:: SPOINK ::

Questioning her motives everytime when we're togething, thinking that this might be a dream and in a minute everything will be back to where it all started. I was hoping that I would one day wake up from this crazy slumber and make all this become a fantasy tale that would be trasmitted to all the people I know.

Listening to music that I love everytime when I'm with her. Replaying it when I want to remember those fantastic night we had. Making music as a bookmark is certainly the most effective way to bring those happy memories back, memories that will forever inspire me to do crazy things.

We're both crazy. We're both in search for that something that other people can't give. What do we deserve?

We both have the choice to continue this thing that we have. But once that choice is made, a Mark will be visible, condeming us to something that neither of us could carry. We know that this thing is heavy, we're not really sure if we are going to make it, but we don't have a choice but to carry it.

We will watch, and maybe wonder whats in it for us. What did we deserve after all?

I can die alone, but I'm not sure if she can.

I will hold her hands, and maybe take her to the stars someday.

Posted by bluewhacker at 11:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I don’t write the same anymore, or about the same things. I’ve lost my fervent verbosity. Every time I sit at my computer, my mind blanks. Writing has become a chore. Even this entry has taken me days to think through. I find myself writing and rewriting every point, every paragraph.

In the beginning, blogging was a form of catharsis. Developing cognitively beyond my adolescence was an emotional period, filled with confusion and growing pains. The only way I could make sense of it all was to write out my thoughts, forcing myself to reflect and learn from every challenge.

It was also a useful tool in figuring myself out, as a part of my life where I could approach things with the conviction that I lacked in the rest of my life. Now that I’ve gained enough confidence, it doesn’t seem so necessary to prove myself with words anymore. It would seem that I’ve become a victim of my own self-assuredness.

I could fill this blog with entries, finding solace in the written word, when I was going through something as simple as a bad day. As time has passed, I’ve elimanated most of the things that bother me enough to turn to this medium. It was a slow and systematic process, both internal and external. My new-found serenity has left me with little rage. I’m happier now, and happiness is too hard to write.

It would seem that I’ve run out of things to say.

There have been few epiphanies, and even less inspiration, in the last while. Maybe it’s because I’m in the middle of a transition. It takes a foundation of stability, something I haven’t had in months, to grow. My life hasn’t quite settled yet.

Writer’s block is a sign that I’ve stopped growing, a testament to what and how much I’ve been through.

But more importantly, it’s a sign that I’m approaching where I want to go in my life.

Posted by bluewhacker at 12:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

"Show me which constellations you know, and we'll walk along the beach forever." I remember writing this exact line when I was writing about someone, but now, I wonder if its possible to apply this same line to the person I'm loving now.

From the looks of it, everything seems to be falling so fast. Sometimes, I wonder how things will end up.

After watching the movie, we went to the nearest starbucks. Everything was nice, perfect, and windy.

I can't write no more, not because I'm lonely but because I'm happy.

Magulo!

Posted by bluewhacker at 4:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

At the apartment, it was galling to think of how others were talking about us, bad enough to think of their ridicule or disapproval, but worse to think how they were surely entertained by us, how this stinging, goading, angry self-consciousness that impelled me every day, every minute, to seek relief was nothing to them, something they couldn’t feel hardly ever gave a thought. All these people, close enough to know our business, but too infinitely far from us to feel a particle of what we were feeling, themselves feeling animated, more than anything, by the pleasures of curiosity.

“Think of it this way, wala lang tayong magawa kaya magkasama tayo ngayon. Pero sa pasukan siguradong ma mimiss mo ako dahil baka hindi na ganito kadalas ang pag labas naten. Pero, at least now you can assure to yourself na pag tumawag ka merong lalapit. Hindi katulad ng dati na hindi mo alam kung pupunta siya o hindi, sa akin makakasigurado ka na pupunta ako. Promise.” She said this to me while we were walking the streets of EDSA to a mall. I still can recall all the word that she said to me that night.

One benefit, which I have lost, of a life where many things go unsaid, is that you don’t have to remember things about yourself that are too bizarre to imagine. What was never given utterance eventually becomes too nebulous to recall.

Before that night, I would have said the state of mind I entered into afterward was beyond me. Since then, I might have declared that I was not myself or out of my mind or beside myself, but the profoundness characteristic of my state of my was not, in the end, what I did, but how palpably if felt like the real me. It was a state of mind in which I knew many things, in which conviction was not an abstract, rather dry term referring to moral values or conscious beliefs, but a feeling of being drenched with insight, swollen with it like a wet sponge. Rather than feeling not myself, I felt intensely, newly, more myself than ever before.

The strongest feeling was that now I knew them all. That whereas for many years they had swum around me in complicated patterns that I had at best dimly perceived through murky water, now all was clear.

Posted by bluewhacker at 11:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I told myself that all of this was okay with me and to everybody that is around me, my parents would think that its okay and my friends would think that is fine. To imagine a life could be made to this proximity, that maybe this was the only possible life to make, since the other paths, which my imagination had instantaneously traveled, were all equally impossible. To imagine ourselves being together for a long time, to last a lifetime, say, was to imagine that we were not ourselves, and, in a way, that we had nothing for each other, since what we had for each other seemed to grow out of our intertwined history and to be specific to this relationship. But to imagine ourselves together in this relationship was to imagine collisions, and explosions, seismic movements of the earth we were standing on. It was to imagine everyone around us dead, in fact. And I imagined it, with a current of muted fear that ran under my usual eagerness to imagine the worst. To imagine her gone was to imagine two other impossible things, that she had never returned, or sometimes, that I was the dead one. When I made myself imagine her leaving, going back to their place, or being happy with someone else, being dead seemed preferable to returning to the life I had lived before I met her.

I continued to smile. The second half of my sandwich lay on my plate, and I was hungry for it, but instead of eating it, I made myself say, “You think I’m weird, don’t you.” It was raining outside, and the room is quite cold. “Yeah, but in a nice way,” she said while she eats her chicken. I looked at her, thinking that she didn’t understand what I meant.

While walking her to the station, I lit a cigarette. I know that she didn’t want me to but the urge was so strong that I couldn’t control it. I can notice her annoyance to this, so after one puff, I threw it away.

She was getting on the bus, and then she looked at me and smiled. She forced me this, “When I return, I don’t want to see you smoke again. Promise me, okay?” She didn’t wait for my answer, and then she was gone.

I walked alone under the rain, thinking about what she said. I know that it’s hard, but I will try.


Jomar was the target last night. He holds the most powerful weapon of all. Given by God himself, it gives the bearer extra damage. The only held back to that weapon is that when someone kills you, it drops. You can’t take it with you when you re-incarnate. Your opponent will get it and then a sudden power shift.

I know that we need to get that weapon in order for us to win this war. We have lost three towers already and the other three was taking extra pounding.

We continued our efforts to defend the last defense we had. If all towers were lost, then we are going to be forced to defend the base manually. Our survival was hanging on a piece of thread. I know that we do not have much time. The lightning revenant continued his attack on the left side of the perimeter while the lion on the right. We need to steal the weapon.

We devised a plan, hoping that if the rapier falls in our hand, the power will shift on our side.

To be continued…

Posted by bluewhacker at 5:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Shame is a distinct feeling. I couldn’t look at my hands and hear my own laments without feeling appalled, wanting desperately to fall silent, grow smaller. More than that, I was uncomfortably conscious of my whole body, from awkward way that the shaft of my hair were thrusting out of my scalp to my feet, which felt dirty as well as cold. Everywhere, I seemed to feel separated by a millimeter of mortified space. I listened carefully to her talk, and found it unquestionably sound and full of concern through its very sound, but this wasn’t reassuring. My body told me that my shame was a fact awaiting her discovery. She said, “Why don’t you tell me about her. I told you about him already. Please, tell me about her, just to be fair. Tell me what happened.” She smiled, and suddenly, belatedly, my longing for her woke up, but now it was attached to my shame like a leech trying to suck the entire me, and the longing itself was newly but fully shameful, and I remember thinking of our talks, the kiss, the smile, and saying to myself, the good part is over already.

“When will you be back?” I asked her while we were walking alone in a dimly lit street. “I’ll be back before the class starts. I have this feeling that it will be a long week.” I know that she knows that I’m going to miss her. I didn’t say to her that I’m going to miss her directly, but I know that she knows.

We went to her favorite fast food chain, and we ordered the usual. I had no appetite that night, the only thing on my mind is that maybe it is true that the good part is over. I will again, have to adjust, or perhaps find another person that will fill her spot. I was afraid to feel the things I felt before she came to my life, I may not survive a second blow.

While I eat, she watched me attentively, her usually expressive features still and serious, but her eyes burning into mine. “You told me that it’s rude to stare. Can I have my privacy back?” I said jokingly. Without speaking, she drew everything out of me, and after it was over, I knew that I was somehow at her mercy. Not because in spite of my shame I had exposed myself to her in every particular.

No one knows about us except for one. I don’t want to let people know because I might loose her. Even though some people think that if none of us appear in public, the belief would become universal that we had something to be ashamed of. I am not ashamed of anything, I am proud of what I have right now, but what I fear is how narrow minded the people are now today. I don’t want to risk it, because not everyday I feel something like this. Now that she’s leaving to her province to spend sometime with her family, I will wait till the day when she comes back and bring my so called life back to its place.

While she’s gone, I will write about how Jomar learned to play DotA.

Posted by bluewhacker at 2:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I don't know why I was surprised to discover everything changed, since it was obvious in retrospect that I had sought to change it.

And I was surprised to discover how my mind worked over these things, the simultineity of it. I seemed, on the surface, to be continually talking to myself, giving myself instructions, asking myself what I really wanted, making comparisons, busily working my rational faculties over every aspect of my feelings for her as if there were actually something to deciede. Beneath this emotions, flowing more sweetly, was the story: what she did and what I did and what she did and what I did after that, seductive, dreamy, mostly wordless, renewing itself endlessly, then projecting itself into impossible futures that wore me out. And beneath all this was the other me, shaking itself, wanting to be freed, gobbling at all the things that will eventually lead to my fall.

I don't know why I was surprised to discover myself questioning all my memories with her, everything that had happened between us seemed so fast.

I think of those memories everyday for clues about her feelings and plans. I knew most about her feelings and plans. She was all the things she had told me - restless, fearfull, torn in her emotion that she couldn't possibly escape. I knew what was up with her, but it was suddenly all mysterious.

It was easy, sitting there and looking at her while she eats, to see everything in her way. What did we deserve, after all?

She noticed me, looking at her. She smiled and told that its rude to stare. What happened after that was a mystery. Not even I could remember it.

Posted by bluewhacker at 3:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I was amazed at what I didn’t have time for any more – reading my booklist, going to places with my friends, bar hoping, going to bookstores and checking out the updated best seller list. I’m going again in my previous routine. I felt the familiar sensation of storing up all my time for her, only to her and to no one else.

We went to a place where no one could recognize us. The bay was beautiful in this time of day. People were everywhere, busy with their own business. It’s a nice place to just sit around and talk. The sun was setting, coloring the sky with its fading rays with dark orange and blue. The air was getting cold. I lit a stick of Marlboro Lights and started smoking it.

“You know I don’t like smoking.” She said while looking at my cig. “You just told me that you don’t smoke, you didn’t tell me that you don’t like people who smoke.” I’m sure I spoke as bitterly as I felt. “Just put it out, I don’t like it when people around me smokes.” I caught my breath, threw the stick on the pavement and stepped on it.

She saw that I was pissed, and pressed me. “I don’t want you think that I’m dictating you. I just don’t like it when people around me smoke. You can smoke anytime you want as long as I’m not around.”

She keeps looking at the bay, perhaps watching the birds or the sun. After a bit, she stopped, took a deep breath, and looked at my shoes for a long minute. Pretending not to notice her, I know that she’s thinking about something. “How long do you think it will last before I can get over him?” She blurted out, while still looking at my shoes. “I don’t know. Do you still love him?” She didn’t give me the answer.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked her while I reach for my wallet at my back pocket. “Ok, here, take this.” She showed a hundred. I refused. “No, it’s on me.” And she smiled.

Walking back, feeling her behind me, not following me but watching me for sure, I felt almost close to her. I felt that sense of being outside my body and the desire to kiss her again.

Posted by bluewhacker at 8:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I was remarkably comfortable with the discipline of making a good appearance when it comes to her. It was like going to church or in school after a long absence. It had a ritual and measure. Everything needs to be perfect. The hair should be messy and clothes should be properly ironed. Everything proliferated. Once I make a good appearance, I can do things confidently, able to hide my hesitations and uneasiness. I can spend an hour or two just messing up my hair, making sure that every strand is on its desired place and my clothes should match the shoes I wear and using accessories that I’d never used before. Everything should be perfect, practicing my smile and how I respond to things for her great visible eyes to judge and enjoy.

And every time I do these things, it makes me wonder why the hell I’m doing it.

Posted by bluewhacker at 2:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I’m not going to say that what had happened between us is wrong because the society considers it wrong. I’m not going to say that I didn’t like it because I did. I’m not going to say that it’s moral; and I’m not going to say that it’s immoral. Society has always been a disappointment to me, ever since I was a child. I learned how to show what is socially acceptable and hide what is unacceptable.

“What you’re doing is not socially acceptable.” A friend told me while we were in a heated argument before. I will never forget that line, and how it has been said to me. What I can’t accept is that, we’ve only known each other for a couple of months and he has the audacity to say that in front of my face.

My father used to tell me that it is hard to go against the flow of the mass. But if you think that you can make it till the end with your head up high, act on it. You should never hesitate if you think that what you are doing is right, as long as you don’t affect other people. Each choice, he said, has its own consequence and you have to face the fact that you have to face each, sooner or later.

Quoting Morrie, he said that “The society today, does not make people feel good about themselves, that you have to be strong that if the culture does not work don’t buy it.” He was right. I wish people could read Mitch’s work particularly Tuesday’s with Morrie, because our society needs a major overhaul.

That night, I made a choice.

I was not expecting it to happen. I thought we are just going somewhere to pass time. But sometimes time has its own plan, and it creates situation where you can’t do anything but to play along. I know that I have the last word, whether to go with it or not. But that night, everything was beautiful and in my mind I have nothing to loose. So why not go for it, right?

Now, I wait for the consequence. I’m not afraid of it, and I’m willing face it, because that night, I felt the feeling that I have never felt before. That night, I was happy. Maybe a bit shy, but happy.

As I type this, my cat assistant link is smiling. I think he’s happy for me too.

Posted by bluewhacker at 3:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)