Don Quixote's Eyes [entries|archive|friends|userinfo] Knight of the Woeful Countenance [ website | Don Quixote ] [ userinfo | The Dreamer ] [ archive | The Past ]

Someone tell me... [Jul. 22nd, 2008|11:57 pm] [ Feeling... | worried ] [ The music in my mind... | Stratovarius - Forever ] This is, to me, the loveliest and saddest landscape in the world. It is the same as that on the preceding page, but I have drawn it again to impress it on your memory. It is here that the little prince appeared on Earth, and disappeared. Look at it carefully so that you will be sure to recognize it in case you travel some day to the African desert. And, if you should come upon this spot, please do not hurry on. Wait for a time, exactly under the star. Then, if a little man appears who laughs, who has golden hair and who refuses to answer questions, you will know who he is. If this should happen, please comfort me. Send me word that he has come back. -The Little Prince, Ch. 27 I miss him so much. And in my heart, there is no comfort, there is no rest. I worry everyday. I cannot help but think "What has become of him?" I know he'll never come back and I'll never see him again. I hope that he does not hate me. I pray that he still remembers me. That weekend - that last weekend when I saw him for the last time - was one of the happiest sad days of my life. After four days without him, I saw him again. He remembered me. The moment he saw me, he rushed to me, excited. I spent the weekend just like I would a normal day with him. It was wonderful. I felt at peace as he slept in my arms for the last time. And then, they sent him away. Far away. And now my heart cannot ever be at rest. Link Battle the Windmill

If my heart... [Jul. 9th, 2008|09:01 pm] [ Feeling... | alone ] [ The music in my mind... | Megadeth - A Tout Le Monde ] ..were still alive, I know it would surely break... "When sorrows come, then come not single spies, but in battalions." I hope Minda never shows her face here again because, if she does, I'm going to kick it. I'm going to stomp it into the ground until I can scrape what's left of it off my shoes on the curb. I mean, shit... It's only been ONE NIGHT! On night and already Grimace is too much of an inconvenience for them. He's so much of an inconvenience, in fact, that they have to send him to the province, miles away. Here I was thinking I could visit him. Here I was hoping he wouldn't forget me between visits. AND NOW... Now I'll never see him again. I won't know if he's being taken care of. I won't know if he's happy. I won't even know if he's alive. I won't ever be able to hold him again, to hear him again, to be bitten by him again. What's worse, no one understands how I feel. Not a single person. I was thinking some people, maybe one or two, would understand, that maybe they could reassure me and comfort me. But they don't. They keep reminding me of the rules and nothing else. In fact, sila pa yung mag kapal ng mukhang magalit sakin. They feel as though they're the only ones in the world who have the right to ever be pissed. They're probably so insecure that when other people get pissed, they get all defensive and feel the need to be pissed, too. Stupid stupid, pretentious, insecure people. For one thing, I don't need to be reminded of the rules. I don't need to be talked down to and I definitely do not need to be shoulder all your stupid, petty frustrations. I don't need to be the scapegoat for your insecurities and your need to be pissed. I need someone to understand how hard it is for me right now. I need someone who can say how hard it is for them, too, because they understand how I feel. I need someone with genuine compassion. I've not found anyone who does. Not one of them. Not even from the people who should understand. If that's what I have to look forward to in my life, if it's just the world taking things away and no one being on my side, then what's the point? Everything good in me is fading away... It won't be long before I won't care if I go to prison or not. And then there'll be hell to pay. Angry Again Link Battle the Windmill

FORGET!? [Jul. 9th, 2008|03:52 am] [ Feeling... | alone ] Minda is a stupid, ignorant fool. She said, "Pag tumagal-tagal, makakalimutan nyo rin yan," as she took Grimace away. At this moment, I can't ever see myself forgetting... EVER. I RAISED him. I watched him grow. How can I forget? Roosters are crowing now... I can feel that lump in my throat and tears welling up again. I hear Grimace. He's crowing, too. Just yesterday he crowed along with all the roosters around. It's still fresh. But at the same time, I don't hear him anymore. And it makes me so sad because I'm expecting him. I want to hear him crowing... He has a distinct crow. Think heavy metal singer reaching for those notes, scraping his throat. I'd know Grimace's crow among all other roosters. It's the only crow that means something to me. How can I forget? I'm sure you're thinking, "It's only been a day, of course you won't forget yet." Well, the weight in my chest is still there. I'm still feeling its effects. So heavy... Link Battle the Windmill

Before I let you go... [Jul. 8th, 2008|07:57 pm] [ Feeling... | alone ] [ The music in my mind... | Naruto OST - Grief and Sorrow ] I want to say "I love you..." Today, I said goodbye to everything good about me... Things will go downhill from here. With one last hug, it was goodbye. And it hurt so much to see him being taken away. I can still hear his footsteps and his whispered clucks. The difference is when I turn to look for him, he's not there. Grief and Sorrow (For those one Multiply who can't see the video, click the link.) EDIT (12:21am): I can't even stay in my room!!! I see the empty chair where Grimace should be perched, sleeping. I reach for the spot where I know he should be. I expect to hear his annoyed, extended cluck. Then he'd crow a few times, waking all the other roosters in the area. They'd contend for a few minutes. And then he'd pick at his feathers before going back to sleep. I look to see that there's no chicken shit on the chair, but I can still smell it. It's there, a strong, warm air hanging in my room. I want to pick him up and put him on my chest, but I grope at shadows. He'd lie for a few minutes, his neck outstretched so his head would be beside mine. I'd hear him smacking his tongue inside his mouth. Soon, he'd get up again and take his proper place on the backrest of my chair and fall back into sleep. There will be none of that tonight. Not anymore. Not for me. (But for that neighbor, 3am will hold special meaning. Metal will blast forth from my speakers at full volume and drive him to the brink of insanity. You'll pay motherfucker.) Such is the pattern of my life. God gives me something to love and takes it away so abruptly. Sure, nothing lasts, but in my life, things are taken away long before they should be, long before death or destruction comes. What's the point of giving myself to anything anymore? I'm having a hard time seeing it now. Something I believe so strongly in...is kicking me in the face. The memory is so strong. I don't know if I can go to my room just yet. It was as much Grimace's room as it was mine. And it was as if he knew he was leaving today. He didn't want to leave the room. He just wanted to lie there on my bed. When I took him downstairs to wait for Minda, he grew restless. He'd stretch and flap his wings, but he wouldn't crow. He was just restless. Fuck... Link Battle the Windmill

A GREAT DAY FOR SPORTS! [Jul. 7th, 2008|04:12 am] [ Feeling... | excited ] [ The music in my mind... | Carl Orff - O Fortuna ] Forrest Griffin goes the distance with Quinton "Rampage" Jackson and wins by unanimous decision to become the new UNDISPUTED UFC Light Heavyweight Champion! Ateneo beats La Salle, 79-73, in an excellent, hard-fought game. And, FINALLY, Rafael Nadal dethrones Roger Federer in 5 sets (6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7) making him this yea'r Wimbledon Men's Champion! Today is a GREAT day in sports history! Link Battle the Windmill

GLORY [Jul. 6th, 2008|02:17 am] [ Feeling... | GLORIOUS ] [ The music in my mind... | Carl Orff - O Fortuna ] O FORTUNA! Link Battle the Windmill

From a student... [Jul. 5th, 2008|05:41 pm] [ Feeling... | impressed ] [ The music in my mind... | Carl Orff - O Fortuna ] Here's a little something I found on the blog of one of my students. It reminds me of an entry (or entries?) I wrote a long time ago. A lesson for the doubters... Even the mention of God in it... Such great insight. COOL! Muehaheaheaheahea! Link Battle the Windmill

EAT ME! (Inspired by Boss JC.) [Jul. 5th, 2008|12:03 am] [ Feeling... | anxious ] [ The music in my mind... | Wagner - O Fortuna ] If I were a kind of food, I'd like very much to be sisig. While other foods simply aim to satisfy, sisig goes straight to the heart and stays there! You start to sweat and your knees get weak, but you want more. Mueaheaheahehaheahehaheaheahea! EAT ME BITCHES! The Alpha Male lives!!! Link Fallen Warriors|Battle the Windmill

To every man his dream... [Jul. 3rd, 2008|10:19 pm] [ Feeling... | alone ] [ The music in my mind... | Wagner - O Fortuna ] To each his Dulcinea That he alone can name... To each a secret hiding place Where he can find the haunting face To light his secret flame. For with his Dulcinea Beside him so to stand, A man can do quite anything, Outfly the bird upon the wing, Hold moonlight in his hand. Yet if you build your life on dreams It's prudent to recall, A man with moonlight in his hand Has nothing there at all. There is no Dulcinea, She's made of flame and air, And yet how lovely life would seem If ev'ry man could weave a dream To keep him from despair. To each his Dulcinea... Though she's naught but flame and air! Dreams... What power they have. Don Quixote de La Mancha believed in them so much that his whole life and perception of it changed. He saw adventure in the mundane and beauty in the ordinary. He saw a giant in a windmill and treasure in a shaving bowl. He saw a Dulcinea in Aldonza! The whole world - no matter how broken, no matter how disfigured - Don Quixote saw as beautiful. Any situation - no matter how mundane, no matter how difficult - Don Quixote saw as a challenge, an adventure, an experience. And with that perception, he rode forward with flames of passion and idealism. It's not delusion, it not madness, though many will think it so. It is idealism, it is poetry. Miguel de Cervanted (Don Quixote) will admit that madmen and poets are very much the same in that they select from life what they see - not what is but what should be. And with that perception, there is no impossible; there is only challenge, there is only adventure. But the power of dreams also holds a very dark and difficult side. In Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes, Lucifer once said, "What power do dreams have here in Hell?" (or something like that) to which Morpheus replied, "What power does Hell have if those in it could not dream?" Therein lies the rub. When dreams come in contact with the devastating blow of a most dismal reality and reality's disfigured face and the dreamer falters from his dreams for just one brief moment, then the power of dreams turns against the dreamer. When Don Quixote de La Mancha was confronted by the Knight of the Mirrors, when he saw that he was nothing but a frail old man in a desolate wasteland. And in the moment he faltered, when his fingers started to slip from the dreams he clung so passionately to, all his dreams crushed him beneath their weight. That's why it is so important to stay true to one's dreams, to never lose hope. It is the dream of the possibility of heaven that tortures the souls in hell because those souls lost hope in attaining their dreams. They faltered. They gave up. They allowed despair to creep in and weaken the foundations of their strength (idealism and passion) and they we engulfed by its darkness. Sadly, I've been faltering. I've allowed the creeping death to poison my very spirit and I am suffering for it. I need to recharge. I need to feel the warmth and soothing breeze of that flame and air. I need to taste the sweetness of Dulcinea. I need to find the reason why my dreams sustained me for so long without allowing me to fall into cynicism and despair lest I be engulfed by it all. Funny... I realize how much I miss Sibol... Link Fallen Warriors|Battle the Windmill

F*CK being a nice guy! [Jun. 26th, 2008|06:23 am] [ Feeling... | hopeful ] [ The music in my mind... | Lost Horizon - Sworn in the Metal Wind ] A while back, I read an entry from Ther's Multiply blog that featured an article called Ode to the Nice Guy. I thought it was a load. To be honest, I still do. I found that it didn't offer anything to Mr. Nice Guy except false consolation and comforting words. But that's all. Just words and consolation so the "nice guy" doesn't get fed up. Read it. If you're a "nice guy," you'll agree with me. And recently, I found something to further strengthen my that thought. This article was featured on Yahoo! last week. It dissects the idea that being a "nice guy" will get you anywhere. ( Why Nice Guys Finish Last ) Women make everything so much more complicated, don't they? They go chasing a guy who treats them like shit and then they bitch about it to all their friends. They bitch about it to the "nice guy," who, she knows, would never do that. And yet, all she can do is bitch. She still pursues the asshole who's probably too conceited to see her value. But, see how that works? Women would choose the asshole, who couldn't give a rat's ass about the girl, over the "nice guy" because, as the article says, giving all of yourself isn't valuing yourself, so why should the girl value you? I think it all comes down to greed on the part of the women. Since they've gotten everything from the "nice guy," she doesn't need him anymore. She goes off to chase the asshole because she wants everything he hasn't, and probably isn't even willing, to offer. She finds herself wanting; thus, she chases the one that makes her want and not the one that gives her satisfaction. She finds herself wanting the regard of the asshole, having already completely taken the loving eyes of the "nice guy." It's GREED. Okay, I will agree that boring people should be shot and fed to a pack of rabid dogs so that they could turn into something that fits their boring personalities more (i.e, SHIT), but not all "nice guys," I think, are boring. They only seem boring because women don't take the time to REALLY get to know them; to get to know them enough to find something interesting in them. Reading both articles, one finds difficulty knowing where to stand. While the "Ode to the Nice Guy" says that women eventually grow out of dating the asshole, this article tells us that it would be so much more rational for the girl to NOT go for the "nice guy." I mean, the nice guy is just too desperate, too insecure, and too ready to give everything at the drop of a hat to be valued. The "nice guy" just doesn't value himself enough to deserve value. The funny irony of it all is that most those confident and exciting guys have much greater insecurities than the "nice guys." The nice guys don't need to puff up his chest and make it known how confident he is. He's probably already comfortable with himself. Just because a man is ready to give everything to the girl doesn't mean he's desperate or insecure or not passionate. It might mean that he's ready for that. But the article seems right. Those "nice guys" are misconstrued as insecure little wimps who isn't worth valuing. The "Ode to the Nice Guy" doesn't seem to provide any evidence otherwise. And while it might be comforting for the "nice guy" to read, all the "patience in the department store, holding open of doors, party escorting services, and propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile" aren't what will make women want you at all if its readily given. They'll want you when you DON'T give it because, then, they are left wanting. Personally, I'd like to believe in the integrity of the "nice guy." I'd like to believe that being that "nice guy" - that honest, loyal, generous, and thoughtful guy - is still the best path to a loving relationship. But all evidence, as well as experience, says otherwise. As long as women equate "nice" to "boring" and "predictable," as long as they refuse to look at the person, but what they can get from the person, then the "nice guy" will always finish last. Practicality tells us, then, to be an asshole. The article had that little disclaimer in the middle, saying that it's not telling the "nice guy" to treat women like shit. But as long as women misconstrue the niceness as insecurity and desperation, then maybe they'll misconstrue the opposite (asshole-ness) as confidence and passion. Conclusion: It's not the men who have a problem. It's those rose-colored glasses that women refuse to remove that makes things so difficult and complicated. If you watch the movie Hitch, you'll see that it was the women who made things so complicated, because they couldn't look past themselves and at the person of the guy. Women can't seem to look past themselves, seeing their own persons as something oh so valuable and only worthy of those who seem just as valuable. The "nice guy" is of no further value if he's given it all; thus, unworthy of such a valuable specimen as a woman. The "Ode to the Nice Guy" agrees, saying, "From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches." Amen. -sigh- Hahaha. Oh my. I've begun to sound bitter, haven't I? Ah well, I try not to be, but it's quite hard. So, then, what does the "nice guy" have left? That's simple. Hope. What else is there? Beyond yearning and desiring, beyond rejection and disappointment, there is only hope. After Pandora let loose all the evils into the world, one thing remained in the box: hope. He can only hope that someday she sees, that someday she notices, not only how much he's worth to her, but his heart. Levinas called it the regard for the invisible Face and it was the basis for his brand of ethics. The "nice guys" can only hope that she experiences a need beyond need; beyond practical use and want. And there, in that area inhabited by the Face and the need beyond need, the "nice guy" can hope to find love. Yeah, maybe I'm bitter. Maybe too many disappointments have turned what's left of Peter Pan in me into Hook. But the funny thing about Hook is that his hate for Pan is founded on his hope that he (Hook), too, could fly. And beyond my bitterness, I can honestly say hope is still alive. I just hope women wise up! Mueaheaheahehaheaheahehahea! Link Battle the Windmill

Three Weeks [Jun. 26th, 2008|12:15 am] [ Feeling... | determined ] [ The music in my mind... | Shinedown - I Dare You ] Only the brave. Only the brave should teach. Only those who love the young should teach. Teaching is a vocation. It is as sacred as the priesthood; as innate as desire, as inescapable as the genius which compels a great artist. If he has not the concern for humanity, the love of living creatures, the vision of the priest and artist, Then he should not teach. -Pearl Buck I've been busy. Very very busy. Being both an InTACT Homeroom Adviser and an MA student eats up most of my afternoons and taking care of Grimace, since no one else can, eats up my mornings. The little time I do have to myself, I'm too tired to write or do anything productive. I usually just sleep. So, the past three weeks of my life will be compressed into this one brief entry. :P I don't even have time to write this entry. I'm just making time, really. ( InTACT Training ) ( Another Set of Firsts ) ( 'Sir' Kenny!? ) All this... I'll be going through all this throughout the semester and possibly throughout the next couple of years. All these experiences are worth the time and effort if I'm gunning to become a teacher. I have to stay brave. I have to follow the vocation. I have to remember that love for humanity that is necessary for all teachers. If this is what I need to go through, then I'm damn excited to do so! Mueahehaehaheaheaheahaheahea! Hello, let me introduce you to The characters in the show One says yes, one says no Decide which voice in your head you can keep alive Even in madness I know you still believe Paint me on canvas so I become What you could never be I dare you to tell me to walk through fire Wear my soul and call me a liar I dare you to tell me to walk through fire I dare you to tell me I dare you to Hello are you still chasing The memories in shadows Some stay young some grow old Come alive there are thoughts unclear You can never hide Even in madness, I know you still believe Paint me your canvas so I become What you could never be I dare you to tell me to walk through fire Wear my soul and call me a liar I dare you to tell me to walk through fire I dare you to tell me I dare you to... Link Battle the Windmill

InTACT and the End of Summer [May. 31st, 2008|03:32 am] [ Feeling... | awake ] [ The music in my mind... | Entourage Season 4 ] -sigh- Block Y... It's been almost four years since InTACT with block Y. I remember having to wake up extra early Monday mornings to be able to make it to the 730am InTACT session; the GDs and reflections and, of course, Jen and Olive. I remember the idealism I had, sincerely believing that InTACT was an integral part of the Ateneo education, and everyone who disagreed with that (hahaha!). I remember the exposure trip; the incriminating bus-ride conversations and doing origami and coloring-books with the kids. I remember when that picture was taken. We all look so young. Hell, we were young; young and impressionable, young and stubborn. We've all changed so much since then; not only in the way we look. I look back and I find that I miss those days. I miss the faces in the picture. Young, stubborn freshmen. Almost four years later, I've come full circle. When the school-year starts, I'll return to InTACT, no longer as a young freshman, but as a Homeroom Adviser for the InTACT program. Yep, I'll be the one students, who find the program utterly useless, will hate. I'll be the one they curse for having to wake them up early and/or eat up 50 minutes of their precious time. But, after four years, I still find necessity in the InTACT program. Not only is it there to help the freshmen adjust to both the academic demands and the culture of the Ateneo, but to me, it is quintessential for one to be able to truly call oneself an Atenean. It sets and strengthens the groundwork for building the Atenean. It starts at the very core: in the spirit. Contrary to popular belief, InTACT is not meant to force Ateneo culture onto the psyche of the student body. InTACT delves in, more than anything, formation, both of the mind and the spirit, merely using the long-standing culture and traditions of the Ateneo as tools to do the job. The students are, in turn, given the tools to be able to grow in maturity, reflect on what is truly important, and make the most out of what the Ateneo offers despite all the stresses one will inevitably encounter. Think of InTACT as an early taste of Theology and Philosophy - subjects that teach us to think and reflect and find what truly matters. It allows us to look at our choices - our course, our organizations, our future career plans - and see what will truly benefit us, not merely in the monetary sense, but as persons. It is a formation-based program that gives us the tools necessary to be "successful" in a radically different way. This, I believe, is what sets apart the Ateneo culture. It is a culture that forever quests for the ideals of Ignatius and Don Quixote de La Mancha - holistic spiritual growth. This is why I believe so strongly in the InTACT program. It is what transforms young, stubborn freshmen into not only Ateneans, but into madmen; mad as martyrs and poets who see the world as beautiful and worth dying for. Such is the idealism of the Ateneo culture. It is the "...teach me to be generous..." and "...to give and not to count the cost." It is learning how to be faithful to the white and blue and all the things that Mary represents. Of all the things InTACT hopes to inculcate, the one thing that caught my eye is teaching freshmen how to pray. Prayer is opening up oneself enough to be vulnerable. It is a wounding. It is allowing all the enormity of beauty penetrate you. With that, with all of God's beautiful works filling us up, hopefully one can be nourished into fuller growth. All this makes all those smiles in the photo above all the more meaningful. On that note, I must say that the last couple of weeks were quite busy for me. I finalized my application into Masters in Counseling Psychology. I had my interview and was advised two Mondays ago. I was interviewed by Dr. Macapagal and it went rather well. I was just asked why I wanted to take masters so early and why I chose Counseling Psych. "We have no problem accepting you," Dr. Macapagal said. I signed up for three classes: Quantitative Methods (higher Statistics that, I am told, should be gotten out of the way early), Introduction to Counseling Psychology, and Advanced Personality. I might be forced to drop the Intro. to Counseling Psych, though, if my InTACT class schedule conflicts with it. All things considered, I'm pretty much going to grad school this June unless something goes wrong; like, REALLY, REALLY wrong. As you already know, I applied for a position as Homeroom Adviser in the InTACT program. I had my interview Wednesday last week and was interviewed primarily by Sir Chris Castillo, a former Sibolista (batch '99), but a panel accompanied him. I think it went well since I got accepted, but even without the results of the application, I felt it went well. I said everything I wanted to say and it all made sense to me. I guess it helped that I read the overview of the InTACT program. I knew what I was talking about. Apags and Mondy also applied, so I might be working with them, too. I'm very much looking forward to this. What you probably don't know is that I also applied for the High School. The problem was that only one of the FOUR people I asked gave me a recommendation letter, Ms. Laforteza. The other three, though they said they'd be happy to give me one, didn't. I tried to follow up, but to no avail. None of them replied. I went to meet Ms. Laforteza last week. She wanted to interview me a bit before writing up the reco letter. She informed me that though I was applying late, she'd be leaving for Singapore to pursue her masters; thus, opening up one slot for a teacher. Sadly, I never fully pushed through with the application because my requirements were incomplete. Also, having already been accepted for InTACT, which I preferred over the high school, I didn't feel the need to anymore. Summer vacation is finally ending. I'll be starting the school year along with all the med school, law school, and college students. I'll also be working. Looks like a pretty exciting year ahead. With that in mind, I'd very much like to see a lot of people before they all move on with their lives. This might very well be my last chance. Shout-out to all them peeps! Let's go out! Link Battle the Windmill

Heaven's Light/Hellfire [May. 17th, 2008|02:50 am] [ Feeling... | confused ] [ The music in my mind... | The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Heaven's Light/Hellfire ] First off, let me apologize for my previous entry. What can I say, I was pissed. Though I will admit that every word of it was and is true, crude as the writing may have been. This entry might shed some light on where my countenance lies, over which edge I am teetering, andthe internal conflict that is tearing me apart. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj1v5tXs9Jo&feature=related Quasimodo: So many times out here I've watched a happy pair Of lovers walking in the night They had a kind of glow around them It almost looked like heaven's light I knew I'd never know That warm and loving glow Though I might wish with all my might No face as hideous as my face Was ever meant for heaven's light But suddenly an angel has smiled at me And kissed my cheek without a trace of fright I dare to dream that she Might even care for me And as I ring these bells tonight My cold dark tower seems so bright I swear it must be heaven's light... Quasimodo believes in hope amid his apparent hopelessness. He believes in the possibility of heaven's light even for someone such as he. He dares to dream when all his dreams have never come true. He has not given up. He is patient for what may or may not come. He does not grasp or grope at the stars that litter the darkness of his world. He admires. He yearns. He longs. He hopes that there is something for him still. Frollo: Beata Maria You know I am a righteous man Of my virtue I am justly proud Beata Maria You know I'm so much purer than The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd Then tell me, Maria Why I see her dancing there Why her smold'ring eyes still scorch my soul I feel her, I see her The sun caught in raven hair Is blazing in me out of all control Like fire Hellfire This fire in my skin This burning Desire Is turning me to sin It's not my fault I'm not to blame It is the gypsy girl The witch who sent this flame It's not my fault If in God's plan He made the devil so much stronger than a man! Protect me, Maria Don't let this siren cast her spell Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone Destroy Esmeralda And let her taste the fires of hell Or else let her be mine and mine alone Hellfire Dark fire Now gypsy, it's your turn Choose me or Your pyre Be mine or you will burn God have mercy on me God have mercy on her But she will be mine Or she will burn! Frollo believes in his own righteousness. He believes he has walked the right path and is entitled to something more than what he has. He envies. He desires that which he cannot touch, the flame that is Esmeralda. He believes that after everything he has done, after all the good he has lived, he deserves more. He would go as far as the fires of hell for a taste of the flame that he does not have. He would turn to sin. I am teetering in between. I hope within the darkness of hopelessness, the endless pit of despair. I want so desperately to believe that there is still something out there to keep on looking for, to keep on looking forward to. Hope is an openness to tomorrow. But is there a tomorrow for me? No matter how open I am to it, is it even there? Is there something more, something to make this cold, dark tower seem bright? I believe in hope. I believe that the will to live is the strongest, that it can sustain even those at rock-bottom. And so I am still alive. What sustains that will to live are all the things I already do have; the things that I care about, the people I care about, and, more importantly, those who care about me. Ah yes. Those who care about me. They hold greater weight on my life than those that I care about simply because what affects me affects them. These things can very well sustain the will to live. On the other hand, I am tortured by envy. I look and see what I don't have, what I will never have, what I will never be. I dwell on my failures, my disappointments, my losses - I cannot see myself as anything more than them. I am the emptiness left behind by that which I don't have. The emptiness suffocates me like the vast emptiness of space. I grope desperately for something, for more, for a break, for a way out. In my desperation, I am entertaining thoughts of sin, I am negotiating with what the devil has to offer, I am turning away from a God that allows such desperation. I tell myself that I've been good enough to deserve so much more. I feel entitled to more than what I have. And yet God does not give them to me, so I spurn him. Sure, I have been gifted by so many beautiful things - friends and people who care - but there are things I want, things I desire that go beyond the givens. I am torn apart by the forces of each side, crushed beneath the debris of broken dreams and shattered hopes, pushed to the edge by desperate longing and a longing for that which I cannot touch. Peter Pan is alive, but is forgetting how to fly. Hook is waiting to take over, but is still fended off by Peter Pan. The war rages on. It's driving me into madness. Hahaha... I think I've made things even more confusing. I've not shed any light on anything. Suffice it to say that while I see heaven's light and all the beauty and happiness it offers, I am imprisoned by everything I am. I cannot bask in the light. On the other hand, the fires of hell are warm. They offer momentary comfort to a broken, disappointed man. I am, after all, only a man. I cannot hope forever. I'm beginning to thing it's better to burn in the fires of hell than wait endlessly in the cold for the warmth of heaven's light. Link Battle the Windmill

I spit in God's face! [May. 16th, 2008|05:34 am] [ Feeling... | rock bottom ] [ The music in my mind... | silence ] First entry in a very long time. Not much to write about. Nothing special happening. Nothing worth writing about. Nothing at all. It's when one is engulfed by nothingness that one dives into his or her own mind. Guys like me deserve a break. I'm a good person, I know it. I've never purposely and/or purposefully fucked anybody over for the hell of it. I've made mistakes, but who hasn't? I deserve just a little bit of a chance. Apparently, someone up there doesn't think so. So fuck it. If things keep going the way they are, I'm gonna kill myself. Don't worry, though. The way things are going, I'm probably gonna fuck that one up, too. I don't usually get any long term success. Mr. Pagsi was right. I should put more success in my life. I shouldn't persist too much with impossible dreams. What I got from that was that I should learn to settle for the easy, un-worthwhile things. Why I didn't take that advice, I still don't know. My life would've been more bearable, I guess. (Though, that's probably not what he meant when he said that. What he really meant to say, I don't know.) If the devil came to me tonight and told me to kill everyone in the world for just one break, one little chance, I probably would. Such is the depth of my desperation. Such is the breadth of my anger. I'd rather be in hell than here. Link Battle the Windmill

A MUST READ for All Graduates [Apr. 17th, 2008|12:38 pm] [ Feeling... | hopeful ] [ The music in my mind... | Dragonforce - Trail of Broken Hearts ] (I didn't pick up much of anything from the speeches during my graduation. My graduation didn't give me any insight into life after graduation. It didn't give me direction. It didn't give meaning to the end of my academic life. Nothing against any of the speakers. They just didn't move my, either emotionally or intellectually. They didn't plant the seed of bubbling insight. They just spoke. It was when I attended the graduation of my brother from the Ateneo High School that graduation began to truly mean something to me as a springboard for life, as a compass for direction, as a guide and beacon - and not just as the end or the emotional goodbye. Furthermore, the role of my parents and the presence of God became much clearer and much more palpable. And I was moved. This speech was by Gerry Esquivel. Anyone who was Fr. Dacanay's student should know him as he is usually one of the speakers during the Married Couples Seminar. Thanks to Allan for finding me a copy of this speech. I'd been looking since HS grad day.) ( Gerry Esquivel, Graduation Speech, 30 March 2008 ) (ATENISTA AKO! GRADE SCHOOL BATCH 2000, HIGH SCHOOL BATCH 2004, COLLEGE BATCH 2008! Much to be grateful for. Much to look forward to. Much to hold onto in the treasure chest of memory.) Link Battle the Windmill

Gimme a break... [Apr. 12th, 2008|01:00 am] [ Feeling... | annoyed ] [ The music in my mind... | Iron Maiden - Wicker Man ] People like me, we don't need pity nor consolation. We need a break. I think we deserve it. Link Battle the Windmill

Pangarap [Apr. 8th, 2008|11:45 am] [ Feeling... | quixotic ] [ The music in my mind... | Dulaang Sibol ] Naaalala mo pa ba Nang tayo'y musmos pa lang? Mga pangarap na pinag-usapan Pangarap nais makamtan Sasayangin na lang ba? Itatapon na lang ba? Tulad ng wasak na... Pangarap ko nung bata pa ako Makalabas sa hawlang ito Handa na akong sumuko sa lahat Hanggang sa ika'y dumating sa 'king palad Kung ikaw ay may hangarin Ako rin may sariling bituin... Kailangan kong gawin Ang kailangan kong gawin Ako sana'y iyong unawain... Just a thought: Do the dreams we dream when we're children come true? Do we hold onto them even as we grow old? Or do they just become flickering images that our inner children try to grope in the darkness of sleep, within the realm of Dream himself? To many of us, growing old means giving up on those dreams. Dreams of becoming a fireman or policeman, a magician or a ballerina, a cowboy or a knight of the round table - many of us see these a childish, immature dreams compared to becoming CEO of a multi-million-dollar corporation or politician, a call-center agent or entrepreneur, an accountant or HR person. If the dream isn't one that can make oodles of cash in the shortest time possible, if the dream isn't efficient, then it becomes childish. But we forget that these childhood dreams are what form us, what influence our childhood decisions, what pave the way to making us well-developed adults. The heroism and courage of firemen and policemen, the awe for wonder and perseverance for one's craft seen in the magician and ballerina, the romance and idealism held fast by the cowboy and knight - these are values that make better persons of us all, that guide the child into a well-adjusted adulthood. We learn to take risks, work hard, and hope. We learn to dream BIG! We learn to love life. With these dreams, as children, we see life as an opportunity for joy. Forgetting these dreams, we come to see life as an opportunity for gain. Joy and gain are not necessarily the same. Joy, happiness, eudaimonia - isn't that what we're truly after? Further, many regard these beautiful childhood dreams as impossible, as an inefficient use of energy and effort. But the best dreams are the impossible ones, the ones that you give all your effort for even though they never truly come to pass, because even though you never truly achieve them, all your efforts better you as a person. You grow holding fast the values of your childhood dreams and allow them to mold you as a more fully-developed and beautiful person. You grow up knowing that these dreams are the foundations of your desires today. It's not wrong to want to earn oodles of money. It's not wrong to want to become a CEO. But to give up on dreams because of money, to throw away these values because of a desire to be better than everyone else, that's where the wrong is. Worse, we are often told by people who have given up on their dreams and on their values that how stupid and foolish such dreams are. Then, they force us to throw these dreams away. They force us to give up ideals and values for money and power. They try to strip us of our very being. They fail to understand that our dreams should make us who we are. And then, we become trapped by the trappings of monetary gain. Dreams. Childhood dreams. Impossible dreams. To understand them is to find happiness. Hold them to your heart and never let them go. We are only children once. Finding them again once they're lost is close to impossible. But then again, looking is worth it. Link Battle the Windmill

Sad, Quiet Pleasure [Apr. 4th, 2008|05:39 pm] [ Feeling... | down and out ] [ The music in my mind... | silence ] Oh, little prince! Bit by bit I came to understand the secrets of your sad little life... For a long time you had found your only entertainment in the quiet pleasure of looking at the sunset. I learned that new detail on the morning of the fourth day, when you said to me: "I am very fond of sunsets. Come, let us go look at a sunset now." "But we must wait," I said. "Wait? For what?" "For the sunset. We must wait until it is time." At first you seemed to be very much surprised. And then you laughed to yourself. You said to me: "I am always thinking that I am at home!" Just so. Everybody knows that when it is noon in the United States the sun is setting over France. If you could fly to France in one minute, you could go straight into the sunset, right from noon. Unfortunately, France is too far away for that. But on your tiny planet, my little prince, all you need do is move your chair a few steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever you like... "One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!" And a little later you added: "You know--one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..." "Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?" But the little prince made no reply. I wish I were on his planet right now. I'd very much like to watch forty-four sunsets... Link Battle the Windmill

A Deep Longing, A Metaphysical Unease [Apr. 4th, 2008|07:37 am] [ Feeling... | giving up ] [ The music in my mind... | Hugh Grant - Don't Write Me Off ] http://youtube.com/watch?v=2dYc3PblZR8 It's never been easy for me to find the words to go along with the melody But this time there's actually something on my mind So please forgive these few brief awkward lines Since I met you my whole life has changed It's not just my furniture you've rearranged I was living in the past but somehow you've brought me back And I haven't felt like this since before Frankie said "Relax" And Now I know based on my record I might not seem like the safest bet All I'm asking you is don't write me off just yet... For years I've been telling myself the same old story That I'm happy to live off my so-called former glories But you've given me a reason to take another chance Now I need you despite the fact that you've killed all my plants And Now I know I've already blown more chances than anyone should ever get All I'm asking you is don't write me off just yet Don't write me off just yet... Please. ♣ More than four years ago, a friend of mine told me, "Don't worry, Kenny. Great things are in store for you." I don't know if she was sincere or just being nice, but at the time, a bigger part of me believed her. A bigger part of me thought that if I believed enough and worked enough and waited enough and hoped enough, then those "great things" would come. It's four years later and nothing. Sure, there have been some pretty good things. But nothing great. Nothing that would fill my happiness to the brim. Nothing that would make me stop and say, "Give me the kiss of death and I'll gladly kiss back." Nothing. I was just too naive. What was I thinking? Nothing great happens to me. Nothing great has happened in 22 years. What gives me the right to expect anything great to happen? History has shown me that great things only happen to people whom I think don't deserve it. People who don't have to try, who treat the great things they're given like trash, who don't care at all - they get all the best things. Should I learn to be like them? Should I NOT care? Should I NOT count my blessings? Should I NOT even try? Should I stamp out the fires of passion I tried so hard to keep burning and just give in to the cynical world? That'd be pathetic, I agree. I've always frowned upon people who allowed their idealism and passion to die out. I've always hated people who just coasted along, who get things so easy. Call it envy if you will, but I just find them abhorrent. My admiration goes out to those who try, who hope, who yearn, and who find a certain "must-ness" to fulfill their desire - a need beyond a need. *sigh* But where has all that gotten me? Nowhere. What do I do? How should I proceed? I just want to throw my hands up and say, "Non bonum! (I can no longer!)" I'm tired. My countenance is weak. I find myself running on empty. A real metaphysical unease. I know that I can live with the good things. Good things are, well, good. But I have a need beyond need - a desire - for the great. And until that desire is quenched, the metaphysical restlessness will not go away, like the tremors that irritate the stomach when the deepest of hunger sets in. But again, how should I proceed? Link Battle the Windmill

The Little Prince on Graduation Day: Goodbye [Apr. 1st, 2008|07:51 pm] [ Feeling... | indescribable ] [ The music in my mind... | Himig Heswita - Huwag Limutin ] Texts taken from The Little Prince, Chapter 9. It has been four days since graduation. It wasn't as dramatic as I thought it would be. Ma'am Eileen Tupaz put it perfectly, saying, "I doubt if people wobbling around in blue gowns should be very dramatic." Still, I can't help but look back on it, especially when accompanied by Antoine de Saint Exupery and the Little Prince. And only now do I shed a tear for that last day. Only now did it hit me. It wasn't simply due to narrative necessity. It was what the Little Prince, too, experienced. I believe that for his escape he took advantage of the migration of a flock of wild birds. On the morning of his departure he put his planet in perfect order. He carefully cleaned out his active volcanoes. He possessed two active volcanoes; and they were very convenient for heating his breakfast in the morning. He also had one volcano that was extinct. But, as he said, "One never knows!" So he cleaned out the extinct volcano, too. If they are well cleaned out, volcanoes burn slowly and steadily, without any eruptions. Volcanic eruptions are like fires in a chimney. On our earth we are obviously much too small to clean out our volcanoes. That is why they bring no end of trouble upon us. Did we clean out all our volcanoes? Did we take care of all our unfinished business, whether big or small so as to ensure that no eruptions will chase us? All the loose ends that needed to be tied up should have been tied up. Nothing should have been left undone that should have been done. Nothing is worse than regrets. Nothing is more haunting than an imperative that was never met. Nothing is as saddening as imagining what "could have been." Truly, "One never knows." All these "could haves," "should haves," and "would haves" are better off killed by that one little "DID." Graduating was happier for those who DID. They were no longer looking over their shoulder at volcanoes waiting to erupt. They just enjoyed that last day. Everything they had done their whole college lives had prepared for this moment. The little prince also pulled up, with a certain sense of dejection, the last little shoots of the baobabs. He believed that he would never want to return. But on this last morning all these familiar tasks seemed very precious to him. And when he watered the flower for the last time, and prepared to place her under the shelter of her glass globe, he realized that he was very close to tears. Did we cherish those last moments? Did we choose to hang onto even the simplest moments, images forever etching them in our memory, even as they faded away? Final exams, clearance, grad pictures, Blue Roast, and all the little things that littered the way to graduation are all moments that could have been cherished. Even the most mundane of memories, such as getting one's grades, seeing as one will be doing them for the last time, become all the more special. Things that seemed so ordinary before become beautiful. They make the road to the end not only endurable, but enjoyable, too. And turning those moments into memories allowed us to take with us something that could never be taken away. Memories are the treasures that bring joy to the heart whenever it is gazed upon and we can never be robbed of them. In times of extreme sadness, in "dry season," memories of the beauty of yesterday can revitalize the heart and wash away the tears. That's why those last moments, the moments closest to the end, should be cherished and kept. They're the memories that we remember first when we remember the end. "Goodbye," he said to the flower. But she made no answer. "Goodbye," he said again. The flower coughed. But it was not because she had a cold. "I have been silly," she said to him, at last. "I ask your forgiveness. Try to be happy..." He was surprised by this absence of reproaches. He stood there all bewildered, the glass globe held arrested in mid-air. He did not understand this quiet sweetness. "Of course I love you," the flower said to him. "It is my fault that you have not known it all the while. That is of no importance. But you--you have been just as foolish as I. Try to be happy... Let the glass globe be. I don't want it any more." "But the wind--" "My cold is not so bad as all that... The cool night air will do me good. I am a flower." "But the animals--" "Well, I must endure the presence of two or three caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies. It seems that they are very beautiful. And if not the butterflies--and the caterpillars--who will call upon me? You will be far away... As for the large animals--I am not at all afraid of any of them. I have my claws." And, naïvely, she showed her four thorns. Then she added: "Don't linger like this. You have decided to go away. Now go!" For she did not want him to see her crying. She was such a proud flower... And of course, goodbyes. Did we say them? More importantly, did we say them to people that mattered most? Did we say the things we wanted to say? The things we needed to say? The things that just had to be said? "Goodbye," "I'm sorry," "I love you," - did we say them? Were we like the flower, who waited until the very last moment to say all those things and then pushed the Little Prince away because of pride? It's very easy not to say those things. There are just so many things that tell you not to. Fear, the possibility of rejection, disappointment, pride - just so many things. And yet, more than the fear, rejection, and disappointment, regret weighs even more heavily. Not having said what your heart beat every day of college to say is more heartbreaking than rejection, especially when there's a possibility of not ever seeing that someone again. Furthermore, it's very easy to push people away because of pride. Sometimes we feel as though we deserve something from people, as if they owe us something. We wait for them to say "Goodbye" to us, wait for them to look for us, wait for them to remember us. As if we're such a big deal to them. Other times we feel as though we're so much better, as if we don't need to say those things. This prevents us from saying "I'm sorry," or even "I love you," because we feel as though they don't deserve it. As if our words are too important to give to them, our dignity to high for us to go out the greet them. Like the flower, we sometimes push other people away because of pride. And in our pride, we hide our tears, the jewels of proof that say how much that person or those persons mattered. "Pride has built a wall so high that I can't get through," goes the song Still Loving You. And then we surround ourselves with beautiful distractions so that we don't think about the people who mattered. We give ourselves to good jobs, careers, prestigious schools, and honors and tend to forget the people that made the experience worthwhile. We suffer the pain of the caterpillars and indulge in the beauty of the butterflies because the Little Prince of our lives is gone. We try to forget our own Little Princes. I think it's better to be the Little Prince, who, after taking care of our roses for so long, could not reduce to words all those things that must be said. All the important things, all the painful things, all the beautiful things are futilely compressed into a simple, solitary "Goodbye." To these Little Princes, the whole of college was lived with the ones that mattered to them. There would be no regrets. In the moment of parting, there would be a silent understanding that even in "Goodbye" you still care, you still love. The silence that pervades the moment, the silence that sometimes manifests itself in tears leaves us all choked up, is loaded with all the words that even words could not say. And then, you just say nothing. You hug tenderly yet firmly those who matter to you, trying to take with you a part of them, knowing you can't. And yet you grab and grope, still unable to find words. And then you realize that there are none. And then it is truly goodbye. That graduation night, I was both to different people. I was the flower, proud and guarded still, still unable to say what needed to be said, leaving with some regrets. There were apologies I still hadn't made and words of love and care I still hadn't spoken. There are still people I want to say things to. There are still things I want to say. I don't know if I will ever be able to anymore. To these people, I'd like to say, "If I could go again all the way from from the start, I would try to right the things that killed our love." I was also the Little Prince to those who knew that not even goodbye would be the last word. To those people, "Goodbye" is just another word that could never compare to the millions of words said between us already. Philosophy calls this the cataphatic breakdown and apophasis. Language itself breaks down because of the immensity of the feelings, the enormity of the sentiment, and there is only silence - a pregnant, loaded silence. To these people, I'd like to say nothing more. In both instances were equally bittersweet. It's easy to say "Do not cry because it's finished, be happy for it happened." And happiness is there. But because it is finished, one cannot help but be sad. -sigh- I can't believe it's really over, I've really graduated. It's hard to accept that this may be a last "Goodbye" to many people. All the same, I can't do anything about it anymore. I can only remember and cherish all those things - the good and bad - that I went through with them. And tomorrow, those memories will not only warm my heart, they will be my heart To all of you to whom "Goodbye" is meant, I love you all and I'm gonna miss you. You are a part of who I am now. Huwag limutin nakaraang araw Sariwain kahit balik-tanaw Takip-silim 'di man mapigilan Sandali lang ang dilim Aninagin ang bawat sandaling Kagalaka'y wari walang patid Magkasama tayo sa pag-awit Ng 'sang Langit sa Daigdig Minamahal kitang tunay Ang tinig ko sa yo'y bubuhay Sambitin mo ang aking himig At ako sa iyo'y aawit... Alaala ng pagkakaibigan Sa puso itago't ingatan Sa pagsilay ng bukas tignan Alaala't puso'y iisa! Minamahal kitang tunay Ang tinig ko sa yo'y bubuhay Sambitin mo ang aking himig At ako sa iyo'y aawit At ako sa iyo'y aawit... Link Fallen Warriors|Battle the Windmill

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