Saturday, December 29, 2012

The Evolution of Un-uniqueness

I am in a maze that has no exit, pretending I know my way around.

I am the cowardly attendant of the Emperor, pretending to see finery that was not even there because I am too scared to be different.

I am the quiet girl that waits until everyone is done talking until she gives her opinion. In her head. To herself.

I am slowly choosing to be an un-unique nonexistence.

No marks, no dents, no scratches, slightly used but in mint condition.

Just another speck of dust in somebody's eye.

A grain of sand in somewhere at the bottom of the hourglass.

That is who I am becoming.

And I am frightened of it.

Live while we're young

Live while we're young, live still when we're old. Never forget that growing up doesn't mean that you can't look at life with innocence or curiosity anymore.

Never lose your zest for life.

That is what separates growing up from growing old.

The Applause of Pots and Pans

She likes washing dishes. The feel of the cool water running over her hands, the soap suds, the act of making something clean again. It was a silent ritual, an unspoken prayer of singular devotion. As she hums to herself in the middle of the bubbles the dish washing soap makes in perfect harmony with the water she fancies them as the clouds, or sea foam, both things she has not seen in a long time.

She thinks of the bubbles as fluffy white clouds, telling of freedom and independence and vast plains and horizons as far as the eye would please to see.

She thinks of the soap suds as clean sea foam that bespoke of sunken treasure and countless adventures, of daring sword fights and lovely siren songs and the refreshing life there is to live outside the boundaries of four walls at home.

But alas, there are no clouds or sea foam, only bubbles and soap suds. It was not the sound of the sea but of the gushing of tap water over her raw hands. It was not plains she could see but mountains, mountains and piles upon piles of dirty dishes and glasses and utensils and pots and pans to wash and make clean to be dirtied and soiled again.

One can look at her and sigh and pity her. She was living the life nobody has dreamed to live. She has hummed a million songs and had the kitchen sink as her only audience, the clanging together of pots and pans her only applause. They only see her longing but do not understand her contentment.

But they only look, and not see.

They only hear, and do not listen.

Let Love

With every word and image you have inflicted you are ruining the last bonds they could have as a family. It pains every fiber of their beings, and yet you continue.

For you know no mercy. Only love. Or what you think is love.

You have been consumed by these emotions, knowing in your mind that you have nothing else to hold on to except that fluttering on your chest of that muscle that pumps blood into your veins and feelings into your being

You are not in control.

And you are forgiven.

For what are humans to do against the biological need to feel fulfilled? What are humans to do against these emotions when logic and reason does not seem to suffice?

What are humans to do against love?

But please let us not use love as an excuse to hurt anybody. Love is not meant for hurt. Love is meant for the creation of beautiful memories and existences, not the tainting and destruction of them.

Let love be meant for what it is meant to be.

Let love be itself.

Love. Let it be.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Too much thinking, too much feeling

Yesterday kept flashing through my mind. Of how close you were, of how we sat next to each other but I couldn't even look at you in the eye, much less talk to you. All the teasing and the half-meant words, if they really did mean something at all. All the words you said were on a constant replay. If they were heavy with meaning or just empty air, the question kept resurfacing. I don't know if I was just reading too much into things, but it doesn't change how I felt. We don't talk after the wave of jokes were over, and I think that it was all in my head.  But then you do something--a smile, a laugh, a set of words that makes my heart do that stupid thing of falling all over again.

What did you mean by that?

Please don't keep me hoping about something that doesn't exist.

Please tell it to me straight, because I am too dense to understand hidden signals and too imaginative to understand half-meant jokes.

And my heart is not a toy that you can play and entertain yourself with, only to leave it battered and alone when you're bored and done with it.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Yet to See

Your face, surrounded by your hair splayed all over the pillow, is the most beautiful sight I have yet to see.

I just have to make do with watching you sneaking naps in class for now.

You are stronger.

Lift your head. Don't be scared.

You are stronger than all the dragons and bullies in your head.

Don't believe what they tell you, for you are stronger than what they want you to believe.

You are stronger.

And that. That is the only thing you need to believe in.

Untitled No. 1

To be shunned, back and forth, by the people you are supposed to love.

What are you supposed to feel?

Hurt, because no one seems to love you enough?

Cheated, because life is just too damn unfair?

Sad, because you feel you are not wanted?

Suicidal, because no one seems to care anyways?


Because it was just too much?

Seeds of Memories

Moving from place to place, I have yet to plant my roots.

But I am leaving seeds of my memories at every opportunity I get.

Leaving my mark permanently as a part of the earth.

Now no one can say I never existed.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

My Friend William

I have a friend we all know by William. He's far gone from this world but his words live on through time.

He writes these awesome plays and I had the opportunity to read one of his famous works. I was frowning halfway through the story; when I finished, I set my copy down and sat quietly. He tapped me on the shoulder and asked me what's wrong.

"Do you want me to be totally honest?"

He nods.

"Sorry old man, but I didn't like it. Of course, I love how it's written... but story-wise, I'm not fond of it."

He nods understandably though. I liked that, so I took a deep breath and braved on.

"Why did you have to do that? Why do you have to instill in the minds of people that having a tragic love can be one of the best things in the world? Why do you have to make such an effort to help people feel better through this?"

He inclined his head, his ear touching the starched ruffle around his neck, but remained silent. I felt the fight going out of me and I look down to my hand still holding his book, my index finger serving as a bookmark to the final page of the final scene of death and supposed love.

"I... I just think you didn't have to go that far to prove your point..."

I could feel his curious gaze on me but I kept my eyes down, looking at the words he had written and reading them again and again, thinking that maybe through this I could read him as well and finally understand a little bit better.

"Romeo and Juliet's ending to their story... maybe I just can't understand the kind of love they had. I'm happy that love conquers all--even death--but do they really have to go that far? If love was such a beautiful thing, why do they have to die for it? They loved--love--each other so much... why do they have to be 'star-cross'd lovers'?

"I never understood why people wanted their love stories to be like Romeo and Juliet. Didn't they die at the end because they though the other was gone to them forever? Does one have to leave for good to realize the intensity of their feelings for a person?"

He prodded my arm gently with his elbow and I smile at the rough fabric of his sleeve. Maybe I am just being grumpy over everything.

And we were both silent, until I sigh and shrug my shoulders.

"No offense Mr. Shakespeare--William--,  but if ever I should be lucky enough to have my own love story, I don't want it to be like Romeo and Juliet."

He raises an eyebrow, a question on his eyes.

"I don't want to love the person I love like that. I wouldn't want a person to lose himself over me either. Being forgotten when you are gone is a sad and scary concept, but I wouldn't want the person I love to follow me to my death. I want him to share his existence to the world, so the world would know why I loved--love--this person.  wouldn't want him to miss the people he should have met, the experiences he would have had, the scenes he would have seen. Because I would love the world to know the beauty of love. It doesn't have to be tragic to be beautiful.

It just is."

I looked around and I was alone. 

"Thanks for listening, old man," I whispered to myself.

And I stretch my arms over my head and set out to make my own story.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

It Was Still There

Your jacket is hanging in my closet, your scent still in it.

Its left pocket, still warm from the many times we have tucked our hands into it.

The hood, too large for your head of dishevelled, fluffy hair, was still there.

It was still there.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Don't Run Away; Please Don't.

You told me you don't need anyone to protect you, that you can take care of yourself.

But you were the one who needed saving the most.

Friday, December 7, 2012

It's All About Believing

"Why do you read books about creatures that don't exist?"

"Who said not to? And what do you know, maybe in another world they're reading about us and wondering if we're real."

The Assessment of Value

"Will any of these things matter after everything?"

"Maybe to others it won't. But it matters to you. Isn't that what matters the most?"

You Better Not Think About Jumping

We all hurt somewhere. It's a matter of living through it and not to be confused by it.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

I Bury My Regrets Away

Death was the final fanfair of the song. It wasn't gloomy. Light, lilting.

The casket was light.

The parade went on.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

The Universe in my Heart

These feelings will become stars, just like I would be.

All You Need is Magic (the most powerful kind)

I've loved fairies ever since. They grant people's wishes and make them happy.

Magic powers and pixie dust I have not, but I can try making you happy.

Will you let me try?

It's More the Learning than Graduating

You are studying to know more about life. People are hired for their ability to decide and to relate. It is the reason why the hiring department is called "human resources". Good grades can help you go up, but if you are all about substance then it is the same as hiring a computer or an encyclopedia set. 

You have to have sense. 

A sense of life.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Our Story

Our story doesn't need a million words or a Nobel prize for literature.

But I'll be happy if people would know about us.

They'd read our story and know that fairy tales can be true.

And they don't need wicked witches or dwarves or poisoned apples or losing a shoe at the stroke of midnight.

True love's first kiss can be as sweet, and as magical.

Even more so, because it is real.