Recycle Bin

As easy as a drag;
I throw it all away.
Albums kept and chat logs long
In this bin it’ll all stay.
To rot – like the past,
Grief-stricken I am no more.
Yet above all else, still I am hopeful
Maybe one day, I’ll hit ‘Restore’.

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Stuck

It was another cold evening, and I was on my way home from the coffee shop.  I bothered to stay there for an afternoon to get away from my bed, and to start with my Review of Related Literature (for my thesis). Just when I mistook the afternoon heat, I forgot to bring my big umbrella, and took awhile to wait for the pouring rain to subside. It was past 7 o’clock, and I had to rush home. However, it seemed like the weather was not going to allow me for next half our or so.

The Final Exams was getting near by the day, and I am getting overwhelmed by the bunch of paper work which I still have to do. Aside from reports, I was finishing my first three chapters for my thesis, which is due two weeks from now while studying for my major subjects. I could very well say that its not as easy as it seemed, as I spend my nights with cups of  coffee, and my laptop. Having tried hard to focus on my schooling, things would come up from time to time, straying me from my trail of thought, leading me to my fatal flaw – flashbacks and reminiscing. Oh yes, its that difficult for me to regain my ‘moment’ once it starts to throw me off course.

Half an hour has passed, and its the rain settled down to a drizzle. I decided to walk through this rain, with the scarf on my head, quick enough to get to a shed (I was thinking my move was getting me closer to the jeepney terminal, than waiting inside the coffee shop).  Just when I was near the mall’s shed, I took a couple of minutes more before I started walking under the rain.

As I walked towards the pedestrian, I noticed this two guys under an umbrella – wherein one of the guys was clutching to the other guy’s arm. just like a girl. Well, probably they realized nobody was going to notice them, since people were in a rush to get home, and it was raining, so they went on like that under the guy’s umbrella. I stopped briefly to see them, and then I saw them smile at each other, not caring about the people around them, and instead finding refuge and feeling close to one another in this cold and rainy weather.

I couldn’t stop myself from thinking – weren’t they so happy? And somehow, I began wondering how happy it could’ve felt, being with someone whom you could be at ease with: someone you can laugh with even when the world frowns, raises you up even when the world looks down on you;love you in spite of the things that you’ve done and most of all, loves you because of the trust and the respect you had for one another. Seeing a couple like that makes me smile, but stabs me inside, for a reason I know very well.

For a year has passed, by the scars remain open, and I’m stuck under the rain to wash my eyes from crying.

 

The Downside

I always saw myself as a tough guy.

Despite my apparent choice of preference, I get a lot of compliments from the people around me with regards to being brave and confident when it comes to dire situations. Being tough, for me, wasn’t just a scale of physical strength. I believed, that acknowledging the fear that we all have, and confronting them had to be my measure of courage. Brute force was not my thing. And neither was harboring fear towards others.

Growing up and having to settle on different places – meeting different kinds of people, making good friends, and getting the attention of some bad guys along the way, somehow added to my learning experience that the world is more of a jungle, rather than the paradise it was once known to be. I had to teach myself how to be “street-wise”, and how to mingle with the people outside  my comfort zone.

People saw my independent side – the guy who always had his planner handy, ticking off all the activities he was able to accomplish; the guy who never settled for Plan B; the guy who would try to reason out his way with things, as long as he know he’s right and that it’s his right to do so; the guy who never forgets to ask for His Guidance.

But for all you know, I have somehow resented this “resilience” of mine. I feel as if nobody bothers to ask for me, for how I actually am. That no one really understood. That no one has connected to me in away that I was hoping for a very long time.

 

And despite this epitome of strength that I wield, underneath it is a scared little boy, who longs to be heard.

The Tormented

The evening haunts, the shadows cry
Each voice inside, won’t let you by
The tears, the pain, the weary sighs,
They fill your thoughts up ev’ry night.

The sadness just won’t go away.
If spoken of it everyday.
Cylical, looks as it may
‘The scars are fresh’ yes you may say.

But how can wounds be soothed and heal?
If still, cry so much for what you feel?
Can you not stick to what is real,
That they are not of the best deal?

The evening haunts, and so it will
Should rationality be killed?
Should you face the other cheek, and sigh
Thoughts will be filled up, by and by.

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.

You’ll Never Know

T’was another Friday night
You’re all gloomy, with a sigh.
My worries push to ask you why,
And then, you hugged me as you cry.

At first, he hesitates to tell,
But I knew better, he ain’t well.
A lonely boy, trapped in a cell
In grief and shame, his damp face fell.

I knew, he’s never treated right.
Arguments each and every night.
He never shared, but clear in sight –
Each scars his heart had every fight.

I comfort him with words I say,
And pray’rs I have each waking day
Were prayers that come what may,
He had a ‘friend’ that’s here to stay.

I had to tell him but he bid goodbye
He said “We’ll fix this, I have to try”
And now I sat here, with a sigh.
Again, my chance had slipped me by.

Who’s Crazy Now?

I was fond of leaving the house, and catching up to my mother’s Hemodialysis Session late at night – usually around 9:30 to 10:30 in the evening, just late enough so I can free myself of the long sitting time inside the jeep because of the Friday traffic. Also, leaving the house late at night makes me feel at ease, because whenever I look outside the jeepney window, the cool evening breeze calms me down, and sets me off into a ‘meditative’ trance while travelling to Roxas Blvd.

This time is actually no different from the previous nightly travels that I have taken. But somehow, thisjeepney that I was in, had somehow made  ponder on so much, before I went to sleep that day (so much for being so worriesome, huh?).

It was around 10 o’clock when I got to the jeepney stop, and I happen to call a jeepney to ride on. I was the third passenger on the jeepney – the first one, being the passenger beside the driver, and a guy who sat  not too far from where I was. The Air Supply tracks was definitely on a high volume (making me shout out where I was going to alight), but it didn’t matter to me much, as I as enjoying the songs being played.

As the jeepney stopped near the old Sta Ana church, an old woman, carrying a big shoulder bag rode the jeep, and sat at the seat infront of me. She looked very tired, and surprisingly, she was murmuring things to herself, and some of it, I cannot clearly understand. She seemed very hungry, as she was handing out her hand towards me (seeing that  I was eating a pack of biscuits). I gave her another pack, and she started munching on the Skyflakes that I gave her. A sudden rush of emotions came to me, as I glanced at her, and questions like that came into my mind: “Where’s her family now?” “Where is she going?” “Is she really crazy, or mentally ill?” but then, out of pity, I looked away, pretended not to be overly concerned at her condition, and drifted off with my random thoughts.

Not too far away, a group of teenagers rode the jeep. If I am not mistaken, there were 5 of them, not far from my age (but definitely younger than me). They were so rowdy inside the jeepney, shouting, laughing, and cussing each other, as if carrying no burden at all. The smell of alcohol reeked inside the jeepney, and really, it would definitely piss me off. What was more irritating, was how they kept looking at the old lady with disgust. Sneering and whispering (though, they weren’t really whispering) that she was insane, as she kept talking to herself and pretending to be looking for something inside her bag.

But deep inside, with how they were even acting out, could I even consider them as the sane ones? After how they seem to be pretty much enjoy being carefree and aloft with their own surroundings? The ones who are expected to think, and live upright lives spend their living bodies in a degrading way?

Just Not Enough

It was a bliss – that feeling of cheer that came my way one rainy November evening. Living in this world, alone and depressed from time to time, it seemed happy to realize that despite all the hardships I face, a new horizon is always in full view at the end of the day.

I was a kid in the dark, alone and cold; clueless and lost; confused and torn. But amidst the dark and desolate life that suddenly befell me, a candle was lit.

Its light was small, and darkness enveloped its very entity, yet it burned bright, and Hope continued to illuminate my surroundings. A little candle managed to warm my palms, but most especially, my heart. I finally saw a smile, from the reflection that emanated from the puddle. And because of that, slowly, but surely, I started to hope that this would continue, all throughout the night.

And as the night grows dimmer by the hour, the rains starts to pour again, and the winds blew harder each and every time. The light flickered, and I feared for the worst. I couldn’t afford to lose this light in this dark and gloomy evening.

But, the longer I try to hold on, the more obstacles I face, and the faster it burns its flame. Now, I begin to doubt myself, if I could even feel the same way again, once the candle melts out, and the first few rays of the sun is finally in full view.