ONE WORD

Yourself: sedated
Your partner:nonexistent
Your hair: wet
Your Mother: straightforward
Your Father: quotable
Your Favourite Item: pen
Your dream last night: forgotten
Your Favourite Drink: coffee
Your Dream Home: windows
The Room You Are In: quaint
Your fear:looming
Where you Want to be in Ten Years?: UN
Who you hung out with last night:frasier
What You’re Not: stable(!)
One of Your Wish List Items: guitar!!!
Your Gender: female
The Last Thing You Did: shower
What You Are Wearing: shirt
Your favourite weather: sunny
Last thing you ate?: mcvitie’s
Your Life: blossoming
Your mood: swinging
The last person you talked to on the phone: michael
Who are you thinking about right now?:him

stolen from http://draftdunmp.blogspot.com

image from tristan eaton, anime girl

CLOSURE

it’s in these quiet moments

when what-ifs, shoulda-beens

appear

finding me wondering

why am i still here?

and those tears wouldn’t

be in vain at all

and your star wouln’t

collapse into the cold night

as i had.

I AM SO SORRY.

Struck by Inspiration

BE YOURSELF. EVERYBODY ELSE IS TAKEN.
-Conrad Hotel advert

I went to the library yesterday, I was just browing through the psych books, as I had already planned which books to borrow. So I was busy reading a book on skimmign through a book on the power of persuasion, when I just happened to look up…lo and behold, just by the spine, I knew I hit pay dirt:

 

It was Sabrina Harrison Ward’s Spilling Open, her very first book. I felt like I hit the jackpot!

I mean here is the book of someone I deeply admire.

And I deeply love the way she shared herself in her journals, as Tash said when she saw it, it was so, “REAL”.

I am now inspired and am attacking my journals with a different attitude, it’s about showing myself and not thinking about an “audience”.

My Noodle is Fried

Ashes to ashes

Dust to dust

Oil those brains

Before they rust.

-anonymous-

I am stagnating, there is no one to here to conduct a simulation of my ‘cigarette talks’ with Alexis (and I do hope he’s stopped smoking) on philosphy and the state of the country, there is no Carisse who’d argue with me until our faces turn blue, no April who would stimulate my mind to discover subcultures in the society, no Jenny who would amuse me with the latest must-hear song and analyze its lyrics, no Chiz who I would share my writing with and dissect the interesting male species and their mysteries, no Jennifer to discuss a wide range of topics from activism to Paris Hilton, no Bea who’d dish out the latest on the hierarchical and uber-vicious world of the UP Campus-dom, no Irish who would lift me up when I feel like throwing in the towel, no Lorreine who’d calm my nerves when facing yet another breakdown, no Ding who I’ll be forever fascinated by the accent and intelligence, no Camille who would share in my depression woes…alas, I only conduct monologues.

That is why I am an addicted blogger, it may be one-sided conversation, still there is a trace of ideas.

I am depressed because my brain hasn’t yet learned any new polysyllabic medical term or long acronyms like IADL and ADL and stuff.

I am depressed because I haven’t finished Ayn Rand’s Defense of Capitalism, because I had to leave for Singapore.

I am depressed because I feel my mind is rotting.

I am depressed because I need intelligent conversation.

And I can’t talk politics because I have no idea how politics is done here in Singapore, plus there isn’t as much action, haha…life graft, corruption, kuryente, injustice and the ugly side of governance.

I can’t talk philosophy lest I be a persona non grata to others, jabbering about dead guys.

I’m frustrated and so I attack my notebooks and lecture pads with gusto. I am lost

silver lining on my dark cloud

life is like one long guilt trip

the countless times i slipped

i had brought you down

when i picked myself up

you were still six feet under the ground

as much as i am sorry

im never gonna be sorry enough

i didn’t mean to break your heart

and even if i say it a thousand times

it will never change the fact

that i’ve hurt you so much

you can’t see me through your tears

and you would be better off

without me asking forgiveness here

and i wish i could make

all the pain fly away

i’m sorry, that’s all i can say

I AM HORRIFIED.

Do I deserve to be here? When you’re suffering there? Why didn’t I say sorry before, I mean truly say it?

Just when you thought that the say couldn’t get worse. I received a testi from Carisse which made me feel a little more ok than a few hours ago…

Elle is my mother in UP. Promotor siya sa pagtawag sa akin ng mudraz planetaz at Tala. Malay ko ba jan sa nanay kong yan.hehe What impresses me about her is the way she takes time to read hundreds of books despite CAMP’s torturous workloads. She also writes a lot and believe me she makes masterpieces. I think she already has a book. Bestseller na ba? She is also fond of talking about boys, philosophy and politics…mostly about boys really. : )I
love this person for being so understanding. I usually end up arguing with everybody’s ideas, including hers, yet there she is..still my friend, still my mother. You have a really good heart mother. I wish you’d get that orphanage you’ve always dreamed of. Take care and we miss you a lot.

My Creative Autobiography [part two]

6. What made it stupid?
I never realized that in any situation, something has ALWAYS got to give. The words opportunity cost and trade-offs come to mind.
7. Can you connect the dots that led you this idea?
I was very much latched on to the idea of “Renaissance Man”, a person who could be anything and everything all at once, donning on so many hats. I tried my best to become one of them, I tried my hand at Science, Math, Literature, Art, Oration, Rhetoric, Philosophy etc… and I was very successful, I had the influence and popularity, and the awards to boot. But along the way I had to sacrifice a lot of time with my friends, I was never able to establish a really strong friendship with any of them, it took less than a year for what I thought was an ‘ideal’ friendship to break apart. Something has to give.

8. What is your creative ambition?
To be able to learn new things, and to master them, to surprise myself most that even as I mature, I can still find/make something new.

9. What are the obstacles to this ambition?
My laziness, procarastination and the temptation to give in to discouragement. And my limited thinking.

10. What are the vital steps to achieving this ambition?
I must adhere to a growth plan, make room for plenty of mistakes, continually augment my skills, expose myself to people who share the same or somewhat similar vision as I have.

Poetry Thursday: The Reluctant Muse

We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are.
-Anais Nin

My life is not always filled with poetry. The rising of the sun is uneventful and my morning coffee leaves a bad taste on my mouth.

My Muse shies away from me at times, and I feel so frustrated that I cannot articulate what I ought to. To make matters worse, a blank page or screen just mocks my inability to make something out of my ideas. I scratch and pry open the vault of my brain and I come up empty.

Oh sure, maybe I can talk of a silver chalice, sea nymphs and maybe the towering ships that I see pass by the harbor, throw in some high-sounding adjectives for good measure, I know I am only fooling myself. Even if I can come up with a poem that has a decent idea, a tried and tested theme,and use polysyllabic words, plus they rhyme, if it has not come alive in my soul, it is dead to me.

This makes me question if I have my Muse has let me down or I have let myself down.

Often I would cajole, plead, beg the Muse to throw me an iota of inspiration. A seed that would take root in my heart. It does not need to be beautiful, it just has to move me. Sometimes beauty does not move me. In fact I like things raw and un-beautiful most of the time.

Whenever my Muse decides to drop by, it is usually after I make ammends with my self-esteem. I think that they have a very close relationship.

When I depreciate the value of my Self in my own eyes, instead of becoming my own ally I become my own formidable enemy, my Muse vanishes along with my cowering Self.

Funny, but the way I see myself has a lot to do with my creative ambition. When I look at myself and degrade myself, I am doing more harm than good. When I accept myself and believe that I can write something that will come alive, the epiphanies keep coming.

I do not imply that major ego-massaging is called for. However when, I have the proper lens on which to view my Self with, everything else becomes clearer. When I am true to myself, my Muse appears, shaking her head, as if saying ‘what took you so long?’. She takes a seat on a corner and makes herself comfortable, that’s when I know- i’m back in business.

ANd suddenly, life seems to be bursting with poetry. Everything is possible, anything can be moving, that it comes alive. Even the terrycloth towel that I use to wipe my face could evoke a poem.

I Miss You Guys So Much

=las chicas bonitas con un caballero=

There I was alone in the shadow

Couldn’t find my way

Then you came in

And brought along the sunshine

Now you’re here to stay

you make me

Shine, shine

Like the stars in the heavens

Shine, shine

You keep me shining through

Shine, shine

With the light that you given,

it’s true

I’m shining on, all because of you

So watch me go

A light shines within me

People ask me why

And I just smile

& tell them you’re the reason

I’ve cast the darkness aside

much love Carisse! happy birthday!

 

Switching Lenses to Eternity

God made us. He created us to belong to Christ Jesus.

Now we can do good things. Long ago God prepared them for us to do.

Ephesians 2:10 (NIRV)

BLIND

dear God

help me to see

beyond the point of my pain

help me to persevere

without going insane

i’ve made a 180-degree turn

the friction is causing me to burn

quickly spiralling out of control

so help me God

fulfill my call

my handicaps are catching up

i know my strength

will never be enough

i need you to hold me

dear God

my reach exceeds my grasp

i don’t know how long i can last

won’t you hear my prayer?

i cannot see a way out

i’ve poisoned my well with doubts

dear God

please rescue me

let me see the way you see me

lord reveal my victory

my future is sealed

help me see the way you see me

let me know who i am

in the beauty if your plan

let me know who i am in you

My Creative Autobiography [part one]

I got this from Twla Tharp’s book, The Creative Habit: Learn it and use it for life.

1. What is the first creative moment you remember?

I was in kindergarten and we had to melt these crayons in a spoon over a lighted candle, in my young mind it was the coolest when we spread it over paper, even then I appreciated “chaotic” art.

2. Was anyone there to witness or appreciate it?

My teachers, although they were not very appreciative, my mom was very affirming when my sibs nad I were growing up.

3. What is the best idea you’ve ever had?

That I am ok as a person, that I need not feel down or offended when after trying the best I can, people just don’t like me back. That no earthly love, whether bestowed or denied from me can fulfill the void in my heart.

4. What made it great in your mind?

It liberated me. From low self-esteem to handling myself and others in relationships.

5. What is the dumbest idea?

That I could have it all. It was uber-dumb!