It seems I feel the need to write again. Tonight, Friendster, you are the safest spot on the interwebs.

I have no updates for you. Or rather, I do, but I haven’t the time nor the patience to reiterate every single detail of the past few months. I won’t be ranting tonight. I won’t be writing, either. I’m just–

You know, you’re an old friend, Friendster. You know me and I have no reservations when it comes to you. So I won’t be ranting or writing. I just wanna talk to you, like I would to a friend. A close friend. A best friend.

First, I’ll say.. hey, you know what? I love this new me. I love the new people and the new experiences that come with this overhaul. I like this change.  It started during Christmas season and it’s still in progress. Last week, I plowed through four (a friend says six, but the other two - thumb war and mercy - don’t count xD) previously untried activities. I’m coming out of this shell of fear and stoic indifference that I’ve built around myself over the years. It surprises me how easily I am overcoming each hurdle. What have I been scared of all this time? What was the point in all those years of self-inflicted isolation?

I wish I could have learned these secrets before. But, hell, even wishing that is pointless. This exact moment, in this specific place, is where I live now. The future is a blurry myriad of possibilities, and the past is gone. This moment is tangible. The present is my friend.

Oh, and yeah, I’ve accepted that I am highly sensitive and insanely imaginative. Those are simply two of my many attributes. I’ve stopped denying my intuition and blocking out my perceptions. It is okay to dream once in a while; it doesn’t undermine reality. Contrary, imagination makes reality seem much more.. Well.. Real. I let my mind run wild sometimes so that when the time comes to focus, I can do it with greater ease. I let myself feel everything - happiness and sadness - because being passive only causes me anxiety. And I can’t have that in my life. I don’t want it. I recognize that I should let people get under my skin once in a while; I need to connect with others so they can keep me from flying off into outer space with my imagination. I know that if someone sets out to hurt me, then the problem is not within me. I won’t let insecurity ruin anything for me.

I smile at everyone. I minimize the sarcasm. I don’t deny myself the right to want. I hope, I dream, I laugh, I cry, I imagine, I live.

So this week:

I had coffee with a stranger. I wore red slippers all around the house. I learned how to bowl. I got on a truck and climbed a mountain. When the mountain ran out of dirt roads, I got off the truck and kept climbing. I hugged someone on a ledge overlooking the world. I saw the sun set, watched a full moon rise, then smiled as the sun came out again.

- Job = awesome.

- School = so far, so good.

Matt sent me Mists of Avalon as a very, very, very late birthday gift. Still love it so damned much. Also, I’m currently studying for my driver’s permit which I want pretty bad.

Update Number 1: My sisters and I chopped my hair off last night.

Number 2: I’m at work. I love it.

Number 3: I just finished The Kite Runner. Awesome book.

Number 4: Coming soon.

<3

Ches

Someone else gets to tell her she’s beautiful but she doesn’t always like hearing him say it. Sometimes, she doesn’t even want to be around him.

Some days are lessons in pretense. Others are visions of perfection. 

Where do the pretty things go? All the smiles, and the words, and the flowers, and the trips, and the skies, and the love, and the excitement, and the children, and the youth..

Is to forget the beauty of our past just a part of growing up? Is it a requirement before one can move on? I don’t know if I miss anything but I stumbled upon a few memories and found that I still love so many of them. It’s a strange thing, reminiscence.

In a single, silly argument, what I’ve been dreading to admit came rushing out.

"I guess we’re not ready to be serious, then."

And he said, "Alright."

This is where half-a-year led us. I wonder if this will be forgotten by tomorrow.

To M:

Well, you already know..

It gets harder to think that we’ll actually
Be patient enough to make it through.
I’m insane and you’re a world away.
But, hey, this is just to say
That I think I’m beginning to
See my heart, soul, world
In your hands.

I’ve a plan if you are willing:
We’ll take on all the ends of the world.
A toast, we’re celebrating!
No one’s around,
We’re on our own.

This sacred wine–
It’s a toast to all our crimes.
Brothers I’m yours!

No one could ever shake this!
The soul we share,
The things we’ve done..
We were only dreaming.
We breathe together,
Hunt as one.

These blessed times–
Just always keep them in mind.
Brothers, I’m yours!

I’ll raise my glass to you!
Silence them forever..
These falling knives,
It’s all for the taking.

Well, here it is. Here we go. Another end, new beginnings, chapters yet to be written - set in stone, aren’t they?

Has it really been..?

Yes, two years. All in accordance to the trend. Of life, in/sanity, ease, hard work, friends, conflicts, relationships, un/believable coincidences and fated circumstances. Down the drain, but not really. Swirling into pointlessness, but, no, not really. Worthless but, again, not really.

Here was a stepping stone not to professional success but to emotional maturity. Here lies, in this sacred land where I was born (and changed), my foundation to a newer, better, improved (but not really) me. Here lies, in this province of culture, disaster, heat and absolute boredom, Francheska as she was in the white uniform or in the semi-rebellious wear. Here lies a peek into what I might have been and what I was never meant to become.

So this is a kind of tribute. Though of what sort, I cannot really say. Is it a gift? An offering? How could it be anything but a post in some obscure corner of cyberspace outlining my sentiments (of which, I have very little) regarding my departure from the Philippines?

Not scared, no. Not saddened, either. Not ecstatic, nor excited. I”ve done this far too many times for it not to feel all too normal. And yet, of course, there’s always that sense of falling headlong into a bottomless cliff. I conceal the sensation from myself, though no longer consciously. It’s just that I cannot bear to feel much, in case I’m unable to handle what lays beneath my silly, unneeded facade.

I would really like for all this to finally be over. Done with. It would be quite nice to know what will become of this new adventure. Oh, what good fun!

So while I was sitting down, enjoying the second to the last evening of the Nurses’ week celebrations (which entitled us all a break from the normal routine), I got the most annoying sort of epiphany, the kind that unfolds a realization of something horrible and unchangeable. Well, it isn’t really that horrible. It’s just.. Something. I’m not sure of the right word to use.

See, I’m going to be doing this for the majority of my life. I will be working. Forever.

It’s not just that I’ll be working as a nurse. It’s that I will be working, no matter which profession I choose. And I’m not sure I like anything enough to want to live forever in it. Am I making sense?

I’m quite sure I don’t wanna be a nurse for the rest of my life. But, at the same time, I don’t think I’m good enough or interested enough in anything else to the point that I’d want to do it to earn a considerable living and to enjoy my life at the same time.

I keep seeing my parents in my head. They’re there, working. Every single day, they go into work so that we, their offspring, can strive for our own futures. It has become routine to them. Has the fruitlessness of the cycle of generations weighed on them as much as it weighs on my mind at the moment?

Everyone has bred people who will follow the footsteps of their forefathers. But how many of those ancestors were actually happy in the lives they led? Will I be happy once I’ve ’started living’, so to speak? When I’m standing on my own two feet, will I be at least a little content?

I guess the bottom line is I’m afraid of the future. Not of its uncertainty, but of its absolute clarity. I’m afraid of the normality it offers, of the continuation of the cycle of unfulfillment that has been the curse of others who have come before me. I’m deathly scared that I will end up in a nine-to-five job somewhere with nothing to show for my life save for a nice house and a teeming bank account. I dread the possibility of waking up every single morning with bitterness towards the thought that I have to go to work at a decent-paying job I detest with all my heart.

I want to swallow this life whole. I want to live it, explore it, taste every damned second of it. I don’t want to grow old and realize that I’ve wasted a thousand chances at happiness. I want to know that at twenty-five or thirty, I will step out my front door and think, "God, I have a good life. I love it."

Not to show off, never. Just to show.

—-
This is what you get when your write prose, dear.
What?
You lose your way out of your own maze.

There are two chapters to this message.

One (1):

Anyone who has ever tried to create anything has, at some point, felt the gut-wrenching fear of being thought of as a fraud, a thief of someone else’s work or idea. So we aspire to pile personal touches on our works, hints of ourselves put on paper, on canvas, on buildings, on theories, or on whatever else our extraordinary minds come up with. This is a common theme among the more creative (and I use this term loosely, obviously) fraction of the populace, an almost phobic tendency directed to the label of unoriginal.

But what most know and often fail to remind themselves is this:

There is no such thing as originality. That’s the whole truth of it. Inspiration is simply the personalized manifestations of an idea borrowed from the product of another’s genius (yet another loosely-used term). Whether it be from another person or from Nature herself does not matter.

There is nothing wrong with gathering the ideas of the world and forming one’s opinion from the information and influence derived from this collection of thoughts. This is an instance where an act is right precisely because everyone else does it. This is how we progress as a civilization. It is how we grow. We are connected to one another by the influences we exert on each other and on our environment, and vice versa.

We take an inspiration, an idea, a sight, a picture, a letter, an epiphany, and we evolve it in our minds before exploding it into the world through our own version of genius, from which someone else could begin yet another form of evolution.

So don’t mind what the critics will say. Show us how our world has shaped you and, perhaps, through your bravery, you can help mold us, or, at the very least push us a step closer to our true potential.

Note: There is a difference between plagiarism and inspiration, but if you understood the gist of the article, then this should warrant no explanation at all.

TWO (2):

A continuity is a term commonly used by role-playing games/communities that refer to a setting that never deviates from its predetermined descriptions such as timeline, types of characters allowed in the game, etc. For the rest of us who are not familiar with the term, then one only has to look at the word: it is the state of things being continuous, without interruptions.

Life is one big continuity. Life doesn’t stop when you’re sick. It doesn’t stop when you’re sad, or happy, or ecstatic, or miserable. It doesn’t stop when you’ve got papers due, or when you’re blissfully content. It doesn’t stop. Period.

Rain, hail or sunshine. If you sit in the sidelines, if you stop to take a nap, if you turn your head to look at that distracting picture of perfection, if you so much as pause to chew on your lip in frustrated contemplation, you lose.

Remember, though, that losing does not necessarily mean failing. Loss is not failure. Failure is the absolute refusal to try again, with whatever it is you decided to do to begin with. To fall is not to fail.

And to fail/lose in the eyes of others does not denote actual loss. Both loss and failure are wholly subjective. Always aspire to be a winner according to your own perspective, first, before seeking the approval of those you wish to please or impress.

At around 10AM yesterday, Senator Trillanes and General Lim led a peaceful insurgence against the current government. They left the courthouse where the senator is being tried for his previous attempt at overthrowing what he (and a great percentage of the people) call an illegitimate government. From there, they trekked to the Manila Peninsula Hotel where they locked themselves in, accompanied by supporters and the military escort who was supposed to be preventing the senator’s escape but, instead, disobeyed direct orders and rallied behind the newly-elected prisoner. (Note: During the most recent election, Trillanes was in prison and had to lead his campaign with minimum budget and absolutely no exposure to the people or the media. Making history, 11Million Filipinos voted to make him a senator. There are 24 seats in the senate. The number of votes was just enough to get him to the number 11 of the 12 open seats.)

The trek to the hotel was slow. For some strange reason, streets which were almost always congested with traffic were free of vehicles. Those who were there shouted or hit their horns as a show of support. Although no one was allowed into the hotel after the group’s entrance, anyone who wanted to leave was allowed to. There were members of the press who locked themselves in with the Trillanes crew.

Hours later, the five-star hotel was surrounded by military, police, press and civilians. SWAT came in. The doors were rammed open with a tank. This is when, I believe, things got stupid on the part of the government. Most of these people were civilians. Some were noted members of religious organizations. Tear gas against a group that includes an eighty-year old bishop? Seriously.

And then came the arrest of media personnel, including reporters and technical crew, and, later, the curfew implemented in the National Capital Region and surrounding areas (the latter includes the city I’m in.). The last time a curfew happened, former president Marcos was in power. That was more than a quarter of a century ago and it ushered years of dictatorship and tyranny. So one must not be surprised at the sort of paranoia sweeping the country right now.

A democratic government does not (or should not) arrest media personnel while simultaneously letting lose men with big guns on the streets. It’s as though the administration keeps forgetting who they’re trying to please. A lot of us may be apathetic but the rest of us cannot forget that we are products of numerous wars. The sight of massive hordes of militia and unlawful arrests bring us dangerously close to a feeling of deja vu.

Besides, nervousness makes people do a lot of silly things. What happens when someone does something stupid around people with guns? It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Anyway, the point of this entry was so I could rant. In summary, curfew, guns, and an unusually quiet Tarlac on a Friday morning.

The headaches have gotten so bad that I had to stay home from school today. I don’t know what else I’m suppose to do with it. I’m taking 650mg Tylenols and they can only do so much. I only have a few capsules left. I don’t know how I’m gonna deal when I’ve run out. I still need to take a quiz this afternoon. I’m not sure I can study for it with how bad this thing is getting.

Edit: Apparently, the Microbiology class was cancelled so I didn’t miss anything. Yay!

I’m getting so freaking pissed at how casually everyone is treating my sister’s college applications. I don’t understand why people don’t see what I see. She’s working so hard and is accomplishing so much but no one appreciates it. It’s bothering the living hell out of me.

I mean, Jesus H. Christ, it’s college! The youngest of us is going to college! Why am I the only one jumping in absolute joy and excitement? She’s at the top of her class, for crying out loud. It’s a bloody big deal, if you ask me.

I don’t know.. Maybe I’m just too close to her. Maybe I love her too much. Maybe I’m overprotective and overaffectionate because of what we’ve been through together all these years. Maybe it’s because I’m parent, guardian, friend and sister to her, all rolled into one. Maybe I know how it feels when no one seems to care about all the good things you’re doing, but everyone seems to notice every little flaw, every stupid mistake, that sends you crashing into the concrete wall.

God, I can’t believe how much this is upsetting me. She’s really a good kid. Why is it so hard to please you?

"Now, hush, little baby, don’t– don’t you cry. Everything’s gonna be alright."

I don’t think I can keep crying like this - being hit by surprise and misery from out of the blue time and time again - for much longer. I’m bound to break. I’m only human. I’m only nineteen. You don’t know what you stole when you took her away from me. What hurts is not that I might never be able to see her again. That’s not the case. What hurts is the fact that you’re stealing her childhood, her upbringing, something that should have been ours to share. Mine to cherish, not yours. Not yours.

Look for the truth in people’s eyes.

That is my message for you tonight. It’s not always easy to see, and it is often obscured under so many layers of masks and lies and lenses, but when you do catch a glimspse of that shred of honesty, know that it is the most precious gift one could ever give you.

So fragile, one wrong tilt of the hand and the trust offered will fall to the ground. It will shatter into irrepairable pieces, and only the steel armor will remain.

The filth, this body, may be exposed, but they will never touch my soul.

I miss my parents.

I don’t miss them being together, I just miss them. I feel so guilty, for some reason. I feel like such a disappointment, some stranger who hurt them over and over without looking back with even an ounce of regret. They’ll keep holding me. They’ll keep loving me, I think. And I’ll never stop being a burden. I’ll never stop being the prodigal one.

TBC.

I spell confusion with a ‘K’, and it’s hard to like it.

I just.. It’s her, still.

I just feel so wrong for her. I feel like I don’t deserve her, and what she offers, because.. How can I deserve it if I’m this confused? How can I deserve it when she’s giving everything and I’m just being indifferent? I feel like.. I feel like she’s just part of the drama I tend to make of my life. I feel like, in a few seconds, I’ll wake up and everything will be in stark focus again. There will be no her, no Angelus, no Konfusion, no fear of never being able to love her — or anyone — as much as I know she’ll eventually require me to.

I’m being mean and I don’t want to be. I’m being cruel. I haven’t returned her messages. I haven’t spoken to her in more than a week. She’s beginning to panic. She says she understands but, I know, even she’s not that good at turning her head away, at struggling to ignore what we both know is there.

She’s confused as much as I am, I know. I’m sending mixed signals, I know. But I can’t help myself. This is what I was afraid of in the first place. One of these days, I will stray so far away in my search for myself that she will no longer be able to reach me.

I don’t want the cycle to renew itself. I don’t want to leave her and find someone else who will have to suffer the same roller-coaster-ride-of-insanity that I cannot control nor stop. I don’t want this to happen again, because it’s wrong to hurt someone this much and give her nothing for it.

I want to make it work, goddammit. I want to make it work, but I’m just too much of a cold-hearted ice queen to let myself care enough if it doesn’t.

And then there’s the question of that other person.

What are we doing? I keep asking myself that. But, in the end, all I can do is ignore the question, because asking it only triggers inquiries regarding self-worth. And that.. That I cannot handle at the moment. Is it casual? Are we just friends?

I’d like to ask him, but I always chicken out. He might misinterpret it. I don’t want him to think I want to be more than friends, because that’s certainly not the reason I’ll open the subject. I just want to know, so I can get back to fixing the damage between Karen and I. I don’t think I can do that with the big question mark regarding ‘what we’re doing’ lingering in my head.

Drama.

Mmm, I’m gonna go to hell.

–
I realize it’s been a while since I gave an actual update. Unfortunately, this isn’t gonna be one either, sorry. Things have just been so.. ‘Oh-my-god-i-can’t-believe-this’ lately.. A tiny hint of drama, a lot of.. Well.. Other things. <_< And, all in all, life’s been great.

I hope I can make it into Finals week without dying of exhaustion. Just so tired. >.<; At the moment, for example, I’m running on two hours of sleep.

Well, anyway.. Just wanted to put a couple of songs up. They’re by A-AR. Some of the lyrics of the first one seem pretty emo but the song itself is very catchy.

–
Song I: My Paper Heart

Please, just don’t play with me; my paper heart will bleed.
This wait for destiny won’t do.
Be with me please, I beseech you.
Simple things that make you run away.
I’ll catch you if I can.

Tears fall down your face; the taste is something new.
I know — moving on.. It’s easiest when I am around you.

So bottle up old love, qnd throw it out to sea.
Watch it away as you cry.
A year has passed, the seasons go..

Please, just don’t play with me. My paper heart will bleed.
This wait for destiny won’t do.
Be with me, please, I beseech you.
Simple things that make you run away.
Catch you if I can.

Waiting, day to day, it goes through.
My lips are sealed for her.
My tongue is..
Tied to a dream of being with you;
To settle for less is not what I prefer.

So bottle up old love, and throw it out to sea.
Watch it away as you cry.
A year has passed; the seasons go.

Please, just don’t play with me; my paper heart will bleed.
Stay with me, please, I beseech you.
Simple things that make you run away.
Catch you if I can.

Summer time. The nights are so long.
The leaves fall down, and so do I to the arms of a friend.
Winter nights. My bedside is cold,
For I am gone, and spring blossoms you to me.

Summer time. The nights, they are so long.
The leaves fall down, and so do I to the arms of a friend.
Winter nights. My bedside is cold,
For I am gone, and spring blossoms you to me.

—

Song 2: Dirty Little Secret
To: Someone who makes me happy without even trying.
Reason: Pretty damned obvious, Angel.

Let me know that I’ve done wrong,
When I’ve known this all along;
I go around a time or two,
Just to waste my time with you.

Tell me all that you’ve thrown away..
Find out games you don’t wanna play.

You are the only one that needs to know.

I’ll keep you my dirty little secret.
Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret.
(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it.)
My dirty little secret.

Who has to know?

When we live such fragile lives,
It’s the best way we survive.
I go around a time or two,
Just to waste my time with you.

Tell me all that you’ve thrown away.
Find out games you don’t wanna play.
You are the only one that needs to know.

I’ll keep you my dirty little secret;
Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret.
(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it.)
My dirty little secret.

Who has to know?

The way she feels inside,
Those thoughts I can’t deny.
These sleeping thoughts won’t lie..
And all I’ve tried to hide, it’s eating me apart.
Trace this life out..

I’ll keep you my dirty little secret.
Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret.
I’ll keep you my dirty little secret.

Who has to know?