And yet

I have thought it fatal to let go
And yet it has proven even more excruciating to have held on
I have thought it wise to let my heart show
And yet it has been stared at, rejected, ignored 'til it's faded to nothing
Everyday, I yearn for something more
And yet I see that circumstances become more unbearable
I feel the pain grip my heart from it surface down to its shadows
And yet I have chosen to remain and to stay
I have no idea where I am placed and where I should stand
And yet I have willed myself to fight on
I know I have chosen and have made a decision
And yet I always wonder if it's the best thing, if it's worth anything...

10/16/17

via

Monday. 

In a cafe somewhere in the city. 

Thinking and juggling thoughts in the head. 

Trying to squeeze colors out of the heart. 

Feeling sickly with all these nasal fluids spontaneously finding their way out. 

Lately, it feels like I'm stuck in the dusk. It feels like the day is always about to end and to transition to another day. I feel my heart running after the things I want to keep and hold still. I feel my hands trying to grasp after the things quickly fading. With all the things my being tries to comprehend, I am quite uncertain which will remain and last. There's some amount of tentativeness in all that there is. And although I want to keep what keeps my heart glad, there is an option to let go and let free the things I try so hard to store within. 

Growing up has been doing a fine job pruning and sharpening me-- the complex pains and accumulating struggles, the incomprehensible joys and satisfaction on the simple things, all these things lead me to my becoming. 

As I thrive on, I get to know more of my longings. I get to see the gaps that need filling in. There's always something. All the someones I meet along the way are pieces that get accounted in my totality. Everyday I become more of who I have always been designed to be.

Aspiring and dreaming have been the default. And somehow hoping and believing are the consolation and the comfort I'm still trying to find myself in. 

09 01 17

A new season has been birthed to
One we have always known
Giving the impression of hope and beginning
But not adamant to what has passed by
The morning has not been too far away
From the evening that has died
Its distance having space enough
To eavesdrop from yesterday's whispers

Dim Lights

(a "currently" kind of post)

= the skies have been changing their hues

 sometimes with a chance of rain

 together with a couple of teardrops

 or a bright shiny yellowy day

 in tandem with your tricky smiles

= time has made good out of its run

 never tired and always forward

 calling me to go after it 

 spoiling itself when it's not eating me up

 avoiding trivialities and always about

= the questions have all been used up

 willing to complete the whole of life a series

 with the answers still finding their way

 to be tossed up and to appear

 one day, always unexpected

= craving for freedom and beauty

 when realities fall somewhere in between

 imagination and memory

 when all is a haze and a daze

 while waiting for what follows after "therefore"

070117

Not quite sure for how much longer
Will this space keep on urging me
To fill it back in with the piece it's missing

Not quite sure for how much further
Would the time be for me to see
What's waiting beyond the series of nows

Not quite sure for how much deeper
Will the pain keep on growing within
Lacking needed remorse and gentleness

062017

Trying to perceive
How much it is you have for me
Because even despite the words you've said
I wonder for how long will you stay and be there

I don't mean to doubt
What you claimed to be real
But I cannot help it if I can barely trust
Anyone: not you, not me, nor the words we can say

I tend to get lost
In puzzles and in wonders
Amused and redirected by their surfaces
Despite knowing that I want more than just your fragments

061617 Thoughts in longing

Of lives and puzzles

And of sorrows and longings

This being has tried to comprehend 

A great wondering

On how absence can launch the search

To that which once has been 

And that which has never been

Which is more to cause the emptiness?

The absence of what has just left

Or the nothingness of an idea

What lessons should be instilled?

Is there a should for a confused heart?

If maybe this being will turn back 

To all she has thought of once

And have stood upon,

Will the turmoil be straightened out

And the adventure be stilled?

I miss writing

I have been visiting my account for the last few weeks, trying to work on something to write, but just every single time, something pulls me out of it until I wouldn't be able to get back to it anymore. My Blogger drafts and the one-line first statements on them have grown in number, crowding my list of posts. And this morning that I'm in this, I have been trying to think of what I would really want to write and I have been on it for a few minutes now, until I realized that there's only one thing I have in mind as I seek to write something: I miss writing. So badly. 

Recently, I have been remembering much of my childhood and the struggles I've had in it. Among the things that I would say have helped me survive through all those crises was the freedom I've had to express myself on paper. If there's a place I have been most rebellious, weak, in love, confused, creative and all the other faces of mine that I have barely shown, it would be found among the pages my fingers have stained. It used to be the next impulse, it used to be the go-to companion. Back in the time when internet was a luxury and when all I've had where these organic materials I could find around our home, my papers from old notebooks I could unearth from the corners of our house were the most attractive hideouts. In fact, writing is my first love, it's the activity that makes me feel most heeded to my design as I'm in it. There was a time when there was no end to the ideas that I could summon from daydreaming until the time I'm trying to doze off. It could be ideas for stories or stories themselves, short ones or those which could have been long. It could be poems, essays, and just random statements. It used to be the sole comfort of my lonesome childhood and teenage years. My dreams used to be all about it. 

I remember imagining myself walking the aisle of a literary awards ceremony to receive my recognition on something I have written. Or someone approaching me, telling me I've made an impact in her life because I took the courage to show the world what I've written, not being afraid to be lashed out and criticized for it. Back then, I was so afraid and insecure about everything I produce (which were a lot, and I think that my best ones are among them). I never got any chance to get feedback from people on how I'm doing with my crafts, it was very personal. But eventually, the inevitability to let them out has worked its way through. 

 It was in my freshman year in high school when a significant recognition happened. I didn't have an assignment for my class at that time (yes, I was a semi-lazy student), and I borrowed my guy classmate's notebook to copy from his. After having done so, I decided to pull a "prank" on him by writing a short letter with a poem at the back pages of his notebook, signing it off with his (unattainable) crush's name. I completely forgot about it until I saw my classmates gathering around the notebook, gushing over it (now, don't call me conceited because it was exactly how it was: we were kids). I thought they were teasing him for having a letter from his crush on his notebook, and so, I feigned ignorance of the letter saying I didn't write any of it. Little did I know that they were admiring the writing, and so, I had to tell them the truth because they have been pointing it to different people who kept on denying it. And then, the career was launched. All of a sudden, it felt like almost everyone wants a poem of their own, offering me "job opportunities" I gladly accepted. I sold some of my poems for 40php (I remember that that was my average rate). Some guys were even asking me to write something for their crushes, I was happy to do it. I mean, my introversion has been of use to the society. 

I don't know if any of my classmates back then would remember any of those things, but I remember all those clearly: the start of the recognition. 

I have to put my post to an end here, because I have to go somewhere. But I'm gonna be posting this up, afraid that I might queue it again left among the drafts pile. I guess if given the chance, I'm gonna be continuing writing about writing. 

Why must you

Oh why must you

Lead me to try to veil my thoughts

To want to retract back to my shell

And to be fearful of what's ahead

Oh why must you,

In every attempt I make

To let you into my space,

Take that step into it

Oh why must you

Think that it's nothing to me

Assume my resilience

And stride so senselessly

Oh why must you

Tell me the whispers within

To get me an entry into

The expanse you occupy

Oh why must you

Send me running to sleep

Visit me in it

And wake me up from it

Oh why must you

Be that...

To whom I am...

When it could have been another

Why must you...

If you knew my heart...

If you knew my heart
And the wonders it seeks answers for,
The tales it keeps
And the mysteries it can unveil,
The truths it conceals,
Your eyes would perceive me as an inquiry

If you knew my heart
With all the hopes it cradles,
The loves it hid away,
The emotions it locked in swiftly
And its longings that haven't been satisfied,
You would pay attention and sincerely listen

If you knew my heart
And the neediness within it,
Wrapped with all the attempts to speak out,
The chances it would wanna take
And its daily set of failures,
You would know, oh you would understand...

No more

Succumbing to thoughts of afar

Filling the heart with some hope to entitlement

To an object which once had a name

But now is a testimony of what's long gone

"I remember" is but a subtle attempt

To craft into the present what has been

Time has just perfected its turn

Giving what has been the label, Memory

As it goes by...

I would have written in riddles, in a form no one would understand. But somehow, I'm in the mood to be transparent (without really revealing much), and to not get into metaphors.

Life has been a little too swift as the year started. I don't know, it's not that I'm a slow person. I guess that if I would've wanted to, I could have got along well with the pace I'm with, but nah. There are just a lot of things happening, and the "fun" thing is that there are more things going on in my head: things to be thought over, things to deal with, things to live with, and stuff. And there's this tendency to just drift into the flow and just not think about anything and just get by it. The problem with this tendency though is as attractive as it may be, I don't have it. It's always a wishful thinking for me to want to just go with the flow.

But the wonderful thing here is that I'm learning. For real. I experience this character-building procedure in the most uncomfortable way I could have, but then, I benefit from it. I get so much from it. Not for the present me, probably, because she is the one going through the pain and discomfort. But yea, she'll have her future thanking her for being courageous through all of it. And I'm kind of looking forward to that. Yea. I just want to see that the end is not anywhere near, and that everything is an opportunity to grow and to be more of who I have been created to become. And I just try to be hopeful about the things, and I'm really really stretching my heart to just trust and believe that I am well-covered.

I just wanted to anecdote this freezing, boiling moment because this is how the year started for me. I'm not in the hopes though to let it continue on with this mood because as much as I am learning much, I also crave rest and calm for my heart. I hope I would be just fine. I believe I would be.

011117

Humihiling ng isang baluting hahagkan sa maaaring masaktan

Upang magsilbing panangga sa maaaring makalapit at manakit

Ang pag-asa'y mula sa kaibuturan at may paunti-unting kinang

Humahanap ng lunas sa mga papayapa na, na sana ay humupa na

Ang paglipas ng pag-ibig at ng tinuran na kapayapaan

Labis ang pait at pighati nag-uugat sa hindi maunawaan

Para saan pa't nagaganap ang hindi kaaya-aya, para saan pa?

Kung maaari na lamang na lumisan at magbalat kayo

Nang sa ganoon ay maglaho na ang lahat nang tuluyan