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The desire rose again. The desire to let my emotion out through ink is within me again. Well, it’s better this way as pushing myself to write—without passion, without love.

I’ve been talking to myself the past few days or weeks rather, not with a mirror, but with a blank sheet of paper on my lap. I wanna use some ink to articulate what is it within me, but then, no words came. I’m having again these weird moments of my existence.

Honestly, what I’ve felt is not an emptiness but loneliness. (I know I’m not the only one who’s has felt this way.) I feel like the world is not with me though it is not against me. Seems puzzling right? I guess it’s better this way: I feel like I’m outside this world—out of place in this world. It’s like I’m an alien beside the people around me. They’re not talking about me, I know. They just, somehow, exclude me in their circle. They must be thinking that I can’t ride on to what they’re into nor acquiesce what their planning if ever they have one. Maybe, they are correct with those thoughts and maybe, not.

All the thoughts and alike and sentiments of being out of place washed over me. Then, I woke up. I woke from this bad dream that almost swallowed me. If this dream could have a title, I would entitle it “SELFISHNESS”. As you see and probably realized since the beginning of this nonsense piece, all I was thinking was myself and nothing more but myself. I think of my personal gain from others—happiness, identity, approval —my worth. I was only thinking of me, myself and I. Nothing more, nothing less. It was the other me, the pessimistic me, who fed me up with notion of being alone, thus isolating myself from the people around.

As I open my eyes, I saw me with them. As I open the eyes of my heart, I saw me with them with an embrace, a laugh and a love. I saw real people being themselves painting on my face a smile—real friends. And as I laugh out loud, I notice the sky—high, wide and long. I realized that I am not forgotten, I was not alone. I won’t be alone. Though I feel like there was no one else beside me, I was definitely in His hands. He covers me with His hands. The unfathomable sky was His hands. His palm was His love, a place of love where eternal joy can come from. His love was my home, my true home. His love is where I belong.

Election Meddler 1: Must be a Role Model

Years have passed that I don’t have any concern or anything against these words: COMELEC, governor, senator, platforms, bribes, votes and rights. What I am talking about, obviously, is election. Now that the election is drawing near, I am somehow bothered of whom to elect. Thinking that I am at the legal age to vote and is registered to practice my right, I found myself in front of a store staring at the wall with numerous posters of the candidates running for various positions.

Lately, since it was summer, I was kinda busy for myself at home—reading the same books, sweeping the fallen dried leaves, cooking rice through woods, etc. It was then that a familiar sound with unfamiliar lyrics played loud enough to be heard in our house. Then by one o two of those poster-persons somehow came to life to greet me a good day, offering their hands for some shake and giving some pieces of paper with their name on it. Oh, campaign days: disquieting.

One morning I was happily walking, I think I’m going to buy some breakfast that day when I encountered a bunch of yellow politicians (they wear yellow shirts which look the same). One politician caught my attention. Not to mention his full name, he is known in our town. I don’t know why, but I recognized him immediately. Maybe he runs for some political positions frequently. Apparently, he wore a yellow shirt with prints of his party plus a vest-like thing with multiple names on it too. The problem is not his attire, no his smile or way of communicating to people. What caught my attention is the smoke coming from his mouth brought by the thing he has in his fingers—a cigarette. It’s a free country anyway. People can do whatever they want, whatever gives them pleasure. And since the country is a democratic one, people are free to choose who will rule them. And the youth, which is the next generation, can elect persons like him—the cigarette councilor.

I guess in every politician platforms, there is something to gain the vote of my generation that is pro-youth. And I also think that politicians must be models, being what they want in the future. Connection? As for me, people must not focus on the benefits that a politician is promising. Yes, benefits are good but personality is to be examined. I don’t know how to elaborate things yet because it will be my first time to vote, I want to be responsible for the consequences of my right.

Thinking that I am at the legal age to vote and is registered to practice my right, I found myself again, staring at the same wall with numerous posters of the candidates running for various position and I would like to hear them speak and watch them act, not in a campaign activity but in normal days like how they do something in their respective family and neighborhood.

Y?

It was this week that I wanted to write about so many things. Well, as for me, my emotions, my mood affect my feeling to write. When I'm in mood, I wrote about bliss and positive things and when I'm not? Then it's a "NO". As in my output is somehow pessimistic. And this night, I’ve already posted two of the many thoughts I wanted to put into words. Honestly, I can still remember them all, yet the feelings for those two notions remained, the others were not retained.

This night, I don’t know what I am feeling. I wanted to explode, to burst and yet I wanted to be quiet. I wanted to scream whispers. I wanted to shout quietly…very ironic of me. I’m not, once again, “emo” as people term it. I was just a normal individual who have senses in which the outlet are words. It’s true that no matter how loquacious you are, there are things you just can’t say or maybe there no words to express its degree. Frankly, I’m feeling unhappy. I’m thinking about this lately: Am I just happier a while ago or is there something that didn’t get my way? Am I acting fake a while ago or what? Am I crazy? Hopefully and truthfully, no!

I don’t know if someone feels what I am feeling now. It’s like there’s something that bothers me that I still can’t figure out. And it is just a normal day. Probably, I was exhausted physically, mentally or emotionally rather. I can’t say. I just wanted words to come out and unload the inner me.

Circle encircles the earth—flyleaf lyrics. Circle, never ending…never elevating. Things go repetitively. I should get used to those, to these I guess. Yet there still an element of me that yearns for hope, that one day God will wipe away the tears. And that the greatest hope I can contentedly have is in the life after the earthly life. Those who knew me will understand me. Those who are not, in time, they will. What makes me feel like this? It’s about kin and wholeness and my very own outlook.

Tomorrow will be another day. There are always tomorrow.

been thinking about EXPECTATIONS...

Expectations. I wanna tackle about “expectations.” What is the reason behind this topic? What’s so controversial about it? It’s a gift! As I wish, it is a gift. It is what the people around are freely giving me. Are those expectations really for free?

I think it was last week when I managed to answer some sort of questions concerning about my college life. I was asked by a nearby family friend together with her daughter. Since we are somehow like neighbors, they do know me and of course had a hint of my academic life.

Her daughter, Camille, is now in her junior year in high school. From my evaluation, she is serious in her studies, really diligent. She still belongs to the known Science section of the school which I graduated from. Plus, she gets along to have high grades and be with the overall top twenty every grading period. She was just like the old me! (Grins.) well her mother asked me if I have a review center back then, if I took the UPCAT and what courses are easy and “in” nowadays. Camille asked how I ended up being in the college of engineering. Well then, I shared some points and few stories of 5W’s and H. Wanna know my reply to her mother? “None,” “ o,” “  can’t say…” are the answers to the mother’s questions above, respectively. Then we just exchange various notions about other related things. What struck me during our conversation (between the mother and I) is what she said, “Buti ikaw matalino…” then said to her daughter “Gayahin mo si ate Shary, masipag mag-aral, matalino...” It was like the inner me revolted when I heard those group of words. She also checked my academic status these days by asking, “Balita ko nasa top ka din ah, easy lang sayo ang course mo…” WHAAAAT??!! It did blew up my mind, not only my mind…I mean the whole me that momentarily I became speechless! First, she gave me a flattering remark that I was like a brainiac. Okay. Then she let me be a guide, a role model to her daughter in terms of studying acts. There is nothing wrong with these things but… I don’t know! And checking on my acad stats? Woah! Where in the WWW (whole wide world) she got that news or is it just her idea that I belonged to the upper percentage academically? Those words really brought me, in engineering terms a “force over area.” And it didn’t end in that dialogue. After I defended myself (that it was not like that, that I was just a normal student striving hard to maintain her scholarship and a person struggling to have a balance life, that it’s not easy as they thought  that it’s not…blah-blah-blah..), she added “…kaunting panahon na lang naman, pag-graduate mo, isang take mo lang ng board, pipirma ka na lang..” Until now I still remember the very words she said and what she’s trying to imply marked my mind. She surely didn’t know a thing—what it feels like hearing those unjustified compliments. Guess what? She’s not the only one who asked me like that.

That parent is just one of those persons who view me a role model to the youth in our community. There were many of them that I every time I go home, persons of familiar faces asks me, checks me over and over again and when I just smile at them or answer them positively, they’ll put up compliments and accolades for me. Once more, there’s nothing wrong with those but repeatedly and too much of those? It’s not good, really, not good. It’s causing me too much “force over area” or simply PRESSURE in engineering terms. Unconsciously, I asked myself’ “Ako lang kaya ang nakaka-feel ng ganito or my iba pang katulad ko?” Is there anybody out there who feels the same with expectations? (Sighs.) It’s too much pressure that I don’t know if I should be perfect because it’s like their eyes are always upon me. May I fail? May I make a mistake? For a week, the word “expectation” did trouble me.

Yes. I accepted it already. I can’t do anything about it, I can’t force them to stop those talks. I can’t complain and even though I could, I won’t. For some time, I wish I was not controversial, that I was just a nobody to everybody. But then again, I’m here. What am I gonna do? Look at life positively. Look at expectations as a launcher. View those flattering and unjustified remarks as a plunger which will push to excel more, a force that will press me to do the “must” things. Use those as reminder to my priorities. Yet, one thing will remain. I will still be me. I won’t let people dictate or mold me into a new me without bliss. I will not let my true self be forgotten. I would rather be shaped by God and what he wants me to be because I know He knows the best and He wants the best for me and that He’ll help me reach that best. No matter what your comments are, I trust Him. I am certain that whenever I’ll fall, He will catch me.

Appreciating Immaturity

''If they were just to realize…'' as I said to myself.

March 1, 2013. I’ve witnessed a grade school party, a post-valentine party which was like a high school promenade. And I can say that I have a few comments about that event.

First and foremost, Philippines is not poor. There are many little girls, well I think almost all of them, who wore pretty and costly gowns—gowns of different color, texture and fluffiness. The little boys are also at their best vests and suits with matching naughty hairstyles. Second? The parents who are full of effort on being like somewhat PA’s (personal alalays) of their prettiest and handsomest child in the whole wide universe, parents who are much more excited to dance than their children, parents who manages to smile for their children in the middle of  scorching heat. Third and the last thing I've observe and want to elaborate is the little girls who didn’t act like their age.

They didn’t act their age not in the manner that they are acting childish because they were, still, children. They didn’t act their age because they act like mature one especially the girls. They act like they are teenagers. They are much more concern about their appearances—the make-up, the jewelries, the dress. In the manner they eat, everyone can see their finesse, which is not wrong of course.

What am I complaining? None. I’m not feeling envy.

The girls… They act like they’re teens, mature enough to handle things.

Thinking about that, I saw myself years ago. I watch those kids, those girls as if I’m watching myself. During those times, I wanted the time to pass by quickly so that I can be at the right age. Then my guardians could allow me to do the things I wanted to do. Then I would be able to decide for myself, and then I would, finally, be happy. And that’s what I thought.

                                                                               

Good for me, time didn't go by fast. As I grow, I realized that right things come in place when you learn how to wait. And deciding? It’s hard, for every choice has its respective outcome. Yes, there maybe regrets. I can say that I didn't live my life grade school life to its full, enjoying things such as playing, having intimate group of friends—living a youngster life without worries, without problems, without anxiety. I should have enjoyed those times. But still, I’m thankful that I have come to think and realize of these thoughts I’m writing now. If I were not, then I don’t have anything to write, to observe to notice, and to comment about. Well, seriously, if I were not, I wouldn't have learned. I wouldn't have anything to share with kids to enjoy every time they had. I wouldn't have comprehended playful and mischievous kids around me.

For now, I appreciate the time I have for it can never be turn back, once passed. It can never be bought nor be created .it can only be used efficiently—not having regrets. Things come perfectly when there’s patience. This time is appropriate for my priorities: God, family, ministry and studies. God knows my need and I know He’ll give me what I deserve at the perfect time.

I hope these girls and boys enjoy their early days. I anticipate that these kids, in their upbringing, do what they want and just be themselves. They don’t have to be too excited with the future that they’re acting like mature individuals. They have to learn how to breathe. They gotta learn how to pray quietly, to cry when necessary, to laugh uncontrollably and to live with bliss till infinity.

“Now, I realized…” as I said to myself.

Onomatopoeic

Time to write!!!

I was on a jeepney a while ago, eventually on my way home. What’s common to the passengers aside from their bags, purses and android phones? It’s their “snob-like attitude.” How can I say that? Well it’s because I am one of them.

I think I’m snobbish..yeah snobbish but not arrogant. First of all is that I don’t know who are my seatmates or co-passengers. Times are rare when I have with me by mishap a friend or a familiar face whom I can chat with and even though I have, I’ll choose not to talk with them especially if they’re not going to approach first. Snobbish?  No, not really. An excuse it is: I don't want to suddenly open up a topic that may not please the people around me or unconsciously be misinterpreted by someone who might knew the the very  subject of the matter which I might talk about. With the universal accessory of humans nowadays—headset or earphones—I travel. Never a day or a time that I travel without this so a while ago, I’ve got to question myself why.

Aside from the boisterous sound of the jeepney’s motor every time it goes an upward hill or a curvilinear motion, there is also one thing I hate about being in a travel—the passengers who almost narrates his or her life… persons who talks about other people’s lives… people who babble about a person’s doing and state of life, humans who continuously and unconsciously have envy in their hearts.

I am not generalizing the whole humanity but as I observed, most people are not contented with their lives, instead they focus on his/her co-creations. I may not know who is the person or family they are pertaining but as I put myself into as their subject, it’s not good nor better... The feeling is not at its greatest. It’s awkward and notably annoying when they are talking in a pessimistic way about you. Maybe, that’s why I put on earphones and have its sound reach to the point that I will not understand what their conversation is about. I also choose not to look at those people because I tend to lip-read what they are saying.

Maybe this side of me never changed—a person who realized that she hates fame. Fame? This won’t let you live forever. This will once teach you how to soar high but when crabs see you, they’ll devour your wings with their fiery thoughts and pointed tongues. They are gonna talk about your triumph with a opposite motives in their hearts. And as you soar high, these crabs are just waiting for AN error to bring you down. This is the nature of man. And I kinda felt it back when I was young, but not on the maximum extent. Anyways, why am I talking about fame when I am writing about being snob? Weird thoughts.

Perhaps, this is the reason why sometimes I don’t want to excel in things. I don’t want to be famous and to be a subject. I don’t want people to talk behind my back. As my thought weighs thoughts inside of my mind, I have to try my best in everything I do so that people will not talk about flaws and curses. Ooops! As I said earlier I am not making all the humans in general of this mentality. I was just being me, observing those, hopefully, FEW anonymous faces I’ve encountered while riding in a jeepney… enjoying my playlist. 

TARPAULIN

             Ooops, sorry for the title. I think I’m making this like an MMK story and this is not one.

 I’ve been on a travel the past days. Every Sunday afternoon I go back to Lucban, Quezon for academic purposes and every Friday I go home—in Magdalena, Laguna. This is my routine. And from Laguna to Quezon or Quezon to Laguna, on either way (via Pagsanjan or Majayay), one thing is common. It’s not the air, the sceneries nor the climate. It’s the big print of pictures on the road. It’s the Christmas and New Year’s greetings of those smiling people making themselves familiar in the public eye. It’s those programs they endorse whether it’s a free check up program or some sort of announcement. I don’t sound irritated…am I? I don’t know but those campaign materials or what they call “tarpaulin” somehow, were pissing me off.

Well I don’t have problems with those persons nor their greetings. Thanks to their thoughtfulness by their very warm greetings, warm because the election is coming soon. S what’s my complaint here? Well their names and initials—initials which emphasizes the position they’ll run for—are so much bigger than their greetings. Their names’ font sizes are much larger than the event they are endorsing. Their smiles showing their very clean teeth or their cutest eyes are the same, male and female candidates. Their faces almost covered half of the wall-sized tarpaulins along the way. By the way, it helps. Yeah, it helps the people remember those faces and names which are surely rich. Well, they can afford to have their tarpaulins and what-so-ever post in numbers in a town, a district, a province, a region, anywhere else in the country.

What’s making me sad is that they didn’t realize the real thing. What if the money used for making those large print-outs is given to the people in need? What if, though not in good intentions, they help people around them—the street children, the beggars…families which strive so hard to earn a living, to eat at least once a day. What if they try to win people’s hearts by showing generosity? Those people, with faces being popularized along the road, wish to enter the government…for what? To take back all the money they have used in campaign? To earn fame? Or to serve people? They wish to be included in a government of the people, by the people and for the people yet we, the people, can now see who deserves to be elected. We, the people should be observant and view the real motives behind a person’s doings. We, the people, should focus on the long term goals not on those smiling-faces, money-wasting persons who always promise to serve. Well, to serve their own goods.

I am not actually on a movement or anti-politician movement. This is just me, expressing my inner notions and ideas to the world I live in. it’s a free country after all. Maybe, I am just too excited or too eager to vote—a right for my rights. Seriously, I don’t know why I am writing these things but one thing I know is that these matters make sense. ^_^

Meaning..

Happiness is really a choice.

This day was a typical yet somehow overwhelming day for me. I was feeling blithe, amiable, or simply happy. Well, I don’t know why but I think this bliss started on what we regarded as Christmas day—December 25 of 2012, yesterday. Somehow, I was thinking of this:  Newton’s third Law of Motion. Why? The reason is as follows.

On the 24^th night of December, which was obviously the day or night before yesterday, I almost fund myself in tears, really. I got home bringing some food and snacks for my brothers which I happily and hurriedly prepared for us to eat altogether (that thing one of the “blue moon” thing in my life). And whom did I found at home? An empty and silent home was. Well, out of thinking, I set up my bed and then get ready to sleep. As I lay down, I tried to sleep quickly yet drowsiness didn’t find me. Then I got a call from a friend, one of my best friends. He just called to greet me a merry Christmas and also to check how I am feeling that hour. And definitely, I said I’m fine, just sleepy and alone. For him, it’s not a new thing that I was alone but he insisted that it’s Christmas time..that family should be together. I just sighed. Then his mom gets the phone from him and so I got the chance to talk to her though I still didn't meet her. We talked like we knew each other for a long time where she narrated about what her day has been. That conversation made me happy and also lonely. Finished with the call, I look at the mirror and found my eyes in some tears. And I am crazy again. I lie down again and pray. I talked to God, my Comforter. Half-slept, Hero, my brother came and I just glance at him and then close my eyes again. And God made me sleep with peace.

Yesterday, yes…yesterday. It was fun. I rise up early though it feels like it’s good to sleep some more ‘coz the surrounding is seasonally cold. I thank God first and read His word for me for that day. Then I clean up my bed and have some neat-making chores in our house. After that, so early in the morning I went to my friend’s house to give him something as a Christmas gift. He prepared and forced me to eat a breakfast with his family after some chatting that morning. Then I went to a farm where my mother and step-father were. They have to welcome some guests and I got there, of course, o eat and to take some pictures. It was indeed fun seeing the people around you busy and happy. Their smiles were just priceless. Then I went back to our home to take a bath and prepared myself. I was invited to visit a friend’s house next to our town—at Aideelyn’s house. Together with my friend Kimverlyn, we chat about some sort of naughty things, watch some TV programs, do some computer games and apparently we ate. We ate the normal food like caldereta, I think? And also menudo and some orange-colored viand (which I don’t what to call) and and my favorite… sweets!! (leche flan and gelatin). Next stop: Guitar house where I found my new loved one: Algum—my new guitar. This time I was with Kimpoy, my best friend and band mate who helped me buy a guitar, well it’s on sale. Well Algum comes from the words “algal blooms” as far as I know, is an aquatic phenomenon wherein there is a rapid increase in algae. Why? The guitar has this shade of green, algae-like color. And that’s it. Then we stroll there at Sta.Cruz and eat very yummy, super delicious (I think for me only) vegetable salad, a special salad from Nanot’s Spaghetti House. And Kimpoy was the one who paid for all of it. So it was really Christmas—full of giving. The night came, Kimpoy and I, together with one our friend and band mate nicked as Bok visited our brother, Kuya Toper (the same person I visited early in the morning. And there are so much stories, jokes and teasers from them until we felt sleepy and tired. After eating chocolate cake and a fruitcake, the day ended and we finally went home and preferable sleep. December 25 ended.

But… there’s a big BUT here. December 26, unplanned and unready, I chose to join a trip with my youngest brother who was going to buy a new bag at the nearby mall. At first, I don’t want to, but since I have nothing on my sched, my mind forced me to join. And really, happiness is a choice, a decision. I set myself this day not to focus on things that are negative though it crossed my mind, I rebuke it. I chose not to worry and enjoy the things around me. The Law of opposite reaction maybe true because I was once sad then afterwards I am full of gladness. Surely the reaction depends upon how you have dealt with the given situation. it's whether you choose loneliness or you prefer happiness.

With a handy camera, I witnessed a model of unity and priceless smiles. The kids whom I was with a while ago were full of vibrancy and joy, which only comes from the heart. I had the chance to gaze upon the timeless beauty of unfading love of a couple and the harmony of a family. For these things that happened I am, again, thankful to God for giving me the chance to enjoy the things and people around me, for giving me bliss and inspiring me to continue in the run. Maybe, the people around me the past days don’t know what I’m feeling as I move and talk, yet these people, unconsciously helps me and enthuses me to live a life worth enjoying, a life with real meaning.

NonSENSE

As the music fades into the darkness, all became numb.  The ever-beating heart stopped, came to life for a while, and then stopped until the end of time. I don’t want to, but there’s no choice but to surrender. Im dead for sure…yet I’m still breathing…breathing the air of agony, the spirit of sorrow. The blood filled with emptiness still flows through my pale veins. The sadness, I can smell it in the air. Where am I? It’s blue, no darker.. Dimmer than the darkness of the night. Tonight, I’m only nervous. Nervous. Nervous. People around are changing and no one can figure out how, why and to what extent. It’s midnight but it’s teary. Inside me is someone who is divulging a secret only I can decode. And they suddenly fell, the unstoppable and frozen tears. Life has its opposite, negative opposites are always greater. Yesterday was happiness and today was a total melancholy. Where am I going? Im surely talking to myself but quietly... I’m longing for something I don’t know…something that could fulfill the hole internally. Satisfaction is what I want. The way of achieving it? Impossible. I have my God. I have my faith. I don’t know why I’m being like this. The never-ending trials are somehow tiresome. Sure, you won’t understand me.

The wind is blowing too hard but no rain came out, even a little. It’s still yuletide season and I can’t think about sleeping. I’m having this syndrome of too much thinking that made me wrote this-- iniquitous, unscrupulous and not warranted. A kinship that has never been completed, never been developed, and may never tightened anymore. Hypothetically, it’s my entire fault. Nonetheless, I can find myself an elucidation. What am I going to do here? The wind is blowing even harder now, the leaves are falling away invisibly. The rain begins to pour clumsily on the roof and somehow it feels good. Is the heaven joining me? When are they going to take me so that I can join them? Harder. I found myself staring at the endless--inhaling the fume of the ground which is pulling me down.  I can’t even smile as people around smile before me. Tomorrow, I think I know what will happen. I’m not dead, pondering the thoughts of blankness. Liars and charlatans are thinning out and they are gulping the society. They are infecting greedy and merciless people who make untrue stories of weak individuals—individuals who always dream of strength they can’t have by themselves. Nearly, my mind is going to burst. I’m partly insane and I can’t resist having this madness. Why can’t I choose happiness if it’s one of the options. The words might not leave the perplexed tongue. Complicatedly expressible. Is it a feeling or an emotion? I’m saddened by something no one can ever feel, thoughts not in the world, a matter that is beyond imagination. I still can’t sleep, looking at my empty bed with my opaque body. It’s blurred. Very blurred. Dreaming is all I can do for now. But what should I dream? Dreaming of something not real? Unreachable? Unattainable? Redundant, it seems but no words fill my head now. All things are defying gravity—floating limitlessly, undeniably. Shddsckxnvhfidiwjdjckbvb skowdjdhoqhskkkk.. I’m out. I can’t find the right words to convey the picture in my head. Anger and patience, tears and smile, death and love…battling over… shaking until the grasses die… and the colors around weaken.

The Half-day Boyfriend Story

This morning, as I was looking for a not-very-important something around 10 o'clock in our house, I was surprised to see my old notes, exam papers and personal notes still compiled and kept in a pink portfolio or whatsoever envelope-like thing. It contains my test papers since my first grade in my elementary years and some of my grade-school notes which I find disgusting-- the handwriting, the grammar and the way it is expressed. It's funny and I realized that I am now far from what I am before (well, in those stated aspects only). Yet what greatly caught my attention was a journal of mine, comprising a number of handwritten, personally made poems and stories. The first story was entitled "My Half-day Boyfriend" (chuckles) and it goes like this:

My Half-day Boyfriend

Is it really lucky to be in love with your best friend? I guess it's not especially when he or she is not feeling the same way...

On that remarkable day, I stood by the entrance, dumb and expectant, waiting for him to come. Several minutes passes and I felt approaching footsteps. He came carrying a bag filled with some snacks and drinks. We went inside the resort, paid the reasonable fees and settled on the cottage there. We, then started conversing, eating and laughing.

This is me, Megan. Call me Meg for short. I'm a third year engineering student who grew up from a VERY broken family. I used to play cars and guns back when I was a child. In many ways, I act like a guy, dress not like a girl. I didn't have that beauty yet some says I have the brains. So what's with those? Just an introduction.  The real story begins back when I was still a freshman. I was exceedingly happy away from home, studying hard and adjusting independently. Being naturally affable, I got friends right away. And he's just one of my normally-treated classmates until we get to know each other through texting.

He's Rai. The name was a contraction of his given name Raikiel-- a lad of low voice (low and big for his appearance). He's an athletic one with expressive eyes and as time passes by, we became friends-- notably, the first closest guy I had, whom I can tell my deepest secrets; share my deepest problems; ask useful advices and talk about my limited crushes. We were unprecedented that we are close-- that I'm always the first to know his secrets. And when I ask him why, he said he feels comfty talking to me and furthermore, never gets bored. (Flattering!) He updates me of his lovelife and I give notions for it (though I'm an NBSB). During weekends, semestral breaks and vacations we used to talk, sometimes till morning the next day, through phone. Our stories seem to be never-ending. But when dull moments come, he'll request a song  from me and in equity, I'll also make him sing.

Long before, I heard someone said that being best-friends with the opposite gender is unreal. Why? Because truly, one of them furtively falls in love with the other. good enough for me I have stopped myself. I insisted that it's only in the mind and the word "love" would never be in my vocabulary... that's what I promised to myself. so we're the best of friends.

In the resort, we ate, we laugh...we drank together. The morning had been fine, but the air was growing moist, the coming rain was telegraphed by the plump, grey clouds and the blue sky was fast fading. As we go on, tears suddenly filled my eyes. hatred and bitterness had preyed upon me spontaneously for months and it just burst out. So he spoke to me with words of comfort yet I can't fully grasp them as if I don;t hear a thing. He then drew near to me, fitted his left hand on my right. His other hand held my face with his thumb wiping my tears. I felt a sudden numbness, then a cringe inside of me.. I didn't care if somebody looks at me...on us. He continued to give me words of optimism but I was really not of myself. Multidinous patches of drizzling rain came with occasional gust of wind that failed to motivate some tress to sway. Of deep languor, I fell asleep...my head leaning on his shoulder and his arms around me. Almost an hour has passed before I woke up. Embarrassed as I realized my position, I sit back properly while he offered me water to drink. He maybe saw me shivered a little so he covered me with his towel. I just then settled for a while into a stillness of myself.

There was a moment of weird silence then he hugged me tightly telling me that everything will be alright. The surrounding were becoming warm and sultry again when he pulled me towards the pool. We played and surely enjoyed the water which somehow awakened my motion and set it free... Tired and happy and hungry, we went back to the cottage a and ate some snacks. 

I will never forget the gane we played back then.. the "staring" game. Well, we'll just have yo stare at each other and the first to blink his/her eyes will lose and will be subjected to drink or the command of the winner. I don't know why but I can't stand his gaze. Everytime he looks at me, straightforwardly, my heart intermittently drops off to my feet, my knees tremble. When he draws nearer, some positively and negatively particles collide inside me and travel through my every arteries and veins and so I close my eyes involuntarily  The feeling was different from excitement neither from happiness. no words can equate to that moment. Expectedly, I lose in the game. And the consequence? To kiss him in the cheeks.

Though I never wanted, that day ended. All the sun's warmth left the air. In the deepening twilight, we began to pack our things. I was obviously making my movement slow to extend that time that we were together because I knew that it will never happen again. "Nobody shall know this, ok?" He said in whisper... Silence was regained then I just nodded. the air was definitely cold, the light had died out of the atmosphere when at last we turned our faces homeward. "Rai," I uttered.. "Meg," he butted in, not hearing me "I'm going to meet Laysa tomorrow, what color do you think suits me the best? I want to look at my nicest" He said while smiling. I waited for a minute, seeming to get those words straight to my mind. By the way Laysa was the girl who rejects him a numerous times yet he still pursues. The sad truth bursts inside of me-- I felt there a visible wall between us. I almost forgot that I am his best friend. And forever we will be...

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.the end... Well the feeling? I can't remember why or how or when did I wrote this. Love. Love. Love. False alarm!!! hahahaha.. I can't help but laugh because honestly I am Meg in the story and Rai is my ex-bestfrriend. He's just a friend now. (grins)The story? It was somehow true.. Some scene was exaggerated and some were invented, maybe to make the story quite interesting. Oh moods.. Moods and feelings, great that I can write them up.. ^_^

A Poem

Is this what you call emo???

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Thinking it over again-- how did I come up with this poem and with its weird unusual title, together with some edited picture of mine in its monochrome state-- I came to realize that I was just a normal human being.. with feelings. And just like many fems out there, those feelings (or should I call it "moods") are changing, maybe not from time to time but in an unexpected period of time.

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Well, being emotional has become pessimistic in name. The word itself was coupled with sadness and it is even associated with the word "suicide". the word has also its color-- black. It's somehow funny thinking that not all emotions are gloomy, detrimental or simply negative.. Emotions, feelings or mood has its swings...meaning it has its ups and downs and has its positive side. those can be gladness, excitement, zeal, love, gratitude, sympathy and many more. 

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On the other hand, these emotions are meant to be conveyed which in turn become expressions. They are expressed in many forms-- eating, walking, staying alone at room, painting or sketching and probably writing. In writing, emotions are voiced out by words, words that correspond to the feeling that is often hard to express. By writing, words are having thickness and even faces. By writing, emotions are being put into words with life. Feelings are divulged whom you can review in some point in time bringing you another feeling-- it might make you laugh, wonder, think or learn. Like that one at the top, the image with the poem entitled "Sepulchre"..It's up to you to look up the meaning of that word. 

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Ok, that poem together with the image, was indeed a cynical one. Surely, some other time. or maybe tomorrow, I'll write and post about OBVIOUSly HAPPY things.