You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...


-Walt Whitman


29.8.08

lamentations of a withered tin can


I CAN SEE YOU FROM DOWN HERE. i hope you can see me too. but i doubt you’d be able to because you walk with your chin high up, and it looks like you’re in a hurry. the pointed heels of your shoes seem to break the ground as you walk. the sound it makes reminds me of someone knocking on my bedroom door once upon a time, but a little faster. where are you going? why in such a haste? i guess you’re running late for work. i hope i could borrow your time for a while. if i could only make you stop.

i am here. i am down here. i am the rusting tin can on the sidewalk. any moment now, you’ll be right here in front of me. if i could only give you a signal that i am here. i have been waiting for so long…for you. the time had already taken its toll on me and now i am ugly. but i don’t care of how i look. i have always believed that beauty lies in the inside. but wait. i have no insides, have i? i am hollow. empty. i am a tin can, but how could i feel something like this. something as impossible as love.

you’re coming closer and closer. i could see everything from down here. your every detail. every spontaneous move. every blink of those big brown eyes. i wish they’d look down, then, perhaps you could see me. did i mention i am the tin can on the sidewalk? the one near a puddle of vomit. an old beggar left it there. he seemed to have a bad stomach earlier this morning. i should know because he’d been using me for seven months to ask for alms from indifferent passersby. but now the beggar had decided to get rid of me. he doesn’t need me anymore. he threw me away and left me there like a trash. what am i saying? i am a trash. i have always been a trash. and now, once again, i am useless. it’s pathetic to be used as a container of coins and being held up in front of peoples’ smug, disgusted or smirking faces. but i’d rather be a pathetic coin container than a useless, withered can. a few steps more, you’ll be right in front of me at last.

i see your hair is well-done today. your skin’s still flawless as i have imagined it. your red lips seem untouched and now i am thinking if i could kiss those someday. what a pathetic thought. and now it’s starting to rain. you looked up to the gray skies with utmost disappointment. how could be a disappointed look seem so beautiful? i guess, it’s because the look lies in your heavenly face. it’s so graceful how you opened that black umbrella. you lifted it up, got under it, raised your chin up again, and walked, but this time a little slower, perhaps you’re afraid the puddles of water on the wet sidewalk might stain your legs.

you’re so near now. i am here. down here. the tin can near the puddle of vomit. i am glad you’re walking slowly this time. there’s still a chance you could see me right? just a few more steps. my fingers are crossed if i have any.

seven more steps…

i could hear clearly, the sound your heels make...

five more…

three…

just one…

then, you stopped. you were careful not to step on the beggar’s vomit. i looked up and i can’t believe what i have just seen. were you looking at me? is that a smile from you? yes. that’s definitely a smile. you bent down, and picked me up. you were not disgusted. you didn’t hesitate to let those hands touch my rotten skin. you had seen me when i was invisible. you appreciated me when i feel so ugly. i am so glad you picked me up. and now i will no longer be a trash anymore, i guess. i will cease from being useless. i could be anything you want. i could be your flower pot. i could be your pencil holder. i could keep your coins for you, if you want. anything you want me to be, just name it.

i was so happy. you picked me up and now were both under your black umbrella. i was safe. secured. dry. there will no longer be rain to rust me or extreme sun to break me. you came and saw me when you i thought it was impossible. i was invisible but those brown eyes set upon me. and now i am the happiest tin can in the world.

then you walked, with me held in your left hand the umbrella in your right. it seemed like forever... almost.

seven more steps…

every step you take was a prayer...

five more…

three…

just one…

you stopped walking. and i felt your hand slacken. i could no longer feel your warm skin against mine. you let me go. and now i am falling, and as i fall i looked unto your beautiful face. but your eyes were blank. expressionless. blunt. apathetic. nothing could describe it now except the word cold. but why?

i was so stupid. i fooled myself into thinking that someone like you could love a tin can. you have a heart right? but you just can’t. and now everything becomes clear as i fall. i was falling and as i hit the bottom of the cold trash can, i looked up thinking you would have a second look. but you didn’t. if i had eyes, there would be tears flowing from them right now. and if i had a heart, i have no doubt that it’s now broken. but i don’t have such hollow organ because i am a tin can. hollow. useless. trash. together with all the ugliest things in the world.

if i had ears i would be listening to your footsteps. i have none but still i can hear. you’re in hurry now because the rain had grown stronger and angry at you. walk faster. don’t mind the mud that might stain you. you walked faster. you are walking so fast now. as fast as the heart you once been able to beat for you…slow and fast at the same time…

run! you don’t want to be late. i hope you get there.

. . .

i saw a beggar and a beautiful lady on my way home from morayta, earlier today. thought i could make something out of the experience.

E[kwento]MO: EMO Writing Contest

VOTE NOW!

26.8.08

the deleted comment


A KICK-ASS BLOGGER from my roll posted a comment on my previous post entitled, end; he asked me to delete the comment, and somehow i understood why. i was taken aback at first, for some reasons, but after reading it for the nth time, i decided to copy it and save it on my flash drive. there’s something to learn about it, i thought. and there was. good thing i made a copy and i decided to make a post about it. the following is an excerpt from the deleted comment:

Ron,


PLEASE Delete this comment:


talk to your friends..

that is one the best thing you could do..
and if you feel really emotional, cry for pete sake but please don't cry for the next thousand years or people will make crazy urban legends about you

and lastly just a piece of an advice, this works for me.. i don't know with others
if you feel like writing your emotional status (most people find it therapeutic) then scribble it on paper or play your fingers on the keyboard... write so hard even if it bleeds

pero hanggang maari keep it private until you regain some control and senses about what you are writing.


then you can post it some other time (it can be an hours after mo binuhos ang sama ng loob mo, it doesn't have to count days) and you may choose not to edit it, so the truth of your moment is still essentially there.. once posted it will act as reminder and another enrichment of literature from you.


this in turn will protect you from craving attention and pity.. whether you are conscious about it or not, but humans crave for attention, even when they are hurting.


talk to friends is still one of the best thing around.

anyway maybe i am taking this quite far.. and assume to talk too much without knowing the real situation.. and i do apologized na rin for raining on your parade. you use strong words kasi and its really heartfelt.

. . .


"this in turn will protect you from craving attention and pity.. whether you are conscious about it or not, but humans crave for attention, even when they are hurting..."

when i first read eat, it seemed like it was saying that i am seeking attention of some sort. my ego defended itself for a moment, but in the end i was able to keep an open mind. he had a point. i tried to ponder on these words and ask questions. perhaps i am seeking attention and craving for pity, for all the things that had been happening in my life lately. i cannot be totally sure, though, because there’s a possibility that i am just unaware of it. that the truth of me being an attention-seeker, perhaps, lies in the unconscious realm of my mind. i know myself but i also believe that one’s personality is a dynamic entity. a journey that involves independent and undergoes a continuous process of learning. i don’t understand my self at times (or most of the time) so i think it’s better to lay everything on the table.


i have friends to talk about problems, personal struggles, excitement… especially now that my best friend decided to come back and leave her boyfriend of an ass for good. But writing those feelings is different from verbally saying them. i do believe that the best way to resolve or at least lighten personal baggage is to share it with someone, a friend, a family, someone you can trust. someone with an ear that listens, a shoulder you can lean on, and a mouth that utters balming and enlightening words but sometimes, however, it seems easier to open up with a complete stranger than a person who knows you. to someone who doesn’t know you at all. i am quite amused by how people here perceive me not just as a writer, but as a person. i know my writing and my opinions are ways for other people here in the blogosphere to have a glimpse of who i am, but some conclusions towards me are really…uhmm…let’s say curious. i wonder what crazy urban legends would be made or have already been made about me. i’m planning to make a post about this one.

blogging for me has been really therapeutic. i am able to express my self in ways, exactly how i wanted myself to be expressed. it really excites me how feelings that are so abstract could be articulated into tangible words. i use to write an entry as soon as i get the inspiration or feel an extreme emotion, perhaps because i want to preserve the essence of my work. i don’t want my posts to be outdated either, sort of. this site serves as my training ground for my communication and creative writing skills. i am hesitant to author this site at first because i was thinking that no one would care to read it. who would want to have a piece of ron’s twisted mind? then, there were comments, and people adding me to their rolls, requesting exchange links. some people care for what i think, i thought, and that’s enough for me to be inspired.

again, dave, thank you so much for the advice (even though in psychology, giving one is considered unethical. hehe! fyi). you can count on me doing it.
now, i can't quite understand why you wanted me to delete it, but i'm hoping you're not mad at me by making it as a post. to the readers and visitors who take time to read long entries, melancholic posts, stuff that don’t concern you and still manage to leave comments—i really appreciate it. thank you for all the compliments you have been giving. you make my stay here in the blogosphere so much fun…

21.8.08

to write or not to write


YOU WERE ON YOUR WAY HOME and suddenly you saw this notebook lying on your front lawn. a black one. it seemed just an ordinary notebook to you, but the large, white letters against the black cover caught you: death note. you picked it up out of curiosity and opened it. there were instructions scribbled on one of its lined pages:

“The human whose name is written in this note shall die…”

you thought it was absurd. pathetic. ridiculous. but still there was apart of you that made you anxious. it made you fidget on the thought that you could kill someone by just writing his name on freaking notebook, but curiosity took you over. your hand is itching to get that pen from you right pocket. “there’s no harm in trying,” you told yourself just to relieve your ego of the conflict it suffers. you remembered the name of the criminal on the loose, who killed two innocent people, from the news earlier this morning.

you wrote it down. just the name. nothing will happen, of course. or so you thought.

you suddenly felt stupid for writing the name down, but you didn’t dare erase the name nor throw away the note. you kept it. put it inside your bag. there was a relief for a moment.

the next day, you were watching the early morning news. a man died of a heart attack. the man’s name was exactly the name of the person you wrote on the note, you thought was pathetic. not anymore, i suppose.

“if the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die with heart attack…”

you read the whole set of instructions. very specific and detailed instructions. you were shocked. scared. guilty, perhaps, but the ego had a clever way to resolve such conflict that your conscience and what you have done had made. logic told you that it was just a coincidence. just an inevitable event. you had nothing to do with it. it was destiny that happened. it was his time to die. but the conflict that had been raging inside you persisted. you had to be sure.

“after writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds…”

you wrote the name of the absolute dictator that plans to unleash nuclear war against the world

“_________ will die of choking at 8:00 am, philippine time…”

you didn’t know what to feel. you just had to be sure if the death note was real and if you’re responsible for the demise of a cold-blooded criminal. something inside you felt hopeful that it’s real. do you think that what you were feeling was evil?

you couldn’t sleep. but you were tired. physically. emotionally. and you were swallowed by darkness that seemed to come from your own beating heart.

8:00 am— you panicked as you looked at your wall clock. you forgot to set the alarm. something in your head told you that the person with the name you wrote on the note was probably dead. choked and died, while having his breakfast, perhaps, on a large piece of chicken meat he was munching with his pearly white teeth. eyes open and face flat on his plate of expensive food he failed to finish.

you turned on the television. you decided not to go to work. this was more important than work. the world will change, somehow, in any second. your heart is racing as the news rolled on. you wondered how long will it take for the philippine media to get the information. you hesitated and decided to search for what you were looking for on the internet. you knew the exact words to type on the search box… it was so easy… like scribbling a name on a piece of paper…

and there he was… eyes open and face flat on his plate of expensive food…

the death note was real. you relieved the world two of all the people that make it sick. make it rot. you felt powerful. you could change the world with just the note, a pen, a name, and a face. your hand itched again… and wrote names.

Murderers…

mafia members…

cruel dictators…

terrorists…

corrupt government officials…

sex maniacs…

rapists…

robbers…

abortionists…

the list went on, and on, and on… there seemed to be no end. Your dominant hand was tiring… it seemed endless… you wished you can’t tire… but you were… the only thought that got you going was the thought of a better world. a peaceful one. no poverty. no crimes. no suffering. a perfect world everyone had been dreaming about, and you could make it happen for them. utopia was so near you could almost touch it… but still you’re human and you were bound to tire… then, you hand gave up, your eyes closed… and then there was darkness…

---

you opened your eyes. the driver woke you up with his booming voice.

driver: miss dito na po ang baba niyo ‘di ba?

you: opo. maraming salamat, manong. crap.

it was not your first time to have slept on a jeepney ride home but it was still embarrassing as usual.

you were on your way home and suddenly you saw this notebook lying on your front lawn. a black one. it seemed just an ordinary notebook to you, but the large, white letters against the black cover caught you: death note.

what would you do?

would you dare to write anything in it?

your ego sensed another conflict. this time on the question: “does the end really justifies the means?”

---



haha! isn’t it obvious that i’m currently addicted to the japanese manga series death note? i have heard about this a long time ago, but i was never an avid fan of anime…until now. haha! i got hooked and now i just can’t stop. this entry is getting longer. i guess i’ll just save the rest when i am done with the whole series. i’m done with the 6th episode. i’m going to start the 7th tomorrow… 30 episodes to go. haha!

by the way, could you please vote on my poll? i would really want to know your opinion about it. thanks a lot. ciao!

18.8.08

tag number one

thank you, odin, for tagging me. i am sorry if i posted this a little late because there a lot going on, here in the wizarding world. haha!

Instructions:

Click copy/paste, type in your answers and tag four people in your lists! Don't forget to change the answers to the questions with that of your own.

(A) four places i go over and over (besides my house, right?):

HALEY’S PLACE. i just love to crash into my bestfriend’s place. i virtually can do anything there, now that she’s living independently. no parents. no one to tell us no. it’s like my second home. i love her curtains. guess who chose the color? hehe! there are no dull moments whenever i visit her. whenever we’re together, it’s as if, there are lots of things to talk about. too bad there’s a curfew on the place up until 11 pm only. That means no sleeping overnight (crap!). i miss being a glutton over her box of assorted chocolates her mom brought home from saudi. (both her parents are nurses in saudi arabia. all of them are pursuing a medical profession. cool eh?).

PJ’S CRIB. one good thing about crashing to pj’s house is that he has his own computer—with internet connection! haha! i am free to download anything, and surf the net till my eyes pop out of their sockets. also, i can stay overnight. it’s really cool to sleep there. did i mention he has his own air conditioned room? haha! his room is on the 3rd floor of the house (wheew!) next to an asutea. his room has a really beautiful view of the town especially at night. we usually chat and watch videos from you tube with friends till we fall asleep.

NATIONAL BOOKSTORE. i am not fond of shopping, window shopping, or buying groceries. i don’t even shop for my own clothes. whenever i am in the mall, i usually go there just to eat. haha! so whenever i am with my family or friends and they decide to shop around or buy groceries, i usually sneak out and go national bookstore…or any bookstore. i just love books. i am fond of reading opened magazines and synopsis of novels. going in such place efficiently kills the time like when waiting for the start of my favorite movie on the cinemas (just in time for the trailers--one good thing about watching movies). i hate watching movies if I am not able to watch them from the beginning.

VIDEO CITY. Did I mention I am a cinephile? I could watch movies all day long. But nowadays, movies are rivaled by pirated American tv series. Hehe! I used to go to video city and rent 2-3 cd’s for homeviewing. I rent movies because I hate watching the pirated ones. Besides the poor visual and sound quality, people scurrying on the lower part of the screen (probably because of fully extended bladder) annoy me. I have my own formulated guidelines in watching movies. If it’s a blockbuster or something I’ve been waiting for, I’ll watch it on the big screen. If I failed to do so, I will wait for the original DVD or CD copy, or download it. Or else… I have no choice but go to a stinking market and buy a pirated one… Crap!


(B) four people who email me regularly:

FRIENDSTER. account updates, friends’ updates, birthdays, blog updates, announcements, etc… honestly it’s very hard for me to interact with people using friendster. i think i know why. i mean friendster seems very superficial. people view you because of how you look or how cute you are in your primary picture (hence increasing the number of account views, which to some people is one hell of a deal! i can’t sympathize with people who cry over their account with less than 100 views. mine was stuck at 40 and i am not complaining). at least here in the blogosphere, people will not view you not because of how you look but of how you think and articulate those things that reel in your head. am i seeing raised eyebrows? peace. hehe!

BLOGGER. I used to have comment subscriptions of all the sites in my blog roll. I have learned that it was not a good idea. They were like spammers. I emptied my inbox one time, just to see it full again the next day with 216 messages.

ANOTHER SOCIAL NETWORK. No comment. Haha!

MULTIPLY. Invitations encouraging me to have a multiply account. No thanks! Haha!


(C) four of my favorite places to eat:

YELLOW CAB. i am addicted to pizza and pasta. although i still prefer jollibee’s spaghetti. i love being a glutton here because their pizzas are great! i usually order classic new york’s finest. hays… eating their pizza is like having a very intimate sex! serotonin and endorphins overflow! i could still remember how me and haley moaned on every bite, when we celebrated her birthday there. uhh.. ahh..uhh.. haha! happy birthday again, my haley. i’ll post ‘it’ as soon as i have the pictures and the letter.

MAX’S. this is our family’s favorite resto. if there’s a special occasion or a family reunion, max’s is the only option. i love their chicken soup. what makes eating here remarkable is how i always struggle to finish my food. there are lots of foods on the table, but sadly i have only one stomach. i wish i had four…

KFC. i usually order their wicked meal. my mouth is watering with just the thought of their hot mushroom soup and mashed potato. the breast is my favorite part of their chicken. i like them huge and spicy. hehe! i usually order the wicked meal with an extra rice. the brownie, if i still could manage to fit it in my stomach, i definitely eat it. i told you, my soul is burning in hell for eating like crazy. haha!

BURGER MACHINE. Burgers--one my weaknesses when i’m starving. i usually buy two of the largest size, with cheese and coleslaw. sometimes, when i am very hungry, i prefer an egg added onto it and extra cheese and coleslaw. On other occasions, i prefer the longganiza patty, or the spicy one. one of my favorite is the bacon mushroom melt! hays… i love the feeling of how it melts in my mouth. i wish i could still find burger machines here in laguna. they sort of changed it into ‘buy one, plus one burgers’ to rival minute burgers’ ‘buy one, take one’ promo. (crap!) eating minute burger is like eating live, wriggling salmonella. hays…


(D) four places i'd rather be:

BEIJING. it’s the olympics and i am a little bit obsessed about it. hehe! i told my mother i was leaving for beijing two days before the opening ceremonies and she bought it. i think i could be a good actor… haha! i was hoping to watch the volleyball matches. brazil, cuba, china, are currently my bet to win it big time. but over-all i wish china wins the medal tally over the united states. “give chance to others.” ring a bell?

LONDON. i have always fancied the place. the parliament building and big ben, the buckingham and the kinsengton palaces, the templar church, the westminster abbey, the millennium eye… hays… i could go on and on about it. also, i love the people’s accent! i also wish to see the harry potter cast especially hermione. i mean, she’s so beautiful, isn’t she. hays… the next olympic games will be hosted by this city, comes 2012. no pressure there. hehe!

PARIS. I am a hopeless romantic so no question as to why I chose this place. I would like to see the iconic eifel tower, the louvre museum, and the haunted opera house. I would like to drink on one of its the street-side caf├ęs savoring the moonlight (does the moonlight shine on paris?…hahaha! hell, yeah!). such a romantic place to be, especially with someone you love. T_T

TUSCANY. if am not mistaken, this is somewhere in italy. what i love about this place is the lush countryside, full of flowers, hills, and trees, under the azure blue sky. the lifestyle of the people there is very simple and yet very peaceful. i love the houses there. they’re really…uhmm…italian! haha! have you watched the movie, ‘under the tuscan sun’?


(E) Four people I think will respond:

REYN. he’s an elementary friend. he’s the one who encouraged me to start this blog site. i use to call him ton ton though…

EYPRILLE. there’s something about her that intrigues me.

KRIS JASPER. i am curious about his perception that he’s not human.

BEN-AYOT. she tagged me. a tag about shoes. i’m sorry i am not able to post it yet. my brother forgot to bring my digicam yet again. hays… but i promised right? you still have my word.


(F) four tv shows i could watch over and over:

THE MOMENT OF TRUTH. “will you rather have sex with your pet dog than your husband?” let’s say the answer is yes. just answer the question truthfully and you win 500,000 dollars. cool eh?

PINOY DREAM ACADEMY. i’m still rooting for bugoy, liezel, and laarni to be in the finals.

AIR CRASH INVESTIGATION. a series from the national geographic channel. it’s like watching csi but this time investigating how a particular air crash had occurred. hays… this show never fails to blow me away… did you know that the airways are still the safest way to travel?

NAKED SCIENCE. another series from natgeo. it updates me to the latest scientific breakthroughs, discoveries, and possibilities. i just love the national geographic channel… one reason i couldn’t live without cable subscription. haha!

Well that’s it. Hehe! Hope that helped you to know me better. Haha! Ciao!

14.8.08

invisible


I WANT TO BE INVISIBLE… i want to escape just for awhile. just this one night. i just can’t seem to bear this ugly feeling that freezes my heart over…my mind…my soul. i just don’t know what to do. i tried to run as far from this feeling as possible, but still, it has a clever way of finding me. sometimes, i think, this is part of who i am, but i can’t tolerate such thought because it disgusts me. i am disgusted down to my very core.

paranoia is a very ugly feeling. i am afraid of it. terrified. and now i am both afraid and terrified. it was a dead end for me. nowhere to run. the only thing that i could do is step back, turn around, and find another way out, but there was none. i’m in a box. i am no claustrophobic though. i just feel alone. a prisoner left to die. i shackled by own hands, my own feet and threw away the key. and now i sit here in the hope that my words could help me through the night. i hope more words would come. they are the only ones who could save me.

i don’t like my thoughts right now. the thoughts seemed like winged demons that haunt me, that strangle me. faceless and very eager to leave me breathless. dead. i don’t want to think, because every thought is a poison. a deadly poison. paralyzing. numbing. numbness is the only benefit i could see from thinking. in that way, i would not feel anymore. and by not feeling there is so sense. and by being senseless, pain would not be able to find me. i would be invisible. pain will not be able to pierce my heart and what’s left of its broken pieces that i have tried to pick up for five months. i think i am successful of fixing it, but i don’t trust my thoughts anymore, perhaps just this one night. i am scared of every thought for every thought is like a ghost, a nightmare, an ominous sign.

how i wish i could vomit my thoughts, like how i tend to vomit when i accidentally eat rotten left-over foods in our cramped fridge. how i wish there was an anatomical connection between my brain and my digestive tract. if there was, and i’ll be able to sick off my thoughts, i wonder what they would look like. will they be winged like i have imagined them to be? will they be in solid form? in liquid? gas? what will their color be? black perhaps? yes. i think that’ll be their color. the darkest shade nature could muster. something impenetrable by any light. yes. black, because nothing could be darker to what i am feeling and thinking right now. at this very moment, my thought and my feelings are one. one entity. they have joined forces to enslave me and kill my one last light left. i hope there’s someone out there who could fan my flame and kindle the remaining light…

i am glad that unconsciousness is looming near. i will finally sleep. this is my favorite form of escape for the peace it yields calms the spirit, and the calm quiets the noise in my head. i want to sleep, uncertain if i would still want to wake up. sleeping is the one thing that could help me now, besides these words written by my fingertips. i feel some finality in sleeping, for as i close my eyes, it seems like i am having a final glimpse of the world before drowning in pitch black darkness. that once i close my eyes…there will be no turning back. i’m on the edge of sleeping now… the thoughts now seem very distant and quiet like a vast expanse of open sea… peace within my reach…

i decided to read what i have written so far. i have no intentions of making anyone feel like i do… but they were so sad… the words… the night seem so dark tonight, and the moon casts a hazy glow… i am so sad, for beside the burden that torments me, i am losing hope that there would still be anyone or anything that could be a balm to my troubled soul…

i can’t hold them any longer. they are burning my eyes. i guess i’ll just let them flow. let the cold air dry them on my face as i close my eyes to sleep… it’s alright to cry tonight, i guess.

---

"As happens sometimes a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. And then the moment was gone."

--Lucas Eugene Scott, One Tree Hill


11.8.08

scratch

MY CLOCK TELLS ME IT’S ALREADY ONE FIFTEEN in the morning. it’s a really cool clock.; red against the pale pink wall. there are no numbers on its face, just markers so you could tell the time. cobwebs were already formed, which seem very eager to stop the arms of the clock from turning. eager to stop the time. well i hope they can.

this post has nothing to do with clocks or cobwebs (which i might say are more persuasive than my mother when it comes to cleaning my room). my insomnia seems to have gotten worse as the days pass. sometimes, i find myself unconsciously, looking blankly at my clock, desperately hoping it could doze me off to sleep. so lame of me.

three nights ago, i finally felt drowsy and sleepy at around 9 o’clock in the evening. i would be sleeping early! (woohoo!) it was a good sign, i thought, that my body had finally found my circadian rhythm again. not yet.

the universe seems to conspire and prevent me from having a goodnight sleep. i was on my comfy bed under my blankets, warm against the cold brought by my air conditioning unit. with damien rice on mp3 player, i finally dozed off to sleep. i was really optimistic that i would be having a sweet dream that night (no more me pulling my teeth out), but no sweet dreams nor nightmares for me, but something worse. something more difficult to tolerate than pain…

i felt an itch on my chest…then an immediate action….an impulse….an instinct…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

feels really good to scratch something itchy, like having a sore, decayed tooth removed, or successfully squeezing a big pustule of a boil in your butt or acne on your face.

scratch…scratch…scratch….

i could imagine my face while doing it. it was like being on a weird sexual plateau.

scratch…scratch…scratch…

i was thankful i didn’t cut my fingernails short yet. i was very equipped to give every itch a good, satisfying scratch…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

but something went wrong. every scratch of the itch felt great at first, but the itchiness seemed to notice that i was enjoying myself. perhaps, it realized that i do not deserve such pleasure. the itchiness had gone worse, up to the point that scratching became ineffective. the more i scratched, the more the itch grew worse…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

the itchiness had to stop. i need to sleep… but my hands seem to act on their own accord…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

the itchiness won’t budge. it won’t let me sleep.

scratch…scratch…scratch…

then, the itchiness spread throughout my body like wildfire, metastasizing like cancer on to my neck, abdomen, my armpits…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

then, my back, my pubes, my ass…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

it devoured my thighs, my legs. ..

scratch…scratch…scratch…

it consumed almost every surface and crevice of my body, leaving me helpless, and a slave to my own long-finger nailed hands…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

i couldn’t do anything with it except to scratch. the red clock was bearing witness to my struggle and it just hung there, indifferent, listening to my every whimper. the itchiness now seemed to be beyond my skin…

scratch…scratch…scratch…till grew tired and fell asleep.

it was ten in the morning the next day; the same itchiness woke me up. i ran to the bathroom in a desperate attempt to wash it away with soap and water. and i stood there facing the bathroom mirror. grossed out. my chest and abdomen were so inflamed, as if someone had deliberately sprayed me with red paint. dark red spots could be seen around my arm pits, and my back was graffitied with clusters of red islands. i could see the scratch marks all over my body. for the first time, i felt the pain from the where the skin had broken. i took a bath, while suffering the sting of soap and water against the impaired integrity of my skin. then, i immediately ran to the drugstore to buy celestamine—an anti-inflammatory, anti-allergic, and anti-pruritic drug. i was having an allergy i should have known better.

allergic reactions are caused by allergens—substances considered foreign by the body and which triggers the body’s defenses by releasing chemical substances in the bloodstream, mainly histamine, which causes the redness, inflammation, and itchiness--in medical term, pruritus. antihistimines, like celestamine, usually counteracts allergic reactions. but what caused my allergy? i blamed my facial and chest hairs (which i have no plans of shaving), my bed sheets (i changed them immediately), the safeguard soap (i switched back to belo), and the egg i ate that night (i doubt this is the culprit. i love eggs.), but until now the itchiness is still there, less severe though, due to my medication. global warming didn’t help either (like it has any benefits). hot temperature and sweating seem to aggravate my condition. when i sweat i could actually feel the creeping sensation the itch makes, followed by goose bumps that usually starts from my neck to my upper extremities, forcing my hands to scratch. but i know better now. i cut may nails very short (so short they now hurt too) to prevent myself from making further damage on my skin…

it’s now 3:10 on the clock, and i could now feel an itch developing on my neck again. how i wish i could scratch it this one time. but no. i guess i will just now take my medication and hopefully unconsciousness would take me soon…

scratch…scratch…scratch…

6.8.08

die, ron, die!

I WOKE UP LATE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, at around 2 pm. yes. very late. my insomnia have been very eager to eat my eyes out for five consecutive nights already. the rainy season didn't help my condition either. the cold weather pinned me to my stinking bed. i had no choice but to sleep hoping a higher power wakes me up.

and i woke up. looked at my crypt-keeper-look-alike reflection on the mirror. the bags under my eyes were screaming. i don't blame them. i was so hungry i could eat anything. i ate two hot dogs, scrambled egg, rice (lots of it), and of course, my creamed coffee. nothing much happens during my ordinary days. i went to the computer shop. blogging has always been the highlight of my life lately. after i went home from the shop, i chilled on the sofa, and stared blankly on what the television set had to offer when i started to feel the weight on my eyes. the high level of serotonin in my bloodstream, due to excessive consumption of carbohydrate, made me drowsy, i thought. i wanted to fight it. i just woke up. but the cold weather and my eyes overpowered me till i gave up. and then there was darkness...

i was with my best friend joy in front of a washed-out concrete building. i could remember a cat prowling on the stairs leading to the entrance. there was a sporting event that night (something connected with the upcoming olympics but i think we're nowhere near beijing). we talked about applying for a job in a certain call center agency, and then we went to a nearby stadium. the stadium was big but nothing compared to beijing's 'bird's nest'. we entered the stadium through an underground entrance concealed by white tarps. joy led the way...and then i felt it.
i felt an itch. not pain. i felt an itch on my gums that holds my right lower canine (pangil in Filipino). it was an impulse that i couldn't resist. an instinct. i was shocked to see my self desperately pulling the tooth from my gums. i could taste warm blood pooling in my mouth. it was a relief though. strangely, there was no pain, almost ecstatic instead. i could remember the feeling of having a tooth removed using a thread. i held the tooth in my hand. joy was sitting before a nearby white, square, monobloc table. there was a bottle of coke on it. she was talking to someone i do not know. i sat opposite her. i couldn't talk, trying to prevent the blood and saliva to flow out through my trembling lips. i tried to tell her what i have done by looking in her eyes. but she just gave me a puzzled look. i had to empty my mouth. i grabbed the bottle of coke, ran away to somewhere i couldn't remember...it was 9 pm on my timex already.

i opened my eyes, and stared blankly on my wall. i could still feel the sensation on my gums where my right lower canine is rooted. and i was relieved that the tooth was still there. solid. firm. i touched it. puzzled. apprehensive. and then, i tried to have a hold of everything i could remember from the dream. but like all dreams and faces of ghosts, the more i try to remember, the more i forget. it was like holding on to something soaked in oil. slipping away. falling away. fading away.

i have always known that losing a tooth in a dream is an ominous sign--a death omen, like snakes, coffins, ravens, and spectral dogs. but i never believed it, any of it. my intellectual never tolerated such pathetic thoughts. i never believed in such non-sense. i am a man of science and a man of faith, but not on those stuff. i am never a fan of the supernatural but i admit i am afraid of ghosts--things i haven't seen. the unknown. however, the dream left me a little anxious, apprehensive, scared?

after sharing the dream to my tita percy, he told me to stay at home, and that telling the dream was a bad idea. i did not ask why. those to whom i shared the dream told me weird things to counteract the omen. ego told me to bite my pillow (eew! not the saliva-stained one!), pj told me to bite anything made up of wood (i was in the net shop when he told me this. hehe!), tita percy told me to knock on them instead (tok! tok!), and nanay told me to pray (the best advise i took. hehe! and because it's not a weird advise.). at first i was a little hesitant to go out but boredom finds me at home. perhaps that's the reason. perhaps death thinks i am bored with my life and decided to take it instead. creeps.

i remembered kris jasper's poll asking if i would want to know the exact date of my death. hell, no. i don't want to live the rest my life in anxiety and in the thought that i will die soon. i don't want to see my self as a ticking time bomb. i don't think i could take the drama. even if there's a death omen or not, if it's your time to die, then it's your time. i do not believe in superstitions because i believe in God and that he is the only one who knows everything, down to the exact second i will breathe my last breath.

now i think. i am afraid to die, i guess. perhaps because of the unbearable pain that usually precedes it. but mostly because of the uncertainty of what will happen next. the unknown. i believe in the afterlife and it is the one thing, i think, that makes the thought of dying bearable. mastering death is the acceptance that death is inevitable, and that death is the foundation of life.

sometimes, i wonder; how will i die? will i die in a vehicular accident (classic..hehe!)? gunshot on the head (instant. almost painless.)? fire (so slow)? but i am more curious to know, what happened to the tooth i was holding, back in my dream. too bad, i couldn't remember, and never will...

---

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death..."

-- JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

4.8.08

so close, yet still so far


THE SKY WAS GLOOMILY DARK and it was raining again. the heavens were crying, threatening to drown my spirit; attempting to knock my heart cold again. but i have learned to resist it at last.

and then you came.
i could see a peaceful smile, a spring on your gait; a balm to my troubled soul. i have longed for you, like how i missed the sun. you are my sun.

then you spoke my name.
i craved for that sound from your mouth. i felt needed, loved, longed for. i spoke your name too. the name that circles my head, the one i silently bellow to the cold wind when you're not there. the three letters i fondly write with my forefinger in the air. you.

and then you were here.
you were so close. the closest you have ever been. i could feel you at last. i felt an inner silence, like a vast open sea; undisturbed, calm, tranquil. happiness is hard to find, i have learned but seeing our souls intertwined that way, dancing through the night--bliss is just a breath away.

the closeness made my heart race again.
your warmth woke my bored spirit. then i hugged like i never hugged you before; and kissed like it's the end of days; looked at you, you so hard my eye hurt. i tried to memorize every inch of you; every graceful curve, every blink of those eyes. i didn't want to sleep. i didn't want to miss a thing. i would not want to blink if i can. i didn't want my muscles to tire or my eyes to close. i just wanted to be awake. i couldn't let consciousness take me. i didn't want to miss anything, because i am missing you already.

and there we were,
in front of that hideous bus. i braced myself for a long way home. a cold night and a seemingly broken heart. i looked at you one more time and held your hand. you were on the bus at last, and it just flew away into the night. i looked at it till it disappeared, swallowed by darkness. and i was left there, alone, on the silvery pavement, wet due to the rain that fell from the angry skies.

i thought i saw you as i crossed the street.
i thought you changed your mind, and wanted to stay for the night. it was a longing and happiness that died like lightning. i should have get on the bus too, i told myself; walked you home, but i knew you wouldn't let me. i could just imagine myself in it with you, holding your hand, killing the cold. looking in your eyes and get lost; pretending to listen on my mp3 player but listening to every breath you take, to every word you will say before we part.

then i went home.
cold, alone, hovering. i climbed on my bed and loneliness ate me instantly. my pillow couldn't replace you. i hated my pillow for that. i hated the weather. i hated the absence of heat i hated the absence of you. i hated the fact that one moment you're here and the next moment you're gone. hated the fact that i couldn't seem to bridge the distance, that i couldn't have enough of you. i hated the fact that you are so close and yet still so far...

---

Will you stay awake for me?

I don't wanna miss anything
I don't wanna miss anything
I will share the air I breathe,
I'll give you my heart on a string,

I just don't wanna miss anything.


--secondhand serenade