This Didn't Work

I stumbled upon this poem I made last April. Thank God it can now only make me laugh, to think that I was crying my eyes all out when I was writing this. For some of its flaws, now you know... Depression-induced kasi, haha. And why did I write this? Oh you('ll) know why.


A BOY AND A ROSE 04202006


Once a boy was attracted
To a rose being sold in the market.
Its big petals were flushing
Above a stem long and slender,
With leaves green and dewy.
Thrilled, he reached for his pockets
Got some coins
And immediately bought it.
On the way home,
He did nothing
But gazed at the rose's beauty.
He jumped from
One sidewalk to the next
With the rose in his hands
That delicately held it.
Alongside was a road
Full of traffic jam and smoke,
Cars honking, people bustling.
But the boy couldn't have noticed
For the rose was enough
To delight him,
To keep him prancing,
even dancing,
Until he reaches home…
Even if it seemed far away ahead.
After hours that just felt like minutes,
He's finally at his doorstep
And hurriedly opened the hatch
So to welcome the rose in its new home.
The room quite appeared to be messy,
Some papers scattered here and there,
Some toppled furniture on the floor.
But as the boy placed the rose
In a vase on the window sill,
As if by magic, finally,
The room seemed to have shone its beauty.
The attractive sight of the rose
Drove him
To gather all the laying muddle,
To throw all the papers to the bin,
And to put back all the furniture where it belonged.
Day by day, he made sure
That enough sunlight reaches the rose,
And enough water was fed to it.
He made sure its petals remain flushing,
Its stem still long and slender
With leaves green and dewy.
However, other errands have to be attended to
And there were times that he missed
To look after his beloved rose,
Waiting by the window sill.
Eventually, he just noticed
The rose's beauty fading…
Its petals slowly turning into black,
Its stem becoming weak
With some of its leaves already flaking.
Now every time he sees it,
Disappointment fills his eyes
And every time he walks towards it,
A heavy heart causes him to sigh.
Staring at it closely,
He would often ask himself:
What could I have done wrong
For my rose to wither?
What else could I haven't done
For my rose not to stay all flourished?
He would then hold it so tightly,
His fists clenched all around its stem
Its sharp thorns already piercing his hands
As its petals are also falling.
Not knowing how to stop the bleeding
And the stinging pain the thorns bring,
The boy all exasperated
Took the rusty scissors close by…
One by one he cut it off;
One by one he loathed it all.
He then took the vase with the thornless rose in it
Out to the patio so he couldn't see it
Anymore as he enters the house,
For it has no use
But to inject scorn
To the boy who did everything to make it live.
Assuming without its thorns
The rose would just die,
The boy left it there
Out in the patio
Under the pale blue sky.
He went back inside
To get a bandage for his wounds
So that blood would stop from pouring
And probably tears would also stop from falling.
Never did the boy tried
To peek out the window
And check on the rose
That's why he didn't see
Nature's beauty having transpired.
With enough sunlight
Reaching unto it easily,
With enough rainwater
Sprinkling from time to time,
And with the cool gentle breeze
Caressing its frail body,
The rose, once again,
Have stretched longer into a beauty.
It seemed to be more dynamic
As sometimes, it even dances with the wind.
Some people would even pass by
And get astounded by what they see,
But the rose only waited
For the boy
Because for sure,
When he sees the rose,
Now longer and with its petals bigger,
He'd be in glee.
At one point the rose became still
And became tired of the usual faces
And the usual compliments it hears.
Where is the boy?, it wondered
Only he can make me spring.
Only he knows the right words to say,
Only he knows the right stroke my body wants to feel,
Only he knows the right way to kiss my tender petals when I'm asleep.
Inside his house it was hard to live,
But out here in the patio,
I have the wind.
But the wind is nothing
If his breath is gone;
The wind is nothing
If our memories have flown with it.
I hear him weeping from time to time,
Maybe he still blames himself
For what had happened to me.
But if he could just try to come and see,
I'll sway and welcome him gladly.
And if he can't believe what he sees,
I'll ask my friend, the wind, to softly blow these in his ears:

Without my thorns, I can live,
But without you, there is no meaning to it.



--------


haha, yeah right.

What's your greatest achievement?

My last day during the first semester was the most unbelievable day of my life. I was awake for 26 hours straight! Mich and I had to finish cram our final quantitative research paper which will actually reflect 25% of our final grade. I know cramming isn't an impressive habit, and neither do I take pride being labeled as a procrastinator; but if cramming does work for you, why give it up? Our last qualitative research paper got an A, even if it was just 15 pages long (another group even has 34). We were even worried ours would be incomplete, but thank heavens, Sir favors brevity! I really hope our quanti paper would acquire the same fate, in expense of us going to Tagaytay unbathed. You see, we had to submit our paper on a Monday, and on that Monday itself was our Tagaytay trip with PEERS. We worked non-stop on our paper, thus no time to take a bath. When we were done, we were already running late for Tagaytay, because it was already 3pm and we were still buying Flaming Hot buffalo wings in Katipunan. One must understand that we needed to appease our growling stomachs after that deadly cramming session. So we arrived in Tagaytay 2 hours later, with bulging eyes and dead hair cells protesting for a bath. When we were introducing ourselves and were asked to say something unusual about us, I courageously replied: "We have been up since 9 pm and we haven't taken a bath yet...". As expected all of them gasped, and I swear I saw from their faces that they wouldn't want to come near us just yet. So of course they drove us to take a bath. When we finally did, we were so high to even think that we haven't had any sleep at all. We went through the activities with our spirits in full energy mode, and when it was time to sleep, Mich and I even had time to chat for awhile. Then we fell asleep at around 11, which concludes our restless but functional 26 hours.

And because of this, I, the very known hypersomniac (my own term for un-insomniacs), has finally made history. I HAD BEEN AWAKE FOR 26 HOURS. For a person who used to fall asleep a lot, I have every right to be proud! *grin*

Happy Discardia!

"Discardia is celebrated by getting rid of stuff and ideas you no longer need. It’s about letting go, abdicating from obligation and guilt, being true to the self you are now. Discardia is the time to get rid of things that no longer add value to your life, [to] shed bad habits, [to] let go of emotional baggage and [to] generally lighten your load."

I haven’t chronicled much about my life after the break-up last summer. Not all my close friends knew about what happened, and if they had not approached me, I could still possibly be in their list of already-taken friends. What happened to me after that surprising death has barely been unheard of. Some were afraid that I died with it too, but I am glad that the way I have been living my life since then has proven such an assumption otherwise.

To let go of an almost three-year relationship and then say that you actually have felt more alive after is indeed a plausible accomplishment. I lost something, but I also gained more. Our journey was halted, but the alternate route allowed me to continue. By discarding, I have lived.

We did love each other immensely (I could say), but it still wasn’t enough to connect our separate views on life. We were the best of friends, but I guess we could never have passed as the best of lovers. Our relationship had been a toil, and I knew it was, but I was too afraid to acknowledge it. He was my comfort zone, and I was too afraid to even step out and compare. Even if our relationship was clearly headed to damnation, I was still allured by the warmth of its burning fire.

I don’t know if this only applies to my case, but haven’t we gotten the notion that keeping is virtuous while throwing away is not. We keep pictures, books, and the like. Everything we throw away is considered trash. So we keep and we keep, for yeah, why would we even allow something, which have been of use to us, to be considered as trash in the end? We keep because we believe it is the only way to cherish.

But oftentimes, we fail to notice this disclaimer: If everything is kept, everything eventually will also pile up. Your room, your own little world, becomes cluttered by the same things you kept because you didn’t want them to turn into trash. And so as result, there is no more enough space for you to even stand on. No more enough air for you to breathe in. So watcha gotta do? You have no choice but to still throw things away.

And I guess discard is a better word to use than throw (that’s why I love the word discardia). Discarding is essential to give us space to grow. Discarding is essential so we can have more room to acquire the things we now more need. We discard not because we consider something as trash, but because we just no longer need it to stay. But the thing discarded (and consequently even replaced) doesn’t imply it is no longer useful, because even if it is discarded to the mountains of Smokey (haha, Smokey Mountain I mean!), the meaning which that discarded thing has stamped to your life will always remain. As what Sir Jope said, “What you have now is brought about by your past (where the discarded thing came from), and what you will have in the future is brought about by what you do with what you have now (historicity).” If now means a cluttered room, then aren’t we supposed to be sensing a room makeover?

And so early on the post-breakup stage, I already chose to discard all the “emotional baggage”, all the guilt, all the if onlys, all the what ifs. But I also chose to welcome all the new lessons, all the new company, all the new time to be spent with my family and on overnight stays and gimmiks with my friends (which I was not permitted to do so before!). I chose to build a new world again. And to continuously build worlds, I believe, is to continuously discard and gain. I also learned from Philosophy that one does not need to see evil to recognize what is good, because what is evil is evil and what is good is good. But Sir Jope also mentioned about via negativa—we experience something we must experience because we don’t have such an experience before. We can’t keep everything because we have our limitations (our room is bounded); we can’t experience everything all at the given time. So the only key is to discard, so we can also gain. But an emphasis on this other disclaimer: one should discard wisely.

I was also supposed to talk about how Philosophy has affected me so much, but I think it deserves another entry. Besides, this post was guided by the subject anyway (and this post is already too long!). I remember submitting my first paper to Sir Aurelio who asked us where we are in our caves and were we willing to go out and finally face the light which is the truth (in relation to the Allegory of the Cave). What else can I say but describe my current condition back then. My paper had these final questions: “Ngunit ano nga ba ang katotohanan dito? Ano ang naghihintay sa akin? (What’s the truth in all of this? What is waiting for me out there?)” He asked if we could talk, but before we had the chance, he was already replaced by Sir Jope. Nevertheless, my Philo class with Sir Jope became my way out of the cave. I gained a lot of insights and because of Philo, I believe I am a better person now (haha!). I may not have perceived the truth clearly yet (because accdg to Sir Aurelio, even outside the cave, there are still shadows), but with all conviction, I know this is one profile of the truth: I am not your usual break-up dumpee. Hahaha!

So Happy Discardia, it is.

This Made Me Blog After Decades

looking all devastated, my long-lost guy friend came up to me out of the blue. he badly needed advice because his girlfriend, who is also my friend, finally chucked him to the bin. i didn't know what to say because i didn't want to sound that i was blaming either one of them for what happened (although i believe, and he admits, that it was more of his fault). so i was dumbfounded for a while, until he saw my scratch notebook, which contains some of the quotes i lifted from my post-breakup fiction books before (haha funny i have such genre). here are some of it:

"Our received wisdom declares that it takes two people to destroy a marriage. But maybe not."

"Every crisis is an opportunity... Every crisis is a chance to be creative, to make yourself over, to become the person you want to be. But if you're nauseated half the time, if you're always exhausted, if every goddamn nerve in your body is dull with pain, it's hard to be creative. It's hard to be imaginative when you're depressed."

"Ours was a courtly love, an attempt to prolong the passion, the aching uncertainty, to maintain romance. This was a love you read in fairy tales. Young love. Timeless love. Immutable and true. And so it was a lie. Romance turns out to be a shallow sea. Romantic love like ours is meat to the flesh of time."

"Nothing begins with so much excitement and hope and pleasure as love, except maybe writing a story. And nothing fails as often, except writing stories. And like a story, love must be troubled to be interesting. We crave love, can't live without its intimacy, though it pains us."

"Do you love her? I've got every logical reason to. For who she is. For our history. All that. What I don't have is an unreasonable desire to love her... I did love her. Let it go... Your grief isn't going to hurt anyone."

...so he read that, and i swear i saw him already verging into tears, until he read this..

"...the way men behaved towards women depended on much more complex psychological factors. It was not a question of moral knowledge,... it was more a matter of confidence in self and sexual integration. A man with a fragile ego, unsure of who he is, would treat a woman as a means of combating his insecurity. A man who knew who he was and who was sure of his sexuality would be sensitive to women's feelings. He would have nothing to prove."

...and he suddenly became all huffy and all ready to pounce my head, until he retreated again and instead looked up to the dark starless sky. then he proclaimed:

"haay... can i just say that's true?"

saludo ako. at least umamin, hehe.

oh how i love today!

SEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMBREEEEEEEAK is here!!! :D now is the time to be merry everyone!

i was hoping i could have all my book and dvd marathon done this semestral break, but unluckily, i can't. my mom's harassing me with all these debut preparations. :( i never really wanted a formal party, but my mom induced me to have one. i knew she'd just stress me to carry out every arrangement immaculately, because my mom's a perfectionist that way. haaaaaay. :(

on the brighter side, i agreed to have this coming out party because, at least, i'd get to see my whole family on that day!! :) :) my uncle and his wife from the states are coming! my relatives from leyte and capiz are coming as weeeeeelll!!! yahooo! :D

and does this spell out more gifts?? haha! *spank tricia*

which reminds me i havent updated my birthday wishlist for a while. but seriously, i just want everyone to come. every single person i invited has been a part of who i am today (sounds too cliche, but true). every single person has somehow contributed to my definition of self. that's why i'm not just gonna celebrate for me, but for everyone as well. :)

but if there's another thing (out of so many things) i am deadly serious about, these are BOOKS!
can anyone suggest me superb books to read? :D