Ate vanna seem to experience being in situations like mine... hmm.. hehe! Anyway, she wrote this poem that I can really relate to. Haay.. my blog is somehow already hidden because I already changed the subdomain but y'know, I'm still playing it safe... still not dropping names and telling stories indirectly. Call me chicken.. hehe!
Patorpehan Contest
it is easier to walk away
keeping secret
the way we feel...
charging everything to youth,
fooling ourselves
hoping we'll outgrow loving each other.
we try and try to part ways
but we always end up
meeting face to face,
somehow
its a shame
why we couldn't muster
the courage
to say the words
we both already know.
The Top Ten Must Go ON!
The Top Ten Must Go On
No. 8 – Christian Dave Dalisay
I put Dave on the number 8 spot not because there's something great to admire in him. He's not extraordinary, not the intellectual type and not even good-looking. But every time I'm with him, I'm just me – no any kind of pretense at all. This does not imply that I'm fake if I'm with everybody else, it's just that I don't feel the fear of being evaluated when I'm with Dave because in his eyes, I'm just his friend. He was never disappointed in me whenever I failed to keep up to that intellectual standard everybody else had already established for me. He doesn't require me to always do and say the right things and even appreciates me more when I display actions that the whole world disapproves of. Dave knows my secrets and I'm confident and rest-assured that he has no interest in spilling the beans. I'm comfortable of letting him know my thoughts, even the most ridiculous ones. Right now, he's my best guy buddy! I really appreciate him being around and without him, college life wouldn't be as enjoyable (and liberating? Hehe) as it is right now. Thanks Dave! I lalves you! Hahaha!
No. 8 – Christian Dave Dalisay
I put Dave on the number 8 spot not because there's something great to admire in him. He's not extraordinary, not the intellectual type and not even good-looking. But every time I'm with him, I'm just me – no any kind of pretense at all. This does not imply that I'm fake if I'm with everybody else, it's just that I don't feel the fear of being evaluated when I'm with Dave because in his eyes, I'm just his friend. He was never disappointed in me whenever I failed to keep up to that intellectual standard everybody else had already established for me. He doesn't require me to always do and say the right things and even appreciates me more when I display actions that the whole world disapproves of. Dave knows my secrets and I'm confident and rest-assured that he has no interest in spilling the beans. I'm comfortable of letting him know my thoughts, even the most ridiculous ones. Right now, he's my best guy buddy! I really appreciate him being around and without him, college life wouldn't be as enjoyable (and liberating? Hehe) as it is right now. Thanks Dave! I lalves you! Hahaha!
Sentences End With A Period
Never did I see myself as someone who's perfect. Like any other human, I got my own flaws. I believe even Mother Teresa had her own flaws. We all made mistakes. What makes one greater than the other is the manner of how he managed to transform his weaknesses to become strengths. Perfection is a relative term. Some may see perfection in symmetrical order of things; some may find perfection in a disheveled set-up of things. Well, somebody told me recently that I'm too much of an air-head because she thought I see myself as a perfect person. I was hurt because I thought I didn't need to explain myself to a friend. Maybe she felt the same way when I tried to tell her that her attitude is getting in my nerves. I thought I was just being honest. She thought I was trying to pull her down by pointing out her mistakes. We're both trying to prove our points to each other while no one is really interested in listening to each other's sentiments.
I will not reveal her name here, to save her from my reader's prejudice. This will be just like an open letter to somebody so she will be referred to as "You".
We thought we knew each other that well. We thought that we've known each other long enough to understand each other's flaws. Much to my dismay, we were wrong and it's sad that we have to learn this the hard way. Life disproved the supposition we held in our hearts for too long because you have to admit, we never really loved each other.
You confused me. When I was still angry at you, I really believed in my heart that you had the intention of hurting me because I regard you as someone special. While you were saying that I'm likewise special to you, you are also telling me about some other person that you love. My mind couldn't absorb what was happening; you left me in a state of confusion. There are so many special people in your life and I couldn't accept the fact that I'm just another face in a crowd. The anger wasn't just directed towards you because I was also angry at myself, for not being good enough and for not having enough. You wanted more from me and I just grew tired of trying to prove myself to you.
Then we started to point fingers. You said I gave up on being the same understanding person I used to be. You were trying to imply that I'm selfish whenever I get jealous because jealousy is a sign of conditional love. You want me to be just happy for you every time you tell me you are falling for the other person because it's the sign of true love. But hey, am I the only one required to show care and compassion? The way I see it, you're being inconsiderate of my feelings. It seems like you don't have any real respect for me. When I try to confront you about it, you left me with messages like "I'm not as perfect as you are, don't talk to me". While I was holding back words so as not to hurt your feelings, you say things that have caused my heart to bleed but never did I hear you say sorry. That's how it ended - an exchange of ugly words that we won't have anymore chance to take back to set things right.
My fault? I became too sensitive, the kind of close kin to paranoia. I lost my trust in you. We both have faults that broke our friendship. I'm sorry. I never perceived myself as a perfect person. Actually, I only get to appreciate the person I am when people around me chose to put up with whatever attitude I have. When you made that remark, it sounded more of an insult. Forgive and forget, shall we?
I will not reveal her name here, to save her from my reader's prejudice. This will be just like an open letter to somebody so she will be referred to as "You".
We thought we knew each other that well. We thought that we've known each other long enough to understand each other's flaws. Much to my dismay, we were wrong and it's sad that we have to learn this the hard way. Life disproved the supposition we held in our hearts for too long because you have to admit, we never really loved each other.
You confused me. When I was still angry at you, I really believed in my heart that you had the intention of hurting me because I regard you as someone special. While you were saying that I'm likewise special to you, you are also telling me about some other person that you love. My mind couldn't absorb what was happening; you left me in a state of confusion. There are so many special people in your life and I couldn't accept the fact that I'm just another face in a crowd. The anger wasn't just directed towards you because I was also angry at myself, for not being good enough and for not having enough. You wanted more from me and I just grew tired of trying to prove myself to you.
Then we started to point fingers. You said I gave up on being the same understanding person I used to be. You were trying to imply that I'm selfish whenever I get jealous because jealousy is a sign of conditional love. You want me to be just happy for you every time you tell me you are falling for the other person because it's the sign of true love. But hey, am I the only one required to show care and compassion? The way I see it, you're being inconsiderate of my feelings. It seems like you don't have any real respect for me. When I try to confront you about it, you left me with messages like "I'm not as perfect as you are, don't talk to me". While I was holding back words so as not to hurt your feelings, you say things that have caused my heart to bleed but never did I hear you say sorry. That's how it ended - an exchange of ugly words that we won't have anymore chance to take back to set things right.
My fault? I became too sensitive, the kind of close kin to paranoia. I lost my trust in you. We both have faults that broke our friendship. I'm sorry. I never perceived myself as a perfect person. Actually, I only get to appreciate the person I am when people around me chose to put up with whatever attitude I have. When you made that remark, it sounded more of an insult. Forgive and forget, shall we?
Losing My First Love
Writing for me back then was just a past-time, an optional thing that I will only do if boredom strikes at any time. I wasn't concerned about my grammar or spelling or choice of words at that time, it really didn't matter to me if they scorn the manner I presented my thoughts. For me, the important thing is to be able to express what I believe in and what I feel. Writing gives me freedom. I feel free whenever I have successfully put into writing my ideas. Writing was the outlet of my emotions - it was the reason I could breathe again when a situation or a person had upset me. When I was still in our humble house in Makati, I even remembered saying to myself that if there were things in life that I couldn't live without, two of them would be pen and paper. That's how deep my love for writing is... well, make that was.
I know I've managed to impress people with my writing skills. Friends, classmates, teachers and even those who are already considered "professionals" in the realm of writing. I was surprised. Even if I've been a school newspaper writer in elementary and high school years, I believe I got the chance to be a staffer only because of the fact that school population was small during those years. Furthermore, I wrote only in Filipino language, not in English. Making it to the Advocate is just plain good luck, I guess. Even my brother pointed out to me that I don't have a writing style so no matter how wonderful my ideas are, they won't catch attention. I believed him but I didn't care. So what if I'm not that good, I thought. As long as I have the enthusiasm to put into writing my thoughts and ideas, who cares about writing style? So whenever I hear praises regarding my poems, short stories and essays, I feel really humbled by such show of appreciation to my work because I really think they weren't that great. I felt overrated. Anyhow, I still continued doing what I love and somehow, I've managed to score awards and acknowledgements for it. I feel blessed.
Good writer - a title I have earned that I didn't want to slip out of my hands. As my reputation of being a good writer ballooned, the expectations of the people around me also got bigger. I fooled myself into believing that it was easy to keep up with the expectations. The reputation gave me confidence, too much of it actually that I've become arrogant. It manifested not through my actions though, but through my writings. The need to impress people with my writing skills developed in my character. I've used words that I knew only people with high levels of intellect would understand. I tried to make the wordings complicated, tried to perfect the grammar and tried to put style in my writing. I even resorted to copying other people's ideas and rephrasing them so as to make them appear as if they were my own. During those times, I considered my ideas mediocre compared to the articles I’ve read. I got frustrated, I felt unreasonably insecure. In my quest of improving the old writer in me, I made the mistake of almost getting rid of him. There were no improvements, only unneeded alterations. The output didn't win the approval of the people. My what was then a unique way of writing had become too ordinary, forgettable. It didn't manage to stand-out.
Since then, I avoided writing. I felt like my favorite hobby had been dressed up with over-alls and now it looks like work to me. Writing used to be just a stress-reliever, my scapegoat to the haunting claws of boredom. Now, writing is part of the stress and has become more haunting than boredom. The humble, enthusiastic writer who didn't care about grammar, style and impressing people was lost in oblivion. What was left is a person struggling to win back the respect she owed to herself.
It is true that a good writer is someone who is good in grammar, has a writing style and a wide range of vocabulary and knows how to win the hearts of his readers. But for me, a good writer is someone who doesn't prioritize such requirements because it is like drawing up boundaries to one's self. I've mentioned before that writing gives me freedom. I totally lost that freedom when I chose to keep up with the expectations they set up on me. I lost it the moment I felt the need to impress people. I realized that a writer is good when he has good attitudes and uses them to improve the world through his writings. A good writer never considers his ideas mediocre nor great, he lets the reader be the judge of that. He wouldn't change views just to please his audience. He would, however, be gentle and considerate while being fierce and aggressive at the same time. There's no clear-cut definition of a good writer. A writer defines for himself and by himself the real meaning of it.
I need to go back to my old self again where being able to express my thoughts and ideas my way alone gives me unparalleled contentment. I want to be able to enjoy writing again. My feet are now on the ground, and hopefully this time, I'll be a good writer by following only the set of rules laid down by my heart.
I know I've managed to impress people with my writing skills. Friends, classmates, teachers and even those who are already considered "professionals" in the realm of writing. I was surprised. Even if I've been a school newspaper writer in elementary and high school years, I believe I got the chance to be a staffer only because of the fact that school population was small during those years. Furthermore, I wrote only in Filipino language, not in English. Making it to the Advocate is just plain good luck, I guess. Even my brother pointed out to me that I don't have a writing style so no matter how wonderful my ideas are, they won't catch attention. I believed him but I didn't care. So what if I'm not that good, I thought. As long as I have the enthusiasm to put into writing my thoughts and ideas, who cares about writing style? So whenever I hear praises regarding my poems, short stories and essays, I feel really humbled by such show of appreciation to my work because I really think they weren't that great. I felt overrated. Anyhow, I still continued doing what I love and somehow, I've managed to score awards and acknowledgements for it. I feel blessed.
Good writer - a title I have earned that I didn't want to slip out of my hands. As my reputation of being a good writer ballooned, the expectations of the people around me also got bigger. I fooled myself into believing that it was easy to keep up with the expectations. The reputation gave me confidence, too much of it actually that I've become arrogant. It manifested not through my actions though, but through my writings. The need to impress people with my writing skills developed in my character. I've used words that I knew only people with high levels of intellect would understand. I tried to make the wordings complicated, tried to perfect the grammar and tried to put style in my writing. I even resorted to copying other people's ideas and rephrasing them so as to make them appear as if they were my own. During those times, I considered my ideas mediocre compared to the articles I’ve read. I got frustrated, I felt unreasonably insecure. In my quest of improving the old writer in me, I made the mistake of almost getting rid of him. There were no improvements, only unneeded alterations. The output didn't win the approval of the people. My what was then a unique way of writing had become too ordinary, forgettable. It didn't manage to stand-out.
Since then, I avoided writing. I felt like my favorite hobby had been dressed up with over-alls and now it looks like work to me. Writing used to be just a stress-reliever, my scapegoat to the haunting claws of boredom. Now, writing is part of the stress and has become more haunting than boredom. The humble, enthusiastic writer who didn't care about grammar, style and impressing people was lost in oblivion. What was left is a person struggling to win back the respect she owed to herself.
It is true that a good writer is someone who is good in grammar, has a writing style and a wide range of vocabulary and knows how to win the hearts of his readers. But for me, a good writer is someone who doesn't prioritize such requirements because it is like drawing up boundaries to one's self. I've mentioned before that writing gives me freedom. I totally lost that freedom when I chose to keep up with the expectations they set up on me. I lost it the moment I felt the need to impress people. I realized that a writer is good when he has good attitudes and uses them to improve the world through his writings. A good writer never considers his ideas mediocre nor great, he lets the reader be the judge of that. He wouldn't change views just to please his audience. He would, however, be gentle and considerate while being fierce and aggressive at the same time. There's no clear-cut definition of a good writer. A writer defines for himself and by himself the real meaning of it.
I need to go back to my old self again where being able to express my thoughts and ideas my way alone gives me unparalleled contentment. I want to be able to enjoy writing again. My feet are now on the ground, and hopefully this time, I'll be a good writer by following only the set of rules laid down by my heart.
