Sa tingin ko, ayaw na kitang makita… Sa tingin ko lang naman.
Kapag sinusubukan nilang durugin ang iyong pagkatao, huwag mo silang patulan. Laging tandaan na hindi kasing baba nila ang uri ng karakter mo. Hindi naman sa hindi ka lalaban, pero hindi sa masalimuot na paraan ang iyong pakikipag himagsikan. Lumaban ng may utak at ipakita sa kanila na hindi lang nasusukat ang pagkapanalo sa pagiging Ilustrado.
Ipakita nang may kababaan na kayang mapagtagumpayan ang anumang laban kahit ang nilalabanan ay ipinamumukha sa iyo na katiting lamang ang silbi mo sa mundong ito. Huwag padadaig sa ganitong paninira dahil mas kilala mo ang sarili mo. Hindi ka hamak na tao. Tumayo at tumindig ng pirmis at idilat ng mabuti ang mga mata para makita ng maigi na ang silbi ay higit pa sa yaman na ipinagmamayabang ng walang pusong mayaman.
Maaring umiyak sandali, pero huwag hayaang magmukhang kaawa-awa ang sarili dahil ito ay hindi totoo. Matutong tingnan na importante ang linis ng kalooban upang mabuhay ng mapayapa. Huwag magpahabol o magpalamon sa mga salitang ibinabato ng mga tao sa paligid mo. Hindi sila ikaw at hindi ka sila. May sarili silang paniniwala na sana ay hindi mo magaya. Manatiling matalino sa pakikipagkapwa tao. Manatiling tahimik gaya ng isang henyong nag-iisip at huwag tutularan ang kaingayan ng sambayanang nagmamang-maangan na kunwari ay mayroon silang katalinuhan.
Ang hirap kausap ng tao/hindi taong walang isang salita. Hindi ka sigurado kung oo ba o hindi ang sagot niya/nito. Hindi mo alam kung totoo na ba o aasa ka na naman sa wala. Ang totoo niyan, nakakainis ka. Oo, ikaw.
Ano ba talaga? Dapat tumutulong ka sa pag hubog sa mga isipan ng mga taong tinatawag nating kabataan. Pero ano ang ginagawa mo? Hindi ito isang laro o negosyo lang. Kinabukasan ang pinag-uusapan. Higit pa sa pera ang puhunan at ‘di lang utak ang nakataya. Sana, sa pinaiiral mo/ninyong batas, kasama ang paghahanda sa kanila sa malupit na mundo. Sana mahubog ang mga katangian bilang isang tunay na tao at hindi lang kagalingan o pagiging eksperto sa larangan ng pagiging maka mundo.
Sana naman, hindi lang ang talentado o ang nakaka angat ang bigyan ng pabor. Sana hindi paulit-ulit ang mga taong nakaka tamasa ng tagumpay. Sana maibahagi ito sa lahat, sana maibahagi ang pagkakataon sa lahat dahil may karapatan ang bawat isa na makilala. Sana sa ninanais na rebolusyon, mapakita ang tunay na ibig sabihin nito. Hindi lang na gusto mong maipakita na kakaiba ka, ngunit nainisin mo nawa na ituro na ang pagiging kakaiba ay para basagin ang maling nakasanayan at hindi ituloy ang maling nakasanayan sa mas progresibong paraan.
Maganda ang ideya. Pero ang nagiging kinalabasan ay mga utak na nagmumura sa pagaakalang cool ka.. Sana makapag bigay ka rin ng mga pusong nagmamahal dahil magiting ka.
Di magtatagal aalis din ako sa’yo, ‘di na siguro lilingunin pa o maaari rin naman bumalik at itama ang nakakainis na sistema. Pero sa ngayon, di mapagkakailang kailangan pa kita kaya nakikiusap ang aba, humihingi ako ng wastong tulong galing sa’yo.
Of lemon-and-lime-colored curtains lies behind a sky unsure whether to hide the sun or showcase it. This embodies the exact feelings of this little lady still unsure whether or not she has transformed into a woman already. Numbers float in her mind thinking what limits the life – her life and the lives of her loved ones. What could possibly be the cause of every limitation? What could be done? Why would then we try to break free from the limitations if in the end we will all be limited, buried under the ground?
Even the time spent being young and free is limited. Yet, every breathing being still wants to experience the high of the unlimited. It’s a feeling that sends man to the heaven of heavens. For a time, people are unchained and unstoppable able to conquer the world and the minds of the other beings. They find love and fall in love for a lifetime. They find love and fall out of it. Everything has a time limit. But people do not notice it until the time has come.
And then the time comes. Age becomes old, strength collapses, memory diminishes, and death comes – sometimes at peace, sometimes in the worst way – death comes for you or your loves, as promised. You, then, acknowledge the limitation of life, of everything. You miss what’s gone but realize that soon, you’ll be gone too.
Even the lemon-and-lime-colored curtains limit the view of the unsure sky that’s half-hiding the sun and half-showing the grey clouds that are about to cry.
Yes, I love reading books, writing, painting, taking photographs, having long walks, deep conversations, but I do not binge-watch on Netflix. I can give a speech in front of many people but I am awkward with small talks. I can be outgoing at times and also have moments of being shy. I can speak my mind out or keep the thoughts to myself. I am not ashamed that I am an introvert -INTJ to be exact- but it also feels awkward if I talk about it.
But these days, I have been reading a lot of listicles (list-type articles) about introverts. It is nice because I can relate to some but somehow, people are subtly putting us, introverts, to certain stereotypes like the Netflix thing which I don’t like. I like that people are becoming aware of introverts and our needs or how to interact with us, but I don’t like that it is being the new black. It shouldn’t be. Can you leave it as it is?
There are pros and cons of being an introvert. Sure, the internet can help big time. But if you really want to know how to deal introverts, you should personally spend time with one so that you would have a first-hand experience and not just follow whatever the internet is talking about. I mean, most of us wants deep, meaningful conversation, one-on-one, really getting-to-know-each-other stuff other than you just guessing based on some article you’ve read on the internet. Though, to be fair, I am reading those articles too but there are just those that are so stereotypical that I do not like.
I do not want this to be a ‘rant post’ so I need to stop before it gets there. I am not ashamed of being an introvert neither am I too proud about it. I just don’t want it to be the new black.
I’d recommend this site though: 16 Personalities. A site not only for introverts but for extroverts as well
It’s been a month since papa died. I can still remember how it went.
We were eating buko pie my mom brought from Laguna.
Then papa suddenly fell down in the garage and vomited violently.
Mom rushed him to the hospital.
I followed to get clothes for papa in case he gets confined.
Five seizures and three hours later, papa was no more.
I was not there. While he was being transferred from the ER to a substitute ICU (as there were none at the moment), I was just crying at the stairs far from the room. I tried to enter once but papa saw that I cannot handle it and he ordered me to get out. I did voluntarily. That was the last time I saw papa’s face. He was struggling. And even though I was far from the room, I still heard how the heart monitor flat-lined. SHxT, sometimes, I hate these keen senses that I have.
I was sitting by the stairs, mom went and told me that papa’s gone. From that moment, I decided to stop crying. I did not see papa’s body for the last time. Instead, I went down. Some of the people I called were there and I asked if we can go to Starbucks (at12m.n) to get something. I jokingly said if they have a funeral coffee, and then I broke down. I felt guilty for not being there at papa’s last moments. I regretted that he was not able to attend ANY of my graduations since I started school and he won’t be able to attend not only this time but for every occasion in the future. I regretted the time that I insist on leaving la salle. I should have finished my degree there so that even for the last time, papa would be able to march me.
I did not cry at the funeral.
I didn’t want my mom to see me crying. I didn’t want others to see me crying because they would all say the same thing: that I have to be strong for my mother. I knew it very well, I knew it more than they do. But I really wanted to cry. I really wanted to break down, to cry so loud so that people would see how awful I was feeling. I also want someone to hug me tightly while crying. But I did not cry because mom had been crying a lot already, therefore I have to appear strong, and so deprived myself from the right of feeling terrible.
I did not cry at the burial.
I mastered the art of not crying in front of other people. I usually have shallow tears. I cry over a really good drama easily. But this real-life drama of mine, I decided not to. People now thought that I am really brave for not crying. I hate it.
I still cry. Secretly. And I don’t like it.
I wanted to have a good cry — a really good one that my eyes would be so red people will see the sadness.
I wanted to cry like that but I also don’t want to be unfair with people. Me crying and they have to be sad even if they aren’t, just to comfort me. That’s unfair. So I’m waiting for that one person, even just one, who would ask me to cry on his shoulders because he knows how badly I need one.
Just some feel-good song for the summer!
For the seventh time, I have decided to forget you
again. In my head, talking with the picture of you and telling myself that “No, it’s impossible for us to be, so I will move on” even though “us” is nonexistent and never will be, but still, I have decided to move on. I have conditioned myself again that if ever I see you, I will do nothing. Maybe give a smile or maybe not. I would not even dare type your name in the Facebook search bar just to stare at your profile photo for five or ten minutes.
I have made a pact with my brain to not think of you randomly so I would not look like some crazy human being while walking on the sidewalk or while reading a book, or while ordering something. I have talked with my eyes to not search for you in the most random places because DUH! why would you be in the most random place where I would be? I have told my ears to forget your voice. That cold voice you have whenever you talk to me and that colder voice you have while singing. I have ordered my nose to forget your scent, that scent of cologne that smelled so manly but not too strong
and it complimented your personality perfectly. And I swear, I’m not a creeper but since I have a good memory, I remember that scent that time you stood beside me. And my lips have made a promise that it would not utter your name because.. just because. And then there’s my heart. I begged my heart to forget you, to stop hoping, to stop feeling anything about you. But this heart’s somehow stubborn. Sometimes it’s listening, sometimes it’s not. But whatever it’s decision will be, I, as the greater authority than it is, have decided to stop thinking about you.
But then I saw you. Eyes did not look long enough. Nose did not register your scent. I was doing great. And then you said Hi. Just one word and this stubborn heart gave in. All of my senses melted. The butterflies orchestrated my stomach
again. Everything was twirling and spinning and sent me to the abyss and then heavens, and my lips talked to you again and said Hi.
For the seventh time, I have failed
again. Maybe next time will finally, finally be the last time.
Originally posted on Thought Catalog:
1. Be the girl with the laugh.
Have the ugly laugh or the loud laugh or the laugh that bubbles over your lips and travels towards those around you. Have the laugh that fills a room or the laugh that separates a crowd or the laugh that can only be heard in a quiet booth in the back of a cute café. Be the girl with the laugh that the boy will die to hear. Be the girl with the laugh that the boys will die to be the source of. Be the girl who’s happy.
2. Be the girl with the eyes.
Have the blue eyes or the big eyes or the squinty eyes. Have the kind of eyes that bunch up in the corners the way they claim is unattractive, all because you’re smiling so hard. Be the girl with the eyes that people…
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The death of papa was sudden. We’re moving on but it’s still sad. It was not a nice memory but it’s not something to be forgotten. It’s still hard to write something about it. He fought a good fight here and he’s with the Savior now.