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This is where you stick random tidbits of information about yourself.
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Monday, December 22, 2003
He was brought to me amid the heartache from a previous love and the loneliness wrought by the solitary Christmas Eve. Now, as one year has passed since we first met, I recall the numerous times I shed tears for him. And I see how infinite they are compared to the rare moments I was truly happy in his presence.
Somewhere in the middle of the year, I lost him to another. My pride I swallowed and my sanity I struggled to keep, I kept on seeing him. Though I knew it was a sin against God and against society’s entrapments. Love, as I knew it, was powerful enough to transcend boundaries. And I kept meeting him, in dark, obscure places, in hidden, secure corners, while the rest of the lovers made their happiness known. For him, I kept my love secret.
And so we danced in the shadows. Glided until our feet could not move any longer. We then stopped and stared hands clasped at the people whizzing past, thankful that despite conditions, we were together. That we tried to make our life’s flowers bloom even without the sun.
Today, I found out everything had been a lie. Whatever the reason is, it could not expel the fear and anger within me. I knew that it had to end somewhere. Yes, maybe, it has to end here and now. Because it has all been too much. And the lies have been bred, multiplied and intertwined so expertly I cannot distinguish which are truths anymore.
Perhaps it’s best this way. That we fought and learned and fought and learned too many times the lessons became part of our souls. This is probably the closure we both needed from the pain of the first lashing of fate’s whip. I console myself with the idea that I am but 22 years old and many things are ahead of me.
But I can’t help but feel sorry for him, sometimes. For his hope hangs by a thin piece of string. And, in time, it will all be gone and he will be left alone in the world he tried to create; just so I would stay.
It is over. I can attempt to take a step further, but this is as far as I can go.
3:28 AM
Sunday, November 30, 2003
If all is well and the only things I need are patience and time, then why does it hurt as it hurts now? I have been trying to find reason to hold on the past 3 days. My head constantly spins as sanity and rationality seem to want to take over. The painful journey toward discovery has always led me to love. Love and the faith that it is there, somewhere, though it may take ages to capture.
I do love him. I may not want to admit it but, in a way, he has become my world. He has become the source of my strength whenever tribulations come my way. He was my guiding spirit, keeper of wisdom and bearer of my torch. I have loved him so much my life revolved around him.
And now, I can see that I have done things wrong. I blame myself for seeking him too much I forgot to live life. I also blame myself for his loss, for if I hadn't demanded too much from him, he would not have wanted to leave. Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't want me anymore. Perhaps I have become too rowdy for him. Perhaps I have become so caught up in my own problems that I neglected to look after his.
Whatever the reason is, he has gone. For the second time, he chose to go.
If this kind of thing happens to one person twice, then there is definitely something wrong with that person. There is something wrong with me. I keep asking myself what I did that was so wrong for him not to want me again. But alas he has chosen to keep his reason to himself.
I asked people around us to shed some light into my 3 days of darkness. They all said the same thing, that he probably needed space and that I should just wait for him to come around, because he eventually will when his life begins to settle down. I was told that it my decision to stay. And I would if I knew there was something to look forward to. I would gladly endure it.
Right now, I don't know anything. The future is bleak and all I have left is faith that he WILL return. I wish he would. I cannot live without him.
9:59 PM
Monday, November 24, 2003
I believe now is the time to admit that I am getting tired of the setup I’m in. Guilt is the proper word for what I am feeling right now. So many lies have been said just to cover up what I thought was the ultimate love that could take away all evil and eternally bathe me in warm, pure light.
I was wrong. For now, this is all I could say. I was left dumbfounded by such person’s recent actions. I do not know how my words can bring comfort to the excruciating pain within me.
Sadly, despite the sorrow, I have not cried. And me not shedding a single tear is reason enough for me to believe that the love has gone under and replaced by pure contempt. Springing from a failed promise and out of dependence, emotional, physical and maybe even material.
As I write this, I am inclined to predict that I will eat some of the words I said here. Especially when he again wields his armory of soothing words and assurances. I am but a slave to him. That’s what I am.
I cannot escape. No matter how much I desire to whenever he becomes the person I hate. Because in the end, he has taken with him more than what I have left for myself.
2:26 AM
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
The relationship has, indeed, gone from bad to good. I don't know how to say this but I've never felt so insanely wretched and happy at the same time. Wretched because I know it will take time for him to leave her. And happy because I know, deep down somewhere, his heart beats for me.
The question remains, though. WHEN? I have constantly been hounded by a lot of people seeking answers to the ultimate question. I really don't know. Honestly. And though I plead and weep and roll repeatedly on the floor in pain, I will not get the response I crave.
Maybe he does know when. Maybe he does not. But that's besides the point. Because what I am right now is a person who is more concerned about her own welfare than of others. Death has become of my ability to dream and keep the faith.
Funny, for him, I still do. Sometimes. I cannot even control the myriad of ideas that enter my head whenever I think about him. Both good and bad. Most of the time painful and sad. Every inch of my aches to be with him, and the hurt becomes more excruciating every time I think of being by him and he cannot spare time to be with me. Because he has to be at work. Or with her.
I hate her. I hate somebody I haven't even met. I wish that sometimes a great fall would come over their lives and throw them apart, in despise of each other, someday. But I know that's an evil thing for me to think. Because he waits for her to realize, in calm and in acceptance, that life does not define their union but OURS. And that calm is followed by civility, and possibly, friendship.
Yes, they would still be talking to each other. I can sense it. And maybe, when the time comes that he's with me and she's elsewhere, I will feel extremely jealous when he converses with her. I can picture it in my mind. I wish when that happens, either we go far away, or she does.
But what the hell am I saying? The world is small and there is absolutely no escape from each other. I dunno. I'm confused. My mind is a constant state of disarray. Incoherence defines me more often that rationality.
Perhaps I have gone crazy.
12:45 AM
Monday, October 13, 2003
Do I Need A Reason
by D'Sound
Today when I saw you
I knew it was just like the first time
When you met my eyes I came close
And I felt like the first time
To hold back my fear
and feel you so near
I’ve never been this far before
To hold back my fear
and feel you so near
I’m scared of falling into deep this time
Do I need a reason to tell you why
I’m singing you this song
Do I need a reason to show you that
I know where I belong
Whenever I am weary I lean on
this feeling that I have
I am so much stronger now
Thankful, yes I am
Today I’ll renounce them,
the doubts and the fears I’ve been nursing
I’ll fly like a moth to the flame
and I’ll feel like the first time
To hold back my fear
and let you come near
I’ve never been this far before
To hold back my fear
and let you come near
I’m ‘fraid of loosing and still I go
4:35 AM
I do hope he seeks that kind of life with me, too. I know that someday he'll be ready. It's funny because I used to think he wasn't the type of person I would want to spend the rest of my life with. Somewhere along the painful journey back toward each other, I saw that he was who I've pining for all my life. Sadly, I wasn't able to think that when I had him. There are times when I blame myself for everything that happened to him and to us. If I had been more caring before, he never would have sought another person's arms for comfort. But then, thinking about it, I should never place the blame on myself. Because his doing, although pre-empted by my rash behavior, was his choice. I'm talking about this because I'm trying to unearth the root of everything. Why this had to happen and what I did to deserve it. Or what he did to merit the torture. I sense that he does love her, perhaps why he cannot leave her. Maybe his love for his goes beyond his love for me. I don't really know. And up until now, I don't understand. His mind is too complex for me to delve. The best thing I can do is just wait for him to make his decisions and cross my finger that they are in my favor. When he left, I had programmed myself to deal with the loss by immersing myself in a multitude of activities. Just to forget. But he has come back, and now, all my plans for my future in solitary have gone down the drain and I'm back from scratch. In a relationship so uncertain except for the constant professions of love. It was him who told me before that love wasn't enough. I remember nearly throwing myself at his feet, crying, telling him that our love for each other was reason enough not to be apart. He made me believe in love. And in one stroke, he made me disbelieve in it altogether. His return has brought a new ray hope for me. But I face it with caution. I cannot help but try to keep something for myself this time, even though he tells me that there is nothing to worry about. I'm confused. Perhaps I can only face calm when he leaves her and assures me nothing will go wrong again. But even that is uncertain right now. I look into his eyes sometimes and see her, not me. I can't say it to his face, because he might get so pissed off at my constant nagging that he will eventually leave me. I really don't know how to act around him anymore. Whenever he's not there, I go crazy. But I forget everything whenever he's around. I forget how sad and miserable I was. I forget how wretched I feel whenever he's with her. I wish I could forever hold on to those moments we spend together. I wish I wouldn't have to feel so sick if I don't see him. All my moves are counted, steps measured. I fear he might suddenly realize I'm not the one he wants to be his truly significant other. I plan on learning to cook and be more pleasant and perhaps, motherly, so I can be enough for him. I don't really know what he's looking for. Being myself doesn't seem to be enough for him to change his mind. Fine. He says that we're working on developing our relationship. And maybe that house would definitely do us good. I just don't want to be in the sidelines anymore. I don't want to keep wondering each time what he's thinking or what he's planning. I hope I could just go on working and working and writing until I drop so all fears of breaking apart would not dare touch my head. So I would stop fearing. And start believing.
2:04 AM
I write here, instead, to escape the judging eyes of my other blog's usual readers. Rereading everything I've written, i can't help but feel sorry for myself, somehow. It was a tough battle which I fought hard but lost. Life has introduced a brand new ordeal for me to go through. I don't know if I can even classify it as an ordeal because it gives me more pleasure right now than pain. It's really difficult to write in vague sentences. I fear that this would be read one day and all my secrets would be revealed. I do not write as much because there is nothing else I could write about with passion except those on me and him. Right now, me and him, though together, is taboo. We dance in the shadows within the niche we carved our own. I know a lot of people would never forgive me for deciding to seek another chance at life with him, for truly he has hurt me more than I can ever describe, but soon they will have to accept. I am not certain which path either me or him would choose. I am hoping that the next set of choices will be made together and not individually, as what happened before. I'd like to believe that we have become one now. Because he chose to return. I pray that no more decisions will be made for the benefit of only one person, but all for the benefit of a union that was once broken and is slowly rebuilding towards something I do not know but wish to reach. I do plan on getting married to him someday. Have kids. Work. Go to the beach. Hold each others hand while children grow up into adults who, hopefully, will not go through the same problems we've had. Together, watch them deal with their own problems and, together, counsel them on the good and the bad of life. I hope we don't have to give advice about the bad. It would break my heart to see my child cry over failure to love and be loved.
1:21 AM
Monday, May 26, 2003
My questions are slowly being answered. The fact that he tells me he loves me brings me comfort. Suddenly, I'm not so dubious and scared anymore. I hope we get to talk soon, so all my fears would be erased. And all the necessary adjustments, pacts, arrangements will be made.
My friend tells me to spend time alone to reflect, because as of this moment, it is not entirely his decision on what is to happen after the fall. I don't know. I have been alone long enought to reflect. And I'd like to believe I know what I want. Perhaps writing more about it would make me come to a decision. I am hoping that whatever my end result is, it will meet with his. So we could both be happy. So everyone can move on peacefully with their lives. The Supreme Light has given us all another shot at living. I pray that this time, it will be all for His greater glory. Because his intentions are nobler. The only thing man can do is give in.
12:11 AM
Thursday, May 22, 2003
This morning, I blogged like it was nearly the end of my world. Funny how a simple detail I just discovered altered my entire outlook on my so-called pathetic existence. I do not believe I am to be pitied anymore. Nor do I harbor any doubts as to what I want and where I desire to be. Minutes ago, my chains loosened and, in time, I know I will be set free. A new ray of optimism bathed me, along with the tears I shed for a lost life. I am not saying that this is good, because what happened is not. It never will be. However, I cannot help but feel envious of the newly liberated soul because even before it was exposed to the world's darkness, it was set free. There is no room for devastation or sorrow right now. Sadness will not bring me, nor him, nor her, nor the soul, anywhere. The most important thing is the future. The now may hurt, but with the pain comes another birth. Birth of morals. Birth of rationalism. Birth of hope. I pray for the peace of mind of everybody involved. And hopefully, as we now AGAIN face a forked road, decisions will be better. Decisions will be for the attainment of the nirvana we have been seeking for a long time. I will walk on to find my niche in this world. Slowly, but prudently. I am optimistic, because the Divine Force does not allow mistakes to be done the second time. I will struggle not to commit the same crimes. I will fight for what I think is due me. And I will spread my beliefs to anyone who would want to be affected (not impose, mind you). Because God is good. And love, if we still believe in it, conquers all.
11:34 PM
Friday, May 16, 2003
from philstar...
People without television, they say, are children of a lesser god. As a child of technology, instant entertainment and all things convenient, I would have to agree. After all, network television provides everything for the average person – variety shows provide a noontime distraction, the fluffy kind that keeps even the most intellectually deviant person satisfied, while teleserye and evening dramas provide that exaggerated voyeuristic high that has millions clamoring for more. Bored? Watch infomercials where hideously buffed models ply you with the latest lose weight/get fit gadget. Sad? Tune in to those comedy shows where pseudo-actors with an eclectic repertoire spoof everything from politicians to commercials. Feel like crying? Watch a telenovela. You’re bound to see some poor defenseless girl getting beat up by her evil stepsister or boss who is really her biological mother. And while many critics scoff at these media products, a part of me feels that much of what we see on local television is simply the result of pedestrian ambition – no real effort is made to be different, to try something new. The old timeworn adage of "Why fix it if it ain’t broke?" seems to be the battle cry of writers, directors and dare I say, actors.
Don’t get me wrong. I do not hate teleseryes or drama shows. Although some of them do make me want to gag. After all, must someone cry every two minutes? Every melodramatic sentence seems to be punctuated by a fit of weeping or, better yet, an elegant show of tears. What is the purpose of this? Must Filipino audiences constantly be subjected to tireless weeping? Perhaps some young actress will attempt to cry because it makes a scene more poignant or gives it more emotional depth. Honey, if that were the case, most network studios would be flooded with the "emotional" tears of method actors. We’ve seen enough sniffly actors cry through dialogue. Let’s see it without the cheesy effects. But I digress.
My adventures with the wonders of local television began with Bituin. An indelible portion of every Noranian’s daily entertainment meal, Bituin traces the story of a family of singers. Nora Aunor and Cherie Gil are sisters (I’ve decided to avoid the obvious joke here because it’s just too easy) whose motto in life, it seems, are to outdo each other. And since both of them happen to be singers (what a surprise), musical performances are a dime a dozen. Nora’s daughters, Carol Banawa and some chick with curly hair, also seem to be fighting with each other. Conflict between the two girls, who also sing (my what a coincidence), results in catfights, concerts and weepy arguments. Gag. The clincher? For some reason, Nora, who of course plays the underdog, suddenly becomes blind. Well, at the rate this show is going, I’d want to go blind too.
Second on the menu is the show, Habang Kapiling Ka, featuring the lovely RDL endorser, Angelika dela Cruz as well as a sad-looking Victor Neri. The rather complicated story concerns Erica, Emilie and Pierre Paolo who seem to be siblings separated at birth or two of them were switched at birth or maybe they were all switched. Once again, it’s complicated. I went online to discover more about the sad tale of these star-crossed siblings. The writer, at the show’s website (http://www.igma.tv/shows/hkk/index.html), sums it up beautifully when he notes, "On one level, this is also the story of women, mothers, daughters, lovers – who are out to get the best in the world for the people they love. It is also the story of fathers, sons and brothers, who must come to terms with each other and accept the animosity and conflict that brews in their relationships." Pardon me, but doesn’t this theme encompass every literary and cinematic enterprise known to man?
Sighing so loudly my mother had to shush me, I went on to the next dramedy, Ang Iibigin ay Ikaw Pa Rin. Starring Richard Gomez, Christopher de Leon and Alice Dixson, the series features two half-brothers pitted against each other in the fight for their late father’s estate and (one can suppose) affection. A succinct plotline and Rufa Mae Quinto’s role as Liberty are the gems of this drama series. (She was brilliant in Booba so if you’re expecting a bitchy comment about the acting, you’re in the wrong place. The woman’s a goddess). Although my goal was to determine the viability of this show, I was too distracted by a more mature (now daddy) hunk Richard Gomez to be able to focus on any major plotline.
Of course, my teleserye surveying would not be complete without including the sovereign of love teams, Judy Ann and Piolo, headliners of Sa Puso Ko Iingatan Ka. With a surprisingly almost-realistic plot, Judy Ann plays a strong capable woman (with feminist undertones) torn between her masochistic victim-type mother, played adeptly by Zsa Zsa Padilla, and her biological father, a man who already has a family of his own. Enter Piolo, perhaps the most telegenic man on Philippine television, as Judy Ann’s (what else) love interest. Despite the fact that this show seems to be free of a mentally-challenged story line, it is still plagued by redundant stereotypical characters, such as the evil stepsister performed by the less than stellar Julia Clarete. And here I thought Cinderella made this character superfluous.
Perhaps the most riveting thing about network television, and in particular, drama shows are the almost ludicrous repetitive stories that continue time immemorial, changed only by names and places. After all, almost every story is characterized by revenge, whether being switched at birth, denied inheritance, or scorned love. It’s the driving force of limpid storytellers with no other option but to create inane conflict between two-dimensional characters. And let’s not forget the OA acting. If they’re not shouting, they’re crying. Just watching the Klaudia Koronel story on Maalaala Mo Kaya made me wonder if the actors were on some sort of medication.
In the end, no matter how stupid, you just can’t help but be drawn to these insane characters. Just like Mariah Carey after her breakdown, you can’t help but feel a certain affinity for people of uncertain mental state. Maybe tomorrow, when you switch that channel from your regular Alias or Buffy, you’ll see how bravely Angelika dela Cruz deals with her switched-at-birth situation. Or maybe Nora’s heartbreaking struggle with blindness will teach you how to deal with your own personal, albeit less dramatic, problems.
The moral of the story? While critics lambast the majority of these primetime programs, it’s important to remember that it’s all for fun – it’s just entertainment. And when you see blind concert queens belting out songs on primetime, you know you’re having fun. I guess that other old adage is true as well, "There’s no business like show business."
4:40 AM
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
i feel the NEED to go on a diet and I stumbled upon this helluvan article. i'm tamad now but i will comment on each of these tomorrow, i promise.
50 Deadliest Dieting Mistakes
1. Having a negative defeatist attitude.
2. Going on any diet that is NOT a manner of eating that you can adhere to for the rest of your life.
3. Believing that you can eat cabbage soup -- or any other low-cal, but monotonous fare -- every day for the rest of your life.
4. Obesessing over counting calories.
5. Weighing in too frequently.
6. Not drinking enough water.
7. Drinking sugar-laden drinks.
8. Eating more bread, pasta and potatoes than proteins, lean meats, fruits and vegetables.
9. Consuming processed foods more often than fresh foods.
10. Taking the benefits away from vegetables by overcooking them.
11. Not having a plan.
12. Blaming others for your shortcomings.
13. Being quick to judge.
14. Not being aware of the nutritional benefits or detriments of what you consume.
15. Finishing every last bite of a meal, even after you are full.
16. Going back for seconds at meals.
17. Eating at "all-you-can-eat buffets" and consuming large amounts "to get your money's worth."
18. Skipping breakfast.
19. Starving all day.
21. Thinking you are genetically destined to be fat.
22. Not believing that you have the courage to change.
23. Confusing "fat" as a personality trait.
24. Thinking you are unattractive.
25. Not living each day to the fullest... thinking that will come when you are thinner.
26. Wasting time.
27. Not finishing tasks you begin.
28. Postponing tasks that need attention.
29. Rationalizing.
30. Thinking pills, powders or potions are more powerful than they really are in achieving weight loss.
31. Thinking of exercise as a chore, instead of a way to improve your health and your life.
32. Not scheduling exercise as a vital part of your day and week.
33. Indulging excessively in alcohol.
34. Watching sports rather than participating in sports.
35. Watching too much television.
36. Not giving enough time to personal hygiene and appearance.
37. Refusing to read self-improvement materials on a regular basis.
38. Giving up and resigning yourself to being "fat."
39. Finishing the food off of your family's plates while you are doing the dishes.
40. Tasting and nibbling on food while you are cooking it.
41. Baking cookies, pies and cakes more often than for holidays or very special occasions.
42. Always having candy in dishes, supposedly for guests, but eating more of it yourself.
43. Buying unhealthy snack items "for the kids," but eating some yourself.
44. Not having vegetables and/or fruit with each meal.
45. Serving more carbohydrates than any other food group for meals.
46. Thinking that "dieting" sprees -- and not total lifestyle change -- will garner lasting weight loss results.
47. Not visualizing yourself actually living and enjoying a healthy lifestyle.
48. Not taking vitamins and proper supplements.
49. Consuming fast foods on a regular basis.
50. Waiting for tomorrow to "get started" rather than RIGHT NOW!
10:30 PM
Friday, April 25, 2003
i can't believe i keep posting lyrics on this blog.
1:33 AM
Couldn't get myself to write nowadays. Here's a song that spells all that I am feeling right now. And why I find trouble writing about how I feel. Because I think it would be a great injustice to myself to speak of the confusion inside me. He's right. Life is what happens just when you're starting live it with a smile on your face.
you say i only hear what i want to.
you say i talk so all the time so.
and i thought what i felt was simple,
and i thought that i don't belong,
and now that i am leaving,
now i know that i did something wrong 'cause i missed you.
yeah, i missed you.
and you say i only hear what i want to:
i don't listen hard,
i don't pay attention to the distance that you're running
or to anyone, anywhere,
i don't understand if you really care,
i'm only hearing negative: no, no, no.
so i turned the radio on, i turned the radio up,
and this woman was singing my song:
the lover's in love, and the other's run away,
the lover is crying 'cause the other won't stay.
some of us hover when we weep for the other who was
dying since the day they were born.
well, this is not that:
i think that i'm throwing, but i'm thrown.
and i thought I'd live forever, but now i'm not so sure.
you try to tell me that i'm clever,
but that won't take me anyhow, or anywhere with you.
you said that i was naive,
and i thought that i was strong.
i thought, "hey, i can leave, i can leave."
but now i know that i was wrong, 'cause i missed you.
you said, "i caught you 'cause i want you and one day i'll let you go."
"you try to give away a keeper, or keep me 'cause you know you're just scared to lose.
and you say, "stay."
you say i only hear what i want to.
1:31 AM
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
For the one who made me believe I could love....
Lucky One by Amy Grant
You're the kind
When you love you love with all your might and
You're the kind
would dream about at night
Now I'm the lucky one
Baby I'm the lucky one
You're the kind
That I want to be with in the dark and
You're the kind who is capturing my heart
And I'm the lucky one
Baby I'm the lucky one
And I have never been the one to fall in love so soon
But I could never face another night or day without you
Baby I'm the lucky one
You're the kind
With poetry and valentines and
You're the kind
Who will never ever leave
And I'm the lucky one
The luckiest girl
Baby I'm the lucky one
And I have never been the one to fall in love so soon
But I could never face another night or day without you
I'm the lucky one
Baby I'm the lucky one...
5:40 PM
His absence weakens me. I am compelled to listen to my mp3s in full volume just to drown whatever questions I have in my mind. I have allowed myself to vulnerable. For him, because I see that he loves me. For me, because I love him.
5:34 PM
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
C seems happy with the original "Unmasking". She told me to send it to YoungBlood. This time, I will use a pseudonym. The name Arguella comes to mind. I wonder why.
9:47 PM
April 8, 2003 Creative Ink workshop
Unmasking (original)
My family lost me to Manila 4 years ago. Since I started college, I developed a new form of idealism I did not have when I was hiding, sheltered under my parents' wings. With the introduction to the quasi-"real world" taht is the State Universtiy, I replaced "Oh my gosh" with "punyeta". The refined Catholic school girl was tranplanted by a foul-mouthed, aggressive, rebel chick. Yes, chick. The kind who'd send shivers and spasms through my mom's veins. And she would blame herself for allowing me to leave sweet, provincial, calm Davao City.
The distance forced me to cope with life by myself. During times of severe depression, when my boyfriend dumped me, when my professor screamed at me to get out of the room, when I chose to hang around at the Sunken Garden to bask in the silence, because I felt so unwanted by my peers, I could not call my parents. My grief escalated and went on top of the other each day I tried to survive. I did not tell for fear of judgment. Like, "She's not so strong, after all." or "You're not being very responsible." I did not want them to think that. I desired so much to pretend that I was doing fine and dandy. That I still was the perfect child they once had.
I have changed a lot through the years. My transformation did not just spring out of mere rebellion, however. It came with the blood I shed when I nearly slashed my wrists. It came with the ostracism from people who thought I was weird. It came with the countless men who used me till I fell on the ground and died. My family never knew of my struggles. I have perfected the skill of hiding my pain. I walk through life with a smile on my face. A smile I practiced too often, it looked real. For my family, I am happy.
Then, I realized, 4 years have passed and they know nothing. All they know of me at present is I'm an Editor at some Korean firm and that I earn this much. Only 3 weeks ago did they learn I lost my virginity at 17, I took drugs at 18, and that I still haven't graduated college.
In a week, I'll be home. It's been a year since I stepped in that house. I am a stranger to it now. I am a stranger to my family. When I get off the plane, they will seek an explanation for everything they just discovered. And I will tell them what happened. I will tell them more.
=========
(Revision 1)
My family lost me to Manila four years ago. Since I left for college, I found a new form of idealism. One I did not have when I was still hiding and sheltered under my parents' wings. With the introduction to the "real world" that is the State University, I replaced "My Gosh" with "punyeta". The refined, Catholic school girl was transplanted by a foul-mouthed, aggressive rebel chick. The kind that would no doubt send spasms through my mom's veins if she knew. And she would blame herself for allowing me to leave, sweet, calm, provincial Davao City.
The distance gave me no choice but to cope with life by myself. In times of depression, when I was dumped by my boyfriend, when I hung around at the Sunken Garden to seek refuge from the silence, because I felt so unwanted by my peers, I could not call my parents. My problems went on top of the other each day I tried to survive. I had no one but myself.
I never spoke of my troubles for fear of being judged. Like, "You're not so strong, after all. Di mo naman pala kaya.", or "You're not being responsible." I wanted so much to pretend I was doing fine. That I still was the perfect child they once had.
I had transformed into a person I feared becoming. It came with the blood I shed when I slashed my wrists. It came with the ostracism from people who thought I was too weird. It came from the countless men who used my till I fell on the ground and died. For all those times, I sought help from myself. Because I was the only one I had. My family never knew of my struggles. I had perfected the skill of hiding pain. It walked through life with a smile on my face. One I practiced too often it looked sincere.
For them, I was happy. All they know of my, at present, is that I'm an Editor at some Korean firm and I earn this much. Only 3 weeks ago did they discover I lost my virginity at 17, 2 weeks ago, that I took drugs at 18, and just this morning, that I still haven't graduated college.
In a week, I'll be home. It's been a year. I am a stranger to it now. The place I called home is now just a house. I am stranger to my family. When I get off the plane, they will seek an explanation for everything they just discovered. My father will have a shocked expression on his face. My mother will cry rivers. I will be ready. I will them what happened. And I will tell them more.
========
Comments: I tend to over-edit. I should really be less harsh to and critical of my work. But what can I do? I can't help it, really. I'm an editor. This is what I do everyday. Well, yeah, Creative Ink people are right. I write best when I don't stop to think, which is rare, by the way. Baliktad nga eh. Some people produce something good after revising a couple of times. When I revise, I tend to kill my piece. I guess, it's best if I left it as it was. "Don't kill the flowers while you're planting them."
Make time for revision 2. Combine the good elements of the original and revision one. I think keeping it raw works best for me. C agrees.
9:46 PM
Monday, April 07, 2003
April 7, 2003
WARM-UP (10 minutes)
Today, I attempted to cook paksiw na isda. I had only heard about the procedure and ingredients from my friend's maid. This morning, to impress my bf, I tried. It was close to being a disaster. I think it lacked salt or vinegar. I really don't know what. Seriously. I tasted water with a hint of vinegar and pepper, but that was it. The sauce was basically water, also with a bit of bitterness to it. I think while we were cleaning the fish the "apdo" burst. My bf said, when cleaning fish, you're supposed to be careful not to puncture that small sack of bitterness, but neither of us cleaned fish in our entire lives, so we both were asses at it. Anyway, the dish smelled good. As if it's any consolation. We ate it anyway. At least, he ate it. I had the guts to ask him how he found it.
"It's good," he said.
"Tingnan mo ako sa mata while you're saying that," I ordered him.
He couldn't look me in the eye.
EXERCISE: NONFICTION: HOW TO
*How to cook hotdog*
Take out the packet of Tender Juicy or whatever hotdog brand is available. If you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, tear the packet to reveal the red schlongs. If you're in a good mood, get a pair of scissors and cut the sides. One by one, unsheath the dogs. Hotdogs usually are wrapped in some plastic covering. Yes, like condoms. You should get them off the dog. They're not edible. Turn the stove on and place the frying pan on top of it. Put a little bit of cooking oil and let it sit till it heats up. Do not test the heat with your hands. You will see a thin cloud of smoke/steam rising. That's the cue to put the naked dogs on the pan. Turn them continuously till about 2 minutes. If you start smelling something that resembles the ocean in the morning, turn the stove off. With a fork or the ladle, transfer the cooked hotdogs onto a plate. Enjoy.
EXERCISE: CONFUSED MAN
Text message from mothergoose: "Pag-uwi mo sa 15, bring your transcript and diploma okay?"
I nearly dropped my cellphone. I suddenly passed my life's blackhole and it sucks me into it. I feel my chest heaving. I couldn't breathe. My jaw suddenly hurts and the back of my neck starts to have shooting bouts of pain. My world turns black. Silent. The blackhole is a vaccuum. But it wasn't able to suck my fear out. Should I tell them? Should I go home on April 15? What excuse would I give if I don't? If I do go home, how will I tell them I'm handling my dilemma the best way I could? How can I tell my parents not to be worried about my not having graduated still, without having to see their worlds fall on them? How can I tell them everything's gonna be all right in the most believable way?
Am I really going to be okay? How I face my parents? Should I tell the truth? Should I lie? My head is spinning. My conscience is screaming. I feel my back splitting in two. I fear going home. But it's something I have to do. I don't know when. Today, I'm not ready. Tomorrow, I still won't be. Will I be ready on the 15th? Will they understand? Will I still be their daughter? Will I be able to justify my present state?
Questions. More questions. I'm tired of asking. Yeah, maybe I should finally go home. Or maybe not. I see nothing but darkness around me. Not even a sound. Perhaps my parents voice will lift me. Then, again, maybe not.
ELEMENTS OF A SHORT STORY
1. original idea
2. theme
3. plot
4. characters (believable); dialogue
5. background/ senses
6. opening - catch attention right away. introduce main character, state the problem, establish intriguing situation, conflict (2 dogs and one bone), suspense, shape (beginning/middle/end)
7. event should be relevant to the theme
8. satisfying ending: unexpected but inevitable
11:49 PM
Friday, April 04, 2003
April 1, 2003
MEMORY EXERCISE AGAIN
Comments received: Add dialogue. Try starting with the inciting event at the beginning, see if it works (meaning, start with the knife agad).
Draft One:
She stands beside the refrigerator, all smug-faced and haughty. I lunge at her, trying not to trip lest I actually stab her. I hold the knife to hear throat and challenged her to fight back. I could feel the blood rush to my face, my hands. My teeth were tightly clenched as I tried with all my might to control the distance of the blade from her skin. She stares back at me. Expressionless. Like she didn't care. Nobody moves. Silence falls upon the room. All we could hear is heavy breathing. Mine. She, on the other hand, is cool and calm. I hiss at her, ordering her to say something. She sneers and her slit eyes narrow. I wait, knife still in hand, blade still on her throat. Her hand suddenly shoots up. She waves it toward the blade. Holds it firmly, pushes it away, and let's out a victorious "Hah!" I drop the knife, unable to speak. Such courage from somebody so young, I think. I turn away, walk over to a corner, and sit facing the wall.
Another memory:
There wasn't any sound but the gentle whir of the airconditioner. The bed the 3 of us shared kept jiggling, because Melissa kept turning, apparently tying to find the perfect sleeping position. Tenten kept nudging her with her elbow.
"Lissa, keep still! And stop nudging my arm with your butt!"
After a few minutes, the room was quiet again. They're probably asleep, I thought. Suddenly, I felt something scratching my back. I turned. It was Lissa.
"Ate takot ako. Hug mo ako."
Evil sister I was, I answered in a low, raspy voice, "Hindi ako ang ate mo."
Her eyes grew wide and she climbed on top of Tenten, who was way thinner than her. "Ate Ten, anong nangyari kay Ate Ness???"
And bad sister she also was, she said in a singsong, cold, whispery tone, "HIndi ako ang ate mo..."
Lissa let out a squeal of terror. "MOMMYYYYY!!!!" She was flailing on the bed, kicking us as we tried to scare her even more by reaching out to touch her.
We were having such a ball when the lights turned on, and there was my mom at the doorway, red faced, hair in shocking disarray. Tenten and I shut up. Lissa ran to my mom, hugging her legs, sobbing to death. MY mom was frozen. What a sight! Tenten and I looked at each other. Then we laughed.
We got a good whipping after that.
12:20 AM
March 31, 2003
ELEMENTS OF CREATIVE WRITING
I. theme
II. show, don't tell. Avoid putting tears in the eyes of your character, instead, bring tears to the eyes of your reader
III. Style. Enemies of good style include: incorrect grammar/punctuation, cliches (words/situations), sentimentality, clumsy phrases/deadwood, be wary of adjectives, writing is action
IV. focus. write in depth. precision.
V. Nail down the camera. Viewpoint.
VI. Sound reasoning. SFX.
VII. Characters
EXERCISE: Focus on one object and write a page on it WITHOUT USING ADJECTIVES. After writing it, you are allowed to insert one luxury adjective only. (time: 10 mins)
The stone sits firmly as water trickles, drowning it. It probably seeks release but the grip of the pot on its base prevents it from doing so. It is paralyzed. It looks out the window and calls out voicelessly to the passers-by.
"Look at me," it says, "I need you to free me from my price tag and shelf. Show me what it's like to be outside. I'd like to hear sound apart from flowing water, and I'd like to sit on things besides planks and stones."
But the stone remains where it is despite its desire. And the water endlessly flows over it, around it. If this goes on, water will run through it, but by then the stone will be gone. It's a sad fact of nature.
The stone can wait till it's noticed, but for now it cries out helplessly, and yes, still voicelessly. It will drown, no doubt. Or disappear. But who knows? Perhaps the water is its tears.
EXERCISE TWO: Close your eyes. Think of a memory. As soon as you are told you open your eyes, write. (10 mins)
I could still hear her squeaky voice in my ear. We were in the family van. Farthest seat back to be exact. Camcorder in hand, I tried to convince my 6-year-old sister to sing the Christmas Alphabet. At first, she shook her head incessantly, groaning and rolling on the gray seat while munching on Cheese Curls. Her teeth had turned orange and she had yellow crumbs all over her face.
I tried to poke her sides, between the ribs and the hip bone (that's where she's ticklish), to make her laugh and give in. Her laughter was like bells ringing in my ear, only hers was more pigglety - like you were trying to catch a squealing pig in a mud race. After a while, Cheese curls all over both of us, some on the camera, some on my hair, she agreed to sing.
I positioned the camcorder to focus on her face. Just her face. She could fill it, I tell you. And sang with eyes closed, and bits of orange still on her.
She let out an "ahem" and began. "C is for the candy trim around the Christmas tree..." It was a simple moment, but it was heaven for me. The voices of our parents in the front slowly faded. The only voice that filled my ears, my thoughts, my heart, was hers.
12:06 AM
Thursday, April 03, 2003
APRIL 3, 2003
CREATIVE INK WORKSHOP
HOMEWORK
Think of a person. Then think of a word to describe that person. Write something that would reinforce/prove he/she is such.
DRAFT ONE:
Wednesday. April 2, 2003 homework
374 words
Conceited. That's what I would call my now 17-year-old sister, Tenten. She and her long, black, ultra-straight hair to the middle of her back, aggravated by the concept-turned-lifestyle Lucy Liu attitude. People always said she looked like the Asian actress. I couldn't help but agree. They have the same basic features: slit eyes (that are slightly crossed-eyed, hehehe...), olive skin, jet-black straight hair. But I don't tell her that over and over. It would be like creating my own hell. She would be spending hours in front of the mirror, poking at her face with her hands, squeezing her face in between her palms or sucking in her cheeks, to make her look thinner, and, yes, more like Lucy Liu. And I can only watch. She's the "it' girl, and she knows it. Whenever we go to the mall, she would bathe herself in cologne, spraying about 5 times, before we even leave the house. And when we finally get there, she squirts a couple more before we get off the car. She is a walking perfume factory. I could smell the sweet fruity scent of her body spray meters away, which is, by the way, not so sweet to me anymore, but deadly. Her long legs stride gracefully on the white tile floor, eyes looking from side to side to find out if there's anybody who's looking at her. And there are a LOT. I have to hand it to my sister for this skill of walking in paranoia without appearing obsessed. She glides slowly, painstakingly, but her head just faces front, and, though her eyes are frantically searching for would-be spectators of her gloriousness, her head never moves. Nope, not one bit. She adores the attention. Though it can get really annoying, I let her be. She lives for it. The family is content with the idea that one among us is drowning in vanity. We find it a novelty. When I go back to Davao, I'll have to bring her more of those girlie magazines she likes burying her face into, including flower printed headbands that Candymag says is so "in" for the summer (you know, just to reinforce her happening status), and a new bottle of body spray.
COMMENTS GIVEN:
appearance ( nagmamadali kasi kaya walang spacing in between paragraphs)
focus on one particular memory
DRAFT TWO:
April 3, 2003 8pm
She tucks her white turtleneck in her jeans, and twirls in front of the mirror, cheeks sucked in. "Pwede na ba ito?" She asks me, hands on her hips. I try not to react. Anyone who like tucking turtleneck would look like a Japayuki, but on her, it actually looked good. She snorts at me like I was the greated fashion dumbass and faces the mirror again, twirling her hair.
She likes drawing attention to how pretty she is.
I almost suffocate as she bathes herself in the fruity, flowery body spray - on her neck, wrists, back, nape, tummy; she even sprays on the air and dances underneath the falling microdroplets of cologne. She takes another look at the mirror and fixes her hair.
"A strand is out of place," she explains.
"I didn't even ask. And I don't see any stray hair," says me, fighting the urge to gag and throw something at her. For some reason, she keep tucking and untucking her shirt. Then twirls infront of the mirror again, then sprays cologne. It is I who is nearing death out of exasperation. Not her. Somebody should put her in a straitjacket.
"You know, if you really want to have your outfit on perfectly, you should try wiping gel all over you. Maximum hold. Mura lang."
She huffs, tosses her hair, sprays one more time, and stomps out of the room.
10:22 PM
We revere Jesus Christ today for His saving power and grace. But man's belief of Him did not come to life until after He died, save for His apostles and a few people. He was scorned for saying He was the Messiah. That was centuries ago, and this was not unusual. The people were perhaps confused. At that period, a lot of men walked around claiming they held the answers to salvation and know the way to eternal life. One of these men, which I will be discussing in length, is Simon Magus, also known as Simon Faustus, meaning, "the favored one."
The Church regarded Simon the Father of All Heresy. He was a Samaritan from the village of Gitta who existed in the time of Jesus and the apostles. During those times, Samaria was known for having non-conventional, and rather seditious, views of religion. The Orthodox Church regarded the place as the center of sin. It was in this environment where Simon Magus attempted to perform miracles, claimed he can save the world, and performed magic or sorcery. He was a Gnostic – a man who claims deeper wisdom of the Christian religion. Gnosticism, however, does not guarantee truth. A gnostic only claims he knows it. Magus preached not as merely a disciple, not a representative of God, but as himself a Messiah. "I am God. And I have come... But I wish to save you."
It is said that while the apostles were performing miracles of healing the sick by invoking the Holy Spirit, Simon caught sight and was awed. Naturally, being a practitioner of the magical arts and dreaming of outdoing the powers of Christ and the Holy Spirit, he desired to also possess it. He wanted to own the power Jesus Christ and his followers had. His desire was, in fact, so great that he was willing to pay money in exchange. This, of course, repulsed the apostles. In Acts 8:5-24, Peter scoffs at him saying, "May your money perish with you, because you thought you could buy the Gift of God with money!" Today, we call this act "simony", named after the heretic, which refers to persons who buy their way into positions in Church hierarchy.
There are mixed views on the validity of Simon Magus's claims. Some revered him and built a Simonian sect in honor of him in hopeful continuation of his teachings and expansion of the number of his followers. Others treat him with vehemence, saying that he is a false messiah. A great con. Certain archaeological studies even disproved the claim of Simon's divination. Annals tell us that he died in Rome while performing one of this magic stunts. He failed to get himself out of a box where he buried himself alive, confirming that he is not all-powerful and miraculous.
However, whatever one's judgment may be, one thing is for sure. Simon Magus remains one of the more interesting figures of biblical history. If what he claims is true, then we are to feel guilty for not believing. However, if there is no truth at all to his words, then he deserves where he ended up in – under the ground, buried and dead.
9:59 PM
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