Iridescent.

Year-ender (greetings, 2012)

2012-01-01T22:06:00.001+08:00

Photo source: http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lx56utovfn1r3b4cmo1_500.jpg

I cried during the last afternoon of 2011 because I was re-reading my old journal entries, and I realized how 2011 wasn't the best year for me; it was actually a bad one. I hated so many parts of it, even if I try to make up for everything else by all the wonderful things that happened. I was happy, but I was sad. This year, I was hurt, and it wasn’t just about what happened with that one particular person.

Everything else before that was bad; my moments of depression when I was under bed rest (my post-operation stage), my moments when I thought that the people who are out of my life right now mattered that much; that they were real and that they would stay, when I was so confused with my life and what I wanted to do with it, when I thought I was wasting it all away, when I started to be pulled by reality’s misfortunes and inevitable occurrences that I had to succumb to; hence, dealing with many changes I wasn’t really ready for…

The central theme of my 2011 was change, one that was unwanted, needed, eventually longed for, accepted, and embraced. I needed that kind of change in my life. I’m extremely thankful for where I am now because I’ve changed in many ways possible; in ways that I didn’t even dream of or imagine. But when I look back, I realize how much of a bad place I was in, and I didn’t even know it. Those signs along the way and those moments of wondering whether something was missing, whether something was wrong, were disregarded in the long run until I had to undergo certain life-changing experiences that made it all different. And I can’t help looking back and remembering how heart-wrenching, as well as how brilliant and influential it all was.

During mass today, I prayed that I could forget the hurt and damage I underwent last 2011, remember the good and best times, as well as the people that helped me and shaped me along the way, and implement those lessons learned this year, as I, a now better person, live my life the best way I can. I’m actually looking forward to what lies ahead; I’m always excited for new opportunities and unexpected events. Life is an adventure, and really, there’s so much to look forward to. I can’t be thankful enough, really. I feel like I’m taking so many things for granted, and I do hope that would change as time goes on.

I know I’ve always been an optimist, but life’s realities have given me the capability of seeing things in a clearer and more different, much better light; one that has made me stronger and eventually, happier. On that note, I bid a gracious farewell to 2011, as I’m pretty sure that 2012 will be another spectacular year as well.

2011-12-30T00:16:00.000+08:00

Highway

2011-12-30T00:12:00.000+08:00

NLEX and SLEX looked like garbage next to SCTEX. Thing is, the first two roads had that of narrows ones, yes, but unlike the SCTEX, it was surrounded by trees. It didn't feel so spacious to me. SCTEX had the widest roads I've ever seen and had the pleasure of experiencing, and it was surrounded by vast lands I could seriously get lost in. I wanted to jump from the car and inhale the scent of the weeds that stretched out across the horizon, and feel the grass tickling my skin, igniting every nerve and every cell in my body; my desire to feel even more alive was heightened.

Over the fields were thin layers of clouds that looked peaceful, still, and undisturbed. The sun was moderately shining and it reflected on the windows of our car. The drive was fast; I could feel the adrenaline circulating in my system, as it was highlighted by the scenery.

In front of me were my parents and my brother, and they were laughing over something I wasn't really paying attention to, since I was listening to songs on my iPod (such as "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri, which is definitely my future wedding song, for certain reasons). It was one of the most beautiful and breathtaking things I've ever seen, and at that moment, I knew I felt infinite. I suppose it was one of those moments that life only handed to me a couple of times in my life, so I treasured it with my whole heart. I still do, and I forever will.

Thoughts on taking the SCTEX, from Baguio (where we spent our lovely Christmas break), to Manila (my home)

2011-12-30T00:01:00.001+08:00

Thoughtless ramble (a journal entry)

2011-12-13T00:22:00.002+08:00

I suppose not all my thoughts and daily records of life’s little mishaps I have the pleasure of constantly going through are recorded in this journal; this one notebook. I have several, as you can see. I suppose one, two, or three, are never enough. My mood varies and I jump from one to another, despite them being categorized. I still find comfort in being organized at some point.

The constant flow in my head; one that is composed of intricacy and wonder is scattered through different mediums that do not merely involve writing. The eccentric creatures living beneath the pages of my twisted head are released through laughter, a smile, an image, a tear… One second, one moment, an idea is there; and it vanishes abruptly without a trace and without a word uttered.

No one is capable of taking note of all the details. Sometimes words are not enough, although they provide much meaning and beauty, in all forms possible and in all forms used, whether they make sense or not. In both ways, it means something and it means everything. Many happen in less than a second, and I suppose little justice is given to how an occurrence can be given a description for.

These occurrences exist in our memory, in our minds, in our hearts. It is tragic how something so beautiful cannot be articulated well enough. At some point, it is tragic how I am unable to record every single wonder in my life with detail and grasp its true essence through the power of words. I try, although I know I fail. I suppose leaving mystery is quite necessary. I suppose some memories will only exist in something that is not tangible enough.

But it is still through writing that I sing, embrace the merriment and misfortunes of life, and how I, as a human being, am living it among others whose complexity I find perplexingly wonderful. I use it to my fullest potential and hold it in my heart with the utmost passion.

2011-11-17T23:32:00.000+08:00

Looklet outfit #12

http://looklet.com/user/723735/looks#share-723735

Slither

2011-11-17T23:21:00.003+08:00

Temptation – how it slowly creeps up like a ruthless virus waiting to eat the very core of your being… How it silently awaits in a quiet, vacant, and dimly lit room, waiting to pounce on its victim, vulnerable, helpless, and oblivious… How it pushes you to the very edge and breaks your bones... How it triggers your insides, leaving you numb, raging, and desperate for purging the very burning desires of your wretched judgment; your wretched conscience.

And when you give in to temptation – you hold the world in your hands. You have the power. The excitement erupts over all things noticeable; the warm brush of his fingertips against your delicate skin, the stroke of his hand, the softness of his lips, and the way he holds and caresses you. The abrupt movement takes you by delightful surprise and brings you to heated ecstasy, in all forms irrefutable, mind-blowing and raw, though despicably evil. It fills your head with thoughts constantly changing, now clouded by the devil living beneath the mask and the default state of mind and existence.

It is in the undeniable sensation that you let yourself go.

The heavy sigh and disturbing, though igniting outcome all starts with one skip of the heart; its continuous, fast-paced beat, and the deadly, unavoidable crave.

2011-11-09T00:56:00.001+08:00

Most people would agree when I’d say that the world will forever be complex. It is a place that is hard to understand and hard to deal with as it provides us with apparent, fast-paced, and unfortunate occurrences filled with hardship and struggle. But in the 17 years I’ve lived in this world, I've found it to be beautiful, full of life, magic and artistry, despite the gray hues. In this world of love, hate, hope, passion and all the ironic strings in between, I’ve come to realize that there is always something worth living for. The unpredictability and randomness of it all is what makes it worthy of engaging ourselves into.

The meaning of maturity

2011-11-09T00:51:00.003+08:00

Being a mature student does not mean being an old-timer. Maturity is not measured by the number of years a person has lived. Instead, the yardstick of maturity is marked by the qualities of self-denial, determination, and dependability.

Envision this scene. It is eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night. The lights are out except for one room, where a typical teenager resides. He finishes the last of his algebra homework as he looks out the window and sees a couple of his classmates on the hood of a car, asking him to join them for a ride to somewhere unknown and different, far from scary; in fact, it does seem so alluring and exciting. He decides whether or not he should join his friends for a night of spontaneous fun or stay at home and sleep; he has to take a big exam the next day, after all. He couldn’t miss such vital test. The following morning, his mom walks in an empty room; its windows wide open. She finds her son on the floor, drenched and unconscious.

Self-denial is an important quality in a mature student. Growing up would mean being exposed to new things to see and experience; thus, having the natural desire and curiosity to try everything, explore the world, and do things one doesn’t normally do “just for the hell of it.” Teenagers often lose their sense of control and responsibility as they become blinded by their wants, interests, and most of the time, impulses. One must handle these situations maturely by developing and eventually possessing a sense of discipline. He must know when “enough is enough” and where his limits and boundaries are set. It is important to be aware when one tends to lose his sense of responsibility by going beyond these limits, sometimes far too much before he can go back again to doing what’s right.

The teenager tries his best to rush to school and make use of the little time he has left for the exam. Needless to say, he failed and was required to take summer classes. He gets into a fight with his mom, telling her that it was “just one time,” and that “nothing bad happened anyway; he would make up for it eventually.” She tells him that it was wrong to be reckless. Losing grasp of what was right would lead to consequences and regrets in the long run. He should fix himself before it gets way out of hand; before he loses himself. He accuses her of being insensitive, stupid, and unsupportive; thus, causing a gap in their relationship. Realizing his actions, he greatly makes an effort to mend all his faults once and for all.

Determination is another characteristic of a mature student. In life, it is important to know what one wants; his aspirations are usually what motivate him to live well and strive for more. A mature individual must know the importance of this goal, how it affects him, and what he must to do attain it. There must always be something to reach and most of the time, to fight for, may it be regarding academics, relationships, and careers. This will not only help one achieve his small goals and lifetime wishes, but also contribute to developing a sense of discipline and natural motivation that can help him go the distance.

The lost teenager stops fretting over his problems and decides to do something to solve them and keep things back on track again. He declines all invitations from his friends to attend to his priorities, reunites with his books and starts catching up on what he missed, to make up for his failing marks. He makes it up to his mom by being responsible and showing her that he is slowly changing for the better, and that he would meet all ends to regain her trust for him again. His consistency and determination to change is evident; his efforts go a long way as he avoids committing the same mistakes and tries to live peacefully and rightly.

Although self-denial and determination are both vital, the most important measure of maturity would probably be dependability. While it offers many opportunities, life also entails one to experience failures and unfortunate occurrences. Knowing how and being able to survive such is one thing, but learning from one’s mistakes and obstacles goes a long way. Because of this blessing in disguise, one gains knowledge about himself, his surroundings, his life, and how he can be able to live it well. He can eventually depend on himself and others can find refuge and wisdom in him because he now knows how to handle things and solve sticky situations in such a way that is right for himself and for others.

Time has passed and this certain teenager smiles at himself, happy with what he has accomplished after a ride of ill-fated incidents. His academics and relationships are now stable; such has improved to a much higher degree. Although he is aware of his being prone and somehow, still vulnerable to life’s other temptations, he is content with the thought that he has strayed from a life of thoughtlessness, and has learned how to handle these things as how a mature individual should.

Written in academic form during my first semester in the university

A definition essay

Sterile

2011-11-09T00:49:00.002+08:00

If you say you will
Then walk away and don’t stand still
Like a broken down amusement park
With the bitterness of the cold and the scene not as dark

Look away and you will soon see
That what happened, happened to be
Broken pages of a book left to hide
In a closet that is kept forever, no longer by your side

Colorful visions of yesterday’s dream
See those lines forming on your face; what does it mean?
Heavy emotions don’t occupy your soul
That’s how it’s supposed to be, that’s how it all goes

Leave the voices forming in your head
Because they bring you back to where you were
Where you ran on wet grass and sang your heart out
But left it unfinished, what’s left is a barren land

The road is continuous, it runs up north
No lingering in the middle, just go on forth
Up that hill where more trees grow
More things to see, more things to know

Blossom into a better self
No matter the conditions and things you felt
Why think of what used to be,
When you say and you know you’re happy?

A stamp on the heart can be washed away
But the ink than ran through your veins is embedded, there to stay
It flows and flows until it becomes
A part of the heart that is maintaining its growth

So leave me, oh fellow love
You’ve flown to that part of the world and I’ve flown to the other
Though it cannot be said that two paths remain far away
When my eyes see certain, I won’t be afraid

Written in 2010

2011-11-09T00:41:00.001+08:00

Doodle by: Derick Antolin, my amusingly odd block mate

Sonnet #7: Cape

2011-11-08T00:18:00.001+08:00

Worn out, broken benches sit here and lie

History kept in a place near the sea

Those feelings as blue as the summer sky

Heat non-existent, as cold as can be

Currents, ocean waves crashing sandy shores

Wash away horizons of memories

Tears emit, down towards the ocean floor

Recall the night of damned catastrophe

Black clouds hover on memories so dark

Silence, last breath, last touch, last words spoken

Hearts beat faster, reaching for sounds so far

Hushed and fatal pace, damned and forgotten

Dusk settles with the brokenness that stays

Lights grow dim in memories of the awake

Sally

2011-10-15T01:27:00.002+08:00

Lying on the bedside, watching the street lights flicker endlessly in the dark, deserted streets under the dim midnight sky, basking in thoughtless sentiment, and losing the dire hope of reliving, has been a daily ritual for Sally, in her room of infinite dreaming.

Sally shivers uncontrollably as she grasps the sheets, blood forming in the spaces between her fingers. The chewed pencil on the bedside table and the crumbled, damp piece of paper under her bed are now untouched; her lingering thoughts have been overly-analyzed and brutally exposed. She lives with the sorrow of repetitiveness and of inconsistency, where lifetime peace has been far from unachievable. She gets up, looks in the mirror and dreads her vacant smile and bleak eyes; her real countenance, as the mask has been removed.

Screams fill the room in a desperate attempt to escape; escape from the unknown, the invisible forces that draw her to provocative insanity. Sally wishes for freedom from rituals, surprises, feelings… She wishes to be free from herself.

She looks around and sees bits of her life stitched in every part of her room. Oh, the life she had been living was that of a damaged one; a lowly creation and shameless account of horror, fear, hurt, and sadness. She was alone with the unexplainable emotions of a troubled child like herself, the lack of reason and understanding for her existence, her capability of feeling too much and seeing too little.

Sally wishes. Sally moans and cries. Sally thumps on the floor, blinded by the tears from her eyes and paralyzed from the grinding of her teeth and popping of her nerves. Sally rocks herself to sleep, but nightmares creep up, even as she continues running away, away from what stays conscious, intact, constant, and excruciatingly real.

Blood continues to flow as Sally spreads it all over her body, keeping herself warm from the cold wind seeping through the window cracks. Sally’s sobs become softer, less heart-wrenching, more calming.

Lying on the floor, with the fading street lights flickering endlessly in the dark, deserted streets under the dim midnight sky, basking in thoughtless sentiment, and meeting the dire hope of reliving, has been the last ritual for Sally, in her room of infinite dreaming.

One afternoon

2011-09-01T19:28:00.002+08:00

Now calm

Completed a succession of needs

And wants

Silent music blasting

Thunderbolts blazing

Igniting the energy in me

Phone ringing

Stop movement and thoughts

Sudden, submerged

Water rising

Stale, tasteless

Result of interruption

Sweetness lost

Gained from suppressed revelry

Inside souls

Quiet world, sheltered

Away from existence

About to reopen

Vibrancy, electric

Fast-paced actions

Abrupt

Gasping, life’s beauty

Downs and whereabouts

Acceptance and love

Now

Seeing, breathing

Smiling, laughing

Existing, living

Dance

Open

2011-09-01T19:27:00.001+08:00

There was the girl who knew nothing about love and about relationships. Her little bubble full of constant thoughts and ideas was where she lay, oblivious to the other experiences she had yet to go through. Through the years she learned numerous ways that are contrary to what she used to believe in. As she recalls those previous beliefs, she chuckles, because she noticed the transitions that took place as she grew. Oh, how different it was. She was shut out from the world and is now otherwise. Struggles made her stronger, and changes made her wiser. She is extremely thankful for all the years that have passed, because she gained knowledge from them; one of which is only grasped through experience. She now knows how to take things as they are, how to love and to put it simply, how to live life.

Written on October 10, 2010

Looklet

2011-05-24T13:17:00.002+08:00

Looklet is a website that caters to artists all over the world, particularly those whose minds are brimming with creativity and zeal for fashion.

It offers a wide selection of articles of clothing, accessories, etc. that can be used to create a look that epitomizes one's taste and style.
Share your looks with fellow fashionistas, exchange comments, and make a damn account already.

(I just woke up so forgive me if my description of such site is mediocre and shit. I lack marketing strategy as of the moment.)

A friend of mine recommended this site when she saw on my Tumblr that I was fascinated by another fashion site, Polyvore.

I came up with a couple of looks already, and I'm proud to say that Looklet is something I've stuck with; something I plan to keep updated (and still do) and not leave rusting away as I move on to other projects.

(Looks posted by date; from late March to mid-May)

Check out my profile! If you have an account, let's exchange the love (literally - hah, Looklet jargon - or not):

http://looklet.com/user/723735/looks

Authentic.

2011-05-21T21:08:00.000+08:00

In a world full of artists sharing and channeling their masterpieces through technology, a virtual catalyst, I find great importance in the authenticity of ink and of words on paper; handwritten letters and raw journal entries, along with ink blots, marks and scratches.

The energy of my thoughts and expressions are given more depth as they flow through my veins, ignite my muscles and trigger my hands to take hold of a pen and simply write. Write until my hand hurts; until the strain is felt and is treated numbly, for that is when I am overwhelmed by the beauty of words on such delicate material.

The curves of the letters or characters created, the smell of the ink and the embossed words on a thin piece of paper is what drives me to inspiration, to the knowledge that I have created a work of art; one that embodies me and the different worlds that I place myself in. I take pride and utter happiness in the fact that I have created something raw and beautiful; a riot that started from a sea of emotions, thoughts, and actions.

A day for her

2011-05-08T22:55:00.003+08:00

They say a mother's job is the hardest one there is; from the looks of it, I'd have to agree.

My mother has been with me through the ups and downs I've undergone in my life; the troubled times I'm still bound to go through. Many times, I've failed to understand her; I've seen her as the enemy who can never seem to sympathize with me and my problems. Many times, I've taken advantage of her and her ways of showing how she would help me out and shape me into a better person. Many times, I have disappointed and hurt her.

But throughout my hardships, my stubborn ways, my troubled and crazy thoughts, my constant and sometimes unnecessary hunger and search for what lies ahead on that dangerous road, my little flaws and my little quirks, no one has ever supported me as much as my mother.

I suppose I never appreciated it; I suppose I never looked past the strong person who always puts us first instead of herself, who has a different way of showing affection to her loved ones. I suppose it took me so long to understand her, but when I did, I became even more thankful for being blessed with a woman like her; someone to guide and strengthen such a person like me.

She is the one who has always been patient with me, who'd sacrifice so much for her family, who'd crack a joke or two and laugh like a maniac, who'd offer a day of shopping for therapeutic purposes, who'd remind us how good we have it, who'd never fail to be there, no matter what.

When I describe a person like her, I can never seem to give her justice. I love her in so many ways; ways I don't think she's even aware of.

She is a beautiful woman, full of love and compassion. It isn't and will never be perfect with us, but we manage and love anyway. Having her for a mother will always be something worth treasuring and again, being extremely thankful for.

Letter #7: Anxiety

2011-05-07T15:59:00.000+08:00

I don't think it's possible to love someone without apprehension, unless we know for sure that forever is possible. We'd always need to keep our guard up, because we need to take care of ourselves first before anything else.

It just makes me feel like what I'm giving you isn't enough; as if loving you with no regrets, despite everything, doesn't mean as much. There will always be a twitch, in my case, because I will never let myself be that vulnerable, because I need to look after myself.

But I love you; I never stopped, even if at some point, I knew I was supposed to. I risked a lot; I went through so much because of this and because of you, and you expect me to love you without any uneasiness?

If all else fails, what matters is that we tried, we didn't give up without a fight, and we stuck through it, through all the hardships because we love each other. I'm making the most of this. I'm giving my heart to you; to someone I know who won't be there forever. I've never done that before. I'm allowing myself to miss you so much, even if I know getting this attached will only lead to heartache. I'm sticking with this because I need to know; I'd rather love wholeheartedly and get crushed than wonder all my life, if not for such a long period of time, because I know what'll happen in the future; the possibilities.

I don't know if you're doing the same.

The time we have right now never seems to be enough for you. If you think it isn't, if you think that you aren't satisfied with how you love me, then... Do something, if you think that in the future, it'll be too late.

Letter #6: Captured

2011-05-06T18:27:00.001+08:00

This place is dark, love. I haven't seen anything more frightening in my life. The smoke released from their constant tobacco sessions suffocates me. The only source of light is the oil lamp in the far corner of this room they keep me locked in. The light seems so far. I can't reach for it even if I tried. I overheard them talking. They say it's been days, but I feel like I've been here for thousands of lifetimes.

Let me tell you how they've been making me live here.

They make me lay my head on rocks; I use an old, damp cloth as a blanket - one that barely covers my arms. It's cold, very cold. They throw a few pieces of bread through the small hole on this certain wall of the cave, and I can only so much, rely on a small cup of sewage water to quench my undying thirst. Sweat continually drips down my forehead due to the heat that is now driving me to insanity; it aggravates my stay here; one I know no reason for.

The only clothing that keeps me warm is the one I've worn from the moment they've captured me; now it is dirty and torn; bruised like my arms and legs. The swelling hasn't left yet; it's still freshly dark purple and black. God knows what else they've done to me to make this shirt seem this way.

Please help me escape. Please help me find warmth again. I haven't been able to sleep well, and I haven't been able to stay up either, for fear that they might come in again. Please find me; take me away.

2011-05-06T17:03:00.000+08:00

I finished watching "Breakfast at Tiffany's" which made me respect Audrey Hepburn even more. I thank Blackie for making me watch "Sabrina" more than a year ago. Movies decades ago are much better than today's movies. In this century, there's never really a good enough plot and the script isn't so intriguing and well thought of.

Or maybe I'm that biased with Audrey Hepburn now. She just astounds me.

Pomeranian number 2

2011-05-04T22:32:00.000+08:00

I forgot to mention that I have a dog and his name is Coco. He has a new playmate now. Here's Puff, one of the most adorable and lovable dogs we've ever had. Look at that ball of fur. I think she already got used to living in the Cruz household.

My mom got her because her previous owner had to leave the country, so she sold the dog to a pet shop in Tiendesitas. Mom said her eyes were so full of longing; hence, a new home.

We love her. -- understatement. More updates soon.

Quirk

2011-04-28T17:04:00.002+08:00

Gad, I love Polyvore. I missed it.

Momentary

2011-04-28T16:49:00.000+08:00

(The first sonnet I ever wrote back in Junior high school)

I've seen countless skies begin to linger

Above us as we interlace fingers

His caress moves me to the ground and I

Move to the sound of melodic twilight

I look upon his dimmed though amber eyes

Alone possess oblivious goodbyes

A prickled sense does the grass send to me

Slight breathing makes I open now to see

Dusk begins to settle as I lose touch

As motion apparently seems robust

Still longing to live for one last moment

In time for the buds to maintain the scent

He kisses so sweetly with bitter taste

As I long for so much to never fade

2011-04-25T20:35:00.000+08:00

My current addiction. I've been playing this for hours now, literally, despite the recurring headaches. I'm so freakin' awesome. /sarcasm

We give 'em a hard time but we do it anyway.

2011-04-25T20:31:00.000+08:00

Teenagers overreact and over-analyze. We think that our lives would be over when we'd miss one great party, with the petty reasoning, "What if we die tomorrow? I'd miss out on a lot! Live for the moment so we can make the best out of everything!"

There are limits in life, but we don't understand that, because we treat them as moments that take away the fun, liberty and opportunities when they really are factors that help us grow up properly. They teach us that life isn't always fun and easy and that what we expect life to be consisted of, one of which is utter excitement and easygoingness, isn't handed to us on a silver platter. They help us realize that it really isn't the end of the world if we didn't get what we wanted; if things didn't turn out the way we wanted them to.

I understand it; it doesn't mean I accept it just yet.

That's the trouble with being a teenager. We're never satisfied with what we hear and what we learn, even if in the back of our minds, we know what's right.

Letter #5: Leaving the Cage

2011-04-23T15:32:00.000+08:00

For just one moment, I want you to stop dictating my life. What I need is to hurt, to cry of despair, to make mistakes. I need to breathe and I need to live. I cannot live a life planned out for me as I feel secluded in a world that is not my own; that I am living a life of someone else's, someone I do not know. I need to feel free, to let go and treat life as a trial, a game that I would either be destined to win or to lose. I need to be on my own, to do things I want to do, because I am passionate about them.

I need to live by my own principles and by my own beliefs. Not yours. So I do hope you understand why I left. Maybe I'll be coming back when I set out to what I was meant to do.

For now, for once, let me be happy.

2011-04-21T19:24:00.000+08:00

Sonnet #6: Vulnerable Power

2011-04-19T17:54:00.000+08:00

Pay close attention to his beating heart

A fragile creation placed in your hands

For what lies, a future seemingly dark

Beautiful girl, not knowing where to stand

This young love, such powerful emotion

Requited in many ways possible

She, overwhelmed by this mad sensation

Left mind-stricken, a state so logical

She looks into his eyes, susceptible

Being constantly pulled by love itself

Afraid to hurt, to be left miserable

A peculiar world, she's perplexed herself

Indecision strikes to the very core

To be lost in love, she awaits much more

Letter #4: Unrequited Farewell

2011-04-15T18:11:00.000+08:00

I continue to long for you. I sit here alone, wishing you were next to me, so close. I long to inhale your scent I know so well, to feel your touch I've recognized as home, to look into your eyes of then affection and endearment. Years have passed, time has interminably rounded its way, farther and farther from where I still stand, broken-hearted; I can still remember you as a stranger, dark and imperceptible, on the day you decided to leave, to leave me in confusion and awe at how a love that seemed so strong turned out to be empty and meaningless in your eyes.

Tears haven't stopped falling, and I'd like to convince myself that I've found fewer reasons to think about you. My greatest efforts have been wielded, just to talk myself into believing that being in love with you doesn't give me room to have what I deserve.

It still becomes more difficult each day as my judgment has never been clear from the moment I fell for you, denying reality and its ostensible occurrences, even on the day I realized how empty you felt. It has never been easy for me to wish to see you for one last moment, to say the words I've never said, and to hear the words I wish you've said, endlessly hoping that you'd mean them, at least at some point in time where everything was alright, where we still fought for a love that we still wanted to work. I did not give up. But you did.

I wish to say that a love that died was a love that was never real. But in my heart, I continue to be oblivious to what's real because I know, in that world, you aren't there, and to my utmost dismay, you will never go back.

Getting over you will mean letting you go. I have to do that first. Wherever you are, I hope you are happy as how you've made me. And for my sake, I hope I will be too.

Letter #3: Young and Uneasy

2011-04-14T21:12:00.000+08:00

I know how you feel. You wish to be caged in a bubble, away from the screams and riot in a place called... Home. I know how it feels like to want to escape where it'd only be you and you alone, in a place unknown and unusual, far away from where you always are, where you feel stuck. Alone. Defeated in ways different from what others perceive.

Sometimes you feel so burdened by the crucial fact that you will forever be faced with responsibilities. Enough proof that you really are getting older, and that things aren't getting any easier. You just want to breathe, am I right? Breathe and let go, even just for a while? I understand you.

Life on the other side of the world, where people don't know your name and your story does sound appealing. You find the urge to start over, even if you don't really need to. You just want something else, something that can redefine what you think of as beautiful. Something that can heal your soul.

This is what I keep telling myself: find it before it's too late. It can be anywhere. It can be where you least expect it. But you must not stop in search of it, whatever it is that you need, whatever it is that you are looking for.

Best wishes to you and your adventures ahead. You'll need it.

Letter #2: Blondie in the Streets

2011-04-13T22:36:00.000+08:00

Has the grease on your hands been well-cleaned? I was quite hesitant to approach you, considering such get-up, but I couldn't resist. You're quite odd, actually. Our one-time encounter already made me conclude such; hence, such frank description.

Remember that? I was walking down the busy and quite filthy (I can be blunt about my own country, can I?) streets of Manila when I saw you in a workshop, very busy with a broken car tire. Your blonde hair and blue eyes captivated me, not only because you were in a crowd of dark-skinned Filipinos but because there was something about that look, one so contradicting from what else I can see here.

I just had to know you, and I'm glad I got a glimpse of you. You're quite interesting. I don't know anyone else who ran away from a very privileged life to spend his hours in a place like this, doing something a person like you would seem to despise. I'd hate to judge, but I can't really help it. I mean, I don't even know anyone who would think of doing something like that.

So, 3 o'clock, at the McDonald's branch across the street where we first met, right? Now you can get to know me more like what you wanted.

But I'm sure your curiosity isn't as heightened as mine. I'm a normal teenager out to meet atn 18-year-old runaway from the Netherlands. Exciting, isn't it?

'Til then, stranger.

2011-04-13T15:19:00.000+08:00

My post-operation stage (for those who don't know, my appendix had to be removed last March 7, 2011) has been getting better and more eventful so far. I remember days when I'd mope around, depressed because I can't go out and see the world, or function like a "normal human being." I'd feel terribly uneasy because I felt like I wasn't making the most of my shortened summer vacation, especially since I'd be going to college late next month at DLSU-M.

I'd get sick of a routine - watching TV series, going online, blogging, reading, listening to music, texting, eating, etc. I'd loathe the fact that I can't be with my friends in places, or have spontaneous trips that epitomize summer. I'd be completely annoyed by the fact that I can't always see other people besides my family whom I still love dearly, regardless.

Aside from the people who make my life worth living, writing saves me from depression, not only because it helps me clear my emotions, but also because it offers something different every day. It helps me think of things far from what I always see (it becomes boring - I'm the type who constantly needs a change of scenery), and in a way, little by little, helps me detach myself from what I usually do, from what I usually succumb to and deal with because of simple inability.

Because of this craft, this stage is becoming more bearable, and it helps me see things from a clearer and way better point of view.

2011-04-13T14:20:00.000+08:00

I'd love an out-of-town trip with you, or even a day trip going somewhere; anywhere where we can escape even for a little while.

It'll just be us and it'll be lovely.

(Photo source)

A delayed disclaimer

2011-04-12T21:35:00.000+08:00

As the ladies and gentlemen take their seats

Focusing their attention to the stage

Ending yet another act, so we believe

It is finally time to turn the page

Such theatre holds years of growth and prestige

Shall leave traces of love and bequest

Ties formed, sharing feats, memories

Everlasting bonds and glamorous moments

Dress rehearsals from Spartan lore

Years pass by and scenes replay

Exit stage left, for what lies in store

To far new roads and walks of fame

And so we are given, this time we won't forget

A last, warm round of applause

A standing ovation, once more on set

For the final curtain call

Maybe it's just me, but one of the worst things a person or a group of people could ever do to me as a writer/artist is to not give credit for my work. I was told that I would be given such for the poem on our graduation ball invitation, but as I checked, my name was nowhere to be seen.

I thought the sleepless nights, endless days and undying effort would be worth it, as long as I saw what I wrote with my name next to it (by: Carina Cruz). I thought the feeling of accomplishment and reward would be worth my extra meticulous ways and stressful writer's blocks. You can imagine how furious I was when my reasonable expectations were shattered. You can imagine how I threw a terrible fit, wanting to give myself justice.

Maybe some people would call it petty, useless, and in some ways, pathetic and totally bitter. I mean, not all people read this, right? Regardless, I just wanted fairness. I got over it after a while.

I wasn't looking for attention; I was looking for justice and even-handedness. It's just that for me, I believe everyone deserves recognition for their efforts, especially when self-expression is used as a tool to create something beautiful, if not worth reading.

Call it a disclaimer, folks. That's all. Peace to you.

GRAD BALL WAS AMAZING, SO FUN YEAH WOOHOO! NO SARCASM HERE. I PROMISE.

Letter #1: A Mother's Promise

2011-04-12T11:38:00.001+08:00

Hello, my darling. Please don't cry for I am here. How luminous and wonderful it is that this very moment, you can now call yourself alive.

The world shines its light on you as your first breath overwhelms the people you will now call home. Enchantment and exquisiteness runs through my whole being as I caress your delicate face, smiling at the thought of calling you mine, of seeing you, a flower so fragile, so warm, and so beautiful, and of knowing that I am responsible for such effervescent being. As your heart beats, as I feel the pulse through your veins, as I hear your loud cried, I look up and I praise God for creating something so miraculous.

I cradle you in my arms and I feel like my heart will collapse out of ecstasy and terror, because I know that I now have a duty, to take care of you and keep you out of harm's way, to make sure that the life you live on this Earth will be steadfast and fulfilling.

You are my priority now. You are my inspiration. You are my hope and my life.

My dearest daughter, I will forever cherish you. I will keep you safely as we live in this world full of love and hatred. I will protect you, I will look after you, and I will love you unconditionally, forever. Remember that promise.

First.

2011-04-12T11:04:00.004+08:00

I want something ore organized; one that I'd use more for my writing. Maybe it would be more useful. I figured I can do so much more with this God-given talent. I want to use it properly, and not just to make teenage ranting sound legit or poetic.

Random thought:

I love surrounding myself with artists; new souls brimming with ideas and thoughts that I'd always find astounding. I love how the emotions are cluttered yet when combined, they transform into something refreshing and beautiful; something that most people don't understand. I love how we all live in different worlds, some real and some fictional, and we see everything as something divergent.