of Alanis and reality

When i was 10, my brother’s best friend gave me a cassette tape of Alanis’ Jagged Little Pill album (maybe he noticed my obsession to her music especially with Hands in my Pocket and Head over Feet. ) Those were the years when I am so much obsessed with reality. I eat because I am hungry. I do tantrums and tell my mother the very reason why. I stop and wonder at the middle of my hiccups to ask why my tears are colored gray. And she would tell me that it’s because of the dust I had accumulated via over playing outside. I cry and tell dad that I am scared. I laugh because I am being tickled with nice humors. I sleep not because of anything else but because I am sleepy.

Some years after that, i've realized that life isn't just about the "reality" that i had believed, there is more than reality, there is something more that we need to survive reality.  that there are important things that lie between being hungry and eating. that there are reasons why i am not allowed to play outside at dusk. why i cannot have the  very red apple i want.  the acceptance didn't happen overnight, i went through a lot of process. there are a lot of pains and scars, there are a lot of weeping after every stumble. and there, i finally accepted that  i cannot just cry because  some eerie monster scared my ass. i learned that tears won't give me what i'm dying to have. i've learned to cry inside and  dry the tears before dawn and learned to get acquainted with bluish sleepless nights. My sister is right, it is a delectable rocky road, but its more than a rocky road, there are muddy trails and steepy hills  and rabbied dogs ready to gobble me up when i am least ready. and it was during these years that I have learned to appreciate Jose Mari Chan’s captivating music. He introduced to me a sweet way of defending myself from life’s imperfection. of relaxing myself because SOON, everything will be okay. and a very beautiful voice that keeps on reminding me that there exist a smooth road somewhere. and it's there waiting for me and for Dad, for Inay, for Kuya Dong, Kuya Yloy, Ate't, for Ate Vangie, for Ate Grace, for Ate Lea and yes, for Kuya Noel. A road where all of us can exclaim: Hey, at last, at long last.. HERE WE ARE!

i remember my sister in one of our sister kulitan before dozing off to sleep. Ate vangie said that she just realized that she haven't heard a crunchy laugh coming from me for the longest time and that she can no longer imagine how i sound or look like. i thought that that was crazy but maybe i was.

What is this for? Nothing. I just find it so funny that after all these years, nothing has really changed. Good Alanis still haunts me with her sense of reality. it makes me laugh. It still makes me condemn and at the same time save myself. maybe, she is right :♪ i care but i'm restless, i'm here but i'm really gone, i'm wrong and i'm sorry, baby... ♫ i'm free but i'm focused, i'm green but i'm wise, i'm hard but i'm friendly, baby ♪ and most importantly, i'm short but i'm healthy, yeah! ♪ and Jose Mari Chan has always been around to offer me a gentle kiss to escape.

Thank you to the two of you.

And, thank you to Kuya Allan Muños. We haven’t seen each other for years (like 13 years already?) and I will surely not know where to start once I see you but I know we have volumes of things to talk about. Thank you for making me understand the true meaning of friendship. i owe that one to you.

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i do not like to blame the waves. neither the beers nor the nicotine puffs.

i just wish it would rain soon.

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it kills that i just watched you as you slowly walked away.

I miss my father. And thinking about how nice it would feel if I could also busy myself thinking of the most excellent gift i could give him for father’s day.

I miss him, and thinking what he would tell me if I tell him that I think I am in love, and again, broken hearted.

I miss him, and thinking what he would do if I tell him that someone bullied me, and some girls talked nasty things about me, that I was backstabbed , and I was so angry.

I miss him, and thinking how nice it would be if I would have the chance to massage his aching feet again, and I would talk about how the day was, what I bought from Ka Pisi, the games I played, what I want to do when I grow up.

I miss him, and thinking what he would say, now that I am already working, getting enough salary to buy him a perfume, though not as what he expected me to be, wearing my office uniform and high-heeled shoes.

I miss him, and thinking about the comfort I would receive if I tell him that I do not know how it is to trust again. That I am no longer the sweet girl who hides his slippers in the morning so I know where to get it in the afternoon when he comes back home.

I miss him, and will continue to miss him every time the cruel world reminds me that, no matter how envious I become whenever I see a complete happy family, I will never have a father that I could run to.

Dad, I miss making coffee for you. really, i do.

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i do not know why i am writing like this.

Some things are not just so easy to let go. There are pains that will always remain as painful as ever. There are wounds that, although healed, will forever leave the soul scarred. There are nightmares that will not disappear amidst the brightness of the sunshine.

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The last 30 days tendered me a taste of technicolored borderline mood dealings. Betrayal. Surprises. Undying Hope. Love. Choices. Boredom. Bliss. Fake smiles. Discoveries and nightmares. Praises. Beldam. Pictures of escape. Guilt. Hidden sorrows. unrelinquished Faith and thanksgiving. And if you think any of these excites me. The answer is a flat affect. And I am so much disappointed.

Sometimes, I think of myself as a near madcap.
Somewhere near the borderline personality disorder. Gosh!

inside my head are hundreds of questions. thousands. millions. i lost count already.but never am i expecting for an answer. and never for a vague one.

I do not exactly know when was the time I started believing at nothing. when i stopped uttering my querries, and finally forsake the thought of a childhood belief of happily ever after (yes, there will always be a once upon a time, but forever is something too blurred to still believe). And when was the last time I stopped trusting?

People, myself… the world.(hay, what did they do? waht did my neurons do? wait, dont get me wrong: i am not into blaming anyone and alanis' "sorry to myself" is playing in my mind.)

Today, I believe no one. I believe nothing. And it’s only my chaste faith to the good God that’s keeping me breathing. It is only Him that I believe. And I need no bible verses or books or words as evidence of His existence. ( my mother will surely nag me about this and I am so sure to see her lonely eyes. I once told her that I think the bible is just mere fiction and a form of literature and I needed to stop because she was so shocked about what I’ve said, for this, I am sorry to those I might upset.) But this is where I see my faith, when I don’t believe in anything else but God. That even without any substantiation I still know He’s around and listening to my aches and joys.

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i am thinking about goodbye

yesterday, i was browsing friendster and i got the chance to view his new uploaded picture. i know i don’t have any right to question that but somehow, there's a struck of sadness which i couldn't figure out. when i was walking back home, i was thinking of goodbye. i remember what aj told me. that i need to move on because the person i am thinking about day and night is never thinking about me. He has long moved out of my life and now doing a fine colorful world with his life while i am left in the flower covered abyss. Unfair. I am so unfair with myself. I remember how I crossed my line, forgetting about the reserved principle my parent taught me. I am still confused. I wanted to free myself and let go but I don’t want to be like some “sirang plaka” cyclically saying my goodbye. anyhows, I am still always looking forward for the time when the color of his shirt won’t bother me anymore.

And yeah, happy birthday to chipz aj. I’ll be blogging about his pre-celebration at Bellini’s once I get through this bothering contemplation. And to aiza last November 12 (I hope you enjoyed the birthday blue’s clues!!!) and, of course, thanks for treating me with my comfort food last night’s dinner. and for the novena that you lent me. I promise to give it back to you once everything is ok. thank yous!

and guess what's palying in my background. its over now by kyla. .. let me write some line..please dont ask me to pretend coz i know its over now.... . wait i need to turn it off now.

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Beyond my poetic disgust to music

Why is the aching so damn bad? That was the only question circling around my mind last night. Not the thought of you. Not the broken idea of a perfect family. Not even the lack of world peace. And not even Obama’s victory. There’s nothing in my mind but the aching coming from an unknown source. I felt so empty. Or maybe, I exactly know where it’s coming from but I am too scared to concede with the thoughts.

I hugged mogmog (my comfort piggy toy) and played “make it real” in my play list. I’ve noticed that I’ve been playing it over and over for the past three days. A thing so weird of me (Seen and Ate Grace knows about this) because I hate listening to music. I hate them whenever they turn on the stereo. And I hate times like this – whenever my mind bugged me about playing overly emotional song – which my ears largely deride. It’s not really the music that I hate. Actually, am an admirer of good music. But it’s the effect of the music that I avoid. It makes me too emotional. It turns me into a sentimental fool humming with its loneliness.

And talking about music, it always reminds me of you, Marnee. I love you for introducing me to your breed of music. I still enjoy them but I have to pause for a time. I miss you and our conversation about life.

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