tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72371120924719134292024-03-05T11:36:58.503-08:00*verdadtrue manifestations of love, life, laughter and lamentzereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-89103767676311241302012-04-09T13:41:00.006-07:002012-04-09T14:14:30.096-07:00When It Ends, I Begin.<span style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLdPYei0ZOb0dO1bG42GfMpeylmIDuyMVkBDrASHCbwHUBcHNjbtd5ZWu3p2ppR3hNNUERexHjnGahnPjCzP616amKXO4C2_xhjbo_1nCO_tj0IWZwgwDe9g2x5M5YFi5uhtPv5HUwAh2/s400/419285_2990385131739_1625443698_2547813_486595530_n-tile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729504167003458626" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 128px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center; "><p style="text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; "></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 15pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><b><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">I remember my life in its moments.</span></b><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: 15pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><b><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">Through a staccato-ed montage of my favorite days.</span></b><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:11.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height: 15.0pt;background:white;vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">My memories are made up of little snippets of the most beautiful things I see when I look at the wind and listen to the sky. For the past six months, during my long hiatus from this journal, they were all I had. I lived in those moments.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:11.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height: 15.0pt;background:white;vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">This journey began when my dreams for happiness were born in this journal, exploited only to be an instrument to save a dying heart, a burning soul. The words I wrote were the wind that set sail to the ship towards that happy shade of blue. Why ever did I begin this journey at all is a question I have now deemed irrelevant. My ship has dropped its anchor on the happiest shade of blue there can be, a magnum opus of all human experiences.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:15.0pt;background:white;vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">It is true. When we reach our destination, we realize how the journey matters more because we know what it meant. It was meant to lead us somewhere. As I stand on this new ground, I face a different puzzle. I struggle trying to discover whether I have drifted away from</span><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; "> <i>what</i> </span><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">I used to be or just from</span><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; "> <i>where</i> </span><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">I used to be. And so while I am where I am now, I keep looking back, not towards where I came from, but to the expedition that brought me here.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:11.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height: 15.0pt;background:white;vertical-align:baseline"><span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">Look as far back with me in my staccato moments.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "></div><span style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tRt-J1AVtLrowLE19ogY-wEH892clytVZBJ3Lk9MFPgs245WL9VAj16MkWsQcDx-GuB_WZFMlVr5CnPnAD6D_QbOcYTup2zDI2q6micYQEYV0L8TIu0uWFziUk8FceSAi_a6MHlyKgb0/s400/387256_10150382029022057_616587056_8745058_1694395706_n-horz.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729506786396975442" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 192px; " /></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Berthold Auerbach said that music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. Mine was a soul covered with the dust of this world. To have hosted Rivermaya’s concert in Rock-rockan sa UP Manila provided me the venue to cleanse my soul with the reverberations of guitar strings, the beats of the drums and the harmony of song. It fulfilled two of my greatest passions in life - music and hosting. The dancing spotlights and energy on stage exploded with every strum made, with every lyric sung, with every cheer screamed out. That night, I celebrated the oneness I was about to have with peace.</span> </div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6GdviqPyiU05vBKqEoQkB4iP_q5EjqP3FwuG1hOBUtkU24BuuN0BzzX6SLcvGtKy9CORFC9uqYsMz7qJ6Syrh2AzXQVh53JsiGO14B2iWm6iu957LiXiWLPYY-ofsFZm-EM1x2R6VkK6/s400/akj2xg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729506791105126882" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 389px; " /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><div style="text-align: center;"><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; ">Salamin was only a vision once, a dream I had put off. Yet the journey I was on inspired me to revive my passion for the visual and performing arts. We shot the film for only three days followed by another two days of post production. It is a story that played with the philosophies behind family, friendship, love, betrayal and identity under the watchful eye of the society. Garnering ten out of eleven awards, it earned me some of my greater accolades in the past three years. Now, while the achievements sit somewhere on display like trophies, what I see looking back is the friendship that created this tour de force. The production staff was more than just a machine working to piece together a film. Sweat and tears and mental energy were put into this movie and wherever these elements of the labor of love met, we created a family.</p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; ">(Watch Salamin’s trailer <span style="border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent;"><b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=2319011340008&set=vb.1391268108&type=2&theater">here</a></b></span>.)</p></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cBa2YOwgorgUPp_l3YrbQB6YhgPHbVre5_Go41vKnZaPvp4j6MHmr_UVZl-ThE0uPaVQ7UHGbwUqlbReJvNJZNucqDxczsfVEsU1GQQDaw_ICWSETjllBh9kDWIEhTS3MHTFPCX5wo6J/s1600/mr+blp3-vert-horz.jpg" style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "></a><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 353px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cBa2YOwgorgUPp_l3YrbQB6YhgPHbVre5_Go41vKnZaPvp4j6MHmr_UVZl-ThE0uPaVQ7UHGbwUqlbReJvNJZNucqDxczsfVEsU1GQQDaw_ICWSETjllBh9kDWIEhTS3MHTFPCX5wo6J/s400/mr+blp3-vert-horz.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729506813195172914" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FszEIJIXH_k-MNu3a-iLbQoYiJYn__oGxAeraQTw7tZYCIlaPTEbR9D5G8D_2t0hzhMxHcrhpKCLuK0Wh1sbwX2QeMNNc3JcnWQEY_2dMZZoEk3lmzy_sfvh8iQCKL2KzQrm5cIQwQM_/s400/398778_3211321575012_539780079_n-horz.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729506800682190546" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px; " /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLdPYei0ZOb0dO1bG42GfMpeylmIDuyMVkBDrASHCbwHUBcHNjbtd5ZWu3p2ppR3hNNUERexHjnGahnPjCzP616amKXO4C2_xhjbo_1nCO_tj0IWZwgwDe9g2x5M5YFi5uhtPv5HUwAh2/s1600/419285_2990385131739_1625443698_2547813_486595530_n-tile.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9G011OVpewA_-4MTEiHMfrjHUNzE6iBTrI1XXg8T_5pPS17UtbuM8fhjMFLGdwLo8yy-_938cecE4xvv78e1dJkG0AuIxtQ5ms4hIDxJhQIxmP5BD083EKBQJvAOU5CWrNlZD2BKX0Eqs/s400/397639_201663609927115_197169957043147_393826_511539018_n-horz.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729506797177106754" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 317px; " /></a></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><div style="text-align: center;"><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; ">PRIME’s search for Mr. and Ms. BLP was a fundraising event organized by the four biggest universities in the Philippines; UST, ADMU, DLSU and UP. As a representative of the University of the Philippines, I did not battle against my contenders, I battled with my own demons. It was a competition to defeat my insecurities. It is both a joy and a pity to know how others believe in me more than I do. But being named Mr. BLP 2012 was something beyond me. I did not give my effort to win the title for myself but for the patients in PGH Ward 5 who suffered a multifold more than most of us. Many would say how events like this are but an exploitative agent that trivializes the worth of both sexes. However, dare I say, this ship sailed in its own way for a noble purpose. And with that purpose, I began to glide through my journey with a stronger oar. </p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; ">(Read Career Avenue’s article on Prime: The Better Life Project <span style="border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent;"><b><a href="http://www.careeravenue.com.ph/main_campus/campus-bulletin-40.html">here</a></b></span>.)</p></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNQLEcCXeDJnbXIcBuk95lcxIoLHJlImpccMRPEUWPElWZK9SKmReASBw3Q0syk2bxPrbjiWpxBMcrA0fjAIq0pZ4FqCfoKJlUYJLJgj4yH89FeTQlMknMjMIIsn7XjnsVSYPys2Xk4vp/s1600/419285_2990385131739_1625443698_2547813_486595530_n-tile.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 128px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNQLEcCXeDJnbXIcBuk95lcxIoLHJlImpccMRPEUWPElWZK9SKmReASBw3Q0syk2bxPrbjiWpxBMcrA0fjAIq0pZ4FqCfoKJlUYJLJgj4yH89FeTQlMknMjMIIsn7XjnsVSYPys2Xk4vp/s400/419285_2990385131739_1625443698_2547813_486595530_n-tile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729509507815376882" /></a></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; ">It is true. When we reach our destination, we realize how the journey matters more because we know what it meant. It was meant to lead us somewhere. As I stand on this new ground, I face a different puzzle. I struggle trying to discover whether I have drifted away from </span><em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; ">who</em><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "> I used to be or just from </span><em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; ">where</em><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "> I used to be.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; ">Right here, right now, in this happy shade of blue, marks the end of my journey and the beginning of another. I have gone far enough from where I used to be. I have looked back enough, It is time to look forward to discovering who I have become. I am not only the summation of those discontinuous moments. I am their product.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; ">I sail again, in search for who I yearn to be. In another journey that will be born out of a multitude of those staccato moments.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 20px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; ">And so, with these written words, let me begin. I am ready.</span></p></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-68316998935796588072011-11-09T12:04:00.000-08:002011-11-12T11:10:35.113-08:00Runaway Rendezvous<p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">Under the comfort of a ragged blanket she touched herself.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">For three long months she slept alone on a bed made for two, oftentimes with tears in her eyes. Each night, her thoughts courted with the agony driven by the hasty transition from past to present, like an unforeseen typhoon.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">Today she decided she has had enough. “<em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">I deserve to be happy,” </em>she tried to convince herself. With all the courage she can muster, she wore her best clothes and put on the smile that was reserved for someone else. She was uncertain. But she was determined.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">The rendezvous was thirty minutes away. She looked out the cab’s window and fondled with the bracelet she never wore. It was a gift, back when no such rendezvous as this one would have had to be made. Her loneliness hampered against her judgment that ultimately failed in rationality. But she would look at the driver every now and then, battling with hesitation in what she was about to do. But the ice in her heart sears with the desire to be melted away like frozen butter on a burning pan. She wondered if a sense of renewed tactility would be the heat that might light a fire in her heart again. She wanted to find out.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">In the corner of two streets that formed a cross, she waited for the guy she only met thirty days ago. She fidgeted with her pony tail and walked in little circles. He arrived with the failure of concealing the nervous look on his face, the same look the mirror gave her earlier today. He walked swiftly towards her, but kept his head down and his eyes on his feet. She stood in the middle of one of the circles she drew with her steps. She stood there, motionless, emotionless.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He led her to walk and she followed. Her steps were carried by the fortitude of tucking away the past into an eternal sleep. They walked together but they were not side by side. One was always ahead and the other, behind. She didn’t mind. She gazed at the people in the street, the lady selling cigarette by the stick, the traffic enforcer who was enjoying the lady’s cigarette, the students who laughed profusely at a sick joke. She wondered where she was in this sea of people.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">And then there it stood, a building that used to be green. </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He led her to walk and she followed. 307 were the numbers mounted on the door. The room was cramp and looked as if it had been used one too many times before. The restroom was no different from a toilet in one of those malls. The queen-sized bed supported a mattress that was covered with plastic which peeked from under the un-tucked bedsheet. </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He sat on the bed and she followed. He spoke of things she did not take interest in. When he was finally done, he turned off the lights and pecked on her lips. She closed her eyes and fiddled with the thought of finally detaching herself from what is already history. She started playing the game. </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">She thought that if she could displace the longing she still had flowing endlessly like a river in her heart, she could finally sway the loneliness that said hello each passing day. She thought that she could make her puppet move with no strings attached. But the four corners of that room, along with its dusty cracks and holes, were a testament to the indubitable fact that not even the strongest intensity of lust could overpower the love she still felt for the one that got away. With every kiss she gave, she waited for the taste of his lips. Every caress that ran down her body only led her to search for the warmth of his. She played with the beads on her bracelet upon realizing what she had just done.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">She went home and sat on her bed, contemplating on the afternoon’s events. She wanted to find out. And now that she had, she wished to have never been consumed by desperate curiosity. </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">She lay down on her bed with eyes wide open as tears of self-disgust cascaded through her cheeks. </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">She pulled her ragged blanket up over her head and hid from the world.</p>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-4613034383249518372011-11-03T08:56:00.000-07:002011-11-03T09:53:04.669-07:00Candies, Spice, Not Everything is Nice.<p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He knocked and hoped no one would answer.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He reeked of cheap perfume and waited outside her house on a rainy evening. He stared at the gate and wondered who has been here in his place, opening the gate for her, watching the flowers beside it grow. On his right hand, he held a bag that contained three jars of candy and a smaller bag of spice, as she had asked him to bring her some upon his arrival. His left formed a fist - his fingernails dug deep into his palm. He thought it would slow down his heartbeat. But his pulse only pounded even more as her mother opened the door and called out her name. He crossed the threshold where he was welcomed by her dogs that no longer knew who he was or what he was doing here. He has been away far too long.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">While the television set was right where it used to be, and the blue dining table still stood against the blank, beige wall, this was a visit made under a different circumstance. While the furniture remained the same, everything else was not without change. There, in an unaltered state of being, was an eerie atmosphere that did not welcome his presence.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">His knees trembled at the sound of her footsteps against the wooden staircase. He heard them too many times before. But tonight, as her dogs barked at the feet of a visiting stranger, her footsteps danced to a different beat. The thugs and thumps were slow and eternal. It was the beat he never wanted to hear.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">She emerged from the footsteps and looked at him in a way he could not decipher. He dared not look back. He wore a woolen shirt to keep the cold outside. However warm it kept his outsides, his heart froze like ice age in summer. He perspired relentless, cold sweat.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He held up his right hand to break the distance between them. He handed over the candies and spice like it was a business transaction, except nothing was exchanged. </p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">No distance was broken.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">As he finally glanced when he was about to say goodbye, he saw her as he remembers her by his side. She wore her boy shorts the way she always did and pulled her tank top so that he could see the belly that he missed.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He crumbled at the distance they kept.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">The deal was made, goods delivered. He imagined the look on her face as she blows and sips to ease the spice on her tongue. He hoped she liked the candy he brought. </p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">She walked back upstairs, repeating the steps she made with the same beat.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He said goodbye to her mother and walked away. Out the door. Out the gate. Into the rain that mingled with his thoughts. He walked on.</p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; ">He held no candy in his hands. </p>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-55750582251891786952011-10-31T12:13:00.001-07:002011-10-31T12:19:56.708-07:00Rock Steady<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_dyl8dhQyFm1bZI0wW-Ku5dpF07_xhaK5Dlemgtg4LWJg-j8K_kHyTUmDo4ItN6gREGCeagrS3o2ENV4VpWiGjL8EHiUzYbWqDU5cybILT7aJYMarLaS4RUGJw-KLIFRppW61gNp9B2k/s1600/22.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_dyl8dhQyFm1bZI0wW-Ku5dpF07_xhaK5Dlemgtg4LWJg-j8K_kHyTUmDo4ItN6gREGCeagrS3o2ENV4VpWiGjL8EHiUzYbWqDU5cybILT7aJYMarLaS4RUGJw-KLIFRppW61gNp9B2k/s400/22.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669736750718468994" /></span></a><div style="text-align: center;"><p style="text-align: center;outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "></p><p style="text-align: center;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><strong>We live in a world where nobody stays in one place.</strong></p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">The gravity of better education took me away from <em>Tabaco, </em>a town made of <em>sili </em>and <em>abaca </em>and<em> bolo's. </em>It has been three years since I left my hometown yet the pavements I now walk on still seem unfamiliar to me, I drown in the crunch of the Metro's footsteps. The aroma of hot chocolate and dried fish in the morning, the mist against my windowsill, the sound of swaying branches, the banter of the nearby river against the dike, my mother's voice as she calls me by a younger name, these are the things I long for each time I say good night.</p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">In the time that I have been here, I've been singing a happy song that only I knew about. Everybody sang along, nevertheless. But nobody really listened. The music lingered in the background like the echoing tremors of an unheard hymn. Fade.</p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">I visited the places I walked on a thousand times but the withered roads bid their greetings to a stranger. The four-inch footprints of that little boy has become a hard stomp on the floor. Could I have changed beyond recognition? </p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">Remember, through the eyes of that little boy, the rocks and stones gallop as he runs about in the backyard. He picks up a branch that fell from the mango tree and traces a maze on the soil that the wind blew away. He positions himself in, like a chess piece ready to take over a kingdom. With prudence, he puts one foot in front of the other on tiptoe, careful not to step outside. Three years ago, he solved the maze. I am back. How do I get back inside?</p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">I will leave for Manila again tomorrow with the uncertainty that this place will remember me as I keep it in my heart. </p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">Many times have I witnessed pictures of far places come to life. Ones that I used to just adore in elementary textbooks. I've trodden on the streets of people whose language I did not understand. Yet the streets I walked on as a child, young and free, they do not know who I am. </p><p style="text-align: justify;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; ">Farewell for now, <em>Tabaco. </em>The rocks that create the gravel of places under my feet are a monument to my journeys. You are one of them. But you are the rock that I can tell apart from the others. Yours are the scratches and texture etched in my memory, in my being. I will be going away but I will take you wherever I go.</p><p style="text-align: center;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><strong>You are my rock that remains steady.</strong></p><p style="text-align: center;font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "><strong>I am the hand that forms a fist around you.</strong></p><p></p></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-85021009158474866732011-10-30T11:35:00.000-07:002011-10-30T11:52:11.820-07:00Some Spice in the Cold<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7K3F0u8o9Qd6amXz3wCh_PPjQ1SHxjNYJ7ZchPHd6dYhkUGeJITrcKMsdyVXNhoSWfZDqF2XY2KisqEeZ61Md0zkc6_eNST05w4weYPFAP0eoJjdBgnMYBLNzcfvq8wdSVM4T8rEclSBs/s400/_MG_1972.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669356344463428114" style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"></span><div><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Two hours brought me back to my childhood, back when hide and seek and <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">langit lupa </em>were the talk of the town. The giant <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">sili</em>atop the waiting shed by the curving road in <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Camalig</em> is still as red as when I was three feet smaller. I can still taste the ice candy Daryl and Cindy used to buy for me. It dripped of maroon water.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">My uncle’s home is filled with love and modesty born by hanging paintings and white statues he made himself. By the porch, the wooden table is surrounded by older men, a glass of rum and melting ice on one hand and long, red cigarettes on the other. Their wives are confined in the little dining room, preparing spicy food, engaging in the urgency of chat. The children run around in the garden where the statues’ backs serve as a hiding place. In all their faces, blood-rushed, alcoholic cheeks are plumped with laughter, happiness in sharing gossip make their eyes flutter and powdery sweat are ignored by mirth. We were young once. We enjoyed this time of the year as the little kids do now.</span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggTdIx-sHcr6YMf8m-xjigYsPAKAm7tZIcxN_B3wrx4hcRzJGJxeYGBRxYVDy7v8DKW7aEzkqNgDibuk7lRbvh05ARUZZfS90Hfe02_eTBJ9AAThRK2_Alv7Y1DAHgkBoqE2vd_INiLrnz/s400/_MG_2044.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669357031204238498" style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YsJMaWkLrLSzBkfZKNIhHHivYpTuvVPhf5zYodkNw-o9ncg6x3Q3EMDI5NXZ5CTOQpnXU3tkWmN2xi1ejRbmwMcOmwxGCEAJ_qKM2kEjEzY5PSv5COorMsgGWEs1s_AZ3FmLoP51UYpI/s400/_MG_1978.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669357032843848370" style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></div><div><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The sky has told its tale and changed with our metamorphosis. We see the slow blinks and stutter of the stars. We give her light from our skyscrapers and electric flashes of luminous bulbs. She will give us light where the giant <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">sili </em>testified as a witness for many deaths.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We unfurl from the cocoon of innocent youth. We form another circle, one with edges and the discontinuity that age brings to happiness. We play a different game and clasp a different kind of candy between our fingers. We laugh with deeper humor. We cry about something more than a scrape on the knee. We change. We discover. We see not only night and day, we see the dawn and dusk.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">You and I may have changed and buried our younger selves under the soil of memory only nostalgic reminiscence could dig up but the conjunction between you <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">and</em> I will never <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">ever</em> die. The <em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">we</em> in you and me - that will never change. The stars will tell this story to the moon, and the sky to the sun, the sunshine to the world. We change in the vicinity of change-less in-betweens.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP04uhz9h3lGqAPzKEPoWVp3X_bytJLGs_pEUswRoz8tmPadSvAoDWuKNtB13uQ-PY5fCg7BBNGtmv-19b-toQyZS6RHAKbL0-8n9gL3x6hvJHBox_pFqGqFAvAvwQK5tjhV7It5uTaN8r/s400/page.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669357624485903954" style="text-align: justify;font-size: 16px; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We are family.</span></strong></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span">You are my spice in the stinging cold.</span></strong></p></div><p></p></div></div></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-50831539226418336062011-10-29T07:48:00.001-07:002011-10-29T07:50:58.947-07:00Cumulus.<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jsYgjwUeOGoFc3WmckMyelSugy1qAI0lEzVGspvUv-meQDloRZQkEwrq4_20NsNsTaa8yWpINwAkW0_MqZ-KaRsEZyLN2MD_2tNjkWZJ0uQedGc03_x4IV62LQnMrAHPns42-M3E3AAv/s1600/298164_2178502435179_1625443698_2163122_5896869_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jsYgjwUeOGoFc3WmckMyelSugy1qAI0lEzVGspvUv-meQDloRZQkEwrq4_20NsNsTaa8yWpINwAkW0_MqZ-KaRsEZyLN2MD_2tNjkWZJ0uQedGc03_x4IV62LQnMrAHPns42-M3E3AAv/s400/298164_2178502435179_1625443698_2163122_5896869_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668926086149612642" /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></a><div style="text-align: center;"><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; "></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; ">I’ve been </strong><em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">(trying)</em><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; "> sleeping with a cloud above </strong><em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">(and under and beside and at the bottom of)</em><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; "> my bed.</strong> </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; ">These are the days I force myself to sleep just as the roosters cackle their good mornings. The nights before are spent awake in a palpable mirage of red, yellow and blue on a telly’s screen. Nothing really is to be seen. I skip and stop and flip through channels that only underline the thoughts of a bedridden insomniac. My body settles with disconnected strings of lethargic cries for help. I think of you.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Somewhere behind those cotton candy clouds and rays of spotted sunshine, I swim with the breeze and hope I resurface with the sight of your feet in the sand. Rewind. These are the days I force myself to sleep. I willingly (</span><em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">weakly)</em><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "> refuse to a speeding army of bullets through my sternum lest they leave their shells in there forever. But you held your loaded pistol and aimed. Do not ask me to say my last words because I’ve seen it scraped and </span><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">battered</span><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "> in movie scenes. Let me dance to the rhythm of the wind and waving branches. I told you, I have a love affair with the world. The universe roots for my existence. Yet to be is not to be without you. But again, like incompatible jigsaw pieces, you are not to be with me. Oh Shakespeare, for the love of letters and sonnets of defeat why must you let me drown in an apathetic air?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">I shift to my side, I find my position. I feel the blood rushing through the veins in my eyes. They tell me to hush now and rest my sight. But I don’t close my eyes because there’s too much color in darkness. Out the corroding white window, I peer at the darker sky, the moon is bruised and the stars are hiding behind those clouds. Theirs is a refuge I want to call mine. I reveled on the thought that you were the only thing I had. Or were you everything I had?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Feathered pillows travel across my body where yours used to be. Let me take a deep breath for I can still smell the musky fragrance on your skin. I rub my feet against each other like two rocks to start a fire. They barely create friction. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">I feared this moment would come, when you’d finally rest your finger on that trigger and pull. But I love despite fear. So then, shoot me.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">I turn the telly off and the colors are reduced to black. I lie still and awake. I cannot see the ceiling. The clouds above my bed are painting pictures of white and blue. “Hello Mr. Cumulus, tell me what is to come. Tell me what it is you are preparing me for. I wake and sleep with the sight of you. Tell me now. Tell me tomorrow. Tell me everyday.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; font-size: 14px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">I sleep as the sun awakes and splatters colors into the sky. I sleep.</span></p><p></p></div><div><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "></span></p><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; text-align: center; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jsYgjwUeOGoFc3WmckMyelSugy1qAI0lEzVGspvUv-meQDloRZQkEwrq4_20NsNsTaa8yWpINwAkW0_MqZ-KaRsEZyLN2MD_2tNjkWZJ0uQedGc03_x4IV62LQnMrAHPns42-M3E3AAv/s1600/298164_2178502435179_1625443698_2163122_5896869_n.jpg" style="text-align: left; " onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrhBszu9QEipVLonM6u17mPAQdVmPeEQufACE03NHu5ymeYqo8Vf98ObsvUSq2eFJsfYNWivsqvbUxhT8h1jJQFCV3cmen7oMeOxqfcFJpkAb5dDstqZaZWUmnuUJtwcpiTBrIajVF-he/s400/jethro.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668926321600575346" style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></a></span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; text-align: center; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">I still hear that gunshot inside my head. It deafens my heart.</span></strong></span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; text-align: left; "></div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-91304409217666933222011-10-29T07:46:00.001-07:002011-10-29T07:47:53.938-07:00Wallflower.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnY9MVnUzuXAIeUiQkOm-5pSGhvzlVZH_itlxwx1QQ686REvxPMhZb2rffBFxjqHInPkEzFML1HVLHPejWsaebsxip6aGbQB6UgLAWX1b1IK3iwCGuqG6yRXiknflOmv375WsKHTnuvK0/s1600/TUMBLR.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnY9MVnUzuXAIeUiQkOm-5pSGhvzlVZH_itlxwx1QQ686REvxPMhZb2rffBFxjqHInPkEzFML1HVLHPejWsaebsxip6aGbQB6UgLAWX1b1IK3iwCGuqG6yRXiknflOmv375WsKHTnuvK0/s400/TUMBLR.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668925767609923506" /></a><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">The spotlight has lost its heat. Even when the flash of incandescent rays slices into the night, it still feels cold and I can sense my bones going rigid. As I sleep, I shrug away the creeping hand of seclusion while I am still able. I roll myself like a contortionist or a tongue-knotted stem of cherry to utilize whatever body heat is left in me. I wake up dreamless and get out of bed. I go on living life’s deceptive tricks that turn us into robots in an endless routine of playing roles. But in between these little scenes, I still find myself in dear-old-I-love-life moments. And somehow, that keeps me going. </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">They say part of keeping good memories is having the courage to miss those moments. And forever, there will be a little bit of longing hidden away in my pocket and it rests just beside those gloomy clouds before the thunderstorm. But I had to be a phoenix and rise from the ashes which you reduced me into. While these new wings are stronger, I see no place to perch on since you’ve been gone. You may call me your foundling phoenix. </p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">Everyday I walk along and across roads and halls and pavements. People glance once in a while but all I see is an unfamiliar hospitality, like such gesture is a national mandate for Filipinos or schoolmates or people of the same citizenship. I put my earphones on and play my least favorite song and try to watch the world as it turns. It turns slowly. It opens up slowly. And while my playlist shuffles my music, I see different notes and melodies in these people’s eyes. Many stories are told by their clothing and companion. As if drifting into a massive black hole, I fall oblivious to time, hypnotized in a continuum of passersby who has written stories in the book across that dimming sky. In the existence of these profiled strangers, I forget my own. But my music is still playing and my phoenix-wings are still burning its scarlet plumage, hungry, in heat for another flight across time and space and endless skies. No one is there to see, or even notice.</p><p style="text-align: justify;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">I see everything in wide angles and beyond silver screen frames. Would you care to take a look at me? Listen to the songs I hate, and hate them too. Hold my hand when I have no pen to pour out the weight I have inside. Touch me when I feel too calm and lifeless. The stories I have seen has diminished me into a hard block of ice, and all i could do is see. Melt me.</p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">I am your wallflower. </p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; word-wrap: break-word !important; color: rgb(79, 79, 79); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">I want to feel infinite too.</p>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-15796322111455872432011-10-29T07:43:00.000-07:002011-10-29T07:46:13.259-07:00Here's to All Things New and Sparkly and Re-polished old Belongings<div style="text-align: justify;">I keep old photographs and dog-eared letters inside my plastic treasure box, along with little stuffed animals and the things we shared. While you took my heart with you when you left, I found it lying lifeless on the gutters of solitude. And this is where I was born again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-weight:bold;"><div style="text-align: center;">Ready. </div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The stars didn’t twinkle like tantalizing christmas lights anymore. They turned on and off like a dying fluorescent lamp. And Mr. Sunshine bid no greetings in the morning. In its place, I saw only the dark sky and raindrops falling like needles on my skin. Tears were shed with movies that remind me of you and I, and the places we never saw and the long bus rides we took together. We were supposed to see the world. But our world ended right in the middle of our journey, which sent me crashing against a wall of bricks. Helpless and alone.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Set.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thoughts meander restlessly in this little space I have atop my head. Were you going back? Perhaps this is all a big joke. But no, no it wasn’t. It was a little more serious than Joker saying he’s out to kill Bruce Wayne. But unlike Joker, you really did kill Bruce Wayne. Somewhere along these thoughts, a hole in the sky’s crowd of clouds had appeared and some piece of the sun glared at me. I liked it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Go.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am never going to use umbrellas on sunny days again. They shield me from seeing the world; the birds, the falling leaves, the blue sky that slowly turns scarlet when the sun falls asleep. Still the dawn of you is slowly passing by and it would be a lie to say that I reside in a corner void of melancholy because you’ve become who I was and letting go of you would have meant letting go of who I am. But life is different now. You became the footprints in the sand that I left behind and like other dreadful memories, the footprints drifted into the sea as its waves swept you away from me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I may be walking alone in a vast space of the harmonious play of come and go and in-betweens but I have a love affair with the world. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">~~~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I open my plastic treasure box and re-read your letters. I put them aside and admire with a certain kind of nostalgia the passion you enclosed with the little presents you gave me. I shed one last tear and hide them all away again for there is more to come. Tomorrow I’ll wake up with the unique fragrance of school supplies in June. Tomorrow, I create something new, experience something new. And you will stay in that treasure box forever, and perhaps, beyond. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I take one last look behind and walk ahead, eager for all things new and sparkly, while carrying re-polished old belongings that may aid me in the new journey I will take.</div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-76469356666463729552010-06-21T05:57:00.001-07:002010-06-21T06:19:05.369-07:00Hindi na MaalalaGumising ako sa sinag ng araw<br />Nilinis ko ng tubig ang aking mukha<br />at tumitig sa salamin, nasilayan ay ikaw<br />Kahapo'y hawak mo ang kanyang larawang<br /> pag-ibig mo ang lumikha...<br /> <br />Hinangin ng pagaspas ng pakpak ng paru-paro<br />Ang isang libo't isang kulay sa larawang<br />Binubuhay ng dalawang damdaming naglalaro<br />Ngunit ang hawak mo'y mahigpit<br /> at ang titig mo'y kanya lamang...<br /><br />Di mawari ang iyong labis na pighati<br />Sa bawat sulyap, sa bawat haplos, sa imaheng<br /> hindi naman kumikilos...<br />Subalit sa bawat luhang pumapatak,<br />Ang paru-paro'y lalong pumapagaspas<br /> sa likod mo'y may nagmamahal, ang pahiwatig...<br /><br />Umiimbay ang aking kamalayan sa iyong<br /> pagbabalik<br />Na tila ba'y ang aking puso'y kinikiliti<br />At ang aking labi'y hinihimlayan ng iyong halik<br />Pantasya man, kung kahapo'y iisipin<br /> batid kong sa alaala, ang lubos na<br /> pag-ibig ay nagwawagi...<br /><br />Ang mga luha'y inihipan ng makukulay na pakpak<br />Sabay tumulo ang huli sa larawang<br />lumuwag na ang iyong hawak...<br />Sa paghaplos ng huling luha sa haba ng larawan,<br />Uminog muli ang mundong iyong kinagisnan...<br /><br />Ang paru-paro'y patuloy na pumagaspas,<br />At sabay sa iyong pagyurak sa larawang nilimot<br />Ay ang pagbitiw sa alaala sa litratong kumupas<br />Sa wakas, ay binaling sa aking mga mata<br /> ang iyong tingin ng walang pag-iimbot...<br /><br />Lumipad ang paru-paro at dumapo sa<br /> isang bagong kaban ng kayamanan<br />Dito'y unti-unting umusbong nag bagong umaga<br />Kung saan ang alaala'y hindi lamang<br /> maitatatak sa larawan<br />Kundi sa bawat pahina ng ating buhay<br /> na ikinukuwento ng bawat pagbagtas<br /> ng aking pluma...<br /><br />Ang tubig ay muling bumuhos mula sa gripo<br />At binanlawan ang mukhang nadungisan ng kahapon<br />Ngunit ngayong umaagos ang mga katagang<br />mahal kita mula sayong puso<br />Hindi ko na maalala na ang larawang<br />iyon ay may puwang pala noon...<br /><br />Muli, ako'y humarap sa salamin<br />Ngayo'y nasilayan ang sariling imahe at ang iyo<br />Habang binabaybay ng ngiti ang ating mga labi<br />Ang kamay mo'y di na dumiit sa litrato<br /> kundi sa kamay ko...<br />At sa ating pag-isa ay ginagabayan tayo<br /> sa paglipad ng mga paru-parong<br /> makapangyarihan kahit munti...<br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br />06.21.10zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-90953281448205146832010-03-22T07:10:00.000-07:002010-03-22T07:13:50.213-07:00Of Dreams "Who Am I?"Perez, Jethro C.<br />2009-57080<br /><br /><br />Who am I? I want to be a published writer. I want to be a photographer. I want to be a painter. I want to be a theater actor. I want to be a singer. I want to be a precision gun shooter. I want to be a news anchor. I want to be the perfect guy for the one I love.<br /><br />If our hopes and dreams were to be the criteria of defining and ascertaining who we really are, I could have been multi-personified by now. Much to my dismay, the latter statement is nothing but just another burning dream, another mighty hope. <br /><br />Delving into the profundity of self-definition would take deep introspection so I might as well dig into my biological data foremost. <br /><br />Jethro was the name picked out for me by my father, a gunsmith who got my name from a shop that sells guns, gun parts and hunting goods. He runs a custom gun shop, named OJP Precision Gun Shop, inside the walls of Malacanang Park. His soldier friends and personal friends like to call him Oralsky but his birth name is Oral Robert R. Perez. Personally, however, he likes to be called Kid because that’s what my mom calls him.<br /><br />My mother, Dreamrose, stays at home to tend to the house and her orchid garden whose flowers still came from my late grandmother. <br /><br />I am the third and youngest among three siblings. My eldest brother Joeseth Jan, having graduated from the University of the Philippines Diliman, now holds a commendable position in one of the nation’s most respected pharmaceutical companies. Jared Ken, the middle child, is currently a graduating student in the University of Santo Tomas. <br /><br />The three of us grew up and learned about life in the modest city of Tabaco, just southwest of the Bicol region. Each morning, what greeted us was the perfect cone of Mayon and the bright blue sky that accompanies beneath it, chirping birds. I spent a childhood with genuine simplicity. Instead of expensive toy cars, we pulled behind us little wooden cars knotted with nylon ropes. My brothers and I used to trace tracks in our wide backyard and follow the trails like a maze. I remember making improvised tunnels on our beds using a wide blanket and an electric fan. My brother and I had so much fun going in and out of it just because it amused us.<br /><br />One time, the three of us made an amateur movie starring my toys. We called our production, the triple ‘J’. I remember how I used to be so amazed that we made a movie with my toys playing our real-life roles. Kuya Jay-Jay, my eldest brother was the director, Kuya Ken was the set designer and I was the producer because I provided the toys. The memory of that day still makes me smile and feel euphoric until now.<br /><br />As time went by, each brother went off to Manila for college education and the days became a little more vacant. <br /><br />The question of education has been serious for me from the very beginning. In kindergarten and grade school, I coerced myself to always get high grades and ended up graduating as the valedictorian. In high school however, I seemed to have lost the drive, the enthusiasm. Maybe because, it was the first time I fell in love.<br /><br />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. It felt good to love but when it starts to get complicated, the pain sears as much as the love burns.<br /><br />But that was not only what happened in high school. This is where I developed my interest in writing, public speaking and the performing arts. I won writing contests and performing arts competitions alongside debate contests. These things are what diverted my attention from academics.<br /><br />Fortunately still, I was lucky enough to pass the UPCAT and now I am studying BehSci in UPM. Although it is in my plans to transfer to Diliman to fulfill my calling in the field of Broadcast Communications, I would never forget the roller coaster ride I embarked on in UPM.<br /><br />It is here that I loved again, felt pain again, failed again, won again. And for these experiences, I am grateful as it made me even a little wiser.<br /><br />Now, who am I really? I never believed that I was special, just that I can do special things. Maybe it is the extension of you that defines who you are. And what you do, what you feel is what extends you, not your favorite Starbucks drink, nor your daily allowance, not even your physical appearance. It is your inner self that makes you, you.<br /><br />Yes, I do write. I write about what I feel, about love, life and its many nooks and crannies. I love how words entwine like thread in a cloth to form something grand. Yes, I do take pictures. Behind each one is a story, even vanity. I photograph people, the world. Yes, I have painted once and it felt like I was creating life. Yes, I do act onstage. It allows me not to play a superficial role but to momentarily become a person wholly different from who I am. Yes, I had been the radio news anchor for my school. I loved to speak and this I have no reason why. Yes, I pulled a trigger once and the adrenaline that rushes through my veins gives me an empowering feeling. <br /><br />And yes, I have loved and have been loved. I have fallen out of love and have been left behind. But no, I cannot say that I am perfect because I am simply not. It is my goal, though I am not perfect, to do the perfect things for the one I love.<br /><br />Lastly, I would like to say that life can never be defined. Everyday is an opportunity to discover something about yourself or even, a chance to totally transform. I would hate to defeat the purpose of this paper but the way ‘I’ think, it is inevitable. Who I am today may not be who I am tomorrow. <br /><br />In the end all that has been said takes me back to the same question, who am I?<br /><br />I would like to settle with, dreamer. I am a dreamer.<br /><br />note: this was my paper for Psych 101 answering the question who am i.zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-62989084899060703532010-03-22T07:09:00.000-07:002010-03-22T07:10:07.488-07:00FADENovember 26, 2009<br /><br />Last night I dreamt of walking by the sea, and the sun was shining so brightly like never before... in the dream I was a young child still so small, probably five, walking alone through a stretch of rocky shores… when I looked back, though, I saw a crowd of people waving at me with big smiles on their faces… but sharper in my vision was the rocky shore, accentuated by big jagged rocks that sparkle as the waves of the sea pounded them… when I continued forward, my foot trampled on a loose seaweed… making me fall flat on the bed of rocks… <br /><br />Next thing I knew I could only see blue and a tad bit of green… and taste salt… i was still immersed in the water… I slowly stood up, took a deep breath, removed the sand from my hair and suddenly felt a stinging pain on my right arm… when I took a look, I saw blood and lacerated skin… and I looked back again to ask for help from the crowd of people… but they were gone… <br /><br />I looked at myself and realized I wasn’t a child anymore… I was a grown man twenty years older… in the distance now; I could see a dark cave that oddly seemed to welcome me… I walked and walked through the rocks with blood dripping from my arm, mixing with the crystal blue seawater… I observed how my blood would combine with the water and saw my feet bleeding as well... but I kept on walking towards the cave… when I entered the cave, it was pitch black… and I could see nothing at all… <br /><br />I continued to walk until walking just seemed to have no sense anymore, yet the pain of my wounds got even more intense… I felt as if I was fading away, into the darkness… away from those happy people… away from that bright sun… into the pit of nothingness, of void, of pain… soon enough, I became one with the dark emptiness of the cave… and then I woke up. <br /><br />I checked my phone… It was 6:42 am. I was late for my Psych 101 class again… <br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br />11.26.09zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-9752346119646314232010-03-22T07:07:00.000-07:002010-03-22T07:08:42.780-07:00Starry Dreams of Love and RoyaltyI looked on high beyond the clouds<br />That sashayed in the dreamy night.<br />A blinding flickering light was what I found<br />And a love for the star that shone so bright<br /><br />She danced with grace in the evening skies<br />And glimmered close, to come in my reach<br />She captured my heart with a starlight smile<br />And her stardust lay on my love-filled cheeks<br /><br />Let me not wake if this is a dream<br />Or if I depart from this wondrous slumber, I’ll make it real<br />For in my kingdom, love is a forever-flowing stream<br />And she is my star, my loving queen.<br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br />12.15.08zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-10224766476616304452009-10-09T03:40:00.000-07:002009-10-09T03:50:47.961-07:00Phoenix<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaLiu849O8QgHl9hChPfwhmh8yxU-V9wWRfxb0-VXl_-b3Zsfew1Cd815dUC_Aiw1hhLUZp2aKXD-tUJwjSlFqiYmB3V4GOw1fLtEgPeWg9WUxVOzNj_4WKYjLPpxrew3HeoRBFIDfmj5/s1600-h/Copy+%282%29+of+untitled.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaLiu849O8QgHl9hChPfwhmh8yxU-V9wWRfxb0-VXl_-b3Zsfew1Cd815dUC_Aiw1hhLUZp2aKXD-tUJwjSlFqiYmB3V4GOw1fLtEgPeWg9WUxVOzNj_4WKYjLPpxrew3HeoRBFIDfmj5/s400/Copy+%282%29+of+untitled.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390550743145840114" border="0" /></a><br />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<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br /><br /><br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-20740610406723903742009-10-09T03:25:00.000-07:002009-10-09T05:39:35.196-07:00The Doom of the Night and a Heart's Light<span style="font-size:130%;">by Joanna Adul and Jethro Perez</span><br /><br />Damsel: What are you doing at this time of night?<br /><br />Knight: Staring at the glaring light of my phone<br />As it illuminates my face and fingers…<br />Amidst the space of darkness that covers the night<br /> And the melancholy that lingers…<br /><br />Damsel: What is it, then…<br /> That troubles the river of your thoughts…<br /> That keeps you stranded…<br /> Away from rest?<br /><br />Knight: It is the doom of void and solitude<br /> That haunts the light in my heart…<br /> And little by little, dimmer, it becomes…<br /> Fading into nothing but just another body part…<br /><br />Damsel: Knowing there is void<br /> Only means there is something to fill it in…<br /> This ache of the heart, the melancholy of the night,<br /> They won’t last long, believe me they won’t…<br /><br />Knight: And with your words,<br /> Oh damsel of the night…<br /> The void, the solitude are rescinded with might…<br /> And flickering once more, my heart’s light…<br /><br />Damsel: To have shed some light<br /> On your dimming road of life,<br /> I am deeply delighted…<br /> Young man of plights…<br /><br />Knight: How momentously ironic, the twists of life…<br /> For once in a story, ‘tis a lovely lass<br /> Who saves the knight in his strife…<br /> And for this I give my thanks to the damsel<br /> Who cast out my worries and said that they wouldn’t last…<br /><br />Damsel: ‘Tis an overrated tale,<br /> The story of the mighty knight…<br /> For the damsel is not merely an ornament<br /> But the strength behind the light…<br /><br />Knight: Always and forever, shall it be true<br /> That the secret behind the strength<br /> Of this knight’s shining armor…<br /> Is the grace, the wit, the heart of the damsel in you…<br /><br />Damsel: For keeping the knight’s strength is what damsels do…<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">oOo<br /></div><br /> And with two smiles, this night ends…<br /> As the knight and the damsel slumber into a world of dreams,<br /> Made alive by fantasies that never bend…<br /> And life shines brighter than the sun’s beams…<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br />10.08.09<br /></div><br /><br />Note from the writers:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> 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]<br /><br />*Poexting – (n.) [Poext (v.)] Exchanging text messages in verse form that eventually leads to the creation of a poem… :)<br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">http://zereporthej.blogspot.com<br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-91987328284959740292009-10-03T02:57:00.000-07:002009-10-03T03:11:42.783-07:00Those Empty MomentsHere again, I write<br />In an empty moment<br />Void of mirth and delight,<br />With only my burning torment<br />To linger in my presence, contrite...<br /><br />Here again, I curse<br />Hating those empty moments<br />When I don’t have anything to do<br />Loathing time’s stinging silence<br />It makes me think of you…<br /><br />Those empty moments<br />They make me think of you<br />How you laugh and cry<br />And as I have nothing else to do<br />To love you more I try…<br /><br />Yet a change in you, I sense<br />I love you, you used to always say<br />When I suffer through these moments<br />And the agony would go away<br />I remember you, I, you’ve forgotten…<br /><br />No longer do I feel your passion<br />Nor do I see your eyes’ fervor<br />No longer do I sense your emotion<br />Gray now, what used to be in color<br />Your words now, devoid of affection…<br /><br />Here again I hope and dream<br />For your love again to be ablaze<br />And mine to be an echoing hymn<br />Together, we’ll embark on love’s maze<br />And this emptiness I feel, a myth, it will be deemed..<br /><br />But until then, here again I stay<br />Bearing these empty moments in silence<br />Till love comes back in your way…<br /><br />ZEREPORTHEJ™<br />10.02.09zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-36327788748821798692009-10-01T23:42:00.000-07:002009-10-02T00:19:51.865-07:00Those empty moments and the thoughts they give birth to<div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Someone once told me, “<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Love is a matter of heart over mind…</span></span>”<br /><br />I trust and believe you, but that does not need any saying anymore. I feel it now.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-16072315353930281382009-09-29T04:43:00.000-07:002009-09-29T05:06:23.396-07:00Electric Fan<div style="text-align: center;">A crescent emerges.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The heat<br />Of the night intensifies<br />And pierces a sleeper’s soul<br />That slumbers<br />As metal starts to spin.<br /><br />Rays of thunder<br />Wave in copper<br />Birth<br />Of wind, of breeze,<br />Of lullaby.<br /><br />Time moves in speed<br />And sand appears<br />In twins of<br />Black and white,<br />Orb and circle.<br /><br />Impregnation of<br />Imagination.<br />Visions of color<br />Of life, of death<br />Of smiles, of horror.<br />Unborn.<br /><br />Lucidly immobile<br />Yet the spirit traverses<br />And the mind at rest<br />Flowing in a journey<br />Fate controls.<br />Until cheese<br />Sinks in deep ocean.<br /><br />Yellow lights appear,<br />Render time in slow motion.<br />And gust of blades<br />In a click, fades.<br />Metallic wind halts<br />Eternity passes in legless steps<br /><br />A new day dawns<br />Yet in vain will be the wait<br />When the crescent emerges<br />Once more,<br />And metal sings a lullaby<br />In a sleeper’s favored moment<br />When feathers and cotton<br />Caress his soul<br />And loud whispers of wind<br />Rid his mind<br />Of pain, of strain.<br /><br />And embarks<br />In the same journey<br />Through ecstasy<br />As spinning metal<br />Lulls him deeper into slumber<br />Where reality is simply,<br />Unreal.<br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD5wXmt29n0IDWMEDCYIBnbUX-m2XRGQf4UHrM2KbGTwR15Wd5-ah_HncGEaWZXfwI_BRMV5c_WtYllIqzwcto1F5H7-F03_es2loJg_kgivcbl1pxxexRS74EY94as0XFIBubsjsGCNO/s1600-h/3085020258_034f4a6f92.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD5wXmt29n0IDWMEDCYIBnbUX-m2XRGQf4UHrM2KbGTwR15Wd5-ah_HncGEaWZXfwI_BRMV5c_WtYllIqzwcto1F5H7-F03_es2loJg_kgivcbl1pxxexRS74EY94as0XFIBubsjsGCNO/s400/3085020258_034f4a6f92.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386858713903376402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-19164764359640471702009-09-22T21:42:00.000-07:002009-09-22T21:44:55.383-07:00I Wish, NeverI wish to have never met you<br />…to have never felt <br />your sweet embrace<br />…to have never tasted <br />your kiss’ brew<br />…to have never seen your smile,<br /> it stays<br />…to have never held <br />your hand too <br />…to have never fallen <br />into your eyes’ gaze<br /><br />I wish to have never spent <br />those times with you<br />…to have never shared <br />romantic conversations<br />…to have never gone <br />to our rendezvous<br />…to have never glanced <br />at happiness’ deceptions<br /><br />I wish to have never heard <br />those three words<br />…to have never said <br />I love you too<br /><br />I wish time turns <br />and shift the course of fate<br />For now I know <br />it cannot be<br />If your heart <br />is still not free<br /><br />So understand <br />if I wish for these things<br />‘Cause your past’s lament <br />is all I see<br />And every time you say <br />his name it stings<br />I can do nothing<br />he’s immortal in your memory<br /><br />I wish I was able to have been <br />the one in your heart<br />…to have felt <br />your love completely <br />…to have been the one, <br />from your mind to never part<br />…to have been the one <br />you speak of so frequently<br />…to have been the one <br />you loved from the start<br />…to have been the one <br />simply…<br /><br />I wish to have never heard <br />those three words<br />…to have never said <br />I love you too<br />…to have never believed <br />it’s true<br /><br />I wish these wishes <br />would come true<br />So that to him I’d be able<br />To give you back<br />And no longer <br />will you be blue<br />I’d still be here<br />As a friend, in fact<br />Still loving you…<br /><br />If that falling star <br />answers my wish,<br />with him you’ll be happy <br />beyond forever,<br />only then will my heart <br />be at peace<br />And for anything again <br />I would wish, never.<br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br />09.21.09zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-79112721767749707802009-09-02T02:50:00.000-07:002009-09-02T06:18:49.777-07:00Of Dreams and Sins<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNz19asenhuH8IAPnVwaf6xr97f34hKdF6TapzWnGYprLFeRovi6x22VQ4oX9Y4-_ilBBXaKVBnh1whwY1SUjoCXN8GLfTcAJ5GgHkZeh5xkJI049KhQsnXpANiGyX2VKZUzSa93_Nk58b/s1600-h/dreams+and+sins.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNz19asenhuH8IAPnVwaf6xr97f34hKdF6TapzWnGYprLFeRovi6x22VQ4oX9Y4-_ilBBXaKVBnh1whwY1SUjoCXN8GLfTcAJ5GgHkZeh5xkJI049KhQsnXpANiGyX2VKZUzSa93_Nk58b/s400/dreams+and+sins.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376858406693630978" border="0" /></a>I dream of trembling beneath a piercing rain<br />As whirls of clouds hover celebrating sins<br />Of you and me and you and me in pain<br />Of me to you and you to me.<br /><br />Dandelion globes come seeking me<br />With gusts of sympathetic air<br />To caress a heart so empty<br />And a mind from an endless stare.<br /><br />Melancholic sunsets are what I see<br />They show me how a love can wait<br />Yet not how I shall be set free<br />From this world where one and all are baits.<br /><br />Baits for fortune and making love;<br />Promises of love and luxury beds<br />That end up like a dying dove<br />With feathers white and dripping red.<br /><br />Meander into dreamy moonlit shores<br />Where toes sink in sparkling sand<br />That turns out to be a dream once more<br />That banishes our sins to a faraway land.<br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br /><br /><br /><br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-75894219914326871092009-08-31T06:26:00.000-07:002009-09-02T06:29:49.927-07:00*Papillon, Forever and Beyond<div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Papillon, paint me with your wings<br />Flutter near, color my heart of gray<br />With rainbow palettes and love to bring<br />That shall endure, come what may.<br /><br />Somewhere ‘round the clock,<br />Papillon, you soared into my life.<br />In my parched heart, you were locked<br />Yet love and virtue were tied by strife.<br /><br />Speak about the flowers of your past<br />And how you shared sweet affinities<br />Yet love me now, Papillon, for I am the last<br />To share with you, kisses, hugs, life, honey.<br /><br />Sing me hymns of our burning dreams, intimacy<br />That against fervent tempests you and I fly fancy,<br />For whilst together, we conjure up a vow to bond…<br />…To love, Papillon, forever and beyond.<br /><br />oOo<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6K14IDxaS9V9UF99A_zwe8wAPZqmZ4OItvoOx79i1ODmVRZKgHh8DIe5WTgVtItqUgoNaylx68OrPmYo3PUkD3aL6jMFn1F8OgT0GvfgGM5TU9p9mt4o0hpPd7xfF8Gn2rI2eF5LH4U7H/s1600-h/butterfly.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6K14IDxaS9V9UF99A_zwe8wAPZqmZ4OItvoOx79i1ODmVRZKgHh8DIe5WTgVtItqUgoNaylx68OrPmYo3PUkD3aL6jMFn1F8OgT0GvfgGM5TU9p9mt4o0hpPd7xfF8Gn2rI2eF5LH4U7H/s400/butterfly.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376120859406399106" border="0" /></a><br />* Papillon – [páppə lòn, paàpee yáwN] French, “butterfly”<br /><br /><br />Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™<br />08.31.09<br /><br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-5711385338831632712009-08-18T20:45:00.000-07:002009-08-18T20:58:14.771-07:00So far, so ... (good) far.; my life in UP, so far<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The greatest gift your parents can give you is education. </span><br /> <br />To this, I cannot help but agree. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Education is the magical elevator that will take us to places</span>, 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.<br /> <br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Disclaimer:</span> 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.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">i. Promdi: transitioning from high school to college</span><br /><br />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.<br /><br />Obviously, I was wrong.<br /><br />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 <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ii. Realizations commence</span><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">iii. The Manila Collegian</span><br /><br />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 <span style="font-weight: bold;">Manila Collegian</span>, 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">iv. A little brightening up</span><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-78372315416471458392009-03-25T03:58:00.000-07:002009-03-25T04:25:11.850-07:00Just Another Love Story<div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">~o~<br /><br /></div>Not very long ago in a consecutive order brewed either by fate or purely the innocence of chance, <span style="font-weight: bold;">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.</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <span style="font-weight: bold;">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.</span> (I will call her Hershey for the sake of censorship.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I thought nothing would go wrong, until everything went wrong. <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The twist of fate inverted our short-lived happiness. <span style="font-size:100%;">From out of the blue, a problem conjured up itself.</span></span></span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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, <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">loving is not owning</span></span>. <span style="font-weight: bold;">If one owned the other, it would merely be power over possession which is wholly different from love.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxVxHvzgCUDuGDCFt7GIqvOZkf9DeENFk-kUyskuU9BKkEh1TQ0U_3htxuHWbGmjGWMGGnu3J3cfgMNobFX8zyJlTebNNXtFGWVmyCc7NX6zLQ1Zlcy5Pwv4bH5ENRfQ-hYwyF2qZ5KTa/s1600-h/10-03-09_1634.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxVxHvzgCUDuGDCFt7GIqvOZkf9DeENFk-kUyskuU9BKkEh1TQ0U_3htxuHWbGmjGWMGGnu3J3cfgMNobFX8zyJlTebNNXtFGWVmyCc7NX6zLQ1Zlcy5Pwv4bH5ENRfQ-hYwyF2qZ5KTa/s320/10-03-09_1634.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317081401752199842" border="0" /></a>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-weight: bold;">“I am not going to bother you anymore. You deserve to be happy and I deserve to have a peace of mind.”</span> 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.<br /><br />I was conversing with Toblerone when it all flashed before me.<br /><br />I was lonely but then I realized, <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I wasn’t happy with Hershey anymore</span></span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I was merely desperately trying to save four years of loving her unconditionally.</span> I realized, yes, I was in love but now, that so much has happened already, maybe <span style="font-weight: bold;">I am just in love with the idea of being in love,</span> 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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-weight: bold;">I have the rest of my life for more love stories,</span> just waiting for the perfect one.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">This is where my story with Toblerone begins</span>; 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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUjRxJbg7wP0jnrJFJMGpAfNabdYgA31UWLYRujixyt_A1oAB83cSUG4sxl3vV7qXhmEUhk0sFxyccFNP8v6QcfaTczx_Vgze6J8Zp5JdqIqrBZwko3Pi_O6Eu7_ZoMet8THepPOtB7Hg/s1600-h/santa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUjRxJbg7wP0jnrJFJMGpAfNabdYgA31UWLYRujixyt_A1oAB83cSUG4sxl3vV7qXhmEUhk0sFxyccFNP8v6QcfaTczx_Vgze6J8Zp5JdqIqrBZwko3Pi_O6Eu7_ZoMet8THepPOtB7Hg/s320/santa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317082411256678386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">NOT THE END.<br />♀♥♂_♂♥♀<br /><br /></div></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-36688085918350269272008-12-30T07:08:00.000-08:002008-12-30T08:21:17.188-08:00happy birthday :D<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cuser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cuser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cuser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> 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table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Am I getting jaded or just getting older?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;">At the night of the 29<sup>th</sup>, I wasn’t actually psyched to realize that it was almost my birthday. I mean, I was still excited for the gifts, money and stuff but not as much as how I would look forward to the December 30’s of the past years. Before, I would literally stare at the clock and wait for the hands to point 12 midnight and wake up everybody just to tell them that it’s already my day. Unfortunately, for my family, they’d have to put up with my domineering attitude while I act as the boss just cause it’s my birthday.lol. (I know, opportunist right? lol) anyway, the whole day would be a day at the mall or any place that would randomly pop into my mind where I can enjoy my ass off spending my parents’ money,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> but today was different. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I woke up, got up, and slept again. It felt like I didn’t even w</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ant to celebrate my own birthday. I was just sick of the annual routine of getting up so early and getting ready for a whole day outside the house just to waste money on birthday-cliché-stuff. This time, I wanted to celebrate it in a unique kind of way. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >I wanted for it to be just like any other day; simple but sincere</span><span style="font-size:100%;">. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I wanted to feel like it was a birthday with no hassles, nothing to worry about, just a day under the sun (although it was raining and hard!). It was a birthday, not the day I was being born, so why get into the hassle of preparing food and inviting so many people just to commemorate the day</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> I was born? Wouldn’t that be pure narcissism? So, after lunch I asked everyone to just indulge in their siesta session as I also did. I woke up almost five in the afternoon feeling so good (yet still sleepy) for having spent my birthday in a refreshingly unique way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;">However, (here comes the good part) my family couldn’t stand not giving me a birthday treat so they took me out to a resort slash videoke hub to celebrate. (hey, if something as sweet as this is done for you, could you resist? I know I couldn’t!lol) Plus, ate yum bought a black forest cake just for me (yum) and my mum and dad also gave me a little something for my wallet. :D and as soon as I finish this post, I’d join my brothers in an all-night dvd marathon.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOdBi0F0Jh9C2gMUeybKYHvFA0bdQv0FKn3N3MYftaMvQDRuPtBg1-VxH2un0ORFURnRreMwXi-3AqP7D3T0pFCHHGfULgtcJs83uqAYRM55Q5lhvl17kNaZaW9R4wpR-WzVDRFCXoYDq/s1600-h/30-12-08_1826.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOdBi0F0Jh9C2gMUeybKYHvFA0bdQv0FKn3N3MYftaMvQDRuPtBg1-VxH2un0ORFURnRreMwXi-3AqP7D3T0pFCHHGfULgtcJs83uqAYRM55Q5lhvl17kNaZaW9R4wpR-WzVDRFCXoYDq/s320/30-12-08_1826.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285616740738611026" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Aint that cool? The unique birthday celebration turned out</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> to be more unique t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">han what I’ve imagined, for the first time, I didn’t have to force my family into doing things, <span style=""> </span>instead they showed how they really cared for me in a way that I couldn’t really put into words which I appreciated even more than any of the other years. :D</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The answer to the question? Both. I was getting jaded of the routine that seemed to be programmed on the Rizal Day. I needed a change and that was exactly what I got. Figuratively and literally, I’m getting older. I realized that now, I am mature enough to understand that I don’t need worldly p</span><span style="font-size:100%;">leasures just to be able to say that I enjoyed my birthday. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Having a birthday in itself is already something to be thankful for; and having a loving family to celebrate it with is the greatest gift.</span> Not only would I add one to my physical age but also to my thinking. Congrats to me. And most of all, happy birthday! :D</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFzmzB1RE2oistWmQWeLd8xvqtS5asq6iy0EmcSOBdIzslWHwicvt1mUwYROic_QqnsytQV3E9_Beba3YmwwKv2wACMe21fLOMS5xL1N2z0wnZgHaDuSxmWm7IfGMDESF2jxIUKhFW5_m/s1600-h/30-12-08_1951.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFzmzB1RE2oistWmQWeLd8xvqtS5asq6iy0EmcSOBdIzslWHwicvt1mUwYROic_QqnsytQV3E9_Beba3YmwwKv2wACMe21fLOMS5xL1N2z0wnZgHaDuSxmWm7IfGMDESF2jxIUKhFW5_m/s320/30-12-08_1951.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285618658013355650" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;">'and another year has blurred away into our memories...'</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;">~0~</span></p><ul style="text-align: center;"><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">birthday</span>-is a celebration of life, love and happiness amidst all the turbulence brought by problems in order to realize that another year has passed and God never ceases to help us get through our journey through life smoothly and safely.
<br /></span></li></ul><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-30486989631627564002008-11-16T03:06:00.001-08:002008-12-26T17:51:02.946-08:00competition+camaraderie=friendship<div style="text-align: center;">last week the annual sports festival/intramurals was finally held. and as expected, it had become the most enjoying fragment of the school year to date! what i didn't expect was that i'd be competing in the search for mr. and ms. intrams '08 [which by the way my mother forbade me from joining.LOL]<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">i. mr. and ms. intrams senior level</span><br />it was the first day of classes since the all saints' day and all souls' day vacation when ma'am bobier screamed my name while i dreamily walked across the halls of ziga building. with gusts of the vacation bonanza still traceable in my sleepy eyes. startled with her loud yell, i went right into her office to see what the matter was. i saw four [or wa s it five? i can't even remember!] other teachers and they started to talk all at once.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">maam bobier</span>: jeth, sumali ka sa mr intrams. mamayang hapon na. umuwi ka na at kumuha ng sports attire mo. excuse na kita.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">maam boncodin:</span> oo sasali na 'yan! wala siyang choice.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">maam car</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">gullo:</span> sige na jeth umuwi ka na at mag-prepare. dadagdagan kita ng grades! wala pa tayong representative [seniors].<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">maam bobier</span>: oo nga may plus points ka rin sakin. sige na. kumuha ka lang ng shorts, puwede na yun!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">jeth: </span>ah, ehh, maam? kasi po. . .and i rode the tricycle and headed home.<br /></div><br />it took me a while to realize how they ambushed me to join the search just for the seniors to be represented. but i nonetheless obliged. 'the plus grades will be worth it' i thoug ht to myself.<br /><br />when i returned to TNHS, i proceeded to Bongon Hall and waited for the rehearsals to start. and in just two rounds, the choreographer told us to prepare for the actual search. [talk about instant beauty pageant. LOL] and in just a jiffy, the search proper began. with rose and chai as hosts, i was sure i'd be comfortable during the question and answer portion which is undeniably the most nervce-racking part. what i'd be very uncomfortable with is walking in front of so many people. [i mean, i haven't done this for more than a year!]<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIK7633pCKbm5YUUachlFbF9qT38UlcCI-aqyaV5NOWNdnqa0yAt0rO9ck6dnBM6meBIoCypkYUXDHZ9hmJryQ4RPrVefaGs_4MAs9GHMrMNTTiwNYVXvMcpUug6IWqTUSYpjvx95M_O9/s1600-h/1_985416259l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIK7633pCKbm5YUUachlFbF9qT38UlcCI-aqyaV5NOWNdnqa0yAt0rO9ck6dnBM6meBIoCypkYUXDHZ9hmJryQ4RPrVefaGs_4MAs9GHMrMNTTiwNYVXvMcpUug6IWqTUSYpjvx95M_O9/s320/1_985416259l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271109600619012546" border="0" /></a><br />and so it began. in uniform first, then, sports attire. i tried to walk as if nobody was there. i guess it worked although it was, for me, a walk in the plank of shame! the most crucial part of a competition like this is the question and answer portion. fortunately, i expressed myself well and said what i wanted to say.<br /><br />then, the awards were given, minor awards first and major awards second. eduard was called up the st age for best in uniform and shockingly, i was called next for the best in sports attire [which i just randomly pulled out of my closet. LOL]<br /><br />next; the major awards. 2nd runner up, bob, 1st runner up. . . eduard. who knew? i ended up the senior level title holder? LOL. it wasn't a walk of shame after all.<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xvxfp_0GdEZZrpQmi8XTOKZgv7jPo92JuKYiUsSf7miwnXAKRNMDOnofGkoY62WQWEpilfZFS80Gu1b4Vt7R0rdk62Q2WWQsKoQuqt3nr9gkTrpQqbfTqUbPjLdJtU2PI4wI13kMeLvV/s1600-h/1_585310526l.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xvxfp_0GdEZZrpQmi8XTOKZgv7jPo92JuKYiUsSf7miwnXAKRNMDOnofGkoY62WQWEpilfZFS80Gu1b4Vt7R0rdk62Q2WWQsKoQuqt3nr9gkTrpQqbfTqUbPjLdJtU2PI4wI13kMeLvV/s320/1_585310526l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271111662743606354" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCAAQ8panYJZ28IxDAi1uAgqlEx92aL6BKYlqOCjYZgxtdT0G68d-8qKL-Qqi6eTXkf9S0sB4ioRKwHLr7a3nZ-u1ttZswgRjlHBD1sJprd3Ex5t2d2ehFB5rdaaACPlizlO8rarqMnAP_/s1600-h/1_573387065l.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCAAQ8panYJZ28IxDAi1uAgqlEx92aL6BKYlqOCjYZgxtdT0G68d-8qKL-Qqi6eTXkf9S0sB4ioRKwHLr7a3nZ-u1ttZswgRjlHBD1sJprd3Ex5t2d2ehFB5rdaaACPlizlO8rarqMnAP_/s320/1_573387065l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271111661938264162" border="0" /></a></div>i was ever more overjoyed to learn that diane was my partner. ms. most beautiful. :)<br /></div><br />the top three finalists will represent the seniors in the school level competition. although it made me happy being the winner, the school wide search will require effort and money which was the primary reason why my mother forbade me to engage in contests like this one. but what happened has happened already, i couldn't let down the seniors and my teachers.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~o~<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">ii. mr. and ms. intrams school level</span><br />i was having a big problem during the rehearsals at Lagman Gymnasium especially for the production number because i really didn't know how to dance. alex [the caretaker of Lagman Gym] even told me that i wasn't even moving. LOL. this made me even more worried. i just hoped that i won't make a fool out of myself on th pageant day.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ii.i.pictorial</span><br />but before that, we all know that a pageant also has its upturns, one of which is the pictorial. [i'm a photography fanatic!] the candidates posed and smiled for the cameras all day. mamang guard/photographer did his thing and directed how we should move. it felt like aproffesional pictorial session with the electric fans blowing in our faces. LOL. 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width: 299px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNa5p1RnQhSB-ewgKum_1SB_o0in7Ml6SLmaRyMBlsuxKvj1t0F0rX-RvQy6cjTJFq3iNp-6_skRM1JL126ppI2_YAzNk7_NcAsArDtJbKWyNCbmzO_91nw8gr4rpLuOmAfJL2sFoG6Q6d/s320/4-4r.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271120887729412978" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXsrG7GFZM3MZGfSFbraHNtIvCENkVcjbmY6fEX1J87-dnPJXHQEvLZu42y8wrh-YaHf6Pp3uFOqszIa3-4_QRj8tAjnTDusaGCkMoZ1lL5NUaueEBxzi4-BT9rDiS8Hox8i8SqveG5YX/s1600-h/4-4ra.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXsrG7GFZM3MZGfSFbraHNtIvCENkVcjbmY6fEX1J87-dnPJXHQEvLZu42y8wrh-YaHf6Pp3uFOqszIa3-4_QRj8tAjnTDusaGCkMoZ1lL5NUaueEBxzi4-BT9rDiS8Hox8i8SqveG5YX/s320/4-4ra.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271120889905582322" border="0" /></a></div><br />after the pictorial, the rehearsals continued and i suffered onc3e again everytime mr.riosa[misteryosa] made us dance. but what the heck, i needed to do this if i even want to get in the top five. we went home tired and cramped from all the walking [note:the Lasgman Gym stage is humongous!].<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ii.ii. the actual pageant<br /><br /></span>mr. riosa told us to be in the gym at least 3o minutes ahead of time so, we complied. in my white attire, i waited in the backstage. i almost dozed off because of all the stress caused by this contest. i had to prepare all the attires with minimal help from my mother who was momentarily unsupportive. [momentarily because when the search was looming, it was then that she became mobile in terms of fashioning my attires and all.]<br /><br />and so minutes passed, nothing happened. i was getting really sleepy when i heard the whine up song playing and saw the Gumamela Girls rolling their hips. [as i type this, i still get nervous.LOL] my nerves started to rack. my knees started to tremble. i was on the verge of quitting. then, the time came, it was our turn to dance. for a moment, i felt immobile but when i went out there, i felt as if i was only playing and hundreds of people were watching. LOL. once the production number ended, everything else ran so smoothly.<br /><br />next up was the fantasy attire. i was dressed up as the phantom of the opera. my cousin, my mother and i were the ones who made the costume a possibility. haha. good thing the reals of the arts flowed in our veins. i was ready to go out the stage after contestant number 2 [i was number 3] until i saw Dustin coming out too. so there were two people on the stage, me and him. if i continued walking, the drama of the costume that i so exhaustedly choreographed will be disregarded. so i went back the stage. when it was my turn the people screamed: number three, number three! i was ecstatic, it motivated me and so i executed the choreography so well that they screamed my name up until i was already in the backstage.<br /><br />then, sports attire. cocktail attire and the question and answer.<br /><br />the question and answer this time was different from the usual. instead of being interviewed one by one, we will be given a common question and a folder onto which we will write our corresponding answers within two minutes. my training as a parliamentarian made the task easy for me so i wrote and wrote and wrote anything that came into my mind. when the magic five candidates started to read their respective answers, everybody expressed themselves well. and so my turn came.<br /><br />the question was:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">how can you prove that sports is discipline?</span><br />we know that sports consist of activities that are governed by certain rules and customs which we abide to. to be disciplined, we need to have a basis as standards of how we should behave and these rules serve as those bases. sports and discipline; two things that share many affinities and go hand in hand. so engage in sports, endorse discipline, be disciplined.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">as i went back to my seat, still hearing the outrageous claps of the audience, eduard called my name and told me, 'jeth, you'll be mr intrams.' i felt flattered but i didn't expect that i'd win. if that didn't happen, i'd be very frustrated. so its better not to expect fro anything.<br /><br />as soon as we were all done answering,we were told to go back to the backstage while the committee in computation were done computing. it was like an eternity until we were called back up. tense and stiff, our smiles gradually fading because of the nerves, the 2nd runner up was called, dustin. then, the 1st runner up was called, eduard. when mr. borromeo was announcing who the mr intrams '08 was, i became oblivious of everything else. but the doubt of not being called was still in me.<br /><br />mr. intrams is. . .candidate number 3! without the event actually sinking in, i took the center stage. the sash was pinned, i recieved the trophy and other prizes. and then, picture taking!<br /><br /><br /></div></div><br />after that the candidates and i kept in touch and formed a bond of friendship that was most unlikely to happen in a competition.<br /><br />in the end,no one really remembers how good you were in a competition, what matters is what you've gained from it. the greatest prize i received was anewly found friendship with the mot unlikely people in the campus. :)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJSy2z4rw9FMmOlU_UNfwe4bKvg77KI6Kv0eeTyjK6bMPhEh11y_ur7JxCSyuKgfcugyYg8JIIHvyop_OjIaHsWjlM0d2bvXSM50RdnD1DsRDma412Od5P0YF_gajDtXSgVjbPm8KX0I3/s1600-h/2-4rj.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJSy2z4rw9FMmOlU_UNfwe4bKvg77KI6Kv0eeTyjK6bMPhEh11y_ur7JxCSyuKgfcugyYg8JIIHvyop_OjIaHsWjlM0d2bvXSM50RdnD1DsRDma412Od5P0YF_gajDtXSgVjbPm8KX0I3/s320/2-4rj.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284281008199205362" border="0" /></a><br /><br />~o~<br /><br /><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">friendship</span></span>- you don't choose your friends. friendship chooses you. it can spring from even the least likely of situations.</li></ul></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7237112092471913429.post-1192045754755184442008-11-01T08:05:00.001-07:002008-11-17T03:29:26.583-08:00aria<div style="text-align: justify;">trials are what molds our persona. they shape the heart of a person. but we cannot deny the fact that we're only human and we need help to get through those trials. so when the point where our hearts, minds and bodies will not be able to make it comes, only <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">God will be the one to lend us a helping hand.</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />It was a loud Monday afternoon when I went outside of the Office of the Students' Affairs [OSA]. i glanced at my watch and realized that it was already 6 o' clock pm. for an unknown reason, i stared at the gloomy, gray and crying skies and i imagined if it was true that when it rains, it was because the angels are shedding tears. it took me quite a while to get to my senses and get back to the pace of reality and started heading home as soon as the rain weakened.<br /><br />on my way home, i remembered that my nephew had just been born that morning. for many members of my family, he is the much-awaited grandchild and very first son. but for me, he is the little brother that i never had; the one that i wished for every christmas. when i was only a child, seldom would my brothers play with me especially when they both went off to college. since then, i have experienced a black and white childhood and searched for whatever may fill in the gaps of my unlived youth. so now that i have a nephew whom i can treat as a younger sibling, i will never allow him to experience a dull childhood. i will give him everything i never had as a child.<br /><br />meanwhile, the father of my nephew; my brother hurriedly traveled from Manila to Bicol when he learned the heavenly news. my mother, on the other hand, excitedly took care and shopped for our newly born angel while his father is still not around. she bought clothes, milk bottles, and everything that her grandson who was still in the hospital undergoing the process of incubation, will need.<br /><br />i arrived at our house, excited to see my nephew who will call me 'kuyatito'. in quite a short while, my mom and other people who looked tired and pale arrived at our house. i disregarded their haggardness and thought that it was natural for them to look that way after taking care of such a fragile being. nevertheless, mom told me that kuya and my nephew is in the second floor. my heart jumped for joy and extreme mirth to learn that he's finally here until mom uttered, "he's gone, he was taken by the Lord at 6:05pm". i took a second to contemplate on things and realized that at this same time, the sky was crying right before my very eyes. i then thought, my beloved nephew did not leave without saying goodbye tpo his kuyatito.<br /><br />i scurried upstairs and saw my brother cradling his son, my nephew who just seemed to slumber and dream serenely. as i saw this scenario, it was as if a razor sharp knife pierced into my heart. our dreams and potential happiness, disappeared in just a blink of an eye.<br /><br />although he was carried by his mother for only 6 months, he proved that he possessed unbelievable strength and the will to live that no other baby possesses. no other baby of his age has survived and swam against the flow of destiny in a span of 12 hours. in as short as this time frame, he has beaten every other kid of his age.<br /><br />within his lifetime i know that we made him feel that in every second of his breathing, there are people who will forever love him unconditionally, people who will risk everything and do everything for his sake.<br /><br />the 12 hours that he spent on the earthly grounds, battling with the laws of fate and destiny, he showed and proved that his name is truly fit for him; ARIA, a warrior.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzF6f0JRcNbiGEErSL_0BSn-m2OsSPkqGKfoqpGupjyIcDIL2PW2WhGrVf0BYR77YSLpM0P3QGEUlmoaBoO4hubypT0nwG157r9BJxWiB2RBcQG_2F3ZnU33PhFlkMlhAJOiAdJgM3RRSi/s1600-h/aria+kalashnik.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzF6f0JRcNbiGEErSL_0BSn-m2OsSPkqGKfoqpGupjyIcDIL2PW2WhGrVf0BYR77YSLpM0P3QGEUlmoaBoO4hubypT0nwG157r9BJxWiB2RBcQG_2F3ZnU33PhFlkMlhAJOiAdJgM3RRSi/s400/aria+kalashnik.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269208248475907506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~o~<br /><br />this is a tribute to my nephew,<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >Aria Kalashnik Perez</span><br />born on July 14, 2008<br /><br />We love You A.K.<br /><br />~o~<br /><br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">warrior </span>- a gladiator who will fight for life as long as God allows him to. a soldier who uses his strength in battle not for the wrong reasons but because of his will to live. </li></ul><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>zereporthejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784738832463038355noreply@blogger.com0