Beyond Perception

To everyone who's currently hanging on complicated, seemingly hopeless and one-sided love affairs

iwritesoberthoughts — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 21:07:27 +0800

Some people choose to be the second option not because they don’t know what they deserve, but because that’s what they want. Some people don’t need to be someone’s The One—just being someone in someone else’s life is more than enough. Many may disapprove and mock this line of thinking, but those who truly loved anybody other than themselves would know how to find hapiness just by looking and feeling simply amazed at the existence of a person in the same world as them. Many would call it stupid, but who set up the rules anyway? Who says that the only love worth pursuing is that which is recognized and reciprocated?

If a person insists to be in a one-sided kind of love, let them be. Life will find one way or another to make them realize what they really want for themselves, all in due time. Unrequited love only becomes painful when one yearns for anything more than that. Some people can have hearts so big that they don’t have to feel that they are loved back to see the beauty in loving. It’s all a matter of perspective and taste: some want their coffee sweet, some want it fancy and decaffeinated, some want theirs black and bitter.

Moving on isn’t the imperitive, it is, like everything else, a path waiting to be chosen. Everyone is so afraid not to be loved back, but those who choose just to love, they are the bravest and strongest people you will ever meet. It’s true when they say that there’s a very thin line between stupidity and bravery, but what sets them apart is knowing what you want.

If you have what you want in mind, you, the one waiting in vain, the risker, the hopeless romantic, are not stupid. You simply made your own path to your own definition of happiness.

Someone find me

iwritesoberthoughts — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 00:08:00 +0800

Because I’m lost

Because my eyes are blind

Because my lips are mute

Because my feet don’t move

Because my hands can’t hold on

Someone, please find me

The ground beneath me quakes

The wind roars angrily

The sea crashes violently

I am weak and dying

Wrapped in my own misery

Someone, reach a hand

Take me away from this nightmare

Make me live in the light of promises

Let me hope

Let me dream

Let me know you are there

Someone, please remember

The peace and silence

The landscape we painted together

The beacon of our dreams

The depth we see

In each other’s eyes

Someone, wait and wait longer

The rest is not history

As it has yet to unfold

I am not giving up

So neither should you

I am but a stray soul

In dire need of you

Morning mourning

iwritesoberthoughts — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 07:27:00 +0800

I wake up and the first thing I register is the warmth of your breath against my neck. My eyelids refuse to open, as if afraid to chase away the last embers of a wonderful, wonderful dream. Besides, who knows, I might still be right in the middle of it, where the best part should be.

Indeed, the best part, I think, marveling at the feel of your strong, lean arm wrapped around my torso. There is also the distinct smell of your skin; for some reason, you always smell like sandalwood, even if you say that you are not a fan of and never wore perfume beyond special occasions. I once had to check the validity of your claim, as no one could possibly smell that good naturally. Perhaps it’s your shampoo? Deodorant? No, I decide. My senses tell me that your distinct smell is not induced by any man-made chemicals. If Armani, Ralph Lauren or all those fancy perfume brands had managed to develop a perfume as good as this, it would be a topic worth reading all over the Internet. In national and local papers, even. This might just be the closest perfumers could ever get to perfection. Or it can be that I am romanticizing you too much.

“You’re smiling,” you mumble to my collarbone, in your bedroom voice that never fails to elicit some weird feelings in the pit of my stomach every morning. Sometimes I think my attraction towards the smallest things about you — such as your warmth, scent or your husky baritone — is bordering unhealthy.

I still don’t open my eyes, but the smile I wasn’t aware of pulling widened even more.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

“The best perfume in the world,” I say.

“I really don’t like perfume.”

“I know.”

The mattress beneath us sink a little as you adjust your position, giving me wider access to the warm spot created by your body heat. Mhmmm. I can stay like this forever, I think. But I don’t say it out loud.

Even with my eyes shut, I can tell that the sun has already risen, judging by the red pressing against my closed lids. I usually get up before dawn, but I always reserve my Saturday mornings sleeping in late, just so I can wake up to your scent, hear your voice and strike amusing half-awake conversations. Like now.

“Has anyone ever told you that your body is so warm?” you ask after a long, comfortable silence that almost lulled me back to sleep.

I think of the honest answer. “No. I don’t usually cuddle with people, you know.”

“And yet we are cuddling.”

“Indeed.”

“What should I think, then?”

I want to open my eyes and drink in your face, with your messy hair, angular jaw, telltale signs of growing stubble and lips that are, more often than not, fixed in a lopsided smirk. I resist the urge and lie on my side, so that I am facing you. Your breath tickles my cheek.

“Your mind is your property. You can think whatever you want,” I whisper. “What are you thinking?”

“Kissing you.”

“Go ahead.”

But the kiss does not come. Not that I expect it to.

I finally open my eyes, and the harsh rays of morning sunlight greets me and almost renders me blind. Along the temporary loss of sight, I feel it all crashing: the absence of your scent, the hollowness in the pit of my stomach and the painful longing for warmth. I stare ahead once my vision clears and take in the pitiful state that my room is currently in. My bag and clothes carelessly thrown on the carpeted floor like dead snake skin, empty cartons from last night’s Chinese takeout at the table by the kitchenette, crumpled up candy wrappers everywhere and a long-necked bottle of exquisite white wine at the bedside table. But what I only see is the empty space on the bed beside me, where you should be lying, smiling at me like I am the best thing you have ever had.

Was I the best thing you have ever had?

I have no way of knowing anymore, of course.

Like all good dreams, this one doesn’t give me the benefit of seeing it through the end. A vile feeling rises up in my gut, and a sharp jolt of pain in my head shortly follows. I slowly sit up and almost immediately, my stomach churns and the next thing I know I am throwing up in the kitchenette sink. All the while salty tears are running down my face.

I run the tap water and wash the remnants of my sleep and vomit away. I briefly wish that forgetting can also be done with similar ease. I close the faucet and fall back on the rickety dining chair, silently sobbing.

It’s eight o’clock in the morning.

And you're wondering where it all went wrong.

iwritesoberthoughts — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 12:19:23 +0800

I’ve been an audience to some of the most groundbreaking breakups one could ever imagine. With my own eyes and ears, I have witnessed seven- to ten-year steady relationships crumble into a million tiny pieces, leaving devastated victims, bitter feelings and a huge load of drama behind. People who have been practically glued hip-to-hip since time immemorial were suddenly strangers to each other, appearing only half-alive, as if stripped off a huge chunk of their identity and purpose for living. Just when your faith in fairytales has been restored, a huge tidal wave of ugly truths would wash away years of investment on good romance and companionship, extinguishing hope and positivism more than any physical illness could.

Seeing all this from an outsider’s point of view, it can sometimes get surreal—much like watching a sad movie or horrible news on TV, where you didn’t actually think it could happen to you or to people you personally know. To someone like me who haven’t been in a long-term relationship (much less a short one), the whirlwind of feelings following a breakup seemed unfathomable. The famous catchphrase, “You don’t understand what I’m going through right now” couldn’t be any truer, and for that reason I always let people whine, bawl and curse to their hearts’ content to me whenever they were challenged by this turning point in their lives. Regardless of my romantic experiences (or lack thereof), I could most certainly relate to that desperate need to have someone—anyone, actually—to stop from going on with their own life and take a moment to feel sorry for me, even put in their two cents on the shithole I’ve put myself into.

The surprising thing of assuming my post as an observer, however, was that I could see the bigger picture better than the actors in the stage could. Unlike them who are clouded by their intense emotions and personal biases, I could look at the matter objectively and easily spot the proverbial places that “went wrong,” which the myopic position of the victims would not be able to see, not in their current situation, at least. And after several cases of unexplained breakups of Couple of the Century nominees, I believe I am starting to see a common denominator.

You know where the seemingly perfect equation went wrong?

No? My answer is too simple.

It is too long.

I am expecting surprised reactions, even violent ones, but it is something I have deducted after a long time of contemplating on the nature of long-term relationships. Being together for a long, long time, although a sure sign of a stable relationship, also has a drawback that can only be felt in the long run. Romantic relationships are not governed by fixed rules, and true enough, cannot be secured by merely being “steady.” Romantic love is volatile, unpredictable and fragile. Neglect it, and either it will easily break or be stolen away from you; keep it in a safe box and store it somewhere unreachable by avoidable disasters, and it will rust, be covered in dust, piled on by other things and, eventually, forgotten. The latter happens in many long-term relationships, or the ones I have witnessed fail, at the very least.

To make matters easier to understand, let us compare relationships to fermenting milk. Unlike wine or kim chi, which are reported to taste better when stored for longer periods, yogurt undergoes a more complex process that requires just the right period of fermentation. What’s more, it also easily spoils, so one must consume it immediately upon purchase. Being in a relationship is not too different. Nurturing love too much makes it an overgrown baby: spoiled, dependent and unproductive. Where it was supposed to grow and bloom, it becomes stunted, stagnant and rigid. Maintaining it becomes harder (and, at some point, useless), and throwing or selling it away may seem the better choice.

It would all seem so perfect from the first few months and years. However, much like the critical stages of child development, where an infant is expected to be able to walk, talk and move at a certain age, it becomes a point of concern when a relationship doesn’t develop past its critical stages. Like what I had claimed earlier, there are no fixed rules, so each relationship has its own set of critical stages. Though no matter what these stages are, they all go by the same principle: if there is no development, it is doomed not to work. The problem with very long relationships is that we have the tendency to outgrow them, like our clothes and shoes and toys from childhood. Or it becomes so overused, that we eventually wear it out beyond repair. We exhaust every little thing it can offer us, leaving us nothing left to explore in the end. The prospect of marriage becomes blander than it originally was. What was there left to be seen after that? Have kids? Raise them and send them off to college? Yes, but what is left for us, just the two of us?

I believe that people change, yes, but to someone you have been together with for a decade—outside of marriage—everything about the two of you can become a predictable and mindless routine. Contrary to popular belief, there is a fine line between romantic relationships and friendship. While friendship can withstand monotony, romantic relationships—a phenomenon largely induced by hormones—cannot. Long-lasting and happy marriages maintain the element of spark and surprise between the two parties over the years. What do you think is the reason behind that?

My father had once shared me this: “The thing about your mother and I is that there are many things about us that the other did not know until after marriage. Because of my job, we have always been apart from the time we became a couple up until the first, critical years of our lives as husband and wife. Now that we are living under the same roof for an infinite time, everyday seems like another chance to get to know her better.” And, fortunately, they are now on their 22nd year of being a married couple, still happily in love with each other, despite all odds.

You may make the relationship last for as long as you want, but you can only find so much in it before having to move on to the next stage. Staying in a certain stage for too long may stunt whatever there is that is yet to develop between the two of you.

Let your relationship as two people grow along with yourself as an individual. Leave either of the two behind, and you can’t expect to have both in the end.

Replayed Conversations

iwritesoberthoughts — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 20:13:33 +0800

Him: What do you want?
Her: Something.
Him: What something?
Her: Something...anything but nothing.

hergrowthspurt: ‘Cause I see sparks fly whenever...

iwritesoberthoughts — Sun, 18 Mar 2012 18:01:11 +0800

hergrowthspurt:

‘Cause I see sparks fly whenever you…:)))))

Sparks Fly - Taylor Swift (Cover)

Happy birthday, Babe! <3

I hope I didn’t ruin the song too much. :3

With love, all the way from Pangasinan. :)

Thank you, Babe. <3 Absolutely one of my feel-good songs. Never fails to give me the kilig vibes. :”>

In a battle of wills between the mind and the heart

iwritesoberthoughts — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 23:00:00 +0800

…the mind never truly won.

A glob of shitty hopeless romanticism

iwritesoberthoughts — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 11:13:00 +0800

Dear __________,

Wow. Who would have thought that you had it in you? I take my eyes off of you for a minute, and next thing I know, people are worshiping the ground you stepped on. You’re now the talk of the town. Suddenly, I hear your name everywhere, either spoken in whispers or screamed for everyone to hear. I even came to know that you’ve gained yourself some devoted followers who would go as far as establish a fan club for you. Seriously?

What in the world just happened?

Of course, I wouldn’t even dare assume that I actually have any right to say this, but they don’t know you. I mean, it’s not like I know you any better, but still. I doubt that they thought of you the same way I did. Yes, you’re all good looks and brains, but that’s not everything about you. Sure, they could speculate all they want, try to discover the mystery behind your enigmatic character, but what they’d see there within you, I’m not sure that they’d expect it the way I did.

I never expected anything from you. In fact, all I saw ahead of me was misery and disaster at the times I tried to envision myself giving in to my attraction towards you. I didn’t admire you like a fan. I admired you like a real person, your ugly side included. From the short time that I got to know you, I believe I’d witnessed sides of you that you wouldn’t be very keen to show others. But then again, I myself wasn’t sure if it was the real you; for all I know, you could be a phony, and everything you’ve told me was bullshit. Who am I to you anyway? From your perspective, I could be just any other girl trying (hard) to get your attention.

Yes, now that I think about it, I certainly did look like the part.

Now that you’ve acquired an instant celebrity status, my chances of talking to you once more became all the slimmer, and I’m torn between utmost relief and utter disappointment. Relief, because it would save myself from falling any deeper for you. Disappointment, because well, in the deep recesses of my heart, I hoped you’d give me a good enough reason not to give up on you. I didn’t want you to become another lost cause. I wanted you to become someone who could restore my faith in the likes of you…

…or rather, in the likes of me.

In spite of all odds, I had chosen to believe in you, and to be perfectly honest, right now, I am seriously doubting if I made the right choice. What I really wanted to ask was if there was something wrong with me. I’ve always believed in the innate goodness of every person, no matter how bad they have been and can be. You’re one of these people I know that can be a total douchebag if they wanted to, but I know, I just do, that somewhere in you, there must be something good. What a load of bull, my mind would tell me, but my heart didn’t believe so. From the very first time I’ve set eyes on you two-and-some-odd years ago, I knew, I just did, that you were…something else.

This is exactly why I think there’s something wrong with me. When it comes to you, I become a glob of shitty hopeless romanticism. I like to think of myself as a very rational person with a good head on her shoulders, so why should I let you do this to me? It’s not really your fault, though. There’s no one to blame but me. That’s the saddest part about all of this drama. It’s all inside my head.

Sometimes—okay, oftentimes, I’d stare at you and just wonder what’s running inside that pretty head of yours. Are you happy? Do you like dogs? Have you seen my favorite movie? What do you think about it? Would you like it if I hugged you? More specifically, I’d wonder if, by some fat chance, you even thought of me. What do you think of me? Did I touch your life the same way you did mine? I certainly don’t want to find the answers. I am almost sure that I won’t be happy with what I’d hear.

Most letters like this would end up with a resolution to let all of this go and move on towards a new beginning, but I don’t think it would be the same with this one. I could tell myself that I don’t need you and you’re a piece of shit, but I know it will all be a different story once I meet those eyes again. Just thinking of the way you’d look at me already sends shivers down my spine. I’m not so sure if I can stop my hands from being clammy at the mere sight of your tall figure from the other end of the hallway, nor am I confident that I can effectively put up an impassive front if by some miracle you decide to strike up a conversation with me.

That is, if you’d even do so much as notice me, an insignificant speck in your universe, watching you from afar.

Sincerely,

Joanna

Mamu! I love that post ;-; All my creys

Mon, 05 Mar 2012 01:35:28 +0800

Hihihi, thank you, love! :*

And the games you'd play, you would always win

iwritesoberthoughts — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 00:10:00 +0800

As a kid, I was never a big fan of games.

I didn’t like moving around so much, and I didn’t like dealing with the over-competitive kids. Children at play were fun and interesting to watch, but I always thought that getting all sweaty and dirty myself wasn’t worth it. I had been the little girl watching from the sidelines, occasionally jeering and egging on people in action, but not actually getting directly involved with the game.

I was just a watcher. The audience. The person standing in the background.

Nevertheless, my “playmates” (I’m not sure if that’s the appropriate term, as I never really played with them) still tagged me along wherever they went, although I had the suspicion that they did so only because I oftentimes bought them sweets and ice candy before going home. My cunning little self had found out that the most effective way for them to stop teasing and forcing me to join them was to buy them food. Once presented with a bag full of Chocnut, Bazooka, Yakee and White Rabbit, they’d shut up and leave me to my own devices, all the while maintaining our good friendship status. As long as they got something good out of me, I’d always be welcome to the group.

I guess that’s why several years later, as I type this blog entry, I am to treat a child’s game as if it is something I have never encountered or found myself in before. I wouldn’t exactly know what “Time first,” “Save,” “Viva” and “Saling ketket” might mean, much less the standard and informal rules that apply in using those terms. I am a complete novice, an ignorant person to the art of playing games. I would be so gullible and clueless, people could be cheating right in front of my face and I wouldn’t even get it.

I have discovered not too long ago, however, that there was a game that I had a natural flair at. I didn’t even realize that it was, in itself, a form of a game, as I had always associated games with children. No, I discovered that games weren’t only played by children. Rather, children were not the only ones who could and would want to play games.

Grownups play too. A more intense game that could potentially change you forever.

More often than not, these grownups don’t even realize that they’re part of this big game. It is a game so complex that it involves the usage of all physical, mental and emotional faculties. What makes it so different from child’s play is that you only have one chance: a make-or-break situation. There is no “Time first.” One can’t simply quit the game whenever they want to, and one can’t easily bend the rules to their liking.

And the most important thing to note is that you cannot just stand in the sidelines, for everyone is part of it. Once you realize its existence, there is no turning back.

I would like to call this game “Life.”

Being alive does not simply mean being aware of your existence. When you realize that you are alive, your instincts start preserving it. Living suddenly becomes a chore, a duty, a motivation for action. Once you realize you are alive, you would like to survive. That’s how it all becomes a game. It becomes a game of staying alive.

I became an official player of “Life” when I first felt pain. I didn’t like being hurt. I was threatened by the sensation that pain inflicted on me. Because of my fear of being hurt, I started to do things that will ensure my security. I looked for friends, I did well in school, I asserted myself to other people. At first, I didn’t even realize that I did these things in order to live. They were purely instinct. I thought of them as human nature, that everyone was bound to behave in such ways.

And then I discovered that I was not just a person being governed by some universal force. I realized this when I was in fifth grade, what I consider as the toughest time of my early childhood. It was the first time in my life that I actually gained myself some serious enemies. If I were to follow my principles on avoiding pain, I would have just apologized right away to forestall any conflict. I had very much surprised myself, though, when I had chosen to stand up against these people and endure the hurt of being an outcast, instead of just passively reacting to the situation. I had wondered why I did that, but couldn’t come up with any good reason.

At age 13, I was yet again antagonized by the majority because I didn’t conform to what was expected of me. Yet again, to my surprise, I had opted to stand my ground rather than give myself in, as what was to be assumed with my “I don’t want to get hurt” philosophy. It was then, when I was put in a situation where I was given the chance to choose between peace and war, that I realized that it was no longer a question of getting hurt. Pain wasn’t the issue here.

I did not live to avoid pain. It wasn’t the crux of the game. The rule was not “Don’t get hurt.” I also did not live to just stand by and accept things the way they are.

The game is all about making something out of my existence. And that it isn’t founded on some other person’s rules. The game “Life” is my game, and the rules are according to how I want my life to turn out. Injuries are inevitable in playing games, it dawned on me, and the challenge is to overcome them. These people who I thought are bound to hurt me; they’re not doing it for the sake of hurting me. They’re doing it because they’re trying to win in their own self-constructed games. If hurting others is what it would take to be closer to what they think is the goal, then it shall be done.

This only means that I, too, would hurt others, whether intentionally or not, because like them, I want to win my game. This is why we are taught to forgive and accept: the price of being alive is to be susceptible to fear, pain and death. If I had succumbed to every pain that had been inflicted on me, I would have long lost my life’s cause. The true victor of the game is one who is able to see through all the complexities and put meaning to their actions. The challenge is not to lose that meaning.

All along, I thought I didn’t know how to play games. It took me a while to finally see that I have been playing one since I learned to actually think. It is a game of knowing which place to go. And, like any other game, you gain a prize for every achievement. You gain acknowledgement, real friends, love, happiness, wisdom. No matter how hard it gets, when you have these prizes, you know you’re winning life.

No one begins as a fan of The Big Game. There are even many who had given up. But when I look at the prizes I have achieved from years of playing it, I know that it is worth it, and that something is still in store for me. All I need is just a little more push, a little more determination.

Because one thing that I have learned from “Life” is that you know you are successful when you are able to touch another person’s life and make it better. And because of that, it becomes more than just a game. It becomes your passion.

Suddenly, you no longer play the game to live.

You live to play the game.