No one knows what struggle it has been lately…

Some people think I abandoned them because I made a wrong choice once more.

Truth be told, I’m in a battle no one knows anything about. I’m torn. Torn between driving away with the one who’s made a hobby of breaking my heart or staying with those angels who have made a pasttime of helping me mend it.

They are situated in opposite polar regions. I am in the middle, going outside my mind trying to figure out a way to make them meet at the center while ignoring the possibility of the implausible. Then again, I’m in the middle. I’m the one torn. And yes, it’s quite implausible…hopefully, implausible for now.

No one knows what struggle it has been lately…and how much I held on everyday.

Elizabeth’s Eloquence of my Gloom

It’s been months since I couldn’t put down my rage and heartaches in writing. Perhaps it’s because I still held on to that illusion that maybe things could still be salvaged. Things could still be fixed. I couldn’t put those pent up feelings down in writing because I felt that bottling them within could still cure the pain. I THOUGHT WRONG.

Browsing through my friend’s online journal, I was glued to an entry that says it all.

Courage came to me first. Anger second.

The order does not matter because Hope came just in time.

There is still pain. It comes out in sporadic bursts — while driving to work, in the middle of class, while conversing with the closest of friends, or stepping out of the shower. The pain, however, is no longer brought about by loneliness or hurt or sadness. It is an offshoot of anger — of the realization that even the worst of my actions did not entitle me to the cruelty served. I, like any human being, deserved gentleness, compassion, and respect.

I may not have been worthy of love, but I certainly was valuable enough for its rubrics.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine was served a slice of pizza with a big bite. She showed it to her daughter and said: “This is not love. Love is not a pizza slice with a big bite.” To which I continued: “Love is the entire pizza box. Never settle for anything less.”

Driving home that night this thought occurred to me: To the very hungry, that pizza slice with a big bite would have sufficed.

As God is my witness, I shall never go hungry again. May Anger and Courage always be on my side.

SOURCE: http://www.blogagotchi.com/golagatch/28412/Finally…Anger..html

Finally, CLARITY.

They were right about you.

They were wrong about me.

"Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity."

You are, perhaps, the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me.

I don’t hate you because you cheated on me. I hate you because you told her my weakness.  You’ve made a fool out of me and a mockery out of my dreams. I have made truths out of all your lies, fabricated honesty out of your deceit for much too long already. And we both know that I badly need to walk away.

It would be really nice of you if you let me try.

Gravity by Sara Bareilles

Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long.
No matter what I say or do I’ll still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone.

You hold me without touch.
You keep me without chains.
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain.

Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I’m supposed to be.
But you’re on to me and all over me.

You loved me ’cause I’m fragile.
When I thought that I was strong.
But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I’m supposed to be.
But you’re on to me and all over me.

I live here on my knees as I try to make you see that you’re everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you’re neither friend nor foe though I can’t seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you’re keeping me down.

The Dream of a Dew-washed morning

“There is a rumor that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning.”

-Rabindranath Tagore                                     

Ninang’s Favorite Angel (2003-2009)

Aboard PR848 bound for Manila at 9:45am last Thursday, I took the window seat wanting to scream my head off. I barely slept the night before and the lechon that my mom ordered arrived at the airport just in the nick of time before they closed boarding that I had to run up and about for its quarantine permit, secure my boarding pass and pay for the terminal fee while trying to sober up and stay awake.

Looking forward to sleeping the entire flight, imagine my dismay and irritation when I realized I was seated a row away from a screaming toddler. Before the plane took off, he was throwing tantrums here and there like a goddamn maniac. “My car! My car!!! Mommy, I want my car!!! Tita Addy, help me! I want my car!!!”

The kid’s companion hardly exerted enough effort to pacify the crying baby and simply said, “Ssshhhhhhhhh…stop crying….ssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh…” in a most casual manner like it was an everyday, every hour occurrence. Jeeeez!!! We’re inside an aircraft!

For the duration of the flight the screaming baby was so consistent in his demand for the freakin’ car and his pitch varied from tolerable to extremely exasperating and then to the maddening screams. “Tita Addy, please help me! My car! My car!!! My car!!! Help me!!! My car!!!”

F*CK!!! SOMEBODY GIVE THE BABY HIS DAMN CAR!!!

When refreshments were served, the baby’s plea turned down a couple of notch and I breathed heavily. Then, I felt a clutch in my chest and I found it so difficult to swallow. I stared out at the clouds and I started crying. Slowly, it dawned to me why I was in that particular flight. Why, despite my class schedule, I was in a morning flight bound for Manila. I had to fly for Gian, my one and only kabatch, and for his son Nicolo Miguel’s 6^th birthday.

Six days ago, I was in Camotes Island for the weekend with no satellite signal. I returned home on a Sunday afternoon and found a message in my inbox which had me stunned lifeless for about 30 minutes. My godson Migo, Gian’s first-born, died on Saturday while I was spending my last summer hoorah by the beach. It was utterly devastating that it didn’t feel real. My heart slowly broke into pieces. It hurt really bad it was almost physical.

My irritation towards the screaming toddler softened.

Ithought about the day Gian told me Ainee was pregnant. It was in October 2002 when he decided to let me continue with our rituals without him. He looked scared, worried and yet he was so excited for something new and wonderful in his life. I remembered when Gian showed me Ainee’s huge tummy with visible stretch marks. It was in the basketball court in Cubic while we watched the brods play. He touched Ainee’s belly and nicknamed Migo “Stretchy”.

I remembered when Migo was born, 18^th of June 2003, at Manila Doctors’ Hospital. I got a text message from Gian, “Kabatch ninang ka na. Nanganak na si Ainee.” When Vap and I visited them at the hospital, I don’t remember his face. But I could vividly recall Gian’s face all lit up and glowing, Ainee’s eyes filled with relief, contentment and unexplainable joy of motherhood. I remembered Migo when he proudly showed off Red, his little brother, to me and my friend Jenni. He was barely four years old yet he acted like Red’s guardian, a fine kuya.

I remembered telling Migo how to kill a cockroach, that after he steps on it, he must squish it with his slipper. I remembered him reminding me that after squishing the cockroach to death, it had to be sprayed by Baygon. A smart kid that boy.

I arrived at Funeraria Paz before noon. “Migo, Ninang’s here,” I said out loud. Silently singing the saddest birthday song, I could hear my heart breaking yet again. That day, on his sixth birthday, he was laid to rest.

When a man, by reason of death, loses his wife, he’s called a widower. When a woman, by the same reason, loses her husband, she’s called a widow. When parents die, their children are called orphans. But even the most intelligent and eloquent person could never come up with a word that would label a parent when he loses his child. There is no such word to describe such loss because it is the most unnatural thing. It simply does not and must not happen.

Remembering the screaming toddler aboard my Manila-bound flight, I cried once more. I cried for Gian, for Ainee and for all those whose lives were touched by Migo. I cried for what I would willingly bargain for just to give Gian Migo’s cries one more time. What I would ultimately give up just to give Ainee Migo’s screaming one more day. Yet there could never be enough tears or enough words of condolences that would pacify Gian and Ainee’s loss. Not enough hugs to erase the grief in their hearts. Not enough grief to offset theirs. So my heart just keeps on breaking.

But as they repeatedly convinced me of, we didn’t lose Migo. No one lost Migo. Instead, we gained an angel. 

I am so proud to have been a part of your 6-year-old life, Migo. Thank you for touching our lives. Ninang will miss you everyday. 

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal.

Nakasimangot ka na lang palagi
Parang ikaw lang ang nagmamay-ari
Ng lahat ng sama ng loob
Pagmumukha mo ay hindi maipinta
Nakalimutan mo na bang tumawa
Eh, sumasayad na ang nguso mo sa lupa

Kahit sino pa man ang may kagagawan
Ng iyong pagkabigo
Ay isipin na lang na ang buhay
Kung minsan ay nagbibiro

Nandirito kami, ang barkada mong tunay
Aawit sa iyo
Sa lungkot at ligaya, hirap at ginhawa
Kamiy kasama mo
O ikaw naman
 
Kung sa pag-ibig may pinagawayan
Kung salapi ay huwag nang pag-usapan
Tayoy di nagbibilangan
Kung ang problema moy magkatambakan
ang mga utang dio na mabayaran
Lahat ng bagay ay nadadaan sa usapan

It’s the song I will always remember him by.
I so miss you Kuya. Don’t let anything or anyone make me forget you.

My Sweetest Downfall

 

SAMSON by Regina Spektor

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go, I have to go
Your hair was long when we first met

Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed
And history books forgot about us and the bible didn’t mention us
The bible didn’t mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first , I loved you first
Beneath the stars came falling on our heads
But they’re just old light
They’re just old light
Your hair was long when we first met

Samson came to my bed
Told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed
I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors and the yellow light
He told me that I’d done alright
and kissed me till the morning light the morning light
and he kissed me till the morning light

Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of wonder bread
and went right back to bed
We couldn’t break the columns down
No, we couldn’t destroy a single one
and the history books forgot about us
and the bible didn’t mention us
not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first

 

The Labyrinth

Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements even if it leads nowhere? Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place? Should I leave it there?

-ADELE

I‘ve been in the same infinite labyrinth of faux pas, a flighty entanglement of madness, untruths, fireworks, weakness, faith, candor, love and complication. And it was there where I found the only happiness I have always known to be true.

It became an addiction, a craving so dangerous it caused me to waste away. Countless moments I pondered on quitting it. But in each attempt, I find myself tracking my death. I knew it will kill me. Not instantly, but painstakingly slowly. Although an addiction, the labyrinth has been my refuge when all else fell away. It became my home. My EVERYTHING.

So I stayed stuck. I stayed happy. I stayed aching for more. I stayed regularly nullifying the cons of why I was there. I stayed hanging on dead air not knowing when I will be thrown off. I stayed constantly waiting for something I don’t know if I still wish for.

Now, the point of no return snapped me to my senses. I am now exhausted. Undeniably exhausted. I know my worth. I know what I deserve. I know that being with me is a great risk on your part. But I know, too, that I am a risk worth taking.

I’m done chasing pavements. Your turn.

A Beautiful Mess, I am.

“You are such a beautiful mess. I thought of you when I heard “a beautiful mess” by Jason Mraz. You are my beautiful mess. Still.”  Posted by M at February 9, 2009, 10:58 am

“Oh thank you. Whatever name M stands for…” Posted by iamgbravo at February 9, 2009, 11:05 am

http://iamgbravo.i.ph/blogs/iamgbravo/2009/02/09/crazy-beautiful-everything/ 

BEAUTIFUL MESS by Jason Mraz

You’ve got the best of both worlds
You’re the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you’re needy,
Humble but you’re greedy
Based on your body language,
your shouted cursive I’ve been reading
You’re style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It’s like picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don’t mind my nerve you can call it fiction
‘Cause I like being submerged in your contradictions dear
‘Cause here we are, here we are

Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they’re quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There’s no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words that paraphrasing this relationship we’re staging

And it’s a beautiful mess, yes it is
It’s like, we are picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life I’ve heard
But it’s nice to say that we played in the dirt
Cause here, here we are, Here we are
Here we are x7

We’re still here

And what a beautiful mess this is
It’s like taking a guess when the only answer is yes

And through timeless words in priceless pictures
We’ll fly like birds not of this earth
And tides they turn and hearts disfigure
But that’s no concern when we’re wounded together
And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it’s nice today, oh the wait was so worth it

 Whether M stands for MARK or MAGNUS or Mangkukulam is irrelevant.

I AM SOMEONE’s BEAUTIFUL MESS. I am the best and worst thing that could ever happen to a man. I am your best mistake ever.

On Addiction

In the hospital, we see addiction every day. It’s shocking, how many kinds of addiction exist. It would be too easy if it was just drugs and booze and cigarettes. I think the hardest part of kicking a habit is wanting to kick it. I mean, we get addicted for a reason, right? Often, too often, things that start out as just a normal part of your life at some point cross the line to obsessive, compulsive, out of control. It’s the high we’re chasing, the high that makes everything else fade away.

The thing about addiction is: it never ends well. Because eventually, whatever it is that was getting us high, stops feeling good, and starts to hurt. Still, they say you don’t kick the habit until you hit rock bottom. But how do you know when you are there? Because no matter how badly a thing is hurting us, sometimes, letting it go hurts even worse.

Meredith Grey, GREY’S ANATOMY

 So if Edward Cullen has Bella Swan for his personal brand of heroine, then what are you? My own suicide note? Perhaps…perhaps…perhaps.
 

Curtains Drawn

Today is the end of my 27-year-old fab story. It was one hell of a crazy ride.
I shall take a bow.

It’s December once again.

The air starts to get chilly and the red cups at Starbucks are back. The tree was taken out of the storage box all embellished in the foyer and my mom will keep playing carols every morning. Wish lists are all over Facebook, and Christmas messages start popping out in my inbox every now and then.

It’s December once again. Yet I am in no mood to embrace this month of the year. Unlike the past few years, December now brings tears to my eyes and causes occasional heartburns. If anyone could just wake me up on New Year’s Eve, I’d gladly sleep this month off.

Fine Fine Line

Grabbed from Niyaku

There’s a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend;
There’s a fine, fine line between reality and pretend;
And you never know ’til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb.

There’s a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of time.

There’s a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a lie;
And there’s a fine, fine line between “You’re wonderful” and “Goodbye.”
I guess if someone doesn’t love you back it isn’t such a crime,
But there’s a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of your time.

And I don’t have the time to waste on you anymore.
I don’t think that you even know what you’re looking for.
For my own sanity, I’ve got to close the door
And walk away…
Oh…

There’s a fine, fine line between together and not
And there’s a fine, fine line between what you wanted and what you got.
You gotta go after the things you want while you’re still in your prime…

There’s a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of time.

Now, let’s be sad together. *bow*

Why can’t I quit you?

Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we’re wired that way. Because without it, I don’t know…maybe we just wouldn’t feel real. What’s that saying? Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.

-Dr. Meredith Grey, Grey’s Anatomy

 Call it obsession because perhaps I am addicted to pain. There are a number of ways to get out of this deep shit I am now in…quite a number of instances when I should have just turned away and left without looking back. I know we’re not good for each other. I know this for a fact. Evidenced by the hostile words we so loosely say when mad and bruises after a huge fight, I know this is not the way a relationship should be. Logic says I cannot afford it. Issues of the past create paranoia and present actions of ex-loves kept fanning the fire. I feel like I am constantly in a tug-of-war not knowing if the odds are on my side. I constantly breathe so deep praying that the pain subsides and it has now become a regular routine. The pain is there. Still there. I’m beginning to get used to it. Beginning to like it.

Why can’t I quit this? Why do I hang on? Is it because I still believe I could win the tug-of-war? Or is it because the pain is outweighed by the dreams I see when I look at her? Perhaps I will always be just the girl she strings along because I remind her of the good, the bad and the fireworks. Perhaps I’ll never be the girl she’d fight for in the end. Perhaps I’ll never know, won’t I?

Until then, I guess I’d be addicted to hitting myself with that goddamn hammer until I am ready and able to stop. That way I would know that everything was real when I finally let go.

Soon.

Maria’s Diary

“Now, though, I am convinced that no one loses anyone because no one owns anyone. That is the true experience of freedom: having the most important thing in the world without owning it.“

Maria’s Diary, Eleven Minutes, Paolo Coelho

Once again, my heart broke because of something that was just in my head. But I want you to know that I meant every word I should have left unsaid.

Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight.

Droplets of My Thoughts

How do you guarantee someone that you’re over someone else? When is it plausible for a broken heart to start beating for someone new? How can you look someone in the eyes, not say a word, yet get the message across? That even though your heart had been shamelessly damaged, you still love them even with the broken pieces.

1GL (or so he claims)

You know the end has gone.

Yet you’d want to hold on a little longer.

In friendship’s disguise, you asked me to hold on a little more.

And I tried…

Just for one more second…One more day…One more weekend…One more semester…

…just so it can hurt a little more.

Let this be my last entry about Magnus.

I guarantee

That I am a prison u can never escape

A decision you will not ever make.

You heard me laughing, I heard you weep.

You see me smiling through my tears

And my tears make you weak.

When it’s good, it’s oh so good.
When it’s gone, then it’s gone.

Almost

MaGnUs: hi sassyGIRL! adto ko NYC mag Christmas w/ my best friend pero cge lang ko hope nga kita unta kuyog. i wana take u to a broadway show unta. sorry it took a while before u heard from me. i didn’t know what to say man gud except: I F*CKIN MISS U and WISH U WERE MINE. Too late na kaayo no? Sorry G.

This message is found in the message box of this blog which brought chills all over. When he left weeks ago, we promised not to get in touch. He didn’t even asked for my email address or saved my number in his cellphone. I threw out all expectations as soon as his plane took off.

Fleeting happiness need not turn into a series of “what if”s and “could have been”s. That’s the justification of The Magnus Kismet: when it’s good, it’s oh so good. But when it’s gone, then it’s gone.  

As of now, I couldn’t find the words to let out the burning feelings I instantly felt after reading his comment. So I’ll just post a part of a song by Tamia, ALMOST.

Can you tell me
How can one miss what she’s never had
How could I reminisce when there is no past
How could I have memories of being happy with you boy
Could someone tell me how can this be
How could my mind pull up incidents
Recall dates and times that never happened
How could we celebrate a love that’s to late
And how could I really mean the words I’m bout to say

I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we use to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take the time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said it’s impossible to miss when you never had
Never almost had you

I cannot believe I let you go
Or what I should say I should’ve grabbed you up and never let you go
I should’ve went out with you
I should’ve made you my boo boy
Yes that’s one time I should’ve broke the rules
I should’ve went on a date
Should’ve found a way to escape
Should’ve turned a almost into
If it happened now its to late
How could I celebrate a love that wasn’t real
And if it didn’t happen why does my heart feel

I FREAKIN’ MISS YOU TOO, TIGER! Wish you were still here.

The Kismet Ends

Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realize that nothing belongs to them. And if nothing belongs to me, then there’s no point wasting my time looking after things that aren’t mine. It’s best to live as if today were the first (or last) day of my life.

 -Maria’s diary, ELEVEN MINUTES by Paolo Coelho

Countless words to say but my mind went blank when he held my hand. My vision became blurry, my breath fell short and the tears wanted to fall knowing it was the last time I’m going to see him before he leaves this Saturday. I held on, keeping the mask I had mastered to wear all those years. I’m not giving in. I’m never giving in again to life’s cruelty. Why must I let someone cause me despair when I can keep them from claiming the best of me? It’s time to face the end of this riddle of a kismet. I don’t want a mere fairy tale. I was told I deserve an epic and I’m not settling for less.

Fate, indeed, is painfully funny.

Just when I thought sadness was infinite, he proved me wrong. He verified that fireworks will never lose their promise, that butterflies can still be in dark allies, that there could still be morning kisses and breath-taking moments. But his very presence befell a token that sadness is inevitable yet again. That it could be the very soul of my existence. It doesn’t matter now if he gave me smiles, giggles, songs and a diverse cue of memorable adventures because I have no need for memories. Not anymore. I feel that I only have the present to rage against the onslaught of reservations and fears and the future of uncertainties just to be haunted by the unyielding past.

Once upon a time, I lost someone I thought was mine forever and I thought wrong. So why must I look for someone who I know could never belong to me?

I stayed awake all night contemplating of how I manage to break my already broken heart. I wanted to tell him to stay for the rest of September…stay for the rest of the year…stay for the rest of my life. But I didn’t, afraid of what he might say. So I let my eyes speak the truth. The truth that when his plane takes off, I’d be the saddest girl in the world that very hour. Staring at Magnus for the last time, I wanted so bad to kiss him in wild abandon. But I didn’t. Instead, I gave him a little peck on the cheek and a smile I never thought I could etch on my face again. When he dropped me off, I watched him drove away fading to the realm of the unseen.

Helplessness undeniably is man’s supreme curse, I realized, as I saw myself bid goodbye to the promises of fairy tales. Who am I to question the intentions of the unknown?