The date is a bit misleading here. I was supposed to have finished this last night. But due to some unwanted incidents, I have to delay the making of this. I was supposedly going to start my countdown on 5; and this entry being 5. But that can be assuaged by making two entries today. We have to make compromises in life; we are always living on thin wires of compromises, cursed by constantly having to trudge on the high-wires of sacrifices that demand no regrets. All we have in life are aimless hopes, never a certain promise of attainment, nevertheless, we always get what we need.

What that unwanted incident that delayed my making of this entry is the love of my life’s predicament of pain. The scrunching pain that she’s feeling ensue feelings of helplessness. But what could I do? The arsenal with which I am both laden and cursed with precisely consists of only words and the knowledge of modifying their positions outlandishly. Some of them, although blunt have fighting spirits comparable to traditional renegades: intrepid, brash, and chivalrous. But are they quip to assuage and relieve her of the pain? These are the times that the words I have so long trusted become timidly useless.

The only thing I did was to come with her into the realm of hypnagogia, then to the universe of impossible possibilities. I decided to just put this entry into my constantly proliferating shelf of pending cumbers. Now that I have the whole night, gelid at that, to finish this entry, and that is what I am apparently trying to accomplish. But the alluring success and the prospect exultation of this is betrayed by the head-jerking effort of trying to organize my waking thoughts and integrate in them some capricious nothingness. Sometimes, well, most of the time, the whimsical army of my dreams invades my waking world. The equally fought battle is won by an appeasement of both factions.

At this recent moment in time, she’s still in pain, and while I am here staring blankly on the glaring monitor waiting for sensible thoughts to infect my docile mind, there is that part of it that is worried for her. This is one of those times where words, no matter how creatively constructed, means practically nothing. If there would be a word that can magically free her from the burden of a painful circumstance, I would have used that from the onset of this labyrinth of a manuscript.

It’s raining hard tonight, and I am betrayed by the connection of the internet. I feel I am taken into a singular distinction of being the only person tonight who is bereft of a frivolous connection. The climate is shivering, and I am deprived of the warmth of the privilege to forage the unlimited cache of the World Wide Web. It’s not only frustrating, but also makes you feel caveman-ish; someone whose main mode of entertainment and information gathering is crude and, well, caveman-ish. Need I elaborate more? I guess not.

The main purpose of this entry is to narrate, visually or otherwise, the things I admired about her. So, this would not be the conventional blog of eccentricities and deeply fabricated and thought-provoking preposterousness. Let me start with the first thing I noticed about her that struck deeply the fabric of my dormant sensibilities. I remember vividly what that was. It was like a backdrop opening the main theatrics behind, a gift opened after an outpouring of anticipatory emotions, a strike of light after a day’s worth of cave-peregrination. Her eyes, that glitters like nothing else; a feature of beauteous only found in fairytales. And although I do not have a slight recall as to when was that, I do have a snippet of a reminiscence as to where. Though I get to see her in school, and even that incidence is scarce, she never really stopped to notice me (that is what I wanted to believe). I never really got to see her up close in person before the day she sat down near where we were sitting down. Before that, the only view I have of her is from the top, and even though we were on the same floor, the distance between us is incontrovertible and indomitably permanent (so it seems before). Regardless, even a glance of her flushes every doubt of a hopeless tomorrow. Reverting back to the unforgettable moment where the distance between us is but a hair’s breadth, and having some survey in hand, thought of an ingenious way of trying to attain her name. Indirect as it may seem, it is much better than having to be oblivious to the name of the one person I admired. I had to know, that was what I precisely thought back then. I grabbed my friend’s survey questionnaires (and by the way, that friend of mine is now the special someone of one of my closest friend, kudos to them!), offered to help and thought of having to hit two birds in one survey questionnaire. Another piece of the puzzle that cohered together that time there was the presence of a neighbor beside her. I hesitatingly gave the paraphernalia, at first to Eula (my neighbor which I have to thank for being there), then to her, hoping all the while that she would be putting her name on the giddy lines after the “Name” word. This was one of those times where words are your closest ally, and all you have to do is gamble on the efficacy of those words. I jokingly uttered that that blank there was necessary but optional. Although it was in a jocose manner, there was a shave of seriousness in it. I was hoping she would heed more the serious part, not the façade of a comical smile. Crossing fingers, I entered our class’ room (PE32) in a hopeful trot, only to find out “armagedonically” that she did not even scribble a nickname. The latent frustration which was concealed by the hope of having to know her name was again conspicuously donned by my face. Things, no matter how much they are in place for you, do not always arrange themselves the way you want them to. I killed one bird, but missed one. Then again, you can never kill a mocking bird using a piece of scientifically structured paper. It’ll never do.

Forgive my crude narratives. I am novel and am feebly equipped with the necessary skills to elicit a moving scene within the precepts of your imagination. And although there was no happy ending on that incident, I did saw her up close. Her eyes, alluring as they may be, became blurry during that time. I was choked by the pressure of having to say something that I forgot that it was actually something else that I intended to do; look into her eyes and see how they glow even from afar. I don’t want to sound like a desperate sycophant, but it is what it is.

Happy endings. The greatest paradox we so wish to attain, and that we are so oblivious about. How could something you wish to happen to have to end be happy? Life has been governed by a myriad of paradoxes, its complexities promulgated by the never-ending unfolding of vestigial moments, one of which was the time when I was happy to have not killed the mocking bird aforementioned. For what if, what if, I would have gotten her (your) name, everything else that followed would have been substantially different. Things happen for a reason, which our current reasoning adroitness is insufficient in grasping.

Her eyes, one of the things I genuinely admired about her, never cease to tremble my rigidly aged knees. I am a slave of your stare, addicted to the point that rehabilitation is no longer a remedy. Nothing seems to anymore. I crave for them every day, although I crave them more on some. I love how they glow in perfect harmony with the hums of all things beautiful; a symphony that keeps me desiring them more. I have taken your eyes in singular distinction in this entry; the other things I admired about you will be reserved for the other entries. And if you might question why 5, I could only answer one word, a countdown. What that countdown is for, I will not yet disclose for even though I cannot lavish you with exorbitance and luxury, I can at least, though least appreciative in my point of view, immerse you in verboseness. What could you better offer to the one person you love than something you love also? I’ll bring you to a voyage to the past, the present, and the future, one of which nothing luxurious can do. Take my hand; grab it tight, the countdown has officially begun. Live your life with me for I would gladly live mine with you. I’m yours! =]