Ang Babaeng Walang Pahinga

Kung bakit

2007-06-02T22:44:00.000+08:00

Aalis na ako dito sa blogger kasi hindi ko sya matweak ng maayos, hindi ko gamay ang settings. gagamitin ko na lang ang account na ito para makapagcomment sa mga blogger na aking mababasa.

Kung gusto nyo akong matagpuan, andito lang ako sa aking blog since i was 15(beat that)

http://www.xanga.com/melancholy_of_a_white_rose

kung gusto nyong ilink ko kayo sa blog ko sa xanga, magsabi lang kayo friends okay?

malapit na akong mawala sa friendster blog, tatapusin ko lang idelete ang ilang tao.

ayaw ko ng patago-tago ako, ayaw ko ng palipat-lipat dahil hindi ko alam kung ano ang iiwan.

dyan na lang ako, sa aking unang mahal :)

time-less

2007-04-29T19:09:00.000+08:00

I am always haunted by my impermanence, the thought that I could just crack up, collapse or disintegrate weighs heavily upon my chest and clogs most of my everyday thoughts. How my actions today will be insignificant a hundred years or so from now and how undignified and absurd my existence is, all because I am thrown into the world without a clue and I will leave it without knowing where the final destination is. No traveler in this life could ever comeback to tell his tale and we don’t know why. Time, is like someone running in amuck, screaming and destroying everything he could get his hands into. Their only difference is: a person could show a little shame about his behavior but time is a relentless beast devouring everything without the slightest touch of remorse. I am afraid of dying because I don’t know what will happen next. To believe in life after death will surely make things a lot bearable for me but what if, just what if-death is just the “end” of it all, the ceasing of one’s life and nothing more? I am afraid of getting old, of seeing wrinkles on my body and feeling weak and helpless, this is not so much about vanity rather of my fear to see the decay and disintegration in my body, a signal that one day I will eventually cease to exist and I will not matter anymore. I don’t want to be immortal because it will take away the essence and meanings of things. If all will be here forever, why should we give a damn anymore? Everything will be cyclic and boring. Morality will have no meaning and even existence.

Everything is chaotic inside my mind. I try to calm myself by looking at my surroundings and “instilling” that there is a great architect that makes all of this possible. Yes, I believe in a supreme being but I do not depend on it. I simply cannot anchor everything to it. I need to take some things into my hands. I need the concept of god to calm me down and to provide some explanations about my questions. Hence, I think the concept of god exists because we human beings need it. We need something larger than us, who will be there to provide answers and a little sense to this chaos.This is exactly what is happening to me.

I want to believe that god put me here on earth because I need to hurdle the obstacles ALL BY MYSELF and to use whatever gifts and talents he has given me to survive and reach my ideal SELF. I do not pray anymore because I believe that the human spirit would suffice that if there is one thing the world needs that would be Compassion+Action. I think the highest form of love is not divine love but compassion to your co-human beings and all the living things here on earth.

But despite all of these thoughts, I still feel desperate about not having enough time here on earth, about no-second chances, about the absurdity of it all. I really wish that I had not been born at all if he will just take my life away that easily.

Oh how I hoped I could shut away these thoughts. How I hoped that I could go on with my life just like the majority who are content with what the world has to offer. But my soul craves something beyond that, something I cannot comprehend up to now. It can be the question I will take to my grave.

No my friends, I cannot stop thinking about these things no matter how hard I try to evade the questions. I will always be like this, not because I like it this way but this just the way I am. Who wants to feel senseless and desperate? I think nobody would want to but there are certain things that we can’t control just like the passing of time.

religious tolerance

2007-03-29T23:02:00.000+08:00

If there is one thing the world badly needs that would be religious tolerance. I was riding the bus home when I overheard a couple discussing when should they baptize their baby. The scene fired a thousand thoughts inside me and woke-up my long held disbelief in religious practices. I got worried and scared that in this country where religious dogmatism is the name of the game, people like me have no chance at all to join the club. My father said that I wasted my 12 years of Catholic education and upbringing, and if my mother were still alive she will surely call me heretic. I don’t believe that Jesus is god or Allah or Buddha or Shiva. I don’t believe that God possesses a name. I don’t believe that I need to go to mass to save my soul or to confess to cleanse my sins. I don’t believe in the 7 sacraments. I don’t believe that the pope is infallible or the church is the real shepherd of the people. In the first place, the catholic hierarchy is so sexist and hypocrite. I think they have perfected the art of sophisticated chauvinism. Why won’t they allow women to be priest? Because no matter how much they try to sugarcoat it, their concept of god is male. And for a religion that says it promotes “equality” they are being inconsistent if not hypocrite. Why won’t the Catholic Church allow same sex marriage? It is because they are sexist and very traditional and backward thinking. Can you stereotype love? Who are you to dictate who should we love? Homosexual or Heterosexual relationship we should embrace them because love knows no gender. Do you believe that God could be so close-minded not allow love to prosper because they will not be able to “reproduce”. Their concept of God is very limited. And I am just being honest.

I am sure I will catch the ire of some in this entry but this is my opinion and beliefs. Religious talk is really a sticky issue and few can discuss it with an open mind. I am all for religious tolerance and respect because too much misunderstanding and conflict have already arise because of narrow-minded people who insist that their religion is superior over the other. Why can we just accept each other regardless of religion?

I remember this instance when I was still attending a “fellowship” here in UPLB. The speaker gave his opening prayer saying “Let us pray for our Hindu, Buddhist and Muslim brothers that they may be enlightened to see Christ as their real God”

Whatthefuck are you talking about? I swear I almost walked out of the room. From then on, I gave up trying to find a religion that will fit me and will not go against my reason and rationale. Faith and Reason should not go against each other and that I think is the main reason why god gave you something between your shoulders. He doesn’t want blind followers.

2007-02-25T00:15:00.000+08:00

sa mga nagmahal sa akin, nagmamahal at sa mga magmamahal pa

salamat sa pagbati nyo sa akin ngayon!

pakiramdam ko ako ang sentro ng mundo ngayong araw na ito

tumanda nanaman si SARAH

2007-02-16T15:04:00.000+08:00

It’s my birthday next week. One thing I like most about birthdays is the assessment that comes with it. When you reassess you life, you see the worthless things you’ve done, the things you need to improve and the necessary adjustments and changes. I finally learned the difference between assimilating and accommodating something into your life. There is a big big difference between the two.

I think I’ve reached the point where I no longer see the thrill or satisfaction in short-term relationships. Okay, I know I’ve never been a fan of short-term relationship but before I see something positive about it when my friends are into it (the mantra of we-are-so young-we-ought-to-live-life) Right now, however, I do not see anything good about it. Not even for boredom’s sake. Not even for your own preservation against the curse of your tedious monotonous life. I will not accommodate this kind of relationship in my life, no excuses allowed.

It is ironic that I am living on the same principle like that of my friends, we-are-so young-we-ought-to-live-life. But my take is very different from them, it is basically the fact that I am young that I ought not just live and accommodate every experiences that I meet along the road. I need to live by the quality of my experiences and not just by quantity alone, for how can I enrich myself if almost everything is in contractual basis. Something must last in my life.

For me, your relationships define who you are and the way you see yourself. If you allow your partner to maltreat you, take you for granted or put you in his least priority. It reflects the way you see yourself. If you value yourself well enough, show him the door right away. Self-respect and self-love are the most important things to keep intact when you are in a relationship.

Short-term relationship if not exhausting is a total waste of time. I have a friend who had 3 boyfriends in 2 months. Sometimes her relationship would last only for a week. Is it as easy like when one changes clothes? She is tired and we all know it.

He is you partner now, tomorrow you will find him in another’s arm. You burn the telephone lines till the wee hours of the morning, text each other till your thumb nails turn blue but who will he be tomorrow? Some stranger’s face in the crowd of multitude.

Commitment is the thing I valued the most. I try to honor the word with my efforts to remain true to it. When someone commits to make the relationship work, to make it last, how could you ask for more? The effort is what counts.

Life is so short. We should not be wasting each other’s time.

Here is a poem I would like to share with you, guys. It is one of my favorites.

the lesson of the moth
By Don Marquis, in "archy and mehitabel," 1927

Don Marquis was a newspaper columnist who wrote poems that he pretended were written by a cockroach named archy. Archy supposedly lives in the newsroom. At night Archy types poems and leaves them on the boss’ desk. Since Archy is too small to use the shift key on the typewriter at the same time that he uses a letter key, he can’t make capital letters. He also, with no excuse, is careless about punction.

i was talking to a moth

the other evening

he was trying to break into

an electric light bulb

and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows

pull this stunt i asked him

because it is the conventional

thing for moths or why

if that had been an uncovered

candle instead of an electriclight bulb you would

now be a small unsightly cinder

have you no sense

plenty of it he answered

but at times we get tired

of using it

we get bored with the routine

and crave beauty

and excitement

fire is beautiful

and we know that if we get

too close it will kill us

but what does that matter

it is better to be happy

for a moment

and be burned up with beauty

than to live a long time

and be bored all the while

so we wad all our life up

into one little roll

and then we shoot the roll

that is what life is for

it is better to be a part of beauty

for one instant and then cease to

exist than to exist forever

and never be a part of beauty

our attitude toward life

is come easy go easy

we are like human beings

used to be before they became

too civilized to enjoy themselves
and before i could argue him

out of his philosophy

he went and immolated himself

on a patent cigar lighter

i do not agree with him

myself i would rather have

half the happiness and twice

the longevity
but at the same time i wish

there was something i wanted

as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

...at ang maraming bagay

2007-02-10T23:14:00.000+08:00

melancholy is the infection that i brought to this family. whenever i would try to recall where did i get it, i will always have a vision of a child just staring at the wall or looking at the clouds at sunset. from my earliest memory, i have always been like this. i try to cover-up the loneliness, the isolation by putting a happy facade. by simply meeting the image they have conjured for me. and now my brother is being devoured by that same melancholy that ate my childhood. i read my brother's blog. it was heartbreaking to read all of it, i found a mirror of myself. it seems to me that the turning point of our lives was when mama died. i wish i could take away my brother's sadness. he is too young and delicate to suffer all of these things. nothing could break my heart than my brother's sadness. he is so young to get tired of life. tanginang buhay talaga ito, bakit kapatid ko pa. ang daming demonyo dyan sa paligid.

dati kapag tatawagin ako ng mga kalaro ko at ayaw kong lumabas, sasabihin ni mama "may sumpong si sarah, bukas na lang" minsan naman kapag bigla na lang akong magkukulong sa kwarto sasabihin nila "tinotoyo nanaman, kulang tlaga, pebrero kasi"

hindi ko alam bakit nila kinokonek ang birthday ko sa pagiging sumpungin ko, pero lumaki na akong yun ang explanation nila sa aking kakaibang ugali. kulang daw kasi ang buwan ng pebrero kaya ang pinanganak sa buwan na ito ay kulangkulang din.

hindi ko alam kung sinara lang nila ang isip nila o talagang naniniwala sila na ang mga pinanganak ng pebrero ay sumpungin. pero isa raw ako sa katibayan.

as much as i would like to think that my childhood was normal may mga pangyayari pa rin na nagpapaweird dito. minsan naiisip ko.. yun na ba yung tinatawag nyong childhood? yun na ba talaga? fake ata yung saken.

2007-02-03T21:24:00.000+08:00

Since boredom advances and boredom is the root of all evil, no wonder, then, that the world goes backwards, that evil spreads. This can be traced back to the very beginning of the world. The gods were bored; therefore they created human beings.
- Soren Kierkegaard

did not go home this week. so, the whole apartment is mine because all my housemates went home. it is actually refreshing to have the apartment all by yourself. i had a lunch last friday with ma’am ong. every talk with her is a ‘direction-setter’. i just slumped myself on the bed and read disgrace by j.m coetzee. did not find it exceptional even though he is a noble prize laureate. i thought i was going to spend my night just reading alone but Adrian asked me to give him a hand on his one-act play. so, he came over and we discussed about it. i know i am not so much of a help when it comes to playwriting(or any writing chi-chi) but i tried to help him with all my capacity and limitations. as of this writing, he is in pansol, undergoing workshops for his play. he is with jas and ilia. i wish you all the best, guys!( ok, the sounds so cliché, No-no in writing)

my day started today at 5pm. i was so lazy to get up from bed. i just ate the potato chips I bought last night for me and Adrian, for my breakfast and lunch. I woke-up at 7am, got back to bed at 10. woke up again at 1 and then I read read and read. Took a bath at 7pm, went outside to buy myself a decent meal. My first decent meal of the day, consists of rice, fried chicken and iced tea. I consumed a pack of mentos while watching pedro penduko. If it weren’t for this goddam fieldtrip this sunday, i am probably happy at home, dozing in my bed, or staring at my window. i usually cook during weekends, i know i am very good at cooking. so even though i am a cowgirl with no sign of finesse and grace, my father is still proud of me because i cook very well. but today, i don’t even want to boil hot water to cook instant noodles. who wants to cook for herself alone?

i don’t want to spend my time anymore contemplating on how to kill this somebody. i just realized that i should never go down to her level. Pathetic is too kind a word to describe her. She is simply way lower than a pathetic loser. why should i drain my energy over her? she is the one who is in the losing end. a friend will surely find the revelations worthy of “stranger than fiction” award.

i will face you anytime, anywhere. i will be thrilled to see your contorted face. You poser! Everything will be revealed, it is just a matter of time.

another thing, i realized that prince charming is a loser, who needs to have an ego massage every now and then.

i am not a masseuse.

no wonder, i have no date this valentine.

happy single awareness day!

coming

2007-02-01T23:22:00.000+08:00

Isolation is very powerful; it can creep in your marrow even if you are surrounded by a thousand people. It knows no place and it doesn’t limit itself to solitude. I felt a dizzying vision of myself, yesterday, as I rode the bus back home. I enjoy riding the bus alone. I always seat beside the window. Oblivious to what is happening inside, I act as if I am a child peeking slowing at her fears and doubts to the big world outside, wide-eyed wonder to each new sight. But I am familiar with the place, every week I travel the same road, I see the same tree, I see the mountain, I see the same bridges. The 3-hour journey back home is composed of repeating sights. I think I am the only one changing with each journey. I revisit the place every time like I was never the same person, like I have never been there. But something is always lost. We are a degenerative disease. You have no other way but see the end. There is no stopping the degeneration; you can only slow down the process. Memory is always receding to an unknown archive. I am unconvinced that we are accumulating memory as we go older. We are just repeating every thing, rearranging them to fit the new sensation, which is just a variation of the past. Haruki Murakami is right “each sensation is already a memory.”

Where are we to go? We can never renew the deal we have signed the moment we are born. We can never invalidate it. Life goes on. But is that our only rallying point? How pathetic for all of us, that we have no choice but to go with the flow because life will definitely go on, with or without you.

Alexander Pushkin wrote in his poem, Thoughts.

Each day, and every hour
I habitually follow in my thoughts,
Trying to guess from their number
The year which brings my death.

Songs in the Wind

2007-01-12T17:31:00.000+08:00

I was walking around the campus. The air was very chilly but I did not wear my jacket. It is not everyday that the wind will show its cold treatment, so, when times like this would come, I always grab the opportunity to acquaint myself with its presence.

The earphones on my ears was singing a familiar tune

“there are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
all these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all”

Suddenly, the air felt thick. Something weighed against my skin and sent a pinch in my chest. I continue my afternoon walk on the chilly campus with gray clouds constantly moving above me. I assumed that there was a brewing storm but pulled back the idea when I realized the cold wind’s calm dance. It was too calm to be storm. Storm-wind has an aggressive touch and the gray clouds seemed to converge at one point. The clouds above me were just passing. It was probably just shedding its moodiness at the silly earth.

I changed the song because I can change it, unlike my current situation. But memories have a way of sticking out inside you and a song is a whimsical mistress, she has a way of getting what she wants from you.

What will remain of the earth when I am gone? What will I live behind?

Memories? But they are selective. Love? It is an imperfect tense.

Maybe the thought that I loved them all, the thought that I gave a damn, the though that I cared, the thought that I was there.

Why “thought”? Because it is uncertain and relative. It is composed of illusion and reality. And I think I exist between them. I thrive in the concept of uncertainty and fleeting existence.

Think of me like I am a brewing storm during a sunny afternoon. I can be an illusion or a reality.

The next song lasted 2 minutes, enough for the chorus to finish. My batteries were running out. But it sealed my thoughts for the day.

“Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams
With you and me
Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow dream away
in the wind of change”

The player went down. I wanted to ride with the wind.

sleepless nights

2007-01-07T13:50:00.001+08:00

if there is one thing I can’t do-that is to sit back and relax. i always worry, i am always tense and nervous. i can’t shut my brain off. i am a light-sleeper, the slightest movement could wake me up. sometimes, i would wake up in the middle of the night just to check if my family members are still breathing. how paranoid could you get?

diana told me to stop reading for a while to lessen my over thinking. i told her i cannot do that. i simply can’t. it seems to me that i can survive without writing but i cannot continue living without reading. no matter how suicidal the idea is, i cannot resist it. yes, reading may have inflicted or aggravated my already deranged brain but when i am reading i am not alone. when i am reading something i can relate to, i feel that i somehow belong to humanity. that there are people suffering the same affliction i am carry inside me and sometimes even worse, makes me feel part of the whole.

writing is different. i don’t know with others but for me it is very isolating. isolating in the sense that it makes you look inside you with a magnifying glass. gathering memories and summoning ideas only you could articulate. the irony of it all is that i am WRITING because I CANNOT ARTICULATE myself. no matter how i try fix the words, proof read the grammar. something still eludes me. there is something “un-sayable” in everything “say-able.” a hidden grain in the labyrinth of thoughts and feelings.

I write because I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink. I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf. I write because it is exciting to turn all life's beauties and riches into words. I write not to tell a story but to compose a story. I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but—as in a dream—can't quite get to. I write because I have never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.

this is a paragraph from Orhan Pamuk’s MY FATHER'S SUITCASE his Nobel Lecture, 2006.

if i will add something to suit my own experience it will be these words:

i write because i really want to forget myself. i write because i constantly deceive myself. i write because it is an escape route. i because i am constantly angry at the world and at myself. I write because it is the only decent way towards self-destruction.

i am not so arrogant to claim that writing is my life. what i can claim is that it is a part of my life, just like my childhood memories.

i suddenly remembered my thesis and a thought crossed my mind. did i just commit a suicide?

2007-01-01T23:46:00.000+08:00

i am not a poem
dec, 2006

meanings in harmony
rhythmic in existence

borne by solitude
grown by inner reflections
kept alive by the struggles of paper
and ink to hold the imagination
of resisting time

i am nothing but scattered letters
struggling to fit pieces
of jumbled characters

borne with undefined meaning
grown by continuous uncertainty
kept alive by illusions
written on water

Dusty Afternoons

2006-12-29T01:49:00.000+08:00

I hate afternoons. It makes me sad; it could be the heat or the sepia color of the sky. Whatever it is, I would prefer the dark nights than the sun-filled afternoons. There is something about the illuminated dust particles dancing inside my room that evokes a solemn nostalgia. It might be from a past I can’t even recall. Whenever I would sit beside my bedroom window and look outside during lazy afternoons, I can almost feel the sizzling heat of Mang Arthur’s roof top, our neighbor, touch my skin. The mango tree in front with its frequent Maya visitors would chirp once in a while. Sometimes, there would be a sound of an airplane hovering above the neighborhood. You could hear tricycle engines, car wheels screeching the cement ground, vendors shouting their products from binatog to mais. Sometimes I would see children running, yes, always running. I always wonder where they are going. There are not playing in the streets unlike us before. They don’t scorch their skin over patintero, piko, tumbang preso or bloc 1, 2, 3. Most likely, they would go to some covered area to play badminton /tennis or to some computer shop to play ‘games’.

The sun and clouds would always play with the tree leaves' color, changing it from yellow, yellow green, and dark green. It depends on the shade they want to pour to the good old trees. The warm wind would sometimes drop by to tickle the branches, and to push the dust particles on the ground and in my room, also, to dance in the sun’s daily climax. The ritual will not be complete if the wind will not dance with fallen leaves, in spiral motion, circling and circling until they got tired of each other.

No matter how much I clean my room, dusts always find its way on top of my books, on the glass jalousie of my window, on my floor, on my study table. They seem to showcase their invincibility during afternoons where you can clearly see their presence. I guess I have to live with them forever. I would be part of them anyway. Someday I would dance whimsically with the wind. No one can eradicate me completely in their lives. My constant presence will be there, as constant as the air they breathe.

It is always in the afternoon where your childhood memories visit you. Nights are for adult loneliness and misery, and the constant worry about the future. Mornings are for the new beginnings, the challenges of the present. Afternoons are for childhood reminiscences. True to its nature, it is always the link, the transition between night and day. We are always in transition because we cannot fully escape from our childhood. Try to recall fond childhood memories and it is always in the afternoon. I remember…

the afternoons I spent playing with my friends
the afternoons I spent on the grassy vacant lot in front of our house trying to catch dragonflies
the afternoon I first rode a bike
the afternoon I fist climbed a tree
the afternoons that were spent making bubbles out of laundry soap, every time mama would wash our clothes

I hate afternoons because of its unforgiving nature. And because of its honesty and its gall to bring back images of something that cannot happen again. Ever.

midnight musings

2006-12-26T01:10:00.000+08:00

Moments like this make me feel vulnerable and isolated. I hate myself for being too sensitive for my own comfort. Sometimes, I feel like a sponge that unwillingly absorbs all the loneliness and pain pouring down from heaven and earth. It is ironic that the process of absorption can dry you up like a sun dried cloth. I am so young and I am already exhausted with the way things are going. My exhaustion is baseless. What do I know about life? All my life I am sheltered in the comfort zones of family, school and friends. There were moments when my character was tested, but what is it compared to real living? I am not living.

But what is living anyway?

Fyodor Dostoevsky will tell you to find the meaning of existence by questioning existence itself.
Milan Kundera will tell you to live with a burden, so that your existence will have weight.
Gabriel Garcia will tell you to live with solitude because love is a disease.
Haruki Murakami will tell you to collect memories and live within them because every sensation is already a memory.
J.D Salinger will tell you to challenge the status quo.
Alexander Solzenitsyn will tell you to cherish every moment and never ever to forget each experience that has enriched your soul. You could live and find your paradise in prison camps but not in being a slave of material things.

There are so many philosophies that it gets so confusing. What are these people to me, anyway?

I know my problem but I am denying it. I should not give it too much importance because it’s useless. Waste of energy. The concept is dead. Accept the fact and please don’t call it shit. Call it truth or whatever. You came to the world alone, you will die alone. Solitude will make you hear yourself more and other people too. Thrive in it. Befriend it. Be one with it. And don’t whine or whatsoever. If it is not destiny, it is your fault.

Am I made up of such a weak character? I am better than that.

pasko na

2006-12-22T02:36:00.000+08:00

nagpicture picture ako sa campus

mahilig kasi ako sa mga ilaw

dati siguro akong FIREFLY

limot

2006-12-22T01:28:00.000+08:00

nalulungkot ako kasi hindi kita kasamaat baka hindi na kita makasama pa kahit kailannatatakot akong masyado na akong masanay na mag-isa at pagdating ng araw na nandyan ka nasa tabi ko ay hindi na ako sanaynatatakot ako hindi na kita makilala dahil isaka na lang konsepto sa aking isipannatatakot akong baka ang lahat ay nakatayo sa isangilusyon at maaaring bumagsak sa isang pagtaliwasmo sa inaakala kong "ikaw"natatakot akong hindi na kita maramdaman dahil minanhidna ako ng iyong matagal na pagkawalanatatakot akong sa buhay na ito ang "minsan"ay isang alaala na lang at maaaring mawala o makalimutannatatakot akong hindi sapat ang lakas ng loob kongmabuhay mag-isa at mag-hintaynatatakot akong malaman balang araw na wala pala akongpinaghahawakan kundi ang sarili kong guniguni o gawa gawang alaalanatatakot akong matakot dahil baka lisanin ko ang lahat ngkakarampot na pag-asang mayroon ako

yellow afternoon: this is how you said goodbye

2006-11-10T00:43:00.000+08:00

trinkets of morning dew
brought
you to my doorsteps
with the effervescent ray of
early sun
lighting your path towards me

the revolving door of morning and night
hindered my view of you
but you managed to make me feel
the palpable touch of your luminescence
against the gray of desolation
painting the walls and ceilings
of the room

but you had to go
after the rainstorm of voices
screaming to be heard, bouncing
echoes on the walls

too much sunshine
in the room could burn one's eyes,
clouds of doubt would follow

you came to me unannounced
your leaving, warned

so you left as silently as you enter
stealthy closing the door and walking away towards
the yellow afternoon

floods of my mourning will follow
your shadow
because that is how you said goodbye
without your footsteps being heard

recurrence

2006-11-01T00:33:00.000+08:00

I am planning a great escape after graduation (if ever I will graduate). To what place or how, I still don't know but I have an idea. My idealism could kill me if I will not do anything to lessen it. I am such a pathetic escapist.

I realized that I am running away because I have a home because if I did not have one, it would just be another wandering. I can run away because I have something to run away from. It is what will separate me from a nomad or a wandering vagabond. The necessity to prove something and the yearning to feel the vastness of the world have aflame my soul. If I have to cry my heart out, if I have to feel desolation, if I have to eat the dirt of the earth, if I have to destroy myself alone-let me be. Adrian, one of the best people I met here in UPLB had experienced what I still have not. He was able to die inside and therefore experience rebirth through his new found faith. Dying is necessary for rebirth. Total destruction is necessary for the new order of things to arrive or else it would just be a cycle of futile reformation, a cycle of remolding the same defective clay of life.

If Nietzsche's eternal recurrence will be taken as truth then it will be the heaviest burden of all. The repetition of everything ad infinitum will make everything absurd. Our lives will be just like any other lives because it is not doomed to expire. We can not own our lives because it will be a slave of time. Our identity and uniqueness will suffer a tremendous backlash (if not total annihilation) and therefore the great question will be who are we really? If another Sarah will reoccur in history, then my existence will be absurd right now. The convergence of past, present and future in a cycle will negate everything you valued and loved in this lifetime.

Beauty lies in its being temporary and fleeting; if beauty is eternal then it will lose its essence. It will just be ordinary and boring because it is constantly there. What makes everything special in this lifetime is the knowledge that everything will not last forever. That whatever you value and hold beautiful in your life is a gift you must cherish as long as it exists because recurrence is not possible.

Morality is also anchored on the concept of non-recurrence because recurrence will make everything lawful (even crime). There is no use putting premium on the value of life because you never know if have already committed a crime or starting the cycle of it in your life. And also because if man is denied of essence and so his existence.

Nietzsche doesn't agree with the concept of pre-destiny because only man can define his essence but he did not see that recurrence is pre-destination of destiny itself. Maybe I just don't really understand Nietzsche because I am not an ubermench or time and again I am over reading.

This concept is so hard to accept especially for an escapist like me. Nothing could be more burdensome than the concept of non-escape. That is why I don't believe in destiny. It is a suffocating concept, especially if you don't like what is happening in your life right now. I am not sad but I am neither happy.

SEALED

2006-10-06T17:56:00.000+08:00

I was lying on the sofa yesterday when it rained. It was afternoon. A rain with the sun blaring on the background is absurd. I hurriedly went outside to get our clothes still hanging on the clothes line. Everything was bathed by shades of sepia. I looked at the sky and wondered how two different things; contrary things, could exist side by side such as the rain and the sun. The familiar smell of dry earth suddenly smothered by the rain was sipped by my unwilling lungs. My skin could feel the soil’s warm breath. I realized I was bare footed. Suddenly, memories from by childhood sprouted from the womb of the earth and I was 7 years old again. I can vividly recall how I would throw my slippers every time I would play tumbang preso. The sole of my feet did not mind the rough cement and my skin could tolerate the stifling heat of the sun. Rain was just an interruption to my play back then, now it is a form of solace from the noisy carnival lights of my mind. I felt the quivering voice of nostalgia inside me; I shudder at the simplicity of my life back then, at the simplicity of everything around me. I looked at the sky once more, hugged the clothes I saved from the rain and consoled myself with the thought that I am still staring at the same sky. This was the same sky of my childhood and it is still up to now. I wonder how the sky looked from the other side of the planet. I wonder if memories could be transferred from one place to another. I want to put my childhood memories inside a cookie jar because it did not give me enough dreams to last a life time.

ROADLESS

2006-10-04T09:28:00.000+08:00

Inside a bus, the world is stagnant and you are the only one moving. To what direction is usually relative to your vision and perspective. The only thing that matters is you are moving. Action is happening, a luxury for someone in a moribund situation.

You looked outside the window, against the swinging and blurred vision of roadways and electric wires. It is reality showing itself like filmstrips in fast forward motion. How you wish you could fast forward everything and jump into the future. You wonder how loneliness could cripple a person, and if sadness could be measured in centimeters will you be able to hold yours in two hands.

A bump on the road will shake you wanderings, abruptly. You tried to eliminate any sentimental thoughts that might cross your fickle mind. But this will always be a futile attempt, for you are an eternal daydreamer. Reverie and Nostalgia are both your best friend and enemy, wielding their power with or without your permission.

What is the distance between two hearts? How selfish is selfish? What is happiness without sacrifice? You have always known from the start that things will not be easy for both of you.

The concept of love is as vague as the concept of truth for you. If there is something universal will it be "love"? But how come we have different definitions of it? And who defines that definition? Man? Then it will so subjective, everyone can define it. Two people cannot have the same definition. Equality = impossible in this world. Nothing can be exact. Two people agreeing on the meaning of love is just compromising their definition to fit the situation. No matter what you do, there will always be a "discrepancy". To say that two hearts became one is farce. Someone has conquered someone. There will always be a conqueror and a conquered. In the negotiation of meanings, some concepts must give way to the dominant thinking. But what will happen if no one gives way?

Tension.Chaos

As your professor gave the itinerary of the trip, you suddenly sank into deeper thought about how different your concepts about existence are. You are quite unsure if you are together because you have accepted each other's "discrepancy" or if what's feeding your relationship is the thought that you can change each other, so that, you can have the same future. But isn't "change"always in the future tense? Past is already fixed, and change does not apply to it, and Present is ever moving towards being stagnant and fixed, so therefore, future is change. If he wants you to change "now" meaning "the present" then he doesn't like or accept your "future"? So what is the use of imagining a future with someone wanting to change you now but promising forever? That is not loving the person but loving the concept of him for the future and if he is just a future then he is just a concept to you right now, and it will always be this way because you loved him in advance, the concept of him plus change. But if one of you stops changing and believing in the future, it is the end of it all.

Your relationship is first and foremost founded on the concept of change. It cannot stand stagnation. Something must always change. If you could transform yourself into a wind, you have long ago formed a tornado just to make sure the relationship would survive. Your stagnation is rocking the very foundation of the relationship, and you cannot do anything about it because, for you, love is stagnant. He will always be moving in fast forward motion. Change borne him to life and he is the son of the future while you are the illegitimate daughter of the past and present. Compromise is a word you abandoned since you chose to be stagnant. Maybe you could find happiness in stagnation, but it will be a long journey. Someone must be willing to get stuck with your stagnation, your PRESENT state.

2006-10-04T09:10:00.000+08:00

Finally, nakahinga na rin ako ng maluwag at feel ko ang youthful na feel nitong blog ko

THE GREAT BITCH

2006-04-07T00:12:00.000+08:00

even NY times noticed her tyranny

April 5, 2006
Editorial NEW YORK TIMES

Dark Days for Philippine Democracy

Filipinos thought they had put an end to electoral chicanery and governmental intimidation when they overthrew the Marcos dictatorship two decades ago. Unfortunately, President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has completely lost touch with the ideals that inspired that 1986 "people power" movement.

Mrs. Arroyo is no Ferdinand Marcos, at least not yet. But this onetime reformer is reviving bad memories of crony corruption, presidential vote-rigging and intimidation of critical journalists. Unless the Philippine Congress and courts find ways to rein in her increasingly authoritarian tendencies, democracy itself may be in danger.

This was not the outcome people expected five years ago when Mrs. Arroyo, then the vice president, was swept into power on a wave of popular discontent with her discredited predecessor, Joseph Estrada. In those days, Mrs. Arroyo, a professional economist, was seen as an earnest reformer. She won further credit by pledging not to run for a new six-year term in 2004.

But then she changed her mind, and her style of government as well. Her narrow re-election victory became tainted after a tape revealed her discussing her vote totals with an election commissioner while ballots were still being counted. She survived an impeachment attempt over that incident. But she was forced to send her husband into exile over charges that he took bribes from gambling syndicates.

Earlier this year she briefly declared a state of emergency in response to allegations of a coup threat that others disputed. Since then she has been intensifying pressure on a wide range of political critics and especially on the press. Government officials have warned news outlets that they will be held to restrictive new guidelines, the justice secretary talks darkly about a journalistic watch list, and the staff members of a well-known center for investigative journalism have been threatened with sedition charges. No Philippine government has made such efforts to muzzle the press since the Marcos era.

President Bush has repeatedly hailed Mrs. Arroyo as an important ally against international terrorism. He now needs to warn her that by undermining a hard-won democracy, she is making her country far more vulnerable to terrorist pressures.

miss

2006-04-05T00:44:00.000+08:00

It is hard to miss you during summer