Hanggang dun na lang ba tayo?

Poor Lea. Dinale ng kababawan ng madla. A lot of the reasons why a lot of folks don’t like watching ‘our own’ is because of the shallowness and kababawan of the themes. OPM is dying because producers are only supporting ‘re-makes’ of popular actors/actresses. Almost everything original is dying. Even Gary V’s kid pointed it out. Cynthia Alexander left the country because of lack of support.

And anything seemingly original they make gets drawn out to epic lengths to the point that it loses it’s original vale. (mano po series, enteng series, panday series, that series with jody and the chief). It would’ve been nice if they stuck to their original intended lengths, really. They are using themes too that easily suck the people in with their teeny-boppish, kilig and sexy scenes just for ratings. (ironically, from the bigger “family”-oriented networks)

Kung sabagay, the (mindless) young teens segment is the most profitable age segment in the marketing charts.

Wala nang kalidad halos talaga kahit saan ka tumingin (at least sa entertainment media). Parang kamada na nga actually eh. They are recycling whatever it is they earn to support what they have to make it look like their sales are high. And they even have really intelligent people behind all these with their higher ups asking them to dumb-down really beautiful plot lines just so that the ‘masses’ can understand.

I blame the current education system. It is too long and drawn-out.  (kindergarten, prep 1, prep 2, additional year in high school) arrrgggh.

Innovative books with powerful themes that are written by local authors are ignored over books written by MS3 that primarily deal with relationships, break-ups and unrequited love. I shake my head at the thought that these masterpieces gather dust while that other book became a best-seller.

Oh well. I’d pick Leah and Cynthia and Joey Ayala and all my favorite OPM bands that write their own music any day.  I hope General Luna survives this, too. I’m trying to remember one of his related quotes but I’ll just add that later. I’d probably get shot for this. Haha.

In her now immortal words:
“Okay lang sa akin ang kababawan, pero hanggang doon na lamang ba tayo?”

She wasn’t referring to just one thing. It was for EVERYTHING.

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Hope

Gold wove into finest thread,
falls like summer evening’s kiss.
Framing painter’s careful work;
soft landscape such as this.
Intense and burning blue above
works down on all below
petals, softest pink, of rose
a pale enticing glow
hopes are destined long to live
before they’re let to fly
not easy to be put at rest
harder still to let them die.

From Neil Gaiman’s The Kindly Ones

Oh, this is why I don’t like reading. You see something relevant and it effs you up for the rest of the day. I love good old Neil Gaiman anyways.

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They don’t ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like ‘Maybe we should just be friends’ or ‘How very perceptive’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love.”

~ Rose Walker (“The Kindly Ones”)

Again, I don’t have the words.

 

Again, I don’t have the words.

How would one verbalize the rawness of emotion? In it’s simplest form: one or two words do it no justice… and no length can properly convey the meaning.  As much as one my try to imbibe in colorful words that prattle on and on, one can really only make sense of things as it throbs in your head. In your heart. Your very soul shudders at the thought.

I don’t seem to have the right words to describe this.

You came very randomly.  Amidst a see of people and faces. Smack in the middle of the loneliest website known to man: Facebook. I was working then. I sent a few messages and you replied a few times and that was it.

Our exchanges were succinct and unassuming.  There was no way we could’ve predicted how much has changed now.

We connected somehow after exchanging text messages. Thousands of them later, you had become important enough to make an impact in my life. Your words were like food and sustenance. It was keeping me going through the madness of my lifestyle. The double jobs. The stress at home. It provided that additional smile and stride of my days.

Truth be told, I still read through our old messages trying to figure out what happened. How I fell in love with you. I can’t really pinpoint the exact string of messages nor the time and date that it did. I remember walking through Baguio with you in my head. I tried to shake it off by going through familiar places. Baguio was no longer a sad place for me. I tried imagining the places you might’ve haunted. I wanted to more about you.

I remember being horribly annoyed you couldn’t come to see me, and the silence treatment I was getting. I hated the feeling. That silence. I couldn’t understand why you meant something to me. I was slowly getting attached.

When we started talking again, I found myself seeing in to the future with you. The more I got to know you, the more I wanted to be with you. I wanted you. I wanted to spend the rest of my days with you. This is someone I’d like to be with. This is someone I am starting to love with all my heart.

I’m being redundant. I still find it hard to verbalize these emotions into something more eloquent. I am hoping I could come up with something better to give justice to what I am feeling right now.

One day, when I hold you in my arms, I will tell you that it wasn’t loneliness that brought us to each other. It is something else… and that something else will keep us together.

I choose you. I will keep on choosing you. I may be quiet at times, but I’ll be by your side.

I won’t have the words, but I’ll be here. I choose you.

Why do we write?

 

It’s a weird thing, really. This need to write. Where there is no other orifice or outlet that can ever be the container for the things that just want to… to explode. to ooze. to drip. (out)  The need to write. The urge. When having two jobs that both require you to write on a daily basis, 18 hours a day. Even when the thought of writing another word makes one sick.  Your fingers even dread the thought of having to type on another key on the keyboard…

But I write anyway. Something about writing for myself calms me down. The thought that you aren’t hindered or restricted to certain guidelines of forms. The only structure you need to be wary of is the structure of your thoughts. The message you want to deliver.

Lately, I have been getting strict with myself. There are times when I scratch a draft out just because it doesn’t really make sense or it doesn’t really answer the questions my mentors told me to ask my piece.

“Why did you write this piece?”

“What is your message?”

“Is your message clear?”

Then again, I keep forgetting the smiles they make when they finally say:

“Why do you write?”

“For whom do you write?”

The last two questions have enough power to cancel the first three guidelines in writing a beautiful piece. Someone important to me reminded me to just post what you feel like writing, really. “Because, you can.”

I realized this over a sandwich and coffee while I lazily read through my drafts. I can always edit them later on, right? There are times when I want to take writing seriously. Though I won’t really make money off this blog… I remembered why I put this up in the first place.  It is my blog.  It’s for me to write in.  Who cares if anyone reads this?  Sure, readers would be nice. Likes and comments are always welcome but… at the end of the day, it is the personal satisfaction one gets after writing something regardless if it means anything or not.

What matters most is that it is out there.  You pressed the publish button.