Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Friday, the 26th, was a lazy day. (I was in Subic from Tuesday to Thursday.) It was probably one of the slowest news days in the history of my internship. It was silent in Makati, Taguig, SPD and in the MMDA. There was no running story that needs an update, except maybe the Sabah issue. Sir Mike called his source and asked a confirmation about the rumor that some of the Sultanate’s men were killed by Philippine military men. Sir Mike asked us to transcribe the interview, but we really can’t hear or understand most of it. And thus, it was Sir Mike who ended up transcribing the interview himself. We all just sat there in the MMDA press office, monitoring the news, but there was really nothing big going on that day. It was getting boring, so we decided to entertain ourselves by solving a few levels in the 4 pics 1 word game. Sir Mike even solved a few. It was a lazy day, really. There were no stories, no updates, no interviews to transcribe, no press releases to rewrite. Nothing. Nada. As in none. At least we got 6 hours out of it.

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Tonight, she was more stunning than ever

Capturing the hearts of the weak, the strong and the clever

With the black dress and the love song,

She had their attention all night long

 

Her beautiful voice was the one that got people on their feet

But she, herself, would never admit it

She always thought in her life, praises will never fit

What she was used to was disappointment and defeat

 

Her song was very heartfelt

The way she sang made some hearts melt

It makes one wonder why the greatness in her she never felt

Truly, she’s sometimes one of the most hard-to-read persons I’ve ever met

 

I guess that in some way she hopes

That there will be someone who “knows the ropes”

That people will look past the dress and the songs

That people will look past her wrongs

 

She’s great but she doesn’t know

She’s capable of so much more, but she doesn’t show

She’s beautiful but she doesn’t feel that way

Even if you tell it to her everyday

 

There was no doubt on her glamor tonight

I really just wished she didn’t deny it with all her might

Oh, how I long to tell her, “I wish someday you’ll see yourself as you truly are

Shining bright, ever so beautiful like an evening star”

Shadow Beast

Posted: April 9, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

This cycle, this horrible cycle… and she hates it. Oh, she despises this so.

When the sun is up, she feels that everything is bright, beautiful and full of light. But the moment it disappears, she feels as if there’s nothing out there but hatred, sin and darkness.

Every morning, she would recover from the events a few hours earlier. Throughout the day she’d be happy, flashing warm smiles and felt the world is full of hope—her aura as bright as that of the sun. She would go home the same way that she did left: with a smile on her face.  Everything was perfect; her world was in paradise. But every night, she would be trapped in something as dark as the sky at night. And every end of it she can’t do anything but to cry.

This girl so bright, full of hope and of potential will become a monster. Something so disgusting, so despicable that she couldn’t bear to face others. She would indulge herself in in a horrible sin. And it’s as if there is no escaping it.

She doesn’t remember starting. She doesn’t even know what are the things that led her to this horrid habit. All she knows is that she can’t stop.

There were times she could. But to no avail, it’s only temporary. It kept on returning; it kept on coming back—destroying her more than ever.

It’s a cycle that was happening for as long as she can remember, how can it be stopped?

She needs help. All her efforts to escape on her own were futile. How can you possibly run away from your self? From the beast that lives inside of you?

At times, she would want to cry out for help. Oh, how she longed for someone to come to her rescue. But she can’t. She can’t possibly call for others. She’s too afraid of their judgment. She’s afraid of condemnation. She’s afraid that they’ll see her like this. Despicable. Disgusting.

But still, she waits without a word. Maybe there will be someone who will notice. Someone who will notice that she’s not at all okay. That there are some things going she cannot explain, that she cannot begin to describe.

Will somebody ever rescue her? Will somebody help her end this terrible cycle?

File saved. File sent.

Whew, now I can finally breathe.

When I sent that file—my prelims paper for my Art Appreciation class—I finally felt relieved. I finally have the right to relax; I finally won’t feel any guilt if I start to slack off; I can now update my blog; I can now watch all the videos that I downloaded. Prelims week is finally over. Hoorah.

Still, I feel awful having to stay home on a Sunday just to finish this paper. It’s 12:10 p.m. All the workers should be gathered in a circle by now, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving for the victorious Sunday service. Man, I didn’t know I could miss going to church this much. I should have been there, worshipping my Creator through the bass, but today I got stuck at home trying to finish the paper. Really, who gives instructions two days before the deadline?

It’s lonely—the feeling of having to stay here alone by yourself, while your family and any other person who could possibly hang out with you is in the church. I only felt like this thrice, today counting as the third. You can keep yourself busy or entertained, but there’s this void, this empty feeling inside you—knowing you should be someplace else, but you’re not. It’s not like you have the choice to go, even if you desperately wanted to.

The first time I spent my Sunday at home—or the first one I remembered—was when I had chicken pox. I was itching all over; my skin and face were red from all the rashes. I stayed here by myself, turned on the TV so I won’t entertain the fact that I’m alone, and I laid on the couch till I fell asleep—clinging on to my blanket, trying to fight the fever that has overtaken my body. How I wish I could go to church that day. Back then, I was one of the back-up singers. But, sadly, the failure of my body overtook the will to go. Good thing my family came back with lunch and made hot noodles.

My second Sunday at home was quite unforgettable. It was November 27, 2011. I was rushing to go to church. I just finished running—more like walking—the 3k of the Pasig River Run (it’s more of a ‘walk’, really) at about 7:30 a.m. I have an hour to get there. I was going to make it, if I hadn’t fell off of the sidewalk platform and badly sprained my right foot. That incident cost me that Sunday and about a week and a half of walking. It was a painful memory, having your dad call in a ‘fake massage therapist,’ commonly known as a manghihilot and twist your ankle like crazy. The pain is excruciating. I cried and screamed but they just ignored me. My sister even took a video of me crying. Gee, thanks, sis. But what added to the pain was the fact that I missed the service. I actually got to the church, but I didn’t get to play. I dragged my badly injured foot all the way from an overpass, rode a tricycle and got to church. They took me home to rest. That Sunday was horrible: the unexplainable pain given by that woman to my badly injured foot, the fact that my family left me all alone at home, and the fact that I wasn’t able to go to church. I felt better when the afternoon came—when everybody came back and my closest friends at church, including my best friend, came to visit me.

Today, well, I’m very tired. I could feel that heavy, blurry feeling in your head—the ones you get before headaches form. My mind is tired of thinking; my hands are tired from typing; my entire body is weak because of the lack of sleep. And my heart is aching ‘cause I didn’t make it to church.

Going to church on Sunday is not a routine—it’s a part of my lifestyle. It’s one of those moments that make you feel empty if you didn’t get to do that thing you usually do. Sunday might be my busiest day of the week, but it is definitely the most rewarding. You get to worship the LORD—thank Him for all His provision, grace and guidance throughout the week, you get to have a fellowship with your fellow Christians—to testify about God’s great doings and to empower each one, you get to see and be with the people who understand you—people who share the same faith, people who didn’t condemn you when you are at your worst, people who really care about you, people who wholeheartedly loves you… you get to see your real friends, the people you care about the most. The church is the one place where I am me—where I feel closer to my Maker more than ever—where I am truly happy.

I really wish I had the strength to make the paper earlier this day. But I guess God allowed me to oversleep for a while for my sake. Sleeping at 1 a.m. and waking up at 3:30 is probably not a good idea. Oh well, I thank God for helping me finish my paper. I thank Him for giving me the time to rest, I really need it. This is my third Sunday at home. I might as well enjoy it.

Impulse

Posted: January 14, 2013 in Uncategorized

I feel so tired. Literally. It’s as if all my strength and energy has been sucked out of me. I feel sick, feeling so cold when my skin feels so warm. Isn’t a nap supposed to make me feel otherwise? Like refreshed, relaxed and bursting with newfound energy? I groan at the pain I feel. What, did I run a 10K marathon to make me feel this tired? No. But what I did…

What did I do?

It’s all a blur. Well, sort of. I just woke up from a two-hour nap that led me to more exhaustion. Small flashbacks occurred in my head for split seconds. Little by little, I remember. The feeling. The guilty feeling…

My mind tries hard to ignore all negative thought—thoughts that would lead me to this sin. But slowly, it overpowered me. All reasoning seemed to flee my mind in a second. My hands started to move on their own. No. I don’t want this. I tried to stay still, to stop myself, but for some unknown reason, I wasn’t able to do so.  I have to stop. I want to stop. I need to stop. But my self-restraint fails me little by little. While being caught up in this feeling, I lose a hold of myself more. A string of restraint and self-control breaks with each passing second. The pounding of my heart got amplified, my head starting to spin. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You shouldn’t let this happen. My heavy breaths turned to quick and short ones—I was panting. No. Get out. You can still run. Run away before it’s too late! But I didn’t. My heel refused to turn. I just stayed there… letting myself be drowned in the darkness that I never want to go back to.

No!

My eyes widened at the realization. I did something horrible. I should’ve ran… I should’ve escaped from this abyss. My God, forgive me.

I can’t believe I ended up doing it again.

I don’t understand. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t have. I’ve got more control this time; I’ve been a lot more patient, I’ve considered the gravity of my actions again and again, I reminded myself of its aftermath. And… I promised myself I wouldn’t do it. Never again.

I thought I was ready to fight it. But I failed miserably.

Remembering what happened was a lot more painful than actually doing it. There it was again, the guilt, the disgust, the loss or self-respect, the tears, that sick feeling that continually creeps up on me.

I wanted to escape it. I wanted to be free of it. It was all too much. I spent years and years of practice trying to let reasoning win over my urges. But why does the latter always manage to win? Why can’t I stay sane? Why does my logical system have to crash every once in a while? Why am I left to act on instincts, out of impulse—acting barbaric and animal-like?

It was all I can do to fight back the tears. What would people think of me? This side of me…this dark side I’ve wanted to escape from for so long… what would happen if they gain knowledge of it? My best friend, the sole person who knows about this… she must be disappointed. I’ve failed her. I’ve failed the people around me. I’ve failed myself.

Oh, what I would give up to escape such a sin. What I would give up to not act out of impulse.