POEM: BLOCK

Sanay akong mapag-isa, aking mahal.

Hinubog ng panahon, pinatibay ng mundo

Tatahimik, uupo, ngunit ‘di masasakal

Bansot ang lipunan! Heto ako’t nakalundo.

Ako lang ang sariling kakampi—

Walang luha ang sayo’y dadampi.

Kaya ko pa, kaya ko pa, kaya ko pa!

Walang sandaling makikitang nalalampa.

Mahal, wag mong indahin

May pasa, may sugat, kirot sa ‘king dibdib.

Dadaan ang araw; wag mo nang dalhin—

ang sugat ng kahapo’y puspos at tigib.

Lilipas ang araw, lulubog ang buwan

makakalimutan mo rin kung ako’y nasaan.

Walang naging tayo, mahal.

“Umuwi ka nang malaya”, aking usal.

Patuloy akong tatakbo sa karimlan

Na parang wala lang ang tinamong sugat

hanapin mo man ako kung saan

Sorry try again, mahahanap mong sulat.

Butas-butas na istorya, iyong maririnig

Ngunit di mo masasagap aking tinig.

Facebook, Instagram, kahit gaano katagal—

Sanay akong mapag-isa, aking mahal.

05-25-2019

4:46 AM

Opo, it has ABABCCDD rhyme scheme. Masyadong pinaghirapan (kahit pangit haha!) para hindi i-post. Lame, lame poet.

"Meh" mood

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”

― Elie Wiesel

I'm starting to think everything can backfire on me any minute now. Where's my plan?

We cannot grow if we are not ready to be uncomfortable. Accept the chaos.

At the very least, I should have an idea what I'm doing—but I am running back to what I've started, trying a leap in a fake progress. Wrapping my head around a career building at the expense of crushing other people makes me feel substandard.

I'm human and I have a couple of morals. Please pretend to be surprised.

POEM: The Ladder

My eyes are starting to wander,
let my mind grow asunder!
I wear so much shame in my head.
but gods must've love to see me bled
or, I don't know.
maybe its a responsibility they bestowed.
( must I lay myself upon their Pantheons? )
I don't care anymore,
let thy name lose its reputation,
somebody should stop settling the score.
there's nothing really special up the ladder.


(Danica Ann Niegas)

People and Choices

“Neither of those men realized your worth,

because you failed to value yourself highly enough.

A man does not know a woman’s value.

She is the one who determines her value.

The higher you price yourself,

the more he will realize what you are really worth…”

( Woman at point Zero, Nawal El Saadwi )

------- 0o0o0o0 ------

When people walks up to you, their first impressions of you will stick in them. Some may be satisfied by what they see, others not. Some lunatics might follow you around, know every corners of you and even chase who you are and why do you act as such. It doesn’t stop. The extent of a man’s determination to know your soul is both pitiful, charming, and impressive—all at the same time.

But there will be a time when you can’t hold the game anymore—that you need to put your foot down so the truth will eventually spit out. It’s not that you’re whining, nor demanding; not even in the slightest hint that you are being cruel. It’s just that in relationships, people must know where they stand. Who you are in their lives. Which parts are real and which are lies.

People without labels are only better off in their separate ways. At least, they can play their dangerous games without hurting each other so much. 

The Blame Game (I have read the first chapter of Dale Carnegie's book)

Insane criminals never blamed themselves for anything. They just believed they are just defending their over inflated egos. They use reasoning, fallacious or logical, to justify their anti social acts: like dehumanizing their "enemies" with vindictiveness and insulting remarks.

They will NEVER understand what you feel; in fact, they will justify it even more. It's like talking to a brick wall.

We are old enough to apologize.

Do not be sorry for the space you take in this world. 

Refuse you wear the shame that others what you to wear. 

This is YOU,

in all your splendor,

and you shouldn’t apologize for the make-up of you DNA.

You have been cooperating and letting people take the lead, 

never knowing your untapped potential

 because of those small-minded people holding you back. 

Ignore the shame and denial that others wants you to have. 

Continue,

 do not perish,

 at least not today,

 to realize your true purpose in the servitude of others.

You will not be sorry for the air you breathe, 

the space you take, 

the food you consume 

and the steps you am taking every day.

Your life decisions are yours, and 

people should NOT be scrutinizing every inches of other’s existence.

If you desire others to be invisible, or be put into silence, you might as well kill them.

Lumpiang Hangin

Sa pagkabagot noong isang alas-dos nang hapon

Humiling ang isip ko ng kaunting atensyon

Kaya’t suot and kupas na damit at tsinelas

Kahit hindi ko alam kung saan, naisip kong maglakad.

Minsan hindi sa pagpaplano makahahanap ng solusyon

Hayaan na lang natin ang paa’y mahapo

O makakuha ng ideya sa pagsosolo

Makahanap ng lugar ang modernong bandido

Nakailang kanto pa lamang

Mga mata ko’y naumay agad

Sa halos dalawang dekadang paghakbang

Iisang tanawin pa rin ang madaratnan—

Ang tindahan ni Lola Baneng sa labas ng eskinita;

Sa aming lugar siya ang Panginoong May Lupa

Kahit sa katandaan naaninag pa rin ang ganda

Ngunit sabi ng ilan ay tumanda nang dalaga.

Ang kapilya kung saan ako lumaki

Makita ko agad sa aking pagtawid

Kilala ako nang lahat ng pumupunta dito

Mula bata, hatak-hatak ni nanang tuwing Linggo.

Kumaliwa sa katabing kabahayan

Naglakad kahit pudpod na ang swelas

Dito raw matatagpuan ang tindahan

Nahahanap ang masasarap na lumpia.

Sa pakiramdam ko’y hindi naman ako pagod

Ngunit tila ang dila’y nais na ring magtrabaho

“sige na nga”, utal sa sarili

Hinatak ako ng aking paa sa isang lamesang may tabing

“oh, ikaw na ba yung anak ni Ralf?”

Dalaga ka na ah! Bulalas ng isa.

Anong gusto mong bilhin? Nagugutom ka ba?

Isa pong samalamig, at isang lumpia.

Ilang taon ka na iha? Anong year mo na?

Hindi sila magkamayaw sa kanilang bisita.

Kamukha ko daw si papa, sabi nang lahat.

Lalo na’ng dalawang tindera sa aki’y tuwang-tuwa.

Masarap ang samalamig;

Matamis, maraming sago

Malamig, maraming yelo

Sa ginaw ay parang lumuluha ang lalagyang supot

Pagkagat ko sa lumpia

Ako ba’y iiling o tatawa?

Sabay sa pag nguya ibinaling ang tingin

Ang hindi ko nabasa sa karatula’y “Lumpiang Hangin”.

Para saan pa ang suka kung wala namang toge?

Bakit hindi ko nasulit ang tangan kong bente?

Naisip ko tuloy na lugi ako sa dose

Balat lamang ang aking nabili

Hindi na ako nakinig sa kanilang bali-balita

Sa likot ng isip tinitigan ko ang Lumpia

Bakit nga ba binibenta ang Lumpiang Hangin?

Nakabubusog ba ang balat kong nakain?

Kung nagsasalita lamang ang Lumpiang Hangin

Kakausapin nya ako’t manghihingi

Ngunit wala ako ng kanyang hanap na toge

Na pupunan sa kanyang pagkakakilanlang pagkain

Kung makikipag-usap ito, siya’y tatanungin ko rin:

Anong pakiramdam nang wala kang silbi?

Patuloy kang ibebenta sa ilan

Ngunit alam ng lumpia na sila’y nadadaya

Sa malutong na balat at walang lasang harina

Sa taglay na lutong may mga nabubulag

Pagkatapos ng magandang usapan

Hindi ko nasabing ako’y nadismaya

Salamat na rin sa lumpiang walang laman

Naisip kong ako’y katulad rin pala nya.

Lumakad muli at nagmasid

Bukas ang isip ngunit mga bibig ay pinid

Hindi ko nasabing wala akong napala

Sinalubong ako sa kalsada ng libu-libong ideya.

Pagdating sa bahay naupo sa isang lamesa

Kumuha ng papel, inihayag ang karanasan

Masaya, dahil muli napagbigyan ko

Natalo ang pagkabagot noong isang alas-dos nang hapon.

Wanderlust

Do people sense this cyclic living?

We were raised that for shining, we are born

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

Understand that human is for running,

Yet in flickers and flashes we all forlorn,

Do people sense this cycling living?

Lords of cosmos considers no weeping

Everyone abides as the gods implore

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

Earn bruises and bumps and painful screeching

Like those planets that spheres around the core;

Do people sense this cycling living?

Sensing the individual voice calling

Ignore the warnings of sirens and horn

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

Survival depends on those cunning

As the weak and frail shatters on the floor

Do people sense this cycling living?

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

The Blurred Vision Disorder

        Ushering him outside the museum, she could almost feel his irritation. His anxiety like his emotions are now her clattered bones, as they both strut against the pale ample marbles beneath the soles of his shoes, her heels. Their footsteps jive with the hushes of people, whispering here and there, over the artworks, arguing and praising over sculptures and paintings, with a  companion or a mere stranger. The couple has always been this silent; and whenever they are not, they’ve been arguing.

            With sweaty palms and cold hands, she attempted to reach for his shoulder, like a child keeping up with her mommy, trying to apologize, while he hastened his steps against the col pavement. Yet, with the repulsiveness of both of their behavior, an amusing smile dashes across her perfect lips; because then, with the last remarks she heard, feigning anger is much harder to restrain.

            Amused and entertained, she tried to keep the private joke to herself—because at least, she knew a secret that finally, cannot fathom his sharp senses.

-------- 0o0o0o0 -------

            The sizzle from the ignited match always revived the same memory.

            James, 36, has been living with stiff ethical values. Before he lived with his family, with a wife and two kids, he lived in a voiceless, sanitized apartment with his solitude, commandeering his television set and cold furnitures. No pet greets him. He had no friend across the neighbor. No exchange of pleasantries. Always busy with his thoughts, he walks like a zombie, with glazed eyes and a mumbling mouth. James dashes himself into the corporate society every day, as his tie dangles around his neck like a noose, strangling him into an exhausting day, making himself a guinea pig in a tiresome treadmill. A taxi has always been waiting at the footsteps of the building, catering him and the rest of the high-salaried slaves of the city.

            He is always aware of his own legacy, his own name. He claims, that the confined spaces of his own workplace is the only thing worthy of his aesthetic, imaginative viewpoints.

            On a tiring Monday of December 2002, while the wind pass upon their puffy cheeks, as he lit a matchstick to puff an air to his cigarette, his wife finally pose a concern she’s itching to ask for months.

“Museum?”

“Yes, museum.”

“BAH! Why do I need to?”

“Nothing. Just trying to make you flesh and blood.”

-------- 0o0o0o0 -------

          He forgot his eyeglasses.

            Stomping around the halls, James entertained no colors and figures around the museum gallery. With a grumpy face, he stalls, stares and walks away with the slightest mumble of discontent. I shouldn’t be here, he thought, while he keeps track of tomorrow’s list of mundane paperworks.

            He regrets forgetting his eyeglasses. He continues to cry the imperfections of the place, condemning and criticizing each artwork, not even dared to glance at the constellation of architectures at the ceiling; thinking, at his discretion, that the whole museum was an apparent misuse of money, space, vacant lots and Boysen inks.

            Finally, with an air of superiority against the hues around him, he stopped at a frame then finally complained to his wife, “Look at this painting! The work doesn’t clearly resemble any imaginative talents! The subject is boring, and meaningless! The focus of the painter is at the wrong spatial perspective, and his subject is wrinkly, boned to death, and had a poor stance!”

           

            An amusing smile dashes across his woman’s perfect lips. Amused and entertained, she tried to keep the private joke to himself. If only he knew, that the last thing he tried to demean, and that he loathe most, considering as the worst work of art, was a huge mirror showing his own reflection.

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

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.