Nine Realizations (while taking a dump)
Transitioning to adulthood involves a constant test of character. It’s when you realize that you should let go of so many things for you to move into a more important phase in your life.
1.) You become cognizant of the fact that you can’t please everyone and that you never will.
For others may hate you with a passion, without you even knowing.
2.) You try to eradicate all the bad aspects of your self, promoting goodness, yet you fear of becoming too weak in the eyes of others.
For goodness may be misinterpreted as a weakness. But in weakness comes some sort of goodness.
3.) You feel the need to attain a sense of balance. A clean, harmonious balance from where you draw strength.
For this is essential in all your endeavors, may it be in studying or in working. And self glorification may consume you in the process, especially when you succeed.
4.) You see the point of clichéd objectives like leadership, accountability, and purpose.
For in the 20 years that you’ve lived, you get to discern that the world’s consistency entails a human effort to follow and be followed.
5.) You become aware of how you’re limited by your body.
For walking was so much easier when you were a child. And you always hear news of somebody dying.
6.) You appreciate the value of friendship and bonds.
For you know that only a few people will truly be there for you. Life changes, and so do people.
7.) You revel at the thought of family.
For you know you will have to raise one of your own. Five more years and you may be married. Ten more years and you may have children. And in all these, you realize that every family has its own dynamics, may it be good or bad.
8.) You establish a sense of faith, may it be in religion or self constructs.
For life’s mystery is unlocked individually, although the game itself can never be solved. Enjoying its intricateness though is enough.
9.) You MUST fiercely love someone who truly loves you.
For in this sad world, when even your family fails you, someone may go beyond herself to save you.
You. You neophyte you.
/shitting can become so enlightening
Nine Realizations (while taking a dump)
As I arrived home drained from a night of drunken, but intellectual, conversations with some friends, I went to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water.
Five feet away from the dining table, I saw a pile of shit spread near the fridge. Obviously, it was my dog’s. I called him, but upon seeing the damage he has done, he decided to hide from me. He knew he made a mistake, and he was scared of the confrontation.
Going nearer to the dog’s excrement, I noticed that there was a piece of fly paper resting in a corner. I didn’t realize right away its use until I saw it move subtly; I heard a very tiny shriek coming from below the inverted paper. A mouse, I thought to myself.
First thing’s first. I cleaned the shit, and grabbed a big bottle of alcohol to pour onto the floor. Lightbulb, I knew I could drown, and probably disinfect, the mouse as well with the highly volatile liquid. And maybe even burn it afterwards.
I turned the paper to see the mouse in full view. It was struggling so hard to get out from the very sticky situation he (he had balls) was in. I poured anyway.
In labored breathing, he cried and cried as I drowned him to death. It made me feel so bad to see him fight for life that I decided to be with him until his last breath.
But then I realized, he’s a mouse for heaven’s sake. Mice will turn to rats. And they’re pests. They will always be pests.
I started to console myself with that thought and I decided to retire to my room for the night.
But then a cockroach passed by, and it (I couldn’t see its balls) made sure to get away from my sight. Another pest, with a life which was not mine to take. It was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I walked to my room and I called my dog again. He showed up, licked my feet, to say he was sorry. He was only a dog, and shit does happen.
On a related note, I could not help but apply the scenarios to a present problem…
There are some people who know how to sincerely apologize. The dog.
There are some people whose evilness have to be killed. Because they are evil, and that is the truth in its purest sense. But it will make you feel bad in the end. The mouse.
And there are some problematic people who are lucky enough to be out of the equation but whom you know you will have to deal with at another time. Problems will always be there. The cockroach.
Now, if only my house was new and not old. If only my house was free from all these pests, my night would have been simpler.
But an old house has its problems, and you have no choice but to live in it. Because you love the house for the shelter and home it has provided you through the years.
So are you the dog? The mouse? Or the cockroach?
Think about it.
That’s the first thing he thought of when he saw the sign engraved on the colossal door. Except the sign somehow formed the letter “M,” and they were led into it in short but cluttered lines.
He realized how badly they smelled. The months of being contained so closely to each other was desensitizing. And now that they’re exposed to the air, it seemed like he could breathe for the first time in his life.
Fish. They all smelled like fish.
When they were finally inside the white chamber, claustrophobia struck him along with the sound of the closing door. He felt like they were vacuumed in, his ears buzzing at what seemed to be an increase in air pressure.
For a moment, he thought they were on a spotlight. But the vessel on which they were laid on suddenly came to a start. He realized that they were spinning around. The very floor of the room was rotating on a regular axis.
He saw one of the inmates explode. He looked at his skin and realized that all of them were bloating. He looked lighter at the expanse of every inch of his skin.
Boom. He exploded too.
The door was opened before he could even scream. He noticed the acid rain, it smelled so much like vinegar. His wounds stung at every drop on his skin.
In his head, it was the worst torture a prawn chicharon could get — being cooked in a microwave.
/random and weird inspiration
Since I’m not too sober, maybe I should submerge my thoughts on answering one primordial question: what is life?
Life is a complex concept that can only be perceived by the human mind. For animals, life is but a cycle of satisfying physiological needs in order to maintain energy and to keep reacting to stimuli. To the human mind, however, life is putting one’s self in the center of things and trying to find meaning in every action, perception, and memory. Different standards, cultures and norms would dictate a way of life and its inherent quality. And there are universal truths that is true to each person: that belongingness (either to family, friends, or persons) makes life less lonely; that selfish emotions are to be satisfied before they turn into focal points of negativity; that love is above all things; and that there must be a certain type of spirituality or belief in the unknown to answer what’s vague and what’s mysterious.
And to this I say that life is a continual struggle of finding one’s self amidst the different personalities or convictions which may threaten a collective value system. Life can only be given true meaning if one is uniquely profound, or it can be a pattern of following what others have already established in the past.
In the end, if one is to truly enjoy life, he must find himself and rediscover again and again what truly makes his body clock tick and whatever input there is to find a subjective form of “happiness”. Life is beautiful for the appreciative after all. Or it can be a torment to someone with a “mangled” reality.
WTF did I just write. HAHA. Good night.
I had my interview for editorship today. It was a mess. My head was a mess before the interview, during the interview, and after the interview.
See? A mess.
C’est la vie.
Tomorrow will be a better day. :)
In a frantic effort to escape from his pursuers, Loloy struggles into the tall meadows that surround the outskirts of his barangay. The untamed land across the river could be his only chance for a break because of its isolation and proximity to the mountains. His body is badly beaten and the combination of sweat, blood and grime downplays his exterior to an inconceivable mess. He runs like he won’t have tomorrow as the footsteps of his enemies come into closer range. Nearly blacking out, Loloy regains composure and memories of the past flash through his mind in swift motions of dread and remorse.
I hope to finish this by noon. Or else my friend Marie won’t catch her deadline for the synopsis of this short story. It’s supposedly for a short film entry.
I just woke up. It’s weird that I only had five hours of sleep, when I always need seven more to be in good shape.
But that’s the problem; I’m not in good shape. I’m writing impulsively at three in the morning because it’s probably the best form of comfort I can find now.
There are a lot of things that dare to threaten my very sanity. I feel like I’m going mad. I feel scared for myself.
As of the moment, I am overwhelmed by the amount of changes I have embraced within the past year. I feel no grip of security at all.
Yes, I am an insecure mess.
Maybe this problem is deeply rooted with my faith crisis. Believing in something from childhood and suddenly conceding to a different and more realistic “truth” can get very disorienting at times.
I feel like I need Jesus back and the grace that comes with him. But my mind says no.
There’s that mindset of not relishing to something that is born out of people’s desperation to address life’s meaning.
But that’s another problem. I feel desperate. I am still convinced that my existence carries with it a spiritual aspect which no form of Science can ever satisfy.
I tried to worship nature in the past months. I meditate as substitute to prayer. But something’s missing. There’s a void which reflection or self-assurance can not placate.
Who am I, really?
I can’t believe that such primordial question in Philosophy can still haunt me so much.
And then there’s my problem with Marina. As another chain that shackles me to this instability, I feel like I’m going to snap out soon. I love that woman, and I have no regrets of having her as my first love.
I just don’t think that I’m in the right condition to love now. Frustration gets to me often, and I don’t want to hurt her with my disintegrated personality.
But I also find pleasure in feeling challenge from her end, something which I have just imposed in our relationship. Space - conviction tells me that it’s helping me now.
Lastly, there’s my family and this ugly routine which has been thrown at me ever since I came home from America. Just recently, my mom started to hate me. And the child within me seeks for her love.
When nobody’s here to take care of me, I feel like a helpless being that’s been made to mature ten years over his actual age. I miss my mom’s cooking, and even her smallest concerns for my hygiene.
My hideous toothbrush is two months old, and I’m running out of deodorant. Stupid, I know. But she always made sure I had them.
Maybe it’s my early display of independence, and my ability to scour oDesk for dollars that have made them think that I can fend for myself perfectly. The truth of the matter is, I need attention too.
In times like this, I want to break things. I have these hard-wired tendencies to be destructive. But what good does it do, really?
That’s the reason why I decided to write. I never did this in the past when I always felt that I have my brain as a form of personal blog.
I actually feel better.
In less than a month, I’ll be forced to go back to Nursing school. But that’s another story. I hope I will have succumbed to MY norms again. I just want everything to be fine.
Running water fills the tub. I strip myself naked as I watch you loosen pieces of garments to the floor. I feel the water with my foot to see if it’s warm enough. The air outside is freezing, and our hearts are cold.
I start to get inside the vessel which will fit us both. I hold your hand, and you tiptoe your way in front of me. We sit down and submerge ourselves. In a moment, the water goes above our navels.
The bath is bubbling, and we look at each other. I pull a lever and jets of water come spraying from above. As our heads get wet, our gazes meet for the second time. The sadness we feel is depressing.
I whisk water from my left hand, to reach a device and put on some music. As one of our songs play, the intensity of the shower seems to get stronger. And I look at your face through a blurring waterfall.
When I think of the days we have left, tears fall from my eyes. You look at me with equal sorrow and let go of your feelings as well. Despite the water, I could see every drop fall down your face.
We kiss. As lyrics fleet into the background, the touch of your lips sends signals throughout my body. Somehow, I feel warmer. Your tears have their own magic when they touch my cheeks.
I caress your face with my hand, your hazel eyes ensnare me before I look away. I proceed to lie down on the tub. My hands hold your waist and I beckon you to follow suit.
I switch off the water and you break the silence with more sobs. As we both lay, I talk for the first time. I recount memories of the last months that we’ve been together. The water is slowly draining.
You hug me tight. You do not let go until I feel you shiver. I try to cup warm water with my free hand and pour whatever little amount to your body. Finally, I decide to go on top of you to let your body sink into the remaining warmth.
I look at your eyes for the last time before I bury my face on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around my back, and I press my chest to your bosom. Another song plays, the agony is relentless.
Yet I cherish the special moment, not minding the cold crawling through the exposed part of my body. You lift my face and do not stop looking into my dark brown eyes. I look back and I ask myself many questions.
Will I ever see you again?
- With love and approval.
Could you be my muse?
The last six months have been pleasant but sad.
I feel absorbed. I feel alive.
But words have left my mind.
My creative persona is in oblivion.
For all the things untold.
May vicious dreams regain their hold.
You make me feel.
From anger to lust.
From emptiness to love.
But words have faded.
When only they could bridge the distance,
Inside I became cold.
Yet you are beautiful.
You are too beautiful.
I’d like to think that you are my muse.
For Marina. I am sorry if I do not pour out my feelings as much as you. I’ll try harder.