"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

The Tale of the Unknown

I control the information I share on any media. However, I hate those who makes a string of inaccurate stories about me just to fill the gaps they don't understand. They are not supposed to understand.

Paghihintay.

Magkikita rin tayo. Sa pagitan ng mahinhin at malandi, mahalaga at di mahalaga, mini skirts at make up, matataas na gusali at kapitalistang banyaga, kasabay ng lahat ng obligasyon, at ambisyon na mayroon tayong dalawa. Nangangarap kasi tayo--sobrang taas, na hindi ko alam kung may puwang ba talaga ako para sa iyo. Kung naiisip mo pa ba ako, hindi ko alam. Magkikita rin tayo.

Sa ngayon, mangarap ka muna.

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.

ESSAY: Convincing myself

(Pardon me some few words of unrhymed poetry. This is made as a diary, not a creative assholes used by English majors to intimidate and isolate the general public haha)

Part of me wants to believe that its for the best. I mean hey, I am the first one who told me that I want to love someone who is completely whole, absolute and emotionally secure. As for their case, I know I can never get by to people who can NEVER be satisfied with anything. In the first place, they stole me my intelligence, wit, and personal identity, which can take YEARS to rebuild and recreate--and I must admit, him playing in the dark signifies the dependency of his love. It actually feels safe to live with him, with all that chivalry and sensitivity, but then, is that the price that I must pay for that blissful feeling? A loss of character? A life unworthy to everyone? A running contest living for vindication?

I have fought far too many devils and died a million times in the name of being "worthy". If you will be my another social casualty, then let it be, for the books and ideas and lifestyle I have given to you will always be a part of you. As for my case, I think that is enough; my semi-self in your breathing, pieces of me intact in your choices, my limbs and bones in decision-making, and my heart in every word you say (even with other women).

This is probably the most irrelevant thing that I must say, but your career will take you back to me anyway. In any other way, crossroads will reappear, loopholes will refreshen, but time will only orchestrate the perfect timing of everything. I hope, by then, that your attitude will change, whole altogether, without being overly dependent on one women whom you will circle your world into. God knows that the weight of your world is heavy, TOO HEAVY, for a woman of five mouths to feed, an ideal mind to keep, and a depressing life challenged and always lacking in material wealth. Haven't you realized the stretch of our living? You in a mansion and comfort, while I in a struggling home. I don't even know why you convince yourself that I am a good idea.

God only knows if this must stand against all. Right now, for this matter, with the persons involved circling in this society, with all his friends and enemies, particularly in his state of mind, we both need some peace of mind and thinking lapses for personal bloom.

P.S.,

That simply proves that you don't value yourself, and that you only get validation from other people that can say positive, and most probably lies, things that reflect your worth.

(originally posted on facebook notes, dated March 24, 2016)

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

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

I'm tired being a woman.

I'm tired being a woman.

But I am born with a vagina, so I have to deal with it.

I hate the way they assume you like boys at the tender age of TWELVE. OR NINE. MAYBE YOUNGER.

I don't like the pressure of being pretty, of wearing petty make-up, or being graceful. I constantly rant at the futility of it all as I read Miss Temptation by Kurt Vonnegut or Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. We are aiming for beauty, yet we know that we are judged for it. I am intensely against the petty "girl clothes" and "tight pants" while at the same time, embracing the "Don't judge me" rationale in our heads. The living irony of modern feminism is getting questionable, even suspicious.

The inexplicable theories of "Why He Doesn't Call" or "Why Do Men Cheat" on magazines and dumb newspapers makes me feel that my vagina is just worth a penny... maybe cheaper. The vicious cycle of bigotry and sexism is making me gag. Not to mention, being a woman means you have to keep up with "dating strategies" and "blah blah talks" of arrogant men, if you want to call them one.

I'm tired being a woman. It is a moral and social responsibility. It was never easy.

HOW CAN BEAUTY BE A CURSE? https://www.quora.com/How-can-beauty-be-a-curse/answer/Mable-Clark?srid=htASM

NOTHINGNESS and everything in between

Taking strides on my early 20's, I have already given up on people with soft facades but demented characters. These are some moments when you know injustice bites most.


I cannot give you your happiness.

You assume that you might get some of the sparkles in my eyes, the glamour of having me next to you, latched on your arm while some stranger looks at us and you are proud that you have me for the time being of your satisfaction.

No.

I cannot give you your success.

You assume that your ways are my ways, and you believe that you can measure me a yardstick that measures others as well, that you PREDICT that the rulers of this insane world has the same insane meter stick on an insane rat-race and knightly pipe dreams. Everybody is rich and nobody is happy. You also believe that you can emulate what I do, so you can be happy as well. Hearts can't be carbon copied; each is as authentic as the grains of sand. The charm you are looking for is always elusive, and you always think that you can have it all. The problem with humans is they consider themselves superior, that they know everything, and they can rationalize it all.

No.

I cannot give you your freedom.

Even The God you pushed away hasn't given you anything because YOU claim that you can do it all by yourself. The eyes that you use to see the world is a vicious one, you don't want to be unheard, to be ignored, to be unworshipped. YET, you don't want to be understood, because being understood means that we have found a way to connect with you--and for the first time, you have felt human. You don't want to be a human being, as far as you let us know.

The ESCAPE is so vast within you that you believe that the universe is yours, and that you believe that you are misunderstood because you are so smart the world doesn't understand you; but what if we do? What if inside, we can see you as a lonely, frustrated loser squashed into an environment that you have to feel hostile with.

I cannot give you everything.

BECAUSE you are empty. Empty shells aren't meant to be filled, because they are hollow. You are the black hole in the vast, colorful universe, getting what you want from us. You destroy everything you touch. The boredom, anxiety, loneliness, frustrations, fear, anger, vengeance and paranoia reeks through your eyes that you are an EMPTY SHELL forever and ever. You trample our spirits just to feel you are better. We are not allowed to talk back because you are the KING, and we are your dominions. You talk in metaphors so nobody will understand you; but our "ignorance" tell otherwise... and everyone can see it, they just over interpret it and give dumb excuses for your kingship. Or your Abuse. Or your Words. Or your Intimidation.

You are a winner in body but desolate in soul.

I cannot give you my heart in exchange of your spiteful soul.

There's too much at risk.

Sincerely,
That Girl