*verdad

The journey through life is a stroll across courses of mountains, valleys, seas and skies. In this journey we will meet obstacles that will make us tired, parched and starving, weary and wounded; ready to give up. At times like this, remember the tale of the firebird; the phoenix that emerged from the fiery ashes and spread its wings of scarlet and gold plumage; ready to fly again

The spirit of recovery does not spring from the number of victories nor defeats. Like the phoenix, it manifests itself in the celebration of life and will to flutter its wings once more and start anew. This, simply, is triumph in itself.

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™

oOo

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
10.08.09

This poem was made out of spontaneity at around one in the morning and was finished at 1:46 am through SMS messages. We have decided to coin the term, *Poexting for such an activity. [hahaha]

*Poexting – (n.) [Poext (v.)] Exchanging text messages in verse form that eventually leads to the creation of a poem… :)

http://zereporthej.blogspot.com

Life’s intricate patterns are hard to follow. When you get lost, you will find yourself helpless, drowning in distress. Sometimes, it would seem better to ignore those trivial yet overt details, but acting as if nothing is wrong in spite of these quite palpable realities will never change anything.

Now, I admit I am at a loss. I do not know what to think. I do not know what to do. I cannot point my finger on what I want. And these empty moments wherein these thoughts suddenly materialize just aggravate my frustration. It seems that the intertwining of such inimitably deceitful circumstances has brought life to the lapse in my sanity. Fortunately though, my overstressed brain is still lucid enough to determine that something is wrong.

I wish it is enough to believe in life, in love, in promises. But that is a wish that has been asked by many and yet simultaneously, that is a wish that has stagnated at some point in time. Believing is something that many-a-person has underrated. And once again, I admit to this.

I have lost myself trying to believe the things that negate the others that I am afraid to face. All could have been better if I, myself, knew better. Believing is beyond just the utterance of the words “I believe…” In fact, believing has nothing to do at all with its declaration.

The authenticity of belief can only be realized by mutual trust. And by mutual, I do not mean blind. One can never trust with the foundation of lies, or better yet, uncertainty. To build belief, it has to have firm grounds. Bottom-line, trust first before you believe. This is as simple as trusting first your own capability to sing, per se, before believing that you will win in a singing competition. The belief of going home a victor in that competition will be futile if one does not trust his own capability in the first place. Trust is a prerequisite to belief.

Sometimes, however, the hands of fate take control. It does not only hold sway, it has the power to shatter even the strongest belief that you hold on to, even to the point of beguiling you with the world’s most evil temptations. But life always has two sides. It is with fate’s coming that external forces pick you up and fight with you and you wonder why you have struggled alone when you can fight your demons with fervent help. Then again, when their duties are done, you have to learn to stand on your own once again and recover trust and belief, neither in life nor in love, not even in promises but in yourself. Only then will you really be able to believe in life, in love and in promises.

I need not curse or rant or pester myself with these empty moments and the thoughts they give birth to. For the only things I could be sure of are my own emotions. Being doubtful and keeping induced vile thoughts in this frolicking mind I have atop my neck would only banish me into the fires of bitterness. Let not the mind think and allow the heart to perform its miracles.

Someone once told me, “Love is a matter of heart over mind…”

I trust and believe you, but that does not need any saying anymore. I feel it now.

In the end, I have realized, it is hard to follow life’s patterns because it is not meant to be followed. I have decided to create my own path for in a path that is your own, you will never get lost.

A crescent emerges.

The heat
Of the night intensifies
And pierces a sleeper’s soul
That slumbers
As metal starts to spin.

Rays of thunder
Wave in copper
Birth
Of wind, of breeze,
Of lullaby.

Time moves in speed
And sand appears
In twins of
Black and white,
Orb and circle.

Impregnation of
Imagination.
Visions of color
Of life, of death
Of smiles, of horror.
Unborn.

Lucidly immobile
Yet the spirit traverses
And the mind at rest
Flowing in a journey
Fate controls.
Until cheese
Sinks in deep ocean.

Yellow lights appear,
Render time in slow motion.
And gust of blades
In a click, fades.
Metallic wind halts
Eternity passes in legless steps

A new day dawns
Yet in vain will be the wait
When the crescent emerges
Once more,
And metal sings a lullaby
In a sleeper’s favored moment
When feathers and cotton
Caress his soul
And loud whispers of wind
Rid his mind
Of pain, of strain.

And embarks
In the same journey
Through ecstasy
As spinning metal
Lulls him deeper into slumber
Where reality is simply,
Unreal.

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™

I dream of trembling beneath a piercing rain
As whirls of clouds hover celebrating sins
Of you and me and you and me in pain
Of me to you and you to me.

Dandelion globes come seeking me
With gusts of sympathetic air
To caress a heart so empty
And a mind from an endless stare.

Melancholic sunsets are what I see
They show me how a love can wait
Yet not how I shall be set free
From this world where one and all are baits.

Baits for fortune and making love;
Promises of love and luxury beds
That end up like a dying dove
With feathers white and dripping red.

Meander into dreamy moonlit shores
Where toes sink in sparkling sand
That turns out to be a dream once more
That banishes our sins to a faraway land.

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™

Papillon, paint me with your wings
Flutter near, color my heart of gray
With rainbow palettes and love to bring
That shall endure, come what may.

Somewhere ‘round the clock,
Papillon, you soared into my life.
In my parched heart, you were locked
Yet love and virtue were tied by strife.

Speak about the flowers of your past
And how you shared sweet affinities
Yet love me now, Papillon, for I am the last
To share with you, kisses, hugs, life, honey.

Sing me hymns of our burning dreams, intimacy
That against fervent tempests you and I fly fancy,
For whilst together, we conjure up a vow to bond…
…To love, Papillon, forever and beyond.

oOo


* Papillon – [páppə lòn, paàpee yáwN] French, “butterfly”


Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
08.31.09

The greatest gift your parents can give you is education.

To this, I cannot help but agree. Education is the magical elevator that will take us to places, and no one can deny that; unless anyone has ever been on Willy Wonka’s glass elevator, then who needs education right? But this is not the case. In spite of my steadfast agreement on the matter, one can only ride that elevator when he has earned the right to do so by climbing flights of stairs first. And mind you, it’s not as easy as it sounds.

Disclaimer: I know that some would say that it’s too early to say UP life is hard or easy or fun or lame considering I’ve only been an Iskolar ng Bayan for two months but I can honestly say that those two months has been the whirlwind of all whirlwinds and I am certain that more whirlwinds are to come. And this is the story of two months in the life of one fresh isko.

i. Promdi: transitioning from high school to college

I enrolled in UP Manila because of so many things, but not one of these things was the right reason. Among these reasons are the following; no dress code (yey!), it’s right in front of Robinson’s (what they call the campus mall), air conditioned rooms, and the beautiful ladies (even more yey!). The only thing I didn’t like is that UPM is grossly infested with stray cats which are unimaginably filthy. And so cutting the list short, I thought college life in UP was nothing more like HS in a de-uniformed level plus more cats, I did not think being an Iskolar ng Bayan would lay down surprising difficulties.

Obviously, I was wrong.

In the first days, I often walked into Rizal Hall with a perky attitude, seemingly ready and happy to encounter new things. I particularly enjoyed the welcoming programs where Indayog would usually perform. (that was about the only thing I looked forward to). Being a freshman, I wanted to remain optimistic and sprightly with my dealings throughout the four coming years. I was so excited to meet new people, learn new things and shop in Rob. *laughs

ii. Realizations commence

When the introductions, hi’s and hello’s were said and awkward first impressions were created alongside first petty conversations, it started to get a little bit serious. Stacks of photo copied reading materials fell onto our work list like heavy rainfall after a century of drought. I initially thought I was over and done with photoxed readings when I left HS behind when in fact I was about to enter Xerox heaven.

Combined with the threat of A(H1N1), the toxicity level of UP education was in an all-time high. This was truly unexpected. One of my professors even said that UP culture is definitely not easy, in fact, UP stands for Unibersidad ng Pagpapahirap, Pagsasakripisyo, Pagsusunog-kilay, Pagpupuyat at ng mga Pusa. And he, himself personified his definition of UP culture. Although I admit that he is an excellent professor, having mastered History better than anyone I know, he reaches a point where students cannot tolerate his habitual splurge of information overload any longer. He would’ve given us a firm foundation in History if he hadn’t been diagnosed with A(H1N1).

iii. The Manila Collegian

Not so long after getting acquainted with block mates and other people, the optimistic freshmen started sorting the organizations they can join, and which ones fit their interest. I had my eyes fixed on the prestigious Manila Collegian, the official publication of the University of the Philippines Manila. However, I hesitated to apply, as I questioned my own writing ability. Until one day, I was jostled in the MKule office by my block mate so that he would have someone to accompany him. So now after 5 hours of written exam and an hour-long interview, I am one of MKule’s news writers.

Originally being a features writer, I found it hard trying to adjust to the structured format of news writing. Technicalities aside, what really burdened me was the pressure of having academic activities on top of my news covers and vice versa.

Furthermore, conflicts arose with the fact that I am both a writer for an anti-government radical news publication and a transient resident of Malacanang Park. This issue is what worries my family the most, especially that my first news assignment was about the abduction of Sherlyn Cadapan and Karen Empeno, two UP students who were abducted by suspected military men sometime three years ago. Because of this subject, they are now asking me or better yet ordering me to finally quit. But I simply don’t want to.

All I really want to do is to write, because that is what I love to do and I’m passionate about it. I don’t mean to disrepute the government or PGMA or anyone for that matter, I just want to be able to do what I love to do but MKule’s “biased stand” as how my family would call it, is now hindering me from fulfilling my only active creative outlet.

I don’t know what to do. If only red fireworks that signal help would work on this, I would’ve already lit a whole crate of dynamites.

iv. A little brightening up

Despite so many things to bear in mind, I have come to appreciate the presence of my new found friends. They fill in the empty moments in between press work and academic labor with petty conversations and joke injections that are enough to make me realize that life is really like this. With just a little brightening up from them, I’d feel that everything is worth the hard work. This is the flight of stairs I have to climb to get to that magical elevator – the magical elevator that will take me to far places. And that was two months in my life as an iskolar ng bayan, so far.

Disclaimer for the disclaimer: UP life can never really be certainly described because it is everything of everything. It is here that an array of opportunities will present themselves to you and each one, a different experience. Holistic judgment will eventually prove to be futile.

After eating four endorphin-filled chocolate bars, one funny realization occurred to me about love just as I was about to type in the first word for this post; that everyone (this is not an exaggeration for the sake of literature, it’s simply true) I know made, makes and will make such a deplorable big deal out of heartbreaks and triumphal relationships alike. I realized too, that while we (yes, I admit, I am one of ‘everyone I know’) make such a serious issue out of something that could readily be talked about, analyzed and eventually resolved, we grow unappreciative of the life God gave us to utilize for spreading and sharing love with the world. One should also remember that the world doesn’t revolve around one love life only; we may only have one life, but love is ceaseless, love is infinite. There are many love lives in one lifetime. What if we face our own demons of selfishness and narcissistic philosophies about love? Would it hurt to think that although each of us has such disparate love experiences, my experience, your experience or anyone’s experience for that matter is just another love story? Just another love story among six billion more.

Not very long ago in a consecutive order brewed either by fate or purely the innocence of chance, I was both lucky enough to have the yet happiest day of my life and unfortunate enough to come face to face with the loneliest day I’ve experienced to date. And what came out of it was Yin and Yang. That is what I am most confused about. I was happy and sad for those two days and now I am happy and sad because of the realizations that surfaced before me. One story will finally end in this blog post and another will begin.

Now that my high school life is on the verge of being slid into the pages of my memories, I’ve had a chance to reminisce some moments in the past years. And this is where the real love story truly begins.

A little more than four years ago, being only twelve, chubby and expecting nothing from high school which I thought was an empty word that meant nothing than another four years of education, I fell in love. She had long curly locks of hair, and twinkly eyes that no little boy like me could resist. She had the voice of an angel and she smelled of winter, spring, summer and autumn put together. She was as exciting as the first snow crystal to touch the ground, as calm as the waters of spring, as colorful as the flowers of summer and as graceful as the falling leaves of autumn. (I will call her Hershey for the sake of censorship.)

Without any hint of inhibition, I told her what I felt. And Hershey did not react negatively, for which I was happy, perhaps more than how I was supposed to be. For the rest of the year, because I did not find the courage to talk to her, we exchanged hundreds and hundreds of SMS messages; a reason for me to fall even more.

In the sophomore year, I finally brought the barrier down and told her I loved her, and asked permission for courtship. She approved and even told me that I’d get a ‘yes’ when we enter our third year. That Christmas, I came across a girl from school online. (I shall call her Toblerone.) I told her of how crazy in love I was for Hershey and we shared quite a lucrative conversation. I always looked for her in the web and she was always there, ready to be talked to. When January came, after many nights in front of the computer talking to a girl I didn’t personally know, I forgot all about Toblerone.

I was eager to finally be in junior high as I was at last going to hear the ‘yes’ I’ve been waiting for. That year, Hershey refused to give her yes to me yet. It made my heart implode and my mind wandered off my senses. But it was okay because we had a special kind of relationship where feelings were exclusive and mutual. We spent the hours after classes in the backyard of our classroom, where I would usually serenade her with her favorite song that I especially learned to play for her; ‘Torete’. We would often talk about trivial things and worry about nothing at all. There were also times when there was nothing to talk about; there I was, sitting on that log beside her, staring at her, smiling and savoring our togetherness, while the afternoon breeze would make her hair sway. I was happy even though we weren’t together, that we were together. This may not be enough for other guys, but her presence alone was enough for me.

I thought nothing would go wrong, until everything went wrong. The twist of fate inverted our short-lived happiness. From out of the blue, a problem conjured up itself. Something drove her away from me, and that something was successful. I was like a helpless child deprived of his lollipop. It hurt me that she would rather be away from me, following something which should not even be given importance to in the first place if it tried to divest her of one of her sources of joy. I did everything to win her back. I even wrote a song for her, the first I ever made, but nothing ever worked. I never found out what the reason was. All I know is that I did nothing wrong apart from loving just a little too much.

I cried for such a long time. I had been immersed under a blanket of a seemingly endless sorrow, but when it actually ended, a feeling of anger infested my soul, my heart. It was an anger devoted to that something which drove my love away from me, which pushed me away from my love like a useless piece of crumpled paper. The anger never ceased to infest my mind. It even compelled me to hate the one I loved. After all, if she really cared for me, for the very least sense of the word, she would fight for my existence in her life. But she found that far too unconventional, so she didn’t, she resorted to giving up on me.

I tried my best to move on but I couldn’t even get as far as one step away. When that year was finally coming to a close, I decided to cut all media of communication I had with her. I deleted her cell phone number and acted as if she wasn’t even my classmate. I swept all the dirt under the rug, and hoped no one would notice. For five months, I had a steady life or maybe a neutral life, no worries and no excitement. That was until I got in touch of Toblerone from back in second year whom I talked to ever so eagerly every night that Christmas season. She helped me forget and she helped me forgive and I thank her for that. So, as soon as senior year dawned upon us, I got a hold of Hershey’s number and tried to reconcile with her. Unknowingly, as I conversed with her again, the feelings that I thought had withered out were awakened. Foolish as I was, I fell in love once more. This was when I found out that she loved me too, my love wasn’t unrequited; it was equally returned. By this time, I found myself very close to Toblerone and having an immense liking for her, but I ignored this, because the one I loved was finally with me once more but yet again, I was happy even though we still weren’t in an official yes-answered relationship; as Paulo Coelho would say, loving is not owning. If one owned the other, it would merely be power over possession which is wholly different from love.

I loved it when I kissed her cheeks and hugged her tight as if never letting go. I loved it when she would lean against me while I felt her warmth. I loved it when our hands were intertwined as if they were originally one. Finally I expressed my love for her in a mode other than words. However happy I was, I felt something was wrong. Although I was there with her, my mind frolicked upon the thought of losing her again, knowing that some people disapproved of us being together. The thought of those people thinking badly of me again haunted me. In turn, being with Hershey did not mean happiness alone, but fear, worry, and a heavy heart as well.

One weekend, I was with Toblerone and spent one whole afternoon talking about trifling things like Hershey and I did in the past, we’d both sometimes inject petty jokes and we shared barrels of laughs for hours. We went to a beach and sat on the sand. I followed the peaceful waves of the sea with my eyes as I stole occasional glances from Toblerone. I felt the roughness of the sand and the smooth, porcelain-like texture of her hand brushing into mine. I came to think about certain things. I realized that it was really the first time that I spent a day with someone who made me happy, just happy, not worried nor fearful of things that might happen, or might not happen. With her I felt as light as a feather, as carefree as a globe of dandelion. For the first time, I had felt something I hadn’t felt for a long time or perhaps something that I had never felt at all. It was the happiest day of my life.

The next day, Hershey was supposed to come over to our house and watch movies with me over scoops of ice cream but to my surprise, she suddenly cancelled our meeting and said “I am not going to bother you anymore. You deserve to be happy and I deserve to have a peace of mind.” Like what she did in the past, she gave up on me once again. For days, I pondered upon what she meant by happy, or peace of mind. It saddened me to think that what happened is happening again. It hit me harder this time around, I hoped again, but my hopes went nowhere but down the drain. It was the loneliest day of my life. She’s gone now. She’s never coming back. The four years of loving her and proving it to her is now shut in the previous chapter, fading into dust.

I was conversing with Toblerone when it all flashed before me.

I was lonely but then I realized, I wasn’t happy with Hershey anymore, I was merely desperately trying to save four years of loving her unconditionally. I realized, yes, I was in love but now, that so much has happened already, maybe I am just in love with the idea of being in love, which is unfair for me and for Hershey, especially that I was starting to develop a deeper feeling for Toblerone. Come to think of it, I experienced a greater deal of sorrow than happiness when I was with Hershey. I was caged in something that I thought was love, but was actually an obsession for love although it was love nonetheless, a love for love.

Now, Hershey and I are not sharing anything anymore. No SMS messages, no serenades, no conversations, no passionate hugs, nothing. In contrast to other stories, mine may not have a happy ending, but it doesn’t mean that I will not open a new book. After all, Hershey and I shared just another love story, and I have the rest of my life for more love stories, just waiting for the perfect one.

This is where my story with Toblerone begins; it might not be just another love story, but the story of true love. I just have to eat enough bars of chocolate so that I produce enough endorphin and love once more. Maybe I was just eating the wrong kind of chocolate, maybe, just maybe, Toblerone is the right one.