Too painful to write about.

Why is it that when you are with the utmost need to write about everything you feel, about every detail of your pain, or how ugly you suddenly feel inside, or confused you feel... that's also the time when you are out of words and energy to do it?

This sucks.


PS. I thought I was already over it.

e.s.k.a.p.o.

Gusto ko umeskapo. Natuturete na isip ko sa dami ng mga problemang iniintindi ko. Minsan napapaisip ako, pag ba tiningnan ako ng tao, katanggap-tanggap pa kaya sa perspesyon nila kung malaman nila na bente-uno pa lang ako? O magtataka na sila at magugulat na ganun lang ang edad ko? Effective ba ang stresstabs?

Minsan ang sarap na lang mag-wala, magsisigaw, at magtapon ng gamit. Yung tipong one time big time na pagwawala, yung nakakahingal, yung nakakaiyak, yung nakakagigil, yung nakakaubos ng energy. Ang sarap siguro nun noh? Yung may sandaling panahon na wala kang lakas kaya may excuse ka na huminga ng maluwag at humiga sa kama nang walang iniisip habang yung katawan at isip mo nagiipon ng energy dahil alam mo sa sarili mo na ilang sandali lang ay magiisip ka nanaman ng solusyon sa problemang kinakaharap mo. Nakakabusog. Nakakauta. Nakakasawa.

Pwede bang umeskapo na lang? Lalayas, magpapakalayo-layo, magtatago, hindi magpaparamdam... okay ba yung ganon? Kahit isang araw lang... isang araw na wala akong iisipin, walang iintindihin... isang araw na hindi ako makakaramdam ng galit, hindi ako iiyak, hindi mangangalumbaba, hindi magkukunot ng noo... isang araw na pwede akong ngumiti, pwedeng tumawa, pwedeng humalakhak kasi ganun talaga yung nararamdamam ko. Yung tawa na walang pinagtatakpan, tawang tunay, tawang totoo. Nakakamiss lang eh.

..on pain and rage

Right now, I could only think of one way to get even with those people who continue to hurt my family. I can't help but see injustice in all that is happening right now. For all the things they've said to my mom... the harsh things she heard from them.. though I was taught by my parents to always respect a person no matter what, I still can't help but to feel hate, anger, and rage towards them.

Seeing those tears from my mom's eyes, grrrrrrrrr.... every time... every f*cking time, I wish to take revenge. But my mom would just say, "Hayaan mo sila. Wala na tayong magagawa dun."

My mom choose to keep silent. All she will do is cry and then that's it. I don't know how she manages to ignore all these and how she can just let things go and not fight for her self. How I wish I can be like her. I wish I can be as peaceful as her.

Okay na lang. Maniwala na lang tayo sa karma. Si God na ang bahala.

Tonight I Can Write

This poem is so, so, so beautiful. It's beyond words to describe.

By: Paul Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write,for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind resolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight i can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her.
To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night,
still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all.
In the distance someone is singing.
In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain,
but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's.
As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
And these the last verse I write for her.

Meantime Girl.

I confess. I was once treated like this. I was once a Meantime Girl.

She’s the one you call when you’re bored because she makes you laugh. She’s the one you talk to when you’re feeling down because she’s willing to lend an ear and be a friend. She’s not the one you call when you need a date to your company’s Christmas party, or to go dancing with on a Saturday night. She’s the one you spend time with between girlfriends, before you find "The One". You know, the one who you keep around in the meantime.

She’s not one of the guys, not a tomboy, but you don’t look at her as a "real" woman, either. She’s not bitchy enough, moody enough, or sexy enough to be seen in that light. She’s too laid-back, too easily amused by the same things your male buddies are amused by. She’s too understanding, too comfortable – she doesn’t make you feel nervous or excited the way a "real" woman does. But she’s cool, and nice, and funny, and attractive enough that when you’re lonely or horny and need intimate female companionship, she’ll do just fine. You don’t have to wine and dine her because she knows the real you already, and you don’t have any facades to keep up, no pretenses to preserve. You’re not trying to get anything of substance out of her. She’s not easy, but you know that she cares about you and is attracted to you, and that she’ll give you the intimacy you need. And you know you don’t have to explain yourself or the situation, that she’ll be able to cope with the fact that this isn’t the beginning of a relationship or that there’s any possibility that you have any real romantic feelings for her. She’ll settle for a goodbye hug and a promise to call her and tell her how the date went. She’s just so cool . . . why can’t all women be like that?!

But deep down, if you really think about it (which you probably don’t because to you, the situation between the two of you isn’t important enough to merit any real thought), you know that it’s really not fair. You know that although she would never say it, it hurts her to know that despite all her good points and all the fun you two have, you don’t think she’s good enough to spend any real time with. Sure, it’s mostly her fault, because she doesn’t have to give in to your needs – she could play the hard-to-get bitch like the rest of them do, if she really wanted to. But you and she both know that she probably couldn’t pull it off. Maybe she’s too short, or a little overweight, or has a big birthmark on her forehead, or works at Taco Bell. Whatever the reason, somehow life has given her a lot of really great qualities but has left out the ones that men want (or think they want) in a woman. So she remains forever the funny friend, the steadfast companion, the secret lover, and you go on searching for your goddess who will somehow be everything you ever wanted in a woman.

You’ll joke to her that she should be the best man at your wedding, and she’ll laugh and make a joke about a smelly rental tux.

She doesn’t captivate you with her beauty, or open doors with her smile. Mainly she blends in with the crowd. She’s safe. She doesn’t want to be the center of attention and turn the heads of everyone in the room. But she wants to turn someone’s head. She wants to be special to someone, too. We all do.

She has feelings. She has a heart. In fact, she probably has a bigger and better heart than any woman you’ve ever known because she’s had a front-row seat to The Mess That Is Your Life, and she likes you anyway. She obviously sees something worthwhile and redeeming in you because although you’ve given her nothing, absolutely no reason to still be around, she is.

Anyway, yeah. I’m a Meantime Girl. Been one more times than I care to admit. I don’t know the reason, really, and at this point I don’t even care. I just want to let every guy know who’s ever had the good fortune to have a Meantime Girl that we may be a lot of fun, but we cry, too. A lot. And someday we won’t be around.