If you insist, I could go back.
If I insist, would you do the same?
If you insist, I could go back.
If I insist, would you do the same?
today has been amazing and i believe that this is something worth sharing in this blog.
so, i only got 3 mistakes out of 60 items in my midterm exam. i can’t help but laugh when my teacher showed me my test paper. i fucked up a part of that test and i was so certain that i might commit more than 3 mistakes. but yeah, she ended up announcing my score to our class to “inspire” my classmates. it’s not a big deal but i admit that it truly made my day.
fast forward to when i just got home from school. we were dismissed early today so while i was resting, i spent most of my time waiting for my USTET results.
even though i found the exam quite bearable than the ones i’ve taken afterwards, i still can’t help but feel anxious about the results. what if i fail? what if i was too blind to see the hardship that it really takes to pass that exam?
and so, just as the clock in my sister’s laptop struck 12, i immediately refreshed the tab that has been open in her desktop for two hours. i vowed to myself that i will let my younger sister type in my reference number and surname to know my results since i cannot do it myself. i am too nervous and too excited at the same time. i am all over the place. literally. i was already lying on the floor, preparing myself for the results, telling my sister that it’s alright if i didn’t pass and she could always tell me the truth.
unfortunately, the results didn’t show. her desktop sucks.
what she did afterwards sent me into a tangled chaos of emotions again. she grabbed her phone and tried logging in my account at the website. before announcing my results, she even thought of making a drum roll in our house. she grabbed the drumsticks from our drum set and started making a discreet sound of drum rolling in our house, all of these happening while our neighbors remained undistracted from their slumber.
afterwards, she began reading what was presented on her phone. she was mentioning something about communication arts, which is my first choice, and i was too frantic, i am dying to know. so i went straight ahead to the question that has been keeping my heart beat so loudly in its cage, “PASADO BA?” (“Am I qualified?”). her answer, as if it was a trampoline, brought my feet bouncing up and down on the floor. i passed my exams. however, i still need to report for another requirement. i need to pass my interview.
even though i was hesitant to do so, i rushed into my parents’ room, where my mother was already sleeping, only to find my mom was already sitting on her bed, quite mad that i was so noisy especially when our neighbors had already gone to sleep. but i can’t help it. i really can’t. so i told her that i passed. and i cried.
when i knew about my dcat results, i told myself that i will not celebrate until the ustet results are out. i want to celebrate the results of the exams that i took both on the same day– October 15, 2017. i took my ustet exams during the morning and my dcat exams at the afternoon.
and now, i am so proud of myself because i passed both of them. i don’t want to brag about it but i also promised myself that now, i will let myself celebrate. i will not let anyone invalid this simple joy that i acquired because i worked hard for it. i will celebrate and allow myself to feel proud of myself for once (even though i still have 3 more exams to ace).
now, i have to wait for upcat, pupcet and plmat results.
-God, my God, you have been with me all throughout my life, and I, who have received nothing but great blessings from You, am still learning how to thank You for everything. thank You’s are not enough. i wish i could repay You for all of the things that You have done for me, my family and friends.
my heart will be full of nothing but undying love for Your holiness and, with that, i will always adore You.
The last time I woke up early, the sun was hiding. Instead, there were gray clouds hovering above when I look out from my windowpane. It wasn’t the same anymore– except for the breeze. It was the same gentle blow of breeze that always kept me nostalgic during January. This time, I embraced it in my bed from my dorm. I kept my reclined position against my soft mattress. Turned my fan off and held my blanket closer to my body, covering my torso down to the bare softness of my feet. Two years ago, I would head out as early as 6 am to get ready for another tiring day at school.
This time, I have realized, it is different.
The memories haunted me again when I found an old journal of mine. It was a gift from a best friend who lives in the Netherlands. After avoiding it for 3 years, I have finally read the musings again– some of them I wrote when the memories were still fresh at the back of my mind, some are notes that I’ve taken during seminars and forums that I was chosen to attend to.
While I was flipping through the pages of poetry and prose that my 14-year-old self had written in that journal, I came across a poem that was too late to be finished now. It reminded me of my copy of “Wreck This Journal” by Keri Smith. When I brought it at school to show it to my friends, I received nothing but scolding. They’ve always asked me why I spent a lot of money for something that was only sold to be destroyed (at least, in a creative way). I would defend myself saying, “It was worth it”. So what I did after reading the unfinished poem was rush to my mini bookshelf and find my copy of “Wreck This Journal” on the stack of books that I perfectly organized according to their sizes.
And my, oh my. What a joy it was to read all the silly, meaningless stuff my friends and I wrote in its pages.
There was this one page that I have given up for them to doodle on. The instruction was clear, I have to hang the page on a public place and let the people doodle in it. Being a meticulous book hoarder with severe trust issues, I have allowed only my grade 9 classmates to do it. Excited to have finally been allowed to join in the fun (and destoy a priceless property of mine) , they grabbed the journal and wrote (and drawn) all the things that they can think of during that time.
If I have decided to see their doodles again two years ago, I was certain that I would feel sad. But now, what I only heard was laughter. And to my surprise, it was coming from me.
In that page, a name of a particular person was written for so many times. The initials were written in the center, with a large font size, by my bestfriend. It is a common name. So generic that back then, I wished I could never see it again in souvenir stores. I was thinking to myself, “God, I was so naive back then”.
I flipped through the other pages and saw my favorite doodles. I admired how I was able to manifest my creativity by gently destroying that book. However, I was upset, too. There were so many questions running in my mind. All of these emotions I felt simultaneously when I was trying to remember, “What was in my mind back then?”, “What was I like back then?”, “Would 14-year-old me like me if she could meet me one day?”, and most importantly, “Did I change?”, “Was I able to find my old self?”.
For once, I brushed all of them off. It was sad to think that I have already forgotten what it was in my mind back then. Or what was I like back then. Honestly, I couldn’t remember anything. It feels like I have really convinced myself to forget everything that made me feel something warm, and sappy, when I was in junior high school. I guess that what happens when you get terribly hurt in loving someone– in loving yourself. You make yourself forget that thing, or person, that has hurt you. You tell yourself never to go back again. You tell yourself to heal and never do the same mistakes again. And once you’re done with all of it, you are left with a new version of you. Unfortunately, this new version of you can’t recall anything in the past but the hurt that you have been through. And that’s alright.
But please, if you’re going to hurt, do not convince yourself to forget again. Learn to accept the way things are. And I tell you, it would be easier to redeem yourself once you have found yourself lost again.
Well, I should be packing right now. But since I don’t want to leave,– just yet– I’ve decided to write a blog post instead.
Leaving is not a new word to me anymore. Staying, packing, leaving. I guess there is nothing new under the sun.
It has been a year and a half since I decided to stay in Manila to study. My parents were hesitant at first, but it’s hard for someone to change a stubborn person’s decision once he/she has made up his/her mind. You see, I am a very indecisive person. I can’t even stick to one opinion in the middle of a heated argument. However, I found out that whenever somebody tries to stop me from doing the things that I want to do, my will to move suddenly boosts up until they have no choice but to allow me. And look where my decisions took me. I’ve formed another family of friends who understand me in spite of my shortcomings and breakdowns. I am now more responsible than I was before. But most of all, I’ve learned to handle things on my own (with some help from my friends, of course haha).
Goshhh, time flies so fast. One more term and I’ll be moving on to another chapter of my story. More like studies, haha. And I don’t wanna leave just yet. It feels so ironic to pack up things that belong to me when in fact, I don’t even know where I truly belong.
I guess I just have to blame myself for feeling a pang of longing to places that I haven’t visited yet. I also have my constant itch to leave the places that exhaust the soul out of me.
It’s so difficult to figure out the things that are going on in my mind when I, myself, do not even know what I want.
How about you? Do you know where you truly belong?
via Daily Prompt
Have I ever told you that this blog was once speechlessouls.wordpress.com? no? well, now you know.
this blog was made only just for my unspoken thoughts. for souls who can’t speak. for my demons who never seem to run out of air from screaming in my mind. it was always a constant battle between me and them. and by creating speechlessouls, i was able to let them all out. i was able to shut them up, even just for a little while.
just when i figured that i finally got my shit back together, i renamed this blog. made it even more personal. the blog that was once dark now seemed so pure, so new. it feels clean from all of the demons that i’ve written about in my past. i feel.. clean.
it was easier back then to write about the gloomy thoughts that roam around my mind because this blog doesn’t have a face before. it was only just this rudiment, boring page. everything was foggy just like the writer’s head.
but now that it became more personal, it feels so shitty to write about the sappy things that i have running inside my head. i feel like i should be happy all the time. write realizations about life and leave toxic things behind. but it’s hard when they visit all the time. even if i kept the doors locked, swallowed the keys and covered all of the keyholes, they always find their way back in. and i, being the stupid girl that i truly am, find the hardest way out because i’ve already forgotten where i kept the spare keys.
so i’m sorry to anyone who will find this and take time to read this. i’ve just been sad lately. always blaming myself for stupid shit that other people have done. always owning up the mistakes that they will never feel sorry for. always caring, always being too kind, always swallowing her pride. and now, i’m just tired.
so to that one friend who has done me wrong, i’m not sorry if i’m making you feel guilty right now. all i was asking, almost begging, of you was a sincere apology. but you chose to be an asshole as you always are. and well, for me, i chose to drown myself to other people’s problems, keeping in my mind that they are my responsibility now. but you don’t understand. can’t. nothing new, though. what do i expect of someone who can’t even say sorry for a ruthless thing that he has done? nothing
you might be judging me now. or even pitying me, idk. but honestly though, i don’t need a fucking savior. i’ve saved myself before and so it will continue. i will continue since i don’t know how and when all of this will fucking end.
rainbows, crying eyes
Minsan ko ring naramdaman
ang paghalik ng malambot na kumot sa aking binti,
ang pagyakap sa akin ng kulambo tuwing gabi,
ang mga unang sa ulo ko’y bumabati—
isang kamang naghihintay sa’king umuwi.
Ngayon, ito ang buhay ko.
Sa isang gilid, ako’y nananahimik.
Maghapong nakaupo’t nakatitig sa kawalan.
Sa gabi’y natutulog, upang gutom ay malimutan.
Sa isang tahanang payak,
pinanonood ko ang pagpadyak
ng mga paang tila ugat sa pedal,
lulan ang isang pasaherong nakaupong napapagal—
mga kalalakihang hindi iniinda ang bigat ninuman,
mahatid lang sila sa kanilang paroroonan.
Sa isang tahanang munti,
dito ako namamalagi.
Ang papag ko’y gawa sa aspalto,
ang unan ko’y kasing-tigas ng bato,
ang kobre kama ko’y lumang karton,
ang kurtina’y nakabiting kartelon.
Hindi ko na rin kailangan ng kumot,
ang usok ng mga sasakyang humaharurot
ay sapat nang init sa karapatang pinagdamot.
Sa isang tahanang walang pinto,
malugod kitang sasalubungin dito.
Ipagpaumanhin mo kung ito lamang
ang aking naihanda’t ihahandog,
mga boteng ireresiklo
at mga kartong patapon.
Ito na lang kasi ang kabuhayan ko,
mga ginamit na bagay na mas mahalaga pa sa ginto.
Ngunit paano mo ako makikita?
Kung ang baling ng iyong mga mata’y nasa kalayuan.
Narito ako sa gilid, nagtatago
habang ikaw ay naglalakad patungo sa malayo.
Sapagkat ang gitna ang una mong mapapansin,
hindi ang kaliwang bahaging kinakain ng dilim.
Nandito ang katotohanang iyong nililihim,
kunwari’y ‘di batid, tinuturing lang akong hangin.
At sino ka upang husgahan ako?
Hindi mo naranasan ang kinagisnan ko.