Goodbye 2010, Hello 2011

He has decided. The fight is over. I lost.

One hour and thirty minutes left, 2010 is finally over. I have endured a lot, at least my heart did. I have shed many a tears, tears of joy, tears of sorrow. I have faced new opportunities. I was so brave, I knew I was. I did things I never thought I could do. I had always been the coward, you see. I had always been there in the periphery. Then in 2010 I was changed. I wanted to be the center. I did everything in my power to be the one. Yet, all my efforts, all the tears, all the blood and sweat, all my love and care, wasted like unwanted puppies left to die on the street. I had been thinking all along that I was shining so brightly, I did not know that I was invisible still. At this 22nd hour of the last day of 2010, I shall be invisible altogether. I promise, I swear, you will not hear a word from me. I promise to keep my distance, just as I have sworn to let you go the moment you announce it to the world that I am not the one, just as I have sworn to leave you alone for as long as you are happy. In a matter of 2 hours, I swear to extinguish any traces of me in your life. As I collect all my broken pieces, I shall put them back together in a new way. I will be stronger, I will be tougher, I will be smarter than I used to be. Most of all, I will be more careful. So with this, goodbye 2010, hello 2011.

I miss

I miss the old days. The days when I would go outside and play. I miss the battered Barbie dolls, the scrapes on the knees, and the dirt on the body. My playmates and I swore to be the best friends forever, yet here I am now, missing them terribly. I miss the summer sunshine glimmering against the blue swimming pool. My summers used to be so exciting. I miss the delicious hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows on rainy September nights. Storms never came later than that time of the year. I miss the little Christmas gifts whose cards alone made me smile. My Granny always used to give me the best presents. I miss sharing secrets with my one true friend. My diary has been a very good companion all those years. I miss the secret note-passing while the teacher has her back turned. High school will always be the best time of my life. I miss his unconditional concern. First love might just be the last. Most of all, I miss me. For the past three years, life has been so dark, so negative.

Poison

My unspoken love is left to sit like a poison setting. I am hanging by a thread. The intensity of what is yet to come is so powerful, yet I have the strength to repress it. Pain, heart-break, hopelessness. These are the only certain things the future would bring, and I am afraid. The poison is so silently crawling under my skin, cutting off my senses. The last thing I felt was a stale taste on my tongue. To die taking the risk would be impossible for a coward like me. I would die unaccounted for. I would die numb and alone. I would die slowly and painfully, until every bit of my nerve ending is smothered with poison. but in this death I see the beauty of your face. It hurts, but I want it. Only the pain is telling me that I am still here. Only disappointment has been my companion. Then again, there is nothing left to do but wait for darkness.

Death

Death is more concrete than I used to think. Death is closer than I expected. While I was busy smiling and dreaming, death swiftly and silently crept beside me. Death caught me off guard. When I was not looking, when I was busy living and loving, it went straight through my heart. Slowly, there came the bitter aftertaste of every sweet moment. Slowly, time is telling me to be ready. Slowly, the one that is holding my heart together started to break away. Slowly, my heart is breaking into tiny shards once more. Slowly, I am dying. Dying, though, does not hurt one bit. I already knew what to expect of death. What hurts is that now, I already knew how it felt to be alive, to feel electricity even through the slightest touch against my skin, to see beyond what is visible, to feel beyond the capabilities of my weak heart, and yet they will all be taken away in a snap. It hurts to see all my dreams crumble into dust. I was foolish to suppress the fact that dreams are meant for sleeping. It was difficult when I was so alive, when everything felt so real. I just cannot believe that despite my efforts to stay alive, I still lost, I am still dying. But I have been there before. I have lived like that. I have to admit that being a living dead was far less complicated. Less was indeed more. As I drag my dying body to continue on with the coming of my zombie life, I would forever carry the 'what ifs' that death prevented from happening, but I do not regret anything at all.

Surprise, surprise! Term 1, SY 10-11

Ah, this is the first term of my last year as a student! Gosh, being a student is all I ever know how to do, and I really enjoy being a student (at least in college *wink wink*). What I love and hate most in this term are the tons and tons of surprises! First, my friends and I were really shocked to find out about the sudden change of professor in qualitative research, psychometrics and theology. The first two came out sooooooo wrong, while the third came out so perfect! Second, I became religious. Nah, kidding! But we developed this new motto "life is unfair, but God is good!" Third, a surprise alliance with a former frienemy, our previous lab prof. We're doing a paper together. Fourth, my, err, revival. I never thought my third to the last term in college would mean so much, and I never expected to be attracted to someone else at this point of my life where stress is practically my middle name. I never thought that I could smile genuinely after a harsh week just because I received a text message or anything as small as that. Though it was along list of surprises, there were still lots of comforting, familiar things, like one of my favorite professors in literature, my set of "team mates", and of course, all the psych stuff that I have come to love and appreciate. All I am waiting for right now are my grades, and this term might just be okay after all.

Grandma's Latest Gift

Lola had been in Heaven for six years now. I barely felt it. She was always there and I knew it. Last Sunday, I turned nineteen. She gave me the best gift she could ever give....her poetry. Life in the 1930s and the 1940s seemed really interesting. I would like to share to the rest of the world what my Lola shared with me. The following is just one of the many poems we found. Enjoy!

Carry defeat
With a conquering air,
Lest passers pity,
Lest strangers stare.

Shelter sorrow
In shimmering pride,
Lest friend deplore
Lest foe deride.

But weep, weep well
When you’re all alone,
Lest you heart congeal
To a small, cold stone.

-Narcisa Hernandez-Gan
______________________________________________________

Come and take my heart, o noble cupid,
Whose arrow had pierced so deep,
A wound so madly, sadly gaping,
In the midst of the laughing feet.

Come and bring with Thee your ethereal balm,
So by Thy pulling I will not scream,
And moan from such a ghastly, ignoble wound,
That I may wake up between my dream.

If I could live without a heart in me
I will prefer to go with thee.
So in your ventures I can feel
The happiness and joys you pile in them.

If I could love without a heart,
If I could feel without my senses
If I could see without my eyes
Then all of myself I give to thine.

If you can’t take my heart
Please touch it with your arrow no more
While to him I’ll find my dress,
And be a servant forevermore.

-Narcisa Hernandez-Gan
______________________________________________________
Love to me is wonderful,
It caused my life to be fruitful,
My life’s inspired when I’m in love
And I find heaven above.

I confess my heart’s command,
To be with you in every time,
I’ll never change, I’ll never leave,
Till death do us part.

I wonder why I’m so in love
In love alone with you, my love,
Let’s make and share it heavenly,
Where us can live so happily.

This is my first love I knew
You don’t love me as I do,
Oh! Lord! I pray please hear my plea
Let my love one be faithful to me.

-Narcisa Hernandez-Gan
______________________________________________________

Periphery

No amount of temporary could change what is permanent. No amount of sunshine could beat out an eclipse, and no amount of happiness could thaw what has been hardened by gloom. My heart, once broken, would be impossible to mend. My love, once so precious, would be impossible to share. And loneliness? It would be impossible to pry away from me. As I have said before, I really think I was born to be unhappy. I was born to keep the world's atmosphere balanced. What is wrong with me? Rather, what is right with me? All I want is to be like anyone else. I want to laugh. I want to love. I want to live. I want to be a part of your life, I want to be the one to make you smile. I guess that would be impossible in this lifetime. I could sob my eyes out tonight or I could stop crying. Either way, my tears would mean nothing to you, my heart ache would go unnoticed. Who am I to you anyway? I guess I would always be that invisible girl in your world, always in the periphery.

Balance

Two months. That is all the time I get for being happy. My one shot of happiness just missed. It's either that or I am just not meant to be happy. Who knows, maybe I was born to be lonely forever. Maybe there is some sort of law that states that the happiness on Earth needs to be balanced. My happiness was tipping the scale, so they just had to take it back. Well, good job! The world is balanced again. It's time for me to wallow in sadness again while the rest of the world continues to be happy and productive. I don't really mind loneliness. It is something familiar to me now. It has been my companion for over a year, and yes, my life still went on. This time though, what makes me sadder is the fact that I already knew how it felt to be happy, to smile genuinely all day long. Though, if I were to be glad over my sadness, it would be about one thing. It would be the knowledge that you would not be stuck with me. I'd accept that whole-heartedly. I have always known you are too good for me. You don't deserve me. You deserve someone much better, and with that I am happy.

Crush

Why is it that there is no song/poem particularly about a crush? It's always love or pain. For me, having a crush is the most inspiring among the three. Why? It's such a simple act. It's about smiling, and waking up every morning. It's the reason why the sun is shining brightly, or when it doesn't, it's why the sound of the rain is so peaceful. Your biggest worry would be a hair out of place, or which shirt would best fit you. Your biggest predicament would be not seeing or not talking to him. Friendship does not need to end. Getting physical is never an issue. And inspiration and motivation? They are always there. There would always be the drive to do well, the drive to look good. It's emotionally healthy as well. You will never have to assume and you will never have to expect. Most of all, you will never get hurt. All you can think of is here and now. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess that is the case. But when he is in sight, gosh! The feeling is truly overwhelming. A pounding heart and violent butterflies in the stomach do not even cover it. And paradise? It's the only place that comes to your mind when you're with him. Happiness may not be guaranteed to last, but happiness that comes along with the here and the now, priceless.

The Pen is Mightier than the Sword: If I Were to be in Hinilawod, This Would be My Story

***My ELECLIT homework, not edited version

Day after boring day. Living by the hour. Till something happens, I would just bury my nose into this epic assigned in my literature class. What is it with these people anyway? Everyone who lives in the twenty first century knows diwatas and babaylans do not exist; and heroes, come on! The only real heroes I know died more than a century ago. Me? I will never be one of those. I am but a student, born to live a routine of researching, reading and writing. As I have said, it is a pretty much boring life. There goes my dad. Well, that is my cue to shower and get ready for another ordinary day at school.
My head is throbbing. I had a bittersweet dream. I was in a sandy beach and I was writing. I couldn’t exactly remember what I was writing about. The next thing I knew, some locals were gathered around me. They were silent, yet their heavy stares gave me the creeps. It was like they were waiting for me to start writing something. Then things got blurry when my dad started to shake me awake. I guess I was just too worried about one of my writing assignments. I am getting short on time after all.
And so the day begins. Early morning and being alone at the campus make me think more clearly. I sat on one of the many benches and pulled out my notebook. It was time to get creative and finish my writing assignment. I already have a few lines written about the setting of my story. I just could not seem to concentrate because the wind was just too strong today. The whooshing sounds it created felt like someone really wanted to tell me something. Silly, I know. Urban myths aren’t really my thing. I gave up writing, tucked my notebook inside my bag, and let the wind blow my hair wildly around my face. Then, it started to rain. I had to find a better shelter and fast. Ugh, what is it with the wind? It’s blowing against where I was going. I broke into a sprint to avoid getting soaked when I slipped. I just did not want to move when I fell. Someone would find me anyway. As a matter of fact, I was already hearing someone shouting “I found her” followed by some alien language that I couldn’t understand. The next thing I knew, I was being cradled by strong, tangible hands. I opened my eyes to see who found me, only to find out that I was not being cradled. I was being blown away, literally. Oh, no! I must be having a concussion! was my last thought before darkness had fallen on me.
The scorching heat that made me see red through my closed eyelids woke me. I couldn’t remember anything that happened after I slipped back at school. I waited for my eyes to adjust so as to get a better view of where I was. I was expecting to see a white clinic or the familiar lavender color of my room, but I was nowhere near familiar. Could I have hit my head really hard that I died? I was lying on a makeshift bed on a sandy shore. There were little tents and an evidence of a campfire at the shore. It must be noon because the shade of huge leaves could no longer protect me from the sun directly above. I tried to get up and I saw miles and miles of ocean running through the horizon. There were old fashioned boats on the shore, so I felt relieved that I was not alone. Carefully, I got to my feet and turned around. Wow, whoever brought me here was thoughtful enough to save my bag. I carried it with me, just in case I needed it. There was a trail. There must be hikers there who could help me, or at least tell me where I was. I was still not buying the idea that I was dead. If I died peacefully, then why is my bag full of homework still with me? The trail was headed into the woods. A canopy of plants hung overhead, and I was not under the unmerciful rays of the sun. The trail was very short, though I did not like where it ended. I saw abodes that somewhat reminded me of the head hunters’ tribe in Ifugao. There were spears, daggers and shields neatly stacked in one part. At the center of the mini town, there was a hearth which died a few hours ago. I could tell by the amount of ash that is still in it. I was confused and curious of the place. Suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind. I was stunned, but I immediately grabbed my pen from my bag and stabbed that person’s hand. While she screamed in pain, I ran for it. I was only about three meters away when she grabbed my elbow and turned me around. I was shocked with what I saw. First, how could she have caught up to me so fast? Second, I was sure my stabbing should leave a bloody wound on her arm, or at least an ugly mark of a gaping hole. Third, her skin was almost translucent, almost as if I could go through her. Fourth, her dark curls were moving like waves in the ocean despite the stillness of the wind here. Fifth, her eyes were coal black and so deep that they looked unreal. She was fairy-like; the kind that you would imagine if you were reading a fairytale. Her bewildered expression must have echoed mine. She composed herself then she led me back to the mini town. I could see people peaking through their doors. I was still too overwhelmed to move. Then she spoke. “I got her,” she said, “I got our heroine.”
A well-dressed middle aged man, probably their datu, came out of the largest stone house with an entourage as large as that of Queen Elizabeth. He looked me up and down and up again, holding my eyes. The fairy-like lady bowed down before him. He reached for my bag, my notebook to be exact. He flipped through the pages. He stopped at the page where I was doing my writing assignment. Alas, the setting I described back there perfectly matched this place! I was not sure whether he could read, then my doubts vanished when I saw the shock in his eyes. “Child,” he turned to me and exclaimed, “you have finally came. Finally, the chosen one who would rescue my captured son has arrived!” Wait, I could barely save a kitten stuck in a tree back at home, what makes this guy think I can fight someone off to liberate his son? “Excuse me, sir, but I think you have the wrong person,” I tried to be polite despite the confusion that colored my tone. He looked at me then took me inside the stone house. If I were to take his house and his furniture back home, I would be the richest vintage furniture supplier in the history of forever. This guy is absolutely and ridiculously rich! He could hire the best rescue party in the world. Why would he need me to find his son anyway? We stopped at a gigantic door where a creepy looking lady was waiting for us. She was gorgeous, but she was still creepy. She spoke my name as a sign of acknowledgment. The datu spoke, “Uwa, dearest daughter, tell the chosen one everything she has to know.”
“Very well,” said the lady, “chosen one, the one who possesses the power of the pen, I am the most respected babaylan in this town. I had a vision of you and your strengths. I sent Hangin to find her creator, you, for we know that only you could retrieve the datu’s son, my brother. You see, he was in a journey to search for his equal, his ladylove, when he was enchanted by the well-kept ones of Tarangban. Our newly born mature brother was travelling with him when suddenly he came home and delivered the news to us. We did everything in our will, but it seems that it was not enough. Yet you, chosen one, you with the power to create could surely aid our brother in his safe return home. The power of your words is beyond this world. We beg of you to help us. In return, we would give you anything you want.” The datu gave me my notebook and my pen. I was confused again. My notebook and my pen? The babaylan read the confusion on my face. “The power of words,” she insisted I take the notebook and the pen, “are sharper than any spear, any dagger, if one knew how to use it well. Only you have the power of the words and only I have the magic to bring your words to life. We would give you the most comfortable place you could write. Next week, we embark on a journey to rescue my brother.”
I was still stunned by the turn of things. This morning I was just complaining about my boring life, but now I am in this fantasy space and time destined to save someone’s life. I couldn’t even believe I created someone. I mean, I am not the best writer in the world to possess power that these people claim I have. The sun was now setting at the horizon. The townspeople were starting to prepare for night. They lit a campfire by the shore. They were planning a huge feast to welcome me, “the chosen one.” Fine, I thought. I would get this over with and then continue my boring student life. Something occurred to me. Next week, we embark on a journey to rescue my brother. I would engage in combat? Oh, no! I could not engage in combat alone. I decided I would create a companion. A sister, yes, that’s it! A sister that would be physically and mentally intelligent; a sister that would surely help me and these people retrieve their future datu, that’s what I would create. After the feast, I started to work on this sister. I was very careful of intricate detail, choosing only the best words that would best describe a great warrior. She might not have the power of words or the power to create, but she would have the power to save the good and destroy the evil. I worked on her all night. I barely slept, but I knew it was worth every drop of ink in my pen. I was absolutely positive nothing could thwart this woman in the making.
By noon, I approached the babaylan to tell her the good news, that I was finished with what she wanted. It was obvious in her face, in the datu’s face, in all the townspeople’s faces that they were elated. By nightfall, we were all gathered by the campfire as the babaylan took out charms and potions of all sorts. I read out what I have written.
“This town needed their datu. The only way to get him back is through this woman. In a span of seven days, this woman would have with her formidable strength, irreversible logic, and unparalleled wit. She would have the built of a finesse warrior at the same time of a glorious princess. Her dark brown locks would be the envy of every other woman. Her eyes would be a piercing black and would be the fear of every other villain. Her voice would be like melody to the ears. This woman would be the perfect companion in travel and in combat. Next to me, she would be the very pride of this town.”
The makeshift bed that I occupied earlier was the center of attraction. The babaylan was murmuring some sort of prayer. She took the paper from me and put it on the bed. Blue flowing liquid and a fiery red fluid was poured onto the paper while she was chanting. If I were not there, I would not believe the phenomenon. A woman’s body appeared on the bed. She was soundly asleep, yet she was fully clothed in what looked like the finest and sturdiest material. She looked exactly like my description.
The babaylan interrupted my thoughts when she said, “she will be awake in the morning, but we must be vigilant. She is still a child. Remember, we have seven days to train her, to help her reach her full potential.”
I sat by the campfire with some of the townspeople. I was chewing betel nut with them to help keep ourselves awake. I was jittery all night. On the one hand, I was amazed and mesmerized by what my words had done, yet on the other hand, I still felt this was all surreal. I still thought that I might have suffered a concussion, fell into a coma, or something like that. How could this be real? How could I have created a sentient being with mere words and magic? Hours of thinking and pacing passed and finally, finally the first of the rays broke through the canopy of plants. The datu and his family were just as enthused and anxious as I was when my new sister started to open her eyes. The datu simply couldn’t keep his distance. I guessed he was just thrilled that in more or less seven days, his captured son would return home. My sister’s eyes were truly deep and dark, but they project innocence. When she met my stare, she got up and flashed a brilliant smile. It was a manifestation that she knew who I was. Her angelic voice asked, “So, when do we embark on our journey?” It was the babaylan who answered her, “In seven days, but first, you will be trained by your sister. You sister is matured enough to outwit the maidens of Tarangban. You will be in good hands.”
For the next six days my sister and I were going through intensive physical and mental training. The mental part, I could handle, but the last physical training I had was back when I was doing Judo, which was more than a year ago. By the fourth day, we were both getting really strong. We got the hang of using different weapons. I especially liked using the bow and arrow. I could hit a long range shot. While my sister and I were training defense on the fifth day, I accidentally shot a poisoned arrow at her. I panicked as I took her lifeless body to the babaylan. She chanted another unfamiliar prayer and poured the same liquid on the body and before I knew it, my sister was flashing her brilliant smile again. By the sixth day, our sparring was flawless. I knew we were set for the journey to liberate the datu’s son.
The very next day, the seventh day, as we were boarding the extravagant ship, the babaylan warned us about the maidens of Tarangban, though she said she had high confidence that we would get her brother, the datu’s son, back. All I could think of at that moment was everything that had happened in the past few days have been really real. I have created a diwata, I have created a sister. I am about to embark on a journey to rescue a royalty. I have met a real datu and a real babaylan, and heroes, I smiled to myself and thought I am about to find out if heroes still exist, if that hero could be me. Now, I am living an epic life!

A Little Piece of Heaven in the Middle of Hell

Let's face it. Graduating year in college is the most stressful thing ever. With balancing acads, social life and other commitments, it is definitely hell. Added to that are early morning -- or should I say dawn -- wake up time, and late night bedtime. Literally, it's like I live and breathe stress. Life has definitely given me lots of lemons and clearly I have not made lemonade. Today, though was so different. I knew my dismissal time would be 1pm. I knew I could go home early, but I still thought it was going to be another hell day with the report and the exam coming up. I left the house at 6:10 am and the neighbor's crazy mutt chased me! Gosh, I hurriedly closed the gate so it would not follow me any further. I got to the LRT station early enough to catch a pretty much empty train. I got to school a few minutes before 6:30, though my class does not start till 8. Why so early? I had to cram my reviewing for the exam, and I find that the empty benches and the fresh morning look of the school motivates me to study harder. My best friends met me at around 6:50 and we reviewed together, sort of. You know how friends are. Before we went to our first class, we saw my high school classmate and we started chit chatting again. We came to our room around ten minutes before the time. Well, I knew the remaining groups are bound to report for my first class so I had nothing to do but to be there physically. Mentally, my mind was elsewhere. Staring at my crush does not help me focus on the report at all. Of course, smiling like an idiot the whole time does not help either. I was sneaking side glances at him the whole time. I am a ninja, remember? Anyway, when the class was over and he did not even acknowledge my presence, I went on with my life, photocopying readings for one of my major classes. I just died and went to heaven when he approached me and talked to me. Definitely a one-way ticket to heaven. I couldn't even remember exactly what happened. I literally froze in place. So that was how it felt, the crush thing. After that, I could not think coherently. I was stuttering all throughout the report. I could not even remember the content of my report! And when it was time for the exam later on, I was so disoriented that I was randomly putting in T or F in random blank spaces when it came to the last part of the test. It was one of my craziest exams ever! I got an okay grade, though. 85% is not bad for a very disoriented exam. After the exam, my friends and I ran some epic fail errands, not even accomplishing one of them. However, some unexpected things happened. We met our lab prof, so we talked about the paper we were planning to submit at PJP or PSSP. A truly inspired and awesome opportunity! Then, finally, we went to the mall to watch a movie. Letters To Juliet to be exact. It was marvelous! A perfect film for some girl bonding time! Yet again, I don't know if it was the film which was great or it was just me feeling so alive that made the film so great. Either way, I surely enjoyed the movie! Then we went to have doughnuts. Yum! Then it was time to window shop till we drop. Lots and lots of cute stuff, shoes especially! After that and lots of talking, we were dead beat that we were ready to call it a day. I got home with mom lying on the couch, and dad and my bro watching a DVD. My sister was with my aunt. Peace and quiet. It's not very often that this happens. So, there is a little piece of heaven in the middle of hell after all.

Small Talk

There is more to it than just small talk. It is the Herculean effort behind it that counts. It is the thought of talking to that person that makes it so pleasant; nonetheless, it is the thought of that person making an effort to talk to you that makes it perfect. A simple acknowledgment coming from that person, gosh, it's Heaven on earth; that person calling your name, it's like an angel calling. I just could not help but respond in the best way that I can. Smiling is contagious, laughter is the best medicine, and small talk, it may just brighten up someone's day. That someone was just me. Your small talk may not have the slightest meaning to you, but to me, it is everything that I could have asked for and more.


*** thank you. I may not have the courage to say it to your face -- yet, but thank you just for being you, for brightening up my day :]

Resurrected

Years of being a lost soul has taught me to be invisible. I am contented with it, though. My lifeless body has been happy by going about, continuing life as it should, always staying in the middle, never touching the sides. I was a living zombie, till the day that you resurrected me. I have never felt more alive until your warm smile lit up my world. My blind eyes could see the beauty of the world again, appreciate the small details in life that I had been missing. My ears could hear every sweet melody. My mind continued to race on. My thoughts would never be the same again. And your touch, it thawed out the ice running in my veins. My blood flowed in a healthy river of hope. My heart now beat in synchrony with yours. It opened up once again, to be able to handle as much love as it could. A brand new life was given to me, a second chance of truly living. I would no longer be afraid. I would be ready to risk it all just for you.

Jessie

Lately I have been feeling like a big fish in a little pond. Translation: Jessie the cowgirl from Toy Story 2 after Emily left her for donations. Old, passe', lifeless, useless. Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe that every person has a need to be acknowledged. I have a need to be acknowledged. I have a need to be needed, but in this crazy new life, I feel like I am not needed. Have you ever heard of 'it's better to give than to receive?' I have always taken this so literally, but I just realized what it truly meant. I really hate feeling helpless. I would rather be the one helping. Then again, I think it is too late for me. Life has taken a turn now. I am now Jessie, simply a member of the Round-up Gang, a group that is not and will not be completed. I am no longer the cowgirl that put a smile on Emily's face. Like any other being in this world, my value depreciated. I'm just confused why people could not get that. People expect too much from me, but I have nothing more to give. The best I could do is go with the flow and hope that Woody comes back to save the Round-up Gang.

Twisted Love Story

Once it was simple. I found it adorable. Passing notes, secret text messages, the facade. I miss the facade. No one knew about it. Neither did we. I thought it was too late when I realized that the facade was real. I thought I lost you like I lost all of our childhood friends.

I was forced to move out of my comfort zone, to try hard to please my parents. I met new friends. I lived a new life. But always, always in the periphery of my perfect little world were the grim things that were left unsaid. On a moonlit night, I would always remember those things, memories that are bittersweet. I miss those, too.

Years passed, and you came back. I risked my new life for you. I thought you were what I needed. I would not deny I was elated at first. I thought my fairytale was coming true. You were not just my best friend anymore. You were my prince. Little by little, though, I realized why Juliet did not end up with Paris, why Bella did not choose Jacob. I thought you were my whole world. I thought you were the perfect one, but you broke my heart. You stained my trust in you. Suddenly, I don't see my prince anymore. I see a villain. I think people are right when they say your best friend would be your worst enemy.

It was tough to see my dreams crumble to dust, my heart break to a million shards. At that moment I vowed that I would never fall for you or anyone like you for that matter. I just couldn't believe when you had the element of surprise. You appeared out of thin air after years of absence. Now I'm in doubt if I would accept you again. The hardest part would be the thought of one of us being hurt. I have no intentions to lead you on, yet I do not want to lose you just like that. I don't think I want to commit to you, but the thought of seeing someone else in your arms stabs my heart. I love you, but at the same time, I don't. It's irrational and selfish. Would there ever be hope for this twisted love story of ours?

Hopeless

I wonder what other people see through their eyes. Sometimes I wonder if I see the same thing as they do. Sometimes I'm just not sure of what I see. Sometimes things are just more complicated than they seem. Sometimes they're just not complicated at all. I once believed that signs are to be taken seriously, like destiny has things planned and laid out in front of us. I don't know what happened, I just lost my belief in fate. Since then I just became this puppet of reality. I follow this routine of life making me another living zombie. Try as I might, I simply forgot how to live. When I face the mirror I see nothing in my eyes. Sure, I get by day by day, but that's about it. I'm just lifeless, hopeless.

Elections 2010: Disappointment to contentment, then what?

I bet most teens would want to be in place right now. I am one of the few who turned eighteen in the right place at the right time. Though my friends would always think of eighteen as the legal age to be sent to prison, my mind is more focused on other things. I dread most of the stuff that comes with being eighteen like getting all sorts of IDs and documents and opening a bank account, but of course, I have also been looking forward to do some stuff like to exercise my rights to vote. This election would be a first not only to me, but to all my fellow Filipinos. The use of PCOS machines definitely caused a fireworks of emotions -- some were enthused and thrilled, while others were petrified and enraged. Of course, it could not be helped that some would be apathetic. Well, whatever it is that the automated elections sparked, it will surely be historical.

Honestly, in the beginning, I was very afraid to choose my bets because first, there were just too many candidates and I had no idea where to start researching about each of them; second, if my country suffered another six years going downhill, I will be one of those at fault; third, politics has never been an interest of my family; last, I have this mentality that all politician are the same vicious well-dressed hoodlums. I was able to make it through, though I'm still hoping that I made the right decision. My decision was established through an elimination process. It's long. I took me four moths to think it through. In the end, my presidential bets came down on Gibo and Gordon, and my vice presidential bets on Binay and Bayani. It could not be denied that Gibo is wise and truly a gentleman. The lack of financial support and the black propaganda thrown against him was gracefully ignored. Surely, a man like Gibo deserves to be ranked with other honorable leaders of the world; however, Gordon showed the most concrete and specific plans for his country. Everyone who has been to Subic would be impressed by its developments. He also gives importance to tourism, which could be, in my opinion, a huge opportunity for small local enterprises to rise. Gordon's rational sense is at a high level as shown through his interviews and debates. So then, I am hoping that our next president would be Senator Richard 'Dick' Gordon. Bayani was my first choice as the next VP. He is my answered prayer when it comes to teaching Filipinos discipline. His strict ways back in the days as chairman of MMDA amazed rather than repulsed me. Then again, his strict ways were also a little bit too harsh and insignificant as it may be, his participation in that certain singing show, clearly a part of showbiz, ticked my off. I decided on Binay just like what I did with Gordon. Makati nowadays is admittedly a place that I want to live in. I would also like to believe that Makati is one well-developed city where resources are maximized and utilized well.

This morning, I got up at 6:30 am hoping to be one of the firsts, but my parents woke up a little late plus there was no one to babysit my little sister. We got to M. Hizon Elementary school at around 9:10 in the morning. I got my cellphone with me coz I just couldn't wait to take photos. I also have my list of the ones I'm gonna vote for. Of course, I would not forget to bring my abaniko. At a weather like this, feeling hot is just inevitable. When my dad, my mom, my sis and I got to the school grounds, I didn't think I'd want to call it school grounds anymore. Every inch of the floor was covered with flyers of last minute campaigning which was of course not allowed. The sea of people was overwhelming. Random thought, on the way up to the third floor where our precinct was, I saw four people wearing 'jeje' caps. I was annoyed. Anyway, the system up there, if there was system, was very disorganized. I couldn't blame the venue, for it was simply a public elementary school which was abused every elections. We couldn't see the rooms at first. There were just too many people standing and chattering at the corridors. My mom felt nauseated. After a few minutes of wandering like idiots, we saw some of our neighbors and helped us through the two crooked lines where we would apparently get numbers. I was thinking back then that it should be illegal to call that a line because there was no line. People were just scattered everywhere. Anyway, we just stood there waiting for something to happen. Around twenty minutes passed before a BEI member came out and distributed number. Apparently, the hold up was because there were only twenty number available. After getting our numbers (I was number 14 out of 20), we had to line up once again. At that point, I was just about to snap, about to lose my temper. I was in the verge of being one of the selfish imbeciles who behaved worse than a child with a really short attention span. Luckily, Manong Yuson who was number 13 was this jolly man who sort of entertained everyone. I was just really disappointed though, when a woman (probably a lesbo), handed out an orange case with the name of a presidentiable. I was so mad that I wanted to scream out Gordon's name just to help convince people but that won't do any good to anyone. Inside the classroom, I handed out my ID to the first BEI member. Sorry to say, but she was kind of stupid. I already told her my precinct number was 1056B but she kept running over 1056A. They BEI member beside her told her about it so she grabbed the record of 1056B and asked me my assigned number from the given list. I did not have a chance to look at it when I was outside but I did not think of it as a bother because I knew the names would appear in alphabetical order. Little did I know that this woman would have trouble finding my name because she was so slow in locating letters alphabetically. It took me around two minutes before I got my official ballot signed. I just rolled my eyes as I stomped away. I sat at the very back of the room, away from people, for once in the entire morning. I quietly filled up the ballot. It took me five times the time to line up than accomplish my ballot. I then stood up and walked to the old teacher by the PCOS machine. I have heard lots of terrible experiences with the machine so I was as nervous as a chicken at a slaughter house. It was one of those slow motion moments in life. My ballot was eaten by the machine like it has not been fed for days, but I saw it as if it has been enjoying the flavor before completely swallowing the paper. Then the most amazing words appeared on the tiny screen - "Congratulations! Your vote has been counted." It felt so good that I almost got emotional. I was still dazed when the teacher led me to get my finger marked with indelible ink. I was still too dazed after that, that I did not bother to wipe out the excess ink that was dripping all over my nail. I got out of the room and back to the sea of undisciplined people, but that time, I saw nothing. It was one of the most amazing thing I've done in my entire life and I am proud that I did it intelligently. I was, in the end, actually content of what I did.

I barely noticed the short walk home after one hour and ten minutes of being in that overcrowded structure. Lunch and the afternoon went like any ordinary day, but as I am writing this blog, I can't help but think about the blunt future. Could this elections be more historical than it already is? If so, in what sense, for the better or for the worse? Would my opinion, tiny as a twig in the entire jungle, even be heard? All I can think of right now is, now what?

Same Old Songs, New Ears

It was four years ago when the sugar-coated bait was left sitting there. It sang to her with the sweetest melody, and left a soothing echo right there in her ear. The sweet and innocent little girl simply couldn't resist. She waited too long for this and her appetite would not want to be suppressed again. She fell into the trap, got her hands on the sugar coating, not knowing that underneath it all would be the end of her fairytale.

Today the girl saw the sugar-coated bait sitting there again, but she knew how to resist now. It was not that the bait was so much worse, weaker than before, but it was that she grew stronger and wiser to make the right decisions. She would not let the very same bait trap her again. She would not let the same old song play the same trick all over again.

The glory of first love is not worth the agony of the first heartbreak if the heartbreak is caused by a jerk who treats girls like Barbie dolls.

Semana Santa-santahan

Mag-aalas tres na ng hapon. Biyernes Santo. Sa bawat ilang minuto may dumadaang nagpapanata, yung Senakulo. Walang patid ang pagbabasa ng pasyon ng mga matatanda. Ayun, doon sa bahay ni kagawad ginaganap ang pabasa. Pag ordinaryong araw, tambayan lang yan ng iba pang kagawad; pag birthday naman o kaya Pasko, pugad yan ng mga lasenggero, yung mga tipong inaabot ng umaga sa paglalasing at di magkamayaw sa pag-abot ng mga nota sa kantang 'My Way'. Si Aling Juana naman halos maubos na ang boses sa halos bente kwatro oras na pagbasa. Parang nung isang araw lang sobrang busy din ng bunganga niya kakamura sa mga anak niyang iba't-iba ang ama. Tama, si Aling Juana ay kilalang pokpok dito sa amin. Marami na rin siyang nakasama. Sa ngayon apat ang kanyang anak, pawang mga mahihirap din, snatcher, holdaper, lahat na ata napasok. Ayun, kasama niya ngayon yung mga anak niya, si kuya Anjo. Ilang beses na yan nakulong, ilang beses na rin napiyansa, nakatakas. Yung isa naman, si kuya Tolits, dakilang tagatulak ng kariton sa umaga, pero pag sumapit ang dilim, daig pa si Flash sa bilis ng pagtakas. Yung dalawang babae, ayun, nagdadasal kasama ang kani-kanilang anak at mga pamangkin. Kasama nila si Ate Cory. May maliit na karinderya siya kaya nagboluntaryo siyang magluto para sa mga nagbabasa. Pero sa Lunes lang, balik na naman yan sa 5-6. Ganito naman silang lahat, kapag Semana Santa, ang babait, ang babanal, pero wala pang isang linggo ang nakalipas, balik na naman sa dating gawi. Kaya ako, isang kabataang namulat sa ganitong mundo, may pag-asa pa bang pahalagahan ang Semana Santa, magdasal imbes na mag-blog?

The year that was

Ah, second year. Middle ground. Grey area. Central tendency. The past school year have been a psychological roller coaster, indeed. Growth has been a huge part of the year that was. Now that another chapter has been written, proofread, and polished, it is ready for publishing.

First term- All I could remember from that term was how excited I was about taking my first three major classes - PSYSTA1, THEOPER and BIOPSYC. I could also remember the grim look on Witch's face each time I come in the classroom. Most of my classmates back then were not the familiar goofy blockmates of mine. I though I was dead. Then I started spending lunch dates with some of Witch's blockmates. I guess there really is no such thing as prejudice in the Philippines, though there were some whom I just quietly shied away from. That term was also my first time to experience engaging in research. It was when I realized that psychology is not just in the heart but also in the mind. Psychology is all about hardwork and patience. Getting participants to help me answer my PSYSTA1 survey was very difficult. I did not think I would ever survive that course, but I did. I did not just survive, I did it with grace. That was also the term when I learned to love what I was studying. I learned it from BIOPSYC. Most psych students seemed to be afraid of that course, but with the help of a wonderful and talented author Pinel, and an amazing professor, it was the best course in my entire stay in the university.... so far! I got to touch a real human brain, and got to meet a real manic depressive, which was also the day I turned 18. The whole of Manila was flooded, but the trip to see Joseph, the bipolar, was still on. Also, it was my first time to experience extending the term since there was the H1N1 a.k.a. Swine Flu attack early on during the term. Classes were suspended for 10 days after a student was reported to have Swine Flu. We had to temporarily say good bye to Friday U-breaks.

Second term- Second term is always the longest term. I had four major courses plus two very stressful minors. PSYCHO1 was a hard catch and was a record-breaker. It was the first time I got a grade lower than 3.0; I only got 2.5. No regrets, though. To think that I did not even pass a single quiz, that was high enough. I also got to improve my research skills, translate: less slacking off. The most memorable animoment (yes, that is what I call my moment from DLSU) was LASARE2. I spent it with my friends and the cutest guy on the face of this planet. I could hardly hold back the butterflies during the group activity. It definitely lit up my whole week. Second term was also when Ondoy and Pepeng heartlessly destroyed eastern Metro Manila. Classes were off for more than a week as Taft avenue, along with 80% of the whole city, was severely flooded. Relief operations were held everywhere. I got rid of most of my clothes during that time and sent them to different places. Insecurity also started to build up during that term as my inferiority complex got to my bad side. Overall, the term was not one that I would want to go back to, but hey, obstacles are just inevitable.

Third term- New year means a brand new start. I spent my Christmas vacation far enough away to help me forget bitter memories of the past term. My grade from COGPSYC from the previous term changed from 3.0 to 4.0 because of error in the professor's memory, har har! Yeah, I learned to talk nerdy. I learned all about ANOVAs and regressions, implicit and explicit memories, and kapwa. SIKOPIL was a tough challenge not because of the subject content but because my enemy was boredom. I could not sit still for a full five minutes in that class, and I especially could not last a minute without glancing at my watch to check the time. I also had great animoments, though. I really enjoyed HUMALIT, which at first, I admit, I thought would be a burden to my major courses. As the term passed by, it became more of a two-way ticket from hell to paradise and back. When I say hell, I definitely mean it. LBYPSMX was the core of my personal hell. There, team LBYPSMX was born! My team and I would drain our brains to think of every loophole that might tarnish the validity and reliability of our experiments. At some point, though, I liked it. It was why I took up psychology. .......................*will continue after the term ends, or until after I get my grades*

Brains over Brawn

How can I go on? I am famished and parched, a nomad in this crazy and unpredictable world. I am but a child, naïve, perhaps even ignorant of the ways of this world. The once industrialized, capitalist world that I grew up in has turned barbaric as it went back to the old days. I stand atop an abandoned building and blink my eyes against the scenery of people dying, fighting over whatever food was left. The scorching heat is confusing. It creates an illusion of paradise – a cool, flowing river beneath my feet. I am immediately enticed by its beauty. It took all but one step for me to fall in. I can feel my hair whip all over my face. How can the river magically disappear? All too sudden, I fell into the pool of hungry desperate people. My paradise just turned into a nightmare.

I woke up in the middle of the night with beads of cold sweat forming on my forehead. I have had this recurring dream for the past few months; from the day the late night news announced the coming end of the world to be exact. Global warming reached its peak and it started a domino effect of catastrophes. Famine, drought, chaos. I decided I cannot live in indifference any longer. If I was going to survive this cruel fate, I am going to have to fight for it. Eighteen years of mediocrity may not be a strong foundation for a hero, but I knew it was worth a try.

The blazing sun rose earlier than usual. Its red orange rays felt more like noon rather than dawn. The lethal ultraviolet rays forced most of the surviving population to stay indoors. Classes and work were cancelled indefinitely. Great, I thought. I would have more time to strategize. Obviously, supplies were scarce. Heat gradually vaporized the Earth as if it were water left to turn to steam.

I looked at the mirror and saw my sun burnt skin and sweat-filled hair. Global warming has already erased the Antarctic. Slowly, animal species are becoming endangered. So is the human race. Should I be the strong-willed Princess Urduja or the witty Ali Baba, the compassionate African girl from Hole in the Wall or the manipulative goddess Hera? Should I even bother saving others or if I saved them, would I be able to prove Nietzche’s claim that “hell is other people”? My questions only yielded more questions. I do not plan to be a meal of the next generation of cannibals. I have to find a way through this. I am fairly sure that a world with highly developed technology would not give up on developing innovations.

That errant thought caused me to reach an epiphany. Pilandok came into the periphery of my thoughts. I suddenly knew that to be able to survive, I have to be like the clever Pilandok. Brains over brawn, as people put it. Come to think of it, Pilandok is no more than a mousedeer, but he always manages to outwit his competitors, some of them even datus. Pilandok’s tricks always put him in the advantage. If I were Pilandok in this dying world, I would surely be able to deceive and defeat my rivals.

Today the sun continues to ravage the planet. Mother Nature has taken a turn against her children. My nightmare is gradually becoming reality, but equipped with Pilandok’s skills, I swear to change the conclusion to that nightmare. I swear to be other people’s hell, not the other way around.