With nothing but a sheet of paper.

A white immaculate sheet of paper with the words I can’t speak in the pit of my pen, I appear crooked, seated in this chair and my thoughts are intricately placed in the ink. They are unspoken by my voice, inaudible to all ears and absent on the white sheet of paper. The window is cold on my fingerprints, but really there is no such thing as windows because I do not believe there is escape nor freedom if I were to traverse this piece of glass.


Outside looking in : there is a crooked-seated me, there is a chair and lastly, a misplaced feeling of belonging seeping through the air. I am glued and I stick, though I never touch a single thing. There is a white sheet of paper, my thoughts in the ink and a silence leaving my breath.


Inside looking out :there is the tree and in it’s hands lay the bird nest surrounded by slowly withering leaves, they are green, nonetheless, for it is summer still but tomorrow the man is making a tree stump of the tree and then it will be unfortunate for those poor unhatched eggs.


The birds became ghosts, as did the birds’ nest, and there is still a crooked-seated me, a chair, and a white sheet of snowy paper still untouched by the thought filled ink in my pen.

Coffee Bliss

Imagine living with the mountains in the backyard.

Towering, solid, stoic, lasting mounds of rock and dirt.

You wake up and there they are, catching the shadows of the clouds passing by.

Imagine staring at them, looking for signs of life, perhaps too small for my eyes to grab. My giant has no tall pine trees, no herds of deer that run about, and the springs have dried out by now. Sparse tiny bushes sprouting here and there offering no safe haven for a traveler to hide from the scorching heat and the blazing sun. Still, imagine, living with this gray mountain standing guard in the distant. Think of all what it must have withstood over the thousands of years, the wind, the sun, the snow, the elements of all  aimed to eliminate its very existence. Imagine the strength of it peering over your shoulder, as you grab your morning cup of coffee. Imagine having this loveliness.

With delusion, the truth was mutilated.

I learned what it’s like to want to die so badly that the only thing holding me back from the song of the half-frozen pond was this voice that was whispering to me. It was a whisper so quiet that sometimes I couldn’t even hear it over the sound of my own breathing. And then sometimes I heard the song of the pond, beckoning me to drown in its depths. Come here and die, it said. Come here, and everything will be beautiful.

And when I listened long enough it changed into another song. First it was a song that suffocated me with its sadness. Then it became angry, and then it became mellow, then furiously loud, then soft and persistent, then hideously ugly, then hauntingly beautiful. And it was so beautiful that it left me in awe of its beauty; gasping at something that was too much to take in, too much to comprehend. And then it slowly faded away, and nothing meant anything anymore because the music was gone.

When I stared at the sky long enough I saw the treetops scraping against the muted stars. One by one the clouds sailed away. One by one the stars lit up. They flickered and flashed. They danced to the song of the frozen ice. They shone down on the dew drops and cast light on the grass. They laughed with me, and I laughed with them. They blazed with a fire so blindingly bright that I was left feeling very small.

Very small, indeed.

I swallowed the ocean. It was raging inside of me, an angry hurricane, a tempest that destroyed the whole world; a whirlpool that sucked every breath of life and every shade of color into its bottomless depths.

I took a knife and sliced open every vein in my body. I screamed for every drop of blood. I shrieked with pain; I writhed in agony. The blood was so bright I wondered if I had become a star myself. The red was so crimson it stained everything I saw. And then it changed; darkened. It became so dark that the stains became ashes and my dried blood became coal.

Then I screamed.
I screamed in the emptiness,
but my own voice couldn’t pierce the silence;
and my tears froze, and the world was winter,
and i heard no reply.

Sadness is Beautiful.

Sadness is a good thing.


The first time I realized this was when I was sitting on my bed, crying my eyes out.
It was one of those days when cold rain dragged me down in it's icy depths and drowned me in it's barren sorrows.
And I looked in the mirror and said, my heart is broken.
and those four words, those words are the craziest words to say-
words that you never understand, until it happens to you,
and sometimes that's all there is to say, because you want to explain the chasm,
the oceans of pain,
the blood pouring out of you,
but you can't even draw a breath to scream,
and if you did, nobody would hear.
those four words, are the most terrible words,
and sometimes you'll say them, and your head begins ringing,
and silence presses around you, and you're astounded by the insignificance
or everything that ever existed, and everything that didn't.
and astounded by the pain,
that seems to be all you have.


So it was with me, sobbing until my tears ran dry and my throat was sore.
and, finally, I looked up.  And what I saw amazed me,
because sunlight was streaming through the branches of the trees above me.
In that moment, I realized that it all was beautiful.
and in pain, there was hope.
Then I realized that it all had meaning
because I was hurting, it showed that I cared.
and that was more beautiful than never caring at all.
because I hated rainy season, it showed that I wanted spring,
and that was better than never wanting at all.
Because I cried, it showed that I loved,
and that was better than never loving at all.


Then I realized that sadness is beautiful.  It connects us to life in a deeper, more binding way than happiness does.  It teaches us and challenges us.  It makes us become better people.  More understanding, more deeply rooted, more appreciative of every moment that makes you smile.


That's when I realized, it's ok to be sad.  Sadness is as much of a part of life as happiness is.  If you weren't sad when something good ends, it shows that you never appreciated that good thing in your life.


And if you never appreciate that good things in your life, that's not sad.  That's a shadow; a light that flickers and dies.  Never being satisfied with the things you have should never be confused with sadness.  Never caring about anything should not be confused with happiness.  That is the epitome of an empty shell.


The opposite of living.
In fact, it's nothing at all.

As one and a whole lot more.

Should I be bothered that he does not truly read or comprehend what I write here? Or should I look at it as it does not really matter, as long as he is trying somewhat to be a part of what I am? Love does not mean you have to "get" everything the other one is, does it? You don't need to be "one" all the time. Having separate ideas and different identities is a good thing. Sometimes, having space between each other is  healthy. You need to step back, and distance yourself to see and soak in the entire picture. How else are you going to get the panoramic view? And when you get the wholeness of your object, will you then be able to make sound decisions and logical assessments? 


So often, I think of turning a new page, starting over or going back to where I was. And this thought becomes impossible the minute I get close to my desire. It's like being in proximity of a raging fire, you get too hot and be clouded by the smoke. You can't appreciate the danger, the lure, or even the beauty of its potential, if you stand within its reach. Break away and then study from afar. If you feel you are still inexplicably drawn, then I hope it will be safe to conclude that, in spite of the risks, what you have is worth keeping, perhaps.

Hello Misery.

Things simply seem to slip through the shattered box of lost dreams and reality. All hope is gone. All laughter and every smile has cracked. The lips bleed. 


They sit dry, cracked, and pale upon the face. Walking has never been pleasant when you're drenched in solitude and when your mind fabricates thoughts filled with anger that boils through the very center of your veins. They pulse with hate, they beat against the flesh with the persistent beating of rage. 


A dark shadow does linger deep inside. It hides behind the mirrors in my eyes, behind every kiss the taste of decay lingers and hides. Under the very own skin it squirms like a maggot...inside of me..hiding...I never truly see it. 


But I feel it. It mocks me day by day and drains me of my strength. 


There are times i drown in my own sorrow and darkness grows upon me...I become everything I hate. Weakness, emptyness, stupidity, sinfulness....I fall asleep and fall into the deep beds of the unconsious where I suffocate myself with the horros that hide deep within. I slip into my very own nightmare where an unknown hatred harbored by everything within me is fabricating inside of me to be aimed at evrything and everyone without my very own understanding of it.


I throw my own self into an abyss of muddled feelings and emotions...a pool of confusion and so I come to hate myself.

I should have, now it's too late.

I've been told to watch out for the man with the beautiful gifts. Breathtaking as they are, they mask the truth of who he really is. I've been warned to look beyond the facade, and dig deeper; if the voice is too hoarse, it is the wolf, not Red's grandma, that lies under the covers. Don't approach the van with the lost kitten sign, my mom had said, you never know what lurks behind those tinted windows. Your good heart will be broken if you swallow his lies coated with saccharine. 

Wish I had listened to those ringing bells.

Oh Dear Mister Hloidays...

Why?


Must you fleet away so quickly before my wandering irises of brown?


:((

Farewell 2010

Everyone is looking back at the year, or at the decade past. Some are looking forward to the new year, with determination and new found grasp on life. I am unable to look forward, not even to forecast the color of the sky in a month's time. Maybe that's why I enjoy reading the horoscope sometimes, especially at the beginning of a new year. This way I can get excited about possible prospect of having success or luck in love. Or at least, I can read and chuckle about it knowing full well it is all shit. Listen, I'd say to anyone who will listen. This might be my (or your) year. Aren't you an ox? It says 2 months out of the year will be great! The ten months you just have to lie low or pray to God that it won't suck so much. And you (or whoever foolish enough to listen to my ramblings) will laugh and politely inform me that you (or they) don't believe in horoscope. Doesn't matter to me though, because I would have continued to read the whole damned prediction to you from the website anyway. I like hearing something great will happen to me, no matter how false sounding it is. Why do you think I tape fortune cookies (the ones that make sense) to the monitor at work. "Great change is upon you," it says. And I would tell my best friend, "See, I'll win lotto and can finally quit this job,"

2011 is the year of metal rabbit, says the Chinese horoscope; tread cautiously and with strength in your heart. It says I am a horse, and I am thinking horses and rabbits don't mix so well. But I get tired of being apprehensive all the time. I want to run naked in the rain (like I used to when I was a kid) and say the hell with the world. I am afraid that my neurosis will kick in before I can entertain this thought to the fullest. Sometimes I think maybe I won't make it past this week, but sometimes I think I will live to be a thousand and ninety. I am a mystery to myself, but I think everyone else in the world (who gives a damn) can see right through me, all the way inside to my heart and its pumping muscles; to my brain and the lights of my neurons, and inside my marrow where the mishmash of my blood cells are being born each day. I look into the mirror and I can't see past the reflected stranger standing before me.

You see me though. Even if no one else do. You see my hurt behind my harsh words, you see my insecurity behind my tough exterior that I put up. You see me and you still want me. And that says everything to me. 2010. My tumultuous year filled with wonder and love, downs and ups, and all through the tears and craziness, I feel blessed, chosen, embraced by the goodness this world has to offer. (Don't say it out loud, don't jinx it! my neurosis nudges me as I write this) But I have to thank my fate and to all who have stood by and cheered me on. Just a handful of days left in this year and I hope I can ride out this luck a little further.

One day at a time. One word at a moment. Jittery inside and fluttering outside, I am hanging on to this ride.


* originally posted as (Expectations.. yours and mine..) same time last year, I think. ;)

During the wee hours, I Muse.

Someone once asked me where my thoughts wander after the sun has set and there are only the stars to keep me company. I tried to keep the answer at bay, but it came too easily and that scared me.The only thing that lives inside me at those late night early morning hours, are my feelings of inadequacy.

I think back to times when I was the person I wanted to be. But sometimes, I can't even remember that far in the past. And that scares me more than anything. What if I'm never the person I dream I could be?

What if, for the rest of my life, I simply fall short? I'm not sure I could deal with my own failed expectations and unfulfilled dreams.

I believe I could be so much more than I am, but I can never see past the picture in the frame to the larger landscape it depicts. And if I can't see that how can I ever fill in the blanks?

The answer is simple,
yet terrifying.

I can't.

Artificiality

You seem completely barren, to me. it seems almost as though you are lacking in original content. In the past, my eyes would dawn on you as being so bright, although, as time progresses, I see a little flag of greed wavering in the lovely soul, that is yours. it seems to me as though you crave possessions that could define someone you would like to portray as yourself, making you lack in true identity. I see that you have yet to know entirely what defines you, therefore take bits and pieces from pieces of others, and have made of yourself a glued vase of numerous shades that aren't yours completely. although, it makes perfect sense, that i am possibly completely out of my wits with this, purely, because I suppose we are put in on this beautiful planet to search for our true selves, as though it is something already defined or predetermined. although, i don't believe that the later actually could be so. It strongly flushes through my mind that what ever flows through us naturally, effortlessly, is what makes us unique. I firmly believe that the infinite materialistic possessions we try to acquire, and the constant brain hypnosis we do to ourselves in order to know about things we normally wouldn't care to for the purpose of being more of something we truly are not, only makes us more artificial. 


why are we never satisfied?

Blangko

Yan ang laman ng isip ko. Marahil nagtataka ka, paanong naging blangko ang laman ng isip ko, possible bang hindi magkaroon ng laman ang utak ng isang tao? Oo, bakit hindi? Kung ang lahat naman ng nilalaman nito ay walang saysay, walang ibig sabihin, at sa kasalukuyan ay walang halaga para sayo.

Hindi ko masabi, hindi ko rin alam kung kailan, saan at paano, pero naisuko ko na ang buong kaisipan ko, kalooban ko at ang pagasa na magiging maligaya pa ako. Tunay na maligaya. Ilang beses ko na nga bang tinangkang bawiin ang sarili ko? Hindi ko na mabilang, ang tangi lamang tumatatak sa isip ko ay ang bawat pagkatalong tinatamo ko sa bawat labang hinaharap ko, laban na alam kong umpisa pa lang ay alam ko ng napakalaki ng posibiladad ng aking pagkatalo.

Kaya ako ganito, hindi ko makuhang makapagpapasok ng tao sa buhay ko, pilit kong idinidistansya ang sarili ko o kung hindi man, ay itulak ang taong iyon palayo sa tuwing nararamdaman kong naaabot niya na ang kaibuturan ng damdamin ko. Sinasara ko na ang pinto ng aking kaluluwa bago pa man nila marating ang tarangkahan.

Ano pa ang saysay ng pagbabahagi ng sarili ko sa iba kung sarili ko mismo ay hindi ko maibahagi sa aking sarili? May isip akong minsan bukas, minsan sarado pero madalas lumulutang. May puso akong nakakaramdam ngunit hindi sapat upang suklian ang bawat pagibig na natatanggap.

Hindi ako karapat dapat, nalalaman ko iyon. Hindi ko dapat tinatali ang isang bagay na buong pusong binibigay saken kung wala naman akong balak suklian iyon. Alam kong dapat ko nang buksan ang aking mga kamay upang pakawalan ang mga bagay na mas higit na magpapaligaya sa iba, ngunit ang sakim kong sarili ang pilit na bumubulag sa akin, nagpapaniwala saken na ang mga bagay na itong tinatanggap ko, tinatamasa ko, ay ang tanging mga bagay na magpapaniwala sa akin na may puso pa rin akong nakakaramdam, na kailangang makaramdam dahil kung hindi, tuluyan na akong lalamunin at mababaon sa sarili kong kadiliman.

Marami akong naiisip, ngunit lahat ng ito ay walang saysay, walang ibig sabihin at sa kasalukuyan ay walang halaga para sa akin.

Love Musings

Who am I to talk of love and its stories? I am no expert, I nurse no broken heart.  I possess no knowledge of how to win or lose your love. I am just a woman, lonely perhaps, needing to stir up the calm surface of a lake, just because I feel like it.

Love and loss, and stories of heartache and wedded bliss; I've been through it all, and yet, I am still a novice, needing new angles. My stories are getting old, collecting dust, wearing the same shade disguised as variants. So, give me something to ponder about, something that will take my breath away and have me sit  in a dreamy daze. Make me forget rush hour traffic, nosy office mates, stale overpriced lunches, and egos of the big heads who know how to profile cancerous cells but haven't got a clue about how to uplift an employee's morale. 

Show me your vision of love, the sweet aftertaste it leaves on your tongue. Let me immerse in your desire, swelling like the tides of a late afternoon ocean. I wait for you to inspire. My fingers ache to compose beautiful fresh look of love.

Consistent Inconsistencies

I may not have all the answers to life. As a matter of fact, I could tell you one thing today and then another tomorrow. My thoughts shift left and right, up and down, backwards and forward. I am yes one minute and no in a matter of seconds. My perspectives change. I am no longer the girl you met yesterday and tomorrow I will no longer be the girl I am today. Change is gradual and we never see it coming. It is only noticeable when we stop and really look at ourselves and the world we have created around us. Each day is a challenge for me. I always want to be better, stronger, and wiser. But there will always be someone better than I am. A better friend. A better sister. A better daughter. A better girlfriend. A better person. Someone more intelligent than I could ever imagine. Someone more daring and confident. Someone more beautiful. Someone more perfect. And myself? I am physically weak and emotionally fragile. I can shatter into a million pieces and cry myself to sleep. I fear the silence, the emptiness, for my mind wanders. But I am able to successfully hide it all behind this curve upon my lips. I am able to spend each silence, each quiet moment of my own, building and rebuilding the heart. I listen for the rhythm. The quiet drumming. The music and the essence. This heart of mine is as delicate, as intricate and as pure as a snowflake on the first snow day of a new year. But the world is not delicate nor is it pure. So who am I to believe that I can take on the world with the heart as my shield and the mind as my only weapon.

We all have doubts in ourselves. We doubt our greatest potential. We doubt our patience. And we doubt our ability to continuously persevere. But it is never the silver lining that we all look for. What we look for is the unconditional love, faith and trust of someone else in us. Not our mothers. Not our fathers, brothers or sisters. Not someone who shares our blood, but rather a stranger. One who will eventually become an acquaintance and on to an honorable friend. Someone who will grow and change because we have made an impact on their lives just as much as they did on our lives simply because they accepted us for who we are and were able to believe in our choices and actions. I want to see the world and every person in it creating this beautiful ripple effect. One that touches and changes a person. One that spreads love and romance. One of trust and honesty. And most of all, one of inspiration. So with this in mind, go and challenge the world. Defy gravity. Be better, stronger and wiser. Affect others and let others affect you. Take on life with the heart as your shield and the mind as your only weapon. These are things no one could ever take away from you.

I am Me.

Sometimes I forget who I am. Sometimes I get so bogged down by negative thoughts and put myself down. I forget the good side, the fun side, the positively hopeful side of me. I remember now though. I remember what I like to do, the music I love, the friends I have, the unconditional love from my parents. I remember my funky spunky self, the girl who cuts her hair on impulse in order to make changes, the girl who never asks for directions because she wants to figure it out herself, the girl who dances to just beats and sings her lungs out to Leona Lewis and Kelly Clarkson songs.

Don't let the bed bugs bite.

I really want to blog about something, but I know that if I post, I'll offend two very important people in my life.  This is annoying the frickin' heck out of me.  I promised myself that I would only blog about what I felt comfortable with the public knowing.  I promised that I'd never make a protected post because, if I can't say it to everyone, I won't say it at all.  This has never been a problem before, but tonight, it's driving me crazy.

I hate that this is my blog, and yet I feel like I have to be gentle with other people.  Why do I even have my own blog if I'm going to let it be dictated by what will offend my friends and what won't?

Chances are, I won't end up blogging about what I want to blog about.  I'll let all the thoughts in my mind just sit there and rot because I care too much about other peoples' feelings.  For the sake of everyone else, I will silence my need to get this off my chest.

But why should I?  Why do I feel the need to be gentle and cautious?  This is my blog, damn it.  And I should have the guts to say whatever I want, no matter who it offends.  But I don't.  I don't want to hurt any feelings or cause any unnecessary drama.  So tonight, two lucky men will sleep well knowing that I didn't verbally tear them apart.  I can dream, though, that they will both sleep unwell knowing that my lack of ability to express my opinion is driving me to insanity.  Killing me slowly, even.

Because I love the song and Hayley's new color. Ü

and the concept of the video, sociopath much hayley? lol

Playing God ::: Paramore

What do I see?

I see every fissure in the tall walls
every possibility, every joy and ecstasy,
every laugh, every smile, every crinkle within your voice
every tear on your face, every stumble in our path
every despair you hide from me, every redness of our hearts.

I see the sun behind the opaque sky, 
the rivers that flow into the ocean,
the peak of the mountains, the steep of the hills
the daffodils of March, your hands in mine,
my head on your shoulder, my legs across yours;
I see eternity in your  beautiful eyes.

My vision is clear, my eyes are wide open
I see my whole world.

Demise by Indecision

Endless waves rush to the shore rising up high, only to falter while I wonder,why my life now hinges on the strict orders. Leave me be, on this night, under the crescent moonlight; 
I am tired of marching on a straight line, according to others' time. This way, and that, that way and this, optimize to be more efficient!
Instead, I stand frozen and paralyzed, unable to envision the best way to tie a bike to the rack; or to tuck the sheets in bed.

My insides ache, and my mind hesitates; all my sparkles have been washed away by the precise waves.

Volcano-ism

I am a victim of volcano-like mimics. I let the lava boil inside of me, without saying a word. Only, unlike the volcano I do not erupt conspicuously, I almost let myself purge unnoticed, vomiting heavy air on to my own lap. I spend sleepless nights due to piles of paper work, and extract my conclusions by the eggshell tinted window hedge. Sight seeing, the beautiful moon and stars are all that is required to allow the silenced verses of my stress skitter from my head, to place themselves in the black sheet of the sky where I will no longer see them, for the bright luminaries have me in a trance. At this moment, that little voice inside of my temples that bellows annoyance is completely mute, and all that exists is the quiet heart beat quarantined in my chest. You are exactly where you are supposed to be. And this I mean, quite literally. It doesn’t humour me to watch you slither in a transparent pool, lies filling it almost at flooding point, while your eyes believe impressive thick colors  swirl their mixtures past you.