Getting hit by a freight train feels like this...

Ryan was on his way home from school.   He was following the chain link fence that ran from the elementary school yard beside his high school to the edge of the street where he needed to turn left and follow, still, the same chain link fence as it ran to the edge of the block where the youth center’s baseball diamond could be found side by side with a small, privately owned animal shelter. He walked silently, casting small, furtive glances at each changing sight through the fence.   He watched as kids played in the yard while they waited for their school buses or parents or whoever the hell was picking them up from school.   Ryan turned the corner and slowed his pace even more, just enjoying the everyday sights that he saw every time he followed the same path.   He touched the tender spot on his stomach and winced.   He really did not want to go home yet, but he knew he had to.   He would just get it worse if he didn’t, so he trudged on.   He...

Hindi makakilos Hindi makapagisip Tulala na parang lumulutang Kasama ang ulap ng pighati Hindi malaman kung ano ang gagawin Upang ang luha ay tumigil Sa pagagos sa mukha Nang hindi maipakita ang tunay na damdamin Ang tanging dingin sa Poong Maykapal Ay tumigil ang panaghoy ng pusong umaangal Upang ang sakit sa dibdib ay tuluyang mapawi Ng halik at yakap ng aking pagibig

I’m afraid of the improbable and the impossible; of wounding hearts and hands. It’s like shooting at a glass moon and watching it shatter to a million pieces only to be plagued by the duty of having to pick up the pieces and putting it back together.  It’s a never-ending vicious cycle and things are never the same again.  The cracks and holes will always be there for the whole world to feast on – broken and torn.  Once that’s done, you sink deeper and deeper.  It’s cigarette depression – to quote a phrase from a book I have never read.  It just fills you up and decays you from inside out – rotting, fouling up. Failure had always been me.  An ever constant presence that eats at my insides.  Success is but an elusive dream that never comes but is always gone. I feel like I’m on the wrong side of a gun.  Cocked, locked and loaded and pressed against the temple of my head filled with useless thoughts of death and uncalled for redemption....

She thought her relationship with her friends already seemed unhealthy.  As the days progress, she feels more and more like an outsider and it was driving her insane.  There’s always that hitch in her throat and her heart palpitates with so much sadness to see their friendship fall apart.  There’s also this insane idea in her brain that either she’s the only one who notices it or that she’s really that much different from them.  She’s just really, totally, and outrageously different from her friends. She wasn’t cool.  She was a geek pretending to be cool, and the pretension was getting to her.  It was eating her from the inside – an insatiable termite living in her psyche. She was tired of always having to put on masks and barriers and walls all around her.  It was making her hurt all over more and more each day.  The walls that she had put up were starting to close in on her and she had no one else to blame but herself. Her chest fel...

I was immensely depressed way back in October 2008.  Ironically, that was my birth month, but during that time, I was in an extremely dark place.  I just wanted to die, but didn't seem to have the resolve to go through it.  So I wrote.  I wrote and I wrote and I wrote until I finally had fucks to give again. The next two essays that I am going to post are from the darkness inside my head back during that year.  I was messed up; completely and utterly fucked in the head, and these writings are illustrations of the vulnerable, broken (like I'm not broken until now...) 28-year old me stripped bare of everything. These are the thoughts in my fucked up (yes, I cannot emphasize that any more than I am physically capable of) head.

There is an inherent danger in assuming that all humans are intrinsically good.  There are some who, by nature, are evil. Demons are an example of this.  Once human, they were - even as children - creatures of havoc, mischief, and malevolence.  They bear death, destruction, and despair in their wake, causing confusion and agony to every creature that they touch.  Thus they were considered as soulless entities (a complete fallacy as every demon you would have the misfortune of meeting would tell you) whose only purpose was to cause pain. When Lucifer was cast into the pits of hell, the malevolent souls of these creatures were cast into this realm with him. His to command and his to make use of. As time went by, some of these demons were allowed to roam the realm of humans.  They interacted with humans and were even borne to humans.  They capture the souls of each unborn child and consume them, taking their place in the womb of an unknowing couple who ...

The art of writing For most people Is the pouring out of emotions Through a pen To a piece of paper For me The art of writing Is breathing life to words To be able to capture the soul The pen is just an instrument You use to create a whole new life A different world A parallel dimension It’s not just an escape But a journey Through lands made up of minds, Emotions Ideas Life A life that I myself created A universe where I am God As God had done I give my creations my own life Breathe into them my own breath And after writing down a piece I put my pen down And enjoy the high Of being able to create Of experiencing being God Of feeling more alive than I had ever been

Recently, my brain's been a muddled mixture of "what if's" "maybe if" "should I" "I really shouldn't" and "fuck that's" and it's been a dizzying emotional rollercoaster that gets quite exhausting after a while.  As a fan of the "It gets better" motto, this shouldn't really bother me that much, but surprisingly, it does.  To say that I'm confused would be the understatement of the year.  Lost is more appropriate, I think. Whether it's with work or life, I just feel lost.  Not empty, mind you.  Just really freaking lost.  I miss those days when I'd just got to Starbucks and people-watch while I sip my frappucino, chain-smoke, and type a blog entry furiously on my phone so I can immediately post something when I get home. And this blog entry just made me realize that maybe I should do that today...well, tomorrow, maybe, not today.  Definitely before I go back to work on Thursday.  It might ...

Goodnight Moon The Sun has finally taken her last bow She has fallen with no one to catch her But will rise again when morning comes Oh, Moon, where have you gone?

Here's another one I wrote back in 2009 still.  Again, emo back in 2009, so this is still very, very angst-ridden. DISJOINTED I'm not so much alive as dead It's all too much All just too much to bear I love you No one-night stand would do But it's been so long I lost calendar days Keeping up with your pace Flying on rooftops Skipping on stones Playing on cartwheels Thinking of you alone I'm no good If not with you I can't be surreptitious Even if I wanted to Hidden in a void so deep Playing with Sandman in my sleep I come sent by car crash hearts Where broken bones are a way of life It makes no sense I take no heed I only want to make me bleed

This is a poem I wrote way back in mid 2009.  It was a very emo year for me so please forgive the angst that was so blatantly thrown into this thing.  I'm happier with my life now.  My depression problem is still there, but with everything going on in my life right now, particularly my love life, things had been shaping up for me. :) PAIN It's the pain It's always about the pain And will always be about the pain At the end of the day It's all that will remain It chases away the rainbows of life So step up and dance The farce on the edge of a knife Skittering on the edge of a blade Take a good, long look At the life that I have made.

I love my quiet time, my “me” time. Sitting at Starbuck’s, sipping my frapuccino, cigarette between my fingers, and a good book to keep me company while a good rock band is pounding in my ears. Life is good when I can have moments like these. A time when I can just sit back, relax, and watch the world pass me by as I ponder the existence of my life. Or just a small portion of my life when I can sit still and empty my always churning mind.  This is my moment. My silence. The only time I can actually act sane. Chaos is overrated as it is. Silence is constant.  I live for solitude. My solitude. I act like a social person, may even interact with other people with the best of them. But really, my heart beats to the music of loneliness. Loneliness with sadness is only a part of it. Loneliness with calmness and peace is really what I strive to achieve. And I am able to do so when I am able to experience moments of solitude where I can just blend with the background and watch pe...

Hand to heart Heart in hand As the sun shone behind his face He stared at his reflection on a glass pane And moved to the rhythm of her beating heart Believing for a moment that it could be his Even if he thought it could only happen in his dreams That he would be able to hold her and Embrace her and make her his Hand to heart Heart in hand He watched her He watched her move sinuously To the sound of another man's heart He watched her move He watched her laugh He listened to her giggle He listened to her sigh She teased She smiled And finally, she looked his way Hand to heart Heart in hand He made his way across the room To where she stood Mouth dry Mind blank He walked slowly, deliberately Until he was right in front of her Hand to heart Heart in hand Honey-brown eyes met warm, chocolate-browns He took her hand in his And gave her his heart "Here is my heart Do as you see fit Although I wish that you will take care of it In case it bre...

Grammatically incorrect statements, whether written or verbal, ticks me off big time.  You can say that this is one of my major pet peeves, having been raised in a house where your mom is a grammar-nazi.  Also, I grew up with cousins who spent almost their entire lives in Canada and barely spoke Filipino at all, which caused me to learn Tagalog quite late in my youth. Now, don't get me wrong, guys.  I have nothing against our native tongue.  I'm actually quite fond of speaking in Filipino and had become quite fluent in it as I grew older, but the English language is my bread and butter.  You see, I work in a call center. Working in a call center exposes you to so many things, and one of them is bad grammar.  Agents saying "Can I hold you for a while?" instead of saying "May I put you on hold?" to their clients or "I'll gonna be able to..." instead of "I will be able to..." are just some of the statements that would burn through yo...

Do you know how it's like to feel too much? Have you ever felt so much you thought you're going to explode? You practically crawl out of your skin because all the emotions are so overwhelming -- too overwhelming -- that you don't know what to do with yourself anymore? To feel pain ripping through your chest like it was nothing but a piece of flimsy paper? I do. Every. Fucking. Day. I feel too much. I'm not talking about empathy. I'm talking about pure, unadulterated emotions coursing through your entire body your chest feels too tight; your skin stretched too thin. You want to scream, hurl, laugh, cry, puke, pass out...anything. Just fucking anything to stop wave after wave after wave of emotion from washing over you like the surf breaking on rocks. Have you ever cried so hard you actually ended up short of breath? Sobs so heart and gut-wrenching that whoever overhears the sounds that you make will think that some kind of animal is hurt. But then...

Well, until nothing really. I used to blog avidly until living life as an adult with too many responsibilities on her plate took over my life. I barely write anymore. Even the fiction stuff I'm writing had to take a backseat. And I hate myself for it. My blogspot account is still active, but I have deleted my old music-themed blog from there. I lost all interest in blogging, but now, I feel like I want to do so again, if only to get my groove back when it comes to writing. I'm a very talented writer, and this is not just me being all "mayabang" or anything. I have a way with words. Now, the question is...would you read what I write? I don't want to use my LiveJournal account for it because that is a completely different avenue of thought all together, but I'm thinking of reviving my blogspot. Maybe I should try blogging again...whether or not I have readership, maybe I should. Won't lose anything if I try, right? And I do have another tab open and lo...