Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Privacy


I have this feeling that I want to transition to another journal. I just don't feel safe writing here anymore, especially since somebody I know has actually read this. Normally, I'm a very secretive person and I feel a strain, an invasion of privacy, now that somebody has read my thoughts and (maybe) regularly reads my blog. It's scary to open up to people and expose all this carcass and be left doubting whether they'd be okay with stuff or not. Maybe I just want my private space to stay private. And maybe I'm scared about what they'd see..

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Death, Dental Surgery and Doughnuts


My mind is strange. Here's what I wrote on my journal last night while floating in a sea of pain. Mind you, dental surgeries (and all other kinds of surgeries for that matter) are not easy. Especially the post-surgery care and the chaos and confusion of deciding what to eat to avoid foodbits from getting stuck on the wounds. I know. Gross. Anyway, here it goes, grammar misses and all:
What if I died? It'll be tragic on my part but nonetheless, everyone must die, figuratively and physically, and I believe that when that particular point in time comes, one must and should accept the fate with as much grace and confidence as possible. 
Grace in a sense that one must die-considering the circumstances, like an impeding, expected death-like a teleserye goddess. Proper gesticulations and facial expressions must be aptly considered because no one likes to die ugly and one must prevent oneself from being so if one can.
The third paragraph I choose to not post since it's not really much of a paragraph anyway. Just an unfinished phrase about confidence. Anyway, to tie up this post with the title (which I just whipped a few minutes ago) I am craving for doughnuts. The Bavarian filled ones dipped in thick chocolate sauce. Urgh. If only my molars are well enough to eat.

Friday, May 24, 2013

Surreal Sumire


Last night I dreamed of Sumire. At least I though she was Sumire, she sort of reminded me of Mukami's muse in Sputnik Sweetheart except that this girl may have been a bit lighter and frail and certainly does not have Sumire's disposition; but besides the point, I dreamed of a Japanese girl with pitch black hair that cascaded to her shoulders.

She was wearing an unpressed kimono and her face reminded me of a million Japanese horror movies. Well it was a nightmare, mind you, but it wasn't the in-your-face scary type, it's the chilly staccato of some instrumental piece, say Beethoven's Fur Elise, just before the trivial climax as she raises her hands and worships (or gazes) at a Japanese floral painting that hang on the ceiling.

The surrealism was the nightmare. It was the idea of staring at awe and ignoramus, not knowing what to do, or rather being incapable of doing anything but stare at her pagan ritual that sent shivers down my spine. Woke up to the sound of a kitten meowing the night away. And I stared at the empty ceiling, scared and sleepy.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Losing Relevance And Fishing For It


I hate it when you pressure me to write. It's like being ridiculed just at the act of typing these words with my frail fingers on this fading keyboard. It is a pain to be this obsessive-compulsive and ponder over the littlest things like wanting to pee in the midst of this sea of words, or getting uncomfortable with my legs in this yoga position, or simply worrying about the grammar fails I'm making with this seriously long sentence.

Now I'm straying from the main topic by thinking of chambray shirts raining from the sky and getting all confused if I should delete this paragraph or not but deciding against it because the length is sayang. And now I'm lost for words. It's like mid-life crisis (in this case, mid-post crisis) and like I've said somewhere, it's like a block of wood is impeding precious oxygen from flowing in and out of my life system thus preventing me from producing a relevant blog post. Deng. I've lost relevance.

And I seriously do not know how to end this one. So help me God.

Friday, May 17, 2013

D


I have a confession. He knocks on my thoughts sometimes. And sometimes he doesn't. Like a thief on warm windless days climbing the walls of my intuition. He's a ghost of a past and I find it harder and harder to shove him back to the shadows when there are stuff I need to ponder.

No. I am no longer in love with him. I don't want to have anything to do him. These are simply musings of the past, a contradiction and comparison-though I do not wish to compare-of the what-has-been's and the what-will-be's and the present, a diminutive collage orchestrated by my obsessive universe of thoughts.

I loved him. It was crazy whirlwind love affair. But it was a tragedy right from the start. I've reiterated our story again and again in this diary of thoughts and the many conclusions and re-conclusions have been embedded forever in my history. I love you. I loved him. Let's focus on the d.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Tongue-tied



This screen, a canvas of infinite literary possibilities, tempts me to once again weave my thoughts into words. Days have past since I've obviously written something decent and I have proven again and again-even right now, that my English is elusive in this particular condition that I am in.

The XX's Angels continually plays forever when I get the chance and like the band's almost redundant yearnings of the phrase "Being as in love with you as I am", I too reverberate in the morning with a single solemn battle cry, you.

It is funny, to be so lost in love and yet lack the considerable number of words, or the perfect word, to describe the almost indescribable feeling. It is like a block of wood is used to impede blood stream from flowing to my brain, thus making me aimlessly float-ish and lost in thought in most days. You've ultimately captured me Mr. GB. And this addiction, I find, is becoming deeper and deeper as I wake.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Thank You

Dear Ma,

Thank you. For every waking day. For your unending patience and perseverance. I know how much of a difficult son I am at most times. I know how spoiled I am and how this spoiled-ness has most often got the better off you. But still, thank you, for loving me despite all this, because of all this.

Thank you for being my father. I do not know, and I simply cannot imagine how difficult it is to be a single Mom. I know you've sacrificed a lot of things and a lot of opportunities that you could have enjoyed if only you had been single.

And finally, thank you. For being that wonderful person. For being strong despite the many adversities. For being the first person to slap sense on my many foolish decisions. For being the best mom you could ever be. Thank you. Thank you. And I love you.

Jom-jom

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Changes and Phases


Writing has become quite a difficult chore these days. It's not that I do not have the time, nor do I lack the motivation, it's just that I've probably have gotten so used to spelling melancholia that this unprecedented spell of bliss is almost an unwelcomed guest to the darkness that this blog has catered to in the past few months.

But changes are beautiful. And my beautiful mornings are evident of that. Cheers to positive vibes from this day forth ♥

Monday, May 6, 2013

Le Morning Musings


The rain pellets on the universe and the fickle branches of the lanzones tree seem to dance to a tuneless ballet with the batting of its leaves. The clouds speak of gray and mushy marshmallows and the caramel coffee cup left a circled imprint on our computer desk.

Sheer randomness blossoms from my degenerating brain and the thoughtlessness of this morning is broken by random images of you, like fading in and fading out images on Powerpoint presentations that I"m repeating over and over again: that brush of your hands on mine, our HHWW on Ayala-no matter how straight-out-of-a-cheesy-Tagalog-movie it was, our cute photos together (let's face it, we look cute together) and the many explosions of memories.

Morning thoughts. Morning madness. Looks like I can't take you off my brain from now on.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

Queen City

Cebu is a city of spells and to deny falling in love with it is like saying that chocolates are not the most beautiful thing that ever happened in this planet. It is a city of culture, a plethora of colors intertwined with what upscale society can provide.

A few days ago, I was privileged enough to step on to the city and yes, the city has changed compared to what it has been a decade ago when I first had the Cebuano experience. Here are some of my fave shots from our recent trip. Enjoy :3

Artsy at Ayala.