Tired and Exhausted.

Acerbic melodies. Melancholic solitude. Unrequited emotions.

These epitomized in a nutshell the trajectory of this entire blog. Angst-filled. Emotionally-driven. It stood witness to an entrenched paranoia that I have gone through for the past two years. It chronicled the intensity of each moment that outlined my very definition. Each moment, each defining milieu, was placed in adjacent with a unique kind of emotion, profound perhaps although intolerant. The fusion of each moment and each emotion were captured in words, filled with adjectives to bolster the description and complicated with adverbs to distil the narration. The purpose was to extract the exact emotion and to pin down the precise value (if there is) of each undulating experience. The purpose was to intensify the language without necessarily having to exaggerata each moment, each emotion.

But then, words and language still fall short of expectation. They cannot contain in themselves, the real and the extant derivation of the experiences. They remain incomplete and imperfect, though concedingly, not all irrelevant. They dither and deconstruct themselves in face of the unique varieties of a reader’s experience. They may touch and pierce into a portion of a reader’s channels of experiential memories and find relevance in it, but they are not adequate perhaps not even satisfactory to create some definitive parallelism.

The blogger, however, does not claim to generalize nor claim truths but only to make sense of the world, of his world, by putting into a concoction of words his emotions and experiences. He concedes that truths are relative and that subscription to such truths must be accompanied with responsibility, with utmost desire to face each destined consequence.

---

Acerbic melodies. Melancholic solitude. Unrequited emotions.

These define in vivid details the remnants of this blog. And for the previous cycles of days and nights, I find myself weary. I can no longer write. I am torn by the thought of not having the capacity to turn each real moment into a captured transcription. I sulk in irritation over the thought that my interest in the writing craft began to loaf. I am beginning to waver.

But it dawned upon me that I have grown tired and exhausted of acerbic melodies, of melancholic solitude, and of unrequited emotions. I finally realized that I have been rambling almost the same pieces of emotion over and over again, and now they reverberate in a tone hazardous to the senses. I am already drained from ranting. The saturation point is already maximized.

I needed a shift of perspective and a lifting of spirit.

Blisters on my bare skin.

I was trying to muster everything, every bit of emotion that permeates into the deepest portion of my bare skin, and turn it into something. I want to vividly describe its most miniscule detail, and to turn it into something narrative. But over the past years, everything that i said and uttered, germinating from what perturbs my being were so intensely dark. Each virulent emotion epitomizes lucidly my state of melancholic solitude, my moments of anguish, instances of pain.

And I got blisters. More than blisters, in fact. But I have to deviate or else i might feel the pain in its most extreme level. Or perhaps I didn't deviate away from it at all. I just get used to it - to that every single pain than hovers ardently and profusely within my being.

Now my blisters already turned pale purple. Tomorrow it shall get darker. And every moment, it will get even more, until it gets back to normal, and until it withers away as if nothing happened. But the moments of anguish and pain the blister brought, shall remain imprinted in the innermost depths of my memory. The pain might be gone, but it shall continue to linger - on my thoughts, and on my bare skin.

Ill.

she is sick again,
and so am i.
she is physically ill,
i am emotionally uncontained.
it shatters me seeing her.
the more, knowing
i can do nothing.
and i hopelessly wonder:
what's in store for us?

Lone.

I am lonely.

And if the reason

is because i am

without you, let

it be so.

For what use

is it being with

you, when to

be with you

is without you?

No. It is

not because of you.

Nor the thought

of you, in

that solitary hiatus,

Like the Moon,

bright in the darkness

of the night.

I am lonely.

Not even for

The feelings I

am not quite certain,

like the last

leaf to fall

before Winter breaks.

I am lonely.

And to be so

is not just

being without you.

Many a reason,

That even the

Mind cannot fathom, like

a Wanderer ensnared

along some crossroad.

I am lonely,

Thus, with or

without you. Since

being with you

or otherwise, is

being with myself,

alone.

Wordplay.

“Batid ko ang mga salita bago mo pa man ito ihayag. Saklaw ko ang damdaming nais mong usalin, ang mga bagay na nais mong iparating. Sa bawat salita, hawiin mo ang damdaming nanabik.”

Word churns around my head. They call upon me to make use of them and to make sense of them. Alone they can never stand. But when each word in isolation is brought to fuse creatively with another, they convey a new thought, perhaps more particular and interesting idea.

But words dither. Or is it the Languid who dawdles? It is the Incandescence that resolves for the manipulation of words, for the captivation of language into a realm comprehensible to the human intellect. Then the words suddenly make sense. They signify more than what they are supposed to simply mean. But where do they start? Isn’t it that words are scratched from ideas, and ideas evolve from words?

It is the Languid that decides for the destiny of the ideas into words structured in a simple or complex concoction and contained in a concrete form. In moments of lethargy, and perhaps under-inspiration, the Languid falters. Sadly, what could have been an interesting offshoot of a captured moment in words are left in an eternal space left for the usurpation of the blackhole.

Melancholic Torpor.

The eternal midnight dew travels from its lacrimal origin
And across the vast expanse of melancholic decrepitude.
It vividly pierces into the precipice of abyss and uncertainty,
Obnoxiously protracting the state of an entrenched forlorn.

The eternal midnight dew gushes forth unceasingly,
Furtively notating each isolated moment of void emptiness.
The languished attempted to exhaust its endless torrent.
But in the state of unmitigated solitude, it lingered adrift.

Adrift, in the provocation of unsolicited uncertainties,
Indignation restively churns around the feet of the languished.
Rippled vagaries outline the blurred and hazy horizons.
And shatteringly obscured, are the shafts of the daylight.

Condescendingly, commiserations thrive within the sphere
Of the languished, from whom the eternal midnight dew
Streams wantonly. Betraying its earnest desires like a
Blasphemous entity consuming all that is with undue cause.

Shadows of misfortunes left along the gusty, twisted path,
Crafting the languished into an unknown and undefined soul.
Destiny took its course appallingly against what is deemed,
Hundredfold times, by the languished in its deepest yearnings.

Discretely, each desperations unfolds itself in the midst
Of transcendence, in moments undiscerned, unwanted.
The languished is drenched within its eternal midnight dew.
And to the Dark Night, it calls upon to heed its plea.

On [Pre-marital] Sex.

In the present society where traditional values and morals are rudimentarily shaken, should issues and discussions on sex remain an indefatigable taboo?

“Why do individuals engage in pre-marital sex? And why don’t they?”

In one of my classes, those questions were raised but were answered unconvincingly. The answers broached were delimited to the reasons that pre-marital sex occurs because of the vulnerable upbringing of the individuals involved, the weak value system they have, and the loose ties of their respective families.

I raised a different point, such that “some individuals involved themselves into pre-marital sex because it is an inherent or innate human nature to get physical or to express intimacy…” And I went blank.

La profesora interrupted and seemed to imply that inherent was so strong a term that it is not enough basis to assume why individuals engage in pre-marital sex, neither intimacy plays a definite role in it. And la profesora including some of my blockmate expressed anxious disapproval.

Problem is I wasn’t able to explain my point with clarity and lucidity. My answer should have gone this way:

The engagement to pre-marital sex stems from two reasons, one biological and the other psychological. Biologically, the libidinal tendency or urge of any human being is inherent or innate. It is something endogenous to the physical construction of man, or of any animal for that matter, and the outlet towards its fulfillment is exogenous, meaning a partner is needed to mate with or, in the absence of one, alone by itself with playful visual imagination. Further, the emission of some hormones triggers the brain with signals or impulses that causes the libido to go high. And it usually during adolescence, where most of the physical and hormonal changes take place, that the urge manifests itself vividly that some individuals tend to consciously surrender. So, it is inherently human nature.

But it does not stop there, whether or not to give in with the urge is entrusted to the psychological conditioning and rational capaicty of the individual. By psychological, it refers to the use of mental ability in coming up with a decision backed up, perhaps, by the mores and standards that the individual adheres to. The psychological aspect then decides whether or not to give in to such repercussion of the biological aspect.

Understandably, individuals engage themselves into pre-marital sex because one, the urge is there powerfully thriving within their body systems, and two, their psychological or rational aspect failed to encumber the thriving of that urge. Sex as a human desire is therefore inevitable but to give up to such human a desire is very optional.

---

It is interesting to note how the society have come to view sex and sexuality. The strict social norms and ethical standards impregnated to the individual lead him to quell down many of his animalistic tendencies, most of his innate nature. There is nothing wrong with that since it is directed towards a noble end of attaining order and organization in the society.

But, to what extent must these norms and standards limit the individual? To how much extent do these have control over the individual? Don’t such restrictions limit the individual’s utilization of his rational capacity and free will? If submission to human desires is irrational, is controlling the capacity of individual to decide upon himself not irrational? And say for instance that those restrictions are rationally constructed to curb man’s irrational tendencies, to how much rational are those inhibiting forces made?

This is not to suggest that pre-marital sex is right. Neither it is wrong. But the society views the latter. The latter, stringently holding on conventional grounds, imply however that the society posed upon itself strict compliance to norms, morals and standards that have the tendency to become non-human and machinistic. It thereby causes the individual to develop inhibitions and guilty feelings, non-conducive for his free learning and liberal development.

It seems that the society must have reduced itself into a helpless pretentious sham.

The Rise of the New Individual.

"You're beginning to see the telescoping nature of the evolutionary paradigm"
- from the film, Waking Life

Human evolution and development has quite amazingly been becoming swift and rapid. Tracing the trajectory, the process signals the "evolution of human as a biological organism, and then the development of its interaction within the environment."

Interestingly, the biological evolution of man took an extensively long and intricate process. It started outright from the formation of life, from the configuration of the most minute, single-celled organism, which took several billion years. By way of a very complicated process that simple manifestation of life evolved into many complex life forms that include man. The evolution of mankind itself involved several million years from the hominid to the Neanderthal to the Cro-magnon to the Homo Sapien.

Next, when man began to realize his inherent capacities, his anthropological development so started. Man’s innate nature to connect and interact with one another catapulted into the formation of the family and of the society. It took thousand-hundred years for this process alone, equally manifested through and by the agricultural, scientific and industrial revolutions.

What transpired for the last several billion, million and hundred-thousand years is a very protracted time-scale of human development. Quite ostensibly, it manifests that such development is centered on the collectivity - a passive, external process where man is subject to the collective impulse.

By way of looking human evolution and development as it happens now, the focal point of the trajectory has already shifted. The process is as well telescoped, meaning it is magnified seven, eight times. The pace is becoming faster and central to it is the amplification of man as an individual. “It now becomes an individual-centered process emanating from his ultimate needs and desires.”

Now, under the new evolutionary paradigm the new individual is to rise. The product is neo-human with “a new individuality, new consciousness.” It pods on the accumulated intelligence of the past and on the abilities discovered critically discerning each into a new level of understanding, grasping what seems to be relevant, and incorporating it into a new and refined visions.

Pink Chucks.

Last Night,

You were zapped by the pair of pink chucks.

Your mind drifted away from afar,

Traveling across the conduits of your past,

Excavating from each boxes

Of your memories,

The feelings you’ve once had

But you find impossible to transcend from.

Was it him, who knocked

And beat you off from your real senses?

Or was it the feeling itself,

And the blissful moments you two shared,

That perturbs your soul once more?

Or was it both?

Tonight,

You are wearing a pair of pink chucks.

You impressed an aura of vibrant upturn.

Though your gorgeous chinky, little eyes

Mirrors the deep emotion you thrived.

Though your boisterous, yet melodic laughter

Echoes a horizon only you could understand.

Though your unfettered gestures

Reveal clandestinely your silent admiration.

Your soul surreptitiously conveys a lingering desire

To continue writing your unfinished story –

What could have been a beautiful illustration

Of ebullient emotion and ardent passion.

Tomorrow,

You’ll continue to wear those pink chucks.

You’ll always look good on those pair of chucks.

Lest you’ll finally realized that more than

Him, the person you’ve been pining for,

And the feelings you’ve been trying to re-capture,

You are capable of manifesting true and real emotion

You can reveal love – so pure, intense and firm

That it can withstand the rigid glare of the sun,

Or the tarnishing smears of the humid air.

That it can last forever in a lifetime,

Even more than the pink chucks can ever endure.

Infinite Expressions.

"So much of our experience is intangible."
- from the film, Waking Life

There are numerous ways by which certain thoughts, feelings, or emotions are expressed. There are almost infinite conduits of conveying the innermost desires and yearnings of an otherwise solitary human being. No matter how deep or shallow, no matter how concrete or vague what kept inside will always find an interminable and viable channel through which it can freely gush.

Humanity’s need to express stems directly from the inescapable necessity of having to take its place in a society, and of having to interact and to connect with one another for the sheer goal of survival and of progress. It streams directly from every one’s “desire to transcend isolation and have some sort of connection.” And it all begins from humanity’s desire to transcend, if not at all bridge the gap of, imperfections overwhelmingly deluding it.

Language, the most viable form of human expression, is itself created out of imperfection. Like any other inventions, it is spawned by “some kind of striving and of a frustration.” And when language is almost perfected, or established, in human civilizations, communication became more efficient and expression became easier.

But to how far does language –– of inherently meaningless phonemes and morphemes – encompass each thought and emotion? To how much extent does language –– of inert words and mere symbol –convey reality and epitomize the exactness of thoughts and emotions contained, needing to be expressed?

Language makes sense so long as it encompasses the thoughts and emotions embodied in one’s experience. Language thrives within the context in which it is used, and in which meanings are assigned to as far as it is it relevant to one’s personal experiences.

Ordinarily, a certain word coming from a concrete source is received. It reaches the auditory senses, translated into electronic impulses and travels through the “Byzantine conduits” in the brain where it is interpreted. The process of interpretation involves the retrieval of previous experiences, of memories, by which understanding is made possible. The presence or absence of it from the wide array of experience-memories inside the brain determines how it is understood, and how relevant it is.

The wonder of it is that so much of language is intangible, abstract and inherently dead concepts in the same way that experiences are intangible, incompletely perceived and unspeakable. Yet, the innate imperfection embodied by both language and experience makes sense when it is used, when it is manifested in various types of communication, in everyday conversation. The more experiences grow and the more language is used to encompass such experiences, the more the world makes sense between and among people who communicate their inner desires and yearnings, their thoughts, emotions and feelings. And the world seems connected as some form of communion is established.

Transient and fleeting these horizons maybe because of the differences in which experiences are handled and of the impossibility of conveying its eternal, universal and true meaning, the simple manner that it is conveyed, however, brings some sense of fulfillment and it is just the way it is.

Confluence of Choices and Decisions.

"Your life is yours to create."
- from the film, Waking Life

Today, I realized that existentialism is not just ordinarily a part or branch of post-modern philosophy. There is an essential demarcation that detaches significantly these two streams of thinking from each other –– the manner by which each stream views and assigns values to the individual self.

Post-modernists often see the individual as “a social construction, or as a confluence of forces, or as fragmented or marginalized.” Such distinctive notion is taken to farthest extreme to the point of leaving behind some absolute essentials. Simplistically, it reduces the concept of the individual as a product of his circumstances, and of the kind of society where he thrives. That the occurrence of every single event, be it success or failure, be it happiness or despair, is way beyond the grasp of the individual. That the individual is incidental, contingent to whatever it is that pre-exists and exists before him. Hence, it is the society, no more, no less that predetermines and contours the making of the individual.

The problem with this is suggestive of the infinite possibilities of excuses and of venting. Since the individual is viewed a social construct, all that happens to him are ascribed deferentially to societal dynamics rather than to the specific and unique individuality that he encumbers. All the commiseration, disappointment and failure that the individual experiences out of fear, resentment, and inability to cope are attributed to the variegated elements structuring the society. Ultimately, it somehow relinquishes from the individual the responsibility to take charge in the consequences of his actions.

And so inevitably, post-modernists often speak the language of transcendence, of emancipation, and of liberation from the tyrannical conventionalities and repressive conformities that sardonically barricades the free development of the individual self. This is precisely the reason why post-modern philosophy is often perceived as a philosophy of despair, relegating a sense of anguish, of anxiety and of angst about life and living.

Existentialism, like post-modern philosophy, seems to acquire the same reputation as philosophy of despair. But contrary to such conception, the truth is just the opposite.

Existentialism stresses singularity in the midst of social structuring by seeing “the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience.” Unlike post-modernism, it puts premium on the ability of the individual to decide and choose, and to take responsibility for the consequences of his actions. It does not matter what decisions are made and how it is made for as long as it is adequately remunerated with utmost responsibility.

When post-modernists awfully nag about the sad realities of life, existentialists gladly celebrates life as a kind of exuberance. When post-modernists grudgingly brood their angst and attribute their anguish over societal institutions, existentialists attribute no significant meaning on each happenstance but nonetheless, delight over living life in each moment with fervent passion, in the sense of taking upon themselves the responsibility of shaping their individuality, of making something out of themselves, and of feeling good about life and living. And when post-modernists become pessimists about the world, about life, existentialists turn it around into lucid optimism.

The confluence of choices and decisions delicately forms the individual self, of what it is to be and not throughout its existence and all through its inevitable interaction with society. The existence of the confluent societal forces often drive and compel the individual into action. Still, it is variable and circumstantial –– the individual self can choose not to falter, and can choose not to make irresponsible decisions by becoming censoriously cautious.

Coloring Outside the Lines.

“The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure, while always arriving"
–from Waking Life, a film on philosophy

Back when I was small, I used to follow what my teacher tells me, to strike the crayon lightly and accurately on the smooth surface of the papier, chasing dutifully the outlines of whatever it is illustrated and making sure that not even a single hue smudges beyond those fine lines.

I grew up practically the same, seeing things in black and white. There is nothing in between. It is either I color within the lines and get an incentive or I color outside the lines and fail. Of course, I unhesitatingly chose the former.

Unconsciously, it gradually taught me to become a compulsive perfectionist, in the most literal sense of the term. I began to see that the exquisite lies in the perfection of each minute detail. I began to perceive that the magnificent is substantiated by the absence of even a microscopic mistake.

Concomitantly, I became fearful when perfection elusively looms around rather than structurally substantiated. Fear becomes the abysmal entity that encapsulated my precarious being, causing me to become diffident, partially unaware of my relative strengths. Fear is that paralytic rhythm that incrementally impeded my becoming.

Until recently, I found out that I have allowed restrictions to restrict myself and to direct the trajectory of my life. I boxed and locked myself inside a cavernous space of rigid conformity and unrelenting conventionality, out of trying to become perfect, out of fear and out of what is taught to me –– to keep the color within the lines.

Until recently, I unintentionally stumbled upon the idea that it is okay to color outside the lines as long as it is handled with utmost responsibility. Perhaps, the realization was the end point of an entrenched pessimism and languid reluctance that has been ingrained within me. Or perhaps, it suddenly dawned on me that I am human, and part of “human-ness” is to err, at times though not at all times. Or perhaps, it stemmed from the disappointment I have gotten from the kind of system I thrive in –– what it says are not always true, reliable, and relevant.

To see life in black and white is like seeing it from the eye of a deeply conceited, supercilious chauvinist; while to see it as freely flowing and randomly varied, and at times void of explanation and meaning, is to envision it from an open, cogent mind.

Life is a fleeting moment, of transition and of emancipation. It coherently resembles a state of constant fluidity and influx that each moment demands to be seized receptively without undue boundaries, and with relativity. I am not pre-determined, evident in the fact that I am left with choice to direct my life, and re-direct it in case of mishaps.

Coloring outside the lines isn't bad after all, like what I used to think.

Lucid Dream.

Is life a lucid dream? Are we dreaming that we are alive? Or that we are alive but remain to be in a state of constant reverie?

The concept of reality and illusion is far more beseeching than the human mind can ever ponder upon. To what extent can reality be real? And to what extent can illusion remains chimerical. To how much extent can we say that life is real, in as much as it is an illusion? Is there a demarcation that separates the two distinctively? If there is, to how much degree is it reliable and trustworthy? Still, it remains to be a rudimentary enigmatic jaunt, and perhaps indeterminable in a lifetime.

What obscured further the preponderance of reality and illusion is the fact that these subsist within the realm of social construction. To how far social constructs convey unyielding truth? To how far truths bear authenticity, preciseness and validity in and within itself? Simplistic, it remains shrouded – concealed with extreme earnestness, void even of the most miniscule orifice.

Thus, whether life is a lucid dream or eternal reality, the fact that these concepts are in themselves products of social construction not inherently qualified as universal, infinite truths reminds us that the creation of transcendent experience is possible, more than probable. Equally, it reminds us that what can satisfactorily be accepted as universal concepts are that of subjective reality, of fluid human society and of relative truths.

A certain truth is true by virtue of our experiences with it, of the meaning we assign to it, and of the degree they are relevant to us.

Perhaps, life is a lucid dream –– a vivid, circumstantial representation of individual experience that is pertinent to the time it occur and is occurring.

Detour.

A lucid notion. It was imbibed to be imminently approaching within an extremely close proximity. It was a prescience perceived almost faultlessly by the visionary senses. It was quite a laudable resonance, a reverberating thud of uniquely genial quality, to the acoustic senses. It was a majestic, inexplicable yet lucid sensation to the dazed intuition. Although it remained enigmatically bemusing, it was perfectly translucent and nearing. But an unconscious blunder was fortuitously committed. And then there was

A sudden detour transpired with apparent hesitations.

Sa Saliw ng Iyong Tugtugin.

Isayaw mo ako sa saliw ng iyong tugtugin
at tayo'y lilipad sa kawalan, nang walang pagaalinlangan.
Pitumpu't pitong dilim ang aking binilang
bago masilayan ang ningning ng iyong katauhan.
Ang pusyaw na nakalipas na dating sumasaklaw
sa katauhang puno ng pananabik at pag-asam,
ngayo'y batid na ang galak na di' matawaran.

Sa pagsuyong ating pinagdaanan,
kailanma'y di' inasahan na ganito ang kahihinatnan.
Tulad ng pagbigkis ng sinag ng araw sa paraisong luntian,
kasabay ng pagsaklaw ng alapaap sa malawak na kalangitan,
walang pag-alinlangan mong sakupin ang aking kabuuan.
Hirangin mo ako bilang iyo, simula ngayon at magpakailan man.
Unti-unti, ako'y iyong isayaw sa saliw ng iyong tugtugin
at walang pag-aalinlangan, tayo'y lilipad sa kawalan.

Sa kawalang kapwa natin hindi pa narating.
Sa kawalang sakop ang buo nating pagkatao.
Sa kawalang tayong dalawa ay magiging isa.
At sa kawalan, tayo ay patuloy na lilipad nang walang pag-aalinlangan,
habang sumasayaw sa saliw ng iyong tugtugin.
Sa ilang sandali pa ay maabot na natin ang sukdulan,
mananatiling hibang sa damdaming kapwa natin inuusal.

Alone.

Thirty-first October’s early morning cold breeze wakes my frail, languid body. As it damps upon my dreary skin, my body contentedly shivers in frost. I am relaxingly cooled. I am soothingly frozen. But as it continues to meander beneath and linger within my system, my whole being is shuddered. I begin to tremble in trepidation.

The state of comfort can get annoyingly discomforting. On one point it can be a blissful feeling, an idyllic moment that tranquilizes the enervated body and the perturbed soul. But sudden, unexpected shift can turn it into a moment of panic as it brings excruciating pain and distressing agony. To every inch of ‘human-ness,’ it creates unpredictable and random outcome.

As I try to open my eyes, it dawns on me that I am alone. I am alone in my small room lying half-naked on a single bed with three big pillows and with no blanket at all. The morning sun has already been rising. Its lucid glares penetrate the window panes, scuffling with the cold breeze that has already been lurking beneath my corporal system. I crave for that warmth, for that tender heat to muddle with the cold. Its motley concoction begins to bewilder my body. The warmth of the sun has saved me. But it remains undaunted, I am alone.

Isolation. Seclusion. Who wants to be alone? There are times that we have to be alone especially when we need to get a grasp of ourselves, ponder upon how our lives have fairly transpired, and re-think our conceptions and perceptions of life and living. But a saturation point comes in inevitably. It starts when we are ready to start over again. It starts when we get tired of being alone. And there, the feeling of solitude becomes fearsome, and perhaps even loathsome. Transcendence is unequivocally desired.

I am alone. Thriving across the previous days of October, I painstakingly survive with the company of my coffee-mates, thesis-mates, block-mates and some acquaintances. Immediately after the semester ends, I spent a holiday get-away with my block-mates and close friends in Bataan. When I got back to the City, the real and the extant underline its resounding presence. I got back to my real senses, to the thesis that I and my thesis-mates have to finish and to some other responsibilities that I handle. But as October ends, these people are gone and the only one left is me. Alone.

The solitary feeling is not always remunerated with the presence of close and casual friends, plain acquaintances, and even our immediate family. The solitary feeling necessitates the presence of someone, of someone to engage with deeper than ordinary friendship and filial relationship. In utmost solitude, we long for someone to be with incessantly from sunrise to sunset. We look for that someone to share requited love, eternal passion, and similar exuberance with. We look forward to have that someone whom we can call our own and spend with quality, sober time. Consciously, unconsciously, and subconsciously we, indubitably, long for that One.

The visions of sunset on that Bataan getaway reverberate on my mind as I go back to sleep. The tranquil serenity of that orange-crimson sun as it sets beneath the diversely variegated clouds and relatively calm waters perpetually pursuing the shores enthralled my solitary being. It satiated my earnest desire to be with nature, to be with the things that I like and that I miss. And with it the emotion soars freely - a yearning of having someone to be with when I get back on a similar spot, and of simply having someone who will give me warmth when the cold breeze of the morning air begins to perturb my deep, peaceful slumber once again.

Am I ready? I can sense that the person is about to come. Or am I just in a lucid reverie?

Somewhere.

"To a far-distant place of no return, to a place beyond what the human mind can grasp, and to a place where tranquility and serenity are customary and routinary..."

I am leaving for bataan - into a place i never knew of, somewhere i've never seen nor been before. The thought of an island, miles away from the congested city, seems somewhat an unruffled relief to the perplexed mind and a soothing appeasement to the exhausted body. Finally, here comes a moment where I can escape and lighten up from the whims of the despotic university. Here comes a moment where I can submerge myself into an indulgence with nature's endowment, something I have never done for a long time - to be one with nature and ruminate over the not-so distant past. And here comes a moment where I could have a sheer, simple fun with my friends totally unmindful of what is going on on the far side of the world.

But as I leave uncertainties encumber my being, usurping my sanity, of the perils that may happen.

The Irony of Forgetting.

When you want to forget something, indulge yourself with it. Contradictory as it may seem, immerse yourself until exhaustion, until the feeling becomes ordinary and conventional, until you get used to it. Then eventually you'll not forget it, but instead will be able to control it. It's a process of learning to grasp and dominate your feelings, your emotion or whatever it is that you want to forget, before it usurps you and before it consumes you within.

Funny, this is how I'd be able to free myself from the prison that my love for you has brought me into .

Empty Inbox.

Browsin' on any empty inbox,
could not discern what happened last night.
Still, way beyond real senses,
unable to get back from a prolonged oblivion.

Was emptying the inbox decisive
or should have been done long ago?

It's no use keeping it half-full,
when it's never filled.
And perhaps it will never be,
since it never was mine.

To The Unknown.

Like the clouds that hovers across the cerulean firmament,
your name is placed in the highest heavens.
O, the name which resembles eternal bliss,
completes the emptiness of the solitary soul.

Like the misty, cold air that traverses the vast pacific,
your name is placed in the midst of the tranquil oceans.
O, the name which epitomizes pristine serenity,
brings sanctuary and contentment to the decrepit soul.

Like the poignant, unbearable heat that drifts athwart the arid desert,
your name is placed amongst the sundry, colossal dunes.
O, the name which echoes warmth and compassion,
embodies the earnest desires of the melancholic soul.

And in the midst of the abyss and the indefinite,
there your name remains rested, distant and elusive.
O, the name continues to linger incessantly,
into the illusory world of the expectant soul.

Perfectly Impermanent.

The self goes out to find its perfect match, trying to look for that some one who embodies perfection and hoping to accidentally trample upon a god of sort, a being coming down from the zenith of mt. olympus to carry the self, bring it home and make it its own. Perhaps, it could have been a happy ever after, except that...

... the idea of perfection, though defined relatively, remains almost always superficial. Perfection appears only at the initial phase of romance but as the one reveals itself further to the self, it'll reveal things that might've perceived by the self to be perfect, at first. But in the end, the self will surely realize that the one is not what it envisions it to be, in its actuality, but perhaps, a de-emphasizing creature of certain flaws and imperfections derived from its very nature, from its 'humanity' or 'human-ness.' Incrementally, the one reveals itself to be some one ordinary, especially when set against some other ones who appear to be 'more' perfect.

So the self finds itself wanting, perplexed by the unprecedented circumstance beyond its grasp, and eventually the self, consciously or not, finally finds itself letting go of the one and getting out from its clasp, and looking earnestly for somebody else, for some one, another one, who embodies the definition of perfection - of more perfect.

And so the cycle of searching and leaving goes on...

Apparent Contradictions.

Was it me? Or was it you? Who failed to get a grasp of what we are trying to say. Of the messages we both want to convey. Of the meaning we both want to get across. It seemed that we are trying to blurt the same thing, of similar thought on a parallel circumstance.

Yet, it’s quite amazing, how one simple thing can become very complicated in our minds who consciously or otherwise looked at the same thing on different grounds in divergent perspectives. It’s quite funny, how in the end we realized that what we uttered are, after all, not different.

How it convoluted is due largely to the failure of our selves to establish, subconsciously, a point of juncture ensued by numerous factors contingent within the independent contexts we both thrive which perhaps include generation gap and comprehension level. You are older, I am younger. You’re already a faculty, I am still a striving student. The failure of our neurons to submit them selves into a unilateral treaty - to delve into a linear perspective and valuation - perhaps exarcebated what could have been so simple a conversation. But it is otherwise, it remained to be a calculated misconstruction, which inevitably led to further misconstrual of things.

Sad. How simple things could become so complicated in our minds.

Lingering Emancipation.

In the midst of transcendence, the self continues to falter.
And the agony of pain excruciates the physical self to its dreadful limitation.

Halted.
It is incapable of moving away from its statutory desolation.

Receptive.
The infinite struggle of wanting to be lingers as an elusive desire.

In the stillness of the moment, the self seeks to redeem itself.
But it is barred by constant reverie and inoculated perceptions of the surreal.

The manifest fluxes itself convincingly while the self thrives perpetually within in.
And in the midst of restraints, breaking free is the recapturing of the self –

The mending of the unwanted wounds left by the distant past.

Solitude.

Longing to emancipate from solitude,
Searching for the other half
to complete its being,
Seeking for a moment of temporary bliss -
for a moment of tender kisses
and passionate embrace -
The self concedes to the unknown,
Never wanting to let go,
Caught trapped and defenseless,
Total submission,
only to be left in solitude:

In the end.

Unrequited.

Dreary romance
enervates the soul
and engulfs the being.
It is meant not to last,
remains a transitory phase -
of elusive, sober expections.

Unrequited emotions,
deep longings and earnest yearnings,
seeking to be recognized,
if not at all remunerated.

Destiny foretold,
unfolds in time undesired -
confirming the fears
of the shattered self.

Love After Death.

To be human is to love and to experience how it is to be loved. To be human is to reach a point of termination called death. Love and death define humanity or "human-ness" or how it is to be human. But does love concomitantly exist with death, with the after-life as others may say?

Death is the termination of the corporeal self. It is when the physiological self ceases to function due to either internal abnormal biological condition or external infliction by a foreign body. Death is earthly life's ultimate recession.

Love, to qualify refers to a romantic one, is an inevitable yet vital human emotion or passion. Metaphysically, it is a driving force that atomically unites the universe and creates order in the cosmos. Love moves human civilizations, it the source of the ultimate desire of "belonging-ness," and of union.

But romantic love does not end with death. For love, as a dynamic form of energy obeys the law of physics, such that it is neither created nor destroyed. It is tranformed or transferred from one form to another. It follows a cyclical pattern of transformation from potential to kinetic to potential.

Love, thus, cannot not exist.

But where does it go the moment the physical self terminates?

Probably, it remains to be the mystery of universal cosmic order left concealed and unfathomable to the human mind for reasons not yet revealed.

Or probably, the moment the physical self perishes love stays behind and is left reverting back to its potentiality to preserve the universal order of things - the monistic substance that guides life and non-life. It remains to be in such form waiting to be used again by a newly existing lofe form.

Or probably, the relativity of the order of the universe and all the contingencies existing within in suggest variegated instances of a particular self unidentifiably existing somewhere across space and time. The other selves, of the same self, is either complementary or supplementary to it, which fulfill or continue what the self failed to accomplish. Love is continued to be pursued in those other selves.

Or probably, it "dies with the self, to the grave it goes, to be remebered until time erases its trace."

Certain and still, everything remains enigmatic and unsolved, - a mystery to the human intellect -
for it does not know and there is no way to. Theoretical assumptions are void of proof, remaining to be cycle of never-ending possibilities, and improbabilities.

Death itself does not guarantee coherent answers to the prying intellect, to the seemingly endless inquiries;
"because some questions are not meant to be answered in this life time. May be in the next, reasons will ensue."

IF the NEXT does EXIST...

A Sensuous Stupor.

Fleeting horizons, ecstatic state
Held tightly in close proximity to fulfillment
Desperately in need, blazing desire
Yearning for a piece of heaven
On a fiery, temporal earth

A turbulent moment
Of concomitant gratification
Deep longing to satiate
With ruffian tendencies
The ephemeral cravings
Of the feverish selves

Senses stultified
Perplexed by ardent emotions
Confused by overwhelming ardor
Indulging the selves –

Into a misty, fiery fusion
Attachment enraged by persevering thrusts
Countered by a rancorous, tight grip
Never wanting to end,
The satisfying circumstance
Synapses overloaded, collapses with time
Like eternity nearing termination

Rhythm beneath motley emotions
Absolute flickering coalescence
Poignant, piercing sensation
In each undulating movement
Sycophant eyes communicate
With intense, fleeting desire

Accelerating motion
Deep rhythmic passion
Enervation of the selves
In favor of a transitory nirvana
Total submission,
For climactic means, to an orgasmic end

On Isolation & over a cup of Latté.

satiating the caffeinic craving
penultimately perking the sober mind
next after seemingly endless reading
in deep state of visionary illusions
and disillusions of hypertextual conversations

dreamy, sleepy state of mind
awakened by the busy road
on the other side of the dreary glass windows
solitary ambulation,
paired & group conversations

dreamy, sleepy state of mind
perturbed by unsolicited isolation,
over a cup of frozen latté
deep thoughts, contrasting contemplayions
soaring ideas, creating emotional discomfort
- heightening, rising, towards
an ecstatic state -

dreamy, sleepy state of mind
auditory senses awakened,
by satisfactory emission
of colliding beats & rhythms

(on w.g.f. hegel)
like a moment of fermentation,
the spirit seemingly mellow, yet beffudled
attempting to transcend its previous form
to take a new one

a new form is preparing itself,
left behind are dissolved & collapsed
-conception, and misconceptions
representation, and misrepresentations
linking the world together-

lost in the midst of eternity.

Distraction Sunday.

sunday is not just usually a mere lazy, unproductive day. it also enduces me to seat on a couch, or elsewhere and simply watch tv. it is like an indulgence. i really couldn't get a grip of my time during sunday afternoons, especially from the moment when the light and dark collapse.

some tv programs really do rob my attention. it rather points out to saying that yeah, i am a kapamilya. and there is just something with abs's shows that caught me grounded. pinoy big brother. star in a million. both caught me fixated, immobile the whole evening that i wasn't able to finish some stuffs for school.

bottomline, i come to a realization that abs-cbn really does reflect filipino culture more than any other tv networks do.

Inebriated.

I aimlessly wonder if we're meant to be.
Speculating if it will be you and me,
I constantly yearn for your presence.

I lack the guts to tell
nor the strength to admit.
I fear of the unintended consequences
of the intended revelations.

But most, I am afraid
to deny that I am falling
or that i have already fallen.
It pains me that I cannot have you,
in as much as I encumber this load.

Maybe it is not the right time.
Maybe we have separate goals.
Maybe we're driven to achieve those goals.
Maybe it is better this way.
That we stay as we are.
Neither friends nor whatever.

Maybe it is not the right time.-
But it kept on perturbing me,
once in evey moment I am out of my world.
Time suddenly collapses,
space and eternity synthesize,
antithesis to the real and extant.
That maybe it is not the right time.

It is inebriating,
and totally perplexing.
mental confusion,
and emotional paranoia.
Seems like heaven,
fused with hell,
the feeling of wanting
and not wanting:

To be with You.

On the verge of collapse.

Differences, disparities do exists. These are inevitable substances of life. Some times these may bring people together, some times these might drift them apart. It remains, ultimately relative.

The survival of any relationships, friendship in particular, rests upon the manner as to how differences are compromised and worked out. But more than this, what really assumes vital, dominant position are the likely similarities. These are the substances that connects one from the other. Albeit, almost always the point of convergence, it is not however at all times domineering.

Issues of differences will come one at a time as time passes by. What seemed to be not problematic at first suddenly becomes an enigma, disturbing all concerned, brought largely by individual experiences outside the borders that defines the group. It becomes more problematic when by-passed, undiscerned and deliberately not discussed.

On the other hand, when projected towards the most likely scenario that will happen, it creates a confusion on whether such relevant, divisive issues should be discussed. If and when the end will neither be good nor desirable, what is the point of putting the issues above each other? Could it be that it is better, as argued once, that there are things better left unsaid especially if it is to create a larger havoc, if it is to destroy the relationship rather than fix the issues, and if it is to leave the people hurt?

Whatever it is that will happen, though, it is important that issues are made clear, and compromise are tried to be reached upon, rather than totally being passive and indifferent. Whether or not the relationship will continue, what is important is that there comes a point, a juncture by which all concerned are given the opportunity to voice out what is deemed to be said, and to let other feel the overpowering emotion of the moment.

It is true that people will come and go into every one's life. There might be times when one feels accountable to the other, and vice-versa, but that is because there is a bond that connects them. That bond, is however, weak. It is weak because every one does not hold any one else's life, except his/her own. There will come a time that it has to be torn asunder.

Life is fluid. Life is not-constant. The world changes, every one changes. However deep the connection is, however strong the bond has became, when it is time to let go, one has no other choice but to let go.

Letting go is not an act of weakness if it points to the failure to exhaust all opportunities and means to bring things back to how it used to be, and put the pieces back together. It never will be. Letting go, in fact, is a sign of strength. It is strength because one learns how to set others free even if it will hurt, even if it will break that one apart.

The only reason why people tends to hold on is that they are afraid to lose other people, because they think they need them. Once in their lives they have became too much dependent on other people that such convention has risen up. But in fact, they can live without them. People can survive, and go on with their lives without clinging to a past, that hurts so bad.

It is a matter of strength. It is a matter of will. It is relative.

Bitag.

"Sometimes it is better that words are left unsaid, that questions are left unanswered. I learned that in life, the more you try to seek for answers, the more answers become elusive and remains beyond one's grasp. Questions and inquiries never really direct towards gratifying, satiable answers. More often than not, these answers are superficial and mediocre; and what lies beneath are more questions, more inquiries. Indeed, a mere question leads to a vicious circle of infinite, unfathomable relevant questions."

nagkita na naman tayo.
wala ito sa plano ko.
sabihin mang inasam ko rin ito.
marahil napa-aga ang lahat.
hindi pa panahon para makita kang muli.

nakakatuwa.
mas nadama ko na malapit ka.
pwede pala kitang makilala.
makilala kita - ikaw bilang ikaw.
ng walang pagkukunwari, walang pag-aalinlangan.
hindi kung sino ka sa paningin ng iba.

nakakalungkot.
may mga bagay na hindi pwedeng pag-usapan.
dapat palampasin, dapat itatwa.

siguro may gusto akong mangyari.
alam ko naman hindi pwede.
maliit ang posibilidad, walang pagkakataon.

subalit ang malaman na nariyan ka.
na pwede pala kitang makasama.
na pwede pala kitang makilala.
na pwede pala kitang masandalan.
sapat na.
salamat.

isip ang sandata ko.
alam ko na may limitasyon.
natatanaw ko ang hangganan.
napupuna ko ang dapat.

walang pag-aalinlangan.
hindi ako mahuhulog sa bitag.
hindi ako matitinag.
hinid ako patitinag.

Disillusioned.

formidable years of entrenched paranoia
in quest for emancipation
from the cauldron of conventional ennui
shifting promises, fluid convictions

dark, adamant past haunting
deepest longings, inner desires
usurped substantially from within
amassed into a cumulative knoll

perturbed by the social backdrop
society’s dictation of what to and not to
befuddled between conformity and non-conformity
mind beseeching, intellect prying

in search for the meaning
to undrape truth, far more elusive
dreamy, unpredictable juncture
body in confusion, mental disillusion

6:30. 6, July.

from the moment i set my foot at the doorstep of my room, i immediately grabbed the assigned readings for democratic theory. i started reading. yet, it seems that not even a single thing reaches my grasp. words after words gush, but i could not discern.

i am troubled. again.

encapsulating my being, at this very moment, is a feeling of anxiety - anxiety about my future.
i can't help but think about it. there are so many things to do, so many tasks to accomplish, too many goals to achieve, and too many failures to cope with. but it seems there is too little time to do this. time is of the essence, i barely noticed it. and i better start getting serious about life this time.

so much space were already provided to hold my failures and frustrations in the past that discussing them, again, will not only be redundant but will further emphasize how stupid i was. stupid, in the sense that i knew they were coming and yet i didn't plan nor strategize to counter them.

lessons. each mistake, every frustration, and all of my failures were now a glimpse of an ironic past. lessons were in fact learned, carefully evaluated and pondered upon so that when the same, or close to such, emerges i will not fret nor fear never, but face it with courage.

and this time i have to be consistent. to force myself to be goal-oriented output-driven is the most favorable thing i could do for myself to at least alleviate the pains and burdens i am carrying within. i have to emerge as a victor against myself, against that dark, desolate part of me that pulls me down, that hinders me often in fulfilling what i want.

wisdom. it is something that i want to gain. and only experiences will provide such, experiences that were rationally taken as turning points. in such case, the gloomy, dark past were not, in actuality, bad after all.
clash of ideals and reality. the problem with me is that i took almost everything idealistically. it becomes a problematic, when my obssessive compulsive, perfectionist character hovers within me.

make a stand, grow up. i always lived in the past may be that is why i couldn't move on, i am sticking with it - with the rather happy memories it etched in my mind, with the rather unprecedented achievements i have gained. i ought to grow up, move on. and for my own good, i have to be strong, make stand and be firm about it.

it is extremely ironic that there are many people who trusts my ability, who believes in what i can do and yet, i do not see them in the way those people do. now, i believe that people are certainly different when it comes to how they value things. on my part, i always concede that there are many people who can do things better than i do without realizing that it does not really matter, what is really important is i have done something i could be proud of, not because it is the best, but because other people believe in it. they believe in me.

there are so many people that i have to thank, and be grateful for - from the most primitive to the recent past: for believing in me, for trusting me, for caring for me, for showing affection, for showing a little act of kindness, for being true, for trying to understand me, and for being themselves when they are with me, despite and inspite of my flaws and imperfections.

my family, esp dad & mom. my siblings: chia, michaeo, mirelli. my h.s. friends: lillen, shiela, paul, rhea, yran, zaima, muriel, richard, hance, ron, there, ida, dom, andrew. my h.s. mentors: t. valerie, t. imee, t. gina, t. brenda, t. rommelyn. my college friends: lucky, louie, ryan, alden, emerald, maricris, lyra, joyce, geoff, lenoi, mannilyn, ginno, richelle, kat, rizelle, din, arjan, jelai, joc, mark, eric, etc.; sir tayao, sir tobias, ma'm melai, ma'm shake; polsci forum people; my socc friends; gap people; chatmates before & now. my bestfriend, john(+). yriz. everyone.

a new me would be happier, jollier and outgoing. a new me will be someone who would speak his mind out. a new me will be always inspired. a new me will be broadminded. a new me will be more approchable. achieving a new me will be a gradual, incremental process.

a new me starts by ending this, i have to finish off my readings tonight for tomorrow's class.
these are enough for my birthday. still, it doesn't sink in - i am turning twenty, 6:30am, 06 july.
forbid it, almighty one.

---
i like this song.

"vincent"

starry, starry night,
paint your palette blue and gray,
look out on a summer’s day
with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
shadows on the hills,
sketch the trees and daffodils,
catch the breeze and the winter chills
in colors on the snowy linen land.

now, i understand
what you tried to say to me,
how you suffered for your sanity,
how you tried to set them free.
they would not listen.
they did not know how.
perhaps, they’ll listen now.

starry, starry night,
flaming flowers that brightly blaze
swirling clouds in violent haze,
reflecting vincent’s eyes that shine of blue,
colors changing hue,
morning fields of amber grain,
weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.

now i understand
what you tried to say to me,
how you suffered for your sanity,
how you tried to set them free.
they would not listen.
they did not know how.
perhaps, they’ll listen now.

for they could not love you
but still your love was true.
and when no hope was left in sight
on that starry, starry night,
you took your life as lovers often do.
but, I could have told you, Vincent,
this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

starry, starry night,
portraits hung in empty halls,
frameless heads on nameless walls
with eyes that watch the world and can’t forget.
like the strangers that you’ve met
the ragged men in ragged clothes,
the silver thorn, the bloody rose
lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

now i think i know
what you tried to say to me,
how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
they would not listen.
they’re not listening still.
perhaps, they never will.

On Trust and Betrayal.

In lieu with the recent development in the latest controversy facing PGMA, will history, for the nth time, repeat itself?

What will happen next?

Will an impeachment complaint be filed in the House of Representative, resulting into an impeachment trial in the Senate? Will it prosper? Will PGMA be found guilty? If and when it & she does, could the people, or majority at least, accept the ascendancy of her rightful, constitutional heir? But of course, in the same way since de castro belongs to the same party, he will be brought to close scrutiny as well.

Or will there be a military junta, with the arm forces seizing power to establish a military, authoritarian government? But, will they leave their president? Or will there be another mass revolt to forcefully oust GMA? And after, will a revolutionary government be established, initiated by the united opposition, different sectors of society, and civil society?

Or with the forthcoming intense public pressure, will the president call for a snap election, step down from office, or both?

Or will there be a conspiracy between the military and the sectoral groups, like plotted earlier this year?
Too many questions, varying speculations, and just a tiny spark will ignite a collapse and much worse, another downgrade in the economy and in Philippine democratization.

In the midst of the recurring issue, and whatever its consequences will, be it in favor or not to the present regime, what is apparent is that the president committed a betrayal of public trust, entrenched further by her admission today.

Trust. It is the glue that bond any relationship. Given hypothetically that she stays in power, will she be able to impose her will, and establish a 'strong-state' to preserve her government, knowing that most of the people seems to hold no more to that bond?

Betrayal. Constitutionally, it is culpable violation and ground for impeachment. But culturally, in the Filipino psycho-social make-up, it is forgivable.Hence, another chance.

-----

Betrayal.

I hate it when I trample upon other's feelings. It makes me hate myself more. And I am left only with the words 'sorry,' which until now I still keep to myself.

I am talking about the groupings for research writing (thesis). Somewhere along the course of groupmate selection, I did not choose lucky and I asked joyce to drop me. I opted to choose another group.

It was a rational decision, I admit. Rational in a rational theory's sense. That being: choices are made based upon one's self-interest.

It pains me that it has to be a turning point. I feel I betrayed them.

Betrayal. GMA is guilty. I am guilty.

Umaga. Maaga. Ang Aga.

maaga. maaga akong nagising at gumayak para sa eskwelahan. alas-siete pa lang gising na ako sapagkat marami pang bagay na dapat ayusin - ang pinagtulugan, ang uniporme at ang almusal.
maaga. maaga akong natapos. pasado alas-otso, nakuha ko pang basahin ang ilang pahina ng babasahin sa environmental politics at kaunting pahina ng warrior of the light ni paolo coehlo habang nakatutok sa aircon at naghihintay ng oras.

maaga. maaga akong pumasok, labinlimang minuto bago mag alas-nuebe ay binaybay ko na ang kalsadang may halos apat na taon at ilan libong beses ko na ring nilalakaran. nakakapagod.
maaga. maaga akong dumating sa st. raymund's building, alas-nuebe en punto ay papasok na ako sa loob. sinalubong ako ng isang kapwa estudyante sa agham pampulitika, at sinabing "'bat andito ka? wala kayong pasok ngayong umaga. wala si martin." sinabi ko pang hindi naman kami martin ngayong umaga eh, environmental politics. 'yun pala ang asignatura ng klase nila. napahiya pa ako. hindi na lang sana ako nagsalita.

bakit walang nag-text sa 'kin? bakit hindi ko alam? kung nalaman ko ng mas maaga, hindi sana ako nagpagod. marahil natutulog pa ako ng mahimbing sa aking kama. ang sarap pa naman matulog dahil malamig ang panahon.

siguro dapat itapon ko na yun sim ko ng sun at bumili ng globe o smart para mai-chikka text ako ni ate marianne. subalit, paano ko naman gagamitin yun eh celphone nga wala pa ako at nakikigamit lang. bwisit kasi yung julie na yun eh, hanggang ngayon hindi pa binabalik yung phone ko.

maaga. umaga. kabit-kabit na pangyayari. dugtong-dugtong na kabanata ng nakalipas. asar, ayoko ng pumasok ng maaga.

And I Enrolled.

School year opened last week. And I enrolled last Tuesday. It thus follows that I have been absent from class for almost a week. And every one thought I'd quit school. Funny. I almost did.And my friends knew it. I really appreciate their efforts and concern convincing me all this time to drop the idea. Lyra and Mannilyn dropped by the house last Monday. I was in Ortigas, though. The next day I found out Prof Tayao was about to talk to me. I feel important. I made the right choice of keeping these people. But I am saddened. I feel pa-importante, contrary to the fact that it wasn't my intention to put them into my life's mess. I am saddened for I cannot remunerate their efforts and concern. Less, I tried. Someday, I will. By the time I finally dropped the idea and enrolled, I immediately felt the burden and responsibility of having to triple, quadruple my efforts. I am prepared for the upcoming rigors, mentally, at least; emotionally, i have yet to.

Tuesday. One class, SEM1. Prof. Hornedo was great! He was inspiring, more than being incredible. He talks superb. The experiences he had, the wisdom he gained over the years were apparent in the things he shared. A feat achieved beyond the rigors of a pedagogic life.Prof. Hornedo discussed the poor and deteriorating education in the Philippines. The problem is getting more than serious, or should I say it has already become malignant that it will take another century to refurbish it totally. The figure of illiteracy rates increases exponentially, while passing rate decreases from 70 percent to 30 percent.

Wednesday. Exhausting. I was very tired when I got home. I stayed in UST for more than 12 hours. I woke up early for Freshmen Tour. Hmm, another batch of varying potentials – struggling their way in college, trying to get the best education there is in this country (how I wish!) only to serve other’s asses later in life; all in the name of living, cosmopolitan. Is there any other way? There is none. One way or another, industrialization, capitalism and now, globalization have penetrated each man’s soul. The world has grown too materialistic.

I had two three-hour classes later in the afternoon: democratic theory, and land reform and taxation. Thank god! No recitations yet for Prof Tayao. But darn, I didn’t ask any question. I read ahead but I couldn’t come up with a sensible inquiry. Still the same Prof Galang. The class had a not-so-heated debate on issue about the House hearing on the “wiretapped” conversation of a woman allegedly PGMA and a COMELEC Commissioner who is said to be Comm. Garcillano, manipulating the results of 2004 Elections.In my opinion: the discussion over the house rules is relevant, but to take the joint-committees for more than two hours on the discussion of house rules alone is unreasonable. And all appears to be a tactic for delay. I never stood.

VERTIGO.

Vision of a blurred firmament,
escaping the dark ironies of life
shelved almost constantly in paradox
of an intellectual struggle
between faith and reason.

Of Struggle—
deep and profound,
extracting until it reaches the end
unearthing the innermost core,
the subzero terrain.

The Answers—
sought ad infinitum,
obscured by the mores of the wicked clothed in white,
undiscerned, remained volatile
and incomprehensible to the intellect of man.

Of Man—
who is created by a god in his image and likeness,
or who created a god in his image and likeness.

Explanations from a
Temporal world—
of corporeal substance and material longing,
of ephemeral pleasure and momentary satisfaction,
of climactic means and orgasmic ends.

The mind yearns for the unifying essence.
Struggling with life’s ultimate paradox:
to answer what seemed unanswerable.
Trying to grasp the absolute,
and to encapsulate the meaning of life and living.

Summer (un)Special

Reverberating Vigor
I have not been writing for quite some time now, and I can sense my neurons are not functional anymore nor even a little less of creativity remains. Two reasons are the culprit, one I have been dormant, again, and two my seven year old pc bid me farewell. Bottom line is, now, there are so many things I want to write and talk about, from anything to everything, considering I have not been very vocal about these things, not even to one. At the nucleus of each brain cells, thus, is a deep inner desire to create a piece of a chronological back-track.

Ranting(s)
My life, since I enter college was a mess. It is how to put something that almost never esteemed. Despite of all the efforts done to revive myself and put things into proper perspective, achieving the desires I have, the goals I set seems almost always elusive juxtaposed with so much contradictions and complexities beyond my grasp. In me I see a picture of an ordinary adolescent, who tries to figure out the meaning of things, to comprehend the impasse and unearth each gist, and to make sense of his world.

Never did I expect that things will become much worse this summer. This summer’s a tragedy. Or to put it in a better (or worse) term a total tragedy. Against odds, I tried to gain my posture back. It never paid off well. Mine was a constant cumulative succession of tragedies and frustrations. A reason I keep to myself is accountable for it, which until now I am trying to fight – like a malignant illness, usurping gradually my vigor and strength – my being. I failed to cope with it, much more accept it. But I am not quite sure if I am really sturdy enough to tolerate it. I grow almost always impatient, as I always am.

I know, years counting from now I will always go back to this point in my life with regret and remorse for I have not capably and productively handled each situation; I succumbed feebly to the inauspicious circumstances overlooking my very own strengths and potentials.

In Mitch Albom’s the five people you meet in heaven, a character named The Blue Man avers “THERE ARE FIVE PEOPLE you meet in heaven. Each of us was in your life for a reason. You may not have known the reason at the time, and that is what heaven is for. For understanding your life on earth.”

If the concept of heaven is real, I am overzealous to get there and find out why I lived and what I lived for.

Not Just Animosity Though
If there were instances during this long summer-break worth to be etched in for a lifetime, it would have to be my holy-week trip at Mindoro, the first few weeks of the internship program (OJT), and the SOCC leadership-training seminar at Batangas.

Vacation starts with a three-day break at Pola, Mindoro, Lucky’s hometown. It was quite remarkable because went there totally un-planned. The decision was something spontaneous. He asked me if I wanted to go with him, I said yes and presto we found ourselves cruising our way to Batangas port. In less than three hours, we are at the port waiting for the vessel to arrive. Funny thing is it is my first time to ride in a vessel, and we ride in a cheapest mode of transportation there is. It is a little less fine though since I got a chance to see and observe people. I might not be very good at mingling with people but having to observe them, and the mobility inside is something amazing.

We arrived there at the wee hours of the morning and Lucky’s folks were caught surprised. That same day we went to the beach, played badminton, watched moriones and visited the newly constructed port. The next day we played badminton, spent time at the town’s fitness gym, and went to the local church. On the third and last day, we toured over the town and went to the beach. Of course not to out-mention there were a lot of foods and ghost-stories. Atop all, riding on a high-speed motorboat and cruising over the mangroves was, by far, the most exciting part.

The internship program was something I cannot be proud of but thankful though, in a sense that I really do not have to exert much effort. Not that I do not want to but it is just that I was facing a very hard time during the summer. The thing is that the OJT required a little less of time since it was really project-based. We are required to produce an output on the educational needs assessment of Taguig & Pateros; a paper on youth development; bills for military benefits, which was eventually dropped; and a survey on the functions of a congressman and performance rating of Rep. Cayetano. Along which, we were required to attend committee hearings.

I spent most of my time with Lucky and Joc fooling around. Our work is eighty percent fun and twenty percent sincerity. Partly, I am accountable in the sense that I deliberately allowed such to happen because I was really not interested anymore. I have this sudden, unpredictable mood swings. At times I am overly excited, and after a while I could be very lazy. I made it clear. But they chose to stay with me.

At the end of the day, I find myself dissatisfied with work. But who could blame me? I am disillusioned. And I am blessed, the work is light and it doesn’t require me to get exposed throughout the day.

Finally, the SOCC Leadership-Training Seminar was something I will treasure. I wasn’t supposed to be the representative because I have plans to quit even though I was enlisted. I insist on Cory or Joyce or any officer for that matter. But all were a failure. So I was the one who attend. And I am glad I did.

The experience was all worth it because it was fun. I found new friends from different colleges and they were all great. At the end I realized, I should have been active long before. I should have attended the previous SOCCs, I might have been better. I remember the old days. And I will try to live out of it, because if there is one thing I learned it is living with the memories of the past is almost living a life of regrets and should have been-might be better now. The thing is seize the most, if not all opportunities that comes along the way. It takes quite an amount but building one’s world starts with it.

Last Goodbye.

"Sometimes it is apt to leave things as they are because the more it is tried to be fixed, the greater the chances are that it goes against your will. It is better that way than to risk reconciliation if in the end you’ll end up with that same gap unfilled, again."

This summer I reconciled with a friend I wasn’t talking to for a very long time. I initiated the move of making the communications line open again. At first we were okay, and things seem to be smooth between the two of us. And I though it will go on. Not until I erred. And the friendship was gone. Forever.

First Quarter.

"Last night I uttered the same things. How many more nights like this? How many more morrow will there be? I wonder. And will just keep on wondering."

Phases of the moon took turns unnoticed yet all things planned and expected were still left undone. And tomorrow as sun overcasts it, I will wake up with a different energy and vigor. I will wake up with a new perspective and enthusiasm to accomplish my will. For yesterday I have been idle, and tomorrow it will be different.

---

On my booklist:
Marquez’ One Hundred Years of Solitude
Milan Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being
Itallo Calvino’s On A Winter’s Night, A Traveller
Isabell Allende’s Daughter of Fortune
John Grisham’s The Bleachers

Stumble and Fall.

And Fall."
Why is it that every time I try to get up, I stumble and fall?
Why is it that every time moment I try to fix myself, I stumble and fall?
Why is it that every time I swear to do better, I stumble and fall?
Why is it that every time I try to move on I stumble and fall?
Why is that every time I try to live up my expectations and get over my frustrations, I stumble and fall?
Why is it that every time I gain the vigor and enthusiasm, I lose hope, and stumble and fall?
Why is it that every time I try to build on new perspective, I stumble and fall?
It is as if I am almost always constantly fixed on the same ground.
And over and over I always ask these questions.
Because over and over again,
"I stumble

Who am I?.

i am a very paranoid person. i have got so many unnecessary fears and apprehensions. those fears emanate from deep consciousness and sensitivity to what other people might say about me, to how they might perceive me, and to the social environment i am immersed. those apprehensions emanate from my conscious desire to achieve perfection. i am a confessed perfectionist. i believe that the inner level of any thing is as much as important as the surface. i believe in details, in particulars, in minutiae. each level corresponds to a well coordinated body of links and correlations, embodying perfection. this must not necessarily reduce me, however, into a superficial being. i believe i am more than that.

i am a person of extremes and ironies. i trust too much without a difficulty, yet i do not give it all. with the many friends i have, none among them would haughtily claim that they knew me, in whole and totality. if some one is to make a memoir of me, it would definitely be an interwoven stories and facts, coming from varying sources. creative, truly, i must say, is that person who can make it. i live in each of my friends, in each person i knew as a parcel of a whole. i admit, i am guilty of living a secretive life, but never a folly. i can be very good, but to be very bad is something i have to try yet. i can be very devilish, at times, though.

i am a person who stands, more often than not, at the middle. i always take the middle ground because i see the positives in two diverging sides. i see, in details, that each side has its own share of the whole which encapsulates truth, respectively. some would say, “the hottest part in hell belong to the person who always stays at the middle,” and i say show me the hell-structure (as opposed to hell-living), first. i believe that each side has its own corresponding value that must be taken into account, after all, truth remains relative. universal truths are claims legitimized by the greater majority, by institutions that have asserted themselves arrogantly above others. when associated with one’s experiences, they may not be true after all.

i have yet to seek an understanding of my faith. the faith instilled in me during my childhood is being trampled upon by time and experiences. its initial vitality did not survive, but i believe it has a definite purpose i have yet to decipher. books and written testimonies are inspiring, but these are nothing compared to experiences which will induce one to trust and submit one’s self to a higher, ultimate Being who guides the universe and destinies of men.

love, is something i have yet to discover myself. love is learning. love, like life, is a continuous process of learning and unlearning. it has its own time. i believe, for me, it is not yet the right time. i have yet to prepare myself, when everything is ready, when all is well and done, i would be able to face the one whoever the person shall be. i believe i found her two years ago, but she did not find me. i do believe in destiny, but one, rather than being passive, must imperatively make his own destiny.

creativity rules my mind, but never did i use them with accuracy and precision. more often than not, complacency overruns me. bave i not been too sensitive and conscious, i would have done things better than the manner i have left them done. The greatest ironies in life, are those ironies, which are consciously created and deliberately ensued, none other than by ourselves.

i am driven. i know my goals. still, i aspire to know my destiny, what the future has, in store, for me, what lies ahead. directions vary, the road ahead traverses with so many a path, that i could not decide where to go. there so much things that i wanted to do, that i know i can. but courage defeated, i remain weak, submitting to the desire of the greater majority. though, I believe that I have to take the road less traveled, by then i would be able to make the difference i always have wanted to.

Numb.

"Thinking leads to more thinking until it creates a web of interconnected thoughts. Question leads to more questions because answers to the preceding question are questionable in itself. Thinking and questioning are both good mental exercises. But too much effort exerted for striving the absolute remains elusive since both are vicious cycles."

Mind soaring beyond the realm of control – above the power to grasp and manipulate
Mind far away beyond distances – incoherent, unorganized
Mind trying to grasp things, like a sponge absorbing, yet nothing happens and efforts all but a failure
Mind closes,neurons deactivate, synapses collapse, unable to be permeated by electric impulses

Mind becomes Numb.

Death, on the Psyche.

Has been known,
Was sensed,
Is coming,
Is near,

Time has come and that soul has to depart from its corporeal abode. Death is what it longed for ever since and at that particular moment, the yearning – that ultimate desire – has turned out to be intensifying… growing... and soon exploding. It is what the soul anticipates in moments of deep contemplations, to begin its voyage in the after life. There, it will certainly be better-off. There, moments are surely of bliss.

Pain is what that soul feels in every error committed, in every frustration willfully let to happen, in every imperfection sensed. Coward, are the soul’s responses. Insignificant, inexistent it has become. It has no place in a physical world where everything rests on superficial grounds. It felt solitary.

Isolated.

That soul did not who to trust and who to turn to. It is not aware of the abode where it really belonged. It did not know of any place to call its own, still searching and seeking. Yet, what appeared before that soul’s visual senses is every man’s final destination - tanathos.

That soul believed that every other soul, which has touched and became part of its being, has a life to live. At a point in time when all other else are engaged with several tasks and occupied with varying thoughts – preparing for the future and creating niche – that soul did not want to be a burden – even for a moment.

And it never wanted to. In fact, that soul keeps everything to itself. It did not let any one come inside it – to that distant part where the real, the true resides. It did not let any one permeate and mirror the barely noticeable – the imperceptible. It is completely afraid. Scared of endless possibilities.

Yet, that soul weeps in solitary anguish. It seeks, and searches; yearns to be heard by someone. It whimpers for some one to listen – to just listen intently to its innermost and deepest angst. It seeks to be understood; comforted, much more, for the soul reaches out finding its place and seeking security.

No one hears its voiceless uproar. Nobody heeds to its silent calling. The dilemma still lingers; and it has to end. And when it does, that soul dreams When all else failed, and the moment comes… it has to depart.

It has to depart!

Freedom.

"Freedom allows us to make decision and act for ourselves in as much as it compels us to take charge of whatever the consequence is. Freedom has always been a commodity; it always has its price."

I did not finish the recollection, went off before the morning session ends. My reasons seem unreasonable but I didn’t care. The decision was made, the choice taken and I have to stand by it as firm as I possibly can. The consequences though are unbearable because on the second thought, I have waived my chance of knowing other people and making myself known to them. But more importantly I missed my chance of going back to the God of the Catholics, who has been clashing with reason all this time.

Words and Languages.

"...then words are soon to take shape. these words that will be written over and over again till it relieves or hurts. until you make something out this complicated ordinariness. until everyone knows what you are trying to say. until they completely understand what you mean, by how it meant to you."
(dapitanology, dapitanpoetry2004)

words shape the world. language touches the soul. both creates picture of reality, painting new orders and traversing new horizons. symbols mere, words and languages might be, yet, contains within them truth; truth, which the heart utters and the intellect confirms.

The One, in a Sober Expectation.

an emotion that transpired
a sensation that surmised the course of time, over a period;
an inward burst of an emotional variation, profound
creating such a moment of peace,
a moment of an inner satiable desire for tranquility and temperance
unuttered, just kept within;
the feeling soars unperturbed,
free flowing, all encompassing
enveloping the innermost aspect of the being;
courage defeated, paralyzed by a moment of trepidation, of fret -
fear of committing mistake,
fear of regression, protection univocally desired
subconscious attraction of freewill,
submitting to the desire of an ultimate being.

Nothing.

"the radiant glow of daylight, the redeeming grace, that has long since been waited upon could not be anticipated any longer for when it proclaims that it is tired, it is enough – it has to depart!"

three summers ago i was blinded by a strange sort of idealism. i almost believed that what i have been during high school will be carried on as i step into college. i aimed at this, aspired for that, pondered upon this, try to get that. i dreamt and sought for the best things, knowing that these are not beyond my limits and just within my grasp.

along the way, everything went wrong! i was suddenly awakened from the deep slumber. it all happened so fast, and in a wink of an eye i was lost and nowhere to be found. i fell, broke into pieces… shattered… crushed. all of my fears, worries and anxieties gradually unfolds manifestly and became soaring reality.

eventually i got none – every single thing slips away from my tight grasp, the harder i tighten my grip the more it slithers like a liquid; like a gas. it is totally vague, undecipherable whether or not such mistakes – the causes of my loss, my downfall – were due to my choices, limited capacity and infirmity; the condition around me, the environment i have gotten myself into; a conjunction of both; or something else. three years of acrimony, of regret, and of indignation… and still appears to be counting, accumulating.

the edge is cloudy, gloomy and dark – worse than a stormy sea; turbulent water, un-pacified stream, cloaked and shrouded firmament. horizon remains uncertain directly proportional with surmounting disappointments.

to uncreate the created, to move towards new directions, to discover new routes – these were the only things left in the tiring, interminable soujourn - at the expense of depreciating vigor and vitality, of collapsing interest.

what lies beneath, what lies ahead, what is in the other side remains dim. apparently seems to be unconquerable, invincible to the extent that not even a single reason is sufficient enough to continue… to go on… to move… three years after, the people around have found their selves, located their own spaces start to build their own worlds totally unmindful, not wanting to be disturbed.

three years after, things almost remain as they are, minor adjustment, little achievement, weakening goal, idealism compromised, stationary yet yielding. time comes when the heart gets too weak, too limp and feeble – wanting to cease from its customary function. and when it does, it will just halt – without a sign, a warning beforehand. and when it does, the corporeal body must pass on and never shall come back again.

Reflections on Nietzsche's thought.

"find myself very much interested in deciphering nietzsche's thought, even though just at the mere thought of it is in itself nerve-wrecking - causing neurons to self-destruct."

almost halfway reading beyond good and evil; still have to finish a 167 page genealogy of morals. still have five hours to finish all the non-crap thing. planning to write a pseudo-analysis, meta-evaluation this weekend, which expectedly a precursor to thinkpiece two - postmodern philosophy.

somewhere in my reading, was able to accidentally bumped into a some kind of parallel connection between a dot of nietzche's grandiose thoughts to mine's random nonsensical, unimportant viewpoint (as compared to the man)

here's what i got myself into:

homo sapiens in the postmodern world lives in a system where opportunity seems becoming less and less. less chances are present in creating and producing a great individual - honed and manufactured by extreme societal conditions whose vigor and energy are drastically pressed to its very last.

what eventually brings humanity to this present state is that the past has been responsible and kind enough - or unkind enough? - in putting their concepts into tangible structures, which we - luckily or unluckily live in and with today.

morality has been standardized. rules were already set effective. norms were foreground-ed. institutions and structures were fixed.

all are expected and duty-bound to follow. conformation is imperative for an individual to fit in - to belong. convergence is projected to create order in a human niche - to temper the un-tempered, to pacify the un-pacified; in short, to bring man away from his animalistic nature towards what they call a 'civilized' one.

things brought by these institutions become a necessity; and obedience in it is a 'painful compelled conformity and restraint'.

is the organization of mankind into a kind of definite system the real intention of the naissance of these restraining institutions? or is it bound towards something else – to serve the interests of the few?

what is left in the course of human history is an unavoidable and unconscious destruction of the prevailing societal institutions, morality, rules and norms. men, in an ever-seeking unsatisfied tendencies will continue to deviate, divert and probe on new horizons.

some people will rise to accept the challenge. they would choose to be different, stand alone and live independently – can be the most loneliest, most concealed and most deviant, the master of his own virtue – the human being beyond good and evil. they come in a non-significant number, their impact may not be felt now but the fruition of their toils will come some time in the future – may be it is exactly how the future shall be defined.

postmodern philosophy is a break-away from these institutions to free the human esprit from the barriers it posed and created. these institutions are viewed as non-significant elements; questioned and deconstructed to emphasize the significance of man’s freedom as defined and concretized by the acts of the will – one’s own choosing independent from any rules or laws.

nonetheless, amidst the destruction of the definition of morality arise the readiness to assume great responsibility.

Darn scholarship.

i was able to enroll because of the **** this semester. she helped me get a scholarship via the recommendation of *** **. it relieved me most knowing that i would be able to save the money that i will be receiving from my dad. fine, i knew that dad can still support my schooling and on this point I am not in dire need of such a scholarship. but then is this not a good opportunity for me to be able, if not to help my parents lessen the family’s expenses, at least to put up some savings? plus, this has been a major factor in my decision to stay in ust. i would have shifted and transferred before the semester started.

i thought everything was okay by then. if it were not for the preliminary examination, i was not able to find out that this scholarship is all but a hoax – a sham! i was not able to have my permit come examination day. so what i did is to check it out.

i went to the dean’s office, discuss the problem with ms. ***** and she told me to ask about it in osac and accounting. so I went there. osa told me that scholarship grants from ***** office are not within their jurisdiction. the accounting office told me to bring at least some necessary documents from the dean’s office. But since the dean was out, i was not able to have it processed. hate bureaucracy. hate the way it works.

the next option was to get a temporary permit.

i talked to ******, she told me she cannot do anything about it because, in the first place, she doesn’t know anything about it. the agreement was between the **** and i, so i should be talking with the **** not with her. No problem with me, I waited for mr. ***** instead. He gave me a pseudo-permit fortunately i was able to take the examinations.

come thursday, i went back to the office to talk to her. she was there. presented my case. the almost five-minute conversation ended up with me not getting any scholarship anymore, and worse, hearing unkind words. she raised three points: first, that she was, allegedly, still looking for a sponsor, unfortunately none has been found at this time; second, that i should have been satisfied and glad that she assisted my enrolment this semester, it is enough; and third, that there are more who are in need of scholarship than i, my dad is still with me and works i should ask from him.

i admit two mistakes. one, i have been confident and assured that everything is fine and smooth-sailing that the thought of processing it occurred to me less and when i checked it, it was very late. two, i had relied on and upon it too much.

Unexpected comment.

"Heading home, walking unaccompanied, I found myself in deep conflicting thoughts. The thoughts unfolding, apparently building, rising – fast paced, made me feel small and non-existing. I would have wanted to, in fact, amid the stillness of the earth-structures and mobility of creatures, blend with the perpetual moving wind and be visionary imperceptible... gone with it forever."

Least did it occur on my mind that a person would tell such a remark barely humane. A person, rational and in a right state of mind would be mindful of his words, sensitive to the object of such thought and kind enough to seek whether or not it is offending. And take it from someone who’s like a brother, even more, suffice it is to feel down, embittered and disappointed. That very act is a dissipation of morale and tramp upon the ego.

This rancorous incident keeps on resonating between my auditory senses.

As we are about to leave the premises of ab after the anti-anxiety lapuz exam, my group was discussing the plan of going to EK this coming saturday. I asked **** to leave right there and then, as what she did just yesterday. To be more considerate of it, I decided to wait and went to the guidance ofc for a while. I was with **** then. We stayed there for almost a minute or two and left immediately. We walked towards the group. They were standing in front of rizal con still on the same subject.

Meanwhile, adjacent to the avr are seats occupied by few people, some of them are acquaintances. ********, ***** and few ca’s were there. **** was a bit ahead of me. Our steps were fast-paced, I overheard someone by the name of **** jokingly exclaimed “*****”. Then this **** noted further “** ***, *****” with obvious disbelief and reproving thought in a reproachful tone. I didn’t look back, advanced towards the group, asked **** if she wanted to leave her book to me and bring it home, and with no word, even a simple gesture of goodbye, walked away.

I felt really bad. I wanted to shrink as I passed among the crowd. I felt so alone – needing company, as I always do. I admit that I am not one of the best looking people, not even better.

Added to this is the condition that I have to endure, which until now I ponder upon why, look for non-obvious answers and try to understand even if I cannot and will not. I did not want this to happen, it comes along and it’s really frustrating. There are times that I do not want to go to school anymore, just stay home and do other things instead. One reason probably why cannot do the things I can do and supposed to do as a student and student-leader is this condition. It hinders me because I am a perfectionist - I believe that if things come in complete package, its better. I am conscious – I want to project to the outside world that I am some body and I am good. I am vain – I want to look presentable, at least, to be appreciated and warmly received.

I am having a hard time coping with this. It lowers my esteem and deteriorates my being. I cannot wait any longer.

And with this remark, a kind comment and zealous gesture from a friend, it builds upon me a structure of disappointment and frustration. More than ever, I now realize the fact that I do not have the right to exist and do things that others can. I am a nobody - non-existent – a minute particle in this world whose place is unknown and irrelevant and even if it strives, it is unwarranted.

There are limits to the capacity of every individual. It is just so f*cking darn thing that even I am aware of the fact and believe that I can do better than what I am right now, this some what simple thing to others but big deal to me is the very limit to the maximum and optimum development of my skills and abilities.

I would have done better, I would have been better. But sad to say, I have to endure this until it gets off. This very thing that despairs me most plus a most unlikely comment is adding insult to injury plus coming to some one considered as a comrade, it is really disappointing.

Now, I believe there are reasons no more to trust and unlock my life to this person, as much as this do to me. I trust easily but hardly give it all. My life has never been an open one. I rarely talk about it and open it – only to some but these are just a minor portion of a whole. And if it does, it is divided to few individuals not on a single one. Bottom line, trust is some thing not to be given. I am glad that I did not start to share. I would have been disappointed more.

Now, one thing seems to be so sure, I will keep my self at a distance – mindful but insensitive.