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.

I'm pallid tonight; dry as a desert during summer. An incessant sharp pain, sporadically followed by a blunt one constantly occurs inside my head. The instance I try to think of what to make, the untamed migraine halts my whimsical journey inside my own vagary. I am limited by the ceaseless tapping of an attention-deficit headache. Aggravated by the eye-squinting dazzle of the screen I have befriended for the past few months. It has been my closest ally during nights where the chill of the rain-supervened wind whistles in desperation. It has been the accessory to my procrastinating crimes, my contriving buddy during which I do what I do best when I am alone. But during this night, its blinding light forsook our contrivance, played Judas on our collaborative contract. And now all it has done thus far tonight is exacerbate my head-banging ordeal.

For countdown number two, I’d just be posting a poem I have written for her; the first poem I have haphazardly made for her. It’s not really worth aggrandizing, but it is after all, all I could do for her. I hope by merely reposting this, I wouldn’t degrade its worth. It happens to coincide with the theme of what I was hoping to accomplish. For number 2: the 4th thing I admired about her: her relentless sweetness where even my sweet tooth could not get enough of. I have been insatiably craving for her sweetness every day. She never fails to conjure little shivers to my arrector pili muscles and induces rare goosebumps to me. I want her to know that I want her to continue to be sweet. She’s divinely irresistible when she is. Not that I can resist her when she’s not, because I still can’t. I just can’t.

I’m happy you got to spend your birthday with me. Selfish as it may sound, I am hoping that you did enjoy as much as I enjoyed too. I only got one wish for you: More birthdays with me! =] Here’s the poem. I'll be living my life with you, will you live yours with me? I’m yours now! Ask me tomorrow if I still am. =]

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.

This was supposed to be the number 1 on my sequel-blog of countdowns, but due to some unexpected arduous days, I wasn’t able to follow the synchrony. But I avow to finish the countdown; this is the least I could do.

Tomorrow’s her birthday, and I haven’t really thought or even considered giving her extravagant materialisms; I am not fortunate myself to afford on lavishing her with things I could only own in fantasies. Being naturally programmed to engage in self-serving bias, I only have subtle tirades for physical luxury. But believe me; I have welcomed the sneaky thought of giving her something for her birthday. And by the way, this is her first birthday with me, and that in and of itself is already worth the accolade of specialness. I was hoping to just be with her on that day; excuses aside, I just cannot afford anything lavish as of this point in time and some points in time ahead. I thought of saving, but due to some unwanted and obnoxious incidents of money-burning, I just can’t seem to persist. What little money I have, I spend on the little time we have for each other when we are together. I love the spontaneity of our itineraries (could it be even considered to be such?). The unplanned trajectories of our constantly undecided fates keep us guessing, nonetheless, the predicament of being on the blurred fringes of where-to-be’s and what-to-do’s makes up for the fun. Then again, that may also still be a self-serving bias statement. I may only be the one who thinks that being spontaneous in whatever little things we do is fun. She may have thought of it to be exhaustingly boring. I hope not.

3. What of it? The last 2 sequels were 5 and 4 synchronously. 5, being the hopefully visually-nourishing narrative of how I admired her divine eyes, and 4 being the taciturn effort of spotlighting her smile, which by the way I could never get enough of. What would be of 3 then? The 3rd thing I admired about her. The 3rd thing I yearn for everyday. The 3rd thing, that when is imperceptible, fails to complete my strenuous days.

Her smell, like the scent of sweet innocence, ever-captivating, never ceases to capture my access attention and alarm me of impending beauty and love. It is the prologue to her visually-stimulating radiance. The introduction to a whirlwind of emotions, one of them would be a rush of excitement. If I close my eyes and smell her scent, I could imagine no less of a heaven-sent entity. One of which I could never imagine of ever holding close to me; but I have and I won’t be letting go any time soon. I am frivolously addicted to her scent, deductively, I am addicted to her. She may not be my cocaine like what a glowing vampire said to the girl he could not resist imbibing, but she certainly qualifies to be more than that. She’s more than that, for I could no longer imagine the uncertain tomorrows without her. She’s a prerequisite for tomorrow to exist. I am not keen on it without her. She’s a part of me.

I don’t want to flatteringly say that I cannot live without her, for I have been even before we were together. All I’m ever going to say is that since I found her, met her, knew her, and have her, I don’t want to imagine the continuance of my flaccid life without her. Though I continue to breathe, though my heart continues to beat, my eyes dilate, my muscles twitch, I refuse to go on. She’s too significant already in my life that not having her would mean a certain perilous ordeal. I am addictively wooed by her uniqueness and grace, by her eyes and smile, and by her scent only those who sit on the thrones of the sky wear.

She’s the love of my life, and it’s her birthday today! I cannot shower her with things afforded by money which I do not have, and I cannot lavish her with externalities. All I can ever offer her is this insignificant blog where no one even reads, my undying, elating, and steadfast love, and of course, my irking presence beside her (more often than not on her left side). I wish you the things no one has wished for you yet. What that is, I do not have the slightest of ideas. I want you to be happy (with me, of course..=]), and may you continually be showered with blessings, friends, smiles, and love (which I hope to have filled already..=p). I hope that, no matter how docile this blog is, I have tried my very best to imbue this with the over-pouring and overpowering emotions I have for you.

I still have loads of photocopies to acrimoniously turn, still hundreds of rectangular jails where semi-readable notes are sentenced, and a pile of itineraries to run through. I am lost in the jungle of multi-tasking, only taking a detour to make my piglet feel a little special during her birthday. And I hope I did. Now I have to head back to the paved road with which I am burdened to trudge for a long time. I’ll be taking little detours every now and then to spend a little time (or more than little time) with her. Will you live your life with me? For I have decided to live mine with you. I’m yours until… =]

A patterned twitch just above my eyes is putting me in an ordeal of arduous willingness to finish the things I have to finish. Insofar, I have accomplished two; and may you not ask how many it is that I still have to round up. But it’s better to have done a few things than not to have started on anything at all. I procrastinate, I do not engage in slothful nothings. But what is technically the difference of both, if one might ask? Let me hang on that up for a while and elaborate more on the “4”. This entry is the sequel of my last entry which was numbered 5. Although I’m a day late, I’m confident I’ll finish.

Now for the difference between laziness and being a procrastinator. What is much worse, I have not the slightest of ideas. All I have are mere subjections of what I think should be the worst. And since man is and will always be bent on self-preservation, he would never betray himself. I am a procrastinator, therefore I would subsequently think of laziness as being more atrocious. I would not dare make myself the antagonist. Back to their difference before we go further astray. For one act to be considered procrastination, one must have the commitment to do and finish a certain task, while laziness on the other side of the coin, do not have this commitment. In plain simplicity, laziness is doing nothing and not even thinking of doing anything. Now, which are you? The lazy or the procrastinator? By the way, procrastinator sounds technologically abiding. It’s like a futuristic cyborg exclusively fabricated to destroy the studious and the diligence of scholarly erudite. The horror! Lazy on the other hand does not even elicit a horrific ideation; thinking of it just makes me think of a soporific entity visiting those that answers its knock and induces shut-eyes.

A sudden outburst of anger from the sky: a blinding, ephemeric flash of electrically-excited light consequently followed by a fulminating roar of vengeful thunder shook the ceaseless flow of absurdity. I’m back, and I’m out to regress on what it is that I was purposively aiming to accomplish.

My previous entry, I singularly took into distinction her eyes that allured and drew me near her encompassing embrace that once I got captured around, escape was ultimately impossible. This time, I’m going to advertently elaborate on the second feature of her that I deathfully admired.

Her smile, supervening her eyes, makes for a lethal combination of admiration-worthy features. I was weakened by her eyes, now when I got to see her smile up close, figuratively killed the rigidity in me. Her recondite smile keeps me guessing. The quaint curve that it ensues compliments her eyes like no other. A perfect combination: one trembled my knees, the other shivered my spine. When she smiles, or even the thought of it, seems to reflect a smile on me. I saw her smile up close during the clandestine meeting of quasi-rebellious, semi-frustrated students. It was a commonplace night. The chirps of crickets sensibly in chorus with the patter of the fatigued AC seem to collaborate with the implicitness of our purpose and how we would go about it. Silence governed the atmosphere, only mumbling whispers were reverberating on the secure walls of where we were staying. The weather was accommodating that night, appropriate of my first up close view of her paralyzing smile. Although she had no recollection that we were actually in the same room that moment, it doesn’t matter anymore. I saw her, and it was not my intention for her to notice me. Consciously, that is what I wanted to believe. But sometimes our demeanor and body gestures betray our conscious thoughts and actions. I do not know if I was betrayed, maybe I wasn’t for up until now, she has no reminiscence of such. I was staying leaning my chair against the mirrored wall, sitting beside my friends who were also called to offer their priceless ideas and skills. She, on the other hand, was in front of a proportionately gifted guy, which was against the cards on my hand. I could only see half of her divinely sculpted figure, her smile I could only glance. And I’m thankful that all I had that time was a glance, or if I had a much better view, I would have gone instantaneously insane. The frenzied soup of emotions I felt that time was already tough to control, what more then would I be in if I had the opportunity, the privilege, the coincidence of having to look at her hook, line, and sinker. I was fortunate that night for I have kept my sanity all the while having a vivid picture of her smile (half of it though).

What I loved about her firstly was her weakening eyes. Secondly, her “I can’t get enough of” smile that supplants and compliments her ever-alluring eyes. Going home this afternoon, I was awe-struck by the opening of a slight window where the beam of the migrating sun shun. Although it only appeared for a little while, the breathtaking effects it ensued were already glued within the constructs of my shallow mind. I realized how lucky I was for having to witness such rarity: nature’s wonder showcased every day. Nature is seeking for attention; we are just too immersed in our little world of dilemmas that we are inclined not to ever notice the grandiosities of natural occurrences. Nature is the embodiment of all things sublime.

Sublime. The thought of having to spend the rest of my waking days (might even be the whimsical nights) with her can only be described by that one word: Sublime. Up until now I still have not fully grasp the reality that I can call her mine. Inasmuch as I would anxiously get hold of that reality, it still leaves me in an awe of disbelief. But I believe. Way back when, when I was just a witness positioned from an astronomer’s stool observing the journey of heavenly bodies, right now, she’s close that she can perceive my skipping heartbeats. Before, I was just a hoping romantic, hopelessly fantasizing of the moment where what we have now would happen. And voila! Now happened. The past, if I take into rosy retrospection, incarcerates my believing of the present. Smile! Do not deprive me of such splendor. I’m always secondly addicted by it. Live your life with mine, for I have decided to live mine with you. I’m yours, always! =]

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! =]

The spirit of things. We do not see things as mere objects of practicality and utility. We also see them as something of sentimental value. Our sense of sentimentality evades our conscious thought. We are not usually aware that we put spirit into things. Apparently enough, we do it to seemingly everything we own. Hau is the New Zealanders term for the spirit of things. In everything we have lives a spirit. And if such spirit of a thing is not reciprocated, an ominous consequence befalls a man who did not reciprocate. It is a spirit that reminds you to give in return when you are given something. An odd, though interesting belief that circumnavigates our materialistic nature. We do not only value things because of the thing itself, but also because of the sense of sentiment we attach to it.

I don’t know what came in to me to start with such informative trivia in my entry today. It may seem that I no longer have any material to talk about tonight. The incipient of my entry tonight vindicates how humdrum my day today is. The perfunctory life I live has taken its toll on my lifeless mind. I could no longer feel the twitches inside my hollow head. The clang I hear every time I knock on it is replaced with a bang of rigidity. My imagination has been limited within the walls outside the box I have so long ago struggled to escape. I was once contented with the scenery I am immersed with when I was within the box of staleness (forgive the with’s recurring mention). But as I noticed how little there was such scenery offered, I felt I have to break away. Destroy the corners with which I have so long been living around. People always say to you to think outside the box without them knowing what is actually outside of it. As I severed the chains that has been locked around my wrist and started to take peeps of the brighter outside world, I noticed how little different it was although bigger. I reckoned it useless. Sometimes, we put so much blame on the box we were incarcerated that we often tend to forget how limitless our imagination is. We deem it subservient to the things around us. Contrary to normal belief, our imagination goes beyond what we can sense, what we can see, and what box we were in. The moment we think of it as dependent on the box we are in is the same moment that we have refused our imagination from augmenting. Being in a box does not say what the size of the box is. We don’t have to be outside of it to be able to look at things at another perspective.

The box! Inside my box floats a crooning moon; desolate and gloomy. The gelid climate of my rowdy room lulls me to the realm of sleep, but I have to will myself to keep me awake. A potty crowing of roosters, complaining about the coldness of the wind outside collaborating with the disturbing beat of an unknowingly desperate singer. Perhaps the rooster crowed in response to the ear-busting scream of a maudlin drunkard, bellowing oddly to request to that drunk singer to cease its tuneless whining.

I have left this entry pending, and it is only this welcoming morning that I got to get back on it. When I woke up, the morning was silent, probably still asleep since everything is shrouded in a chilly embrace. The sky today is gray, but the mood it set is not of despondence. Upon waking up, the first thing that came to my mind is a thought of motion: the queer, instantaneous smile simultaneously with the sparkling of her eyes. A thought I want to linger but is difficult to maintain. For if I would maintain it, makes me suffer from this deep emptiness. An abyss where when I look down, I see nothing but a pitch black of insurmountable void where even the silence reverberates its soundless voice; only she can light it up. And upon looking up, I see a blinding light; only she can dim it down for she is the digger of this abyss.

As the light of morning slowly becoming brighter and brighter, the silence of today embraced by the chill of anticipation also slowly disappears as the streets become laden with busyness. A burdened clarity: the morning will never be as quiescent as it was before. There is only a breath of window where you feel the calming nature of the morning, and even that time the populace is still within the phlegmatic universe of possibilities, floating uncontrollably around the current-less ocean of fantastical consciousness. Wherefore then do we compromise the beauteous welcome of the morning for us with something we forget when we take our fifth step? Dreams are awe-inspiring, but it is during when we are awake that we get to live these dreams, we get to live these pesky lives, burdens and all. There is no greater escape in life than not escaping it. The handcuffs that are trapping our hands contain in them the lock entry for the key that can un-cuff it. Don’t let dreams be dreams! Mornings such as these, are but in paucity and its stay but a hair’s breadth of time. Savor the moment like the frolic chirps of birds singing in chorus to the beauty of morning.

I’m going to be wearing my Artwork shirt today. If you come to look at it in the perspective of an observer, you see it only as an ordinary shirt; commonplace, aesthetically functional, and airy. But within my perspective and hers, we see it as something symbolically significant. The hau of our bought shirts will continually linger like the mornings after dawns. I’m looking forward to her wearing it. =]