on trying and gaining back my bestfriend

Sir Piocos read my concept paper and poem in class today. He said my entry about how I came up with the concept was much better and more sincere than my poem. That it was actually more poetic. It was actually more of a dear diary thing and I was afraid he’d say how teeny-bopper it was, haha! But he liked it at least, said it was mature and well, poetic. He’s not a fan of the poem though. Ugh.

So anyway, I think it’s about time I make time for writing. Something well though of but not trying too hard. Shit before this semester ends I have to atleast be chosen once for the best poem, im so tired of waiting for MY time. I have to make it happen. Demmit.

Which brings me to Monday night talk with Chase Isip. Funny how we can talk now like we used to when we were still bestfriends-bestfriends. And I had the longest discussion with him about me trying to actually get this guy, and when I couldn’t stress the point why it’s so important for me to try, I just had to tell him. So I did. Mark and I debated on this almost everyday for what, two weeks now. Because I see no point in telling him what’s already passed, Mark says I should just for the heck of it. And now Chase and I are sharing one too many laughs about it. And when I look back, I realize it is funny. Brought us closer I guess. And now he understands, how when it was during his time I never once tried to make him love me, that whenever girls would come to his life I would shut up and simply wait for MY time. and now I just felt the need to find out whether things would be different for me if I try. I know how hopeless and pointless fighting a losing battle is. But after 3 years I realized I’m never really the kind to get tired of hoping. But when Chase looked at me so seriously and said “maawa ka naman sa sarili mo” I felt ridiculously pathetic. He said I should stop trying to change just because I don’t feel enough. He asked me if I don’t feel that I am at least worth someone who’d love me because I’m simple and a million party nights away from being aggressive. I’m crazy sad because of how things are going for me, but on one side I feel extremely happy because I have chase to lean on to. Even if he feels he’s not helping, he’s the biggest help I have right now.

I guess this is a long enough entry to compensate for my absence these past few days. So, til tomorrow. I wait and no one will come. Fucket I’m kidding.

recycling poetry

would you believe, my second to the last post which was actually really just about what happened tonight is now revised into what i will pass tomorrow in Eng106 class. yes, this is what we like to call recycling. it's not yet done done, but it's better, i think. minus the details of the first one which is just a narration. i tried to apply a little subtlety, i've never been good at that though. i'm better with giving it all, no mystery, know what i mean? anyway, eto na:

Dama De Noche
In the silence of your absence
I remind myself
of nights before.
You lulled me to sleep
with your finger
mapping the lines on my palm.
dreamsounds in the background
invisible arabesques on the wall
In the confines
of my apocryphal universe,
where you fall like the nobleman
for dama's fragrance,
I will win your heart
in a one night's time.
I pray Cynthia
sing me to sleep
it's pointless waiting
but you keep singing
and i keep waiting.
I wait for forever's end
And til then
tonight, and nights after
I wait
And no one will come

for balance, instead of ranting about my nonexistent lovelife, I've decided to talk about how shitty my academics are going. well, the reality is that it will all go down to my being irresponsible, but creative writing is not exactly only about sense of responsibility, but talent as well. i look back at all the poems i've done only to realize that they are all wrong. sure, writing is about saying how you feel and all that crap, but apparently there is a right way of doing it.

this is my version of free writing, so for 5-10 minutes i will rant nonstop about not being talented enough. i'm talented at so many things, waiting for one, waiting forever, second. but not so much in writing. I may be the most normal being there is. I am absolutely ordinary and it sucks the life out of me. There is nothing worst in the world than being ordinary.Franco says love for writing is enough reason to go on, but I realize love for writing will not exactly sell, it could only do so much, like pass Eng106 for example(Please Lord, let me must pass eng106).

i'm so tired of wanting something so bad and being contented in watching it from afar. actually, contented is not the right word, more like limited. i have no idea what kind of magic the invisible wall that separates me from my dream is made of. restriction, maybe. i want to free myself from the religious constrictions I have, from the family values I value so much so i can be free to write whatever I want. but the reality is that I don't even know what I want to write about. just that I want to write, that much I know.

I don't want anything else. I just want to write! no purpose, no goal. i just want to write. and yet my heart seeks the acceptance of those around me. I want to be good. my god, I'm never good enough for anything, am I?

Nikko says the problem with poetry is that it's so arbitrary. what may be good for one may suck for someone else. i don't care about anyone else, the acceptance of my professors are enough. one unbelievably flattering compliment and i might, might, might find hope in writing again.

don't get me wrong, leaving writing has never crossed my mind. this is my life. i know no other thing than writing. but sometimes, instead of freeing me from my pains, it causes me greater distress. I believe in loving what you do and doing what you love, and more than the silly boys in my blogs, writing is my one great love. but i'm getting nowhere. i have absolutely nothing wonderful to offer the world. you won't exactly get somewhere by fading away, will you? i don't want to fade away. i'm no kurt cobain, and if ever i do fade away, atleast let me do it with honor. with my own Come As You Are.

i'm not making any sense, am I? i don't usually make sense. i sort of just rant and rant and i usually don't know how to stop. I have nothing to write, tomorrow's the deadline for the Eng106 poem, and I'm tired of making something only good enough to pass. my 35/50, 15/25 and 35/50 is not good enough. no! ONE MAD IDEA! how hard is that?

my god. i've been waiting 3 hours now, where is he?

shiny red balloon spoils everything

barbie, listen please
my little boy blue is stuck
outside waiting for it to stop
one two three
the rain is falling
can you hear?
i can

barbie, sing me to sleep
make me forget for a while
the rain outside
is pouring inside
the tears are coursing
down my back

barbie, stop lying
i have you to blame
it's pointless waiting
but you keep singing
and i keep waiting
and no one will come

barbie, i'm sorry
the world is turning black
paint it back to blue
i'll wait a little longer
i promise i will
til then fill me
with the darkness that is
you

on notebooks. haha

went to alabang yesterday, supposedly to buy myself a cute notebook. i didn't find any, because still the cutest notebooks can only be found in fullybooked, even the ones in powerbooks look shitty compared to it. ofcourse im a little bias, because jordi labanda notebooks are sold there :))

so anyway, because it's depressing to go home empty handed i bought a small black notebook, that looks a lot like moleskine, except cheaper. yey!

so, another anyway, yesterday i hung out longer at the arts section than in the fictions area. that's both weird and scary. my mom was checking out some of my drawings a couple of days ago, and she said "baka dyan ka sumikat" after she said that, i went straight to my room and started reading. it's scary, me devoting more of my time in my sketching than in writing or reading.

the trip to CSB the other day made me realize i really want to pursue arts. but my first love would always always be writing. it's just new to me, i never wanted anything else but to write before. and now, i want to draw too..

math11 sucks. or maybe it's just me. tinuturuan ako ni chase kaninang madaling araw and my mind flies, i can't focus when someone i'm talking to is talking about numbers. nakakaasar.

but forget about that. i'm ready for math22 anyway.

1st semester is finally over. i was a part of two succesful plays, i've got new friends, and well it's a good semester if you leave out a LOT of things. anyway, i've planned out my sembreak although i'm sure to be bored anyhow.

my to buy list includes:

• staedler pens
• pilot drawing pen (o2 and 03)
• a new sketchpad (my last one's ready to retire)
• a haruki murakami book
• a gg marquez book

so pretty much, i'll be doing lots of reading and drawing. IM DRAWING AGAIN! which is good. because i love my new kind of art. my brother says its good, so that's good enough for me. and frankie says ang galing ko daw. well, out of all the other compliments, those two is what matters. first because my brother is the master (joke) and second because franco is kupal.

speaking of franco, the other night, at the prod party while everyone is enjoying the airconed rooms and there were probably just 7 of us left awake we got into a serious conversation. first about why i couldn't get over he who must not be named (how original), about writing (my favorite topic) and well, lots of stuff. i love conversations with franco even if he inserts theories and all that intellectual stuff only he understands, because i get a lot from it. we talked about writing, how i'm afraid to find out that i can't write. because i'm not good at it, and the only thing that keeps me writing is because i love it (and i usually get teary-eyed during this part haha) and he said that in writing, it's all you really need.

whatever whatever

the truth is i was never honest. no, scratch that, i was always honest only i never tell the whole truth. the same goes with my blog, i tried to write the things that matters to me, the things that causes me both euphoria and dysphoria. but mostly these are the things i can't write about because they are a part of me that when revealed will leave me naked. i want to write about it, i'm tired of feeling shallow because i always write about nonsensical stuff (which happens to also be a part of me) but i can't. someday i will. i know that one day, not being honest with my craft will be a bad thing, the professors will be able to tell, the readers will be able to tell...
i know this all seem senseless. but this is a start, the most honest thing i've probably done was admitting that there is still a part of me, a part of my life that i'm not being open about.


anyway, i have a new blog. it's not an honest blog, hahaha! although i'm planning to do that. this new blog will be home to my poetry and short stories. feel free to visit and leave a comment.

http://wordcrap.blogspot.com/

of tagalog poems and broken dreams

it really should've been a lot easier for me if i was a bit more open to you. im sorry gelly. i know we're supposed to be bestfriends. it's good we had that dinner though, atleast now you know everything. at promise nga, i'd tell you everything.

argh, im such a bitch. i hate myself. strike three na ko since yesterday.

but anyway, last night when i was waiting for angela barrientos, i was playing with tine's laptop and would you believe that i still have my fil20 discussions close to heart? wala lang. i wanted to write something about sex, pero syempre profound and artistic naman. here's what i came up with:

Dagat ang unan
Tahanan ng luha
Mundo ang kama
Ng pusong sagasa

Hubad sa pagibig
Hubad sa kalinangan
Ngayong gabi ika’y kanya
Ngunit di sya sayo kalianman

okaaaaay. this is me trying real hard. hahaha! sorry na. it's unfinished though, i wanted to play with tagalog words. but i guess the topic's the problem, because i don't have anything to write about it. hoho. im such an innocent young girl. here's another crap:

matang napuwing ang pintuan
Na bukas-sara sa hangin ng gabi
Naisin mang ipikit ng tuluyan,
Iniwang mulat para ang yong aninong parating
Ay muling masilayan

nilamon ka na ng dilim
naghihintay pa rin
ang puso kong sa gabing ito
ay nagmimistulang bitwin

isang bitwin sa langit ng isang bilyon
walang panalo sa laban para kay luna
nakikisabay sa liwanag ng iba
habang nanunuod ng di pwedeng makita

isasara ko ang pinto
ipipikit ang aking mga mata
pagkat ngayong gabi ang mga bitwin
malalaglag ng isa isa

okaaaaaaaay. so i'm still trying to understand this one. (how could i not understand my own work? i dont know) but anyway, i give up. i've long forgotten the pain of not being able to come up with a decent tagalog poem. i guess it was sir dumlao's compliments on my "gakukong liwanag na sumilip sa cherva......" that regained my self-esteem. pero wag na lang talaga. i'm done with trying. haha! i wanted to be nick joaquin, and well, even he (our national artist for literature, duh) wrote in english. so can i. anyway, i remember how it felt when i was reading "act of revenge" i love it's local 'feel' eh. it's written so well, and yet you know that it's written by a filipino. i guess i can still write in english and still sound filipino. diba? but so long my dreams of being a poet of tagalog words. haha.

anyway, to end this, i just want to say that i hope......... bsta. don't hate me.

nicole's havin lotsa fun

nicole got drunk. haha! told me i make simple things complicated. i guess so. i guess i do.

anyway, chase kept building his friend up. ang hirap isulat lhat ng sinabi nya eh. pero bsta, i don't know if i should be happy. both my bestfriends(chase and nicole) are rooting for jake. teej is rooting for whoever owns my heart. wow. as if that person wants me too. haha!! i don't know if i should follow my heart and sulk, or i if should follow my friends and open up to another person. haha! jake seems nice though. if not, then chase won't be able to forgive himself. haha!

i can't sleep, dammit. and i can't write anything other than these no frills blog entries. haha! it's okay though. im trying to keep everything simple. so as to avoid complications. haha! :)

i'll try to get some sleep now.

long entry ahead

this sem was the fastest ever, but i constantly felt the need for it to end. everything was so tiring, mostly because of the play. other than that, everything else was just plain complicated. i'm beginning to love that word, complicated. it sums up everything that's been going on with my life lately. haha! anyway, when i finally felt the semester dawning, how i wish i could pull back time so i could have a few more moments at the apartment, a few more bonding sessions with my housemates. but i guess, i needed the break as well. everything is in such a fast pace that i feel in dire need of something to stop me from running over everything.

this morning, in the shower, i kept repeating my speech over and over again. this is about the nth time i've done it. i'm good at writing the things i want to tell him, but no, i lack the courage to say 'em. sure, we've been talking more and more each day now, i've got this silly hope that soon we'll be back to the friends we were. but i miss our silences, i miss when we talk with our hearts for what our words won't be able to say. i miss a lot of things. but i've no intention of bringing em back now. i just want to completely get over everything. tj, of all people should understand. if there is anyone who knew everything i went through, it's him, but i guess it's hard to understand such a selfish decision. i'm crazy. i should stop writing about it, it only gives me a documented proof of how stupid i am. i won't move on. so i guess i'm only saying, that i'm going to stop trying. dammit. i'm so fickle minded.

anyway, i've got the whole sembreak planned out. i should be able to finish atleast 3 classics, i'm choosing between 2 shakespeare comedies, hg wells' time machine and modern utopia or beuwolf. hmmm. wadya think? i've got about 30 korean movies to finish, haha! crazy, right? i was actually watching my girl and i last night. man, i cried in the first scene. them damn koreans know how to make a lonely girl like me feel deprived. the line was "su ho still can't forget you. his brain is tiny, but it's filled with thoughts about you. let go of my friend, please." and this line was being screamed into the sea, to a girl who's been dead for 10 years already. su ho was obviously stuck, it made me cringe more. with jealousy i guess. i'd exchange any intelligent guy for one who'd love me 10 years after i die.
the other day i stayed up until 4 am, talking to joseph when he was supposedly studying for math. we talked about selle. i hit him hard with the pillow everytime he say something nice. because i feel lonely. because all the time i was sitting there beside him, i was thinking how much i wish i was sitting there with someone else, and that someone else telling me nice things too. i get so desperate sometimes. can't help but remember my dad, he told me a month ago ata, that i shouldn't get too desperate, all i have to do is wait because i deserve a prince daw. touching, ha? my dad thinks i'm a princess, i can't even have a damned beggar tas he thinks i'll be able to snag myself a prince. perhaps the shining armor. but not the prince. haha!

not everything's been going fine. but i always had something to hold on to, it's the thought that when it's not okay, then it's probably not the end. diba? it makes sense to me, and it keeps me strong.

i miss writing. like really writing. i mean, i write, but not as well as i think i can. i don't know what happened. papa kept pushing, it's okay when he does, i feel as if i'm not pushed enough to work harder. growing up, i always felt that i was competing with him. ofcourse i never could win, but i love the feeling of defeat, i love that he always know the meaning of the words i throw at him, i love that he keeps reiterating how his vocabulary got so wide, i love his stories about his childhood, about lola who was an english public school teacher. i love it because i always feel that there's more i can do to improve. i guess that's why i started this blog, i don't feel challenged writing in english, but i can only write about one emotion in such a way that it becomes almost like a figment, like a shadow luring at every black and white photo, embracing a widower's cold shoulders over her husbands grave, enveloping a mother in her third miscarriage. see? only one emotion. sadness. i need to write about others things too.

bes is here in elbi. :)

MUST study.
MUST stop reading Chuvaness.com
and MUST start trying to get my own life.
hahaha!

i don't know if it's just me, or other people's lives are really just so much fun!
especially when they're rich and famous. and they want Goyard bags and get Goyard bags.
or that their sneakers are, God forbid, worth atleast 25 of my Old Navy sneaks, just because they have the *tentenenentenen* Vuitton print. or that they think Topshop is actually cheap while the farthest i've gone inside Topshop is the door because i realize just as soon that i'll only be disappointed. or because they write a hell lot better, making their blogs a 'tad' more fun to read.

hmm. that must be it.
so anyway, i talked to Franco in class today:
"lola mo ba si Gilda Fernando?"
nods, "oo, bakit?"
opens mouth for a few seconds, "wala. galing."
"pinabasa sya sa inyo? may binasa kayong sulat nya?" (how many grandchild have their literature teacher/professor ask them to research/read about their grandmother's literary work/s?)
"hindi. wala lang. she writes in the paper, diba?"
"oo, philippine daily inquirer. hindi na masyado, medyo mahina na sya."
"oo nga." (thanks to chuvaness, im up to date with Filipino literary news)
opens mouth again, for 5 secons, i think. "galing talaga eh."
"hello!" Denise said in a 'heller' tone, "franco?? kita naman diba, it's in the genes" she said,
well i have to admit, Franco is pretty good in writing, well, not pretty good. GOOD. kay?

i was so jealous, i just wanted to know how it is to have a lola like that. but then again, i felt really guilty. i remembered my own lola, she introduced me to the Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight, to Children's Hour and other literary favorites, and she was the reason why my father is just as good in writing, why my father has read numerous classics and has memorized several famous and not so famous poems. if i become a writer, which i already am, but i mean a real writer in the 'high-tech world' sense that people from my extended network would actually know my name, there would be no other that fueled the very passion that keeps me writing but my lola. her name might not be read in other prominent people's blogs, or she might not be mentioned on newspaper articles and her name might not printed on a hardbound under a title of a book i know very well she could've written, but her name will reappear in my handwriting and in my words. i don't feel so jealous now. i have my own Gilda Fernando only her name is much more beautiful and more personal, Fe Gardon.

what i do best. RANT.

so early this morning i was reading Celine Lopez' and Gilda Cordero Fernando's column. yes, from two different newspapers. i couldn't even remember who writes for which just that they were in today's paper. i think.

so it's pretty tiring to read other people's lives. really. especially when they seem so heavenly, and yours is nothing to write about. but i keep reading simply because im hooked. last week i was so down about finding out how much writer's earn. but if you're the majestic Gilda Fernando who writes about 5 columns in the sunday paper (i don't know about the weekdays) you'd earn enough to feed a dozen children. but it's not like writers Jim Paredes, Celine Lopez, Tessa Prieto and Gilda Fernando need that extra thousands.

so as i was saying, i was reading Celine Lopez' column about internet. it was more like a blog entry about her love-hate relationship with the internet. she gets paid for it, i wonder when i will get paid for writing in my blog. oh. i guess when i become just as good, hmm, that makes sense. but what good is there to write about, lately i can't write about anything. i rant, that's what i do best. i sulk and get jealous. BUT REALLY, IM OK.

i'm not making any sense here. so anyway, i was checking out Chuvaness.com (stuff you won't read in the newspaper.) stuff you wish you read in your journal! i was getting all green with envy. again. just because these people live in the same country as i do, but they seem like somebody from the other end of the earth. i'd like to say that 'jessica zafra texted me...." too. i'd like to write about lunches with Dean Alfar and Socorro Villanueva, hahaha! but i'm a 17 year old writer wanna be, i don't write half as good as these people. and i don't even try.

one day i'm going to have a column too. and i'd write about parties and book signings. i'd be given complimentary tickets to plays and whatever. i'd write about countries i've been to over the weekend. but for now, i'm going to sulk and dream about it. haha.

following my breadcrumbs before the birds start chowing

i was reminded of hans christian andersen's tinderbox, where the tree was being guarded by two dogs with eyes the size of cups. saan pa? sa thea 107 class. hahaha. okaaay?!

i'm wallowing in sadness a little bit longer, drowning myself with ideas of things to write about, because this'll be the last time i'll write about you. (weh?) everyone was giving me this confused look whenever i justify the things i do with 'i'm following my breadcrumbs' line. but i am. simply because someone was blunt enough to painfully thrust the words into my heart. (how corny that sounded.) because everyone else was telling me to hold on, to wait a little longer and someone told me to just get it over with, to get out of this hole i'm stuck in because i don't deserve it. i guess it really means a lot when someone tells me that i don't deserve this mess i'm in, i kinda feel like i'm worth something. i don't expect my breadcrumbs to lead me somewhere happy, but atleast to some place better than this, some place where things are a little less painful. it doesn't help that i'm a masochist, i love pain, i love writing about it. infact i feel as if i've mastered the art of melancholy, that's why i tolerate pain and awkward silences that means a million hurtful words, because sadness is the most beautiful thing i could ever write about. because tears are inks and broken hearts are clean slates awaiting another sad, poetic entry.

i'm giving it all away now. i'm going to be one hell of a writer, sinking in buckets of tears or not. i'm going to write about misty morning walks and stoplight conversations. exchange of i love yous with my favorite beatles song on the background. happy stuffs.

and all because i have this one really good friend. thank you. i've said it a million times just now, but what the heck i really am that thankful.

battling ignorance

Frequent National Bookstore visitors will notice that the fiction section has grown inexcusably smaller. I find it terribly annoying that some Filipinos have very little interest in literature. Though love for books often starts at home, I think that it is also the school’s responsibility to bring their students closer to the enchanting world of words. I wasn’t blessed with a good literature teacher back in highschool, in fact I studied subject verb agreement year after year for four years. And honestly, It was a time badly wasted. (I envied my father’s kopong-kopong stories about what he learned from school, they read Edgar Allan Poe’s, Beuwolf’s and such.) I know for a fact that if we don’t do anything to stop it, the next generation will be dumber, less and less imaginative and dim-witted, thanks to the system of education, thanks to elementary and highschool teachers that teaches by the book and never by the words of Tolstoy and all them great. Back to National Bookstore, going through my usual browsing I observed that the classics, such as Hemmingway’s A Farewell to Arms, Harper Lee’s How to Kill A Mockingbird are now below 200 pesos. And I could only think of two reasons, two reasons that will either raise our hope for literacy among our unfortunate generation or prepare us for the downfall of the already sagging education. That they surprisingly lowered the prices to reach out to the financially poor lovers of a good read, or because literature is simply no longer of high value, that they are collecting dust in bookshelves full of expensive newer, sexier novels, that there is no other way to dispose them but to cut it’s real value. i would love to be able to talk to my children and hear them bragging about how they are receiving a better education that of that I received. Education should be improved by time, and yet it is always the opposite. When I was in high school, I asked one of my classmates if he has read this short story by Nick Joaquin, and he doesn’t even know him. I am ashamed of our lack of knowledge for these things, how do I expect kids my age to know H.G. Wells, if they don’t even know our national artist. People don’t feel ashamed that they don’t know about these great people and their equally great works, because everyone seems to not know it. Ignorance has become ordinary that everyone seem to think it’s cool, people who read and people who journey into the modern utopia become freaks. so I guess I’m a freak, then again so what?