I just write.

I just write.

I want my fingers to speak in cipher and symbol, in character and punctuation --- I want them to speed across an empty slate, filling it with idea and passion. I want others to read it, and I want them --- for a brief fleeting moment --- to see what I see. Understand the world through my eyes, and be brightened, saddened, twisted, bent, gyred, spun, and transformed.

It is not ego that drives me so --- there is nothing inside me so great that I must stop at nothing to get it out, no explosion of math and science and passion that threatens to tear me at my seams.

It is not sadness, madness, or gladness that makes me write these things --- it isn’t some overwhelming fire of humanity. My life is not a particularly interesting one, my struggles not particularly unique...

And yet --- there is something here. Something inside me, chewing away at every thought ---fattening like a worm in an apple ---- driving some arcane wheels in my head. Turning some dust-covered gears and animating my fingers to write, write, and write.

It is through this writing that you and I can grasp up to the heavens of our own design, and sit for a while, enjoying the gentle passage of time, like two idle lovers caught up in the healthy currents of life. I can turn to you, and as my fingers speak to you in confidential tones, you can see things.

Simple things sometimes, the gentle swell of sea on a shore, the delicate sway of a single strand of grass caught in the wind, eyes shining with starlight. Complex things too: an ant-hill overflowing with activity, a million times a million engines of desire performing those tasks which define them.

I will say: Can you see this all? Isn’t it beautiful? And then you might understand why I write. Then you might see what it really is that drives me forward, as surely as an electron spins itself into eternity. The ants, the beach, the grass, the people, the laughter, the light, the stars, the everything. Things which are neither bad, nor good --- nor do I wish to ever think in such black and white, love and hate, destroy and create terms. Things, which just are --- which in our tremendous winding up of life, we seem to miss.

We don’t treasure those tiny moments of time where the only thing that should matter is that single blade of grass, or that lovers shy glance, or that wave breaking gently on the shore. Torpid currents of life swirl us into balls of hate and envy, and darkness, and those moments are past. But they give birth to more light and laughter, and we ignore those too --- we Hunger too much, we Pain too much.

And one might think that my avoidance of the truth --- repelling from my words like corresponding magnetic fields --- is because I don’t have the truth. This of course is partially true, just like everything is partially true --- just as this phrase itself is partially true. And even before my words swallow themselves in a twisted-eight swirl of infinity --- I am still here, and my words still flow, and my purpose still exists. I don’t write because I mean anything, I don’t write because you mean anything.

I write because everything is beautiful and nothing is, simultaneously – as if by a magic that everyone practices but no one understands.

I write because when I write, I trap those lost moments of time like insects in amber, and I hold them up to the brightness and I make available that spark of mankind that is so transient in our busy lives.

I write because I am godless and naked and alone, and tired and sad, and frightened and terrible and thirsty.

I write because we are all those things, all of us in our own ways, and because this is one of the few ways in which I may drive it off for a while.

One of the few ways I can say Hello to the specter of death that hangs over every dew-drop that hasn’t yet been born, that wreathes me in a crown of my own thorns, and whispers to the sun in words of violet and orange.

I write because it allows me to cheat death at least for one more day, to proclaim in my own little, tiny, fleeting voice that everyone can be a beacon, can be a light in the planes of the lightless, and can Shepard their brothers through the valley of darkness.

Most of all, I just write.

Life is like a box of crayons.

Life is like a box of crayons.

At birth, you're given a great big box of them to share and add color to your life. Some colors get used more than others.

Sometimes, a crayon gets broken. A Bright color gets snapped in half and tossed in the garbage can, never to be returned. Sometimes you keep coloring. Sometimes you can't. That color was important.

Sometimes a crayon is gained, shared between two people. That color might be just perfect, and works great! Other times it's a different shade, but it will make do.

But, there is always one color left in the box.

Black.

It's normally unused until death. It's used to frame the picture. To add the final border to the coloring board of life.

Some people use it. They color onto other's pictures with it. Sometimes their own.

They use it to scribble out portions of the picture. Sometimes the portion isn't that important.

Sometimes it is.

Sometimes there are multiple blacks in the box when you open it for the day...

Sometimes there's only one, or it isn't even there.

It all depends, really.

All depends on the crayon box and the one who holds it.

I am EMO

I am Emo.

But what does that mean?

I was born with a chemical imbalance in my brain which causes me to get severely depressed. Occasionally it also allows me to feel joy, but I fear it only does this because to know the true pain of depression, you must have felt happiness to compare it with.

I have also been given anxiety and confusing thought patterns which other people cannot understand, though they make perfect sense to me.

While I would not wish these things upon anyone else, I do not think they are necessarily bad things. They allow us to see the world for what it is, to see past the sugar coating the governments and media give everything bad. If you are forever happy, you don't see the evil in the world because you do not believe that it is there. But if you already see the badness within yourself, it is easy to realise how brainwashed the rest of the population is with the happy lies of those higher up.

There was not a point in my life which caused me to be the way I am. I was born with a genetic tendency to depressive and addictive behaviours. Though to blame my genes would be a cop out.I am the way I am, because I didn't realise that the way I am was wrong until it was too late.

I am Emo.

Though the meaning of those words has been lost in the multitude of people claiming the title as their own.

I have the slow-fading patterns crisscrossing my arm which are the tell tale sign of an 'Emo'. For me, they are simply remnants of a past I wish I could truthfully deny.

But don't think that I regret it. I don't. Not for a second. Yes I have scarred myself. But it didn't kill me, and so has made me stronger. It has given me the power to be able to help others from making my own mistakes. And, every scar I inflicted upon myself, is a scar I did not inflict upon another.

It was a necessary evil.

I am Emo.

Except that I'm not. I come from a time before Emo was anything but a not yet known music genre, emotive rock. I am from even before Angsty was the teenage diagnosis of choice. My friends knew I wasn't normal, but what is normal anyway. These days you could say that a large proportion of the teenage population is like me, and so I could be called normal. But then, I was different. There weren't others like me.

So I have lived through the plummeting rollercoaster of life, watching as more and more people hopped on the ride. Listening to their screams as they experienced something new.

I was riding no hands by then. Thinking, just maybe, that I might fall out and hit the ground with a splat.

They call me Emo...

Because they have no other explanation for me.

Bago mo maayos ang isang bagay, dapat nasira mo muna ito.

Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true.

Loneliness hurts.

Rejection hurts.

Losing someone hurts.

Envy hurts.

Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality love is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is the only thing in this world that does not hurt.

No relationship is perfect, ever. There are always some ways you have to bend, to compromise, to give something up in order to gain something greater...

The love we have for each other is bigger than these small differences.

And that's the key.

It's like a big pie chart, and the love in a relationship has to be the biggest piece. Love can make up for a lot.

And maybe they're right, you know, maybe I expect too much --- maybe somewhere in the back of my head I want that stupid fairytale that everyone tells me isn't possible...

But I don’t care.

I don't care if I'm "expecting too much" because, I’ve seen glimpses, well --- more than glimpses, in other moments in the past... with other guys...

So I know that what I am looking for is out there somewhere.

The curse of the loved ones

I've found almost everything ever written about love to be true.

Shakespeare said "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives.

It was Shakespeare who also said "love is blind". Now that is something I know to be true. For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night.

And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. It's called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert.

Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded.

The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space!

Love can be strong, yet delicate. It can be broken. To truly love is to understand this. To be in love is to respect this.

In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think the sun shines out your ass...

That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with.

Finding GOD

There are also sorts of experiences in life that we can't really put a name to --- the birth of a child, for one or the death of a parent. Falling in love and falling apart.

Words are like net. We hope they'll cover what we mean, but we know they can't possibly hold that much joy, or grief, or wonder.

Finding God is like that too.

If it's happened to you, you know what it feels like. But try to describe it to someone else - and language only takes you so far.

Bakit ako nagsusulat?

At a very early age, perhaps the age of five or six, I knew that when I grew up I should be a writer. Between the ages of about seventeen and twenty, I tried to abandon this idea, but I did so with the consciousness that I was outraging my true nature.

You see, I’ve never considered myself much of a writer. I’m not particularly great at it. On my better day, I will be passable. On my best, I don’t have half the talent of many people I’ve been lucky enough to work with. And this is not false humility.

But why do I write you might ask...

I write because I see these images in my head that I don’t want to forget, because I hear words that need to be in ink. I have to get these things down because it’s torture if I don’t, and lost to oblivion if I’m unlucky and without a pen.

I write because nothing satisfies me most than turning my words into ideas and then sharing my complete work to people for their enjoyment and criticism.

I write because I’m not very good at speaking. (Isn’t this the very logic of writing?)

I write because it gets me to avoid things I loathe like cleaning my room or cleaning my room or cleaning my room.

I do it because after a page or two of writing my heart out, I feel like I’ve lost pounds.

I write because I know this is the best gift I have to give.

The reason that no matter what I have done in life, writing has always been a constant is that there is power in words for everyone. Be it making us laugh, reflect, angry or just making us think. And for me there is nothing more exhilarating or rewarding as seeing someone’s eyes light up as they read my words or I imagine them being played out.

I can only imagine what it must be like to write something an entire nation (and beyond) tunes in for each week, to see your written words personified. I will continue to be envious of all of you who are lucky enough to write for a living and I will continue to write myself, even if what I write never leaves the confines of my computer, because it is still so much a part of me.

I watch television and movies because I know a writer has written all that I am watching, and for that, all you writers out there have my utmost respect and full support. Thank you for all that you have written and for all that you have yet to write.

When I think about my life now, I thank the person, who once said,

“What do you do when your life exceeds your dreams?”

“Keep it to yourself.”

I guess that’s the other reason I write. One day, if I’m lucky enough, I hope to write a line half that good.


Thank you for reading this and for giving me a reason to write why I write.

For everything we have missed, we have gained something else.

Last week, while having dinner at Recipes Greenbelt with a friend, it occurred to me that it had been months since I last posted something here in multiply. I can’t even remember the last time I posted a blog, or a video... which for me is a big thing considering that in the past, I post several entries in just one day.

On that note, I will not deny the fact that I had been receiving emails and messages from my friends and followers of my blog, asking me to update my site. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t had the time or should I say can’t find the time to accommodate their request. I surely felt that there were “more important” things in life that I had to take care of than post my works online.
And so I thought wrong.

After dinner, while buying coffee at Seattle’s Best, I saw an old friend from PeoleSupport. It was such a relief to see a familiar face. Allan hasn’t changed. He is still the same bubbly, cheerful guy with a big i-am-such-a-positive-person-i-want-to-share-the-positivity-with-you sign posted on his forehead. During our conversation, he asked me, “Why are you not posting anymore? Your audience misses you. Don’t you miss writing?"

I was caught off-guard. I had been asking myself the same thing for the past several months but I never expected someone to ask me the same question. That’s the beauty of just realizing things on your own; you don’t really have to answer it right away. You can just hold on to the thought and pray that someday, you will have the answer. But being asked by someone is different. You have to give a response weather that’s the truth or not as quickly as you can.

I went back to him and say, “I will next week. I just don’t have the time.”

The truth is I always had the time. I guess I just didn’t realize that there were actually people, real people at that, waiting for my work to be posted online. I forgot that sharing my composition pieces is just as important as making them and storing them in my laptop won’t do any good to humanity.

You see, I never missed writing because I never stopped composing things. If there’s anything in the world that I most passionate about, it will be that I am able to put to words the things inside my head. Writing has saved my life several times before and I owe a lot of what I have become from it. So I can never stop doing the only thing that makes sense to me.

So here I am, posting my first entry... first of the many. =)

Yesterday morning’s cornflakes

The problem with loneliness is that it makes me smile all the time. You always have to hide behind the proverbial mask, to try and make them all think that everything is peachy.

Is it really them who need convincing? Maybe it’s really push and pull; or was that the law of gravity?

Is it just me or am I like a milk bubble skimming the bowl of reality, dancing on the jagged edges of yesterday morning’s cornflakes? Am I just waiting to pop?

If only I could get out of this place.

Is death a dream? When you reach it, do you wake up happy and clean? It’s too dirty here. Every time I look around, bits of styrofoam snow drift around me and blur my vision. When can I get out of this globe of glass?

I’m always outside, looking in. Or is it the other way around?

All these decisions you have to make: push, pull; it’s all driving me crazy.

Am I? Do you think so?

I keep on saying I’m okay but I don’t even know the veracity of that claim. People keep on asking me if I’m doing great but I don’t even know if I am!

Are they doing great? Are they okay? Maybe they don’t even know as well.

I think I need a cigar.

Hitting rock-bottom

When you find yourself haunting bookstores and checking out movies alone, then you’d really think you’ve hit rock-bottom. I found myself doing just that this lonely Sunday. I was aimlessly meandering around the mall, pondering the meaning of life, finding myself a slave to my feet.

It just happens, you know.

Life.

It does. It’s what happens when you’re not looking, when you’re not paying that much attention to what’s in front of you.

I don’t want to go into the details anymore. I never thought I’d find myself in the same spot I was in one year ago. In a month’s time I’ll back to my bitter-lonely-why-can't-someone-kill-me self again.

Chalk it up to stupidity. Chalk it up to time. Theirs. Mine. Whatever. Give it to the people who spread the disease of gossip that ended up eating away at my name. It’s over.

I know what I should do. Don’t get me wrong. I need to move on. I need to raise my head up and learn from what happened. I’m doing that.

They say I’m a very self-sufficient guy. I could heal myself. I could push myself to wherever I want to. However, I’m still in what you might call the depression phase.

I just won’t show it.

People say I should wake up. I should let him go. I can’t. I love him. One of my friends asked me why. Everybody’s wondering why I keep holding on. I love him. Didn’t I already say that?

I think it was Blaise Pascal who said “Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait pointe.” The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing. I don’t know why I love him. I just feel it. Isn’t that reason enough? This world has become too logical. We’ve lost ourselves in statistics, in our belief of numbers.

Anyway, I’ll live my life. Right now, I’ll let myself absorb the moment. I’ll revel in the feeling… and I will get stronger. Winners are not winners if they don’t know defeat.

As the cliché goes… when you’re at rock-bottom, there’s nowhere else for you to go…

but up.

Snap shots of a tear-stained face

In the unchartable depths behind my eyes, wheels of colour dance, blown by some strange wind that would chill you to the marrow to feel it.

Images - snap shots - of things that have been or have yet to be flicker in and out in no discernable order. Strands of music buzz through the air like living rays of light; illuminating everything around them in a multitude of yellows and blues. Beams of the purest colours shine down from above, as if rent asunder by a giant diamond prism.

Some would look at this and see only chaos and madness. I look at this and see beauty that is wild and free, untamed by chisel or lute, paper or canvass. This purity inspires me. It gives me the strength to perservere.

I capture small portions of this to show others what I have seen, but I know not if my efforts are in vain.

Can you hear the mystery calling to you? Can you reach out and touch it, calling it to yourself, letting it envelop you and help you to find your way?

Maybe I'll be stuck like this forever, until my tears wear my body away like the ocean does a mountain. Until the darkness overcomes my heart and snuffs me out like a candle's pale flame, with a single gust of icy wind. Until my loneliness tears me in two and my anger consumes me like burning wood, leaving only ashes of what was before, a scant reminder of a ruined life. I burn even now. I burn with indecision.

Should I give up this fight that will eventually lead me to my downfall, or should I keep up the fight and endure the pain as a consequence?

Maybe some day I will find a way out of my personal darkness, my personal hell, but for now... now I will put on my mask and continue on with my back straight and my head up. I have nothing to fear but fear itself; which I won't let bother me. To be afraid of fear is a pointless waste of time, and I need all that I can find. Fear is just the unknown. Logical thinking dispels the gloom.

Maybe some day I will be able to tell my friends how much I truly need them and how much I rely on them being there for me. Maybe some day I can rejoin my friends in my make-believe world, and this one, to play on the green grass all day long.

Maybe some day I'll find the mysterious antidote that will clear this vicious poison from my senses and I can return home with a light heart and I won't have to hide my tear-stained face from the world any more.

Maybe some day I'll be free at last.

Despite everything, life goes on. Another silver tear rolls down my face in the lengthening silence.

Yes.

Life goes on.

Scared Shitless

Curled up like a child in a woman’s womb, I stayed in this position. My mind was raging; thoughts intersecting by one another in rapid speed.

I was scared shitless.

I couldn’t tell the difference between possibility and the inevitable. It felt like my brain was turning into a Rubik cube and it was taking forever for me to match all the colors.

Was someone going to break in through the window? Should I lock the door so no one could go in? Were there ghosts hanging from the ceiling, watching me as I try to sleep?

I wanted to ram my head into the wall and just pound it until it bled out all the thoughts in my mind. I was so consumed by negativity, I just wanted to get a gun and blow my brains out.

Sleep, when are you going to take me?

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten; I’m counting, desperately trying to put myself in this fairy tale trance.

Everything I need to know I learned from my mom

My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE
"If you're going to kill each other, do it outside - I just finished cleaning!"

My mother taught me RELIGION
"You better pray that will come out of the carpet."

My mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL
"If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!"

My mother taught me LOGIC
"Because I said so, that's why."

My mother taught me FORESIGHT
"Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident."

My mother taught me IRONY
"Keep laughing and I'll *give* you something to cry about."

My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS
"Shut your mouth and eat your supper!"

My mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM
"Will you *look* at the dirt on the back of your neck!"

My mother taught me about STAMINA
"You'll sit there until all that spinach is finished."

My mother taught me about WEATHER
"It looks as if a tornado swept through your room."

My mother taught me how to solve PHYSICS PROBLEMS
"If I yelled because I saw a meteor coming toward you; would you listen then?"

My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY
"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times - Don't Exaggerate!!!"

My mother taught me THE CIRCLE OF LIFE
"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out."

My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION
"Stop acting like your father!"

My mother taught me about ENVY
"There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do!"

THANKS, MOM!

Right around the corner

I was so looking forward to it all.

All I could do was think ahead to this day when it would feel right for us to give it another try. For the first time in forever, you and me... it seemed so possible.

It seemed right around the corner.

But he left.

And it all went away...

I was living in this warm and fuzzy world of daydreams, and I got yanked right out of it. I have no idea how to get back there.

And what scares me the most is maybe I never will.

I'm a walking contradiction...

I don't want to go out and meet new people.

I don't want to. I'm tired of it and I’m scared.

I already got my heart broken one too many times. I'm not ready to hand it out again.

I guess what I’m afraid of is that I’ll find someone new and fall in love with them and then get hurt again. I don't want to go through that. I really don't.

I mean, I do want someone to love and to be by my side, but I’m just afraid of falling in love again.

I'm a walking contradiction...

I want to fall in love, but at the same time, I don't want to experience the hurt and pain that is associated with it.

Ano nga ba kse ang favorite color mo?

“Anong favorite color ko?”

Natigilan ka sa pagsubo ng cheesecake na gawa ko sa bibig mo.

“Saan naman galing yung tanong mo?”

“Wala lang.”

Ngayon lang sumangga sa utak ko na isang taon na pala. Labingdalawang buwan. Tatlong-daan at animnapu’t-limang beses na umikot ang mundo mula ng magkakilala tayo. Pero ni hindi ko man lamang alam kung ano ang favorite color mo.

Mas mabilis ko pa yatang matatapos ang isang exam na ang mga tanong ay yung tipong: “What is the maximum temperature that can be reached by the combustion of methane with 20% excess air? Both methane and the air enter the burner at 298K.?”

Kaysa sa: “What is his favorite color??”

Kung ganyan ang tanong na nasa exam ko, kahit pa siguro “up-to-sawa”, hindi lalapat ang ballpen sa papel ko. O di kaya naman nagmukha ng coupon bond yung yellow paper sa dami ng correction fluid na magagamit ko. At pihadong ma-si-singko ako.

Bigyan mo ako ng slumbook at yung unang limang linya lang ang masusulatan ko.
Name: Oo naman alam ko yun siyempre pati na rin nickname. Haller?

Birthday: Binati naman kita nung birthday mo. Siyempre hindi ko makakalimutan yung date noh. Saka ka-birthday mo pinsan ko.

Zodiac Sign: Sus. Ang dali lang hulaan nito. Malamang alam ko ‘to kasi alam ko birthday mo. Wala naman sa gitna ng dalawang zodiac signs ang birthday mo. May mga birthday kasi na depende sa dyaryong binabasa mo kung ano ang zodiac sign mo.

Address: Basta ang alam ko taga-Quezon City ka, di ko nga lang talaga sigurado kung saan. Malapit yata sa EDSA.

Telephone Number: Mandaraya pa ako. Naka-store naman landline mo sa cell ko eh.
Pagdating sa “favorites?”

Tenenenen.

Favorite:

Color: Uhmm “blue?” Stereotypical lang. Siguro kasi lalaki ka.

Food: Kinakain mo naman lahat eh, paano ko malalaman? Bottomless pit pa man din yang sikmura mo. Kaya nga ang taba mo ngayon eh. Bola-bola siopao. Saka siyempre cheesecake ko.

Sport: Without a doubt. BASKETBALL.

Song: Half-life by Duncan Shiek? Lagi ko lang kasing naririnig yung statement na half-life galing sa’yo. Saka naalala ko rin na may sinabi kang gusto mo yun.

Singer: Malamang Duncan Shiek.

Movie: Dito medyo sigurado ako. The Matrix. Pati na rin yung Reloaded and Revolution.

Actor: I don?t think just because you like the Matrix you like Keanu Reeves as well.

Actress: Maui Taylor? Aubrey Miles? Lahat ng nag-pose para sa FHM calendar? Based lang lahat ng assumptions ko sa mga naka-dikit sa dingding ng kwarto mo.

Book: The Alchemist? You just seem to quote so much from it.

Author: Paulo Coelho? For obvious reasons.

The list could go on and still manghuhula pa rin ako. I just realized that I hardly know you at all. Ni hindi ko man lang alam kung ano ang mga hilig mo. Pero kahit na ganito ang kaso minahal pa rin kita. Hindi naman kasi kita minahal dahil sa pareho tayong fan ng LA Lakers. At lalong hindi naman mawawala yung pagmamahal ko sa’yo kung nagkataon na si April Boy ang favorite singer mo.

Minahal kita dahil sa kung ano yung ikaw na nakilala ko. Yung pagpunas mo ng luha sa mukha ko sa tuwing umiiyak ako. Yung pagdala mo ng pandesal sa umaga nung hindi ako natulog dahil sa tinapos ko ang presentation ko para sa boss ko. Yung pagukunwari mong nasasaktan ka tuwing hinahampas kita. Yung pagpilit mo sa ’king ngumiti kahit pa sukdulan naman yung kakornihan ng joke mo. Yung nag-star gazing tayo sa field habang nakahiga ako sa braso mo. Yun ang mga katangian mong minahal at pinahalagahan ko. Pero malamang kung si April Boy ang favorite singer mo, na-turn off ako. Pero kaunti lang.

“Hulaan mo?”

“Hay, ‘yan ka na naman. Pahihirapan pa akong manghula, hindi na lang sabihin."

Kunwari nag-isip ako.

“Blue?”

Ngumiti ka.

“Green?”

Sa hindi ko na alam kung pang-ilang pagkakataon, mali na naman ako. Tulad ng maraming pagkakamali na una kong nagawa. Mali ako nung hinulaan kong blue ang kulay ng pinto ng apartment mo, pink pala. Mali ako nung inakala kong bunso ka. Mali ako nung inakala kong iisa lang yung ate mong gagawan natin ng cheesecake at yung ate mong kasama mo sa apartment. Mali yung pagkakabasa ko sa mga ikinikilos mo.

Mali yung inakala kong there was something existing between us. Kasi nung hinayaan ko ang sarili kong mahulog, wala ka palang balak saluhin ako. Ang dami ko tuloy tinamong pilay at sugat. Mga sugat na hindi ko alam kung kalian gagaling ng tuluyan. Mali rin yung inisip ko that there could have been something existing between us kung hindi lang ako tanga. Kasi bumaba ng sukdulan ang self-esteem ko kakasisi ko sa sarili ko. Lalong mali yung umaasa pa rin ako that someday maybe, just maybe, something would be existing between us. Dahil habang patuloy akong umaasa, lalo mo lang akong pinapatay. Kaya nga mali rin siguro na magkaibigan uli tayo.

Pero hindi ko itinuturing na pagkakamali yung minahal kita. Oo, nasaktan ako ng sobra at sinubukan kong lunurin ang sarili ko sa bote-bote ng beer, pero yung sandaling panahong ipinaramdam mo sa ‘kin na mahalaga ako ay isa sa pinakamasasayang sandali ng buhay ko.

Pero dapat ko ng tanggapin na hindi ka talaga para sa ‘kin at dapat na kitang pakawalan. Wala ng silbi yung patuloy ko pang hayaan na sa’yo umikot ang mundo ko. Alam kong magmamahal uli ako, pero hindi pa ngayon.

Kung kailan, hindi ko alam.

Sana lang kapag dumating na ang araw na magmahal uli ako, tumama na ako na blue ang favorite color niya.

Unti-unti ka ng umaalis sa buhay ko pero hindi ko pa rin alam kung anong favorite color mo...

Ano nga ba kse ang favorite color mo?

Desisyon mo yan diba... edi panindigan mo...

When you don't have anyone telling you what to do anymore, sometimes you don't know then what you should do. It seems so much easier to have people make decisions for you. Clean your room, do the laundry, do the dishes, mow the lawn, chop down a tree, etc. Even little things like what you can and cannot eat, what you are going to wear, and that yes, you are going to school.

When you're a kid, your parents make those decisions for you. They tell you what you can and can't watch on TV, what time you're going to get your hair cut, and how many gerbils are too many. When you're a kid, you don't make many decisions for yourself.

Decisions.

Making decisions is a sign of power. You're the one who makes the decisions. What power there is in that. Power is great, isn't it? Power is fun, you get to do whatever you want when you make all the decisions, right? Well, with power comes responsibility.

Responsibility.

You're responsible for the decisions you make. Every decision made carries with it an effect, a consequence. No punishments, no rewards, just consequences. Punishments and rewards are effects that occur outside of the decision-making process. You can have them or not, it doesn't matter. You can't get rid of consequences. Sure, you can put a spear point on your your baseball bat and try to get it through that stop sign. Go ahead. Too bad about that little girl. How's jail? You don't have to make any decisions anymore, at least. Easy.

Sometimes, with a lot of power, therefore a lot of responsibility, there comes a lot of stress. Hell, not sometimes, always. There's always stress attached to responsibility. There's stress in the immediate decisions, like do I try to make this yellow light before that truck comes through (whew, that was close!) and stress in the long-term.

Your decisions can either build you up or wear you down. Every adult human is in complete control of themselves. That's how it works, when you're living as an adult. Sometimes, adults don't want that much control, and give some to someone else. A spouse, parent, boyfriend/girlfriend, teacher, neighbor, cab driver, etc. A guy who sees a beautiful women in a restaurant and goes over to her, scared as hell that she's not going to like him, is giving over power over himself. He's not making the decisions anymore. She's in charge of his happiness.

Happiness.

Stress doesn't promote happiness, as far as we know. (quite far) Stress stresses us. Like the tension cables on a suspension bridge, constantly being pulled in three directions, stress stretches and pulls on us, and too much of it can make us snap, or fail. Less stress lets us relax a bit, and be more comfortable. Being comfortable makes us happy.

That's why we love that disgusting old leather couch in our grandpa's basement more than the new abstract artpiece with a funky name from IKEA. That's what we want from our friends. We want people that we can be completely comfortable with. That's what we want from ourselves. We want to be comfortable with ourselves.

Making good decisions tells you that you're doing the right thing. Your power isn't wasted. The more good decisions that you make, the more comfortable you are with yourself. If you're not the one making the right decisions, how can you take the credit for them? How can you be pleased with them?

Making decisions tells you that you're an adult.

You're alive.

You're responsible.

You have power.

You are in charge.

You are. --- Not your mom, not your boyfriend, not your dog. Okay, maybe your dog is in charge, but you know what? He learned it from you.

Take charge. You make tomorrow happen.

You're needed.

Don't screw it up.

Fantasies of reality

We all grow up in our small fantasy worlds where we are kings, princesses, and/or superheroes. It gives us the chance to escape our realities and, in essence, live who we want ourselves to be.

Each of us does this even if we don't realize it. We don't recognize that we do it even if we're not sleeping. The borders between the waking world and our dreamscapes are so thin that each microcosm overlaps with one another.

Some of us dream we could be something we are not. Some of us dream that our wrongs could be made right if we do a little bit of good. Some of us dream we could change the world.

Our dreams can help drive us to where we want to go. They act as burning fuel to push us to get off our butts and work towards what we truly want.

Sometimes, however, we should let go of our fantasies especially those that we cling to... those that keep us from maturing... and from truly living in reality. We should still pull away from our comfortable perch surrounded by clouds and look at what we're stepping on... shitty as though it may seem.

We should never forget ourselves...

We should never forget reality.

We live in two worlds. We don't live in just one.

Let me tell you about my GOD...

Let me tell you about Jesus... My Jesus.

I’m not talking about 2000 years ago. I’m talking about today. Right now.

He loves me.

He loves me... Even when I’d like to escape, even when I’d like to leave this life, just for a moment, He’s there. And He’s there when I go down, when I fall, when I want to do things that would hurt me, when I feel sick to my stomach (or is it my heart?) and depressed because I don’t understand myself, or anything for that matter.

He is there...

He’s there when I’m crying and I think no one is listening. And He’s there when I feel lonely because everyone seems to be busy dealing with something else, and no one seems to have the time to just talk for one minute about anything besides work.

He’s there when I make mistakes.

And He’s there when I doubt... When I wonder how all these things can be happening in my life.
And then, there’s those times --- the times when my heart races because I just know that something is about to happen... The times when I open my mouth to speak, and the words that come out are not my own... The times when I wake up in the middle of the night and just pray, with more honesty than I could muster up during daylight...

The times when I feel an overwhelming presence that could be nothing less than that of the all powerful God... The times when I’m so filled with love and joy that I see everyone around in a different way...

The times when I’ve been so overcome with passion that it’s borderline scary... The times when I hear the voice of God, and have to act upon it...

The times when I jump up and down, just because I’m so happy to be alive, and to be living (there is, as I’ve found, a difference between the two.)

The times when I know I’m accepted by Him, regardless of the way I act.

Freedom.

Love.

Peace.

Serenity.

So go ahead --- ask me about Jesus.

My Jesus.

Kung nasa iyo na ang lahat... anong meron ka?

When a man has everything, what is everything worth? Nothing. Everything loses meaning when one can't afford to dream.

Like wanderers that chart all frontiers conquered, where else can one go if all areas have already been mapped?

This leaves us with the choice to remain satisfied with what we have --- at least for now. Think of your current situation as just a passing phase.

Dream --- and reach for what you want.

The wait, the delay in gratification, will make the rewards sweeter. And victory will mean more than a dusty trophy on your living room shelf.

Magkano bang pag-ibig mo? Pag-iipunan ko.

The Best Things in Life ay libre...

Wise men say that the best thing in life is to give love... and receive it. They weren't lying when they said that happiness is free. Money can't buy you love... as the old song goes...

The best things in life are free...

I think contrary to common assumptions, people are more averse to receiving love than giving it. And similar to all great equations, once incomplete and unresolved, love (like everything else) fails. Most of us unconsciously feel that we don't deserve love. We think that if we give in and let it sink in, we'll become too mushy... too soft... too VULNERABLE.

But isn't love supposed to fortify? Isn't it there to strengthen our bonds?

Love connects us all.

Between you and me, I don't get why people push away the people who love them. (Deep down, our brains are somehow fooling us that we are too corrupted to deserve love... or we are too scared that the other person loves us too much, and we can't give the same amount of love in return. Don't you think this wrong? Love is there to be given. And, as the song says, it's free.) We rely too much on sight, I believe. We always trust what we see. But sight is the easiest to fool of all the senses. Why can't people trust what they feel?

Have they been burned before? Have they been hurt so bad that they don't want to love again? Or feel loved?

These are the types who alienate themselves from society... and trust is a valuable commodity. If we want others to trust us, we must learn how to trust them too. Even if we're unsure, even if we're in the dark... sometime, somewhere, there'd be hands waiting to catch us before we fall.

It's not always guaranteed... this life doesn't come with a warranty.

But we live once. We gamble.

And maybe, if we try hard enough... if we wait long enough... and we invest enough time, effort, blood, and tears... we could hit the jackpot.

Open your eyes. Maybe we should do the opposite. Let's close them. And hope against hope that the next time we fall... there'd be hands waiting to catch us.

I still believe that the best things in life are free.

You can’t buy love.

If you want to buy love, buy a puppy.

May SEB ka na naman?

FYI. This is for the sake of argument.

You might say that I just contradicted myself. How can you be honorable by sleeping around? How can there be honor in an act of self-deprecation?

Well, as I said, I didn't want to cheat. I never want to cheat. I never cheated any of my boyfriends before (at least they never caught me, hahaha.) But seriously, I’ve never done that. I will never do that. And I have no plans of doing it for the next 45 minutes...

BUT.

And that's a big BUT right there, pardon the pun. Haha. I'm single now. And let's not kid ourselves. A lot of people are looking just to get laid. And note that the percentage of bi-males doing this is increasing with time.

I am a turd. Hahaha! I know.

The thing is... not all bi-males are joining this bandwagon I’m discussing. And the difference between an honorable dude fucking around and a jerk fucking around is knowing your limitations. Know your boundaries. Know your role.

Hear me, dre? You smell what I’m cooking?

Some guys are willing to play. Sniff them out. And like an HONORABLE fisher, throw back the fish you can't really eat.

Learn it.

Absorb it.

Stick it up your cross-minded ass.

Oh, and I don’t do one night stands.... two nights maybe... hahaha... kidding...

Interested? PM me, serious takers only (God I always see that in guys profiles... hahaha). I am so dead.

LOL.

So, naninigarilyo ka na naman?

“So, naninigarilyo ka na naman?”

Gusto ko ang opening line niya. Napaka-ordinaryo pero dahil nasa akin ang buong atensyon niya ng araw na iyon, masaya ako. Medyo maaskad ang pagkakabitiw niya ng tanong pero dahil parang droga ang tama niya sa akin, natural lang na hindi ako maasar.

So, nginitian ko siya sabay sabi ng ganito: “Wala to pauso lang ako.”

“Anong pauso? Masama yan.”

“Di naman. May iniisip lang kasi ako, kaya naisip kong manigarilyo.”

“Bakit di ka ba makapag-isip ng walang nakasuksok dyan sa bibig mo?”

“Nakakaisip naman kaya lang ano kasi mas nakakapag-isip ako ng mabuti pag me ganito eh.”

“So, ano, naka-depende ka na lang dyan habang buhay?”

Tila bad mood sya nung araw na yun. Actually bad mood din ako eh, kaya lang ayoko siyang sabayan. Mahirap sabayan ang galit nya, malamang sa hindi ako ang talo.

“Sabi ko nga, di na ko magsisigarilyo uli eh. Eto nga’t papatayin ko na o!”

So there goes my cig.

My last one.

Down the wet, cold earth.

It goes.

Like a rotten shit.

Dead.

“Ahm, nabasa mo na ba yung Love in the Time of Cholera ni Gabriel Garcia Marquez?” Bigla ay hirit ko. Gusto ko lang ibahin ang usapan. Although kating-kati na akong pumunta sa pinaka-malapit na tindahan para bumili ng stick.

“Ah yun? Oo naman di ba pinagduldulan mo pa nga sakin yun dati? Bakit mo naitanong?”

“Wala lang, naalala ko lang yung bidang lalake dun, si Florentino Ariza, alala mo?”

“Yup, yup. O bakit mo siya naalala?”

“Ano kasi, feeling ko kasi ako sya.”

Mula sa kawalan, biglang napatingin sya sa ‘kin. Seryoso yung mukha. Dead-serious. To the max. Ilang minuto lang biglang nagbago na yung reaksyon ng mukha niya tapos bumunghalit siya ng tawa. Yung klase ng tawa na pang-asar, yung nakakaloko.

Pero natutuwa ako pagganito ang itsura niya. Lumalabas ang pamatay niyang ngiti. Anak ng teteng. Kung pwede ko lang siyang bulungan ng ganito: Mahal kita, sobra, lampas langit, lampas impyerno. Gagawin ko, kung pwede. Kahit magmukha akong naghahabol na aso. Pero hindi pwede.

Sa totoo lang, hindi siya guwapo. Wala siyang dating kahit saang angulo ng mukha mo tingnan. Mapuputing ngipin lang ang salvation niya. Ordinaryo lang ang mukha niya, yung tipong lalampasan mo lang ng tingin sa karamihan kasi nga wala naman siyang katangian na magpapabalik sa iyo ng tingin. Sa katunayan, sa sobrang ordinaryo ng mukha niya, iisipin mong pangit siya o dahil walang dating, boring at walang sense kausap.

Pero kasi, iba kse sya. Ordinaryo man siya sa itsura, hindi ordinaryo ang isip niya. Tiklop ako, supalpal, barado, madalas mukhang tanga. Siguro ganoon ako, gusto ko yung pinagmumukha akong tanga para malaman ko na wala naman talaga akong binatbat. Na sagana lang ako sa tula at walang kwentang kuwento. Siya yung tagapag-paalala ko na wala akong karapatang magmalaki sa mundo kasi may mga taong katulad niya.

Sabi ng konsensiya ko: ”You’re just a little, dark dot... nothing more, nothing less.”

“Nyak. I-ikaw? Feeling mo si Florentino Ariza ka?” Tapos tumawa uli siya ng malakas.

Naisip ko, s##t, nakakatawa ba talaga yung sinabi ko? Seryoso naman ako. Akala ko pa naman intellectually stimulating yung binuksan kong topic.

“In what ways were you two alike? Baket impassioned nympho ka rin ba? At sino naman ang iyong Fermina Daza? Tapos tumawa uli siya.

Kung ibang tao lang siguro ang kaharap ko, malamang naupakan ko na sa mukha. Seryosong seryoso ka sa pakikipag-usap, tapos bibirahan ka ng tawa. Dyahe yun. Badtrip.

“Naisip ko lang na parang ako si Florentino in the sense na pareho kaming engot pagdating sa pag-ibig. We both take pleasure in the pain of unrequited love. Parang ganun.”

“Namputcha naman yang mga hirit mo. Yuck. Kelan ka pa nahilig sa love and all those mushy bullshit. Akala ko pa naman astig ka. Yuck ka!”

Bigla akong natameme. May mga lalake din palang OA mag-react. Tapos sinisi ko ang sarili ko kung bakit nabanggit ko pa sa kanya yung lintek na librong yun. Bigla akong nahiya. Pero nag-try akong bumawi. Kahit supalpal na, lalaban pa din ako.

“Ano kasi, ala lang, naisip ko lang kasi. Siguro nga malayo kami ni Florentino sa ilang aspeto pero kase naisip ko, possible naman yun di ba? Putek, di bale na nga lang kalimutan mo na lang na nabanggit ko yun.”

Siyempre pakunsensya epek ako. Tapos, nahalata niya siguro na medyo nag-iba yung panlasa ko. Gusto ko na nung mag-walk out kaya lang di ko magawa. Nahiya ako, gusto ko pa naman sanang magpa-impress.

“Sus. Kaw naman, tampo agad. Alam mo kasi, ano eh, gago kase ang dating sa ‘kin ni Florentino dun sa book. Tragis, sino bang sira-ulo ang maghihintay ng 55 years para lang maangkin ang taong minamahal niya? I mean, alam mo yun, tapos kung kani-kaninong babae siya naki-pagsex tapos igigiit niya na all through those long years, he remained pure and virgin for Fermina. That’s bullshit. Wala, sira ulo lang ang mga taong gumawa nun. I mean, siguro magkakagusto ako sa isang babae, pero hindi ako ganoon ka-martir na mag-iintay ng kalahating century para sa babae.”

Natameme uli ako. Hindi ako sang-ayon sa sinabi niya. Nagmamarakulyo ang isip ko sa mga binitawan niya. Gusto kong sabihin na may ganung klase ng pag-ibig. Na merong mga tao na willing mag-hintay ng ilang taon para lang maibalik sa kanila yung pag-ibig na matagal nilang itinanim. Gusto kong sabihin sa kanya na pwedeng mangyari yun, na kaya ko nasabing nakaka-relate ako kay Florentino dahil pakiramdam ko, duon ako patungo ngayon. Gusto kong i-explain sa kanya na totoo si Florentino Ariza, na pwede siyang mag-exist. Pero siyempre natameme na naman ako. Supalpal. Sapol na sapol.

“Onga, kabaliwan siguro yung pinagsasabi ko. Siguro nga sira ulo si Florentino Ariza. Sige, kalimutan mo na yung sinabi ko. Malayong maging ako si Florentino Ariza.”

“So ano, tara na, pasok na tayo sa loob?”

“Ahm, dito muna ko. Magpapahangin lang.”

“Sure ka? O sige. Basta wag ka na lang magsisigarilyo ha?”

“Sige. Pramis.”

Para makasiguro, kinuha nya yung lighter ko. Tapos nakangiti siyang pumasok sa loob. Ako, naiwan sa labas, nag-iisip pa rin. Tumingala ako sa langit pero wala akong langit na nakita... puno lang ng saging. Tapos kinapa ko ang bulsa ko. Meron pang naiwang isang stick.

I smiled.

A foolish one.

Because somehow I knew I’ve fooled him.

But I’m dead.

Foolish are fooled not once.

Ginala ko ang tingin ko tapos, nakisindi ako ng siga.

Saan na nakakabili ng closure?

I have come to realize that everyone has been unfortunate enough to have had their hearts tortured at least once... and as for the ones who haven't... well I don't like them. They're so strange... and happy... I don't like those people.

They couldn't begin to understand what heartache feels like... and I don't just mean a lover's pain.

A heart can be wrung by one's own family and friends. A pet's death could do the same... But those people who have never experienced any pain are so strange. They make me unbelievably uncomfortable.

They pity me.

Why? I can't make use of their pity.

With the exception of those few strange people, all the others have their own deeply buried bruises and gashes... As time passes... The hurt heals enough to be discussed sans emotion, but if the tormentor returns, they needn't even so much as breathe to rip open the old wounds...

A good song can gently prod at the deepest stashed hurt, generate misty eyes and a few misplaced tears... An even better song will create the same effect without the realization of why it hurts... But nothing will have the same effect as the return of the Tormentor.

The death of a loved one creates the deepest hurt, with scattered scratches inside the ragged cuts, within the torn gashes, which cover the entire surface of twisted, mutilated mass that was once labeled as a heart. Of course, this... thing... may never heal... I wouldn't know because I fortunately have been spared from that form of attack to the heart...

But people do move on....

Their hearts are resilient, and they reconstruct a new one...

Some are reconstructed weakly... These people don't last very long. Others are reconstructed with the extra strength to withstand a second blow... These find it difficult to love again. Still, others will use the help of another heart, or more, to become reconstructed just as before.

I have given my heart in such a way to someone in need, with no regrets, because he is now healing, and my heart is still the same as it was before... I have had a heartache. I suppose that in a disgustingly twisted way, I am greatful for having had the experience, because I would rather be as I am now, than be among the strangely ecstatic...

Somehow, though, I do believe that I could have made do solely with the hurt that my family brings. Most of us have family issues which make us "normal" in my definition...Maybe we all just need an excuse to harbor poison within our hearts...

Our Tormentors are none other than ourselves, and we need something external on which to place the blame...

Anyway, there are certain people that I would like to share my hurt with... But I find no reason to do so. I sit quietly, patiently, waiting for anyone to reveal themselves to me so that I may show them the gaping hole that was seared so deeply into my heart, still dripping sticky flesh from a lack of closure...

Oh how cruel one's Tormentor can be...

And yet I thank him.

I suppose that I do thank him for giving me such awesome material to work with, for enlightening me to a whole new subject of art, and therefore improving me as a whole... But everything about it is twisted.

I am, in effect, thanking him for ruining me as I once knew myself... I hold such contempt towards him for doing so.

Possibly one of my largest fears is the possibility of his return...

But this is all aside from the point.

Faggot

Fags.

Do you know where the word comes from?

The bundles of sticks that homosexuals were forced to carry. Their own fags in fact, as they marched to be burned for something they couldn’t help.

You know who else they burned? Witches. And didn’t we prove that one wrong too? Did those innocent people deserve to die?

No.

And even though no one’s being burned anymore, they’re being hated. They’re being discriminated against. They’re being bashed. They’re being forced into hiding.We talk about how much society has advanced and evolved in recent years and decades, but how far have we really come? Still forcing people to hide who they are and renounce themselves, punishing them for what they can’t help.

It’s the silent genocide. (Day of silence anyone?) They’re not being killed, no. But they’re being killed inside. They’re killing themselves.

Why?

Some are taught that what they are is wrong. They hate themselves that much. Others because everyone around them gives them odd looks or insults them, ignores them, and bashes them.

‘You are so GAY!’

Well, what if I am? What’s wrong with that? Can’t I be myself anymore? My parents, my teachers, all those cheesy books on self-esteem, they all told me to be myself. So I’m doing exactly that. And now you want me to be something else?

I’m confused. Screw you.

But it’s not that easy just to ignore the fire from all sides. Because above it all, more than wanting to be accepted, more than wanting to be open and proud, you want to be accepted. Accepted by your peers, your friends, your family.

You know it’s true. ‘Of course we know how to dress. We’ve been in the closet for centuries.’ Funny, harmless, but if you look deeper, as with most things, it’s not as innocent as it seems. Yes, exactly that. ‘Been in the closet for centuries.’

And aren’t we still? You tell me.

You tell me.

Because I don’t think I can deal with all this anymore.

Twisted Tongue

(1) If you understand, say "understand". If you don't understand, say "don't understand". But if you understand and say "don't understand", how do I understand that you understand? Understand!

(2) I wish to wish the wish you wish to wish, but if you wish the wish the witch whishes, I won't wish the wish you wish to wish.

(3) Sounding by sound is a sound method of sounding sounds.

(4) A sailor went to sea to see what he could see. And all he could see was sea, sea, sea.

(5) If two witches were watching two watches, which witch would watch which watch?

(6) I thought a thought. But the thought I thought wasn't the thought. If the thought I thought had been the thought I thought, I wouldn't have thought so much.

(7) Once a fellow met a fellow in a field of beans. Said a fellow to a fellow, "If a fellow asks a fellow, can a fellow tell a fellow what a fellow means?"

(8) Mr Inside went over to see Mr Outside. Mr Inside stood outside and called to Mr Outside inside. Mr Outside answered Mr Inside from inside and told Mr Inside to come inside. Mr Inside said "No", and told Mr Outside to come outside. Mr Outside and Mr Inside argued from inside and outside about going outside or coming inside. Finally, Mr Outside coaxed Mr Inside to come inside, then both Mr Outside and Mr Inside went outside to the riverside.

(9) She sells sea shells on the sea shore. But the sea shells that she sells, on the sea shore are not the real ones.

(10) The owner of the inside inn was inside his inside inn with his inside outside his inside inn.

(11) If one doctor doctors another doctor does the doctor who doctors the doctor doctors the doctor the way the doctor he's doctoring doctors? Or does the doctor doctors the way the doctor who doctors doctors?When a doctor falls ill another doctor doctor's the doctor. Is the doctor doctoring the doctor doctor the doctor in his own way or is the doctor doctoring the doctor doctors the doctor in the doctor's way.

(12) We surely shall see the sun shine shortly. Whether the weather be fine, or wether the weather be not, whether the weather be cold or whether the weather be hot, we'll weather the weather whatever the weather. Whether we like it or not. Watch? Whether the weather is hot. Whether the weather is cold. Whether the weather is either or not. It is whether we like it or not.

(13) Nine nice night nurses nursing nicely.

(14) A flea and a fly in a flue said the fly "oh what should we do" said the flea. "Let us fly" said the fly. "Let us flee". So the flew though a flaw in the flue.

(15) If you tell Tom to tell a tongue-twister his tongue will be twisted as tongue-twister twists tongues.

(16) Mr See owned a saw. And Mr Soar owned a seesaw. Now See's saw sawed Soar's seesaw before Soar saw See, which made Soar sore. Had Soar seen See's saw before See sawed Soar's seesaw? See's saw wouldn't have sawed Soar's seesaw. So See's saw sawed Soar's seesaw. But it was sad to see Soar so sore just because See's saw sawed Soar's seesaw.

What is gender and why the hell does it matter?

What is gender?

If we consult Webster’s College Edition of 1983, the dictionary gives two definitions.

The first definition is purely grammatical.

Gender is a system in certain languages of classifying nouns and, the dictionary asserts, for the most part has nothing to do with “male” or “female”—never mind that in French, all long, cylindrical and/or pointed objects are masculine.

The second definition is as follows verbatim: “[Colloq.] sex.”

The problem with this definition is that it makes the assumption that a person’s gender identity is equated with having certain genetalia. Biology does not determine destiny. There are men with vaginas, women with penises, and people all over the gender spectrum with every which reproductive organ, a lot of whom don’t feel a need to obtain surgery to change their bodies. Your genetalia do not automatically determine your gender, and not everyone feels a need to expunge from their bodies organs traditionally associated with another gender.

In her memoir Gender Outlaw, Kate Bornstein writes of her own surgery, “I didn’t hate my penis because I was a woman; I hated it because [in the world’s eyes] it made me a man.”

Another problem with a definition of gender as “sex” lies in the first definition the same dictionary gives to “sex”: 1. Either of two divisions, male or female.

A definition of gender as “sex” makes a further assumption that there are only two possible genders: male and female (or man and woman, if you prefer).

However, not everyone fits into this neat binary system. Writer Kate Bornstein advocates an end to calling gender “sex” altogether in Gender Outlaw and writes, “Don’t call it ‘biological sex’ or social gender. Don’t call it ‘sex’ at all --- sex is fucking; gender is everything else.”

A lot of people (myself included) don’t identify as either gender of the dominant binary system. Some of us call ourselves androgynous or genderqueer; others simply stand under the transgender* umbrella or make up new terms for our genders.

I call myself gender-indifferent because I am not concerned with presenting myself as a gender, and I am far more concerned with presenting myself as a person. I wear board shorts because I like them, not to present myself as a man; I wear fitted jeans because I like them, not to present myself as a woman.

A person’s gender is built on presentation. If your actions and behaviors have said to the world “I am a woman” and you agree, you have successfully presented yourself as a woman. If your actions and behaviors have said to the world “I am a man” and you agree, you have successfully presented yourself as man.

The same is true for all other genders, although it’s considerably more difficult to keep most people from wondering, “What’s in that person’s pants?” (As if it mattered.)

For those of us who don’t bother presenting ourselves as a gender, we have a voice in American musician Patti Smith: “As far as I’m concerned, being any gender is a drag.”

Tulog na mahal ko... tabi tayo...

There is something about sleeping with another that changes the very foundation and sense of what sleep is and how it works.

To sleep alone provides the needed rest. The sheets are comforting, the blanket warm.

When I think of sleeping with you, I think of something different. Sleeping alone refreshes the body. Sleeping with you refreshes and strengthens the spirit.

My favorite sleep is in the rainy days, in the cold. It is my favorite because the comfort and the warmth of the bed are accentuated. There is the feeling of the softness and texture of the sheets surrounding and comforting your body. The chill of the air has made the sheets cold, but I also know that my body heat will warm them quickly. With two of us, I know the sheets warm that much more quickly because of the shared warmth.

After the sheets come the blankets, which bring warmth with them, too. They bundle around us, and make us cozy. I am not sure why this feeling is wonderful to me, perhaps it has to do with the childhood memory of being bundled in a mother's arms, carried in security.

The comfort of the bed, the soft firmness of the mattress and warmth of the sheets and blankets, becomes something more with you in the bed with me. It expands, and is a shared experience. It's like the difference between seeing a movie alone, or with someone; it’s like going on a roller coaster alone, or with someone. When you are with someone, the experience is shared and enjoyed because of the sharing.

The sharing of bed with you becomes a means of sharing simple pleasure in comfort. It is one of the most basic things that one can share. When we both climb in together, this sense of sharing is an unconsious but very real thing that makes sleep of a fundamentally higher quality. The sense of comfort moves from the physical to the emotional with this sharing.

Some of my feelings may be from sharing warmth, because when in bed with you, even when we do not touch, I can sense and feel your warmth. If it is especially cold, when we first snuggle in, we can be closer, and warm each other. It is almost as if in a time of need, you reach out to me with your being, and use it to envelope and support me.

Touch between lovers is the physical manifestation of the emotional union. This is why having sex is termed making love. Sleeping with the one you love has the same sense of physical bonding that reflects the emotional bonding. I love to touch you at night.

Sometimes it is just our legs brushing against each other, or a hand or arm touching to remind me that you are there and with me. At other times, the ability to reach out and touch you, to feel your body move as you breathe, provides the comfort and security of the emotional union during sleep.

Perhaps the most relaxing and intimate thing to experience in bed is to be spooned. To literally be enveloped in the warmth and love and comfort, expressed physically, is something I cherish. To spoon you, brings out the feelings of protecting, love and support I naturally wish to express. When you allow me to spoon you, it is an acceptance of my love and protection which is tremendously satisfying.

After the hard day, with stresses and problems, the world can simply melt away. I strip myself down, naked so that I can feel the warmth and touch, and climb under the covers. Laying on my side, I feel the covers briefly turn down, and then your touch as you climb in with me. The sensation of your body as it presses against mine begins the immediate sense of relaxation.

As you snuggle close, and your arm wraps around me, your legs slightly entwine with mine, my eyes close, and there is nothing in the world but you, covering me, protecting me, loving me.

I relax, and sleep...

A sleep that refreshes the soul as well as the body.

SOMEDAY, SOMETIME, SOMEDAY

Sometimes the world seems dark. Your friends abandon you, your family hates you, your lover uses you, your teachers fail you, your bosses screw you over in unimaginable ways. Sometimes it seems like hope has faded, along with the moon and the stars.

Days seem dark, nights seem cold.

Sometimes it doesn't seem worth it to get out of bed. Sometimes, it hurts like hell.

You watch everyone around you --- friends, co-workers, people on the street. You watch, and you see that they seem so happy.

And then you wonder --- why?

Why can't I be happy like that? Why can't I go buy expensive shoes and feel fulfilled? Why can't I get laid and think everything's okay? Why the hell do things leave me empty, when everyone else feels just fine? Why does it have to hurt so bad?

You cry. You let the tears spill from your eyes, burn your cheeks, leave trails of salt over your lips. You sob silently, or maybe not so silently. Maybe you cry out, because it just hurts too much to keep quiet about. Maybe you let it eat you alive, like I did. Maybe you never let the tears fall at all.

Maybe you're just proud enough to put on a mask and pretend everything's okay. Maybe you hide the way you feel. Maybe you're scared of the pain. Maybe you're terrified to let people think there's anything different about you.

Or maybe, you just don't know how else to be. But even if the tears never make it past your eyes, they're inside you.

Sometimes, you turn the music up so loud, you can't even hear yourself think. Sometimes, the pills numb the hell out of you, and the doctor says that means you're okay. Sometimes, you tear yourself to pieces, because watching yourself bleed makes you believe you're real. Sometimes, you can't even bring yourself to do any of that. Sometimes, there is nothing you can do, so you just sit there and wait for the darkness to pass.

But someday, the scars will fade, the meds will be gone, and the deafness won't even be necessary. Someday, things will really be okay.

Hope really is like the night sky --- it's there, even if you can't see it. Someday, the pain will go away and you will find out that there is only one thing that actually lasts --- love. Not to sound cliche, but love is the only real thing in this world. Pain, hate, sorrow --- they're all illusions. Love is what makes this world worthy of existence. Love is the only thing that opens our eyes to the beautiful things.

Sometimes, it's still going to hurt. But sometimes you have to suffer for the things that are worth it, the things you really love.

And sometime, someday, you're going to be glad you got out of bed and faced the day.

"I WAS HUMAN"

I am a human being.

I keep strands of worry around in my pockets; I bite my nails, I nurse my arms. I’m naturally tired, no matter how much sleep I get. New situations freak me out and I don’t want attention. I tend to be very self-centered.

Well, myself isn’t always centered. Sometimes it’s off-key, off-cue, late; dead.

But that’s all okay. I’m different from most other people, and that just makes me all the more human.

When I think of soldiers, my own is not the image that comes up. I’m not athletic, I’m twitchy, and I’m a coward. Soldiers have never translated into something human for me.

And yet, there’s a footprint of a whisper behind a coffin full of flames, working like a seashell to bring the sounds of bombing to your ears.

And it says: “I was human.”

I am not a monster.

I am not a superhero.

I am not a savage.

I am not a God.

My bones aren’t woven of a bloodbath.

You can’t find the bombs underneath my teeth.

I am a human.

There’s something untouchable about a soldier. Something that takes a pebble and adds a stone, something that makes you think of red ribbons tied onto a string of bombs: ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

That near feebleness, those pictures you get of brown-uniform-red-sky that could never make something human and whole and breathing. They’re paused in an agenda of corpses.

They have looked death in the face of every soldier. Is that all they can see when they look in the mirror?

Or was it life they see, staring back at them?

Maybe it’s just that teaspoon of courage --- or what is mistaken for courage: desperation.
They don’t look like ordinary people. There are no windshield wipers on their eyes. They don’t try to rub off the bad things. They don’t even look like corpses, preserved in their garden of underground dirt.

They look like some sort of drowned fire.

But you know they fought all the way down.

I would love to lay the wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I would love to use the leaves to branch out into their hearts, to just connect like woodcuts down a leaf, singling us out and putting us together, and maybe we could make our hands out of branches. Green-skin-flesh-sky.

To just feel a little less human, and a little more secure in my elbows.

There are people who will tell you there is a definite line between life and death.

Soldiers aren’t human.

And maybe I’m not, either.

My New Year's Message to all

The approach of the new year 2008 again augurs fresh hope for new beginning. It evokes anticipation, better tomorrow, bright days ahead, no matter the dark ominous shadow at the heel of the old year that is fast fading to the irretrievable past. For lodged deeply in man’s being is that stubborn hope that springs eternal.

One should not try to become a perfect being, because it is only by chance that someone is born perfect, but we can definitely try to become good beings. Connecting with the goodness of life is the culmination of human effort. When we connect with the positive, the uplifting and the inspiring, we connect with contentment, joy and peace.

From the new year, you have to understand the true meaning of humanness and transform your life. You will then be true servants of the nation. Play your part in every field of public life, keeping your heart pure and unsullied.

We, the youth of today! Remember that we are in a "golden age" in our lives. Let’s not waste it. Do our duties. Love and revere our parents. Serve society. Adhere to the good qualities associated with right education. Be happy and make others happy.

Ultimately we are responsible for our own happiness. Nobody else can give us happiness. To attain happiness we need to work at the levels of head, heart and hands – intellect, feelings and performance. Knowledge is the quality of the head. Softness of sentiments and feelings, compassion, is the quality of the heart. Appropriate behaviour and performance according to the demands of the situation and circumstances is the expression of human character and behaviour. Attainment of these three makes one happy, healthy and wise. So during this coming New Year we should know that we are responsible for our own happiness.

When we are young, we feel that the world is ours and we can do anything and everything we want to. As we become a little older, we gain in maturity, common sense and strength, and one should use these strengths to do what one can to improve the life and the environment.

Pain is a part of life, but to be a slave to pain is not a part of life. When we are slaves to our suffering, we identify with weakness and limitation, with the words 'I can't', but when we identify with strength, with the words 'I can', then goodness, wisdom and willpower combine to become more dominant, and in pain, the infertile self becomes more dominant.

So the aspiration for the New Year should be a determination to expand the horizons of intellect, emotions and performance.

On this coming New Year’s Day, I wish you all every happiness and prosperity. The ancients used to bless those who came to them with long lives of 100 years and good health. They wished the people long life so that they may lead worthy lives.

Lead a long life, happy life, peaceful life, loving life, and divine life. Redeem your lives by practicing Divine Love.

And in this time and age, in a world where you can be anything you want... be yourself.

Happy New year guys!

2008 New Year's Resolutions

This coming 2008 (damn, typing that felt really awkward), I will…

Choose life.

Choose another job.

Choose a worthwhile career.

Choose a pink shirt.

Choose friends over dates.

Choose a fucking big television set.

Choose washing machines, cars, ipod touch and electrical tin openers.

Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance.

Choose red tea.

Choose to stay young and fresh... hahaha...

Choose not to grab all I can but to selectively choose the best.

Choose a peaceful life over fame.

Choose to go back to the gym.

Choose to forgive and forget.

Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments.

Choose a starter home.

Choose a new scent.

Choose to sing.

Choose to grow up but not too fast.

Choose to listen.

Choose to say NO.

Choose a condo unit in Makati.

Choose my friends.

Choose leisurewear and matching fabrics.

Choose a religion and wonder who the fuck I am on a Sunday morning.

Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into my mouth.

Choose eating ice cream, popcorn and dvd marathon over boy-hunting in Malate.

Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing my last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brat I spawned to replace myself.

Choose to be happy.

Choose my future.

Choose to move on.

Choose the right way, but not always.

Choose a pet.

Choose the beach.

Choose a new gadget.

Choose praying rather than watching porn... (Lord help me.)

Choose writing again.

Choose my husband who would stay.

Choose life...