Status

[7-30-16]

Dear Reader,

I cannot believe that it’s been ages since I last personally wrote to everyone who was interested in whatever the f*ck I wanted to say on my blog. I know it sucks that I mostly act like a ghost in here. But hey, I guess it’s reasonable that I publish updates now.

  1. I earned my Bachelor’s degree in majoring in English. I marched last April in the PICC Plenary Hall. I’m one of the surviving graduates of Polytechnic University of the Philippines Batch 2016. Also I’m one of the fortunate ones to graduate with Latin honors.
  2. I’ve started working in my Alma Mater, De La Salle Araneta University (I went to this school for High School) in the Lasallian Language Center as an ESL Teacher. I’m on my second month as an employee.
  3. I’m still the same old me. Worked up about the things I want to do, the places I want to go and the things I want to keep in life. For the mean time, this will be enough. I will keep buying things I need to survive and save up for the beautiful things I want to make living the now more fun and interesting than I expected and dreamed.

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Cheers to exiting the university life. Behold the gate; there it is, waiting for me. All I have to do is step outside, keep walking and just let life happen as it does.

— Annie Sparkle

PS: I hope to put up more photos, posts and weekly stuff to make this blog more exciting. Ayt? I love y’all.

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Before August

Before August

The age of majority comes a ringin’
Messages; reminders that I’m not always
Always a kid dreaming, reeling the fantasies
I conjured at night in a safe haven

in my head.
There’s a room full of sparkles
and hope and fear, evolving.
They run and jump turning, around the
seemingly vast space of possibilities
cramped

Every night.
I watched them live and die and be
Born in a time where a journey like no other
Dawns before my very eyes.
And it’s painful to watch all the sparkles change.

They once have had wings
And eyes
And love
And poetry
And minds that uses its faculties
As creative and as chimerical as possible.
“Where have they gone?” I asked.
I questioned myself in a dream.

Now it’s the eve of July 31st.
I woke up this morning hearing a quiet response.
“They did exactly what they had to do,” it said.
“With or without your knowing,” it whispered.

“They grew up.”
I asked, “Like I did?”
“Not just yet.”
I’m left not feeling my face,
Not having a clue what to do next.
Until it said,

“They’re waiting for you.”

For my love, my Pilot.

For my love, my Pilot.

I wonder if there ever was a story behind your desire to fly. I reckon there was a day that your father taught you how to walk. And there came a day that he let you down. When your feet ceased trembling on the ground, his smile was as glorious as the sun that rose when you first gazed the world. And as his smile landed on your mother’s eyes, they knew what you were always meant to do.

I wonder why you wanted to befriend the smell of the grease on your hands embracing your skin like the women you once loved but never kept. I wonder if they tasted like drugs like their kisses, like the high that you desire; the high that love makes you. I wonder if it felt like countless shots of morphene, in solid faith believing that as long as you’re at home with the clouds the monsters that creep below will never hurt you.

I wonder why you wanted to memorize each screw of those engines. Perhaps there might have been a day that you knew how to put yourself together and there were days that you didn’t. Like knowing every inch of the stratosphere above the fabric of the earth but never understand, nor comprehend how to soar with them.

I wonder why you wanted to fly. How many times did the world let you fall? How many times have you been caught? How many times have you caught yourself realizing that none can fathom, none can overpower the magic that flying brings? Was walking, was falling never enough to make you believe that dwelling on the earth’s crust, savoring each step on the soil alone can bring you home? The place right where you belong. The heart where you truly reside.

Thrust. Lift. Drag. Weight. They said. The right variables for a safe flight. But they never secure us from the wrath of turbulence as we traverse the path away from the eye of the storm. Here it comes, love. The stratosphere is not safe now. The lightning catching up with our feet. The thunder clapping in our hands. Blazing like torches in the dim sky. A thick cloud of cold smoke smothering the light. Tell me. Do you still want to fly?

I wonder if there ever was a story behind your desire to fly. I wonder why you wanted to befriend the smell of the grease on your hands embracing your skin. I wonder why you wanted to memorize each screw of those engines. I wonder why you wanted to fly. Do you still want to fly? I’m frightened, love. I’m frightened like the whimpering cat that I was when you first met me. But if it is really is a lion heart that you possess… Brave enough to fight, the storm, the shadows, the darkness, the world. Love, do you still want to fly? Love, I’m scared but I’d like to see you try.

Some day.

Some day.

And I was sitting on an office chair for a couple of hours straight until the boss entered the big pink room. He took a chair and sat in front of me. I turned to face him hoping to hear words to refresh the dull mind. Amidst the foreign tongues that sound a little there I was listening to the words of the boss. I didn’t even realize that he was already asking me about my future.

All the pink and white objects that surround me, even the little shades of black in the room all seemed to fade away as if they never exist. In a moment, moment I was stuck in a series of flashes of different realities which I first conceived to be merely dreams, hopes. But there I was, sitting; trying to think of a way to get through the conversation that is seemingly drowning me in my train of thoughts that doesn’t even have a decent direction.

“If you want to make your dreams come true so badly, why are you here?” These are the words. Not the very words that the boss uttered but the words that registered in my head. If anything, he had every right to question my presence in this office. And I had that power more than he did, he just happened to have had the upper hand. I sat there with eyes that lingered in space that even I cannot tell what exactly. If I were to tell, I believe it lingered in the flashes that I may have made true in some nights, some days.

I was there not noticing me swiveling on the chair. Every now and then I smile at the sensation of the refreshing words that he utter: words that remind me that my dreams still exist. They remind me that I still have the chance to see, feel and live them. Then again his question stands; hanging like a mistletoe on the Holidays. But I realize as I chew the metaphor, I have no one to kiss. I have the chance but there is no opportunity at the moment; no solidifying agent that would stretch my smile up to my ears.

I looked at my boss and I finally answered his question. I know I said different words but this is how they sounded to me, “I’m here because this is the place to be.” The place to be is now. And it’s the only place I could be and rather be because this is all I have. However, I didn’t argue by posing the question where else should I be… But I know I was right because it felt right. The right here, right now, is exactly where I should be. But what about the hopes and dreams, the flashes, the other realities that I keep blabbing about?

If I were to recall the very words I have been writing for minutes now, I guess it is safe to say that they are all quite blurry. Even I cannot tell what the future brings. Though I know I want to find them out so badly as early as I now, there is no way I can ever help it nor treat other than to just wait. Because that is all that there is to do. I probably sound like I’m slacking off but that’s all that there is. I do know that I must shoot for the moon and that even if I fail I would land on the stars.

The funny thing though is that even if I fail to land on the stars there are countless galaxies out there. There is a vast space that awaits when I take off. So yes, this is my now and I’m owning it. It does suck to live only in the moment but I guess this is the best way to make my life most special.

People weren’t kidding when they said that we must make sure that each second counts because it’s possible. Even if the some seconds, some minutes, some moments suck so bad, it doesn’t mean that they don’t count.

I saw my boss nod to me in agreement. He must have sensed that I knew what I was doing and whatever it was that I was blabbing about. The surge of temporary joy and contentment overpowered me. And I was still.

The best life that I could live starts in every second. Because that is exactly what constitutes the “now.” Though my dreams do not seem real now, I know I have hope. I know I have countless chances. In fact it’s not tomorrow that I keep praying for to come. “Someday.” That is all I could ask for. That’s what living in the now taught me: Someday will come.

Go dream of him.

Go dream of him.

Go dream of him.
With waterfalls on the background.
The sound of water hitting the river
echoes with his kisses.

Go dream of him.
Taking you out on a roadtrip.
The sound of the stereo
surround you like his arms.

Go dream of him.
Holding your hand as you walk.
The sound of the streets
make music like his whispers.

Go dream of him.
With him dreaming of you.
The sound of his wanting
for once feel real
in the dead of night.

The Archetype

The Archetype

Even if I had told you I love you now,
I would not even believe myself.
I will not believe a word not a single one.
Not even the fatal words that you say.

Not even when your kisses meant a lot
Like morning coffee or honest poetry
Not even when you do love me back.
Even if I had told you I love you now.

The room sits there in silence like them;
Like the years that raced through time
When you and I sailed off with ships
And found false homes in our dreams.

Were they real dreams, really?
I would not even believe myself.
Now that I have learned to give that up.
Because it was not a fairytale all along.

It was a legend that I tried so hard to live.
Even if I had told you I love you now,
It would not change the fact that I failed.
That we failed to make legends those years.

I will not believe a word not a single one.
Even if you convince me now how you
Actually want me, or how you love me.
My brokenness etched to me the truth.

That the hope for true love is covered
In words that are as sweet as your lust
For me; You are desperate for me. Sure.
I’m desperate to sense new horizons.

Oh but you are not new. You were the one.
Everything else started with you. History.
Not even the fatal words that you say
Would change how my story was written.

I would not even believe myself
If the so-called spark invite you inside me
The exact way I would paint it in my head.
You are a living archetype that I never had.

You exist as a model for the hopes that failed.
You are a living relic of my lost loves.
You embody the love that was never real.
You now want to take me back when.

And here I am in stern belief for change;
In the existence of rise and downfall
Most especially the beautiful fallout.
Trace the bed with maybe’s and what if’s.

But I can love you know if I want to.
Except I would not believe myself if I do.
Not even the fatal words I wish to hear
Would put me back together for I fear you.

Eve of September

Eve of September

And I write in my head the dreams I desire to dream for the night. I paint vividly your face with my heartbeat.  Every moment gently cradles me to my slumber.

And I shut out the monsters in my head; the monsters under my bed. Bravely, I fight for my sanity. That my mind would freely think about you alone.

And I rest upon my bed thorns with the fragrance of roses. The seemingly wonderful resting place of creeping darkness with slivers of light.

And I go back to my thoughts of you with high hopes that when I wake, I shall see you. Only then I’ll be secured I was not fighting alone.

It shall indeed be a good morning.