Burnout

I think I'm beginning to understand what had me all worked up these past few years. I'm simply experiencing a burnout coupled with a great deal of disappointment in the learning institutions here.

Let them say that it's all in my head, but let them try walking in my shoes for just one second, and they would wish they could eat their words. Long term exhaustion? Check. Diminished interest? Check. Reduced sense of personal accomplishment? Check. Maybe, I have just had too much of this thing for so long and my mind was not mature enough to cope with all of it.

Goodness. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Please God, just let me graduate already. I'm fed up, plain and simple.

Relativity

I might not be able to comprehend the things that are happening in my life right now, but I welcome the changes that are happening even if they mean that I have to step out of my safe cocoon. And there is a high probability that I will never really understand all of these because I see the picture from the unique POV of my two-decade old self; maybe I lack the wisdom or insight borne out of spending a greater number of years on this earth.

I've realized that adulthood entails a lot of responsibility, patience, and grit. That is, compared to infants, children, and geriatric denizens.

I've realized that all adults make mistakes; they make decisions with dire consequences knowingly or blindly. I hazard that the consequences may make a dent in their lives, but the gravity of such consequence can never be seen as equal for all because all of us are blind to our own characters, whether we like it or not.

I've realized the power of paradigm and being able to see things from another perspective. And it's so amusing to see adults with some semblance of authority over myself become like amateur actors in a poorly-directed play with scripts in different vernaculars.

I've realized that we probably are self-centered in a way because of self-preservation.

Our sight is among the most amazing things in life. It is so complex and so important, yet is so easily colored or turned.

Happily Tired

I'm still doozy from a marked lack of sleep. I surprised myself by not sleeping for a recent personal record of 34 hours; I was kept happily busy entertaining the people or making sure everything else was in order. (Thirty four hours is measly compared to what others can do, but it's a good record for me because I've been sleeping almost nine hours daily in the recent months.) I hope they had fun, even if it wasn't really the grandest of all homes or celebrations. Now, I'm happily tired.

I should also give myself a good-sized knock on the head for driving my mom to the mall to shop for gifts today; I was still a bit sleepy so it would have been dangerous for a bit, but all the pesky drivers and pedestrians woke me up enough to engage in a bit of a road rage. I'm past my teens already, but I still take risks. What the hell. The rewards were greater this time. I also believe I still possess enough sense to know when I can or cannot drive.

Nearing The End

Death always makes its presence known in my life. Not particularly being morbid though, as it isn't the physical death that many fear. So many characters, so many things, so many relationships, so many feelings and so many experiences die as I journey through.

I should be grateful that I find myself renewed eventually because something in my life meets its end and is replaced by something new or better. It's just that I'm probably too young to know that I should cherish such new beginnings or numerous second chances.

It's the end of yet another year, nearly the end of another chapter in my life. I'm so terribly unsure, increasingly pessimistic, and greatly confused. I'm probably young and jaded (or probably just more subdued with age) that I'm quietly letting all the new things come to me, instead of fiercely meeting them head on as I did before. I'm afraid that I might have lost courage in reaching out, choosing to remain in my comfort zone, that I might forget to live. Is this a quarter life crisis, early on?

It seems that what the world sees is at odds with what my soul sees.

Hello and Goodbye

I felt your hand brush over my forehead and I was jolted awake. 

It was half past three and I suddenly realized you were saying goodbye.

I did not cry and I did not scream, for I somehow knew all along that you were going to a better place, where there would be no more pain.

I cherish all of the memories I have of you. 

I remember how you cooked my favorite ginataan when we were moving to a new home. You made sure that Sunday lunches included my favorite alimasag, no matter how difficult to procure. I remember the best hunger-busting stews you made; nothing can ever compare to your kare-kare, mole, batchoy, and molo soup.

I can still smell the Jean Naté and White Flower you so frequently used. I laugh now as I remember my young eyes widen at the sight of your precious bottles of perfume all lined up like beautiful glass sculptures in your bath.

The most precious memories that I have of you was when you would indulge my love of roses--showing me your rosary of rose petals and rose wood, and gifting me with tea roses and rose shrubs. 

I do not know if you were aware that as you were leaving this world, I had annointed your forehead and hands with rose oil. I do know that you recognized my voice when I was whispering to your ear for the last time. We gave the nurse quite a surprise, didn't we?

Has he taken you to your second honeymoon now? :)

I love you, and I will miss you. Thank you for being part of my life.

One Day I'll Fly Away

Let me fly to the moon and bask in the glory of nothingness.
For the soul seeks solitude, and the heart wishes to be free.

And then let me fall back to the arms of the earth
Serene, sated, and wholly soothed.

I Prefer the Rain

I've just prefer the cacophony of rain, thunder, and lightning over bright and dry sunshine. Storms bring out the best in Mother Nature, methinks; she puts on quite a good show when she's brewing something. I love it when the rain patters down onto the earth, nourishing the parched flora while the wind howls and lashes all around. There is a sort of primal beauty in such weather.

Call me weird, or impractical. Sure, rainy season has its downsides. The streets get flooded, commuters get wet, power may sometimes go out, and so on. I hazard, though, that rain is better than heat waves that leave you weak with dehydration or sticky with sweat. The ultra-warm weather may be cause for a myriad of fun activities like cooling off by bodies of water in bikinis, or having iced desserts. Steaming coffee or warm cocoa or hot soup can beat that too, as well as staying indoors and curling up with a good book amidst cool sheets of your bed, with warm fluffy stuff around you.

Too bad the rains have stopped again. And that classes resume tomorrow.

Renovation c/o Mama

My home is currently undergoing renovation (again) this summer; reroofing, replacing the gutter and moldy plywood, repainting, rewiring, extra masonry, and all the work that needs to be done on the 30+ year old structure. The house is looking better slowly and surely, as it makes its transition from am ugly abode to a real home.

The room that is assigned to me is the center of attention now, being the receiving end of the most work for the time being. (Though I sincerely wish the work would be finished soon as my room is crying out for some good cleaning, and I can't sleep well with the fumes of paint, stripper, thinner, and drying cement constantly wafting all over me.) The workers are currently painting every available surface in the neutral palette of my choice: brown, tan, mocha, cream, sand, beige, and off-white. It's rather boring, truth be told, but I can actually spice up the room with a variety of colors and themes now, compared to when I was awarded a powder blue room some years before. I wanted to adapt the look of the Lirean palaces, but that would entail much back-breaking labor, and I didn't have the heart to force the workers to do such.

This is all thanks to Mama. It's mother's day, it's her day. It's the day of all the women who stood as my surrogate mothers. Cheers to the most beautiful and most wonderful creations in the world: mothers.

Selene

I stare transfixed at the glowing moon in the misty November sky. Selene wears her crown tonight; she is the glorious queen of the dark sky. She blankets me with a cool comforting light, she is gentle, she is soothing. She is unlike Helios who has blinded me with his fire.

She rises to her zenith before midnight, and holds the heavens her throne. She teases the other heavenly beings immortalized in the dark firmament. They twinkle, they sparkle, they dance; but they are no match for her majesty tonight.

Her sorrows are hidden, and her face is impassive. Yet I sense the loneliness in her heart. She is grieving. And I weep with her. In this dark hour.

Too soon, Aurora limbers in the eastern sky, and I must close my eyes. The icy wind warms with Helios’ fire, and I feel the sting. I shall weep with Selene another time.

Of Broken Hearts and Love

Too often, young men and women lose their faith in themselves and humanity when their hearts get crushed to a pulp, beaten blue, shattered into a million pieces, torn asunder, or to put it simply, broken apart. Love becomes a traitor, it becomes a taunt, it tortures the weeping soul to no end. The whole experience would seem like a curse, a haunting nightmare, and a sort of death to many. There is gut-wrenching pain, a black void, a loss of something so precious and dear. Heartbreak is one thing each person experiences in some way in one's lifetime, something as permanent as life and death itself. 

The loss of a love happens to anyone, whether expected or not.

The experience has seen history and literature chronicle its many forms, dramatic or extraordinary in some way. Love is lost in palaces and cobblestoned streets, in meadows and in gardens, on land or at sea, in times of peace or in times of upheaval. Music and dance express the swirling human emotions as it evokes bittersweet memories in sound and movement. Little ditties end up sounding like funeral dirges, notes start in a minor key, and mournful voices are raised to the high heavens. Dance becomes a melancholy affair, alternately swirling with the desperation and denial of loss, a call to the fickle Cupid to bring the loved one back in one's arms. Even science involves itself in the experience of the loss of a love, mystified by the psychosomatic diseases brought upon by heartbreak.

A young man would often cry inside, face the world unsmiling, forcing his way through his usual routine without his beloved, volatile and sensitive. He may choose to talk and talk and talk, or not talk at all. He would either get drunk, get angry, or get incredibly and emotionally mushy in trying to deal with the loss. He contemplates whether it really was his fault that the girl left him for a better guy, whether he should take revenge (if the guy is a bastard and an arsole and a half), or whether he should come crawling back to the girl of his dreams. Ask him if he's alright, and he replies with a shrug or a grunt, then leaves in a huff. He goes out with the guys, drowning his sorrows in the bottles of vodka or cheap beer, seeking other guys' opinion on why he should stop pitying himself and start looking for another girl. Or maybe he sheds a tear before his head hits the sack for a dreamless sleep. He may start exhibiting self-destructive behavior like punching a concrete wall until his fist becomes a gnarled mass of broken bone and tissue, cutting his wrists, taking out his anger and pain on helpless animals (psycho alert!), or pretty much anything that points to 'wimping out because of the emotional pain' aka suicide. 

The young woman would show up with puffy eyes, and a face that could make a gargoyle weep and flee. Her friends will give her a hug while she slowly finishes off a bar of chocolate to relieve her anxiety. She would engage in picking at her food, even if it were so delicious, but she has no appetite for it. She goes around walking like a zombie, paying almost no attention to the boring lectures, and automatically checks her cellphone for any sign of the lost beloved. After all, the lost beloved was the first one who proclaimed his extreme like for her, and wooed her with his best gentlemanly ways. She's always wondering how the gentleman died and was replaced by an asshole who couldn't keep his eyes (and probably his hands) roving over other young women. She might engage in long sessions with the bottle, or sweets, but in the end, she calls for a big girl powwow with her barkada amidst junk food and movies like Troy where the eye candy is much much much better than the average schmuck that she once dated. What man doesn't have the beauty and brawn of Hector, Achilles, or Paris?

Now where was I?

Oftentimes, these young men and women seek comfort in words and the company of friends who can help absorb the shock and the grief. Too many times, the heartbroken are filled with bitterness and hate. They would profess that love is a joke, a bane, a cruelty, probably knowing that deep inside their hearts, it would the first thing that can heal them. 

As a friend, I am to soothe their agitation, to apply some balm to their raw hearts, to whisper words of comfort, to wipe away the endless tears, to listen to their pained thoughts, to interrupt their hyperventilation with a glass of water, to lull them to a dreamless sleep when they are too hurt, to let them vent their anger in the soccer field, and to love them despite their temporary insanity. The expense of boxes of Kleenex, cups of hot choco or low-fat frappes, cellphone load for endless messages and calls, retail therapy, DVD rentals, gym memberships, arcade tickets, go-cart passes, shooting range tokens, and spa treatments are nothing when it comes to helping a friend in dire need of reassurance and comfort. After all, I did go through the same thing, and they were my pillars of strength when I initially had nothing to start with.

I observe a remarkable phenomenon that after the storm, one emerges battered yet not beaten. One may hurt over the loss over any given period of time before acceptance finally sinks in. And one moves on, leaving some part of the self with the past with a resolve to seek love again.

How powerful love can be.