Being in a fetal position tonight never seemed so appropriate. It is the one position that we humans do when we are in undeniable pain, anguish, and regrets. I feel like I’m being bludgeoned. Let me reiterate. I am bludgeoned. The fetal position makes man feel safe; it is as if, just by being in that position expunge every thought of end. Everything is a beginning. It may not be to you, but it would be for someone. We always feel safe when we are tightened up in a small ball of nothingness. We feel no one can get to us, no one can hurt us, and the world would just give up hurting us. Then again, we cannot trust how we feel nowadays. No matter how we want to believe our emotions, it always leads us astray.

Emotions! Would man be better off without it? Or contrarily be worse without it? Personally, I think we’re worse off without it. Emotions are great teachers. It teaches us the wondrous, subliminal lessons of life. It makes man mushy (for the lack of a better term). Emotions may make one blithe, it also is capable of making one despondent. Sometimes it is the source of our transgressions; it could also be the source of our gumption to rectify those transgressions. We do the most illogical mistakes for emotion’s sake. We are all slaves to it. But the irony of it all, we allow ourselves to be. Though we are aware the havocs it may cause in the long or short run, we still heed to its existence, breath whatever it is that wants us to breathe. We are slaves to emotions. That is irrefutable!

My mind is drifting tonight. To where? I do not have a speck of idea. But I know the reason why it has drifted. Sad as it may seem, I have again become lugubriously a victim of emotion. It’s not to say I didn’t will myself to become its slave, if anything, I was made to choose. And I choose the non-conventional path. It has been a pleasurable, very happy ride. I may have an idea that it wouldn’t last, I still know that amidst everything, it has been my choice. And I was not coerced, even by emotion to choose what I had chosen. It is safe to say that the path I took was by my own conviction, from my own decision, to my own temporary happiness. What has pulled me down the vortex of concurring swirls of regret and gloom is the fact that I have brought with me someone. It’s all to my avail, and the burden of whatever it is, is on me, none else.

Nothing lasts! To iterate the obvious is simply ludicrous. Nothing lasts. Not even the things that have started. No matter how much we hold on to something, when in the first place it is intangible, eventually you’ll lose your grip to it, and then you lose it. To where you might lose it, you will not have the slightest of idea. And it is in not knowing that you continue to hold on. It’s like a little kid who lost his kite and he doesn’t see where it is, the kid continues to hope that he’ll find that kite again, and that when he does continue to search for it, it will eventually show itself once again. It’s just like that. When you lose someone, and you do not know where he/she might be, you continue to hope that eventually you meet at the same junction you once departed. Nothing in this rueful life belongs to us. Eventually, and inevitably, everything is going to part ways to us. But, life as a walking paradox, once there are people who departs your life, there will be someone who arrives. Life is an airport, so they say. But you see, we always dwell on things that are painful to us. It is an archetypal human frailty to look at the perspective where we get to be hurt. We are a species of pain-loving individuals. We hate goodbyes, but it is one of the few words where we get to use unhesitantly. We are more reluctant to say hello’s than are we of saying goodbyes. As for me, I hate both. I hate goodbyes just because I do not do well after those are said and let go. I am an a-hole when it comes to goodbyes, bar none. I am not the type who easily lets go, nor am I the person who when lets go, easily forgets. I hate hellos to, surprisingly. Not because I get to meet some random stranger, nor someone who I wished to meet, but because for a fact that when I do say hello, I directly think that someone is going to say goodbye. I see hellos and goodbyes as concomitant. One exists because of the other. They are the salt and pepper of life.

The day today was long; too long actually. But no matter how long the day is, it will inevitably succumb to the lugubrious embrace of the night. And consequently, no matter how long the night may seem (and in night, it can be likened to our down times), eventually it too succumbs to the hopeful gelid smile of the morning. Nothing is permanent! Even permanence is temporary. Even nothing. For eventually, something, and I do not know if I’d be alive to see it, will become permanent. Tonight, against the dolorous hums of silence, an echo of unacceptable, though expected fact of life thunders aloud. You can never force anyone to stay into your life. It just doesn’t work that way. It’s sad, but it’s a fait accompli of life. I’ll be losing a digital smile tonight and for many days ahead. And I think for all the days ahead. It gloats! It hurts, and even admitting that it hurts is in itself painful. But it must be. You who have begun to etch a mark on my life, and it too have surprised me. That no matter how fleeting you stayed, you have left a significant amount of memories that even an indifferent boy would squeal.

Tonight, I’ll let the night blanket me as it has always blanketed the day. I may sleep chaotically tonight, with murmuring thoughts, and deleting of what-ifs, I know that life goes on. Would it be better? I do not have any idea, but I do hope it is. Is it for the best? Nothing is ever for the best. Let me for the last time remind you that you have been the source of my digital and genuine smile alike. From your departing, my digital smile will have lost its gumption and the genuine smile, may be gone, but as time passes by indifferently, not even stopping a measly bit to those who are hurting, it will return. You will be what the moon is to the shore. I’ll continue to hope for you, away from your ever knowing it. You do not need to know, as I do not need to know. I’ll be your secret lover! Do not worry, for I keep my own secrets! =]

I'm currently eating a bar of Goya white chocolate. I'm finding myself more attached to it the more I eat it..I have always liked white chocolate; the sweetness, the milk after-taste, the sore it results to your tonsils afterwards. The total constituents of what a white chocolate is, I have been acquainted to and am fond of. In my totally forthright opinion, I really do not get it when people eat chocolate that doesn't even taste sweet, even a shave of sweetness is void. What is the purpose of eating a lusciously barred and packed chocolate when it doesn't have a sweet tinge to the tongue? Then again, different people, different preferences.


I have always purported that every man is diversely alike. We have so many things in common that we tend to ignore it. The little nuances that man has in common ground with every other man, that of which that makes man a genuine man, is what is obvious, therefore forgotten and taken for granted. But do we really? I know that we are all aware of the characteristics of a corporeal man; we speak, we love, we get angry, we smile when contented, we gripe when we are disarrayed, we strive for perfection, we wished to belong. I could go on and on and still would not come up with a comprehensive list of the nuances of the commonality of man as man. But due to the obviousness of these nuances, they tend to be forgotten and ignored, more often than not. We seek what we have that others may not have. We strive for uniqueness in a realm of encompassing sameness. But that is what makes man an interesting object for observation. We search for what it is that others might envy and recognize. No man is like any other man, and yet every man is like every other man, as Allport once insinuated.


It's raining tonight, and it didn't pour down as a surprise. With the unpredictable patterns of weather nowadays, a rainy night after a hot, scorching morning is no longer a thing from science mysteries. Then again, weathers are supposed to be unpredictable. One cannot confidently claim that one has the solution to forecast weather in immaculate accuracy.


Solitude, such a deep and ominous word. All it ever necessitates, as conventional ideation of such, is grim sadness and empty cups of unfulfillment. We always want to be with another, better yet and simply put, be with another of the opposite gender. Gender is the sexual preference of people. And with the paradigm slowly shifting to the non-traditional, it is slowly becoming un-taboo to engage in a relationship with the same sex, but different gender. Even such transcendence from the classics to the modern, such issue still remains sensitive and difficult to fathom. Nevertheless, I remain indifferent to it. I am in no stable ground to judge them as what their actions exhibit, they are humans whose only whim is to freely express their deepest desires through the actions which society is trying to suppress. Same-sex relationship has always been a sensitive issue, and up until now, it still presupposes a sinful connotation. How will man be incarcerated by doing the things one deems would make one happy? We strive happiness; it is the goal with which every man is aiming at achieving and attaining. Who are those who spitefully and delightfully contradict this social happening trying to be? Even god, if she so exist, wouldn't even dare complain of such action. The only problem lies in the paucity of these incidents, which has contributed a lot to its being a taboo. One day, in an epoch where I am still living in, ordeals of same-sex relationships will be totally accepted, although not totally agreeable. In the first place not everything is totally agreeable. One cannot please everyone so long as we are men of envy and pleasure.


I am very drowsy tonight. Due to the deprivation of a prime commodity, which is sleep, i have been continually stressed and striving to pick open my eyes. I have done and thrown everything just to make myself ignore, even once, the lugubrious temptation of sleep. A good mood is concomitant to an undisturbed sleep. But no matter how nugatory my efforts are in trying to stay awake, it has its own purpose

All aside, and still too many eruditions to mention, I must cut off the source of vigor and stream of words. Tonight's going to be a good night, only if I spend it in the place where fantasy is more tangible than reality. Have a sleepless night! It would be to my pleasure if you are wide awake, deprived of sleep. The source of my digital smile, someday I’ll be meeting you somewhere in my self-fabricated reality where when I open my unacclimatized eyes, you disappear together with the dark with which you appeared! You’re my queer smile! Tonight, let me remind you of that again. =]

The wait for rain has long been overdue, and it is only tonight that it has expressed its indignation towards the scorching heat wave of summer. I do not know how I might convey my fondness for rain; I love the rain, and it is only during rain that I get to hear the uncontaminated sound of nature. The sound of rain trickling above the aluminum rooftop of my room, and those that ebbs helplessly behind my semi-translucent window, never fails to impregnate my imagination with hopeless what-ifs. The tapping of rain as if a knocking stranger trying to greet everyone who opens for him a great grin of patience, emancipates the once leashed hound of audaciously speculating imagination. Even though the rain downpoured ephemerically, you can’t help but don a satisfied smile. Not only is it timely, because the heat has already cracked the earth, sucked its life-giving moisture, then circulates it half a world away. The rain never ceases to make me sentimental; think of things I wished to be, of things I wished not to be. The rain is the lubricant that slides off my handcuff nonchalantly away from my hands.

Beneath the thin skin from my forehead is a throbbing, pinching, screeching pain, the source of which I cannot trace. But amidst these limiting palpitations, I need to finish this not only to satisfy the frustrated writer in me, but also the need to conform to my organizer, of which a task was written to finish an entry today. Recently, I have become a slave to post-its and organizers. If I do not put it anywhere there, I will not do it.

No matter how hard I think nothing significant seems to pop out of my mind. Everything has been suppressed by the oppressing headache. Maybe, and I do fear this, that this entry may be short, and it would be not like me at all. I’ll meander away from conventional writing then to prove to myself that amidst pain, I go on. Pain is vindicative of man’s life. No matter what path we take, no matter how we plan and visualize our journey, we cannot escape being hurt. It is given in man to be hurt. Only those who rise up in spite being hurt are what make man alive. We cannot escape pain. It is man’s fate to be hurt, man’s fate to falter. It is a frailty of man. No matter how much we despise pain, it is inevitable. Just because we disgust it, doesn’t mean it’ll disgust us back.

Life begets pain. Love begets pain. Hope begets pain. Faith begets pain. Fate begets pain. Although I do not, or still in doubt of the existence of fate, it too begets pain. Hate begets pain. Pain begets pain. You may think that you can fight fire with fire, in some cases it is applicable, but in the context of pain, it just doesn’t fit. Expectations beget pain. Propriety begets pain. Impropriety begets pain. Anticipation begets pain. Anger begets pain. Patience begets pain. Waiting begets pain. Maybe at this moment in time, you get what I mean. Pain is the penultimate end and means of everything human. It is not an absolute end, for even pain catalyzes a beginning. Life begets pain. Pain begets life.

This eerie night, my headache has decided that I should rest early. The soporific trickles of rain outside my 4-cornered incarceration have called me to sleep, and who am I to deny the very thing I have been waiting for so long its request? Let me be iterative, the rain makes me sentimental. And it is only when I am sentimental that I get to outpour whatever it is that has been stuck the pipe of wishing due to fearfulness and reluctance. I always like to wear binoculars of idealism (no one is realistic, I should say, only closet idealists) to rosily imbue my crumbling reality like an outdated cookie forgotten inside a ceramic jar placed directly under the heat of the scorching sun. Rain is reality! Everything pours down. Everything falls down. But! Eventually, everything rises up again, forms another cloud filled with giddy moisture impatiently waiting for their emancipation. Rain is life! It connects heaven from earth. It touches everyone the same way as it touches everyone else. The rain reminds me of you! You, whose digital smiles, against the soporific murmurs of the rain, become one with the murmurs. I hear your voice, though I never did actually heartily hear it, every after gush of ephemeric rain. The rain tonight was ephemeral. I was hoping you won’t be. What if you’d stay? If I asked you, will you stay? Let’s not be ephemeral, shall we? You and me. ^_~,v

As soon as my foot touches my other foot, a fiery sensation shatters the glass bubble of drowsiness with which I was ostracized. When we sleep, we are always alone. No matter who, or no matter how many there are that is beside us when we sleep, when we enter the realm of improbable reality we are alone. All by ourselves, trudging the road that leads us nowhere but the shadows of uncertainty. No matter how much we think that the time when we close our eyes, mesmerized by the melodious hums of sleep, we sleep together with thousands, if not millions of others, we enter the gates of the unrevealed by ourselves. And upon our waking up, we are still alone. That is why I am scared of sleeping. Not because I might not wake up, but because no matter how I leave conspicuous footprints behind me, no one is still going to follow me.

They say that the closest we have from dying is when we are sleeping. It is like when we are asleep, we are quasi-dead. I could not agree more to that idea. When we sleep, we know nothing about where we are, we know nothing about what we are doing, and we know nothing about who we are; succinctly, we are dead. Have you ever wonder that no matter how long our sleep is, the only thing we can remember when we try to remember is the final moments before we decide to close our eyes and shut off our consciousness? What happens in between that final fleeting moment and the opening of our eyes irritated by the light? There seems to be a void in between, and no matter how and what we try to fill that void, we just can’t. The only vindications of our being alive when we are asleep are our dreams. Dreams completely blow my mind. How they come to be and why can’t we remember even a quarter of it when we are awake? From my constant inquiry and mindless thinking, I came to an absurd, though interesting idea: if sleep is the closest thing we have from dying, are dreams the closest thing we have from a life after death? What if? What if dreams are what dead people feel? Just floating around an ocean of pitch black nothingness, soaring above the existing. You see, the more you soar high, the tinier you become.

Sometimes, I think every time; people soar so high above everyone else and then complain that nobody gives them attention. We should once in a while land the runways of people, meet people, and talk to people, converse to people. As Schweitzer said, we are so many, and yet we are still dying of loneliness. Then again, we are all alone in this world. Hands on our chin, looking outside behind a window the panoramic shriveling of reality, and all the while fantasizing our invulnerability of time consuming even the least palatable of existence. But the hope of having to share that aloneness to other alone people is by itself already an impetus to continue to live life.

Let me apologize sincerely and humbly the erratic flux of topics. I have been always, and I never did deny that fact, that I am an organized clutter. How you organize a clutter, I do not know. Let us just say that it is given in me. I’m here once again stuck behind a pixelized screen of glowing, squinting, eye-gouging, sinusitis-inducing, soporific rectangle encompassing life and death and hope and opportunity, thinking of things which a normal sentient man would not dare think, trying to comprehend which an average and undaft being would not even dare comprehend. I am incarcerated behind a corral of self-fabricated reality, fantasizing the shriveling of reality outside the corral which I have incarcerated myself. I have stricken myself more, injected my deltoid muscle with an ample dose of grandeur. I have made myself invulnerable of whatever is happening outside my own reality. Blah! As if I’d do that! I’m more a slave to reality than any other sentient, sensate, erratic being around. Inasmuch as I want to escape, I’m running on a treadmill with which the speed I am unable to cope up, and I’m slowly exhausting whatever is left of my reserved vigor. My lips are dry, desiring more and more for water, my muscles have secreted a million grams of lactic acid, I’m beginning to sense the cramps, and my sweat can be extracted from the cloth with which I used to wipe them. Summer! You evaporate whatever is left of my untamed mind.

My aimless meandering will leave those who will read this with an ashen expression. A what-the-hell-is-he-trying-to-say statement will be etched into their minds. And I can’t blame them. If there would be someone to be blamed, it would be me. I’ll exonerate them from not understanding this, for even the author of this is unable to understand. Before this goes from erratic to chaotic, let me end this with a confession: I’m happy. The reason of which, must remain hidden beneath the sands of confidentiality. All I know is (well, I know much, but it should stay behind the window pane fronting the passing of reality), I’m happy someone suddenly appeared, sent a nonsensical, though never fails to etch a smile unto my grumpy night face message. Her digital laughs can catalyze a real smile. I’ll send you a digital one too. Hope it affects you, the way yours affects me. Life’s digital! Let’s be binary, you and me. =]

This was once again a searing day. To no surprise at all, the sun has once again asserted its dominance over everything sensible. Although, atop our heads, the sun and its minions of UV aggravating wind battled with a gargantuan raincloud, the earth-dependent creatures goes on with their lives of indifference and selfishness. This day was ponderous. School after-taste is still palatable, and that taste sure does not make me giddy from excitement. If anything, however, that taste has become stale over time. School is no longer an institution of learning, it has become an institution of zombifying students, make them heed and follow whatever the school dictates. Education has relegated into mere listening and taking whatever it is that a speaker of know-it-all babbles in front, hoping all the while that the subject of his/her babbling grasp at least, or parrots every word he/she has talked about. Institutionalized education makes eloquent parrots of students.

Enough of my castigating. It is not whatsoever worthy of the motion of my fingers as I type the complaining keys of my keyboard. A while ago, I paused making this entry, and just lied down my dust-infested bed. Only god knows, if he/she is ever existent, whatever species of micro-creatures crawls and stalks the nooks and crannies of my bed sheet. But whatever! What is invisible to the eye may be essential, but it sure wouldn’t kill us. Going back. As I was lying down my bed, behind my tinted and unopenable glass window pillared by volitionless metal bars, I glanced a queer radiance. Further inspection, I noticed it was not anything artificial, and it sure was not a reflection of a thought-to-be earth friendly light bulb. The moon, though incomplete at this moment in time, never fails to show itself to the world. It is as if it’s showing to the world its undying patience. The moon is exemplary when it comes to waiting. It has long been archly journeying, following its route perfunctorily, hoping to meet its long, lost love. All to no avail. Since time immemorial, not once did his lover ever show herself to their agreed upon tryst. But the moon, dons a shimmering face amidst the ordeal it has been through.

Forgive my vivifying imagining. It always has been a hobby of mine to put life to whatever it is I see that is naturally occurring. For the lack of anything to mumble about here, will you allow me to speak about perfectionism? Just a bit? I have always believed, and I do hold strongly to this belief, though grounded on mere assumption, that people nowadays are afraid of doing anything because they fear they might not do it perfectly, or satisfactorily. Society has worshipped perfectionism for so long that it has placed the people in a state of constant striving for something that’s never going to be attained. Because of the standard that society has placed upon perfectionism, people are now carrying a chuck-a-block of burden of striving for it. If we strive for what cannot be attained, we cannot become ourselves. A tree will never bear fruit if its only goal is to grow high and reach for the sky. Its effort of fruit-bearing will be replaced with an effort of growing tall. Like man who aims to achieve the unachievable won’t be able to achieve what can be achieved. We should look deep inside ourselves what it is that we are capable of, what is our limitations, our strengths, and our flaws, then we should go from there. An almost junked car cannot enter a race if it is not aware that it is going to be junked. A man who isn’t aware that perfectionism is something within the realms of ideation and fantasy can never become someone who is the best of who he is. If we continue to hold on to the ropes that lead to nowhere, we’ll get lost. Grab a shorter rope, and then once you reach the limit of it, grab another one. Perfectionism is a maze, and many have already gotten lost.

I guess my peregrinating ends here. I’ll truncate my thoughtless combustion with a simple insight: patience is a virtue, that is irrefutable, irrevocable, incontrovertible, and indefragable. But too much patience is blind. Too much patience defeats the purpose of being patient in the first place. When you are patient you are pretty sure you are waiting for something to come to be, but when you are no longer sure that what you are waiting for is there, then it has no purpose whatsoever. My eyes are heavy, my fingers are numb, my head is light, and my legs are aching for a good old stretch. The tempting smoothness of my bed allures me in its soothing embrace. I’ll be with you in a while. Do not hold ill-feelings for whatever happens, at the end of every day, it is with you that I place my solace. I’m dying everyday! And I’m also reborn everyday. See you in my next life! =]

I just caught myself staring on a bland and unflattering wall inside my room. I noticed myself in a vegetative state: hungry, tired, and empty. I have eaten, and believe me, it is more than an average meal. If anything it was already worth two meals, and I’m still hungry. But maybe the rugae of my stomach is just trying to deceive me into eating more then complain of my glutton eating. I have my share of stomach discomforts. And this year, though is not yet half-way, has me agonized numerous of times already.

My mind is blank. And in blank I mean that I deliberately wanted it blank. I don’t want to think of things that would hassle me. It’s a wonderful hassle by the way, that is why I’m torn between thinking and being blank. Inasmuch as I like to think of things, of possibilities, and wishful nothings, reality just kicks me in the butt. Blank and a vegetative state; a pretty terrible duo to be in for the night. Especially a night where you try to wish, but can’t. Just can’t.

As Oscar Wilde asserted, man can believe the impossible, but never the improbable. I do not know where my wish can be categorized in, but I would like to think that it is in the improbable category. I believe everything is possible. Impossibilities are just something fed up in the minds of the gullible hoping they would believe the ideas of those who offer possibilities. Improbable on the other hand sounds so technical, so scientific, that’s why it is easier to weigh if it could be true or untrue. My wish probably is improbable. That is why I cannot believe it, nor will it to be. But I am, as of this current tick of time, in a content state. Wishing may be all I could do, but at least I did what I wanted to do.

Wishes come true, right? I would like to believe so. But there is still that piece of me that is holding back as to not believing everything, anything anymore. Cautious, if you may call it. I’d like to call it, scared. Currently, I have this anathema for risks. I have decided to risk, but deciding and doing are two diverse things. One is the thinking facet; the other is the acting facet. But what is life without risks? And what are risks if you do not fear of doing it? If you do not fear your risk, then it would not qualify as a risk. For risk entails great courage to take and courage requires fear. As Ambrose Redmoon once said, courage is not the absence of fear, but the judgment that something else is more important than fear. Risks always have a fear factor in them. The fear may be illogical or logical. Bottom line, you are afraid of taking it. But that is the beauty of risking. You may fear, you may cower, and you may shiver as you step into the shadow of the unknown, but you always know that you will be getting out of it alive. Risks make one feel one is alive.

I’m careful of what I must be putting in here. Sometimes I’m too random and spontaneous I tend to forget that maybe, and I hope so, I really hope so, that people are reading this. Wishful thinking? Maybe, but without wishes and dreams and fantasies, life would be bland and unflattering like the wall I stared at awhile ago. I will be greeting my infinitesimal wall when I decide to heed the betrothal of the somnolent grumble of unnatural inventions. There’s been a smorgasbord of thoughts in my mind lately, and I would like to tackle each of them religiously. I don’t want to apace things, as it would only cause qualms. But as of now, let me enjoy the smile that someone brings to me. You know who you are! I just want you to know, you never fail to make me solace amidst the chaotic, desultory and tumultuous flux of thinking. You’ll be who I’ll think before sleep murders me! =]

I have decided to use “Word” for my daily diary. There’s nothing odd about it, I just thought it’s an interesting thing to point out. But then again, even interest is relative; what may be interesting for me may not be for everybody else. The world is governed and powered by relativism. ¬People can never agree on a common quagmire-like ground, and even this adage is no exemption. Why have I decided to use “Word” as the victim for my nonsensical and nonchalant reminiscence? That I do not have a satisfactory answer. All I know is that I have been using “Notepad” since I began this vice, for lack of a better term, and when I repost it on my blog, countless typos surge up as I re-read. Not that I do not reread them before posting it officially (I do not know if official is the correct term), I just do not notice them. I get lost when I read. When I read, it’s like I’m being put in a labyrinth of words and thoughts that I indulge so much with it I tend to deviate from what seems to be real. And that doesn’t happen when I happen to read school books. I’m just not too inclined on reading them heartily. Though I too get lost reading them, but not because of them. I hate reading, believe me, I really do hate it. But because of a lack of sensible things to do during my wan and tedium times, I usually decide to just scan some pages, and end up scanning more than I pre-decided.

Let’s cut off to the chase. I just noticed I have been swimming on shallow waters. And I don’t want to be too high-flown either. I have been staring my glaring monitor, the effect of which is squinting my lachrymose eyes as an after-effect of a retaliating sinusitis, and nothing, has visited or even knocked my mind. I’m in a predicament of nil, of emptiness, of nothingness. But then again, the world is governed by relativism; what is nothing to one, may be something to another one. Relativity! My friend for the night.

Let’s talk about expectation. For the most part of my life, or the most part of my life where I am now able to think expansively (I’d like to think that I have an expansive thinking), I have been plagued, thwarted, and bullied by it. Sometimes, it fuels you to achieve what you are capable of. Sometimes, it brittles the bones, dries up your blood, and atrophies your muscles. Too much of it is no longer fit for living. It not only puts you in an ordeal of confusion as to who is the rightful owner of your life, it also forces you to attain what you do not want to attain. Expectation, if anything is virulent (biology jargon). But like any diseases, it too has a mend. And it is within us. It is either we get eaten up by these expectations, or we get to deflect it. The latter is easier said than done. But just like living, it is doable. We have been living for so long our own lives, why let anything get in that way? Sometimes in our measly and insignificant lives, we get to passionately assert ownership to our lives, and it is only then do we realize that no one but us owns what we have been calling as our lives.

The next million dollar question is then, are we really living? People haphazardly think they are, but to the precise extent to which their way of life is showing, they are only surviving. Not that it is a bad thing or anything. For if we do not first survive, we won’t be able to live. Then again, surviving is an instinct of man. While living, is an instinct of the man who wants to discover the world. At this current point in my life, I’d like to think I’m still in the process of asserting life. I have just recently wanted to live again, not survive, for I have always fought for survival all my life. Life is precious to me, and I will not waste it even in simple qualms and self-destroying ideations.

Life is precious! How can I ever accentuate on that to make it glow, glimmer, and shimmer? It is too precious to be wasted on hesitations. No one but us owns us. We have nothing in this world but ourselves, and it is in that realization that you get to live life with potence, passion, and conviction. I can’t say I’m already racing, but I do know that I’m warming up behind the starting line, waiting for my turn to run.

The soporific murmurs of the AC has brought solace to my turmoiled sinus. I have been able to get by the recurring tickling sensation inside my nose, thanks to the songs of Jack Johnson, the quiet night, and someone who has always, though recently never fails to make me smile. I am en rapport with the night’s betrothal to me for sleep. I’ll heed your proposal later, wait for my response.

While i was going home, riding an outdated, though considered-to-be-a-modern jinriksha, i was relieved to see signs of pity from the heavens. Rainclouds where abundant. And they were not just any other rainclouds, some of them are as dark as the asphalted road. The once scorching time of afternoon a while ago, was put off by a mob of rainclouds. Though the wind was still blowing sizzlingly grazing my earth colored skin, i was profusely thinking of what-if's. What if the rain falls? Would it, even a measly, assuage the predicament of our fellow earth-tilling Filipinos? Thinking of their predicament, juxtaposing it to the bickerings of the highly supplanted with relieving chill-producing, grumbling machines, they are on the far side of the suffering scale. What would they have to retaliate back at the mischievous nature? What do we have? When nature drops the gauntlet, nothing we have today will slow down its havoc. Having introspected, or at least an effort to do so, made me think of the beauty of a cyclic weather. Come rain, come shine. We are too dependent on nature. Sadly enough, we tend to disregard that dependence and pompously regal ourselves. Humans.


Keeping my head up, i started to feel disappointed. Dispappointed of the hundreds of rainclouds, some of them in a paroxysmic ordeal. Even in numbers they failed to pour the ever-anticipated rain. I notice them, although being many, they are quite scattered, they can't seem to decide a rendezvous point for all of them to gather and make a large clump of raincloud. Nothing is ever accomplished when eventhough your goals are congruent, but when your disperse and unorganized, nothing will ever be done. Dissipated rainclouds is never adequate enough to produce a large enough downpour to relieve the suffering of the landdwellers. They should collaborate, in that way they would be able to establish a stable enough ground to implement their goals.


Night has come, and the day, albeit plethoric with hope, has been done away. The one scorching zephyr has now been replaced by a quasi-chilling moan. I stopped to look at the sky once again before i enter my entrapment (an entrapment where i hide myself in shaky anonymity, all the while efface myself from my scathing inhibitions). The scattered rainclouds awhile ago that had sparked a little flicker of hope within me, were gone. All i see atop the canvass of the night were stars glowing in monochromatic scintillations. Some stars were red, and you won't miss its glimmer. Some are blue, some are plainly white. But amidst their diversity, they never fail to beautify the sky. If the night could express gratitude, it would thank the stars first for its effort of catching the attention of unconscious people. Why do people no longer stop to look at the sky? It may not have the answer to life (nothing is actually), but it does have a panacea-effect. It doesn't take alot to retract your neck up, stare at the wondrous sky. If you are patient enough, you may count the stars. But i suggest you don't. You'll go insane even after reaching a thousand.


Well, forgive my unimaginativeness tonight. With chuck-a-block of school stuffs to think about, the things that paints my thought with diversely waved refraction of light are pushed and set asunder to the darkest basement of my mind. I'm pretty sure that after this week and the week after, my mind will be free once again of a wan imagination. As of this moment, let me just continue to hope for rain to pour down the heavens. It is one of those days that rain is free of odium. We love the rain, don't we? Even a modicum of it is already a gift. So the rainclouds awhile ago, i hope when you do come again, be sure to gather around a rendezvous for no one is effective alone. A dispersed mob, is but an unaware crowd walking their own walks, living their own lives (if there'd be one), thinking their own blank thoughts. Think as one!=]

shame kills. And it does so by suffocating the inner vitality within us. Whatever life that is proliferating inside the realms of our being, is suppressed by a resilient murderer. Whatever glimmering talent we have, which a divine architecture has bestowed to us, is corralled by an iron-clad jail. Shame is resilient and does no one good. Watching the story from someone in the Philippine's talent competition "Pilipinas Got Talent", succinctly PGT, it really drained my heart from all its juices of primordial emotions. When i heard her sing, it permeated out. With such a voice, a voice that can shake the very foundations of Philippine talent world, and only to be jailed by shame, it is painful. While she was singing, a hodgepodge of emotions filled up to the brim the dram that catches my feelings. I felt happiness for her effort of at least sharing her talent to the world. I felt excitement for her future as a famous belter. I felt sorrow for her sorrow. I felt anger for her chickening out and hiding in the dark for so long. With such a voice, she could have lit up the dim faces of many. An amalgam of emotions i have not obviated. Nonetheless, it was during her singing that i truly felt again the genuine pride of being akin to her.


shame does no one good, and it certainly should never be considered as an alternative to protect one's ego. Our ego is easily chagrined and is too brittle. It certainly is selfish too. All the things it wishes is aimed for self-preservation, if not totally, mostly. As living, sentient beings who wishes nothing less than living, we should have a robust gumption of willingness to live life, show what it is that we are gifted with, and explicitly announce to the world of our pride for it. Going back to the woman in PGT, she was a diamond amongst a bar of gold. It glitters all by itself, and it will not fail to make you notice of its glamour and prismic emanation of 7 wavelength-ed light. She was too amazing to be passed by. I do hope she makes, not only in the show, but also straight to where celebrities are accomodated; tv screens.


Let's askew a bit (not a bit actually, if anything, let us askew sharply). Forever is never attainable. It is like something only found at the limit of your sight, that as you draw near, it draws far simultaneously. Take this analogically fabricated scenario: a piece of carrot tied to the head to be in front of the rabbit's head, and the more the rabbit runs to grab a bite of the carrot, the carrot moves with it. They are in a never ending push-push predicament. Forever moves farther back as we try to move towards it. I do believe, and i do hold strongly to this tenet that forever is just a frame of mind fabricated by those who are fearful of living what is actually now. Since they are still undecided as to whether today will turn out worthwhile, they resort to using forever as an excuse to have to circumvent the ordeal they are facing for "now". And since no man has ever reach the point of forever, then they can evade the blame of the flaws of today promised to be repaired in forever, since again, let me emphasize on this, forever is unreachable. Good for stars, that even though no one has ever reach even a kilometer close, they exude light which signals and vindicates their existence.


We should live for now and for tomorrow. And since tomorrow itself, like forever, unattainable, let it just be a lighthouse to our ships. We are veered towards tomorrow, and whatever it is that we are facing, we are perpetually flowing downstream. The momentum that tomorrow has left is so strong that it sucks in an invisible vortex everything that is behind it, that is of course with the inclusion of now and everything else before "now". Tomorrow is like a freight train moving unhesitantly towards an unset goal, living behind it a cyclone sucking whatever it passes by. But no matter how fast we run, how convicted we may be, we can never ever be inside the train of tomorrow. We can visualize it, whim for it, hope it to be, but that is all there is to it. Everything is just a resilient thought in our minds. In zombieland, only now exists. Everything else is non-extant. Yesterday may have been, but we could never be in it again. We deceive ourselves hoping that we could turn back the ticks of time, go forward the tocs of time, but if we open our eyes, grasp whatever it is that we can grasp, all we have in life is today. Our mistakes are done today, after it has been, it could never be again and all there is left to do is set it right directly or otherwise, after it. Our wishes for tomorrow remains a wish, and when it does come to be today, it would have lost its being a tomorrow's wish.


The bottomline of my incessant bafflegabbing is that all we have, the only arsenal we have in our disposal is today. It is "now" that is important, but not essential, for everything is essential: past, present, future. We get to live life today, right this very instance. We try to equivocate the burden of having only one day to live the totality of our lives, failing to comprehend that the totality of our lives is just impedimented in a day. We are only alive for one day, and that is now! Why waste now, when tomorrow is promised to no one, Leo Buscaglia once insinuated. And let me add to that beautiful tenet: yesterdays are never assured to anyone that it existed, tomorrow is never promised to anyone, today is a privilege for everyone to prove to themselves and to anybody else that they are living. I am here today! Ask me again tomorrow if i still am..=]

Chagrined by the lack of conviction for living. Lately, i have been like a walking zombie in the land of the semi-alive people. The bubble in which i placed myself into, to bounce of any contagious nuisances, has become my own corral. I have involuntarily enclosed myself just by being haphazard in the methods of my living. I need to grasp that conviction which i have been clamouring for so long. I am no longer living, but merely in a state of constant surviving. Living is not a tantamount to surviving. The latter is bereft of an urgency of making my living experience worthwhile. The former on the other hand is what i am aiming for. It has been elusive thus far, and has eluded even my greatest whim. I want to live! Not the living sense of just plainly breathing, walking, thinking; I want to live like everyday is with a thought that tomorrow will never be. I want to live indifferently of other's dictates and comments. Live like everything is a first, and everything is an end. But my hands are tied behind my back, and my legs crossed uncomfortably. I am left with no alternative to life but to survive. And that in and of itself is not a bar below living. Everyday we are in a predicament of life-threats, we continually install ourselves in situations that has an innate ability to break the twig of our lives and effortlessly remove us in this living world. We put ourselves everyday in risks we are not aware of. But if you really widen the array of your perception, you will see just how many culprits with murderous intent there are. We should be happy we are surviving, it's the least we could do even though surviving is the most rudimentary form of experiencing life.


Living. Are there certain rules of thumb for living? How one must live their lives guidebook? I have been, these past few days, plagued by doldrum. There are times where i wish that everything sensible is just a figment of my imagination. Something that in a simple will of my consciousness becomes something i wish it to be. A while ago, while i was in a solitary walking, effortfully pulling my back to at least slow my pace down, i realized how life is so limited by whatever there is surrounding us. I walked towards the shadow of trees to at least assuage the burning heat of the sun, thinking that maybe even the trees that roofed me is also complaining of the sun. It has been very hot this past few days, hot is an understatement. Waters from dams have been draining in an unstoppable pace. It's very paradoxical to think that water is slowly in paucity, when the earth of composed of 70% water. Just goes to show how contingent we are to whatever it is that is surrounding us.


Amidst the solitary walking, and bathing the UV-filled atmosphere, i thought of something, the answer of which may be already obvious, but it is worth the inquiry nonetheless. Why are we, if we are all equal and stand on the same platform, not privileged with the same opportunities? Are opportunities slowly diminishing of its naturalness and is in continual flux towards the edge of inheritability? With my own two subjective eyes, i have seen that opportunities are now inherited, if not all, a great chunk of it. In an 8-sliced pie, 4 slices are already promised to one specific person, and the 4 remaining pieces are still debated as to who must have it. Sometimes it turns out to random persons. We work for our opportunities to be given to us. Like respect, it is not given but gained. We have to work hard for opportunities to be given to us. And once we have obtained an opportunity, the process of materialization is still a long way to go. From the continuous effort of grasping it, to the labyrinth journey we must undertake to reach what that opportunity has in store for us.


But you see, amidst that constant struggle to attain what we desire, we are no longer only surviving, we are also living. As we were given the most wondrous, yet the largest mistake, of putting us into this world, we must not only learn how to survive, but also learn how to live. We are in this incessant push-pull struggle of have's and have-not's. But it is only because of that struggle are we assured that we are living. We may not have everything we want, and not attaining every goals we set though is an archetypal human characteristic, we are still within the fine margins of a conviction laced life.


I am once again left to wonder of methods to put my feet on hot coal so i may not only walk lifelessly, but also feel everything i step unto. The best things in life are the things done in conviction. Opportunities may be abundant to the privileged, but happiness is not promised to anyone. Life is never assured of happiness though we are all assured of life. I am once again begotten with a promise to all the deities there are, that tomorrow will be less different than today! Less! After all, less is more..=]

I have been staring at my glaring monitor screen for many hours it seems, and i still don't know what i would do. I feel like i am now beginning to be dependent on organizers and to-list's. But no matter how i think of things to do, i just can't seem to focus my mind on one thing. And the bombardment of so many things i wanted to do has kept me fastened in my already-broken rolling chair, which by the way, is not comforting to the aching back brought about by age. There was a time when i wanted to just gorge on a book, read thoroughly from cover to cover, and just wait until the Sandman comes visiting me with his bag of dizzying sand. But, hours have passed since that commitment of task, and i still haven't opened a book. There came a time also when i wanted to just freely write whatever it is that comes to mind(like the one i'm doing as of the moment), but that too has diminished in motivation, and i still haven't started to write anything. Not that nothing is in my mind, believe me, so many things is in my mind, most of them are plainly inane and preposterous. Some are too inane to be even given the slightest attention. And awhile ago, i wanted to just lay down, wait for a poem to come to mind, control my hand to write the words as i describe the panoramic vision i see inside my bubble of imagination, but that too crumbled by laziness. And here i am now, spontaneously sensing the boxed keys of my keyboard, read the things my thought has plagued my mind. As John Dewey posited, "Act first, think later!" In my case, type first, think of whatever it is i am typing later. Such a motivating piece of advice by John Dewey.


It has been 3 days, 4 days to be exact, since 2 hours are just a fleeting of time, after our training in SACS, and i still haven't been able to go down cloud 9. I have been so elated by that experience that i am still as happy as i was right after that event. That day was not only successful, but it has been one of my best experience thus far. I have met so many people that have contributed to the sculpting of my new self, and i hope i have also contributed as much to the sculpting of theirs. Life is linear. Our lives are highways. And somewhere down the coils of life's roads, comes an intersection of highways. I am glad that at that day, mine has come across many. We have made crossroads out of straight highways. And deep in my heart of hearts, i do hope that one day, we'd go back to that crossroad, take a much needed stop within the junction of our crossroads, and share the things we weren't able to share.


Once in our lives, we'll be able to meet someone who will have touched our lives significantly that even the tone of their voices will have etched in our hearts. Within the shortness of our lives, we will meet people who actually made a difference in our lives, and sadly enough, even they chose not to stay. People come, and people go. No one ever does stay and watch us rot into non-existence. But that is the beauty of our journey through the white waters of life. We get to realize that we are dependent, and we are alone. Everyone is dependent of something or someone. And the worry of losing that something or someone we are dependent upon constantly teaches us the beauty of savoring every moment with that something or someone. It is only in the realization that nobody stays with us and watch us as our skin shrivels, as our bone curves, as our muscles flap, as our hair silvers, and as our memories diminish into mere darkness, that makes life wonderfully blessed. As of this moment in time, when we have the things and people that matters most to us, makes our lives worthwhile, for someday as the road on which we trudge decays, we realize that we are alone; placed into this world with no one, removed from this world with no one. Life is cruel! But what a wonderful time it is to have met people who, even though momentarily, has made your life a bar above cruelty.


Someday, the people we love we'd have to lose, the people closes to us will part ways with us, and that is inevitable. There are just certain things in our life that are too sad to just accept nonchalantly. We'd have to be proven of its inevitableness to slightly believe it, and even that will not completely persuade an individual whose outlook in life is as rosy as their wishful thinkings. Tonight has rained. It has been so long ago since the last water that fell from the sky, and this is shaping to be a melancholic night. The rain never failed to plant seeds for my imagination to sow, and this certainly is no exemption. The scorching heat of the sun has been angrily bouncing its fieriness. Water supplies has been slowly diminishing, but that is another issue. Come rain! Shower our lives with more of your grandiose. Life is cruel! But a wonderful privilege to have met everyone even though someday they'd depart the runway of life's airport. Enjoy the cruelty of life! =]