When It Ends, I Begin.

Author: zereporthej /

I remember my life in its moments.

Through a staccato-ed montage of my favorite days.

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.

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.

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 what I used to be or just from where 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.

Look as far back with me in my staccato moments.

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.

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.

(Watch Salamin’s trailer here.)

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.

(Read Career Avenue’s article on Prime: The Better Life Project here.)

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 who I used to be or just from where I used to be.

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.

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.

And so, with these written words, let me begin. I am ready.

0 comments

Runaway Rendezvous

Author: zereporthej /

Under the comfort of a ragged blanket she touched herself.

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.

Today she decided she has had enough. “I deserve to be happy,” 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.

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.

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.

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.

And then there it stood, a building that used to be green.

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.

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.

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.

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.

She lay down on her bed with eyes wide open as tears of self-disgust cascaded through her cheeks.

She pulled her ragged blanket up over her head and hid from the world.

0 comments

Candies, Spice, Not Everything is Nice.

Author: zereporthej /

He knocked and hoped no one would answer.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

No distance was broken.

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.

He crumbled at the distance they kept.

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.

She walked back upstairs, repeating the steps she made with the same beat.

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.

He held no candy in his hands.

0 comments

Rock Steady

Author: zereporthej /

We live in a world where nobody stays in one place.

The gravity of better education took me away from Tabaco, a town made of sili and abaca and bolo's. 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.

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.

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?

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?

I will leave for Manila again tomorrow with the uncertainty that this place will remember me as I keep it in my heart.

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.

Farewell for now, Tabaco. 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.

You are my rock that remains steady.

I am the hand that forms a fist around you.

0 comments

Some Spice in the Cold

Author: zereporthej /


Two hours brought me back to my childhood, back when hide and seek and langit lupa were the talk of the town. The giant siliatop the waiting shed by the curving road in Camalig 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.

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.

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 sili testified as a witness for many deaths.

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.

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 and I will never ever die. The we 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.

We are family.

You are my spice in the stinging cold.

0 comments

Cumulus.

Author: zereporthej /



I’ve been (trying) sleeping with a cloud above (and under and beside and at the bottom of) my bed.

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.

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 (weakly) 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 battered 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?

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?

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.

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.

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.”

I sleep as the sun awakes and splatters colors into the sky. I sleep.

I still hear that gunshot inside my head. It deafens my heart.


0 comments

Wallflower.

Author: zereporthej /

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.

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.

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.

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.

I am your wallflower.

I want to feel infinite too.

0 comments

Here's to All Things New and Sparkly and Re-polished old Belongings

Author: zereporthej /

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.

Ready.

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.

Set.

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.

Go.

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.
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.

~~~

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.

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.

0 comments

Hindi na Maalala

Author: zereporthej /

Gumising ako sa sinag ng araw
Nilinis ko ng tubig ang aking mukha
at tumitig sa salamin, nasilayan ay ikaw
Kahapo'y hawak mo ang kanyang larawang
pag-ibig mo ang lumikha...

Hinangin ng pagaspas ng pakpak ng paru-paro
Ang isang libo't isang kulay sa larawang
Binubuhay ng dalawang damdaming naglalaro
Ngunit ang hawak mo'y mahigpit
at ang titig mo'y kanya lamang...

Di mawari ang iyong labis na pighati
Sa bawat sulyap, sa bawat haplos, sa imaheng
hindi naman kumikilos...
Subalit sa bawat luhang pumapatak,
Ang paru-paro'y lalong pumapagaspas
sa likod mo'y may nagmamahal, ang pahiwatig...

Umiimbay ang aking kamalayan sa iyong
pagbabalik
Na tila ba'y ang aking puso'y kinikiliti
At ang aking labi'y hinihimlayan ng iyong halik
Pantasya man, kung kahapo'y iisipin
batid kong sa alaala, ang lubos na
pag-ibig ay nagwawagi...

Ang mga luha'y inihipan ng makukulay na pakpak
Sabay tumulo ang huli sa larawang
lumuwag na ang iyong hawak...
Sa paghaplos ng huling luha sa haba ng larawan,
Uminog muli ang mundong iyong kinagisnan...

Ang paru-paro'y patuloy na pumagaspas,
At sabay sa iyong pagyurak sa larawang nilimot
Ay ang pagbitiw sa alaala sa litratong kumupas
Sa wakas, ay binaling sa aking mga mata
ang iyong tingin ng walang pag-iimbot...

Lumipad ang paru-paro at dumapo sa
isang bagong kaban ng kayamanan
Dito'y unti-unting umusbong nag bagong umaga
Kung saan ang alaala'y hindi lamang
maitatatak sa larawan
Kundi sa bawat pahina ng ating buhay
na ikinukuwento ng bawat pagbagtas
ng aking pluma...

Ang tubig ay muling bumuhos mula sa gripo
At binanlawan ang mukhang nadungisan ng kahapon
Ngunit ngayong umaagos ang mga katagang
mahal kita mula sayong puso
Hindi ko na maalala na ang larawang
iyon ay may puwang pala noon...

Muli, ako'y humarap sa salamin
Ngayo'y nasilayan ang sariling imahe at ang iyo
Habang binabaybay ng ngiti ang ating mga labi
Ang kamay mo'y di na dumiit sa litrato
kundi sa kamay ko...
At sa ating pag-isa ay ginagabayan tayo
sa paglipad ng mga paru-parong
makapangyarihan kahit munti...

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
06.21.10

1 comments

Of Dreams "Who Am I?"

Author: zereporthej /

Perez, Jethro C.
2009-57080


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.

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.

Delving into the profundity of self-definition would take deep introspection so I might as well dig into my biological data foremost.

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.

My mother, Dreamrose, stays at home to tend to the house and her orchid garden whose flowers still came from my late grandmother.

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.

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.

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.

As time went by, each brother went off to Manila for college education and the days became a little more vacant.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

In the end all that has been said takes me back to the same question, who am I?

I would like to settle with, dreamer. I am a dreamer.

note: this was my paper for Psych 101 answering the question who am i.

3 comments

FADE

Author: zereporthej /

November 26, 2009

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…

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…

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…

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.

I checked my phone… It was 6:42 am. I was late for my Psych 101 class again…

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
11.26.09

1 comments

Starry Dreams of Love and Royalty

Author: zereporthej /

I looked on high beyond the clouds
That sashayed in the dreamy night.
A blinding flickering light was what I found
And a love for the star that shone so bright

She danced with grace in the evening skies
And glimmered close, to come in my reach
She captured my heart with a starlight smile
And her stardust lay on my love-filled cheeks

Let me not wake if this is a dream
Or if I depart from this wondrous slumber, I’ll make it real
For in my kingdom, love is a forever-flowing stream
And she is my star, my loving queen.

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
12.15.08

0 comments

Phoenix

Author: zereporthej /


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

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

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™


0 comments

The Doom of the Night and a Heart's Light

Author: zereporthej /

by Joanna Adul and Jethro Perez

Damsel: What are you doing at this time of night?

Knight: Staring at the glaring light of my phone
As it illuminates my face and fingers…
Amidst the space of darkness that covers the night
And the melancholy that lingers…

Damsel: What is it, then…
That troubles the river of your thoughts…
That keeps you stranded…
Away from rest?

Knight: It is the doom of void and solitude
That haunts the light in my heart…
And little by little, dimmer, it becomes…
Fading into nothing but just another body part…

Damsel: Knowing there is void
Only means there is something to fill it in…
This ache of the heart, the melancholy of the night,
They won’t last long, believe me they won’t…

Knight: And with your words,
Oh damsel of the night…
The void, the solitude are rescinded with might…
And flickering once more, my heart’s light…

Damsel: To have shed some light
On your dimming road of life,
I am deeply delighted…
Young man of plights…

Knight: How momentously ironic, the twists of life…
For once in a story, ‘tis a lovely lass
Who saves the knight in his strife…
And for this I give my thanks to the damsel
Who cast out my worries and said that they wouldn’t last…

Damsel: ‘Tis an overrated tale,
The story of the mighty knight…
For the damsel is not merely an ornament
But the strength behind the light…

Knight: Always and forever, shall it be true
That the secret behind the strength
Of this knight’s shining armor…
Is the grace, the wit, the heart of the damsel in you…

Damsel: For keeping the knight’s strength is what damsels do…

oOo

And with two smiles, this night ends…
As the knight and the damsel slumber into a world of dreams,
Made alive by fantasies that never bend…
And life shines brighter than the sun’s beams…


Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
10.08.09


Note from the writers:

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

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

0 comments

Those Empty Moments

Author: zereporthej /

Here again, I write
In an empty moment
Void of mirth and delight,
With only my burning torment
To linger in my presence, contrite...

Here again, I curse
Hating those empty moments
When I don’t have anything to do
Loathing time’s stinging silence
It makes me think of you…

Those empty moments
They make me think of you
How you laugh and cry
And as I have nothing else to do
To love you more I try…

Yet a change in you, I sense
I love you, you used to always say
When I suffer through these moments
And the agony would go away
I remember you, I, you’ve forgotten…

No longer do I feel your passion
Nor do I see your eyes’ fervor
No longer do I sense your emotion
Gray now, what used to be in color
Your words now, devoid of affection…

Here again I hope and dream
For your love again to be ablaze
And mine to be an echoing hymn
Together, we’ll embark on love’s maze
And this emptiness I feel, a myth, it will be deemed..

But until then, here again I stay
Bearing these empty moments in silence
Till love comes back in your way…

ZEREPORTHEJ™
10.02.09

0 comments

Those empty moments and the thoughts they give birth to

Author: zereporthej /

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

0 comments

Electric Fan

Author: zereporthej / Labels:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™



0 comments

I Wish, Never

Author: zereporthej /

I wish to have never met you
…to have never felt
your sweet embrace
…to have never tasted
your kiss’ brew
…to have never seen your smile,
it stays
…to have never held
your hand too
…to have never fallen
into your eyes’ gaze

I wish to have never spent
those times with you
…to have never shared
romantic conversations
…to have never gone
to our rendezvous
…to have never glanced
at happiness’ deceptions

I wish to have never heard
those three words
…to have never said
I love you too

I wish time turns
and shift the course of fate
For now I know
it cannot be
If your heart
is still not free

So understand
if I wish for these things
‘Cause your past’s lament
is all I see
And every time you say
his name it stings
I can do nothing
he’s immortal in your memory

I wish I was able to have been
the one in your heart
…to have felt
your love completely
…to have been the one,
from your mind to never part
…to have been the one
you speak of so frequently
…to have been the one
you loved from the start
…to have been the one
simply…

I wish to have never heard
those three words
…to have never said
I love you too
…to have never believed
it’s true

I wish these wishes
would come true
So that to him I’d be able
To give you back
And no longer
will you be blue
I’d still be here
As a friend, in fact
Still loving you…

If that falling star
answers my wish,
with him you’ll be happy
beyond forever,
only then will my heart
be at peace
And for anything again
I would wish, never.

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
09.21.09

0 comments

Of Dreams and Sins

Author: zereporthej /

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

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

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

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

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

Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™



0 comments

*Papillon, Forever and Beyond

Author: zereporthej / Labels:

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

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

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

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

oOo


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


Z|E|R|E|P|O|R|T|H|E|J™
08.31.09

0 comments

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)