but if i wanted silence
i would whisper
and if i wanted loneliness
i'd choose to go
and if i like rejection
i'd audition
and if i didn't love you
you would know...
and why can't you just hold me?
and how come it is so hard
and do you like to see me broken
and why do i still care?
poor little misunderstood baby
no one likes a sad face...
… then i guess no one likes me …
08 March 2007
Just Hold Me
but if i wanted silence
i would whisper
and if i wanted loneliness
i'd choose to go
and if i like rejection
i'd audition
and if i didn't love you
you would know...
and why can't you just hold me?
and how come it is so hard
and do you like to see me broken
and why do i still care?
poor little misunderstood baby
no one likes a sad face...
… then i guess no one likes me …
THAT DAY, I DIED
the following post is a short story i wrote sometime in august 2006..
That day, I lived.
From what I gathered, she was a sweet girl. Her smile could melt even the hardest of hearts; her face was that of an angel, her eyes were soft and gentle – like a calming breeze on a hot summer’s day. Her skin was fair and smooth and even her hair seemed to shine. Though she was petite and could easily be lost in a crowd, the moment you see her she would easily stand out. She was finely sculpted, a mixture of strength and sensuality. She exuded this grace and delicacy that could no longer be found in any other girl of our age – it’s as if she glowed. Simply put, she was beautiful.
The sun barely shone that day. It was a small gathering, mostly of family and some of my sister’s closest friends. They were all wracked with grief, commemorating her – exactly the way she wanted it. In heartfelt tears, they all say that they’re never again going to hear her laugh, or speak, or sing, because now she’s all gone. I say, now she’s all mine.
My job at the local gazette brought me to her. My editor was something short of a real father to her and her sister, and he wanted to run a full page farewell for her sister, “now that she has passed on.” Big deal. Don’t get me wrong, I respect my editor, I love my job and I like doing what I do. But sacrificing all the obituaries I have written for tomorrow’s issue for just one person seems so wrong. It’s just wrong.
There he was, a man. He was not invited to the wake. He was neither a member of our family nor a friend of my sister that I knew of. I asked him if he was lost. He looked back at me, obviously confused. “Mr. Edwards…” No wonder.
Is this the dead girl’s sister? I wondered. The toll of death on those it leaves behind comes in many ways. - Hysteria, tears, the four stages of grief. Just like the scene that surrounded me. But hers was different. She is beautiful, and though I have just met her now, I know, by the way her full, red lips curved into a smile, that she has never been this exuberant. This happy. Triumphant. How could one be triumphant over her own sister’s death? I wonder…
He looked up at me, his eyes clouded, full of questions. His hair was a mess, as if he’s just woken up. His mouth was parted to a small “O”, it was like he was amazed at what he was seeing – me. No. He was bewildered, like a child lost in a sea of strangers. He kept to himself, periodically surveying the room, a cat, ready to pounce on his unsuspecting prey. He was sharp, silent and maybe even dangerous. I think I’m in love.
I got up and walked around, talking to people. All I know is that a girl is dead. I did not know why or how. I did not know what she was when she was still alive. Nor did I have any idea how she could have inspired so many tears. It’s time to get to know her. It’s time to do my job.
My lover – he’s talking to other people. No. I will not allow this. He should be mine. Just mine. No one else can have him, but me. He will mine.
It was not an ordinary death. According to those who were gathered, today was supposed to be her wedding day – her fiancé was the one up front, with his head in his hands, his back an impossible arch – like he intended to break it. At that moment, he carried a weight heavier than any one else on earth. I came up to him. “It’s better this way,” I fumbled, never having learned the art of comforting others, “at least now she won’t have to suffer. You should be happy for her.” He stared back at me, with bloodshot eyes, speaking nothing. As I turned to move on, he whispered: She was murdered. Oh.
He was evil, my sister’s boyfriend. He wanted to take her away from me. He wanted her to leave me. She loved him, the bastard. She did everything he asked, she was willing to go, to be all his. But now, she’s all mine.
So many people seemed to care about her. All of them in deep misery, contemplating a treasure they have lost. Murdered. How did she die? My curiosity was aroused and I cannot hold back.
What is he still doing? It’s been a long time. He should be back here with me by now. Why is he talking to all these people? They’re not his friends. They don’t care about him. I am the only one who does. Only I love him. Only I care. Why hasn’t he come back to me yet? I’m getting impatient.
They say she was choked to death two days before her wedding. Her sister, the beautiful one, walked into their garage hours before dawn to find her lifeless body on the floor, limp and cold. She must have been really shocked, they said. The fiancé came into the garage that afternoon, looking for his beloved. He saw the two sisters on the floor – one dead with her eyes closed, it was a hot afternoon, and she was starting to decompose; the other sister sitting up in a fetal position, looking down, oblivious to the stench. Her face was unreadable.
He’s coming back to me. Good.
What the authorities have now of the suspect were all assumptions. They believe she was killed by a woman smaller than her, whose hands could hardly make it around her neck. The marks on her neck were slightly angled and wounds were found in places where a woman’s long nails might have dug into. She was killed by a small woman of strength, with small hands and long nails.
He sat down, his forehead wrinkled, deep in thought. He looks even better now than he did a while ago. That moment, I knew. He must be mine.
A scary thought passed through my mind. I shivered. She held my hand, and asked me what’s wrong. It was a mistake to look down. Her hands were dainty, her fingers small, and her nails long. I hope I was wrong.
He stood up to go. He did not even say goodbye.
There was blood under her nails.
No, he can’t leave me. Now he’s going to be mine.
I hear her footsteps. She’s drawing near.
Now we’re alone.
I was right.
All mine.
What drives people crazy? What drives them insane? Sometimes I have to wonder.
From what I gathered, she was a sweet girl. Her smile could melt even the hardest of hearts; her face was that of an angel, her eyes were soft and gentle – like a calming breeze on a hot summer’s day. Her skin was fair and smooth and even her hair seemed to shine. Though she was petite and could easily be lost in a crowd, the moment you see her she would easily stand out. She was finely sculpted, a mixture of strength and sensuality. She exuded this grace and delicacy that could no longer be found in any other girl of our age – it’s as if she glowed. Simply put, she was beautiful.
The sun barely shone that day. It was a small gathering, mostly of family and some of my sister’s closest friends. They were all wracked with grief, commemorating her – exactly the way she wanted it. In heartfelt tears, they all say that they’re never again going to hear her laugh, or speak, or sing, because now she’s all gone. I say, now she’s all mine.
My job at the local gazette brought me to her. My editor was something short of a real father to her and her sister, and he wanted to run a full page farewell for her sister, “now that she has passed on.” Big deal. Don’t get me wrong, I respect my editor, I love my job and I like doing what I do. But sacrificing all the obituaries I have written for tomorrow’s issue for just one person seems so wrong. It’s just wrong.
There he was, a man. He was not invited to the wake. He was neither a member of our family nor a friend of my sister that I knew of. I asked him if he was lost. He looked back at me, obviously confused. “Mr. Edwards…” No wonder.
Is this the dead girl’s sister? I wondered. The toll of death on those it leaves behind comes in many ways. - Hysteria, tears, the four stages of grief. Just like the scene that surrounded me. But hers was different. She is beautiful, and though I have just met her now, I know, by the way her full, red lips curved into a smile, that she has never been this exuberant. This happy. Triumphant. How could one be triumphant over her own sister’s death? I wonder…
He looked up at me, his eyes clouded, full of questions. His hair was a mess, as if he’s just woken up. His mouth was parted to a small “O”, it was like he was amazed at what he was seeing – me. No. He was bewildered, like a child lost in a sea of strangers. He kept to himself, periodically surveying the room, a cat, ready to pounce on his unsuspecting prey. He was sharp, silent and maybe even dangerous. I think I’m in love.
I got up and walked around, talking to people. All I know is that a girl is dead. I did not know why or how. I did not know what she was when she was still alive. Nor did I have any idea how she could have inspired so many tears. It’s time to get to know her. It’s time to do my job.
My lover – he’s talking to other people. No. I will not allow this. He should be mine. Just mine. No one else can have him, but me. He will mine.
It was not an ordinary death. According to those who were gathered, today was supposed to be her wedding day – her fiancé was the one up front, with his head in his hands, his back an impossible arch – like he intended to break it. At that moment, he carried a weight heavier than any one else on earth. I came up to him. “It’s better this way,” I fumbled, never having learned the art of comforting others, “at least now she won’t have to suffer. You should be happy for her.” He stared back at me, with bloodshot eyes, speaking nothing. As I turned to move on, he whispered: She was murdered. Oh.
He was evil, my sister’s boyfriend. He wanted to take her away from me. He wanted her to leave me. She loved him, the bastard. She did everything he asked, she was willing to go, to be all his. But now, she’s all mine.
So many people seemed to care about her. All of them in deep misery, contemplating a treasure they have lost. Murdered. How did she die? My curiosity was aroused and I cannot hold back.
What is he still doing? It’s been a long time. He should be back here with me by now. Why is he talking to all these people? They’re not his friends. They don’t care about him. I am the only one who does. Only I love him. Only I care. Why hasn’t he come back to me yet? I’m getting impatient.
They say she was choked to death two days before her wedding. Her sister, the beautiful one, walked into their garage hours before dawn to find her lifeless body on the floor, limp and cold. She must have been really shocked, they said. The fiancé came into the garage that afternoon, looking for his beloved. He saw the two sisters on the floor – one dead with her eyes closed, it was a hot afternoon, and she was starting to decompose; the other sister sitting up in a fetal position, looking down, oblivious to the stench. Her face was unreadable.
He’s coming back to me. Good.
What the authorities have now of the suspect were all assumptions. They believe she was killed by a woman smaller than her, whose hands could hardly make it around her neck. The marks on her neck were slightly angled and wounds were found in places where a woman’s long nails might have dug into. She was killed by a small woman of strength, with small hands and long nails.
He sat down, his forehead wrinkled, deep in thought. He looks even better now than he did a while ago. That moment, I knew. He must be mine.
A scary thought passed through my mind. I shivered. She held my hand, and asked me what’s wrong. It was a mistake to look down. Her hands were dainty, her fingers small, and her nails long. I hope I was wrong.
He stood up to go. He did not even say goodbye.
There was blood under her nails.
No, he can’t leave me. Now he’s going to be mine.
I hear her footsteps. She’s drawing near.
Now we’re alone.
I was right.
All mine.
What Went Wrong?
i would just like to point out that the following is a reaction paper. and that i really don't care who reads it. and that if anybody will not like it, it's their fault for expecting too much of themselves, or for reading it in the first place.
really, i'd rather just shout it out to the world than find out that some people read my reaction paper and did not like it, especially when it's none of their business to read it, anyway.
the reaction paper was a requirement for a teacher. she asked us to react. so i gave my views. they're MINE. and if you've got any complaints, that's your problem. Ü
p.s. i would like to thank whoever will read this and appreciate the honesty i have written this with.
It is with deepest regret that I express my disappointment in this year’s Scientia Ensemble Theater production of Grease! Because of the success of last year’s God, I really was expecting something phenomenal. Instead I got a mediocre performance.
I do not wish to be rude nor do I intend to hurt anyone. This is a reaction paper and I plan to react, though I wish I had better things to say. Sadly, I would just like to point out that my dissatisfaction for last night’s event is not only for the play, but for the audience members as well.
The audience, which is made up mostly of Scientians, were like a pack of hyenas last night, howling and shouting the moment the lights were turned off. During the course of the play, some were standing up, “ignorant” to the fact that they are blocking other people’s line of sight – though if they really were blissfully unaware of this situation, they don’t deserve to have a brain, much more a member of our hallowed student body.
Many were also complaining because the student audience was made to sit on the floor. I noticed this too. I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but I believe that the spectators of San Francisco High School’s play were more comfortable.
Even before the show has started, I had the feeling that something was wrong. The actors were roaming around the audience and it was only when the court started filling up that they were testing the microphones. That was just wrong.
The lights dim, and despite the heat, I shiver in anticipation waiting for the play to begin. The first song begins and I crane my neck as high as I can, almost kneeling, just to get a good view. The first song ends and I’m frowning in my seat. This is not what I expected. This is SO not what I expected.
The sound system was faulty, the stage was crowded, the lighting was horrible, the singers weren’t exceedingly good, and the dancing was lame. I can’t believe this! Maybe I just expected too much.
Of course, in darkness, there is always light. I would like to commend Ms. Kathleen Mae Villanueva for an exceptional portrayal of Jan, and Mr. Manfred Manalo in his role of Eugene. They were the only ones despite the main protagonists who seemed to catch my attention.
I can’t get over the thought that the SET was not well-prepared. In conclusion, the play had rough spots. Really, they could have done so much better.
What went wrong?
really, i'd rather just shout it out to the world than find out that some people read my reaction paper and did not like it, especially when it's none of their business to read it, anyway.
the reaction paper was a requirement for a teacher. she asked us to react. so i gave my views. they're MINE. and if you've got any complaints, that's your problem. Ü
p.s. i would like to thank whoever will read this and appreciate the honesty i have written this with.
What Went Wrong?
No, seriously, what went wrong?It is with deepest regret that I express my disappointment in this year’s Scientia Ensemble Theater production of Grease! Because of the success of last year’s God, I really was expecting something phenomenal. Instead I got a mediocre performance.
I do not wish to be rude nor do I intend to hurt anyone. This is a reaction paper and I plan to react, though I wish I had better things to say. Sadly, I would just like to point out that my dissatisfaction for last night’s event is not only for the play, but for the audience members as well.
The audience, which is made up mostly of Scientians, were like a pack of hyenas last night, howling and shouting the moment the lights were turned off. During the course of the play, some were standing up, “ignorant” to the fact that they are blocking other people’s line of sight – though if they really were blissfully unaware of this situation, they don’t deserve to have a brain, much more a member of our hallowed student body.
Many were also complaining because the student audience was made to sit on the floor. I noticed this too. I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but I believe that the spectators of San Francisco High School’s play were more comfortable.
Even before the show has started, I had the feeling that something was wrong. The actors were roaming around the audience and it was only when the court started filling up that they were testing the microphones. That was just wrong.
The lights dim, and despite the heat, I shiver in anticipation waiting for the play to begin. The first song begins and I crane my neck as high as I can, almost kneeling, just to get a good view. The first song ends and I’m frowning in my seat. This is not what I expected. This is SO not what I expected.
The sound system was faulty, the stage was crowded, the lighting was horrible, the singers weren’t exceedingly good, and the dancing was lame. I can’t believe this! Maybe I just expected too much.
Of course, in darkness, there is always light. I would like to commend Ms. Kathleen Mae Villanueva for an exceptional portrayal of Jan, and Mr. Manfred Manalo in his role of Eugene. They were the only ones despite the main protagonists who seemed to catch my attention.
I can’t get over the thought that the SET was not well-prepared. In conclusion, the play had rough spots. Really, they could have done so much better.
What went wrong?
07 March 2007
GLASS MANNEQUIN
GLASS MANNEQUIN
I know I'm not perfect
I really don't care
I know my blunders and my mistakes
Don't use them against me
You're unfair
You're treading on grounds that were never yours
My mind and my body are mine alone
What do you want with me?
Do you want to dismantle
What little I am?
Leave! Go away!
I'm not yours.
What do you want with me?
I'm no doll, I'm not a toy
I have a heart that bleeds
Each time you speak
Can't you see I want to run away?
Stop!
You're hurting me! You've cut me deep!
The river flows, it never stopped
Tides rush past
I'm melting into nothingness.
I am fragile, I am weak
My heart is made of glass
I am human, I bleed
I cannot stop.
You can't make me into you
That's no excuse to hurt me!
Don't touch me, don't push me
Stop it! Stop!
You're breaking me, go away!
Shattered...
I know I'm not perfect
I really don't care
I know my blunders and my mistakes
Don't use them against me
You're unfair
You're treading on grounds that were never yours
My mind and my body are mine alone
What do you want with me?
Do you want to dismantle
What little I am?
Leave! Go away!
I'm not yours.
What do you want with me?
I'm no doll, I'm not a toy
I have a heart that bleeds
Each time you speak
Can't you see I want to run away?
Stop!
You're hurting me! You've cut me deep!
The river flows, it never stopped
Tides rush past
I'm melting into nothingness.
I am fragile, I am weak
My heart is made of glass
I am human, I bleed
I cannot stop.
You can't make me into you
That's no excuse to hurt me!
Don't touch me, don't push me
Stop it! Stop!
You're breaking me, go away!
Shattered...
04 March 2007
meanwhile, this song is MY OWN SONG (oh-my-god i actually made chords!).. as in i did everything.. both the lyrics AND the music.. although the music ain't that good.. the lyrics are okay though..
by the way, this song works two ways.
1. it's to thank the people who have always been there for me, for making me feel worthy of life. i love you guys,so much..
2. it's a big f*** off to those people who have hurt me, and all the others who think badly of me, because of you guys i've learned not to care. so f*** off. i've got my life to live..
Thank You
Precious Gan
Intro: D A G E
D A G Em G Asus2
Intro: D A G E
D A G Em G Asus2
I.
D-E
Look out, I’m gonna come out
A7
I’m gonna stare you in the eye
C-D
No longer are you breaking my heart
E-A7
It’s over, move over
C
It’s time for you to listen now
F#m-G
and witness all the pain that you've caused
Refrain. [do intro chords]
Thank you, thank you
Now I can see
exactly where I should be
Thank you, thank you.
for opening my eyes
To see what I am inside
[intro]
I.
D-E
Listen can you hear me singing
A7
These are the lessons that I’ve learned
C
There are some things you cannot turn
D-E-A7
Around, to change the way that people see
C
Who it is that you choose to be
F#m-F#-G
They can't hurt me, they can't change me
[chorus]
[intro]
Asus2-A
Close the door
G
Turn away
C-G#m7
From the indifference, excitement
Em
Close your eyes
A
Feel your heart
G-Em-G-Asus2
And figure out who you are
[refrain x2]
[intro]
D
by the way, this song works two ways.
1. it's to thank the people who have always been there for me, for making me feel worthy of life. i love you guys,so much..
2. it's a big f*** off to those people who have hurt me, and all the others who think badly of me, because of you guys i've learned not to care. so f*** off. i've got my life to live..
Thank You
Precious Gan
Intro: D A G E
D A G Em G Asus2
Intro: D A G E
D A G Em G Asus2
I.
D-E
Look out, I’m gonna come out
A7
I’m gonna stare you in the eye
C-D
No longer are you breaking my heart
E-A7
It’s over, move over
C
It’s time for you to listen now
F#m-G
and witness all the pain that you've caused
Refrain. [do intro chords]
Thank you, thank you
Now I can see
exactly where I should be
Thank you, thank you.
for opening my eyes
To see what I am inside
[intro]
I.
D-E
Listen can you hear me singing
A7
These are the lessons that I’ve learned
C
There are some things you cannot turn
D-E-A7
Around, to change the way that people see
C
Who it is that you choose to be
F#m-F#-G
They can't hurt me, they can't change me
[chorus]
[intro]
Asus2-A
Close the door
G
Turn away
C-G#m7
From the indifference, excitement
Em
Close your eyes
A
Feel your heart
G-Em-G-Asus2
And figure out who you are
[refrain x2]
[intro]
D
ok..for a change..a few song lyrics naman..
this song has a weird set of words,but basically,it's a song of somebody who feels pressured because of the expectations amd roles she has to face..
These Shoes
Maria Mena
i said, i said, i said
i would cater to your ego
and fold my hands and pray for your religion
if you would love me and walk me everyday
you said, you said, you said
you would not let your indecision
get in the way of my night
but you still managed to bring your bad temper
to my little show
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
coz you squeeze too hard
let go of my head
they said, they said, they said
i should get a hobby like learn
to play the accordion to sell some of my records
but my fingers can't keep up
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
coz you squeeze too hard
let go of my head
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
coz you squeeze too hard
let go of my head
this song has a weird set of words,but basically,it's a song of somebody who feels pressured because of the expectations amd roles she has to face..
These Shoes
Maria Mena
i said, i said, i said
i would cater to your ego
and fold my hands and pray for your religion
if you would love me and walk me everyday
you said, you said, you said
you would not let your indecision
get in the way of my night
but you still managed to bring your bad temper
to my little show
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
coz you squeeze too hard
let go of my head
they said, they said, they said
i should get a hobby like learn
to play the accordion to sell some of my records
but my fingers can't keep up
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
coz you squeeze too hard
let go of my head
i cannot walk in these shoes
they hurt my toes
i cannot stay in your grip
you hurt my nose
coz you squeeze too hard
let go of my head
ALIPIN NG PAG-IBIG
mahirap magmahal ng taong hindi mo pinangarap
sa oras at panahon, palagi nalang salat
kahit na madalas alam niya ang linalaman ng isip
sa panahon na pinapangarap di mabatid ang damdamin
kay sakit magtiis ng paulit-ulit
tila kwerdas sa leeg na unti-unting humihigpit
ipit na tinig sa naninikip na lalamunan
marinig pa kaya ang sigaw ng nagdaramdam?
tila dugo na pumapatak unti-unti mula sa pulso,
at mga nag-iinit na sugat na pinakatatago
at ang luhang pumapatak ng paisa-isa
parang kandila ng pag-asang makasama siya...
unti-unting nauupos.
kailangan pa bang magpakasakit at malagutan ng hininga,
maging anghel o espiritu o multong di niya makikita
kung ito'y masakatuparan, hiling kaya'y mapagbigyan
na kahit anu pa mangyari, sa piling mo'y di mawawalan?
kay hirap gawing manhid ang pusong dumaraing
di lang sakit ang nawawala kundi pati paglambing
ang sitwasyon na lalo lamang lumalala
makatatakas pa ba at makakalaya?
ngunit ang bihag na umiibig buong lugod magpapapiit
hangga't naisin pa ng bantay na siya'y makapiling
tuloy ang pagnanasang balang araw masuklian,
sakit at dusa dala ng pag-aasam...
...sa pag-ibig ng panginoong habambuhay pagsisilbihan
at tanging pag-ibig niya ang nais ng lingkod makamtan
sana nga'y ang mapaglarong oras ay bumilis at manatili
sa panahong kahit sa anino man lamang niya ako'y mananatili.
I AM
A person can be described in many ways. He is a creation of God, a servant. But he is also the lord and stewardess of everything else on earth. He is a solitary being who is born alone and will die alone, yet he cannot live alone. A person is a complex creature and could hardly be classified even by the best scientist or greatest philosophers.
The way I see it, one can be a person on account of two things – humanity and individuality. These two must work hand in hand to produce a person. Otherwise, one would only be a human or an individual.
To be human, we need to be alive. To live, we must maximize the use of what senses we have. We must savor our lives, to see, to hear, to feel, to taste and to feel everything around us. Therefore, to live my life to the fullest, I must experience what I can, I must make choices and decide what paths I must take, what actions I must do, bearing in mind my limits and responsibilities. I must learn.
I SEE.
I grew up in a world that may not be sheltered, but is, in a way, apart from everyone else’s. I was not aware of how other people lived their lives, or how it was on the other side. When I entered Quezon City Science High School, I was exposed to many different kinds of people. Some who were rich and some who were poor, some people who were smart and some who were just real good in studying, some who took responsibility for their actions, some who’d rather blame it on others.
Before I entered high school, I thought of it as a fairy tale. A place where I would learn, live and love. Yes, I did get to do all this, but high school is more than just that. High school is a journey, a plane ride on an unchartered course, with the windows all open. You can feel the harsh wind rushing past, tearing through you and blowing you away, crushing the breath out of you, until you’re nearly limp and lifeless. But still you must hang on, and grab on whatever you can, because you must be there when the plane lands, wherever it lands, before you can move on into a life you know will be worth living.
I HEAR.
My tenure as a staff member of our school newspaper did more than just give me an addditional headache, which is the pressure of meeting deadlines. It also opened my eyes to a brand new horizon, and my ears to the voices of my fellow students. I knew things I never thought I’d know – things other members of our student body would still be ignorant of were it not for the journalism staff.
I heard myself express an opinion. In writing, I heard my voice immortalized in paper, where other people could hear what I had to say and I know that someday, future generations of Scientians would be reading it as well, in their own back copies or in passing, moving on to a much more worthwhile editorial. Maybe something with greater social relevance, or something of more depth. But my voice will forever be on those pages, and I have left a legacy of my own.
I SMELL.
My stint as a COCC (Cadet Officers Candidate Course) cadet taught me camaraderie, discipline and humility. This was the first time I had made friends on my own, and felt the bond of people who suffered together, who shared the same pains and woes, at least on a physical level. I have learned to hurriedly change my clothes, pin on my nameplate, wear a hairnet and make sure everything is in order before rushing to the training area with my “buddies”.
I have smelled the pungent odor of sweat, of my own and of others. As well as the smell of the ground after it has rained, or that of the earth on a hot, dry day. I have smelled defeat, when I go home feeling dejected, feeling that I’m not as “snappy” as I aspire to be. But I have also smelled victory, graduating from something I had worked so hard for, something that I have dreamed of becoming ever since I was in the lower ranks of elementary education. Finally, I am a CAT Cadet Officer.
I TOUCH.
Perhaps the greatest thing I learned in high school is that young as I am, no matter how insignificant I may be against well known students, popular artists or notorious politicians, I can still touch lives. I can still be an important part of other people’s most treasured experiences, and I can still influence their thoughts and emotions.
I learned that though I am nothing, I am worth something. I know that in my own way I have changed others, for better or for worse, and that somehow I had helped mold them into what they are now. I can see it. In my friends, in the people I have grown to love and will love, even as we grow older, because they too had a significance in my life. They too have changed me, molded me into what I am now.
I TASTE.
Each year in high school I go through a new experience that helps me understand what certain emotions really mean. I learn that they’re not just words. In fact, words alone cannot be able to describe how it is to taste fear, pride, awe, guilt, hate and love.
I have a seen a close friend battle with his nemesis, though in the end, his battle was with himself. I have felt how it is to have people look up to you, to adore you after you have done something worth their attention, yet I have also felt how it is to be ignored, to be invisible. I found out how to hurt another person, with the things I say and do, and how to seek retribution for my sins, to repent and wish I had not done what I did. I have learned how to pray, not with the memorized lines I have learned as a child, but with words straight from my soul. I have learned to thank God, to praise Him, and in my most desperate moments, to ask for help.
I have learned how it is to hate someone so deeply, that hate turns to passion, to perseverance to become someone so much better than what she thinks she is. I am also lucky enough to have learned love. From my classmates, from my friends, from my COCC “buddies” and from people whose love exceeds that of just a friend. The love of people I have treated as brothers and sisters, and people whose love exceeds even that, as if they were an indispensable part of my being - these people who left their marks in my heart.
The most important thing I have learned in high school must be to treasure those simple moments I spend with those whom I care for so much. That the world bites, but it doesn’t matter, because I have my friends, family, my guardian angel and God on my side.
Now you ask, how then could I say that I also have individuality?
I recognize my humanity and I value it. I appreciate the things around me and that fact that I could cherish and interact with them. I am special and I am one and alone. No one else could be me or be like me. I am special. Not many people know this about themselves, which makes me unique.
I am human. I am an individual. I am BOTH human and individual. I have defined myself: I AM.
01 March 2007
Depression
~yet another useless monologue~
~yet another useless monologue~
What is this word that many use so loosely? Do they really understand it? Do they even know it? Do they even care?
You feel sad, maybe troubled, maybe frustrated – you say you’re depressed. You broadcast it to the whole world and ask people for solutions. Is that what you think it is? Do you really think you’re depressed?
No, you’re not.
Have you ever snuck into an empty room, as empty as you feel, and cried your heart out for no discernible reason?
Have you hurt yourself in places nobody else could see? Maybe banged yourself up bad on a few occasions, managing to hide whatever marks you had left – the torn skin, the bruises, the bumps and the scars.
Have you found pain enjoyable, if only to provide momentary pause to your misery?
Have you ever locked yourself in the bathroom, or anywhere else where no one can hear you, screaming in your anguish, and sitting there for hours with the water running, pounding your fists and your head on the wall, slamming your body against it, pulling at your hair, feeling lost and confused – and that throbbing you feel still can’t conceal the burning marks from the shrapnel that hit you from your internal battle?
Do you feel alone, even in a group? Do you choose to stay alone because you feel that it’s the only way you won’t be troubling anyone else with your dilemma, because they won’t understand anyway, and you’re not sure if they would even try.
Would you rather sit in your own little corner and be ignored by everyone who, if you were only up to the challenge, you would want nothing more than to please? Would you rather write random words, whatever that comes into your head, making incomprehensible sentences, and just tearing up the paper afterwards? Or do you write for the sake of writing, not caring if others read your thoughts, because you know that no one will be able to comprehend anyway.
Do you suffer in isolation BECAUSE of your isolation, and shrink at the thought of a crowd? Do you keep company, hoping for that warmth you so long sought after, but in the end just being thankful when they leave you alone… and later on regretting what you’ve earlier wished for? And perhaps this is not an eternal combat in which you rage, but something that comes and goes as it pleases – and when it goes, it leaves you its ghost, scaring you out of your wits, and promising its return.
Do you cower in fear of people knowing your true state? Do you tremble at the thought that someone will find out what keeps you up at night – what, you still can’t figure out. Do you hide behind a mask, behind a moat of lies, bubbling with deceit, do you wrap your soul in many layers, and surround yourself with a wall so thick, and guard yourself with so many clever traps and loopholes, that you form for yourself an impenetrable shield – but you’re not so sure if you want a shield.
Do you find peace only in the dead of the night, when you can stay up, all alone, with no one else around to bother you, letting your tears fall – because you need to let them fall – praying desperately to whoever is out there, to whoever may be listening, to change things, to wake you up from this horrible nightmare, to save you – to save you now! – To take you away…
Do you have mood swings - those wretched tremors in your system? Do you feel the emotions - that fire running through you, in your blood – passing through your veins, your lungs, your heart, taking over all of you – conquering you, when all you want is to be free from all those tyrannies that you have to endure, knowing that this power that your passions - these foolish sensation, these dreams and wishes – have over you is in fact yet another dictatorship! Do you feel the need to express yourself, but never finding the RIGHT words?
Do you feel alone, despite our massive population, despite the millions of people milling about around you? Do you find the seclusion echoing in that bare space it has left within you, somewhere within you, yet to be discovered? Do you feel cold and shattered – as if you were broken? As if there is something wrong with you. Maybe there is… Can you relate to my questions?
Do you?
If you do, come to me… I need to know you… Please, I need to…
Are you out there? Are you like me too?
CONFESSIONS ON LIVING A LIE
One thing that often gets on my nerves is how people respond to the question “why do you study?’ especially how you could easily classify majority of these people into three groups according to the answers they give.
These are the Dreamers, the Oppressed, and the Martyrs. The Dreamers are those who emphasize the need of a good job and their hopes for a better tomorrow. The oppressed are those who feel that they need to study because their life depended on it, or simply because their parents made them study. Then there are the martyrs, who find it their duty so they could someday repay their debts to society, to family, and to God.
Really, have you ever heard of any lamer excuse for living?
Yes, life. For the fundamental stages of a person’s life, studying occurs in school, and if my comrades in this epic battle against terror teachers and mountains of requirements have only the aforementioned motivation for staying in school, then it is really a mystery to me why they still haven’t all dropped out.
Yes, I admit. I too was a dreamer, an oppressed, a martyr. Looking back to what I have done with my school life, I wonder if maybe I’m just weak, because you know what? I gave up.
For nine months, I stopped studying. Yes, I still went to school, and sometimes to class. I copied notes and shared what I understood with those who needed it. But my “studying” stopped there. I left test questions blank for lack of interest, and failed to submit my requirements because I no longer really cared. I skipped class, slept in class, daydreamed in class or didn’t go to school for days. The only things I ever worked for were group projects, burdened by the thought of dragging other people down.
Do you wonder what I did with all my newly found free time?
On my own, I lived. I lied down on the benches and stared up at the dusty sky, under the shade of the mango tree ridden with higads. I sat in the gazebo watching everything that’s happening around me, seeing a teacher trip or friends moving into a group hug. I walked around the school grounds and took in all the sights, smells and sounds – even the not so pleasant ones.
Whenever I had company, I lived. We would joke around, ask questions, talk. We would laugh, reminisce, and cry. We learned things we would never have found out listening to 1-hout lectures in our classrooms, and these are the lessons we cherished. It was because of these talks I got to know myself.
It was then I realized my mistake. The reason for my apathy is not of any medical nature, nor is it any form of delinquency; I just didn’t have any reason to study!
Thirteen years of school, since the dawn of my youth. Being a Scientian, I was obviously a bright child. I entered school without hardly knowing how to speak in full English sentences, and ignorant of the Filipino language. Thirteen years, I struggled with my natural laziness to keep my grades up.
Why? This I would confess in paper only once. Growing up, with the idea of being “the making and unmaking of the family”, is difficult. There is and always will be an image to maintain, a standard to set, a responsibility to fulfill. There will always be expectations, and nothing you do will ever seem to be enough, for each success will set more goals, and each failure will seem to garner more disappointment.
It was a tragic system that made one feel like a dog, having to go through the entire reward-and-punishment system. Each success would be awarded with a momentary breather, and every failure would tighten the hypothetical grip around one’s neck.
I studied to make my parents proud. I tried everything to make them proud; I tried to do everything I can, because I knew I can. Yet, with all the intelligence I have been gifted with, I failed to see that what I was doing was wrong.
For nine months, I dwelled in the shadows of failure and apathy; I swam in the waters of disappointment; I walked in the valleys of mediocrity. I took a break, shut out the world, and went on an internal journey, and re-emerged into reality a new being.
Why does this new person study? It’s simple, because she wants to learn. Because she is willing to spend five more years of her life trying to discover herself, to travel through the streets of conventional and unconventional education, in order to discover life.
This person wants to know life – how to stay happy, and make others happy; how to love selflessly and be loved back; how to remain in control of the things that need to be controlled, and how to surrender to the things that were meant to be; to live, love and die.
School, with all its nonsense subjects and requirements, is utterly pointless and useless, and a definite waste of time. It rarely teaches us anything we can use in real life. But the different people we meet along the way, along with our triumphs and letdowns, are the things we must truly study.
We study life because we wish to live. The moment we give up studying – the real studying – is the moment we die. We may live, but we are dead nonetheless.
These are the Dreamers, the Oppressed, and the Martyrs. The Dreamers are those who emphasize the need of a good job and their hopes for a better tomorrow. The oppressed are those who feel that they need to study because their life depended on it, or simply because their parents made them study. Then there are the martyrs, who find it their duty so they could someday repay their debts to society, to family, and to God.
Really, have you ever heard of any lamer excuse for living?
Yes, life. For the fundamental stages of a person’s life, studying occurs in school, and if my comrades in this epic battle against terror teachers and mountains of requirements have only the aforementioned motivation for staying in school, then it is really a mystery to me why they still haven’t all dropped out.
Yes, I admit. I too was a dreamer, an oppressed, a martyr. Looking back to what I have done with my school life, I wonder if maybe I’m just weak, because you know what? I gave up.
For nine months, I stopped studying. Yes, I still went to school, and sometimes to class. I copied notes and shared what I understood with those who needed it. But my “studying” stopped there. I left test questions blank for lack of interest, and failed to submit my requirements because I no longer really cared. I skipped class, slept in class, daydreamed in class or didn’t go to school for days. The only things I ever worked for were group projects, burdened by the thought of dragging other people down.
Do you wonder what I did with all my newly found free time?
On my own, I lived. I lied down on the benches and stared up at the dusty sky, under the shade of the mango tree ridden with higads. I sat in the gazebo watching everything that’s happening around me, seeing a teacher trip or friends moving into a group hug. I walked around the school grounds and took in all the sights, smells and sounds – even the not so pleasant ones.
Whenever I had company, I lived. We would joke around, ask questions, talk. We would laugh, reminisce, and cry. We learned things we would never have found out listening to 1-hout lectures in our classrooms, and these are the lessons we cherished. It was because of these talks I got to know myself.
It was then I realized my mistake. The reason for my apathy is not of any medical nature, nor is it any form of delinquency; I just didn’t have any reason to study!
Thirteen years of school, since the dawn of my youth. Being a Scientian, I was obviously a bright child. I entered school without hardly knowing how to speak in full English sentences, and ignorant of the Filipino language. Thirteen years, I struggled with my natural laziness to keep my grades up.
Why? This I would confess in paper only once. Growing up, with the idea of being “the making and unmaking of the family”, is difficult. There is and always will be an image to maintain, a standard to set, a responsibility to fulfill. There will always be expectations, and nothing you do will ever seem to be enough, for each success will set more goals, and each failure will seem to garner more disappointment.
It was a tragic system that made one feel like a dog, having to go through the entire reward-and-punishment system. Each success would be awarded with a momentary breather, and every failure would tighten the hypothetical grip around one’s neck.
I studied to make my parents proud. I tried everything to make them proud; I tried to do everything I can, because I knew I can. Yet, with all the intelligence I have been gifted with, I failed to see that what I was doing was wrong.
For nine months, I dwelled in the shadows of failure and apathy; I swam in the waters of disappointment; I walked in the valleys of mediocrity. I took a break, shut out the world, and went on an internal journey, and re-emerged into reality a new being.
Why does this new person study? It’s simple, because she wants to learn. Because she is willing to spend five more years of her life trying to discover herself, to travel through the streets of conventional and unconventional education, in order to discover life.
This person wants to know life – how to stay happy, and make others happy; how to love selflessly and be loved back; how to remain in control of the things that need to be controlled, and how to surrender to the things that were meant to be; to live, love and die.
School, with all its nonsense subjects and requirements, is utterly pointless and useless, and a definite waste of time. It rarely teaches us anything we can use in real life. But the different people we meet along the way, along with our triumphs and letdowns, are the things we must truly study.
We study life because we wish to live. The moment we give up studying – the real studying – is the moment we die. We may live, but we are dead nonetheless.
so listen up
the sun hasn't set
i refuse to believe that it's only me who feels it
my blog is once again up and running.. finally with a new template.. thanks to paulo for reminding me that this blog still exists and for not hating me for also using meebo.. not that he already knows. :p
it's already 3am, and i've been up since 1.30, desperately trying to open the UP Computerized Registration System Website. Today is the first day of confirmation of the decision to enroll, and really, if they include online confirmation in their options, they SHOULD at least give out information on what time we should start confirming, coz really, if you put up a site and don't mention a time, die-hard incoming college freshmen such as myself would wake up at ungodly hours and DESPERATELY try to open the site, which is still not available at this time!!!
geez..
meanwhile, i'm just trying to write.i have three more essays due in creative writing yesterday. once again, i am totally cramming...
hay..
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