falling again

there has been a question that, for the longest time, i had fears of asking. i have always known how critical i am, especially with myself, and though answering this question may come so easy or so simple to many, it is not too so with me. i always believe to always answer truthfully, honestly, and unless i can qualify, quantify, justify my answers, then i rather avoid the question altogether, lest make an erroneous, even worse, a false answer.

what is love?

the question hurts for though my mind and my faith and even life experiences can give me many ways of responding, i cannot, in my opinion give a solid answer. i may have accounts of it, ideas of it, stories of it, but if i were to extract from my own personal experiences, then i feel i draw from a deep and empty well. i don't think i am love-less. i however feel that my mind often, sad as it is for me to admit, get in the way of feeling. maybe when made to draw from my well, i do so with the slotted basket of my mind, always open to suggestion or to new thought, never really tightly grasping onto rather complex and profound ideas such as love.

i often shudder at the thought, often when lost in deep introspection. my deeper self would ask how much do i love and i always find myself at a lost for words. i am caught speechless ever time, and the weight that i often carry myself, always severe, always calculating, would suddenly get dropped and i am left without defense, naked, frail and bare, vulnerable to the harsh reality of my shallow existence, subject to my own chastising now of never learning to appreciate, enjoy, cherish the many affections that come my way. that i had allowed myself to even have these pass me by, fall through the cracks of my slotted basket, into the deep well that is my unquenchable heart. what then, my deeper voice would ask eventually, would you offer when it is your turn to love? when you have nothing but empty gesture, hollow thoughts, and vanity to your credit.

my mind is a powerful, yet a dangerous thing. but i am slowly learning, that the heart can be as well.

in the quiet moments of my reverie, on the rare occasions when my mind is exhausted, my heart quivers. it skips, even if a little to the dream of having you wrapped with my arms, your read resting on my chest, your body's weight pressing on mine, and for the very few occasions, my body relinquishes its need to be strong and allow itself to be lost in your small power. how lovely it is drown in you, that i do not struggle but feel an overwhelming sense of rest. it is death in its sweetest form. a lovely execution, smothered by your affection, suffocated in your tenderness. i could stay here forever, until my mind awakens again and he slowly leads me away, loosening my embrace, tightening again the reins.

what is love? i know a little bit of it now. my mind tells me of its greatness but i once had nothing to substantiate it, that was, until i once again find myself falling, quickly, gently back into you, deep into your overflowing well. there is love. i hope you find it in me too.

the possession

the possession. pencil. 5.24.2011

inner battles again

was listening to the radio while on the drive to work this morning, and the commentator of the show i was listening to was discussing how, through Christ, we can be freed from every sin. His topic this morning was about low self-esteem though, something i quite honestly never really really associated with sin. he however was able to weave the web, like how good speakers do, and explained any that causes us to miss the mark (which is what sin really is) from enjoying what God has intended for us, all of it can be defined to be as sin, so low self-esteem, that feeling of worthlessness, that too is also sin.

i found myself wondering, is humility and low self-esteem the same? for quite often, in expression, they are seen the same and similarly, people react to them the same way. also, how about feign humility, something us chinese seem to be brought up to practice, what about that?

i guess it's not our job to discern who is truly humble and who is faking it or who is having problems with self worth. i guess the real work should be more of a self examination, that God will enlighten us of our real condition with regards to whether or now we are truly humble. i cannot deny, though i exercise to be humble and find discomfort in people's praise, deep down, i relish it. certainly who doesn't want to bask in people's approval? in the same matter, i also catch myself exercising my authority, even if its severely misplaced, over others, forcing my opinion, unrelenting to my position, and being stubborn to see beyond reason. i also am guilty of feeling never content with what i have, more so, what i pine for those i cannot have and feel that those will complete me. it's a self feeding lust, an auto-cannibalization that leaves me often questioning my value, my real potential, and instead, cause me to invest my energies in pursuing shallow, meaningless things in the hopes that they will satisfy me.

its easy to acknowledge these things. i find no difficulty in doing so since, having feigned humility allows you to see your lesser points and yet still save face. but the work ends there, acknowledging. i dont think i have taken any measures of really changing, more so, in a deeper sense, allowed God to heal that part of me. my self-worth, ironically, is deeply ingrained to my feeling of worthlessness. i find power in pity and it is a deadly thing.

i was disclosing some thoughts to ros this morning and his reaction to it threw me off, in a sense. in my stillness i began to feel a growing defense building inside of me and the familiar bitterness leered its ugly head once again. on a positive sense, it put my rather irrational emotions at bay. on the negative sense, it once again exposed me of this rouse i play. fooling myself, fooling other people, even those who are close to me.

there is much work that yet has to be done. i pray i can be given enough strength to overcome it all.

running in the rain

it all began with the first clap of thunder, while the dark skies went ablaze with flashes of white, hot, light. the temperature changed. the air changed as the heavy silence after the thunder hushed almost everyone as it heralded the oncoming storm. lighting flashed again, the following thunder rolled in, much crisper this time. people began to move faster, walk more hastily, seeking cover, finding shelter, while ross and i kept steadily in our pace.

the wind's direction changed, like the turning of an invisible rudder. above us, though we could not see it, clouds billowed and churned as the storm grew angrier and louder, it seems, with every passing minute... with every passing minute we ignored its fury. we, ros and i, as well as other runners who too kept to their routine, horses of a giant carousel, ignorant or feigning ignorance to the violence that is building overhead... and then it came. a gust of wind blew in the first drops. the head phalanx was rushing on its way.

the rain fell heavy. it was strong, cold and unrelenting, but so were we. we ran in the rain. we ran in its almost solid wetness as drops got pounded into our soaking clothes, almost piercing into our wet, wet skin. water ran down into our eyes, it flowed into our mouths, into every willing orifice, hoping i guess, the discomfort would slow us down, but it did not. we kept to our pace. the trees rustled and shook, spraying the road with huge drops apart from the ones already falling. they hit you, almost like pebbles of hard liquid, stoning you, but we kept to our pace.

i began to slow down after that, the cold now setting in, my muscles now beginning to fatigue. i began to fall away, but you kept to your pace, and for the first time tonight, i was able to watch you run from behind. i was able to see the joy that beamed from your person as you drove yourself into the oncoming rain. you ran into puddles of deep water, purposefully splashing them with your new shoes. you stretched your arms forward and told me of how you, as a child, would pretend to be driving planes when would you run back then. you then began running in and out of the lane, criss-crossing about, ignorant of people watching, ignorant of the violence from above, ignorant from the deluge below, from the harsh cold wind, from the rough rustling leaves, from the steady admirer beaming at you from behind.

i have never seen you so happy.... and so was i.

fatigued

i sometimes find myself feeling panicky on times when i think about the future. it seems as days pass and the more i feel older, a part of me suddenly gets jolted awake and scrambles to do something, anything, just to feel like i am not living a "wasted" life. not really saying that i feel i am living a rather worthless life, but i cannot help but think that i can be better, greater, live a more productive, fulfilling life, than what i have now.

i would like to think i dream good dreams, much grounded dreams, but a part of me is slowly realizing the tragedy that maybe, my good dreams are just too good to be true; or maybe that destiny has prepared me just to live a life that is mediocre, that i really am just meant to be mediocre and was mistakenly given a brain, a soul that should have belonged to another person, definitely not a person like me.

i used to very curious. i lived to learn and spent most of my time wandering and wondering, finding myself in the oddest of situations and thereby finding myself learn the oddest of things, that was, until i needed to grow up and learn the sensibilities of staying put, of growing roots and, in a way, cling onto something. now, my wanderings are limited to an office chair and browsing the internet, reading about the lives of those who maintained living the curious life, and trying my best through what remains of my boundless imagination, to presume to see what they may have seen, heard, felt, tasted. maybe in doing so, something will get rekindled in me to once again yearn to break free and stretch beyond the confines of this prison i am in.

my work consumes me now, and i don't even bother resisting the bite.

perched 5.2011

sizing up

i was getting off from my car this morning, looking rather like a mexican guerilla, as my mom would often jest of me. slung around my body are: my usual everyday man-bag; my rather full messenger/ laptop bag; my lunch kit on one hand; plus for today, my coffee press. needless to say i get where the analogous visual comes from and quite honestly, i dont really mind. anyway, as i was walking towards my office from my car, all my bags slung across me like Ms. Supsup's beauty queen sashes, my eye caught the sight of this rather good looking man from a distance. he was tall, pale skinned, and from the looks of it, chiseled, based on his form-fitting black shirt and jeans. he was walking in my direction so i could not stop and take a better look at him until i turned at the corner and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. just as i did, i noticed he was looking at me as well.

i recall asking my kuya sometime back regarding a curious observation i have had. i didnt really want to think too much of it and conclude anything about it yet, for surely, what really do i know? i asked him: i noticed when we're out that people often give me the once-over. i know i do it with people as well and often when i do, it's because either my gaydar alerts me, or i find the person attractive, or i find that what he (or she) is wearing is particularly nice and i need to take mental note. i presume this is also the reason why people do it with me, more often than not however, i think i alert their gaydar. but what really i find curious is that it seems, straight men do this as well. i've encountered many times noticing guys, even when with their girlfriends in tow, would glance at me. glancing i guess is ok, but to stare is something else, and not wanting to boast or anything, but i get stared at. kuya chided that maybe i just look weird in their eyes, that and he guesses, that i look huge as well. doesn't mean that straight guys have gay tendencies and are checking me out, guys, he guess, just like to stare.

i wonder if its just pinoys though. i dont recall people in dubai doing it, except if they're pinoy. people in HK or in SG, i found, dont do it too much either. i wonder if its because pinoy guys are just vain. i read an article stating that we're the most vain men in asia, straight or gay.

seems to make sense.

white noise

trying on a new look, maybe it will help clear my head of certain things.

found myself in contemplation last night, something i haven't done in a long while. as the winds howled while they tore through tattered roofs and punctured walls in my neighborhood, i found myself lying half awake, half asleep, wondering why my conscience wasn't making the same ruckus.

it's not often you find people who "stress" over having a silent conscience, certainly it cannot be a bad thing not having an incessant nagging troubling you from with. however, like with a lot of things i have learned in my short existence, there are certain things, even unpleasant ones, that i cannot live without; a handkerchief in my pocket, a street atlas, bad smelling chinese medicine, and a conscience that would bother you from time to time. i am not necessarily saying that i am bothered with the fact that i have a silent conscience, rather, what really worries me is that there is a huge difference between a quiet conscience and a silent one... for only the dead truly remain silent you see.