong panahon mula sa kanyang mga kasama. Masaya ako dahil akala ko ay malaya ako sa ganoong sistema. Sa pagdaan ng ilan pang mga kabanata, aking napagtanto na may kulang pala. Bagamat hindi sa aking pagkatao, may kulang pala.

Ano ba ang kulang? Gaano ito katimbang upang magdulot ng epekto sa akin? Hindi ko kayang sagutin. Ako ay namamangha sa kung paano nga ba pinahihintulutan ng pagkakataon ang bawat pagbabagong maaaring maganap sa loob ng pahinang bumubuo sa nobelang alam kong akin.

Noon, sumusulat ako sapagkat kaya kong gumuhit ng sariling mundo. Ngayon, pakiramdam ko’y unti-unting nagbabalik ang bawat teksto na aking nailarawan. Mayroong parte ng aking pagkatao ang natatakot sa posibilidad na magkakatotoo ang bawat detalye. Labis na nakabibighani ang pagsasakatuparan ng pangarap na dati’y binibigkas lamang. Natatakot ako. Natatakot ako sapagkat hindi ko akalaing ang daigdig na pinaliit ng aking imahinasyon ay isang bulgar na pelikulang nagdidiiin sa bawat eksenang makatotohanan.

Magulo. Tulad ng aking kwarto kapag hell week, tulad ng aking buhok sa tugatog ng mahanging bundok, tulad ng aking malikot na pag-iisip. Maingay, tulad ng pagtibok ng aking puso sa tuwing maririnig ang yapak ng papalapit na banta sa aking propesyong napili. Malungkot, tulad ng pinaghalong init at lamig na patuloy na uusig sa aking konsensya kung ako ba ay nagkaroon ng silbi sa araw man o sa gabi. Mapanlinlang, tulad ng mga markang akala ko ay papasa dahil sa puyat at pagod na inabot. Mapanghusga, tulad ng bintang na ibabato habang patuloy kong tinatanong sa sarili, “Sapat ba ito?” Alam kong hindi. Hindi, kailanman, ako naging kontento.

Lahat na yata ng sakripisyo ay aking naranasan makarating lang sa inaasam na paraiso. Mabilis. Matagal. Madaming tukso. Ang paglalakbay pala na ito ay hango sa postura ng impyerno. “Sige, ituloy mo”, ang palagi kong sinasambit. Imbis na magsawa, kailangan kong masanay. Malupit ang hagupit ng bawat latigong katumbas ng pagkatalo. Mabangis ang mga naghihiyawang boses, nakabibinging katahimikan, at nagpupumiglas na kaluluwang nais kumawala sa rehas na nagkukulong sa kung anuman ang sigaw ng karakter na binuhay ng nag-aalab na apoy ng pakikidigma.

Malalim. Ang pinaghulugan ng aking ipinaglalaban, ang mga salitang akala mo hindi maiintindihan, ang pares ng matang nakikiusap sa paglabas ng katotohanan, ang sugat na dulot ng digmaan, ang hukay na nag-aabang. Isang maling galaw at “patay ka!”.

Mayroon pa ba akong dapat katakutan? Nasindak nang paulit-ulit, isang ritmong sumusunod sa musika ng daigdig. Mayroon pa ba akong dapat pagdudahan? Nasilaw sa makulay na palabas, isa palang pagtatanghal ng masasayang payasong sa likod ng entablado’y may mga luhang nakalulunod. Mayroon pa ba akong dapat sukuan? Nasaktan ng matatalim na sandatang ibinabato ng hindi naman lubusang kilala… sino ba sila? Ano ang ginagampanan ng mga elementong ito upang magpadala na lang ang sinuman sa agos ng walang patutunguhan? Hindi dapat. Hindi dapat sagutin ang mga tanong na wala namang kwenta – walang kwenta sapagkat nakasuot sila ng maskara. Hindi pala talaga ako nagtatanong kundi umiiwas. Duwag! Walang silbi ang umiwas sa responsibilidad na dapat ay pinagsisikapang tuparin.

Walang tigil akong pumipindot sa pagtipa ng aking keyboard dahil umaasa akong may mararating ang artikulong sinimulan kong kausapin. Ayaw nitong matapos. Ayaw ko rin, ngunit kailangan na.

Kailangan ko ng bumangon mula sa lugmok na istilo ng pakikibaka. Hanggang dito na lang muna. Sana bukas ay may mapatunayan na.

Hanggang sa muli.

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