Zurich, July 2013

Raindrops and Memories

A refreshingly chilly, rainy, early morning. A fresh breath from the stifling heat of the previous week.

Today, I woke up alive…

Well, of course I did. Sure I am no writing ghost. It’s just that, for what feels like quite some time now, it seems as though my awareness has been all delusional and it makes me doubt whether something was real or it just happened in my dream.

I wonder if you, too, have encountered that feeling when ending your day and waking up felt like a numbness-inducing, monotonous process. I reckon there is no need for me to use the word ‘boring’ as I am quite certain that is the gist, if not the keyword of it.

Today seemed different though. Waking up from a dream obviously induced by watching too much TV series, I heard the loud splattering of rain, then felt the accompanying cool breeze enter our square room. And then I was awake. Fully awake, with all my senses sharp and aware.

It was one of those rare moments, when, lying on the bed, random scenes from my life started flashing through my mind. Like the daredevil moments of crossing the provincial highway bereft of pedestrian lanes, simulating a similar Famicom street crossing game. The only difference; I don’t have three lives, just one. Remembering it made me very afraid. It made me shiver.

                Or that night when my hairdresser friend Boy in the province was telling me of his assistant’s misadventure in the ditch with a guy one forgotten night. It made me laugh, well, in my mind that is.

                                It made me focus on my reality as well. I had the image of my 14ish self and the ‘I’ that I am now. Fifteen years later, lying on the bed, it made me very aware and conscious of my life.

I told myself, in the personal aspect of my life, I can say I am content, if not happy. But that is shortchanging the reality of things. On a normal day with a normal person, things are better than how I perceive them to be. But meh, it’s me, so the drama must pervade…

I do, however, realize the missing aspect of my life. I have no professional life. I have no career to be proud of. Of which, conversely, I can complain about. That is the empty slot in the puzzle of my life. There are so many things I want to do and experience.

Fifteen years later in my life, although I cannot emphasize the word late enough, I still expect things to take a turn. Through my active initiatives, of course. There are so many things I still want to do with my life at this stage, and I will do them. I may not have forever to fulfill them all, but I do have one life still remaining in this ultra-realistic game called life. 

Place Unknown, Date Unknown

Ironic Freedom

I am Sad. I am lonely beyond words. I have been crying my heart out but is still not enough to lighten my heart and at least lessen the burden inside. I am sad but I do not know the reason. I am surrounded by people and friends, yet still I am lonely. I am a sinner but instead of being punished I am still being rewarded. I believe in karma, and I have been waiting for it to strike me down for al the transgressions I have committed yet until now fate seems to be dancing in tune with me. I want many things, and though I cannot have all of it I am still being given and indulged even in part. I am not earning my keep yet I wake up in my own time and eat at my leisure in my own house. I live in luck. So a friend of mine said.

It has been two years since I last lived my life in schedule. When I had to wake up in time to go to work. When I earned my money and buy things from my own sweat and effort. Sick and tired of slaving for work I vehemently wished to be able to stop working but still live in comfort. When it came true I was elated. But now I’m not sure if it was a cruel joke meant to punish me.

Freedom is the strongest shackle in this life. This bar-less prison is the hardest place to escape from. People delude themselves into thinking that responsibility is evil and that freedom is gratifying. Freedom is absolute and pure. And it is also the biggest responsibility of all. We all want to be free from something. Our history is wrought of many struggles for freedom. Our life as well. I wanted to be free from work. I wanted to be free from my obligations. But when I finally got this freedom i was wanting for the longest time, I felt fear. Having freedom was like being given a piece of clay. I was free to mould it any way I want. But it was horrifying knowing that with the limitless possibilities also mean limitless consequences. 

Baguio, 2009

The mountain is lost in the thickness of the mist, hiding with it the secrets of the living. As the torrential and unforgiving rain bears down heavily to the already soaked earth, who can tell how many tears are being shed by the eyes of the hidden? Seeming as though the door of the terrace is floating in the heavens, as contrary to the depths the heart of the one who stands to look outside has plunged...into an abyss far deeper than the eyes can fathom, blacker than the darkness of the night. The cold draft brought upon the room feels warmer than the coldness that has found its way deep into the bones of the one crawling on the ground. The sounds of the world is muted by the deafening countless drops of tears from the heavens. A gentle rain cleanses this earth of its dusts and filth, rejuvenating the heat scorched land. Yet the pressure that has built up, and the force at which it moves, it seeks not rejuvenation...but destruction. How many lives has it taken? I only have one life I would want to deliver from this world. Yet the drowning conversations of a tongue incomprehensible delivers to me the vital essence of living. If only I can describe the beauty of it. But how can one’s mouth describe beauty when his eyes are drenched in red? Soaking and drowning in his own pool of blood, hate and destruction. Words senselessly uttered, letters monotonously brought together in an attempt to organize a life c=scattered in pieces from the start. But is one condemned by hoping? Or wishing? What of the failures that is born with us from the womb? How can one describe happiness? Would getting what we want bring us happiness? Or of desire? What are these ramblings of this life about? What is left after the storm? Will there really be the rainbow? 

"Literary" Necromancy

Yes, I do understand the implications of using the parenthesis and how it affects the implied meaning of the word it encases. I parenthesized the word literary as i am not so full of myself enough to consider my mere thoughts and ramblings, from then and now, as written works worthy of the prestige of being considered as literature. These works, however, still fall at least at the least under the category of literature, merit a parenthesized version nonetheless. 

Necromancy, in the online sense, a.k.a 'Necroing', more popularly used in forums; means reviving a topic or commenting on one, and by doing so, reviving a long lost, resolved, or forgotten topic. This term i now favor for what shall transpire here next. For what i will be posting are works, both very old to somewhat more recent. I would describe it as a roller coaster ride through my fleeting emotions and sappy thoughts.

For the lack of more substantive reason as to why in the world i should post my possibly deranged (a judgment reserved for those unfortunate souls who would happen to read them)thoughts, even at this point, i can come up with none. And so for the lack of it, simply; Why not? 

Flames, Hate, violent reactions. Feel Free - to keep them to yourself. That is your opinion. I don't need it. The same way you don't need mine.