writing

Happy New Year And What’s Up?

Overdue.
But let me get through this.
This is my new year.
Another year to spend.

 

There was no New Year’s eve dinner for us. Nothing fancy menu or the special menu we curate for the celebration. We only shared our normal dinner to get by. I am unhappy to make out of something in the kitchen with no electricity and if ever I pulled through cooking something it would have been spoiled the next day. Again, no electricity, no refrigerator. All I want, I can speak for all of us, was some cold salad and a nice dessert. It could be a no-bake mango graham cake or leche flan.

It was because of a storm hitting us last Christmas evening that we were in this state of calamity. Even our Christmas dinner menu didn’t happen. I decided not to anymore because our house would be quite rowdy with our furniture and fixtures made sure that it will be water proof.

 

I woke up early last New Year’s day. It was a Sunday so I attended mass at six-thirty in the morning. This day was planned out long before it came. For three years in a row now, I have been participating on our high school class outreach program. We prepare food packs, school supplies, medicines and some gifts for children. They are located in our mountain barangay so we need to clear our schedule to share time with them even for a few hours. Reaching them is a risk and sacrifice at the same time. With vehicles on hand, traveling is not for the faint hearted. Road trip up to the mountain is either an adventure or really a gut wrenching experience especially when you have the fear of heights. I am so up with the former so it is a joy for me always to see an unobstructed view of the plains of our hometown. It is something breath-taking. When you are at the top it usually feels like that. Your presence seems small but grateful that you are a part of this beauty of vastness.

Our class decided to prepare grocery packs for this year’s outreach program. With the imminent effect of the storm, people just want the basic needs. We packed rice, canned goods, noodles and soap and detergent. We also gave medicines and gift packs to the children.

After attending the mass, that’s the time I coordinated with our class president for 2016 in organizing the repacking of the goods to come up with 100 pieces of grocery packs. We coordinated to distribute these packs to 100 families instead of limiting it to children being fed and entertained. We all agreed on this after all we gathered enough fund.

I spent the morning with the rest of my classmates volunteering in repacking the goods. Some were weighing the rice and while others were putting the rest of the canned meats and noodles. I organized them like an assembly line and making sure that nothing will be missed or left out. We packed and finished until lunch time. We shared a warm meal that is everyone’s favorite-pork blood stew with innards and taro-over a heaping serving of white rice.

In the afternoon we were caught in a slight road bump when the time came that we need to go there soon because the grocery packs were already at the site and the families are waiting for us too. The bump was we do not have a bigger car to fit in all thirteen of us that volunteered to distribute and spend time with the families. Soon enough we were able to contact a van and off we go.

 

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A lot of families came in to see us together with their children in tow. The sky was still gray and looming with rain. We grouped them in the middle of a basketball court with the mountain range and dilapidated classrooms as our background. The wind was chilly and it started to drizzle when we started giving the packs to each family. As we reached the half of our distribution rain came falling down pushed by wind sideward. Mothers opened their umbrellas shielding their kids from being wet. We told them to seek cover and we will just call them. But none of them went off, they stood in line waiting for their names to be called. The rain was relenting. It was a crazy kind of weather.

Smiles of joy and gratitude painted that moment and our presence together with our fellow townsfolk through our collective unselfish gesture was a great way to start the year .

 

 

 

So this was how my New Year started. Happy New Year to me and to you. Take care always.

 

 

Threshold

This waiting game is getting me sucked in this paranoia of oblivion. The what if’s are just at bay. I am not flipping out. There’s this part of me that keeps on saying that something is beginning, something is changing.

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Over the past weeks, counting the days, being oblivious of time trying to let my mind off of my expectations and imagining the urban life I will endure again feels like at one point that I haven’t done anything at all with my life. Nothing happened. Nothing is happening. The time I have had my last job until today was like it just happened a few months ago.

Sometimes, I even still feel like having just graduated from college. Readying to face the world for my taking. On the other hand, I am at this race against time burying into thinking what could, should have I done in the past. The regret of unburdening myself to figuring out my exit on these gaps I myself have led on comes up whenever I try to resolve something. I might have not taken myself seriously but who does really. The intention of being serious is out though I have this pensive and serious look in my face. I am not just good with small talks so either I am taken as a snob or a bore. In all of these, I just know what works for me and what I can care less.

True enough, we are our own’s worst critic.

I know what I want now and I am keeping myself to doing just that. I sometimes tend to go in a bubble but living in the now is my banner. Accepting for a fact that memories create what we are to do next. Either good or bad memories, all of it happened entirely in the past. As much as we want to not consider it, what we see today and what will happen tomorrow is more than the reason not it. Cliche, mental but true. It happened and is happening in all of us. It is a constant push and pull. No other way.

So,that’s where I stick myself up because no matter how much of life we’ve been through, when we rebuild and choose our way to resiliency we have those memories and we can always start anew.

 

 

Embracing Getting By

I am about to finish reading The Great Gatsby. It has sat on top of my mother’s magazine stack for I don’t know how long. It has sat on the bed, on the console table, on the couch and on the dinner table. Whenever I get the sense of reading it I just sweep it off from its mundane stationary position. Along it, I have started reading some pages of my growing stacks of unread books.

This is me.

Daniel Dalton/Buzzfeed/Via Thinkstock

Daniel Dalton/Buzzfeed/Via Thinkstock

Most of my books doesn’t cost a fortune. I’ve grabbed them from a thrift shop I frequent whenever I go to the mall. I say I am getting by through reading. I have this growing list of saved links in my Facebook of articles that interests me and they too need some love of reading. I told my bestfriend about this that these reading thing is what keeps me here doing. To get by and not really slack. Maybe I am slacking from the real world of social, of competition, of surviving on my own. Bat shit that is.

I think I am stuck to my high school self. A realization that I’ve been trying to shuffle in my head. I don’t know what growing means. I don’t know what maturity means. Even the coming of age thing. Maybe I am embracing too much of this self that it sometimes drag me to hiding. To hiding and apathy. To just going into my room and locking the door away from it all. Impulse is not my thing. I observe mostly. I see little things and enjoy it unwrapping. Taking time. Steeping. Stewing.

I’ve been stuck to the comforts of wearing walking shorts, plain shirt and sneakers. I feel more like myself with these on my back. But the feeling of being invisible transpires most from it. More like a disguise or blending with the rest. If the need to put myself there I stashed it back in the closet and look for a pair of trousers and dress shirts. I do some growing up too for that instance.

Greed has salted the earth for a long time now. The continuous proliferation of stories brought in by news covered everyday is just demeaning humanity in the sense that what gets brought up are too much of animosity, suffering and lost lives. Disheartening at times that I skip, been skipping news channels or segments for a while now. I am reduced to reading news article now. Less bloody. Less gory.

Like the growing pile of my unread books, getting by in the counter waiting for me to pick them up, dust them off and open its pages. The smell of paper is like cork. With most of my books bought from the thrift shop a lot of them are in pre-owned state, some have dents, tear or scratch on the cover but all are in very good condition. I always make sure that pages are intact and free from any tear. Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom, Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, Bret Lott’s Jewel, Anne Fitch’s White Oleander and J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in The Rye are what awaits me. Some are random authors that interest me with their story and sometimes its cover when I just pass by the bookstore and let time pass without expecting something to have. Leaving it to the wind.

When I feel like soaking in reading time, music is my second company. I discount having my own room much less having a sound proof room I can quietly indulge my book in hand. So my solution is my mobile phone and my third brother’s headphones. Without this the TV volume will only rattle and reverberate in the room. I recently put on my youngest brother’s lamp by the dresser table beside the twin bed to really create that dim lighting and reading nook mood. With all these set up, I am off grid temporarily.

This is my getting by. Thank you.

How To Slack

pexel.com

pexel.com

I don’t know. I see myself as a slacker for the past, what, almost 3 years. I don’t know how time has really flown. Wait. Time has gone away and I am left hanging out to dry. To be straight, it is all me here taking this soapbox. No people listening, just me out there. Not really out there, just a hermit trolling around the real life out there.

Inter webs of unknown messy issues I’ve put the me in, well not really that messy as I see it but in all of it it is just shit, bottom line.

I don’t know if I’m making sense in here. Before I thought of writing this post what I really want to happen is drastic and extreme. I want to delete this platform. This is me talking of putting into the trash all the words, all the time stamps, all the memories, all the looking forward goals. Group of words stitched through by my brain juice. I want to delete all the pictures, all those immortalizing of experiences. Crap! I guess am bitten by a bug carrying a deadly virus creeping in to my bloodstream infecting what is left of me. I’ve become a party pooper now.

I may sound creepy writing these cryptic thoughts that aren’t the kind of my choice for such a personal post but writing this, wording out my thoughts now is like spitting disgust, hate, frustration, desperation. Yes! All those negativity consuming me. Shit. Shit that is.

I rather really put to an end to this non sense. Quietly take the back door and walk away. I can’t. I really can’t. I am afraid now what words I am typing, what words I’ve already put it out in this post. Immortalizing non sense. The non sense self. The lost self. Please give me this soapbox now. Just listen to me. Just read me. Just keep me warm out here.

What do I do now? I can’t keep doing this to myself, can I? Hiding under this bridge but I am not really hiding. I am with the wind. I am with the sun. I am with the earth. I don’t know. I’ve heard a lot, read a lot saying that they really don’t know what this all means; they really don’t know if this is making sense; they really don’t know. Maybe it’s not just me. One thing I know in me, I am getting by yet hollow and shallow. Hungry for the world. I don’t know what that means.

Lethargic. I do not deserve to be this. I’ve been swimming and wallowing to an ocean of convenience for the past years. I know they are suffering. When the feeling of you not being deserving to be part of them because you have that effect of putting away in hiding what is more to life. Great expectations killed a part of me. Leaving me spent and cursed. When you step into that kind of darkness things get a little bit shaky. I am walking on egg shells and it sucks.

There are sparks when I close my eyes. Sparks of future I want. A future that will not be in parallel with expectations but a future that cultivates life and life there is. Whatever life that is.

If only I am not into this now that putting an end to this non sense is over some alcohol but if I do that I am only making a fool of me. The potential me that aims for what is out there. Just derailed at this point. Washed by the tides, slowly floating to the shore. Writing down, wording into this platform eases that killed part of me. Sharing this might keep me get by more. Buy some time more to recover. Let my potential me get back on tracks.

Please don’t get weird out on me. This is me telling a story. My ears are vibrating with Troye Sivan on Spotify as I write this. Keeping me company. I realized that composing this post just boils down to me giving a fuck but really writing it down is therapy. I am immortalizing this because I want to make fun of this one time me feeling: lethargic, dying, hollow, shallow but really I am just fucked up. Consumed of my own demons.

I need to get out and have a drink really. Thank you.

Unsent Letter: Part One

An unsent letter is never my thing. When I pen my thoughts addressed to persons important to me I make sure that they receive and have read it in time for any occasion that expresses my dedication and greetings. However, I found unsent letters stashed in my old journal last week while I was cleaning my closet and getting rid of old clothes.

It was really unintentional of me not sending those letters. I’ve written them in time for the holidays because on the face of the envelope I wrote their names and when to open it once they received it. I really don’t know why I wasn’t able to give it to them. The year was 2013. December of that year just few days before Christmas I remembered I was a bit busy and kind of all over the place.

So now I am taking this blog to give life again to these letters I wrote and was not able to send,¬†unintentionally, to their rightful addressee. I will be writing in parts the letters I found but it will not be that soon. I want to let myself immerse and rise to any occasion of my addressee’s life and through these unsent letters I will ghostly hand in (I will still be keeping the copies for myself), rededicate and honor them in their upcoming occasions in their lives.

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