Peace. Love. Rock n Roll.

I spend the night on a midsummer drinking Chablis while reading 1Q84. Chablis, a white wine made of Chardonnay that gives a dry taste and cool-like aroma that diminishes with apple-like acidity.  It goes well with Murakami books; the earthy flavor that gives its musty tone that occupies each character from reading reunites. They are like good companions that mellow the climax of the story. I continue reading. I try to absorb the real world versus the unknown world from his story- how Aomame taught herself to restrain her feelings; what two moons do with gravitational changes, the body changes, the world does; and precisely, how these differences rewrite a history but still can never adjust the present. I am not yet half through it but the urge to write about how he can be so perplexed on thinking- things can be so familiar, detailed although at the end, I caught myself feeling strange. He describes feelings as if my own, laying out facts with absolute twist of fiction. Whatever might be true might be just a fabrication of the mind that the humankind creates. I don’t know, but surely a consumable time for this is worthy.

I might be wrong with descriptions but night like this is just fitting to drink wine and read a book. 

(Source: painteverythingred)

Gumising ako na kinikilig. Tama, hindi sino pero ano. So, sinimulan ko ang araw sa pagkakape. Nagdrive-thru ako para bumili ng iced mocha na sa tuwing ginagawa ko ito, ikaw ang naaalala. Bakit? Sapagkat sa mga panahong ito, ikaw ang kausap ko- sayo ko binubuhos ang sentiments na naipon mula Lunes hanggang Sabado. Linggo nga ang moment nating dalawa. Pero hindi lang dahil sa kape kaya bigla kang pumasok sa isip ko na walang pasintabi.

Pustura- yan ang laging mong banggit sa akin. Ayusin ang buhok, ipitan o di kaya’y suklayin. Kung minsan pa nga ay ikaw na ang nag-aayos ng shorts ko, kung hanggang saang haba ang naayon sa taste mo. Nakakatuwa kang panoorin kung paano mo ako gustong pumustura. Kahit pa feeling ko rockstar ako na kahit anong wave ng buhok, ayos na- hinayaan lang kita. Dahil sa pagkakataong iyon, hindi ko hawak ang sarili, meroong dumederekta sa kaanyuan ko na sa maraming pagkakataon, wash and wear carry na. Hindi ito yaong pambobola na ginagawa sa sarili para mapasaya o di kaya’y para piliting iparamdam sa sarili na special, datapwat ito yaong mga araw na sumasapol sa realidad na oo nga, meroong mga taong nakakagawa nito sa kahit na ano pa mang kadahilanan, pwede ring dahil wala lang. Walang rason para gawin mo ang mga bagay-bagay. Hindi kailangan maging totoo o tama para maging masaya. Minsan lang dumaan ang buhay, palalagpasin mo pa ba?

May gabing nakahiga lang (kaharap ang ceiling), magkausap- nagtatanong magkahawak ang kamay. O e ano naman? Walang ibig sabihin ang mga posisyon pero sa mga taong tulad ko na mababaw, na mapangsuri sa mga pangyayari na kaliit-liit na bagay tila may ipinapahiwatig; hindi na mahalaga kung meroon nga o wala. Pero ito yung mga panahong nagpapalakas ng kumpyansa mo na hindi kailangan ng mga ingrandeng palatandaan para maramdaman, maisip na one of a kind ka sa puso niya. Kung tutuusin, realedad ng buong katotohanan ang sumisira sa mga pantasyang bumuboo sa lakas at paninindigan na may pagmamahal, na kaya mo ang lahat- na ikaw si superman o wonder woman para sugpuin ang sisira sa buhay.

Hindi nga isang magandang relasyon ang ending. Ang mahalaga sa lahat ng ito, may maganda kang memorya na sa paggising mo- ang sarap mabuhay. Iyan mismo ang pakiramdam ng nasasaktan, bumabangon. Libre madapa, libre gumawa ng kamalian. Hindi lahat ng tama bigla na lang sumusulpot. Lahat ng bagay may half chance ka. Lahat ng magagandang biyaya sa buhay mo half chance iyan. Kaya sa susunod, magmahal ka hanggang sa kaya mo dahil may half chance ka rin na baka tama na sa pagkakataong iyon.

(Source: painteverythingred)

The body marked from casual nights of lingering hopeful; I am feeling less of a living. I am condensed by his masculinity that afflicts good sense of character. As it repeats, I hover to his scent so distinct of its vulgarity. As it further commits to memory, it permanently soils with disgrace. Becoming, a reduced amount of self starts to sink in; he stained me with impurities influenced by inanity. I doubt consolation from past comforts of his charity. Bound from marginalized hesitations to rescue, I am (un)feeling. 

(Source: painteverythingred)

Jessica Zafra

I missed writing when it was still free flowing, less of a clutter and full at most. I missed writing; how words match feelings of the present, how amazingly things are put in expressions of deep sentiments and when stories began telling its own. I missed sharing thoughts when what I did in the past is hold them back because of more important matters.

            The history that tells me of truth, to be at peace with terms and begin; I shall follow. And today, as I turn back to what I do, to three months of unresponsive; statements behind head labeled confrontations of self-expression. Speeches claim its way to utterance I have long detained, grasp between hands. I fear that I no longer control them, marching its supremacy in- dominating the hemisphere of its mental processes, becoming more of a motor function. 

I reconciled with old movies, collected memories and reasons. I watched days pass and realized how much I have felt empty. A lot of times when I can no longer run fast to reach each day’s agenda; it frustrates me. Approaching logic when and where it went wrong, the exact point of departing gravity; I can no longer identify. I hope things change. I want to trade times when I have done it well- when I can nearly grasp practice that is voluntary. I want to modify the state of mind which it was programmed to do something else- I want to move, be moved. I want an action that attains to reality of becoming who I want to be. I want exploitation when a description of myself to solitude yet functional is possible.  

I am lost of prayers and misled myself to bewilderment of time and aimless convictions. Today, faith I struggle. 

(Source: painteverythingred)

I bent my knees crying out for mercy, hang my arms lifting prayers. Dripping tears from swollen eyes- burying face under the pillow. I soak wet from cuts of rough edges and tremor I felt for fear. Last night I felt thunder strike coming from walls, breaking silence I am trained for years. I felt heart pounding bursting for release so I grasp tightly onto my fist. Hurt tries to slit through the chest, making lacerations I woe. Hours and hours, I plead Him for fix but salvage seems I cannot foresee. 

(Source: painteverythingred)

“This love is above all fully human, a compound of sense and spirit. It is not, then, merely a question of natural instinct or emotional drive. It is also, and above all, an act of the free will, whose trust is such that it is meant not only to survive the joys and sorrows of daily life, but also to grow, so that husband and wife become in a way one heart and one soul, and together attain their human fulfillment.

It is a love which is total—that very special form of personal friendship in which husband and wife generously share everything, allowing no unreasonable exceptions and not thinking solely of their own convenience. Whoever really loves his partner loves not only for what he receives, but loves that partner for the partner’s own sake, content to be able to enrich the other with the gift of himself.

Married love is also faithful and exclusive of all other, and this until death. This is how husband and wife understood it on the day on which, fully aware of what they were doing, they freely vowed themselves to one another in marriage. Though this fidelity of husband and wife sometimes presents difficulties, no one has the right to assert that it is impossible; it is, on the contrary, always honorable and meritorious. The example of countless married couples proves not only that fidelity is in accord with the nature of marriage, but also that it is the source of profound and enduring happiness.”

(Source: painteverythingred)

“When you come crash  into me, baby . And I come into you.”

(Source: painteverythingred)

I try to go back to reasons on becoming what I wanted to be and to be honest, I don’t know. I was repeating the same things like voodoo chant that maybe I can implant or maybe build a fundamental blueprint on how to do it this time. I was breathing characters from the books but they scared me so I decided to spend the day like ordinary- as if tomorrow is just how I planned. School starts tomorrow and I am losing contact with faith. I didn’t know if I should have prayed differently or be the same. I can say perfectly that my prayer was answered, not the way I wanted but just how it should have. I never questioned Him and not wanting to but I say, “Lost”.

My inner recess is too proud. My private parts are leaking out with ideas and concepts on how to live further- for another school year. So I examine my face, found my body cold and watch the contours change- it is ready. My physique and its inside are willing. It has long prepared for wakeful hours, unhealthy habit of taking too much caffeine, disturbance of the mind, and uproar with logic. It will hurt. It will be hard. But real world is already harsh; the heart earns what it desires.

Today, I wash my face twice and brush my teeth as many as I could. I ate what I think is healthy, woke up not too early, spoke of hope and revealed my prayers. I organized my tools, observed for details and decreased uneasiness. Vacation ends. 

(Source: painteverythingred)