The Dark Side, as famously dubbed by Star Wars. Everyone has his/her piece of malevolence trapped inside thick walls of pretense for social propriety. We are and always will remain strangers even to ourselves. We do not know what we are capable of doing when we fail to accept the side with which we are afraid to show. It’s a sore burden to have to carry a load that is tightly harnessed on our backs, and we are inept on removing it. We are evil; but we are not the devils. We are capable of sinister things, but we are cosmic kilometers away from being the cursed one. We may endanger the people around us with our secret contrivance against the world at large, but we are mostly, definitely able to go beyond our primal selves.

I’d be vehemently chastised for adamantly holding on to the tenet that man is a genetically superior animal. We are smarter. And I believe that is the only ace we have got against any other animals walking the floating surface of the earth. And just like any other animals, we have primal instincts. We are governed by instincts that augment our chances of survival. Man, after all, is subdued by the ubiquitous laws of self-preservation. We have evolved to put ourselves at a vantage point, but that wee piece of primal consciousness still lurks within the darkest corners of our being. We kill to eat, hence we are predatory. We defile the one and only place that supports our existence; we desecrate nature, plunder it with its treasures, and maraud the string that connects everyone on this planet; all these at the expense of our gratification and lack of self-contentment. We deny others there due of unadulterated existence to satisfy our avaricious desires. We compromise the fragile balance of nature to propel our self-proclaimed altruistic causes. We move forward at the expense of genocide; we are murderers, and that is our dark side. The primal consciousness of an animal lurks unnoticed within us. If we deny ourselves the awareness that we have that within us, we remain as men (women). We cannot unclench our fists if we do not know we are clenching it in the first place. But as shadows dancing at patches of ground, they are not all that. When there is shadow, subsequently there is light. If man has a side that wreaks of hellish havoc, man has a side that glows with scintillating grandiosity. We are not only men, we are human beings; capable of kindness, compassion, charity, laughter, care, love, and many more others.

We are capable of thinking, of being aware that the world is temporary; we are temporary. We are able to destroy, but we are more than able to create. That behind the dancing shadows, there glows an omnipotent light. There’s still hope for the human race. Hope should not fade. It should continue to cudgel every regret. We are not the devil. We are merely puppets of the perpetuating battle between good and bad.

(Scratches the attention-deficit itch that has been plaguing his feet.)

On another note (since I don’t want to sound so formal writing about bland topics such as the one on top), I have noticed an “ant march” on the wall of my room. They have been going at that for months now, and I just could not find the conviction to halt their way. I don’t want to be so rude to stop their established way of life. It never ceases to amaze me how robotic they are at following the line. They go by the thousands and still no one gets lost. Some may stray the line, but they still manage to find their way back. Ants are the exemplar of hardwork. They work for subsistence. But the one question that niggle my thoughts is that are they even capable of living? Not merely surviving, but living. They seem to work as if tomorrow is just an escaping idea. Do they encounter the dilemma of fitting in? Obviously they do not have any problems of divergence, since everybody seems to heed a higher authority. Do they get depress when love doesn’t work out? Do they even love? Questions leading to more corollary questions; endless stream of inquiries that will never be answered. Frustrating to say the least, answers always seem to evade those who continually seek it.

The world is big, simple, but never easy to understand. So is man. We should learn to co-exist with everything else. As shadows depend on light, man should stop fantasizing and wake up to the reality that we depend on everything else. We are merely custodians to the artifacts created by a being beyond understanding. Live and let live!


*photo by loi brodeth
*camera by my bebe, bernz bernales

The breeze sends a familiar chill. Christmas is a sneeze away, and the world is now again revolving around a giant Christmas tree. Gift wrappers and alluring promos wreak havoc on pockets and wallets. Christmas carols are now commonplace. Though the carolers are rare these days, the idea of Christmas still remains alit. The melody that never fails to elicit an aura of peace and humanity is immortalized by the people who remain steadfast in the tenet that Christmas is and will always be the most wonderful time of the year.

The one most surprising thing I've met thus far is the sole Christmas decor in our home. I was literally caught flabbergasted, jawdropped, and a smirk popped ephemerally. The reclusive psychedelic ball of mesmerizing light was the eccentric piece that lifted the dormant Christmas spirit in me. It has been years since I saw an ornament hanged in our home, more so a scintillating one. It was a crude contraption, made up of flaps of semi-stubborn plastic. It illuminated our congested terrace. Little streaks of kaleidoscopic light rested on the surface of dusty stocks of old boxes. It illumed by frayed eyes.

I just got home, and the sight I beheld replenished my dried energy. I never really expected someone will put up something of the like inside or outside our home. It was just too Christmasy. I took my phone, click on its camera and started to take a shot; a still moment in the perpetually moving world of blatant bitterness. It was a sweet panorama moving below and in front of it; a novel taste to the once tedious and bland universe that is our home. Christmas has once again touched the dried scales of our abode. It was simply heartwarming; a relief amidst the chilly atmosphere of late December.

Allow me this night to once again be desultory. Although this is more or less in the same context, the year is drawing to a close. The curtain of 2010 is incrementally falling down on the stage. The decade will now be ending, and a new dawn breaks the silent sky. As the stars slowly disappear above the sky, a new light peeping behind the clouds is a beacon of a fresh start. With my batchmates in Psychology about to graduate this March, I will once again be left behind. It's a sad ordeal, but sh*t happens from time to time. All we can ever do is take head on what life throws out you. Whatever fate spoonfeeds you with, the best thing and the only thing that can happen is open your mouth wide enough for it to see that you will not falter, and you will not slow down. In the end, we defecate every bit of it.

I am not getting any younger, and as my age indicates the true face behind the facade of inexplicable youth, I am way passed my pre-pubescent years. Although I have yet captured my true intent and my destined purpose, I am continually in the grueling search of an atrocious ending to my not-so-extraordinary life. I will be graduating in the not-so-far month of October, and that in itself is not ascertained to me. Nothing is certain. It would be an excruciating plight for me to witness my friends receive a piece of paper to certify that they have finished college. In my 23 years living, breathing, and travelling, I have known nothing else but the four walls of bureaucratic education. I have known the heartbreaks of failing, the wretched grins of a not deserved success, and the suppressed joys of a job well done. The pesky murmurs of an assortment of instructors, the sudden evolution of teaching, and the sharp decline of quality, I have been through. I have been here long enough to notice that more and more students are settling for substandard. I have been one with almost every clique, and the years that I lost is coming back to terrorize my focus.

Come March, I will be green with envy. I should have been one of those who'd traverse the platform of half-hearted success. I should have been one of those who'd receive a thin paper that certifies your credibility as a worthy denizen of a third-world nation. I should have been one of those who'd don a toga that symbolizes my worthiness of being called a rational being. But I am not one of those who'd giddily wait for that moment. I am here, and this is exactly where I should be. I could think of many should-have-beens to audaciously stir reality, it is where I am right now that I should be thankful for. For without the mistakes I've made, the lapses I delayed myself with, and the pit holes that served as my own traps, I would not have conceived my own person today.

Take what life throws at you. It may not usually be that appealing, it's going to fit in perfectly. It's not what life gives you, but it's what you take out of what life gives you that matters more than anything. The things you get from it are indispensable. As for me, I might have delayed my journey; I gained a better look at the scenery that is often taken for granted. Life after all, is never only for the quick.

Journey on! We are journeymen in a self-diluted promenade. It's when you learn to strip yourself of harnesses that you realize how breathtaking life is. Grab hold to nothing but a pen, a paper, and an open mind. Life, I believe is continually in motion. And we are gyrating with it or against it.

Happy 5-days-to-go-before-Christmas!

An old cliché goes, “less is more”. With the little who came to the party, the night was no less than the best night within the premises of Cebu. Albeit such claim is a bit bias, I refuse to consider others to be a bar above what we had. I can confidently claim that the PsycNight was a success; and a fun one at that. Cheers to everyone who came, who saw, and who conquered!

Weeks of hellish and grueling preparations; from the trivial to the significant, almost all was covered thoroughly. From inefficacious invitations of fellow Psychology majors, where almost all showed no interest, to foraging the jungle of Psychology talent to fill in the intermission numbers, the weeks before showed no sympathy. From the contemplation of the cheapest, yet commensurate prizes, to the actual procurement within the congested agoras of Lapu-Lapu, the weeks before were laden with intervals of malignant sanity (sometimes you wish you were insane).

December 18, and the day has come. The ever-awaited day has spawned niggling sensations. The morning was set for officers and volunteers to set-up the venue for the actual event. Few came, but less is more. With time gaining pace, the unfinished venue was becoming a pressure cooker. But less is more. With calm minds, we managed to procure what we lacked, and leaped on the deep ravine of fate. We charged towards the unknown, and we geared for a night of fun; fun that only Psychology students know how.

The night, and unbeknownst to all, the nuances of the night were of last minute. Time gained pace, and caught up on us, but we managed to outrun it on the last second. The photowall tarpaulin was printed on the actual day, and it served its purpose and more. It was the star on top of the Christmas tree.

We were set to start at 6:00pm, and being Filipinos as we are, we never actually started on that time. 7:00pm came, and less than 20 were on the venue. Fear crippled us, and we prepared for the worse. Beside ourselves, we hoped for more. And more came. As groups came by the minute, we got relieved, pulled back ourselves and prepared the one thing we aimed to do: share the fun!

7:30pm. The exact time we started. From 6:00pm, up to 7:30pm, we anticipated for a long night. With less than 60 students who came, we got disappointed. But fun does not come in numbers, nor does it sprout when hundreds of feet trembles the wooden floor. Fun comes from those who are willing to share a piece of themselves with everyone else. And what appropriate time for everyone to share a little or a chunk of themselves to others than the season of joy, love, and sharing?

3rd year Psychology students comprised the larger chunk of the statistics, 4th years next (although it’s a bit disappointing on how few came), 2nd year, and 1st year, with only one. It’s quite a sad story, but things don’t always happen the way you wanted it to be. Personally, it was a shock for me when I only saw two 1st years, and the one happened to go home due to an emergency. But the show must go on, and go on it did.

The emcees, Joanne Abejo and Kris Alarin, 3rd year Psychology students, infused a young life into the night that started old. They were a sight to see, a frolic to hear, and a show to behold. No amount of generosity uttered is ever enough for PsycSoc to show its gratitude. With unnerving impromptus and unexpected twists, the two showed everyone on the event how talented the Psychology students are.

The night kicked-off with Jorge Matig-a heading the invocations. It was assigned to him minutes before the incipience. He was followed by our beloved teacher and adviser, Sir Fish with his lucid recall of past experiences; he opened the night with an inspiring thought: fun is essential. School should not suck the life out of you, and you should not let it. And the presence of another teacher, Ms. Velasco, was an energizer. We never expected teachers to come, though we welcome the possibility, and having two of them immersing with us, was a breath of fresh air.

Knoll and company presented their piece first. It loosened the cork, and relaxed the stiffened muscles of tensioned students. Robz and company, could compete with the Jabbawockeez. Pronie and Rebecca, are always a show to anticipate; they never fail to resuscitate the frazzled. Patryz, with her gutsy performance, awed and hastened the circulation of seated audience. And not to forget, Rex and Tom, who relaxed the atmosphere with an acoustic serenade. Mau, together with Pronie, sang an impromptu, but still elicited applauses and praises. Psychology in USC is a jungle of talents.

Mini-game injected intervals of active fun. And with prizes to behold, it was not only entertaining but gratifying. And then the highlight of the night, the Psychobabble happened. It was a first, and hopefully not the last. It was not only informative, but also fun. Rousing the competitive spirits of everyone, those who came formed groups and competed against each other. In the end, the School of Fish, and appropriately at that since Sir Fish was a member of the group, won the contest. Nonetheless, everybody deserves applauses and a salute from the officers.

The night ended as quickly as it came. Weeks of life-sucking preparations ended with a blast of Psychology fun. With the little who came, the amount of laughter and smiles will never be topped with anything else. I do not wish ill to those who did not come, they might have other more important things to tend to, but they surely missed a night poured by the gods with incomparable delight.

Less is more. Less is more. Fun really does not come in sheer numbers, but in sheer willingness to share a piece of ourselves to those who are willing enough to accept it. Merry Christmas and a prosperous new year ahead.

I have been in a plight where it’s as if my GI tract is twisted and contorted into angles once thought impossible; where the only temporary remedy is to proceed to a fetal position. Who knows what is churning up within my stomach? It has been continually grumbling, nagging, and groaning. It would be a breath of petrichor if even for a while it takes time to consider giving me a rest.

Recalling the events which lead to my predicament, I cannot pinpoint one instance. It frustrates me to not know what caused this ailment. As far as my memory is vivid, I remember not having eaten any meal yesterday aside from a heavy dinner. But even before dinner, I felt something sinister lurking inside my entrails. Dire, ominous, and imminent.

I do have one culprit though, the acclaimed C2 tea drink that I imbibed even without a single bite of anything edible. As far as I know, teas are laxatives, and without anything to dispose, my poor old digestive tract got confused. Talk about gullible. And now, I am suffering intermittent contortions, exacerbated by my inability to digest food into its simplest component. I’m hoping I’m over this when I am once again touched by the sun.

Constipated. Life has been throwing darts at me, at random. I’m virtually out of room to maneuver myself, and what little space that is allowed of me, happens to be occupied by other things. I’m dying (this is a metaphor, by the way). Constipated by incessant bombardment of frightful choices, and lose-lose situations, I am traversing a dense thicket of forest where even the canopy is inept at absorbing light. I am walking in darkness. Foraging for sources of subsistence, I die every moment of motion. But the paradox of it all is that the rascal of my slow death is my lifeline. An inexplicable paradox of living and dying.

Love is a paradox. The more you have of it, the more you doubt its credibility. And I do believe that love feeds on doubts. For without you questioning its trueness, you never get to learn how much you need to patch it for it to remain afloat. Love is never enough. Never adequate to keep two souls afloat on the sea of petty cataclysms. It requires a steady amount of effort, of coincidences, and of trust. Trust that amidst the whirling storms you face, land exists.

Love is a constant trifling argument; a cynical outlook for something as wondrous as love. But I’m left with little alternatives. Love has been cruelly generous to me. But I am still passionately in love.

Constipated. Emotionally and physically. All happening to snap me back to awareness that I am alive and I am in love.

It’s Halloween. And to put in the perspective of a Christian, specifically a Filipino one, today is All Saints Day; the day allotted by the Catholic Church to revere the thousands of saints there is. I’d bet my life to who so ever can name every saint the church has canonized. There are the saints, the blessed, and whatever label they put before every name they thought will sanctify those who hoist silver-coated crosses. Enough of these, and let me condescend back to what this entry is all about.

It’s around 4:30, +/- 5 minutes, and I got hungry and decided to buy cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers here are sold cheaply at 31 pesos, lavishly, you get one for free. I don’t know what they put in their patties, nor am I interested. As long as it’s palatable, it suits me just fine. I ordered for one pair of cheeseburgers, and suddenly an old lady, in here late 60’s or so, asked for something. I was waiting for my change so I could at least give whatever change I have. I did not bring enough, so I could not give her more than her due. I sulked in the corner, watched those who finished buying if they would give something, whatever they have, no matter how small, to that old lady who clamors to keep her sanity. But no one did. I overheard a group, and realized they just visited their dead loved ones. It wasn’t eavesdropping, since their voices out-voiced even the roaring engines. They spoke of pity, of salvation, of religion, of God, but when they were handed out their change of coins, they ignored the old lady who spoke of pity, of salvation, of living. I realized no one was going to give her anything. People are too occupied with practicality and selfish predispositions nowadays that they tend to ignore that lives connect in invisible strands. What you do tends to substantially affect others. And by ignoring a hungry old lady, you make her hungrier. We can’t save everyone, that’s just too idealistic. Even Frazier’s utopia fails to do so. But what we can do is affect those close to us, and no matter how small that action is, it will resonate. I decided to buy 4 cheeseburgers, and gave the old lady two of them.

I’m a conceited simpleton, a selfish moron who knows nothing about austerity. I lavish on what I have as of the moment, and I tend to waste resources on useless nothings. I, at times, steal, to satisfy a fleeting desire. Lie to receive an increase in daily incentive. And persuade, get the sympathy of, just to place myself in a predicament where I do not have to be niggled about everyday hook-ups. Simply put, I’m a human being. Not to smudge a human being’s integrity with malevolent blames, I’m just being blunt. But when I see someone whose plight is something I do not want to be in, I crack. When I see an old lady ask for something she cannot possibly obtain, and I can, I bend. When I see a little kid who sings jingles in moving transportation just to have something to satisfy himself, I empty my pockets for coins and give it to them. When I see pre-pubescent to pubescent children groping their way in jam-packed jeepneys, and start to rap, I smile in awe and reward their efforts. For whatever purpose they have in wanting to have something in order to attain another thing, be it for food, for water, for medicine, or for drugs, they do it to satisfy a need, a want, or a desire. We just can’t stereotypically put them in a category just because they don tattoos, loose shirts, dirty jeans, and worn-out slippers. They do it to satisfy themselves; how does that make them different from us? I’m going to cut to the chase; people die from our apathy, from us not caring, from us thinking that ends do not justify means. Just because we lie, we steal, we cheat does not make us apathetic and selfish. Let’s forget the titular incentive of Saint. As long as we breathe air, we can make a difference, and apathy will not bring us there. Sometimes, if you look at other perspectives, the end far outweighs the means. I’m not promoting lying, stealing, or cheating. Those are just verbs that are holding us back (at least I’m speaking on my own behalf). What I’m promoting is we take action. In our own little, secret ways, we give a hungry person a chance at life. In our own contrivance with the invisible world, we offer an addict an option. In our own deliberate conviction, we refuse becoming one of the apathetic. We care, and sometimes, that is exactly what’s holding us back.

Recent statistics show that 925 million people do not have enough to eat. And in 5…4…3…2…1…A child just died from hunger, just because some of us thinks that helping a vagabond would directly predict their becoming dependent from beggarship. We think just because we offer to give some coins, we give these people fishes instead of trying to teach them how to fish. Perhaps we might want to wake up. These beggars, more often than not, do their beggar things in cities where nobody (I’m quite sure) knows how to fish. Sarcasm aside and moving on, we think that because we put them in a situation where they can depend on people who feed their mendicancy, they refuse to look for jobs that might sustain their subsistence. Perhaps (again) we might want to wake up. They cannot land jobs! They’re too, for lack of an inspiring term, beggar. What they do relies solely on what they are capable of giving, which is corporately and industrially nothing. They cannot find jobs because no one will give them one. Now where is the humanity in trying to legitimize our claim that by giving something to them will ultimately lead them to depend on us? Where is the rationality in trying to justify our own indifference with such inhumane claim? Where is the humaneness in not wanting someone to become dependent to us? Where did all those church teachings in helping go? Questions we tend to ponder often, but refuse to heed just because we care too much we tend to forget that IT IS NOT ENOUGH.

We depend on something. Humans depend on air, on food, and nowadays, on money. Little kids depend on their parents for care. College students depend on their parents for money, for attention, and for understanding. Adults depend on loved one for sanity. How are these people, who die a slow death from hunger, different from anybody else? Just because they do not own branded clothes, just because they walk miles and their feet coated in dust, just because they ask those who can afford, does not make them less of a human being. They can die of hunger, just like you, just like me. They can die because nobody can act on the care they feel when they see one. They die just because we refuse to go beyond ourselves. Now I say screw those beliefs that we are not helping them when we offer something to them. Throw those beliefs that we are doing more harm than more good when we give our spare change to them. Our means may seem unjustifiable, but the ends render those irrelevant. Nail justice on a cross. Society has been preaching it, but you see injustice wherever, whenever. What else can we do to those who suffered the sharp end of injustice than an act of injustice itself? Let’s stop pretending that we don’t care. We do. Let’s stop wearing a façade of toughness, because every 5 seconds, a child dies. Let’s stop the entire pretense that we are fortunate, for we never are and never will be. For as long as we live and many others die, we lose a part of ourselves. For as long as we breathe air, we breathe the essence of those who died because of our inaction. For every time we stop to think that we care, someone is slowly dying. Let us not stop in thinking that we care. We care for a reason, and that is because we know we can do something. In the littlest of the ways we know how, we nudge the seemingly immovable paperweight of apathy. Little by little we can make a difference; one good deed for one person at a time.

And as you read this, 86 children just died from hunger. There are so many things we can do to prevent another one from dying and starting in our community is advisably the starting point, specifically those who ask us in the daily walks of our lives. How can we possibly miss those people? They’re there, trying to catch our attention, and just because we are too embarrassed to help them, we leave one biting our dust. One good deed at a time; make sure we etch that permanently into our brains. And by the way, another 5 children just died. Stop the bleeding! Don’t stop to just caring. One good deed does make a difference. Make sure you refuse to become infected with the resilient apathy. (Another 2 just died).

I don’t have the obstinacy to get out of bed. The weather’s too perfect, and this day’s too special. I have so many things in mind that I wanted to put in here, but the moment’s too surreal for me to let it pass by. I would have written a passage of my ordinary travels, of my subjective experiences, but this day is more than ordinary. I decided to place some of those passages in the cupboards, and put it on my pending list. Ironically though, no matter how special this day is, I just don’t know how to put it in words. I can’t seem to string the appropriate words to describe this day. Perhaps, I should stop trying to describe it and just go with the first thing that comes to my mind. And the first thing is a letter. Perhaps, and rightfully so, I should make one. Here it goes:


Dear you,

It’s the 25th of October, and you know what it means. We have again reached another chapter in our lives together. I dare not say it was a calm breeze; it was more like a flux of unpredictable storms and sunny days, and breezes and gales, and everything in between. I took the toll, but I held on knowing that everything is worth it. You are all worth it. We had our ups and downs, as like everyone else. We had our twists, our turns, and our dull moments. We had our misunderstandings, and plenty of those. We had our petty quarrels on trivial things. We had our inevitable clashes of pride. Our searching for a common ground, and got disappointed finding out there’s none. Our fierce battles on who is right. We had our many things within the span of 7 months. We thought of giving up. We tried letting go. We decided to walk away. But there’s something that kept us together; an invisible glue that bounded us, hopefully for life. Something always pulls us back together when we gave up, when we let go, when we walked away; a force beyond the both of us. And amidst our regular battles, amidst us thinking that we have had enough, deep inside we know we can still handle more. Deep in our heart of hearts, we know nothing’s going to make us falter; nothing’s going to break us. And we’ve gotten stronger. So much that it broke every expectation of ours.

And now we are on our 7th month, and even if there are still those petty quarrels, those misunderstandings, those clashes of pride, we still have each other. I’m still up for more. I’m still looking forward to more petty quarrels because I know they are just going to sharpen us. I’m still anticipating misunderstandings because I know we’re never going to understand everything about each other. I’m still waiting for our clashes of pride because I know we have plenty of those, but what we have is more than pride, more than anything else. I’m still here with you. The only thing that changed from before is that we no longer thought of giving up, we no longer tried letting go, and we no longer entertain the thought of walking away. We’ve grown, and we know that a solution that considers us breaking apart is a solution not worthy of grabbing. It is when we are together that we are the strongest. It is when we have each other that we know we’re indefatigable. But I know we are far from being indestructible. For if we are, the fun of uncertainty withers. We don’t know what lies ahead of us. We don’t know what we will be up against. And certainly we don’t know if we’d end up together. Everything is uncertain. And from that we imbibe strength. Everything is “we don’t knows”. Everything is “what if’s”. And from that we know we have a choice. Knowing nothing is certain, we steadfastly fight for each other.

If there is one thing I’ve learned from this journey, it is that I refuse to go on without you. I will not sycophantly say that I cannot live without you, for I have. I have years behind me without you. But having lived short moments with you, having spent wonderful times with you, I refuse to ever go on without you. With every bit of what I have, I’ll fight for you. And I will never be jaded of fighting for you.

Happy 3rd (7th) monthsary my only Bernz. We may have reached this milestone, but still nothing is ever assured of us. But one thing I can be certain about is that I will continue to fight for us, I will hold on, and that I will be yours until you decide you no longer want me. What lies ahead of us may be ominous, but what we have at this point in time is more worthy of attention than anything else. I love you, and words are not commensurate. It goes beyond what I can say, what I can write. I fear sometimes that I could no longer express what I truly feel, not because I don’t know what it is, but because it’s no longer enough. Just allow me to say it in its unadulterated form, I love you. I’m looking forward to more moments with you. I’m yours until. ♥

Indefatigably loving,
Vergie

My head on my hand, thinking of what to put up here. I’m lethargic, and in a pressing need of vitality to recuperate my wandering mind. The sky is halfheartedly crimson, and tuneless songs break my empty travels. My fingers run amok, and are faster than my thoughts. I do not stop to think; whatever appears on my screen is indiscriminately unaltered. I’m tired, and the glaring screen is lulling me to sleep. But whenever I lie down and offer myself under the suspension of consciousness, my lethargy fades like short-lived fumes. And once again, I am in front my monitor screen, thinking of what to put up here, yawning and in a trivial battle against sleep.

I have nothing in mind but Bernz. Always her, and there never was a time that I could remember not thinking of her. I am constantly preoccupied of her. How she smiles that makes everything blur. How her eyes shapes when she talks that ceaselessly makes me wonder “how in the world did I ever got to her?” I am fortunate. So much so that fortune fails to encompass what I truly gained. She changed my life in the subtlest ways possible. The little things that she does, unfailingly make me fall for her more. I am deeply in love with her. How deep? I have not yet captured an accurate measurement, nor will I ever capture one. It’s 2 days before our 3rd monthsary, though I’d like to believe that we are on our 7th, and it always seems that it was just yesterday. It always seems untrue. When we’re together, reality seems to crumble into the world of vivid illusions. A delusion I am not willing to perturb. A dream I am not keen on waking up. Wonderfully enough, I don’t have to, for she’s real. Tangible. Beautiful. Real.

Although there were days that I treasure that I no longer clearly remember, I treasure the “now” moments. I dread of the day that she might one day realize how unfortunate she is to have me. I lack the standards, nor am I willing to attain these standards. I am my own man. And I fear it might not be enough. As for her, she’s more than enough for me. She doesn’t have to be anybody else. Just being her, and I still fall even more.

Right this very moment she’s sound asleep. Snoring, I assume. She’s tired, and it would mean everything to me to watch her in her unconscious wanders. Though that would be a long way to go, it remains a wishful thought. I dare not say that she completes me, for I never really remember being lacking myself, nor did I ever feel inadequate. I am always satisfied with what I am. I do not require myself a massive dosage of grandiosity. She’s not the puzzle that fits perfectly into my life; it’s not her burden to bear. Nor is she the angel that soars down from the heavens and blows me a kiss of pure serenity. She’s not any of those. She’s her, and that is all she has to be. She’s her own self, and I am not looking for anyone that would fit my standards. She broke everything on my list. She’s my exception.

She doesn’t have to complete me; we are two separate, complete lives, looking for a common fate of loving and being loved in return. If anything, she creates a void inside me; a void that impetuously appears, a void where only she can fill, a void where only she can create. I have never been this inadequate in my life; I lack moments with her. She’s all I need.

I have never been afraid of tomorrows. I have never been so fearful of uncertainties. I have always faced these things with head held up high and fists unclenched. Not these days. Not the days when I think of what may become of us. I shudder of the possibility of losing her. I tremble thinking that I might lose her. I cringe of the thought of her walking away from me. I battle these trepidations day in and day out. She’s all I want.

Now that a new horizon is on the verge of being conquered by us. I fear of what else lies ahead. But I am confident that whatever it is, we will be able to go through it like breeze through a curtain. We are on a journey. The goal is yet clear, and the roads ahead are certainly full of rough and tumble. We have a prospect future, but that remains a prospect. It’s not a laid path, we have to make it for ourselves. Nothing is ever certain. I love her more than anything, more than anyone, but I know nothing is certain. And with that in mind, I battle those that might ruin what we have. The awareness that I might lose her, gives me conviction of wanting to fight for her. And I will indefatigably fight for her. It’s a battle against fate, and one I am fervent in winning.

With head on hand, I realize my mind’s not empty nor will it ever be. As long as she occupies my thoughts, my world will be psychedelic. She’s everything in between black and white; a splash of vitality, a dab of enthusiasm, and a smudge of passion. She’s not my everything! Keep that in mind. But she’s that one thing, that makes everything else mean nothing. And I love her. ♥

Maintaining myself to write has been a trivial battle. I have all the time in the world, but laziness always has its way of infecting me a substantial amount of sleep virus. Ideas spring out wildly, and it’s just a matter of jotting down my thoughts. But my bed has its way of tying me down, and lulling me back to the realm of intangibility. But I’m not one to complain. It’s a predicament I want to be more often. Sleep. Nothing in mind. Unharmed by pressure. And sleep more.

Sleep is essential. And I could never stress its essentiality in any way I can. No hyperbole can exaggerate how much we, as a specie, NEEDS sleep. Even capitalizing the word need fails in effort. We should at maximum, have 8 hours of sleep a day. Although it’s ideal, it’s commensurate. The world has quickened its pace. What it’s after, no one in one’s rational, logical, and scientific mind can ever know. It’s beyond everyone, simply put. It seems that everyone is in a congenital race. It is as if, we are born to make haste of everything. Slowing down is a deadly plight, and once you decrease your pace, life gets more ahead. We no longer have our own time. It’s been devoured by schedules, to-do’s, and deadlines. I’m not against any of those, nor am I starting a rebellion. They’re in and of itself significant in one’s life. Without those, we wouldn’t be pushed to finish what we have to finish, or start what we have been longing for to start. I’m just hoping we gain back our control, and reacquire the driver seat. We can’t control time, but we can always moderate our pace.

On another note, I always like countdowns. It gives you something to anticipate in a world where waiting for something is commonplace. It excites you as the number draws close to naught. Zero has never been embellished quite worthily as it should during countdowns. And when the calendar starts rhyming, it’s automatic to imagine Christmas. I for one don’t believe in Christmas as the exact date of Jesus’ birth. It’s not exact, nor will it ever be if ever they decide to change it to some dates other than the traditional. But Christmas for me is beyond that. It has slowly lost its meaning, and celebrating it has been bounded by austerity. The economic crisis everybody is experiencing has tightened everybody’s pocket. But Christmas is beyond that.

Before, as far as my memory can be trusted, the atmosphere changes from ordinary to soothing when the –bers announce its coming. Christmas begins early back in the heydays. Christmas was longer, and the anticipation always crunches your abdomen as a day sloughs off the countdown. October, and both the inside and the façade of our house is ornate with sparkly decors and lights coruscate seemingly dancing with a Christmas tune. Both the radio and the television serenade you with joyful Christmas songs, encouraging everyone to feel the spirit of Christmas. But those were the days. And Christmas now has become shorter and shorter. No one’s to blame, not even the custodians of tradition. The tides have changed, and the paradigms have shifted. It’s 64 days before Christmas, and I haven’t caught sight of even a single sparkling ornament in our house. It may only be us, but it is the closest to me that I make the judgments of those distant from me. The radio no longer plays Christmas songs as often as they were before. The countdown’s still there, but it no longer elicits the same anticipation as it did back then. But Christmas is beyond that.

I don’t know if it’s only me, but I do find the melody of Christmas songs soothing. There’s just something hidden in those notes that calms me. Seeing Christmas decors warm me; I feel at ease wherever I am when I see such. The countdowns of today may no longer excite me, but there is still that dormant feeling of wanting to be excited. I don’t know what tamed it, but it’s there. Then I thought that Christmas is none of those things. Not the Christmas decors, not the Christmas songs on radios and tv’s, not the countdowns; none of those. It’s beyond that, and it’s beyond us. Heck! It’s not even the birth of Jesus. It’s beyond that also. And as a Christmas song played, I realized that it is the feeling you get from Christmas itself. The feeling of family, of friendship, of love, of sharing, of forgiving, of peace, of joy, and almost every positive emotion you can think of. Perhaps, even of satisfaction. We forget our problems, and the solution shines through. Everything we need for subsistence is everything we have. Christmas, as it draws close, made me realize that what we need is everything that we have. Christmas may be short, but it has become more intimate for me. It has become an essential part of my year, and will be for the years ahead. It draws near, and a renewed spark of anticipation has been tingling me. Christmas is beyond everything tangible. It lurks in each and every one of us; some dormant, some active. It’s only a day in a year, may we not forget to savor it as it comes. Happy Christmas! =]

Four months of life-sucking, death-defying, anemia-inducing ordeal. Although that is an exaggeration, it adequately describes what I have been through this semester. I had my ups, my downs, and my sidetracks. But that’s what makes the expedition enthusiastic. I basked under the scalding stare of pressure brought about by errands; errands that is either a predilection towards my chosen career, or towards leisure.

Leisure, I surmise, is a time you give to yourself from yourself. No one gives that to you. But to some extent, it is something we cannot give to ourselves when situation disallows it. It is not an abundant necessity (after all, we need it). If anything, it is scarce. But after a gruesome semester, it is only righteous that I (and everyone involved) gift myself with a leisure I sorely deserve.

We all need a little time where all we do and all we think about is virtually nothing. That may be an impossibility, but we can at least settle for a bar below that. Immersed in a fast-paced world, it is easy to lose ourselves. If we fail to keep track of where we trudged, we might end up surrounded by unfamiliarity. In this supersonic universe, it’s only ordinary that we become engrossed in our journeys that we tend to forget that we can only take so much. Leisure frees us from the grasp of labor, from the torture of unsolicited responsibility, and from the sleep-depriving assignments.

Sometimes in our lives we were once slaves of work; some without the surety of contentment, and some do not even sufficiently reward. We dig our own pit, and bury our own selves. We only get to notice how far we have dug down when we put down our shovels and look up.

The semester has ended, and it couldn’t have been any timelier. The prologue of a short hiatus is a fulminating weather. The downpour of rain has been an ominous signal. It may mark the beginning of a week-long vacation, but it threatens to cut short any planned excursion. It continues to baffle me how so much rain fits in a floating cotton cloud. It’s soaring above is enigmatic, never revealing their secret to petty humans. I could only look up in awe and bewilderment.

A leisure time for myself appended by the serenity of the falling rain, is my idea of a vacation; a staycation. The clammy touch of the breeze induces a soporific demeanor. There’s always something about a cold weather that makes me peregrinate. When the rain drums its mardi gras beat, my thought clambers the overture of imagination. I get lost in a world where I could be god. I could be the harbinger of all things surreal.

Within the custody of an impregnable roof, fastidious walls, and a window pane, I could look outside where the rain falls. They never fall alone. A cheap pen and a dubious notebook on my lap, scribbling and converting scenes into words, I could stay awake till the wee hours of the night. With my thoughts to keep me company, and my self-made characters conversing in front of me, I can make a sudden movie that will never be funded. With the face of the person that makes each day worthwhile for me close to me, I can stare at the horizon, see nothing, but still smile. This is unenviable. But it suits me just fine so long as she’s where she’s supposed to be: within my embrace, allured by her aroma, mesmerize by her eyes, and killed by her smile. It’s ineffable; my feeling for her is, but might as well die trying. =]

The University of San Carlos, a prestigious catholic institution not only in Cebu, but arguably the whole country, is a devout university to the teachings of the church. They ostentatiously commercialized to have taught their students the fundamental lessons God himself taught; although it is no argument. They did not fall short on the action and motivation to instill those values and their motives of doing so may be in and of itself worthy of recognition, it is their action contradicting such teachings that is beyond deception.

Whoever speaks of the name of the University of San Carlos automatically has in mind a stereotype of prestige, poise, and incomparable discipline. Not knowing that behind the façade of such stereotype is a paradox worthy of castigation. A scenery sore to the eyes of the critical and those who keep vigilant eyes contrasts the landscape of decade-old trees. My eyes were one of those that ceaselessly squint when it catches a glimpse of the paradox that hid behind the tall walls of a catholic institution I proudly belonged.

But like every story, there is always an antagonist. There is always that one group, no matter how small, who refuses to keep silent and considers silence as cowardice. We, the students of the Environmental Sociology class of Mr. Aloy Cañete were a rowdy bunch. A small group of not exceeding 25, decided to take up arms and battle against the giants of the institution we are in. With a mindset of catalyzing change, we, together with our passionate teacher, planned a movement that would go up against the paradox right in the backyard of where we were holding up our classes. A feeling of dissonance persistently whips us back to awareness; we are stakeholders and we have as much right as the honorary priests running the said institution into voicing out our opinions. We are students of this university. And whatever is boiling inside the school we are studying in is information that must pass through our ears.

After careful deliberation on what steps to take and what errands to run, we came up with the idea of going against what is closest to us. As students of an environmental sociology class, it would only be appropriate if we rise up against an abuse towards the environment.

Behind the immaculate façade of our university, is a tragedy waiting to happen. Mountains, that took millions of years to rise up to its peak, have been degraded into flat lands. Thick vegetation that held its ground against the most malignant of storms, pose no threat to the iron-hand of mechanical machineries. Fertile soil, that has supported who knows what since time immemorial, has been sloughed off the ground leaving it barren and lifeless. A quarry concealed technically by redundant laws as a site development, has been going on atop the university; an activity that goes against any teachings of God. A paradox we were keen on stopping.

Utilizing technology, I took a glance of the place on Google Maps. It is a software where you can view virtually anywhere on the surface of the earth. And for a sad reason, the place was not difficult to find. This is due to the salient and significant contrast of colors; a puddle of yellowish bedrock hidden behind a wall of tall trees. But, from a bird’s vantage point, the trees disclosed its dark secret. The quarrying has been undergoing even before I entered the institution. Its scale is gut-wrenchingly large, and its effects on ecology are haunting.

We took a stand. We decided to make good on what little voice we have and use it to reverberate our castigations and aimed to raise awareness to the silent many. We refused to become silent, and be a part of the conglomerate that takes up arms. Our arsenal is our voices, our principles, and our passion. We may be few, but our cause reverberates to the deepest corners of the institution itself. We hoped to tickle the sleeping majority, point them out to the issue right behind their backyards, and promote awareness of those who were like us before we joined the class. We organized the Kontra-Quarry sa TC movement. Our fundamental aim was to go against the quarrying that is killing what little is left of our school’s flora and fauna. We endeavored for change.

It is a movement an amalgam of diverse students secretly contrived. But in all honesty, at first I wasn’t really that passionate about the said activity. It was way beyond me, and I was too pre-occupied with errands I have yet accomplished. I reckon it to be a burden. And I could have never been more satisfied to be proven wrong. As the movement shaped up into what was once a surreal idea, and became a tangible force, I began to unclench my fists and embraced the aim of the movement. It was a cause worthy of immersing myself into.

And now, the semester has ended and the movement, I personally reckon was a success. Having stirred up the drowsy administration, our movement woke them up and opened their half-closed eyes that the students refused to stand quiet. A successful forum was organized by everyone involved in the movement tackling on issues revolving around the quarry. Our goal was clear: to put an end to the un-Christian works of quarrying. Also, t-shirts were printed for free to those who show support to our movement. Subsidized by the So-An department, the students involved were keen on spreading the protest. We also visited rooms, talked a bit about what our movement was about, and called for more students to join. Overall, it was arduous. But the fruits of our labors were sweet.

Having been a part of the movement convened in me a lot of learning. A value that has been etched into the deepest part of my convoluted brain will linger till the last tree on earth drops. I have learned that we are enmeshed in a giant cobweb with nature. And that whatever happens to a corner consequently reverberates to the other corner. We are one with everything else. Say for example, the quarry happening on top of the university led to the catastrophe-like flooding beneath and outside the school premise; a dilemma that hasn’t been addressed even though the situation has gotten worse and worse. We are all connected in a single strand of string called nature; a predicament we are innately tied with, and where we are bounded to death. And even to death, we remain tied to the encompassing grip of nature.

I have learned to love nature more. I have learned to remain vigilant, and continually ferret for more abuses against it. We are part of nature, and if anything, we are nature itself. The mountains, brought about by incomprehensible forces, grew freely. And it should be left free. The adulterated mountains of the University of San Carlos is an epitome of how dangerous we humans could be, provided we keep a blind eye of the adverse effects of our actions. The once pristine condition of the university’s ecology has now become a rugged, malevolent tableau. We must keep in mind, and steadfastly at that, that we owe our existence and subsistence to nature. We, together with many other, should be the guardians, not the delinquent specie. We are nature.

My eyes are now wider than they ever were. With a fear that may be, someday, my children and their children’s children, and so on, might not be able to see what I have seen, to experience what I have experience, touch what I am still able to touch, I grow weary every day. I am niggled by the thought that everything might be lost, and we, as a specie, are the instigators. I ought to foment awareness. I believe that in every human lies a dormant will to stimulate change. All we need is a little shove at the back, and the momentum will build up for itself. I will be the “shover” if given the opportunity.

As an agent of change, I consecrate my word that I will continue what we began. And it should also be a troth for everyone involved to perpetuate the prolific start. It is not necessary to rally in a rowdy ensemble. Little commitments will suffice. In our own little actions, we do good with what we have consecrated. As agents of change, it is what’s closest to us that we have to draw the starting line. We start within ourselves. To promote change, it is to ourselves that we should start promoting it with. I am an agent of change. And as Edward Everett Hale insinuated, “I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.” If everybody’s mindset will be this, then as the many ones convene, will make a conglomerate of agents who aims to preserve what little is left of our breathtaking nature. We are nature.

I have a vision. That someday, I will be able to see what my ancestors saw; an unadulterated condition of nature, a pristine backdrop. I will be able to swim the seas without fear of contamination. I will be able to walk the road without worry that I might inhale a putrid stench. I will be able to climb trees without irk that it might be my last. I will be able to photograph the sublime features of nature whose only fear might be the insufficiency of memory space. I will be able to tour my children, and my grandchildren to places I deemed breathtaking, and still they are there. And when that someday comes that I knock on the door of the place everybody is destined to, I will be confident that the place I will be leaving is still the place I have lived, or be better.

I am part of nature. I am nature.