I keep reading these entries in my previous journal and I can't help but feel extremely incredulous about them. How come things have gotten so complicated now? There's so much more fear, and yet there's an equal amount of disregard. My coping techniques aren't too great for me. But they're the only things that work in the meantime. I can't help but worry day and night about the kind of life I can provide for my son. God breathed him to life and this is all that I offer. *Sigh* Praying for better things soon...
February 22, 2001 – Thursday
Graduation draws near. We have been preparing. We will soon utter our farewells. If only I could choose to stay with them this way, I would. There is nothing more worth looking forward to than another day with the people who have captured my heart. But it will all end soon…while the birth of a new misery will begin.
February 24, 2001 – Saturday
I feel numb. My heart feels as if it has a mind of its own. I feel hollow. I just feel like after that night, after he said those words…he left me. And now I feel like I’m not myself anymore. A classmate said she caught him looking wistfully at me.
February 26, 2001 – Monday
I’ve been thinking and I realized that there are so many things I feel sorry for. I let them see the real me through this journal. And somehow, when they (Poet, Choco and Beautiful Clouds) read this, they were moved. The thing is, I wish I could move his feelings the way I moved them. I was sitting beside Choco a while ago and I was trying to refrain from crying as I explained how I’m slowly dying…draining, as she said. She seemed shocked when I told her that I gave him a copy of my journal. She said, “What?! Why?! Why did you do that? You opened your whole heart to him!”
I wrote a collection of my thoughts about him and showed it to Choco. After reading it, she said it was profound and touching. She set me free and I cried. This pain of not being able to talk to him anymore is too difficult that I feel like the only choice I have is to die inwardly. Then maybe when I’m finally numb, I wouldn’t hurt.
He agreed to talk. Through the help of Beautiful Clouds, he agreed. I’m really glad I have her for a friend. She’s the one who’s keeping me from falling apart. She’s truly one in a million, always patient and attentive. I hope she also finds me an equally good friend so that I might be worth her company. If not for her, I’m not sure whether I would still have enough healthy bones in my hands.
February 27, 2001 – Tuesday
He watched Miss Saigon with Choco and Freddie Prince. Choco kept calling me but I left my phone at the house while I scouted for a gown for the graduation ball. When I called her up, she said she was very irritated with me because she was supposed to give the extra ticket (from him) to me but since I was unavailable, she gave it to Freddie. I got lost on my way to a classmate’s house. It was so dark. I can’t believe I left my phone. Out of frustration, I cried and cried until I was so exhausted I fell asleep.
February 28, 2001 – Wednesday
We talked for a brief moment. He asked my why I wasn’t able to join them. I apologized and explained that I left my phone in the house when I was scouting for a gown for the Grad Ball. He frowned and said that the musical was much better.
March 1, 2001 – Thursday
The sky was breathtaking today. My having admitted the truth was not an effort to ask more of what I have now. It was only a humble plea to ask him to stay the same because he was loved that way. Maybe it was wrong but I couldn’t live my life the same way again if I didn’t gather enough courage and told him that I cared…High for the day: I saw a shooting star. :)
March 3, 2001 - Saturday
2:00 AM
There are so many things that life has to offer. Pain, love, laughter, death, disease, pleasure, happiness…We’ve got our whole lives to experience all of these…Yet to live with regrets…
When we live in fear, we become blinded by our insecurities, doubts and endless questions that that we don’t realize…we’re slowly wasting our lives away.
March 4, 2001 – Sunday
12:13 AM
We went to UST. Doe-eyed, Chinky Eyes, Gorgeous, Acoustic Guy, Poet and Cussing Nurse. Doe-eyed passed Behavioral Science and we were both looking for our schedule in the College of Arts and Letters. I passed Communication Arts. I didn’t pass my first choice, which was a blessing in disguise because I liked my second choice better. I was worried for Poet. He said that he hasn’t passed anything yet. We went to our friend’s place and had a great time. She took us to the park. It was great looking at the stars and indulging in the sky’s mystery and enchantment. But they seemed as if they were fewer. Hmm. I guess it’s just me. Poet’s feeling better. I hope he realizes that God has a purpose for everything.
He’s wait-listed. I texted him a while ago through Gorgeous’ phone. After 3 minutes, he called her up, asking where we were. Good night, Pablo Neruda.
March 5, 2001 - Monday
I went to Choco’s place to computerize the write-ups. And I honestly don’t know how else life can be if I never met her. She’s the friend I can never do without. Ms. Babes said something about Embryo being the most difficult people. Yeah, right.
March 6, 2001 – Tuesday
He’s been paying attention to me all day but sadly, I don’t feel the sincerity. It’s more like we’re putting our masks on to avoid being teased. I’m planning to talk to him on Friday. God help me. I don’t need him to tell me what I want to hear. I just need to get the right words out.
Early Morn and Smarty said that poetic license is not applicable to the thing they were doing (…Er, I forgot what they were doing at the time) because they said it’s not poetry. They’re right. Then again, I have a different belief. Life itself is poetry in motion. Every word, every gesture, every emotion makes up poetry. People become poets and are able to utilize words to define poetry and create poems because they see life the way everybody else does, but at the same time, from a completely different perspective. I wrote Beautiful Clouds a letter. And I made her sad with my profundity.
I’m a harbinger of sorrow. I apologized to her and she said it was okay, adding she was amazed by my talent of moving people. And I said, smiling sadly, “Like Neruda?” She looked at me and said, “No…better.” Coming from her, the compliment really blew me away. I borrowed Poet’s book and copied two of the most touching pieces.
Tonight I Can Write /Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, “The night is shattered
And the blue stars shiver in the distance.”
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer loved her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer.
And these the last verses that I write for her.
LXX /E. E. Cummings
Here is the ocean, this is moonlight: say
That both precisely beyond either were-
So in darkness ourselves go, mind in mind
Which is thrilling least of all (for love’s
Secret supremely clothes herself with day)
I mean, should any curious dawn discuss
Our mingling spirits, you would disappear
Unreally; as this planet (understand)
Forgets the entire and perpetual sea
-But if yourself consider wonderful
That you (how luminous) life toward twilight will
Dissolve reintegrate beckon through me,
I think it is less wonderful than this
Only by you my heart always moves
See? Everything in itself is poetry. The words only describe the form but poetry can exist without words.
I want to tell him that I love him. What difference does it make, having said I love you and simply feeling it...or loving you but never having said it? I may bring you to smile your warmest smiles, or be there for you in everything, or do you favors, or be a good companion. All I had to offer was measly but well-meant. All I can offer now are memories. Hoping against hope you’ll remember them despite the fact that you have forgotten me.
March 8, 2001 - Thursday
Today’s the second day of exams. Soon all our headaches would be over. And the party would begin. Can you believe this funny incident? I handed him the write-up, which was actually assigned to him (but he asked me to do).
“Here,” I said, handing it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, smiling.
“The write-up,” I answered, still holding the document, “Do I type this or do you?” I was getting impatient because I had a hundred different things to finish. With this lopsided grin, he looked at me and said solemnly, “I do.”
Flash of another scene with the same reply. The agony of stifling a laugh.
I’ve finished writing my farewell letters. I hope I can reach out to them through the letters. My mind’s not absorbing stuff in Physics. What the crap. I’m trying my best anyway, that’s what counts the most. I wonder if we’ll talk on Friday. If we don’t, I honestly don’t know what to do. Whatever God wills to happen, happens. I only wish I knew a bit of where it’s heading. An old path? Or new road?
Graduation draws near. We have been preparing. We will soon utter our farewells. If only I could choose to stay with them this way, I would. There is nothing more worth looking forward to than another day with the people who have captured my heart. But it will all end soon…while the birth of a new misery will begin.
February 24, 2001 – Saturday
I feel numb. My heart feels as if it has a mind of its own. I feel hollow. I just feel like after that night, after he said those words…he left me. And now I feel like I’m not myself anymore. A classmate said she caught him looking wistfully at me.
February 26, 2001 – Monday
I’ve been thinking and I realized that there are so many things I feel sorry for. I let them see the real me through this journal. And somehow, when they (Poet, Choco and Beautiful Clouds) read this, they were moved. The thing is, I wish I could move his feelings the way I moved them. I was sitting beside Choco a while ago and I was trying to refrain from crying as I explained how I’m slowly dying…draining, as she said. She seemed shocked when I told her that I gave him a copy of my journal. She said, “What?! Why?! Why did you do that? You opened your whole heart to him!”
I wrote a collection of my thoughts about him and showed it to Choco. After reading it, she said it was profound and touching. She set me free and I cried. This pain of not being able to talk to him anymore is too difficult that I feel like the only choice I have is to die inwardly. Then maybe when I’m finally numb, I wouldn’t hurt.
He agreed to talk. Through the help of Beautiful Clouds, he agreed. I’m really glad I have her for a friend. She’s the one who’s keeping me from falling apart. She’s truly one in a million, always patient and attentive. I hope she also finds me an equally good friend so that I might be worth her company. If not for her, I’m not sure whether I would still have enough healthy bones in my hands.
February 27, 2001 – Tuesday
He watched Miss Saigon with Choco and Freddie Prince. Choco kept calling me but I left my phone at the house while I scouted for a gown for the graduation ball. When I called her up, she said she was very irritated with me because she was supposed to give the extra ticket (from him) to me but since I was unavailable, she gave it to Freddie. I got lost on my way to a classmate’s house. It was so dark. I can’t believe I left my phone. Out of frustration, I cried and cried until I was so exhausted I fell asleep.
February 28, 2001 – Wednesday
We talked for a brief moment. He asked my why I wasn’t able to join them. I apologized and explained that I left my phone in the house when I was scouting for a gown for the Grad Ball. He frowned and said that the musical was much better.
March 1, 2001 – Thursday
The sky was breathtaking today. My having admitted the truth was not an effort to ask more of what I have now. It was only a humble plea to ask him to stay the same because he was loved that way. Maybe it was wrong but I couldn’t live my life the same way again if I didn’t gather enough courage and told him that I cared…High for the day: I saw a shooting star. :)
March 3, 2001 - Saturday
2:00 AM
There are so many things that life has to offer. Pain, love, laughter, death, disease, pleasure, happiness…We’ve got our whole lives to experience all of these…Yet to live with regrets…
When we live in fear, we become blinded by our insecurities, doubts and endless questions that that we don’t realize…we’re slowly wasting our lives away.
March 4, 2001 – Sunday
12:13 AM
We went to UST. Doe-eyed, Chinky Eyes, Gorgeous, Acoustic Guy, Poet and Cussing Nurse. Doe-eyed passed Behavioral Science and we were both looking for our schedule in the College of Arts and Letters. I passed Communication Arts. I didn’t pass my first choice, which was a blessing in disguise because I liked my second choice better. I was worried for Poet. He said that he hasn’t passed anything yet. We went to our friend’s place and had a great time. She took us to the park. It was great looking at the stars and indulging in the sky’s mystery and enchantment. But they seemed as if they were fewer. Hmm. I guess it’s just me. Poet’s feeling better. I hope he realizes that God has a purpose for everything.
He’s wait-listed. I texted him a while ago through Gorgeous’ phone. After 3 minutes, he called her up, asking where we were. Good night, Pablo Neruda.
March 5, 2001 - Monday
I went to Choco’s place to computerize the write-ups. And I honestly don’t know how else life can be if I never met her. She’s the friend I can never do without. Ms. Babes said something about Embryo being the most difficult people. Yeah, right.
March 6, 2001 – Tuesday
He’s been paying attention to me all day but sadly, I don’t feel the sincerity. It’s more like we’re putting our masks on to avoid being teased. I’m planning to talk to him on Friday. God help me. I don’t need him to tell me what I want to hear. I just need to get the right words out.
Early Morn and Smarty said that poetic license is not applicable to the thing they were doing (…Er, I forgot what they were doing at the time) because they said it’s not poetry. They’re right. Then again, I have a different belief. Life itself is poetry in motion. Every word, every gesture, every emotion makes up poetry. People become poets and are able to utilize words to define poetry and create poems because they see life the way everybody else does, but at the same time, from a completely different perspective. I wrote Beautiful Clouds a letter. And I made her sad with my profundity.
I’m a harbinger of sorrow. I apologized to her and she said it was okay, adding she was amazed by my talent of moving people. And I said, smiling sadly, “Like Neruda?” She looked at me and said, “No…better.” Coming from her, the compliment really blew me away. I borrowed Poet’s book and copied two of the most touching pieces.
Tonight I Can Write /Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, “The night is shattered
And the blue stars shiver in the distance.”
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer loved her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer.
And these the last verses that I write for her.
LXX /E. E. Cummings
Here is the ocean, this is moonlight: say
That both precisely beyond either were-
So in darkness ourselves go, mind in mind
Which is thrilling least of all (for love’s
Secret supremely clothes herself with day)
I mean, should any curious dawn discuss
Our mingling spirits, you would disappear
Unreally; as this planet (understand)
Forgets the entire and perpetual sea
-But if yourself consider wonderful
That you (how luminous) life toward twilight will
Dissolve reintegrate beckon through me,
I think it is less wonderful than this
Only by you my heart always moves
See? Everything in itself is poetry. The words only describe the form but poetry can exist without words.
I want to tell him that I love him. What difference does it make, having said I love you and simply feeling it...or loving you but never having said it? I may bring you to smile your warmest smiles, or be there for you in everything, or do you favors, or be a good companion. All I had to offer was measly but well-meant. All I can offer now are memories. Hoping against hope you’ll remember them despite the fact that you have forgotten me.
March 8, 2001 - Thursday
Today’s the second day of exams. Soon all our headaches would be over. And the party would begin. Can you believe this funny incident? I handed him the write-up, which was actually assigned to him (but he asked me to do).
“Here,” I said, handing it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, smiling.
“The write-up,” I answered, still holding the document, “Do I type this or do you?” I was getting impatient because I had a hundred different things to finish. With this lopsided grin, he looked at me and said solemnly, “I do.”
Flash of another scene with the same reply. The agony of stifling a laugh.
I’ve finished writing my farewell letters. I hope I can reach out to them through the letters. My mind’s not absorbing stuff in Physics. What the crap. I’m trying my best anyway, that’s what counts the most. I wonder if we’ll talk on Friday. If we don’t, I honestly don’t know what to do. Whatever God wills to happen, happens. I only wish I knew a bit of where it’s heading. An old path? Or new road?
No comments:
Post a Comment