A Prodigal Daughter's Letter

Dear Father,

I honestly feel like shit. I don't think someone can love a person who never stops screwing up... intentionally. I am such a rebel. I am such a hypocrite. I am incapacitated, and all those stupid metaphors of having no freedom from myself. I am hurt. I am lonely. I am empty. My pride will never admit that I am broken and falling apart. I feel like my life doesn't mean anything to anyone. I am insecure and insignificant. And now I don't think I can ever be where I want to be.

If I cry out to you and knock my pride out of the way, I will only lie that I can change, 'cause I don't think I can. And I will be back to this place again, with my barriers so much worse. I don't want to hope and fool myself again. I am so tired of my weak self. I am so tired of having to lie to you.

But if I keep silent, my life will continue to break and fall apart. I will continue to be meaningless. I won't have the right to talk about you anymore, and my soul will continue to be thirsty. And there will be endless nights of having to go to sleep feeling empty. I will have no passion and compassion. I will rely solely on initiative and willpower, which could be good. And I will forever feel insignificant and insecure.

My faith is dead. My faith is in so many other things which makes grace nonexistent in my life. I don't believe that kind of grace will ever reach me, and stay. I might as well say goodbye to you, 'cause I can continue to try, but I will only be frustrated. Both roads lead me there, anyway. I can deny you, but I believe that you will never go away, so now I can't say you're the one that got away. But this is my choice, and I know I will never be happy with it. My broken heart might someday say, "You're all I needed all this time," but my pride will not admit that I was wrong. And even if you are all I needed, my pride will say you wouldn't have loved me anyway.

My pride is shitty. I am shitty. The truth is I can't go on without you, and it makes no sense to even choose with the choices I'm given. So strip me of my pride, and humble me down however you want, whatever it takes. They say that you will break me, and it will hurt. But I don't care as long as I end up with you.

'Cause you have shown me your heart, and I have seen who you really are. They say that I can not see the truth and still stay the same. I don't know because I don't trust myself. So here I am again at your feet. I know I've blown my chances, but I think there will never be a time that not even the smallest part of me believes that you are who you say you are.

Take this humility that's still left of me. Take all the broken pieces if you can find them. And save me. Save me from myself.

Your daughter,

Insecurities

Falling, tumbling

Fast like the wind

Down the winding road

That never ends

I'm calling to

Your name in the dark

Despite the wall

I built to keep you out

I know you want

To make me better

Can't there be beauty

In who I am?

Dear melancholy

Plesae embrace me

I want to elude

These killing eyes

Certain conversations with the mind of that girl

I'm that girl. And I saw him last night.

• "I knew it was him. Ex-girlfriend instinct. And I know he knew it was me."


• "I'll always know who you are. Even in the dark. Even when your shadows and your silhouettes are all I see."


• "Hello, if you were in my position, if I greet him, that means admitting I was there. And what does that say about an ex-girlfriend wandering around the vicinities of his house?"


• "I know he knows it was me. But I know he's doubting, too. Knowing him, he'd probably be irritated. Maybe because I remind him of me. Or he'd think I still haven't moved on."


• "I miss him like the way I usually do. And it hurts to know that the things you want to happen are just plain impossible. But then again, maybe it's for the best."


• "Haha, not the case. I wasn't there because of him. Because really, the whole time, I wasn't thinking of running into him, because I rarely do. Who'd have thought he'd be biking late that night?"


• "So what did I feel? I don't know. Or at least I don't want to know."


• "Yeah. Just got my hopes up that maybe he would follow me or greet me. Grr, the truth slammed on my face. Again."


• "Define *spark*? And how will I know if there was one if I felt a 'major major' mixture of feelings that night? So bad. I think I'm more confused that he is."

You've let go and you've moved on. It's time to GET OVER him. Please.

Tagalog Untitled 1.1

Sana alam ko ang sinasabi ng mga mata mo. Sa bawat pagtawa mo, nagpipinta naman ng kalungkutan ang mga ito. Waring nagsasabi na hindi mo ito gustong mangyari. Hindi mo gustong mawalay ako sa'yo. Sana makita kong muli ang bakas ng kasiyahan sa mga mata mo, lalo na 'pag tinititigan mo ako. Ngunit nawala na ang lahat nang 'yon. Hinayaan mong poot ang maghari sa puso mo. Sana alam ko ang sinasabi ng mga mata mo. Sana hindi ko na lang dito nakikita ang lahat ng kahinaan ko. Gaano ko man ito gustong malaman, hindi pa rin kita huhusgahan. 'Di tulad ng panghuhusgang ginawa mo sa'kin nang ako'y iyong pinakawalan.

Tagalog Untitled 1.2

Hindi na kasabay ng pag-ulan ang mga luha. Parang nawawala. Tulad ng pagkawala mo, nung gabing tinalikuran mo ako at hindi na bumalik upang malaman man lang kung gaano ito kasakit. At sa bawat pagpatak ng ulan, parang lalo ka lamang inilalayo sa'kin ng oras. Sa bawat yabag ng paa mo, lalo mo lamang sinasabi na hindi ka na babalik... kahit kailan. Paano kaya kung sinundan ko ang mga mata mo? Paano kaya kung sumabay ako sa pagbuhos ng ulan at mag-makaawang bumalik sa'yo? Wala pa rin namang magbabago, dahil nag-iba na ang pintig ng puso mo.

The Makings of a Bloody Sandwich

     “Hey, please take care,” he said as he planted a kiss on the cheek of his girlfriend.

     “Of course I will,” she handed him a lunch box. “Here, I cooked something for you. I know you’re going to miss me.”

     “You shouldn’t have, I’ve already eaten.”

     “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? You can’t even cook.”

     He smiled, and took the lunch box. He knew he was going to miss her. He gave her a big hug before he rode the jeep. The ride was going to last for four hours, and it was going to be dead boring. There was nothing to see except for trees in this rural area. He had been contemplating about his life these days. Going to Mindanao was a choice out of nowhere. He didn’t really know why he studied in UP just to be miles away from his family, writing for his country.

     He thought his butt was growing numb. His legs were having cramps already. “Are we there yet?” he thought to himself. Yet he really didn’t care. He needed the money for his family, and he would go anywhere just to get a news story. Then he thought about his girlfriend, Serah. Her face was appearing in his head for the rest of the trip. It really wasn’t a mistake that he had gone in this place where he was a stranger. He wouldn’t have met her if it wasn’t for this choice.

     Abruptly, the jeep stopped moving. “Thank God,” he thought. He twisted his neck to take a look outside. They were in the middle of a rocky road surrounded by trees. He got the feeling that this wasn’t the place yet. There were only trees, and a road track of dust. There were armed men, more or less a hundred of them. He suddenly felt fear and curiosity at the same time. This could be the perfect news, but he wasn’t in a good position to start with.

      “Everyone, get off the jeep,” said one of them. “Get off the jeep now!” Several gunshots in the air followed.

     One by one, the passengers went down with hands held up high. He was holding the lunchbox. He didn’t know what was happening. “We’re going to be safe. We’re going to be safe,” he said to himself, like a silent litany. The armed men made them all line up. Again, he heard a ripple of gunshots, and blood splashed in every one of those shots. They blasted the head of the man next to him. Then his body budged. He was shot a number of times, like all the others. This time, he really went numb after he felt the pain. He fell on his knees, and then his face was on the ground. He kept looking at the lunch box just beside his face. It was open, chicken and rice scattered on the ground. She cooked Adobo for him, he had smelled it; how he wished he had eaten it. She cooks the best food ever. After a second or two, he passed out.

     Laughter was heard from the armed men. They were having fun, like it was all just a game. They ruled this place called Maguindanao. They had guns, and they had power. They shot everyone as if there was no tomorrow, as if there would never be a payback time.

     On November 23, 2009, the Maguindanao (Ampatuan) Massacre happened. It was noted as the single deadliest event for journalists in history by the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ). It happened just because of a challenge of candidacy in Elections 2010. Fifty-seven people died, twenty-eight were journalists. And this gave way for the Philippines to be called the second most dangerous country for journalists in the world.

     Journalists were killed. Women were shot on their sex organs. They all lay dead on the ground. Their helpless bodies were thrown in a deep pit. They were covered with soil. It was like the perfect way to make sandwich. Then, the next ingredients were the vehicles, thrown in just after their bodies. Again, it was covered with soil. The last bodies were thrown in again. And finally, a thick layer of soil. Yes, it was just like a sandwich.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maguindanao_massacre

“Kung Paano Gumawa ng Sandwich” by John Levi Masuli; UP Baguio Outcrop November 2009 Issue

Confusion racking my brains. Ow!

Last time I checked, all posts here were gone. Deleted in just two minutes. Those posts of heartbreak, confusion, insecurity, anger, and a lot of negative feelings I wouldn't want to remember. Those were during my Dark Ages. My first break-up. And I had thought things wouldn't change. That I wouldn't get over that kind of feeling even after ten years. That I'd still love him and feel all helpless about it.

Well, no one could be more surprised than I am. I'm still glad I deleted those memories. I can't believe I was thinking that way before. I was all broken, so maybe that explains it.

I still flinch at the sound of his name. Or the very thought of it. And somehow, I like this part right now. The part where I'm wondering what I ever saw in that guy. Haha, I'm so evil. Anyway, I'm feeling all better now. I can't say I still love him, I don't even know if I'll be able to bring back the feelings. Maybe pain, because I still believe I honestly don't deserve what he did to me. But love? I doubt it. Though I'm not sure. I will be when I see him again, after some considerable amount of time.

I'm wondering. I had felt so sure before. About him. About us. Well, I'm totally wrong, and now I actually think it was a miracle that fate made us part ways. I've never been happier to be single. But how? How did I come to feel this way? It keeps surprising me.

Life and love goes on.

I never thought I'd ever find distractions that would really make me stop thinking about him. But I guess, it wasn't the distractions after all. It was me wanting to forget, letting him slip to the lowest of priorities in my life. Life goes on.

What if I get all alone, with nothing to do, no books to read, nothing to distract myself with? I doubt I could survive that. I'd find myself looking out the window, with regret swelling in my heart. I'd cry to myself, actually thinking that if I'd ever cry, he's all I would cry for. Love goes on.

Time heals all things, sometimes with painkillers, sometimes not. Moving on is just a matter of the mind. How we see things, how we let go, how we find the courage to accept and forgive and turn our backs to the ones we hold dear. It's a matter of having the courage and strength to do the right thing for yourself.

Now I wonder how I ever managed to feel numb. How did I ever shut my mouth when I had a million things to say, and my heart would explode if I chose to stay put? How did I ever get more concerned about breaking a friend's heart than speaking up? How come I could pretend to be stoic or happy when inside I was swelling up with anger or hurt?

I can always say that it's Love. Inspiring isn't it? But my brain's all racked up to believe. I have a feeling that it's something more than that, I just can't quite figure it out yet. Sigh. Time is on my side, it's got painkillers with it to keep me away from loneliness. I'm fine with that.