blessed hope: thoughts

Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts

I’ll cut to the chase: This is a depressing poem.

However, that’s not the major reason why I fancy it. The overwhelming feels that this masterpiece emit is a just a strike. A bonus point, I must say. But what caught my heart is the nakedness of its connection to reality. Every point, illustration and inference included between the lines are all terrifyingly true to what we call life. More specifically, the system or cycle of life.

Rainbow Rowell once wrote that art wasn’t supposed to look nice. It was supposed to make you feel something. I think poetry does that just fine.

So it’s safe to say that poems are works of art, right?

But this, this doesn’t just make you feel something. It makes you want to do something; rip the system and burn down paper infrastructures in this freaking paper town.

So yeah, that is how I express my love for this poem.

Without further ado, here’s the poem.

A PIECE OF ADVICE: DON’T BYPASS ANY PHRASE TO FEEL THE FULL EFFECT

It was the second time that I’ve laid my eyes on you, yet it still feels like the first.
You were across the room, almost blocked by the crowd. But you stood out. Your eyes always do. They are perfect almonds with a little pull at the tail.

It’s mesmerizing.

Just like the first time, I know you noticed me.
Just like the first time, I know you were chancing glances at me.

I know. Because I do, too.

I wanted to gaze. I wanted to stop this glancing game and gawk at you. Whether to fully give you the acknowledgement that your glances were too obvious or just to give you a hint that I notice you too, I haven’t deciphered which one. I guess, I haven’t worked up the courage for both so it doesn’t matter. Either way, I know our eyes would lock. I just know it. You’ve made that too obvious by not looking away when I caught your eye.

And it’s silly. It’s silly how I get to be the one to look away when I was the one who caught you. And right after that, I could see with my peripheral vision, the slight tugging of your lips which are forming into a crooked smile.

Or maybe it wasn’t so silly after all.
Because I know exactly why I look away.
Staring games are much more awkward when we don’t even know each other’s names.

And I don’t want us to be awkward. At least, not yet.
I want to know you more first..

I’d like to begin this tale by stating the obvious: I was depressed. Sadness has been puncturing holes in my chest for some time now. The more my mind dwells in it, the more it stabs against the edge of each wound; making the holes grow even larger. As a follower of Christ, I was barren – unable to bear fruit. I felt like a living dead, stuck and stagnant.

I go to school but I don’t study.

I exist in our house but not with my family.

I sing songs of praise but I don’t worship.

I’m alive but I don’t live.

Before, I thought depression was just the absence of a purpose. For some people, this is quite true. But more often than not, losing your so-called purpose can be the side effect of depression; which is a side effect of dying, according to John Green. I guess the soul of my heart had acquired a chronic disease – a cancer, perhaps; rationally speaking, since my heart was turning into a black hole each passing day.

Having said that, depression can be caused by a lot of things, just like mine.

I’ve already laid out one of these in my last post which takes a big portion of why I was depressed. Considering that this month is the universal UP hell month, swimming in a pool of school requirements while trying to cope with my emotions was one hell of a roller coaster ride. I barely even pass. But that’s not the worst news I can deliver. The worst is that I haven’t talked to God during this hardship. And by that, I mean a ‘heart-to-heart’ talk where you meditate in His word and pray. All I do is acknowledge Him in simple pleas like, “Lord, help me. I’m dying.”

And that, my friends, is not enough. I could feel my relationship with Him getting rotten. I was losing it. But the thing is, I was not losing Him. He was not the one slipping away but me. I was running away subtly by avoiding Him. But He’s still there. Waiting for me. Trying to reach me out in every circumstance I’m in which brings me to another series of short stories.

Last week, I went from being “hissailingvessel” to “craftedrestoration.” First of all, I believe that I am still His vessel. But stagnant as I am, I don’t think I’m serving that purpose anymore. I was going through tidal waves of my past that blurs God from my sight. I felt stained and tainted but God spoke to me through Isaiah 61:3. It says, “To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the LORD has planted for his own glory.”

Around this time, a song from my playlist entitled “Bitter/Sweet” by Bethel music starts playing.

YOU MAKE ALL THINGS NEW
YOU TURN THE BITTER INTO SWEET
YOU TURN THE WINTER INTO SPRING

I know what I need – healing and restoration which only God can “craft.” But then I realized, God already knows what’s ahead of my story. He knows my ending. This restoration which I ask has already been “crafted” even before I was born. Hence, “craftedrestoration.”

Sometimes, when depression is eating us up, it may feel like nothing is left for us to live. In my case, even though I feel like my relationship with Him is rotten, I know that there’s still this hope inside of me that never lets me go. It’s making me hold on. No matter how pained and miserable I was, there’s still something in my heart that keeps me breathing.

It’s Jesus.

He is actually what I think of when I sing “Last hope” by Paramore. I know it’s not a Christian song, but what matters is the intention of who sings it.

IT’S JUST A SPARK
BUT IT’S ENOUGH TO KEEP ME GOING
AND WHEN IT’S DARK OUT, NO ONE’S AROUND
IT KEEPS GLOWING

When I read “My Heart and Other Black Holes” by Jasmine Warga, I realized that the only thing which fights off depression and death is hope. Hope is what sustains suicidal people.

As you can observe, my username has been changed again. This time, it’s blessed hope. I’m not referring to myself as THE blessed hope which the verse Titus 2:13 is referring to. It’s literally blessed me. For further understanding, let me disclose a revelation I had during a discussion in my Fil 40 class. I was at the back of the room, not entirely listening to the professor’s lecture about the culture of words. One thing struck me at that time though. It was about word play. My mind wandered off.. to some things I don’t recall now and then to my name – Hannah Eunice P. Obrique. Somehow, I’ve managed to associate the topic with my initials = H.E.P.O.

I hated my initials before. It sounded weird when read straight. But at that moment, I was so thankful for it. I was so thankful because, my gally, I found out that reversing the last three initials of my name while leaving the letter H at the front will give me the word H.O.P.E.

It’s amazing. It’s really amazing how God can work wonders in any way possible. Can you imagine? I literally found hope, even in my name. This is a proof that there is no such thing as a bigger miracle than other miracles for everything is a miracle in itself, waiting to be revealed. You just have to look for it. Just like the word “hope” in the initials of my name, the literal “hope” can be always hard to find. But really, when we feel like hope is not there, it actually is.

Because Jesus is our hope.

Take my initials as a constant reminder for that.

My miracle doesn’t end there, however, for God has another revelation for me. It happened yesterday while I was reviewing the answers of the transferees from other schools (non-UPCAT passers who transferred) that I interviewed for my research paper. Their answers amazed me because even though they’re having a harder time here surviving in the university than me, they still bask in happiness and thank God for all the blessings.

I realized how ungrateful I am for focusing on the bad sides (not much friends, hot weather) that I forgot to thank God for what He has done for me. It was as if a bucket of ice water was splashed on me when I realized this. It was even more refreshing (and heart wrenching) when right after that, I attended the Youth Service and the message was all about #blessed which confirms every realization I had. I was reminded of His love, His promise and our covenant. Ahh! Hebrews 13:5 says, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

How amazing can this get?!

Grabe lang talaga, I have no words! You Lord, are so amazing! Miracles upon miracles. Whew! For a span 14 days, these phenomenal things have taken place. My heart have shed buckets of tears containing every different emotion my hypothalamus can rack. Right now, I can’t say that I’m totally okay. I know I’m not.. completely. Because healing is a process which includes a lot of pain. But I’m recuperating! The best part is, I’m not crawling unlike before. Now, I’m standing. Because, finally, I’ve recognized the hope who is sustaining me all along. And mind you, it’s easier to fight in this battlefield when you’re standing hand in hand with your Maker.

So yes, I refer to myself as the blessed one – a reminder that I am indeed, blessed. And H.ope – a reminder for myself that there is hope in everything. I might not see it right away, just like with my name which I only realized after 18 years, but it’s there.

This is not actually a victory story. My story doesn’t end here. This is only a chapter of the book God has authored.

A chapter filled with His assurance and sustenance in my life.

While I was surfing the internet, I came across this piece – a mother’s love expressed through words and phrases.
Please take time to read this beautifully-written poem and feel the echoes of a mother’s love seep from between the lines and through you.
Just a quick background, the child has a disability. Most probably, autism.

UNTITLED BY AMANDA POST

MY LITTLE BOY, THIS LOVE OF MINE,
DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO SAY;
PLEASE GIVE ME ROOM FOR EVERY TIME,
HIS WORDS GET IN THE WAY.

YOU WOULD NOT KNOW BY PASSING BY,
THE STRUGGLES EVERYDAY:
BUT TRY TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYE,
YOU’LL SEE IT IN HIS FACE.

YOU MAY NOT UNDERSTAND HOW HARD,
SMALL TASKS IN LIFE CAN BE;
HOW DIFFICULT TO SPEAK ALOUD,
OR LEARN YOUR ABC’S.

AND JUST BECAUSE HE DOESN’T HUG YOU,
OR KISS YOU HI AND BYE;
DOESN’T MEAN HE DOESN’T LOVE YOU,
PLEASE JUST GIVE HIM TIME!

THROUGH ALL THE TANTRUMS, FIGHTS AND TEARS,
I LOOK AT HIM AND SEE;
A LITTLE BOY WITH TONS OF FEARS,
WHO STRIVES FOR NORMALCY.

OF COURSE HE SEES HE’S DIFFERENT,
BUT HE JUST CAN’T SEE WHY;
EVERYBODY’S TIME IS SPENT,
TRYING TO MAKE HIM ‘RIGHT’.

OPEN UP YOUR HEART AND MIND,
AND JUST WATCH QUIETLY;
YOU’LL SEE A BOY WHO’S REALLY TRYING,
JUST WANTS TO BE HAPPY.

HE’S JUST A SCARED LITTLE BOY,
WITH EVERY SIGHT AND SOUND;
I KNOW HE PLAYS WITH JUST ONE TOY,
AND SPINS AROUND AND ROUND.

I KNOW SOMETIMES HE’LL YELL AND SCREAM,
HE SIMPLY CANNOT SAY;
HE IS NOT TRYING TO BE MEAN,
THINGS HAVE TO BE HIS WAY.

ALL HE CAN SAY IS 'IT’S NOT RIGHT’,
SOMETIMES IT SEEMS UNREAL;
HE CAN’T EXPRESS THOUGH TRY HE MIGHT,
TO TELL YOU HOW HE FEELS.

I KNOW THAT HE REPEATS HIMSELF,
AND SOMETIMES OTHERS TOO;
BELIEVE ME THAT DOES REALLY HELP,
ANXIETY TO BE REMOVED.

SO PLEASE BE PATIENT AND BE KIND,
LOVE HIM EVERYDAY;
I KNOW IN YOUR HEART YOU WILL FIND,
A PLACE FOR HIM ALWAYS.

HE IS MY SPECIAL, BEAUTIFUL BOY,
WHOM I LOVE ENDLESSLY;
HE IS MY GIFT, MY LOVE, AND MY JOY
HE’S EVERYTHING TO ME

Amazing, isn’t it? I think I shed a tear or two while reading this. It reminded me so much of myself, a very flawed and dirty person, explicitly loved by our Father. Despite my temporary “spiritual disorders,” His love for me never once wavered and continued to endure.
Wow! Thank you, Lord for using these little things as instruments to show me how much You love me. Truly, nothing will be able to separate me from Your great love!

I’m okay. I think I’m okay. I thought I was okay.

I’ve been trying to keep myself together for the past few days. I go out with good company, overwhelm my senses with an abundance of piled acads, roam around every social media hotel I signed up for, escape into almost every story I have in my bookshelf, stuff coffee and calories in my system.. the list is endless.

You may ask, are these distractions?
Maybe, maybe not. I never really thought of it as that. I do them because I enjoy doing them, not because I need remedy for sadness. And believe me, I do feel happy. (Except for the acads part, those are required)
I am happy. But nothing will take away the fact that I am miserable at the same time. I didn’t know it could be possible, but it is. I’m aware of this gaping hole in my chest, caused by unfinished stories and unanswered questions. I’m aware of how chained I still am to the life and accounts I left in that place. But I’m more aware of this barrier that keeps on hindering me from restoration.
Perhaps it’s for the reason that I’ve been avoiding God; trying to get Him out of the present picture as much as possible. It’s not due to the attitude that I wanted to handle things my way, but because I think I’m just going to waste His time for the millionth time now. I feel unworthy for how insincere my heart is so I’m keeping my distance; all the while, numbness consumes me.
When it does, I feel like I don’t care about the past, the stories and the people.
I feel like cutting all ties, leaving it all behind.
Never looking back, while keeping my head high.
But as soon as this numbness drops, it’s like a tidal wave crashing through me, hitting me face first. And it usually happens before I fall asleep, every single night.
It piles up. Each impact feels greater than the former. And these.. these welling emotions are drowning me inside. They are toxic. Just like poisoned food, I want it out of my system.
But how?

I sat perplexed as I try to adjoin the words coming out of the teacher’s mouth in order to get a sum of sense from the content of the lecture. A series of ‘what ifs,’ ‘buts’ and ‘maybes’ float around my head which were never realized due to the unrelenting doubt I possess with regards to my comprehension ability. Remembering the quiz regarding the day’s topic expected next meeting, I narrowed my eyes and puckered my brows at my pen. It was a battle with my grade as a price; and at that moment, I knew I lost. With no other choice left, I began to inscribe the transcript of the teacher’s speech on my notebook. Drowning at the sea of words being thrown at mid-air, I surrendered the purpose of learning and just continued to gather and weave letters into a bundle of mess for me to retain.

The teacher arrives. The teacher speaks. The teacher leaves. This is the unfaltering routine I have witnessed for seventeen years—an education of using one-way communication with students perfecting the role of being mere receivers. For the sake of achieving high grades, I accepted it and even adapted to it. I am a product of oppression; taught to passively receive what was said, memorize what I write and repeat the existing knowledge. I was oblivious that I was being deprived of a clearer perspective on my own reality and engagement to the world; and restrained from flourishing to my fullest potential. I was unaware that little by little, I was processed to be dehumanized.

I was scared. I feared deviation thus I went through with the norm of how formal education is implemented. This instance has led me to behave and think accordingly; a subtle similarity of that of a puppet whose actions are dictated by the one in authority. The only difference is how it doesn’t possess a working mind that is made dysfunctional by the system. According to Feire, “By requiring a man to behave mechanically, mass production domesticates him. By separating his activity from the total project, requiring no total critical attitude toward production, it dehumanizes him. By excessively narrowing a man’s specialization, it constricts his horizons, making of him a passive, fearful, naïve being.”

Removing the freedom of a person to think critically is just the same as extracting his soul, his inner being. We become robots; merely pawns of those with great power to do this and that. In the end, we systematically go through the sequential education with no breakthrough for the reason that we use the same methods and focus on the same goals set by society. But we are not robots. Our motivation should not come beyond our own self. We should be taking control of our lives, becoming autonomous; mastering our craft, enjoying its “flow;” and gearing towards helping everyone work, making them a part of a higher purpose. This is the trend standing out above the lengthy educational timeline of mine; which is also the most important and crucial of all. The motivation should not be extrinsic by getting something from others in doing it. It should be intrinsic, by getting something from ourselves in doing it (Pink, 2009). Doing is how “we organize,” “how we think,” and “how we do.”

I know there are a lot of anomalies in every aspect that comprises education—from lousy unprofessional teachers to neglected school facilities. However, these are common realities of every school and department which point to the usual cause—lack of funds. Now, what’s more crucial for me is the system itself resulting to absence or lack of critical perception of students; because this may or may not be caused by the lack of money but the lack of a flexible and conscious spirit.

The body of knowledge is evolving and ever-changing. It does not merely exist as what it is. It conforms. It incorporates. And, I believe, this can only be achieved through dialogue—a teacher learning from the students, the students learning from the teacher. One thing that I learned is to never stop wondering, to never stop questioning. That’s where critical consciousness is born and can be found.

We should wake up and arise from being a slave of the systematic thought. We should start to think and act like human, which we already are. To end, “We needed an education which would lead men to take a new stance toward their problems, one oriented toward research instead of repeating irrelevant principles. An education of “I wonder,” instead of merely, “I do.” (Freire, 1973)

Student activists in the main have always believed in the line, “Education is a right, not a privilege.” Being exposed to the unfiltered mass media as a former Journalism student, I know for a fact that this line has always been bellowed in rallies since time immemorial; a line that indicates how crooked our educational system is, a line that still infiltrates and burns within my heart.

At the present time, you don’t have to hear various students utter these words of anguish anymore; not for the grounds that an improvement occurred in our educational system, but because it is not necessary for it to be verbalized for us to know that the problem behind it still exists. You can easily see it in the eyes of those who are struggling to read and write even without electricity, the eyes of those who have nothing to eat in school, the eyes of those who dream to graduate as they sell bread or collect junk to earn money for school expenses. These are the stories told by the eyes of the deprived—the eyes of the victims of selective education.

Everyone has experienced selective education at some point in time. From the provinces to the cities, no one is exempted. Usually, it can be observed in admission tests to schools which offer quality education. But is that all there is to it? Contrary to popular belief, selective education is including but not limited to measuring one’s intelligence quotient. Education, for me, is selective when it becomes a privilege. That is, when education becomes inaccessible due to poverty, poor academic performance, physical or mental disabilities, and community civilization, among others.

Philippine Agenda’s documentary film entitled, “Edukasyon” portrayed this in accordance with our deteriorating educational system in both the rural and urban setting. Clearly, it served as either an eye-opener to some or a reminder for those who have already neglected the problem. For me, it was the latter. Watching the documentary is a nudge to my sleeping consciousness and a poke to my nationalistic heart. It made me question everything in a critical view and look beyond the lenses of what the documentary has focused on as a reason for selective education; which is corruption.

Jessica Soho, the host of the film, opened with a reminder of the approaching 2010 elections and ended with a prompt to wisely choose whom to put in authority; which made the viewers focus the blame of selective education on the government alone. Looking at the surface level, corruption really does has a big say in providing a public formal education, especially in the rural areas, because the bureau holds the key to our resources. This is somehow true as it is stated in Article XIV, Section 4, Paragraph (5) that the State shall assign the highest budgetary priority to education. But seeing our present situation, it seemed otherwise.

For me, it all boils down to poverty. Various scenes in the film have depicted how poverty hinders one from going to school; in more detail, how a child can’t go to school because he or she has no baon. It’s easy to see how poverty causes malnutrition and how malnutrition leads to selective education. Now, should we put the blame on the authorities for this? No. Food provision is not the responsibility of the education bureaucracy. It is the responsibility of the parents. Looking closely at the film, I keep on wondering why the parents let their children work to earn money when it is their job to do so. More often than not, this leads to the child performing poorly in class.

As a public elementary school graduate, I know the perks of being included in the star section and how it significantly affects your condition in school. From the best classrooms to the more competent teachers, the higher sections get it all; leaving the residue (i.e. cracked black boards, dilapidated classrooms) to the lower sections. What the documentary has failed to point out is how other factors like academic performance contribute to the allocation of these resources, resulting to selective education. Mind you, this is just elementary level. Selective education in terms of academic performance is more apparent in high school because this is the level wherein higher authorities recognize the performance of the students by engaging in interschool competitions. Since the star students represent their school, the school will therefore “take care” of these students.

Long ago, I thought the crises of education both in the urban and rural areas were merely sensationalized by media. This came to a halt when I had my firsthand experience in a public school in the city; and a direct understanding of the culture in the provinces. When I stayed in the Cordilleras for almost a year, I became aware of the indigenous cultural communities and the thin line that separates cultural preservation and economic development. For one, some communities see the continuum of oral tradition and weaving as the standard education. With this, I came to question myself if it would be possible to preserve the culture of indigenous peoples and at the same time giving them access to formal education. Sure, the government has “promised” them educational provisions and alternative learning programs that integrate their culture with education as stated in R.A. 8371, more commonly known as the IPRA 1997, which declares in Section 28 that the State shall, through the NCIP, provide a complete, adequate and integrated system of education, relevant to the needs of the children and young people of ICCs/IPs and in Section 30 that the State shall provide equal access to various cultural opportunities to the ICCs/IPs through the educational system, public or private cultural entities, scholarships, grants and other incentives. But where is the proof of its implementation in action? Be that as it may, one thing is for sure, an individual should not be deprived of the kind of education he or she is asking for.

There is no denying that selective education has become a norm in society; as most people believe that quality education is only for those who either is a genius or can actually afford it. Kaya kapag mahirap ka at hindi ka matalino, pasensya ka. But why do we have to pay for education in the first place? And so what if you’re not an UPCAT qualifier? It is your right to have access to the quality education of your choice whether formal or alternative.

Education is not just the responsibility of the administration. It is ours too by dutifully fulfilling our roles in society; may it be as a parent, a teacher and a student among others. Eradicating selectivity can only be achieved if all Filipinos help hand in hand in filling the gaps and erasing the anomalies of education. It may be hard and tedious; but as long as we have time, perseverance and guidance from God, we have everything.

May this serve as a challenge and an inspiration for change and excellent progress to serve our beloved country and fellowmen.

These are grace filled phrases that the Father has revealed to me tonight! May these words that are processed on sticky notes, be forever stuck in my heart.

Tonight’s revelation: “The good fight” // “Our Father, the Creator.”

I was struck with deep loneliness the moment I stepped inside my transient room. I am an introvert, I am used to being alone. I prefer to be because I find solitude in it. But in this particular moment, in this very particular place, I’d rather not. This is the place where I practice “being all alone” only in the bathroom. From the moment I wake up until I fall sleep, I am surrounded by people. Of course, we don’t usually show that we are sad when our friends are having a great time with us. Even though we’re depressed inside, we smile and laugh with them.
My friends aren’t here with me to laugh with.
I wasn’t here with them to pretend.
The first sentence that came out of my mouth that time was, “Tayong dalawa lang dito Lord, noh?” I smiled a bitter smile. I thought I was fine. I thought I was already secured. I was losing it, for the thousandth time again.
With the cold air matching how I feel, I broke down and cried.
While hugging my knees to my chest, I asked God to take away the pain, the shame. I don’t want it anymore.
Just then, I was reminded of the lyrics written by UNSPOKEN.

SOMETIMES PAIN’S THE ONLY WAY THAT WE CAN LEARN

I immediately opened my laptop. I wanted to hear it but I forgot the title of the song. So I just clicked on “Call It Grace” by the same band. I cried as I listen. Asking God over and over again to take away all of it. I can’t take this struggle anymore.
The next thing that happened completely blew me away. “The Good Fight” started playing which left me and my tears awestruck by just the verse.

KEEP FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT
KEEP LETTING YOUR LIGHT SHINE
‘CAUSE I’M NEVER GONNA LEAVE YOU
ALWAYS GONNA SEE YOU THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE
KEEP FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT

It was so surreal, it was like: it is God Himself who’s singing me the lyrics. It had me relishing the thought of His sweet, sweet voice telling me,
“You’ve fought the good fight. Job well done, my child.”
Isn’t it dreamy? He gave me new hope and strength to fight so that when it is all over, I’d look back and say, “It is all worth it.”
Right after that, I had the resolution to start reading the whole Bible from Genesis, a chapter at a time. Would you believe? Genesis 1 has struck me all the same.
The Lord reminded me of His sovereignty. His power over me, His creation. He has prepared the blueprint of my life even before I have inhaled my first breath. The battlefield where I am now, is planned. I just have to trust Him, my Creator, my Father. For I am His.

Heo 12:06 AM 7/14/2015

I’ve always been the rebellious child, the black sheep in the family. Even though I grew up alongside the rod, I let my mind exist in a space following no set of rules. I let my actions be a consolation for discipline but not a habit for character. Eventually, I don’t just follow half-heartedly. I follow with no heart at all because I use words instead of actions just for the sake of appeasement. I’m not talking about house chores here. I’m talking about life advices that your parents lay out for your soul to eat as you walk down the path of life.
Just like any other typical teenager, I enjoyed living a worldly life. Widely listening to popular songs and dressing up with respect to the latest fashion trend became my indulgence. Conformity came in handy as the flesh induces immoral pleasures. In a blink of an eye, I found my life focused on wicked treasures on earth. I can’t even believe I am a product of two Christian parents whose eyes are set on heavenly matters.
Nothing is heavenly in me.
In tactless words, I lived a sinful life. And I enjoyed it.
For countless times, I’ve disobeyed my parents. For some reason, I was angry. I hated life for what it is. But most of all, I was sad. I can feel a burning and searing hole in my chest. It’s like emptiness decided to take form physically. I know it’s discontentment that’s really consuming me. I couldn’t find my purpose at all. Worldly pleasure was like the temporary “filler” in that expanding hole of emptiness. What I didn’t realize sooner was the side effect that doubled the pain and made me more miserable than what I already am.
Pathetic, right?
(..To be continued.)

As I leisurely walk along a seemingly empty park, I hear the subtle whisper of the cool breeze as it blows my hair and passes through the row of trees, making their branches sway delicately. I hear the crisp sound of leaves and the crunch of gravel as the wheels of the jeepneys roll over the asphalt, the slow rumble of engine in sync with nature. This is probably one of the most relaxing experiences I’ve had. The beauty of nature has me utterly distracted from my unending list of predicaments. I have nothing in mind. Hence, no stress!

I took a deep breath as my lips curl into a smile. At that moment, I have uncovered how freedom felt mentally and physically. As I look around, I realized that the sun has decided to come out and make the weather even more humid. Nevertheless, I continued my stroll. Perspiration has finally conquered my entire skin. With the sun still burning, I tried wiping my arms. I squint as the playful rays of sunlight catches my eye; when all of a sudden, it was gone. As I look up, I see the magnificent sculpture above me—the Oblation.

Right there and then, everything came rushing back to me: The application forms, the degree programs, my grades, the upcoming exams and interviews, the battle in who gets the slots. Generally speaking, the requirements I need to accomplish for transfer. I am not here to have a vacation and appreciate the scenery. I am not here to have fun.

I AM HERE FOR A REASON

As many people know, University of the Philippines has always been my dream school. As I child, I used to go there all the time for a visit. But even when I’m already inside the campus, riding the ikot and going inside buildings, I’m still an outsider. I can only admire the beauty of UP from afar. Practicing what UP students experience and do is not good enough for me.

I wanted to know what it is like inside. I wanted to be called an “Iskolar ng bayan,” a legitimate UP student. Perhaps, that was the reason why I was given that one-time opportunity to see and experience for myself what it is like to study in the most prestigious University in the Phlippines; I wanted it way too much.

But mind you, what I saw inside was nothing alike from what I knew and saw from the outside.

Everything is ugly up close.

(To be continued…)

20150616 | 11:11 PM

I can’t believe how fast time flies. Five years back, my parents used to talk about my 18^thbirthday and all I could think of was, “Pfft. That would be decades from now!” (Well, what would you expect from a twelve year-old girl?)

But who am I kidding? This is time we’re talking about. And we know time. No matter how loud we shout at her, she just wouldn’t listen. She’s too busy running and screwing everyone!

~~CURSE YOU, TIME!~~

Anyway, my point is, this is just surreal. My 18^th self—just a few months away. Who would have thought I’d reach my legal age?

In preparation for that, I’ve been looking for debut ideas the past few weeks. I’m telling you, this is an improvement! I’ve been thinking for months. Now, I’m looking. HAHA!

Of course, I want my character to shine through. I want other people to realize that it’s not just another teenager celebrating her 18^th birthday. I want to show them that it’s not just any other debut. It’s MY debut.

The solution, of course, is a unique theme.

A theme that reflects me, expresses me.

A THEME THAT SHOUTS WHO I AM

So what is the perfect theme? To answer that, perhaps I need to go back to square one and remind myself over my obsessions and weird fetishes. In other words, my ‘likes’ and ‘loves.’ Haha.

Books – Literature will always be a part of who I am. Just seeing the countless words all bundled up in a leaf is invigorating. The scent of newly-printed books is the best part. Mmmm.
Flowers – Need I say more? I am in love with spring. Nature grows on me.
Panda – Cuteness overload! What more? Black and white—classic!
Musical Instruments – Guitar and piano to be exact; basically because I can play them. Thus, they best represent my passion in music.
Ship-related stuff – The wheel ~~(?I’m not really sure what the term is)~~, compass and anchor. They are symbols that represent the convictions that I have which encourage and help me sail through life.
(Obsession still in process..)

Whew! That’s it, I guess. I’ve racked my head far too much. I’ll just modify this post as soon as my mind refreshes.

So, any suggestions?

20150607

Perhaps, ephemerality is not what makes a flower special.

For it connotes the withering of an object that was once an epitome of beauty.

It focuses on how fleeting, and transitory a life of a flower is.

What makes a flower special is rather,

THE FLOURISH

Which includes the laborious process of how a bud has blossomed into a masterpiece.

More specifically, the delicate nurturing that one has to provide just for the flourish of that flower.

Maybe that’s also the reason why a flower is an embodiment of daintiness and subtlety

It’s because of the equal tender treatment it requires.

20150504 3:39 AM

For the nth time this day, I stare at my laptop. Specifically, at the blank document gazing right back at me; the empty white space eerily taunting me of the requirement that should be done by Tuesday.

You may be wondering why I am writing this. Maybe you’re thinking that I should’ve just jumped right at it instead of wasting my time rambling on tumblr.

Well, for one, there are a lot of reasons why a writer writes and how a writer can write.

Writing requires intrinsic motivation—that is, a lot of inspiration. The ability to write a good paper is not easy. It is not brought about by the pressure of a requirement. Although at times, the adrenaline that is caused by time pressure can somehow push us beyond our limits and make us capable of doing extraordinary purposes or in my context, write a good piece.

Now, considering that I still have one whole day to finish this is not really a “pressure” but an assurance that I still have time.

Writing is bringing words out of a writer. It is like bleeding on paper. That is why I find it easy to write a blog post. It’s easy to rant, to complain about how I hate my professor for requiring us to read a tricky 26-page reading and write a paper with a 6-page minimum regarding it.

I’d rather put to words these emotions building in my bottled thoughts so it won’t serve as a hindrance when I’m writing that requirement.

I’d write about how I feel first so that it won’t get tangled with that.

I’d bleed on paper first and flush out these sentiments

Then and only then will I be able to write formally.

I claim it!

Wait for it first page! You are going to be filled with words pretty soon.

20150412

We all feel burdened.

Trapped in a raging sea that is seemingly full of crises and challenges.

Most of the time, we swim all by ourselves.

We try to overcome each storm, conquer each passing wave

..alone.

A plain and common term yet the intensity of it echoes endlessly.

We start complaining of being alone; of having no one.

We find fault in everything without even realizing

that it was our choice in being alone.

It was our choice to take and handle matters in our own hands.

As a result, we burn out.

Our efforts can never encompass the wall of hardships blocking our way.

Little by little, we drown.

~~We chose to.~~ A consequence of the choice we made.

That is what this life is all about,

CHOOSING

You can choose to dive in that raging ocean single-handedly.

Or you can choose to be carried by our Father.

You may drown every now and then.

But surely, you’ll find yourself sinking in His sea of grace.

Just as He has promised.

It all boils down to you now.

What do you choose?

20150403

I felt the agitation flowing through my veins as the tension arose and burned in the soggy air. Butterflies filled my twisting belly as my mind heaved in anticipation. It was overwhelming. I sensed the apprehension of other wide-eyed high school students who were struggling for the same dream that I desire. It was palpable. That Sunday afternoon, marks the most significant time when we were all hurling ourselves against the arduous barricade guarding our entrance to the premier university in the Philippines—theUPCAT.

We all long for a better future, we all dream for a better life. To put it simply, every single one of us during that time was a mere traveller. All of us are taking up the same journey, aiming for the same destination. Like all travellers, we encompassed different preparations that all gave birth to various outcomes. Some of us were armed to the teeth with weapons of stock knowledge while some come with wisdom tucked under their belts. Regardless of the firepower we used as a form of attack, no one is rest assured that he or she will reach the destination pursued.

Getting through the prominent door of UP that thousands of Filipinos are vying to enter was my ultimate dream once I started having a conscious mind of that of someone who is intellectually ready, aware and concerned of what the future may bring. I told myself that once I enter UP, my life will be settled and I will not ask for more. I proved myself wrong. Now that I have reached the destination while currently living in it, I realized that it is not enough. It will never be enough. One dream will just lead to another with the latter being bigger and brighter than the former.

Some elderly people might say that by this time, surely I should be able to see a clearer and more concrete picture of my future. But that’s the thing. One cannot say that he or she is closer to the future because the future has no end at all. It has no limit. Therefore, it cannot be finalized. It can take you wandering endlessly on a heap of possibilities and norms the society has established, keeping you relentlessly striving in a sea filled with various opportunities based primarily on the future.

Life has become the future. Every moment of our lives is lived for the future. From the moment we were born, we were trained and honed to live for it. The first formal step our feet dared to delve onto without further ado is studying. From there, a dream to graduate is constructed in order to have a job to support the family you dream to build. Primarily, to be able to send your kids in school and repeat the same things you did growing up. Life has become a cycle for the future; A pattern in which we cannot escape from.

I do believe in school and jobs. I believe in the future. Why would I write this required paper to earn a grade if I do not value and uphold my future? The thing is, I have had enough of living my life for the future. All my life, I have been constantly dreaming, lost in the sea of investing for the impending events that I forgot to wake up. I realized that I was too busy dreaming to actually wake up, value life for what it is and live.

I do not intend to escape from the standard the society has provided. But I am sure as hell that I do not want to pursue a dream just because the society has agreed upon it. It is like living up to someone else’s expectations. I do not want to be like one of those paper people living in this world; burning the future to stay warm. I dream to live life for what it is, value the abstract and not the paper ones for those are the things that matter. And I do; because right now?

I choose to live.

WTF: A Poem

A Flicker

Blessed hope: A Work In Progress

Great Love

Unfinished

I Choose To Be Truly Human

The Inequitable Supremacy

Bonding Sessions with Abba Father | 01

Let The Battle Begin!

What You See Is Not Always What You Get

Debut 101

The Flourish

The Claim

A Matter Of Choice

I Choose To Live

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