This is madness, I tell you
31 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in philosophy, whatnot
We all have our crazy side. The frequency of it surfacing up is what differs us from one another. And I’m afraid that if I read J.D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey again, my weirdness would surface up permanently. It just has that effect on me. It fires up everything inside me that I’ve always tried to keep level. Nonetheless, I love the book to pieces. It’s just that sometimes we have to choose to be sane, not just for our sake, but for the sake of the people we love.
And that’s what I’m currently trying to do; stopping myself from being plunged into my crazy side, taking the high road and just keeping steady.
Emotional vomit
30 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in sadness and everything along with it, whatnot
There was a quiet desolation in the air today. It was a humid Monday morning and amidst the start-of-week hustle of people wanting to go to work early, here he was trying to spend every ounce of energy he had left to drag himself out of bed. It was loud outside. Moms were shouting at kids to move faster and get into their school bus, street vendors shouting their merchandises with such gaiety that it’s almost depressing. It was loud all around, but his unspoken denial at the heartbreaking reality was most deafening. He did not say anything, yet his heart almost burst from a quiet dispute it was having with his mind.
Small box, great memories
14 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in E, events, happy thoughts, love and cheesiness
There is a very small box in my room, and I keep special things in it. The box itself isn’t anything special. But the things in it are very dear to me.
I didn’t decide that it would be what it is today. It started as something in which I keep certain souvenirs from different memorable events. I took a look at it last night and I was amused at the hodgepodge of stuff I have from different periods of my life.
There is a handkerchief from a boy who lent it to me when I cried, the reason of which shall remain a secret. I never had the chance to give it back to him because shortly after that, we had a huge fight. I have the paper shuriken that one of my second grade students made. I kept it so I will never forget how to make one. I think it’s important to remember stuff like that. It keeps you young at heart.
Also from the students is a sorry letter. It was signed “From: Dependable”, their section and my advisory class.
This is very memorable to me. There was a time when I couldn’t for the life of me pull myself up and go to school and teach. It went on for a few days. I skipped school to clear my head. When I came back, one of my students handed me the letter. They thought I stopped coming to school because of something they did, so they were saying sorry. Those kids were the best. Interacting with them was the only thing that’s right. Everything else was wrong in so many levels, so eventually I had to leave.
Moving on, there is also the Incubus concert ticket from 2008, Cinemalaya tickets from 2008, the bust ticket from I went to Pampanga with Donna to celebrate with her and family when she passed the board exam.
There are also various movie tickets from dates with E—including the one for the Hollywood version of My Sassy Girl, which we saw in 2008. We weren’t actually a couple yet back then.
There is also the bus ticket from when we went to Baguio. I have the small paper bag and the receipt of our rings that we bought also in Baguio. I have the two graphing papers folded like a heart. It’s not a letter, he shaded some boxes to form *certain* words. Again, I won’t say what the words are. It’s so unbelievably childish that I love it exactly because of that. And then on top of everything I’ve said so far is E’s first letter to me. I read it whenever I remember I have it, and I never get tired of it. I don’t think anyone ever gets tired of being told they’re loved.
I can’t believe I have those kept in one little box. It felt like my brain had a slideshow of the past four years of my life. Imagine if I had a bigger box. I should really get one.
Bus rides and true love
11 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in E, happy thoughts, love and cheesiness
This is an out-of-nowhere thought. I was making coffee earlier and I suddenly remembered something that happened to me a few months ago. Maybe the reason why I was reminded of it was that I was thinking about the exchange of texts E and I had last night before sleeping—but that’s another story.
Anyway, I remembered that a few months ago while I was on the bus on my way home, I sat beside an elderly couple. They were about 60-65, I guess. I had limited seating options so I sat on the awkward side of the bus—you know, the three-seaters that are actually just two-and-a-half-seaters in reality. So only half of my butt sat comfortably, but I managed not to slip out of my seat the entire one-hour ride. But that’s really not why I suddenly remembered that moment.
I remembered it because it was incredibly cold inside the bus, and the aircon vent was broken so there was only a gaping hole blasting out ice cold air. The elderly woman was sitting by the window so the air was directly blowing toward the top of her head, so I think she was really cold. She had her pashmina wrapped around her head and around her arms but it wasn’t enough. So her husband cuddled up beside her, put his arms around her and she buried her head in his chest.
It was incredible because I thought that kind of thing happened only in movies. I smiled at them and offered to switch seats with the lady (and sacrifice myself) so she wouldn’t be too cold. They smiled back and said they were okay. And they stayed that way—cuddle up in each other’s arms—the entire ride. And the lady didn’t seem like she minded the cold anymore.
The whole time I was sitting beside them I kept thinking how great they were and how hopeful I felt that couples like those still exist. I felt comforted at the thought that two people could love each other that much that long. I wondered if they knew when they were younger that they will stay in love that way until they were old, and how many older couples feel the same way. And I considered my own relationship and remembered that there are moments when I would look at E and just smile. And he would smile back and call me crazy for smiling for no reason.
And I think I understand. I’m sure of it. You can really love someone that much that long.
The only way I know how
08 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in philosophy, random thoughts and crazy wonderings
Some people don’t understand why I’m always giddy about receiving a letter. Others may never fully grasp how powerful written words can be and how they can change everything about a person. Maybe for some, writing is just another way of saying how one feels—instead of actually saying them, one wrote them. Simple as that.
But written words have a way of affecting you unlike spoken words. With spoken words, although they could break you apart and rip your heart into little pieces, there’s still a chance that—in time—you could remember them differently, or forget them entirely. With written words, when you read something over and over and over again, no matter how many years ago it was written, you always go back to that place. You always remember the moment when you can’t breathe while you were writing it because you were crying your eyes out, or you were too drunk and angry to stop because you really needed to let it all out.
It’s sad in a way, to remember that you had those moments to yourself, pouring out your heart to a blog instead of a friend. And maybe it’s one of the reasons why some people would rather not write about their feelings.
But there is also a magical side to writing down what you feel, especially if you felt happy when you wrote something. And you wrote it for someone else. It can really change you. It can uplift your spirits within minutes, turn your frown upside down, give you the perspective you wanted and the support that you needed. But most of all, you could also go back to reading it, over and over and over again and feel all warm and fuzzy whenever you want to. You could go back to being the entire world to someone, to being friends forever; back to being loved. You remember that once you were happy and positive. And it gives you hope that you could be that person again.
I’ve had doubts in the past about my ability to really write, and what the hell am I doing with my life writing marketing collaterals? I’ve wondered what genre I even had a shot at mastering, because it’s definitely not SEO and business writing. It’s so frustrating to know what you want to do but not figure out exactly what you need to do. But when I think about how powerful written words can be, and how they could change everything about a person, how they could give you the perspective that you need, and how you can always make someone feel loved over and over and over again whenever they want to, all my worries disappear.
And at the end of the day, I figure it out somehow. And I go back to writing the only way I know how: from the heart.
The only perspective
04 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in books, philosophy, random thoughts and crazy wonderings Tags: perks of being a wallflower
I hate it when people post pictures of disabled people doing extraordinary stuff and put captions like, “you think things are going bad for you? Well, fuck you and your misery because a lot of people have it worse so quit your whining.” Not exactly in those words, but more subtle and kinder.
It’s not right when others belittle your loneliness and pain by comparing it to world hunger or a national catastrophe. I know there are much worse things happening in the world, but it doesn’t change the fact that you feel like shit. And sometimes, when people point out how the rest of the world is in brouhaha, it doesn’t make you feel better. It only makes things worse, because now you feel bad about feeling bad.
I wish people—for once—could tell you it’s okay to feel bad and feel certain things about your situation, because it’s not being selfish at all. It’s being honest with yourself and acknowledging the fact that there is something wrong with you. And the first step to becoming better is identifying the problem.
I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won’t tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn’t change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Like Sam said. Because it’s okay to feel things. And be who you are about them.”
—Charlie, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Is that incompetence I smell? Because you reek of it
03 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in random thoughts and crazy wonderings, sadness and everything along with it
Today, I discovered a major advantage of talking to a stranger. Well, not a complete stranger, but a stranger all the same. I should probably stop saying stranger. Stranger.
Anyway, you know those times when you really feel like shit and you consider the people you’re comfortable enough to talk to and can vent out your frustrations to—but you can’t think of anyone in particular you want to talk to? Today is one of those days. Fortunately for me, I know a stranger I’ve been strangers with for a few years now.
One good thing about being strangers with someone is that you could say a fuckload of crap and not care if they are stupid. Because let’s be honest, they really are. So today just to get something out of my mind and just let it out there, I talked to him.
She: hey stranger
Him: hey you
She: did you ever consider writing as a profession?
Him: well, my English isn’t really good, for one.
Him: you’re still with [insert company name here]?
She: yep, although I’m not sure now why they hired me in the first place. Ugh. I feel so incompetent.
Him: when do you feel incompetent?
She: the past few weeks—all the time.
She: it’s intoxicating how incompetence feels.
Him: hmn.. Well, maybe that’s not your genre?
She: I’m not really sure what my genre is anymore, or if I even have one.
She: what’s your niche?
She: poetry?
Him: you’re a commercial writer. If you wanna earn thru writing, you have to stay that way, but you’d definitely lose yourself.
Him: me? hmn. I like to tell stories.
She: I do too
Him: you can’t always do what you like to do and then get paid.
She: I realize that, but I thought I could compromise with Life and at least write something else. But still write.
Him: “but still write…” I’m pretty sure you find that disturbing too. “BUT still write…”
She: yeah I’m realizing that now
Him: just come up with a good crap you’d say to yourself every time it becomes all too disturbing.
She: give me one
Him: “compromise with Life and at least write something else. But still write.”
She: well, apparently, that doesn’t work. Give me another one.
Him: “This pays the bills.”
I guess it does. Case closed. Move forward, stinky Jane. Take a shower of glittery Optimism and let your fragrant Confidence wash away the reek of your Incompetence.
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