I wish I could meet a stranger in the midst of an enormous gathering.

We'll sit down, in the corner of the place full of laughter, joy and celebration. I'll ask her if she wants something warm to drink. I wouldn't ask her name. I'll just tell her that I'm walking by myself and I figured it'd be a good thing to find someone, completely anonymous, and talk to that someone even just for a while. (Why is the stranger a girl? Because sharing things with a guy is just.. er, immaculately gross.)

I'll tell her about how hesitant I was to go to that celebration. She could relate to me how she's enjoying the night. I'll tell her the things I've been keeping to myself - like how I truthfully had no reason to go to the said occasion. How alienated I have been feeling this past few months (the past year?). How I wish I had someone to talk to. She'd probably smile once I share my thoughts on the people around us - how they walk, how they rejoice irrationally, how they had no idea what's running on our minds.

If she'd find the conversation interesting, I'll ask her about herself. What brought her to the place we're at. I'll ask some out-of-the-blue questions, like what she does when she's bored or does she believe in music like how I believe in fairy tales. Maybe we'd share our sentiments on relationships and love; after all, it could be a fascinating and an amusing turn of talks. I'd be smiling slightly if she'd tell me her notions on hope, despair, and happiness.

We'd blow the steam off our warm drinks and pretty soon we'll stand up and say our good-byes. And what's the best thing about talking to a stranger? It's reverie - with the pleasure of opening up to someone who doesn't know you and will not judge you, the goodness of being able to talk without holding back. The feeling of being nameless, and free. I know this just happens in the movies, but still, something like this would be nice. Heh.

Before I write in here, I was talking to a person for hours; someone whom I haven't spoken to in months - the only contact we have is when we wave to each other outside every once in a while. I really like talking to this person. She seems so kind and understanding, and we're just about the same age. As always, the conversation with her was funny, witty, and endearing.

We talked about a lot of things in the span of our five-hour typing marathon (we were chatting): encompassing age, responsibilities, the future, travels, food, and her being stuck on something she's meant to be stuck on, whether she liked it or not; amongst other topics. It was fun. Humorous lines were said once in a while, and the whole time I was talking to her, I find myself grinning every now and then.

One thing bothered me, though - it was that, she said she didn't have any plans on going somewhere or even just enjoying her free time this break. That's the "her being stuck on something she's meant to be stuck on"; she's obligated to help her folks run their shop whenever she had free time. I can't figure out if it's just about being a good daughter or if she really likes it. She revealed that it had always been like that since she was a kid, and because of it, she's never reached any scenic place here in the Philippines.

Mark Twain once said that "Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do." It seemed to me as though she never got the chance to live her youth - and it wasn't a good thing. Still, I encouraged her to take trips a lot and explore new things. I know that youth means experiencing the most out of life and making mistakes - after all, that's what being young is all about.

We ended the talk with me browsing a number of travel blogs - I realized that I want to travel ASAP as well - and her promising to jump off to Palawan next month (seriously). I was happy for that.

Somewhere between youth and aging, our belief and faith in all things magical, fade - little by little.

I noticed that as I gain more days, I become more and more rational on things. I dismiss thoughts, and ideas, of stuff that has connections with feelings, with fate, with chances. And I have been aware, for a long time now, that we all have this tendency, as we age, to believe in our dreams less, and settle with what comes and what's real.

Perhaps we perceive 'having dreams' as something of a story of the past, when we have yet to experience the truths nothing lasts forever and everything isn't possible. Well, even though I am not on their stage yet, I sometimes wonder; why is it that aged people seem to give up the idea of 'dreaming for more'?

I don't like this. I want to keep on dreaming and believing in magic, that is, leaving some of the child in me alive - and all the while keeping what's real, real. And I know time will prove me stupid eventually. But what is there to be lost, is there anything wrong with having faith on miracles and destiny? Maybe what folk tales and lost stories say is true, dreams stay as dreams and magical encounters cease to exist because people stop believing in them.

- Madalas nararamdaman ko na ang dami-dami kong gustong sabihin. Katulad ngayon. Habang nagsusulat ako dito ngayon, naiisip ko na sobrang rami ng dapat kong ilabas. Ewan ko ba, siguro kasi halo-halo ang thoughts ko pero hindi ko naman alam kung paano sila palabasin. Pero every once in a while, talagang lagi kong nararamdaman 'to. Kaya lang, bakit ganun, para bang wala akong mahanap na equivalent words/actions sa kung ano man ang tumatakbo sa loob ko.

- Ang mga pinaka-random pero pinakamalalalim na sentiments ko e lahat dumating sakin sa mga unexpected na sitwasyon at oras - sa loob ng fx, habang naglalakad sa kung saan, pagkagising, habang nakikinig sa katahimikan, habang nakatitig sa mga dahon at ulap. Minsan maiisip ko nalang na ganito pala ang reason kung bakit ganun ang isang bagay. Minsan marerealize ko nalang na 'ito' pala ang dahilan kung bakit ganito ako ngayon, kung bakit meron ganun.. Masarap kung maisusulat ko sila sa mga mismong moment na dumating sila sakin, pero kahit kailan, hindi ko yun ginawa. Pakiramdam ko kasi, merong mawawala, yung dreamlike ethereal-ness nung thought.

- I understood one thing today - para ko nang isinasara ang sarili ko sa mga tao sa paligid ko. Kung magkakaroon man ako ng mga problema o bagong experiences ngayon? Wala akong kukwentuhan, wala akong mapag-o-open-an. Hindi na ako kasing-bukas ng katulad dati. At alam ko na meron 'tong epekto sakin. Ikinukulong ko lahat ng feelings, maganda man o hindi, sa loob ko, at malamang-lamang dadating ang araw na magiging isang malaking lupon nalang ako ng sadness at poignant happiness. Siguro dapat binubuksan ko ang sarili ko para makapasok ang ibang tao. Hindi ko gustong dumating pa yung araw na magkakaroon ng mga pangyayari na hindi ko kayang sarilihin, tapos pag kinailangan ko ng taong pwedeng masabihan, wala akong makausap.

I was walking out of our house's front door this morning, when I suddenly thought, "I'm so tired."

I'm not sure, all of a sudden my feelings of exhaustion and incompleteness just surfaced. Maybe it's the after-effect of sleeping late these days. But, I know it's something more. My life nowadays always pass the same way: wake up, accomplish and act on academic responsibilities, sleep. Unchanging, senseless existence. Once I heard from my sister that someone said, when you stop seeking for materialistic pleasures and superficial desires, and instead search for worth, reason, those intangible treasures, then, you have transcended mortal longing. I might have done that "transcend" thing a long time ago.

So tired. So tired. I'm so tired. Express myself more, find true happiness - that's what I really want to do. I'm tired of living this life where you have to earn money to feel fulfilled, and slave yourself, forgetting how to be a human being in the process. I want to be free; I know my spirit is, but my world isn't. In any way possible, I want to move; be it a drive away or having a hand to pull me and lead me to bliss. Yes, that'd be nice.

Why are we so fascinated with sex? In my world, where nine out of ten people are virgins, just the mention of the word ignite a certain excitement. Is it because people wonder how it would really feel? Is it because sex is plastered all over the media, literature, arts even?

I think I know why people are so enthused with sex - and everything connected to it.

Society segregates children and adults; and so does everything else. Most of us are at a loss; we don't know what the boundary is between being a child and becoming an adult. Sex is something that only grown-ups do - and at some point we realize that the only way to recognize ourselves as a full-fledged adult is to 'do it'. Once you've experienced it, you can never return to childhood - that's the way it goes.

Still, even those who had already experienced it, but have not yet found answers, act awkward towards the deed. Desire, uncertainty, restlessness - messing up their beliefs, their perceptions. I've realized once that age does not always equate to aged wisdom; maybe some older folks haven't even considered themselves as 'grown-ups'.

I suppose nearly everyone wants to grow up at some point in life, and prove that they really did. But I should tell you that the day will come when you won't think of every sexual encounter as something life-changing, and be on terms with the understanding that there's more to maturity than just feeling the opposite gender's body.

Then sex wouldn't be life-changing nor fascinating; it will just have its meaning.

I don't crave for someone who's out-of-this-worldly pretty. I never wished for someone who's rich, someone who's stylish nor someone who's hot. I surely am not hoping for someone who's perfect to appear. A subtle quiet beauty could already make me happy.

Celine, of my most-cherished movies Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, then said, "I always feel this pressure to be independent and not look like my life is revolving around some person. But, loving someone, and being loved, means.. so much to me. I always make fun of it and stuff, but isn't everything worth doing in life, a way to be loved a little more?"

I'm 'damaged goods'. I've been through so much pain that even I am doubtful whether I can be good enough for women anymore. Despite that, I'm certain of one thing: although I'm scarred, I'm sure I am still capable of loving a woman; someone whom I can talk to and never feel the need to hide anything..

I have so much affection in store within me right now, and I'll wait for that kindred soul to come along so I could give it all to her. And when that person whom I'll cherish the most arrives, I'll make sure her happiness never ends.. That I can promise.

I think this is the end of my CISCO Certification. Siguro ang dahilan e hindi umabot ang score na nakuha ko dun sa test na magdedetermine kung eligible ba akong kumuha ng second part nung course. Meron pa namang hope, pero sa tingin ko malabo na din; meron pang requirements na wala na siguro akong pag-asang makumpleto pa. In a way, I'm happy; I can spend my last stress-free vacation with no strings attached (next summer kasi, malamang mag-OJT ako). Pero sa totoo lang, hindi ko gusto ang nangyari sa'kin na yun.

An opportunity wasted once again. At inaamin kong kasalanan ko 'yun. I took the gamble; galing ako sa bakasyon, at ang totoo e halos wala akong naintindihan sa pakurot-kurot kong pagbabasa nung reading materials. Yet I took the test. Siguro nung una pa lang e alam ko nang ganito ang kalalabasan ng resulta. Lumagpak ako. Kung hindi ko man maitutuloy ang course ko dito, unang beses 'tong mangyayari sakin. Ang bumagsak.

Ganito pala ang pakiramdam kapag may biglang nagbago sa mga bagay na akala mo e planadong-planado mo na. Natatakot ako. Isa 'to sa mga bagay na ayokong mangyari sakin, becoming a failure of a man. Hindi ko napapansin na ang dami-dami ko nang sinasayang na mga posibilidad. Ayokong isipin na baka dumating ang araw na lahat ng ginusto kong mangyari sa buhay ko e hindi matupad dahil pinabayaan ko ang mga pagkakataon.

Love. The most abused word in the world. It's something that people always seem to seek, even though they don't have a clue on what it is. Once upon a time I had notions as to what love really is. I remember writing a full back-to-back paper about it. It's hilarious, really, remembering that I once believed love had certain labels, and descriptions. That was when I hadn't pondered much regarding it.

Don't worry, I won't preach. I stopped talking about love just recently, about one or two years ago. I'm not really certain why, or how I came to that, but one day I said to myself I don't want to appear like someone who's knowledgeable on the subject. I'm not one to discuss about it. I told myself I won't pretend to know everything about it. Then again, who knows what is love, really?

The truth is, I only had one girlfriend in the entirety of my years of living. She was this girl, thinner than females our age, who wears glasses, having a very kind-looking face, and she was tall. But does your meaning of love depend on how many 'official' relationships you've had? That's disgusting. I beg to differ. I learned some things from the time we had, yes, but I can't say I knew everything I wanted to know from her. Sometimes, the deepness and meaning of things come from events, places or people you wouldn't expect in any way, same as the way it did to me.

When I do my usual "read-everything-on-the-internet" routine, I frequently come across articles, essays and 'mature-looking' posts regarding the matters of the heart. Same goes for "help yourself" books and writings on how to deal with the feeling. I often stumble on pages where some PHD-bragging doctor or some "man-who-experienced-it-all" give enumerations and tips on how to love truly. Funny. They list stuff like "This is the way to prove your love is real". Just now I reread one of my friend's blog post. It's all about love, and he listed a lot of things describing romance, using metaphors like declaration of feelings and the wind and earthquakes. The title of his entry is "Love is..".

Really, who are we to put headings on love? It is something we can experience but never fully understand, that's why I think it's plain stupid to label it. I can tell you my experiences on it and how I realized things from them, but if I do that, I'd just be like those numbskulls: feeding tales to people how I went through this and that and now I had a clear idea as to what love is. No, I wouldn't pretend I know. I will not stereotype it, typecast it, or give it a definite title. Love, in all its grandeur and mystery, will never have a fixed denotation.

I like to believe that when the time comes you feel it, you would be lost for words, and you'll be feeling like an idiot because once upon a time you put a tag on it. I like to believe that love's meaning is something you can't put into words and only you will know it. I felt that way some time ago. No flowery terms for me. It's not mandatory to describe everything you feel, right? Why is love any different. When everything seems to fall into place, you don't need descriptions and tips. The feeling will be enough.

Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia.

---

One morning, I went down to our condominium's swimming pool to oversee my cousins have their merriment over the waters. While I was sitting down under the roof of the nearby "pool hut", someone caught my eyes: an American-looking lady, swimming. Out of habit, the first thing I did was guess her age. By her looks, she seemed like a 25- to 30-something unmarried woman. To my surprise, when I looked again, she had a kid with her.

I did not want to be obvious; nevertheless, I can't help but stare at them. She was so motherly. She sat patiently, watching over her child playing with the bubbles from the jacuzzi beside the pool. She dived and wore this round salbabida (floating gadget that kids usually bring with them when going to the pool) in her neck. Her son then clinged on to her. Besides the fact that she was gracefully pretty and her body did not fit the description of a mother (she had a great figure), what made her so beautiful was how she tended to her kid. It was one of the sweetest, most picturesque sight I saw in Singapore.

---

This happened in Genting, Malaysia. Following an uneventful night (because it rained and we haven't used our outside-theme-park ticket to its fullest), we woke up early and decided to go have some breakfast. Outside the "should-have-been-free-meal" resto, we realized we forgot our hotel pass, and we cannot enter the place. So, instead, we ended up at Mcdonald's.

While ordering our choice of morning meal, I heard a woman talking in Filipino, and she had my attention. She was wearing a gray cotton long-sleeves and a simple jazz pants-like bottom. She was no doubt pretty, with her long, newly-combed hair and her Filipina flair. I told my father there was a Filipino family around (she was with her family). He then said to them, "Pinoy?", and my father and her family launched into an extreme conversation about politics and work (my father works for a bank).

We (the young Filipina girl and I) caught each other's eye every once in a while. Maybe we were thinking the same thing: a potential new friend. It would be nice having known someone in a faraway place and talk about things. I knew they haven't visited the temple downhill of Genting, and they were thinking of going there with us (we haven't been there as well). So I said to myself, I will talk to her as soon as I can.

So much for delays. Turns out, they were actually leaving soon, because they were just staying for one day and one night (and the "day" was the "yesterday" day). I realized I wouldn't have the opportunity to get to know her too late; we were already walking away from each other. When I looked at her for the last time, she was looking my way as well, and on her eyes painted were the words "I'm sorry I have to leave early. It was nice meeting you.. Goodbye."

I responded with a look that said we would probably never meet again. We both smiled wistfully. Or maybe I was just interpreting things the wrong way.

---

After a day at the Jurong Science Centre, we went to the bus stop in front of it and waited for our ride. While walking, a girl holding a balloon was trotting beside me. At the bus stop, my cousins and my brother was joking around when suddenly, we heard a cry. When I turned, I saw the little girl wailing out loud; her balloon had hit the sharp-stoned ground and burst. My eyes caught her mother's, and she gave me an apologetic grimace, as if trying to say, "She's crying over something so mundane".

Her sister was so kind, she gave her balloon to her little sibling. It didn't help with the crying problem, though.

I didn't know why, but all of a sudden I was thinking of a million ways on how I could cheer the crying girl. Since I was holding the Science Centre map that time, I made a paper boat out of it (thinking that if I made a plane, she would fly it, and chances are it would land on the highway and she'd chase it. I wouldn't like that, would I). But I did not have the guts to give it to her. What if she thought it was too idiotic? What if I scared her away? What if she rejected it?

So in the end, I stood helpless as she cried herself away (until she boarded her bus). I did not take my eyes off the kid. Maybe it would've been better if I just offered to lift her high up in the air and let her think that she's flying, like that balloon which popped.

---

This happened at Bintan, Indonesia. That place is majorly made up of beaches.

We went swimming late afternoon to early night, around 6-7 pm, so that we won't be too "tanned". As usual, there were a lot of Filipinos around. I don't know, but maybe if you're in a place outside home, you get this unexplainable desire to get to know people who speak your native tongue. While swimming, we heard a bunch of our language's words. As soon as we (my father, my brother and I) heard this group of Pinoys (and Pinays) nearby, speaking Tagalog, we walked towards them and asked the icebreaker question, "Pinoy?"

The crowd alongside us was composed of working adults. Some were engineers, some were law graduates, some were nurses. My father then launched his usual campaign of getting them to remit using his bank. As a number of them were talking to him, a few were talking to me, as well. My ever-dearest father introduced me as his 19-year-old college student son. At that point, I felt as though everyone considered me as a child, a little kid, who doesn't know how to live. I felt the same too. Nineteen, for the love of peace, nineteen. Not even twenty. There's still that idiotic suffix 'teen'.

They asked me, "Are you on vacation?", and I answered, "Yeah, I'm lucky I don't have any failed subjects". They asked me, "What year are you in now?", and I answered, "Fourth year college". Sounded like a total loser, right? Damn it. I felt so stupid and childish. I was thinking (and maybe they were too), who the hell cares anyway if I fail subjects, for crying out loud? Suddenly I felt so embarrassed, ashamed, as if I don't have anything to be proud of. Perhaps the only reason why I feel I can't hold my ground around people older than me when I meet them for the first time is because I can't really say with confidence that I run my own life.

One woman from the group made an effort to keep the conversation with me alive, which made me happy in a way. Even so, that scene strengthened the extreme longing within myself: to graduate, find a decent job, and take full control of my own being as soon as possible.

---

My father's office rests at Orchard Road, Singapore. Today, he asked us to go there so we could buy our coming-home gifts (pasalubong). To cap the day, he also said we will be meeting someone he knew; and we would all be going to dinner together. After buying some souvenirs, we headed back to his workroom, and there was his "friend", a fifty-something-looking man.

First thing he asked me was, "What course are you taking?", which I answered with a simple "Electronics and Communications po". He then piped up without warning, "Bakit ECE? Lahat ng tao nakakapagcomputer na ngayon. 'Yung TV nga namin, si blahblah ang gumagawa, electronics yun a.." ("Why ECE? Everyone knows how to use the computer now. An ECE graduate fixes our TV.") He went on unceremoniously and shared to us that he had kids. At that moment, an indescribable, inexplicable contempt boiled within me. What the heck does this guy know about my course anyway? Maybe he's too narrow-minded to think that every ECE graduate fixes television or something.

So, the dinner plan: after that little "hello", we headed to the place where we'd eat. The "old friend" stopped for a while (a long while in fact) to check out a woman (who seems like a prostitute). We (my father, my brother and I) idled for about fifteen minutes (and thus wasting our precious lives) waiting for him to finish hooking up with the girl. In the end, nothing happened.

We ate a lot at the restaurant he brought us to (the meat they served us was unlimited I almost blew up). He payed for the 280 singdollar-worth food we all gobbled. Little did he know that the whole time we were with him, I thought to myself, there are full-grown people loaded with riches and all, but still, there really are adults who never grew up.

---

Written within the span of 15 April 2010 to 09 May 2010.

Last night, after some random thoughts, it suddenly hit me.

I figured out what 'the meaning of life' is.

The meaning of life is different for all of us. Some people found their own 'meaning', and if we try to find the same for our life, we'll never know it. Those people who say they are in search of "what their life meant"? If they say their journey is the same as another person, then they don't even know what they're looking for.

It could take forever. It could hit you in an instant in a situation you wouldn't expect it to appear. Still, it would be different for everyone. We're all one-of-a-kind and everyone has a unique reason for living, one way or another. Now I'm certain that what I'm trying to find isn't the same as anyone.

It will come, eventually.

It's 11:23 am and I've just finished reading The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold - and dear God, it was one fine work of a book (yes, it's easy to please me). It tells the story of young Susie Salmon, who died in chapter one, and how in her "heaven", she watched over everyone who mattered to her on earth. It was a plain narrative, written in her point of view, telling how people who were once around her got lost, healed, and found their way back to the goodness of life.

While reading the novel I couldn't stop myself; I never wanted to stop reading. Vivid images formed in my mind while I went with the pace: the look of Susie; her sister, Lindsey, and Ruth Connors, who were my favorite characters; her family, her killer, her heaven. Even though I had no real idea as to what they looked like, I could still see them walking by the cornfields, whispering love to people close to them, crying over pictures..

After I finished it, with Susie wishing me "a long and happy life", the only thing running in my mind was that: the time we have is so short, if we think about it; and it's not just dying that makes us long for the time we should have had. I think as we grow older, we think of the things we should have said, people we never should have taken for granted, affection we did not have the chance to show.

Letting go is one of the themes of the story, especially in Susie's father's case. It took him eight years, I think, to fully accept his daughter's death. Then, he let her be a memory, just as everything in the past was meant to be. I don't know why, but I could somehow connect how he felt to myself. I know how hard it is to let go. The question will haunt you: if I do this, would everything I had felt and I had known to be true go to oblivion?

Even though we find the strength the move on, it doesn't mean that we forget, and it also doesn't mean what we had wasn't real. It's just that, time is too precious to be wasted, and we must always keep moving forward. We should hold the memories not as a burden but as a treasure, a gem, a priceless gift that helped us understand life better.

But then again, it hurts.. just being someone else's memory, even though you could be part of that person's life given the chance.

One of the best exchange of words I've ever had in my life.

~: Madalas pag nagsulat ako kung saan-saan napupunta yung takbo ng utak o sinusulat ko kaya masyadong napapahaba kahit hindi ko na alam kung ano nga ba talaga yung point ko in the first place hanggang sa makatamaran ko nang tapusin.

=: Minsan talaga nangyayari yan, kahit sakin at sa blog ko. 'Yung mga tipong parang ang dami mong masusulat pero pag nakaharap ka na sa monitor, pfft. Mawawala. Pag wala naman ako sa harap ng PC, kunyari nasa fx, ganun, nagrarush ang napakadaming brilliant thoughts na pwedeng ipublish. Minsan nga naiisip kong magdala ng notepad at pen kahit saan para pag may cascade of ideas, isusulat ko. Kaso parang naiisip ko, minsan pipilitin ko ang sarili kong mag-isip ng isusulat dun kaya wag nalang.

~: Ganun din naman ako. Kahit meron akong point na gustong gawin, pag feeling ko eh nako-compel na lang ako na magsulat for the sake of finishing something, di ko na tinatapos. Pag ganung cases kasi, kadalasan nawawalan na ng 'emosyon' yung sinusulat mo ( argh.. i hate the term.. kaya lang wala akong maisip nas mas magandang ipalit..)

=: Bakit naman ayaw mo sa term na "emosyon"? Haha. E normal lang naman ang emosyon. Kung ayaw mo nun sa sinabi mo, pwedeng buhay, o saysay, etc, etc.. Pero oo. Pag pinipilit mo talaga ang ilang bagay, mawawalan siya ng buhay..

~: Hehe. Cheesy. It's one of those words na masyado na kasing gasgas kaya masakit na sa tengang pakinggan. Hindi dahil sa wala talaga itong kahulugan in the first place kundi dahil sa tagal ng pag-abuso dito, parang unti-unting nauubos ang meaning nya over time.

=: Sa tingin ko nga, nauubos na ang meaning ng salitang "emosyon". Nowadays, kapag hinarap mo 'yan sa mundo, pagtatawanan ka lang, sasabihing mahina ka, etc, etc.. Bakit kaya ganun, ano? Kung ano pa ang importante, yun pa ang nagagasgas ang meaning.

~: Yun kasi ang paulit-ulit na ginagamit. I guess mostly dahil yung mga concepts na nakakabit sa kanila ay universal kaya kahit saang sulok ka ng mundo ka pumunta, maririnig at maririnig mo, like hope and perseverance (ugh), love (double ugh) for example. Kaya kasi nagiging cliche ang isang bagay ay dahil paulit-ulit na ginagamit, pero minsan kung titingnan mo, kaya sya paulit-ulit na ginagamit ay dahil malaking bahagi pa rin ng bagay na yun ang totoo at naangkop sa kabila ng paglipas ng mahabang panahon. Maraming tao nga lang ang umaabuso at ginagamit ng walang pakungdangan ang mga bagay na yun kaya nababawasan ang meaning over time.

=: Oo nga, halos palagi nalang ginagamit ang salitang 'yun. Kaya nga nawawala na ang meaning nya.. Natawa naman ako sa 'hope' at 'perseverance', yan yung mga tipo ng salitang napakaganda at lalim ng meanings pero pag naririnig mo, parang.. ang awkard pakinggan. Siguro ganun na nga ang naging epekto ng "cliches" satin.. Lalo naman 'yung 'love' diba. Na-a-amuse nalang nga ako sa mundo e, kasi iba-iba ang interpretations ng salitang 'to, tapos contradictory pa 'yung iba. Ino-overuse ang salitang 'to (malamang-lamang ang pinaka-overused sa lahat), to the point na halos tine-take for granted nalang yung real meaning nya.

~: Love's definitely the most overused word in the world. I'm not saying na wala na yung meaning dahil despite ng walang pakundangang paggamit ng ibang tao dito, there are those people na pinatunayan at patuloy na pinatutunayan na it's more than just a word that you can use for your convenience anytime you please, pero more often than not, it's something na mabilis na lumalabas sa bibig ng ibang tao nang di nila namamalayan o nararamdaman.

=: Ayun. na-a-amaze din ako sa mga taong basta-basta nalang binibitawan 'yung salitang "yun". Kasi naman, hindi nila alam ang bigat ng sinasabi nila.. Kaya siguro minsan hirap din akong sabihin 'yun, kasi I know its effects. Pero sa mga nasabihan ko na nun, I've said it truthfully. Ngayon, na exposed na 'ko sa real, adult world, hindi ko na masasabi na love is always a happy thing.. Pero naniniwala pa naman din ako dito, but not to the extent katulad dati.

~: Yeah.. There are some words that I just can't bring myself to say no matter how simple they seem to be.

A post from long ago. Published because.. well, it's all in the past now.

This must be one of the loneliest birthdays on earth.

I remember my birthday last year. It was the happiest birthday of my entire life. The woman I treasured the most gave me a silver bracelet and another gift; a gift that I would probably never forget. We dubbed it as "aging" (pagtanda), and she asked me, "I wonder how old would you be on your next birthday?"

After that day, she gave me that gift whenever she had the chance. If I counted them, perhaps I'm approximately more than a hundred years old now. Maybe even two-hundred-ish. She also promised she would sing for me, one day, when she had the guts. I have constantly dreamed of hearing her secretly-kept singing voice. I always have.

Yeah, that's how the story went. Then there was this, there was that, and then, the end. Turns out, I'd stop aging long before my next birthday.

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.

Last night, I dreamt of her. It's been a long time since we last spoke seriously with each other. I wouldn't deny the fact that I miss her, more than I miss anyone else. She gave me peace. Her voice calms me. She was always there, for better or for worse. She understood me the way no one did.

In my dream, we talked. I couldn't remember what we talked about. All I cared about was that she was there. She sat beside me, and if it wasn't a dream, then I can, without doubt, say that I could almost smell her. We were sitting on a white chair, and the setting looked like it was at my grandmother's house's terrace, a twilight point of my childhood and adulthood. I remember seeing her, wearing that same, old, gentle smile. She gave me that smile again in my dream.

Her eyes turned a bit melancholic, and with that, she still smiled, but sadly now. Then, she turned towards me and pulled me into her arms. I remember hugging her the way I did for that last time, as if I never wanted to let her go. I looked at her and caught her with her eyes half-closed, with small droplets of tears. At that time, I really felt it would last, that I could carry her off with me, that I could take her and spend my lifetime with her. After a long while, she looked at me and said, "I've missed you."



Then, abruptly, as if someone was telling me it wouldn't be possible, I woke up. And I knew it was just a dream. Things are different now. It wasn't possible. I am moving on, now.