I really don’t have anything in mind tonight, so I’ll just be dedicating this entry to one of my beloved friends who in 2 hours time will be celebrating her 20th birthday. What better to say as a dedication than to simply put it in conventional greetings; Happy birthday Marji! That’s not her name actually, not even her accustomed nickname. It is something I call her for the sole purpose (before) of irritating her. I like to inflate her temper bubble, it is something I am interested in doing most of the time when we are together.

And if you may ask what type of friend whose sole hobby is irritating his friends is, then you’d be in for a blatant answer. Only true friends, or so I believe and will continue to believe, are able to stick it up to their friends what they think, what they feel, and what they want to say without compromising any bond there is. Our circle of friends was deemed to be dysfunctional by many others, and rightly so. We are aware of our dysfunctionalities, and so we function. We do not conceal the fact that we have issues, and we, more often than not, disagree on things. And yet, we remained intact. With minor bruises and scar tissues here and there, we stuck with each other through thick and thicker.

Tomorrow’s birthday celebrant needs no deep and classic shenanigans as an introduction. Everybody knows her, or that’s what I want to believe (and I’m pertaining to the little psychology world of USC). She’s a genuine person, one you find in rarity. And when you do find one, you know it’s already for keeps. She’s pretty much one of the most sarcastic person you’ll meet who when you reflect sarcasm against, would squall in empty vengeance. The first time I saw her, I knew she got this seemingly endless wall that protects her from outside interference. She doesn’t want to be touched; she’s too sensitive to be even grazed with alien infestations. Her spastic mood keeps you on your toes, makes you guess every now and then. But amidst her being moody, she’s the most blatantly obvious person I know. She’s too ostentatious in her expressions that missing it would virtually make you a blind man.

She keeps reiterating her being corpulent, which is not the case, as was encouragingly repeated to her. That being stated, I think she just wants to hear it over and over again that she is not fat. Marji, you are not fat! Voluptuous is the best adjective I can think of which would somehow fit your perspective and my perspective. But I candidly believe that you are in no way close to how you see yourself. And even though your smile is blandly the same each and every time (I’m exaggerating, but more often than not, it is the same smile), you know it looks good on you. Your smile that can light up a dark room full of doldrum, deflects the tiniest reflection of lugubriousness. Keep smiling!

You’re getting old, and you’re no longer in your teens. But believe me for I have been in that situation for 3 years counting, youth does not deteriorate with age, and if anything you can opt to stay youthful without compromising maturity. Feel young, always! 20 is just a number, scary at times, especially when you have just entered the realm of the semi-forties. And I know you may believe that I have left you while living the life I am supposed to be living, but let me dispel that as I’ve always done. I stayed on the same spot where you left. You chose to enjoy the liberation you never had, and in a sudden stride of lengthy expanse, though unknowingly, you left. You keep on insisting that I did, or we did, but frankly and right-in-your-face speaking, we stood on the same spot where you took a huge stride, never left. And in times when you needed us, all you have to do is go take those steps back, and you’ll find me on the horizon waving in anticipation for your return. Friendship is where you heart is Marjiiisan.

Enjoy the delectation of quasi-freedom. It never last, nothing does. But when the time comes you need a reliable shoulder to lean on, hesitate not, for I never did left, I simply lived my own life, enjoyed my own life’s transgressions, and starred in my own love story. So are you. But I’m here, like I know you’re there. You, after all, is the best friend I had. Once again, happy birthday! But it wouldn’t be me if I surprisingly flatter you, right? So when tomorrow do come, which it inevitably will, and a camera would be present to record the moments, can I request you don a different smile? I have had enough of it. Do the McDo smile and do not delete it. It takes practice, I was no exemption. Welcome to the 20’s. Life starts each day. Start it right. =]

Last morning, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed (again). Take it literally. Figurative configurations of such statement is forgivable, but will be somewhat verging on the blurred fringes of absurdity. My bed, though comfy and bouncy has this spot where even the heaviest of weight could not nudge down. I woke up with my face firmly planted on the stiffness, cheek down motionless. I’ve got to repair my bed, and make it a top priority. Honestly put, I’ve got to let a professional with an adequate knowledge on bed repair fix it. If I’d be doing it myself, I’m sure to aggravate the already non-conforming spot of my bed.

But in spite of waking on the wrong side, I got something beneficial out of it. I don’t know if it is beneficial, but it did give me an early brain aerobic stretching. Usually when I wake up early morning during class days, I tend to either unwaveringly decide to go to school or unwaveringly decide not to go to school. Either way, it’s a decision so hard to make that it takes me the totality of my sleep to make a firm decision. But this morning was different. I got ambivalent as to whether or not I should show up for my On-the-job training in my alma mater during highschool. I lied down like an obese worm would. Tangle myself with my dust-infested blanket and looked fixedly on my plywood ceiling.

I noticed how it was arranged in a predestined pattern. One ply wood carefully placed adjacent to another, with a fixed and proportionate distance amongst each and every one of them. A work of art found in the simplest of quasi-accidental, everyday objects. The patter of half-witted droplets conceived by the prattling of my just-cleaned AC is noticeable despite the palaver of modern pandemonium. The quick-appearing and the quick-disappearing grumble of three-wheeled income generator, hearing it behind the thinly put up walls of my room, seems to be persuading and encouraging everyone to wake up. I woke up at around six in the morning, with nothing in mind but a corruption of ambivalence. I closed my eyes again hoping to be revisiting dreamland once again. Forceful sleep will never lead you to the realm of cloudy dreams and crystalline fantasies. If anything all it ever gives you are two-ton eyes. Up until now, the after effects of such weight is still perceptible, and is causing me a lot of havoc and dilemma of want and propriety.

This was my second day on my training, and I’m starting to get the handle of things. The nuances of having to serve is novel to me, and if anything it made me fully understand that being commanded to do things you do not want to be doing is a step towards your goal. Sometimes, we have to swallow a great deal of our pride for us to realize that humility is always a golden medallion where only few are worthy of ever donning. Although I do not like the routine life, and believe me, I have avowed myself not to ever live a life of routine, but sometimes we must take routes we normally would take and get the hang of things before we shift our attention towards something we are ignorant at. The secret ingredient of a life of happiness is knowing that there are no secrets. Life is superficial. What you see is what you normally get. If you do not get what you would normally get, it means that you got what you deserved, which is a much better thing than any other.

I have once again lost track of a structured material to be writing with. I am not the person who grabs unto pillared bylaws and standards of writing. And really, I must stop making myself the limelight of my write-ups; it would not do me any good.

Let me just share that March 05, 2010 is the first stride which paved the way for everything. March 03 was the gun blast. This was a Friday, and it was a night like any other night which ended nothing short of a very memorable moment. I saw her up close in person. What transpired was an underground meeting of people who, having realized that nothing has changed, carried the flag of change. She was just a chair in front of where I was smilingly sitting. Behind her was a person of incredible proportions (pun intended), which made it harder for me to inspect what made her what she is. She sometimes took a side-view position which made it angularly fit for me to lay eyes on her oblivious face. Actually, I never had the perfect chance of perfectly looking at her. Time just wasn’t on my side. I have that person behind her to blame! Although she recently reported not having noticed me there, at that night, it doesn’t really matter now, since I can already look at her unintruded and up close.

Tonight, I’ll be sleeping with no burden of waking up early the next day since my alma mater doesn’t have any classes. I will be lulled by the thought of having a straight night’s rest. They say that you must surround yourself with inspiration, I am surrounded by an inspiration of mine (I hope she knows who she is), and it never felt so excruciatingly reveling. I want to celebrate the momentous moments where, when I look at her, makes me realize how life has been kind to me lately. She’s the one person that puts up a smile on my toiled face by simply smiling herself. Her residual aroma ensues a deathly embrace of emptiness, that when gets stuck on my anticipating skin, makes me gab the things I admire about her.

I am being lulled by the soporific climate inside my room, and I am not so much of a strong-willed combatant to deny the nightly visit of Mr. Sleep. I’ll be entering the realm of the unreal and take my perfunctory bow towards the beauty of life behind the first-person view of reality. I’m loving piglet! And I know why. =]

It’s been a while now since my last write-up (call it what you will, it doesn’t change the fact that I wrote it). Summer has been blistering, torrid, precariously parched, but memorable. The plight of having to sweat instantaneously after bathing, to be sucked out of esteem when you feel that your underarms just doesn’t feel right, to be constantly and perfunctorily wiping of excess sweat, and of course, the irritating feeling of desiccation. During this summer, your closest ally is always a tumbler of water; then again, it could be your greatest enemy since a limited amount cannot squelch entirely the sensation of desiccation. The after effect of having to drink less than what you desired is an anathema even to the strong-willed.

Obnoxiously so, I have experimented with almost every deodorant appearing on television; all to no avail. The abominable fact of being befallen with the summer epidemic lies unscathed amidst my indefatigable effort and incessant research of alternatives for mollification. Simply put, I sweat like a broken faucet during this summer. But I’m proud for a fact that I do not stench. And I have my continuous stream of sweat to thank that for. I simply do not break a sweat, I produce pails of it, and so I do not dry up, therefore a rancid stench cannot proliferate. You can always benefit even from the least benefitable source.

But what is with summer that made it memorable? Is it the artillerous barrage of tasks? Or the lenient treatment of teachers on sleepyheads? Do extend your patience on grammatically deviant sentences and out-of-the-blue words (fabricated solely to fit a statement) where even Mr. Webster’s nose experiences epistaxis. Have I ever shared in any of my entries on my unwavering and pertinacious love for words? Logolepsy is what it was pre-contemporarily called. I am indebted so much with words because they have freed me from even the seemingly unescapable predicaments of writing traps and quagmires.

Let me hark back to the memories of summer that made it a summer I can never forget. I always tend to go astray when I tap freely on the keyboard of my exhausted pc, so do bear with me (whoever may have the patience to bear with an unstructured, half antisocial-half morally inclined lunatic that is me). This summer, though scorching from the mighty sun, turned out to be one of the best, if not the best summer of my life. Like any other story, it started rough. Have you tried to smoothen down a crude log with a chisel? It took patience, before the smoothest chiseling transpired. My summer started with an emotional constipation, and a conflation of weary turmoil. I was in dire need of commiseration and a wall. A wall that is just willing to listen, although hearing me will just suffice. The emotional shift started on the reminisce-worthy day of March 3.

I remembered, though vaguely, during that night I was about to ditch a downloaded book by Tamara Horowitz (actually, I did ditched it), when a middle notification on facebook popped up in fiery red. Nobody, in their right mind, would ever send me a random message; I just felt nobody had the guts. I hesitantly clicked on the message, and started reading through it with a childlike curiosity and awe. It was the underground collation of chosen students to be running for position under the banner of anonymity. I replied in flattered haste and asked them if they are in their right mind to be choosing me; since I am not in any way qualified in any possible positions existing. Then unexpectedly, out of nowhere, someone not the slightest familiar to me replied in jocose. I clicked her name (you know who you are), viewed her profile, then I somewhat had a little familiarization. Right there and then, without hesitation and ambivalence, I added her (on my wishlist…:p) on facebook.

Let me just for now leave it at that. I don’t want to be spilling everything on my first entry in so long. Let me utilize this infinitesimal diarrhea of emptiness as an inspiration to write a socially desirable entry for tonight. What that infinitesimal diarrhea of emptiness is an unquenchable missing towards someone, who even with her presence still remains unsated. I am separated from her behind an incarceration of digital circuitry. She seems so close I could send ingenious emoticons, but in reality, not even the most completely dimensional emoticon could describe how and what I am feeling right this moment in time as I speak and murmur her name. I just want her near, that is simply putting it.

Tonight, I am condoled by the petty and desperate voices of a gambling crowd adjunct to where I am currently staying. Thudding reverberations of repetitive upbeat songs destroy the shroud of silence the night has long been protecting. The wheedling of the clammy nighttime breeze towards the unpredictable weather is ostentatious now than ever. Summer has bequeathed its temporary throne towards a new season. Summer has ended, but never the memories that it has brought. Summer has transferred to another kingdom, but the moments that we shared during this season will persistently stay. Let’s have another summer, shall we? But as of this moment, let me share with you one of my favorite phenomenon, the rain. Hold on tight! =]

Behind the background
of revitalized trees
is an endless distance
of gray clouds.
For the rain has once again
returned.
The once ever-blue loft
is now a fulminating staleness.
Not a speck,
not a sign
of sun-flecked hope.
It's gonna rain,
I reckoned.

I sat behind
an unmatching curtain
staring blankfully;
for the ignition of modernity
has once again
quivered in paucity.
I am at lost in deaden silence,
I hear but i do not
stop to listen.
My thoughts are congested
with vivid mem'ries
of you with me.
I yearn for you.
I am at lost of your presence.

In between the distant
backdrop of rain clouds
stood rigidly,
but graciously
a conception of novelty.
Leaves on twigs
are once again voluminous
bringing them down
with their cheerful weight.
A graffiti of technicolor;
a rainbow of botany,
dominated by green subtlety.
The trees have long waited
for the clammy breeze
Like I've been waiting
to see you again.
I yearn for you.
I am at war with emptiness.

The light flickered in surprise,
my cue that civilization
has again been ignited.
I bid goodbye
to the distant sky,
to the deaden silence,
to the rainbow of botany,
and embrace the digestion
of hours between now
and when we are together
once again.
I yearn for you,
my rain,
my ignition.

I lie awake
on a rainy dawn
where hours ebb
as long as age.
And I thought of how
my love for you
got conceived.

Was it your hair?
Falling freely with gravity.
Who shines in almond
as light greets its
aromatic surface.
Whose scent placates
the toil of temper.
It mimics the residual aroma
of wherever we've gone;
reminding me of the places
we simply enjoyed.

Was it your eyes?
Who make servants
of the unbendable.
Sparkling in little shames
and emanating secret joys.
I can stare at them,
and they make cotton
out of my igneous armor.

Was it the tone of your voice?
Who combines compatible notes
and plays the song of joy.
If there'd be such one,
it would be that.
Who ceaselessly force a smile
on my face.
I ceaselessly wait
to have to hear it again.

Was it your exuberant youth?
Who gave a new vitality
in my once tedium life.
Who made young
an arthritic fellow,
and whose knees bend
only from your stare.

The rain has fallen again.
A prologue to a new season.
I fell in love during summer
That rain could not help me
find the reason.

I, here
lying half-awake.
About to enter slumber.
I fell in love with you first
during the summer.