An Open Letter of a Survivor

Dear Divine Intervention,

        Teach him not to invade other people’s affairs, outburst when things are not going his way, and cage up people’s wishes—through his dominance and influence—due to his selfishness and greediness in fortune and limelight.

        A quarter, or even the tiniest part of his opulence is never my need nor desire; sympathy to his victims is the wood to the fire I’ve been trying to fuel for over a semester. A fire that warns me whenever I had to fight. This time, this same flame I will thrust against him; for I have been challenged by this bitter and frustrated man.

        He’s a man of DESPERATION, and I once pitied him because he always talks about bitterness, not until I was disenchanted by his soft façade, realizing the fact that he’s exploiting his merciful features for the society to sympathize his life.

       

        Always remind yourself that just like everybody else, you are also human. Like you that is trying to copy the rest of who we are, you will, someday, CRUMBLE.

Sincerely, 

The girl you played fire with

High and Low

I don’t expect anything high from low people.

The low, will stay low.

They are born low, and always there

to remind of the highs.

The cheap… are the cheap.

They buy rich things—

Perfumes, champagnes and dresses,

Between those garbages,

I still believe,

That cheap… are the cheap.

They mock the elitists,

And brand the polite society,

But tell me, haters and wannabees—

who mocks the manners, grace,

and humility?

Who?

Who in the right mind,

Will actually devalue integrity,

Hardwork, dignity, and grace,

With fickle friendships,

Worthless facebook scanning,

Endless tweeting,

Porn video watching,

While dressing yourselves

As branded “rich kids”?

YOU KNOW NOTHING

But try to be rich,

Try to be intelligent,

Or try to be ill,

None of which has been true,

Because nobody has ever been tried,

To be happy,

And thoughtful,

Passionate,

Inspiring,

And celebrated

Human.

Robots are what you are—

Remembering the trends and hashtags

Callousness of your fingers to androids

And Apples

Which, by the way,

The sweat of your parent’s sorrows.

How come you never see,

That there’s more to life than

A high school clique?

Garnering likes and shares

(which, by the way,

Achievable and bare)

Whilst in real life

Nobody is fair,

You think this is a free fare,

And the ones that we care

Is just an inch of hair.

Oops I rant too much,

One must remember,

That nobody really wants

To tell someone what to do,

When to do,

Where to do, or

How to do it.

So bid me goodbye,

Cause I have NO RESPECT

For not respecting

What you “thought”

Was RESPECTABLE

To do.

Reading and Modern day Sorrow

Reading and Modern day Sorrow

We read to weep but why do we need it when we have our own lives to deal with? Ah, it is the exasperation in blindness, the burst of thoughts, the orgasm of possibilities, the trapdoor of the magical act. This is the escapist key to pleasure Eden. Gossips are what we aim for, for we aren’t satisfied yet in our OWN lives—we like another one.  Sometimes more happy, more enriching, more adventurous and sometimes more deprived, sadder and uglier but yes, we all like to live a million lives. People are never satisfied with a single existence; that is why we escape to the concepts of afterlife (which I believe in, which makes me another escapist) and reincarnations to make themselves believe that after bodies got rotten, our existence doesn’t just stop there.

We need a continuation of our own drama, even though it hurts because we are so used to suffering that we associate it always to living—heedless of its naiveté. So unconsciously or subconsciously, people connects “living” with “suffering”. It is the hurt, sacrifice, bleeding and choking that makes us feel human. To suffer is human.

I find people saying “they hate drama” every once in a while—but then, aren’t we living to suffer? As Buddhism claims, life is full of suffering. People who complains too much are so spoiled and laid back that they forgot they will die eventually. I call these people dehumanized, for they are no better than a computer that abides at your command. They are not human anymore, for their feelings have degraded into a worthless machine incapable of thinking and appreciating a treasure that’s already in front of them.

Acting like a machine, however, doesn’t make them one. People will eventually receive their own taste of free fall, hitting rock bottom and being beaten several times. When it finally comes, the dehumanized would think that they would survive just by their heads. NO! The safest way to get along with this foolishness is not logic, pen and paper, or back and white; but of hearts, acceptance and forgiveness. It is not dictatorship that wins the people, but free will. Solve equations and draw blueprints every day, huddle in your small room for security, but remember: life is much more enriching when you let your guards down, walls collapse to taste the sweet air tender against your cheeks of the Grand Canyon of unsolved mysteries.

Through reading, we can be a royalty, a victim, a criminal, a conman, a clown, or maybe a fool. I find it fulfilling that these simple pages and thin strips will make you strong, thick and rich. Again, we read to discover a thousand lives—like a ghost floating, a guardian angel, a spectator of a show you’ll never get a part at. Swim and puddle at the thoughts of your mind.

The Parable of Deaf Parents

Let’s say, you have deaf parents.

For 20 years or so, you are raised that nobody is calling you out when you slam the door hard, sing so loud the neighbors are complaining, turned up the music in the highest volume, or even make sex sounds (haha). All of which sprouts from the fact that you have deaf parents.

Then, in college, you traveled far and got a roommate in your apartment. With the same habits that you have grown accustomed to, you STILL slam the door hard, be loudmouth, and turned up your music extremely loud. Your roommate got angry with it, you don’t understand why! You believed that you are not doing anything wrong! Again, all of which sprouts from the fact that you have deaf parents.

It works the same way with negative, toxic, demeaning, criticizing, cruelly teasing people. I have heard stories of dysfunctional families who discredits a family member’s opinions, lash out harsh criticisms, or simply be apathetic to one person. Turns out, when they acculturate to a bigger tribe—hence, the workplace or school—they are the selfish, greedy, overbearing person who disrespects people’s emotional boundaries. Where did that come from? From their environment.

Somebody has hardwired their behavior, one way or another, to be insensitive of the common etiquette that isn’t really common to deaf—or should I say, unresponsive—parents and guardians.

People imitate from what they see, hear, or experienced. The grace, etiquette, and polite vocabularies are insufficient because in the first place, the upbringing they have has a total LACK of it. How can you exude something you haven’t seen yet?

What I’ve realized is that, nobody has ever shown them politeness, social decorum, diplomacy and grace. Their social influence thinks that it’s “normal” to have fun at the expense of talking loud publicly.

CRUELTY SHOULDN’T BE ANYONE’S STANDARDS FOR NORMALCY.

Why do I believe that? I know there is a better support system out there. Rather than succumbing myself into useless lies and exaggerations of other people and swallow it as my truth, I would get direct experiences and try my best to draw a conclusion out of it. I never incline to unreliable resources. I don’t defend what I don’t know or haven’t heard yet. I take my time to solve a problem, even a year. I never believe in gossips until I experience it myself. I may get hurt, that is already taken into account, but at least I know where I get my source: the world.

Get experiences from the world. Not from Facebook. Or advertisements. 

Wine, Women and Song: A Poem

Wine, Women and Song

To the man who wants to get away but never does.

It is the stares and gaze

With your demeanor you can amaze

With a crooked mind and a big ego

Making your name a sophisticated logo

That people can remember as you walk and go.

Accompanied with reds and blacks

Enemies accumulated in stacks

I, too, was once a part of that

Pointed looks, words sharp as a dart

Demeaning attitudes and insulting remarks.

Cold air rested in my cheeks

An enemy is not what I seek

Betting my manners have finally leaked

From a spark, a bomb has lit.

My own pound of flesh.

Everybody wants to leave me a mesh

Like a T-rex with a prey so weak

He approached me and I shivered with fear,

But with his soft eyes he said, “My intentions are clear”.

Painstakingly waited for my doubts to pass

Painstakingly waited for my walls to crash

Silly passes, bad quotes and clumsy lines

For years we laugh at our lame rhymes

But garnering a reputation so bad to hear

A faithless woman I turn out to be

Those silly passes, bad quotes and clumsy lines

I found out has practiced a million times

Unmasking a charming face, a monster I find.

Waiting for the proper timing to find a conversation

Finding revelations I can’t shun no longer

I watch him desperately pick those clutter

Seeing his hands for the glass he shattered

But for me, those lame rhymes doesn’t matter anymore.

- Danica Ann Niegas