Ako ay may lobo

Ang lobong de-patpat, ligtas nga, ligtas, pero di lumilipad

-Mr. Ron Capinding, ISEW for New Faculty 2010

Writing on clay

I have almost forgotten how to write. As I typed out those words, I was thinking if I it was more apt to write that I have actually forgotten how to. But as is needed for survival, I embraced the assumption that I have not absolutely deleted my capacity to write but that I have only almost forgotten. I have been on the brink of almost spilling all my writing memories. The adverb "almost" exudes a glint of hope, a tiny glint of tiny hope.

From this tiny glint of tiny hope I move on desiring that in my struggle to recover I'd eventually find my way back to writing.

This struggle simultaneously takes place with my struggle with life in general. Lately, I feel like a clay pot in the making process. My now is like the feeling of a handful of clay, undefined. The potter knows what I am going to be. The clay doesn't. The clay wants to know but she can only feel her way through as she let the potter mold her, sometimes needing great amount of heat to achieve his goal. The clay is afraid she won't be useful. She is afraid that her now is not useful. She is afraid the potter might just throw her away. She is in a struggle within herself. Yet she has to believe that she is "almost" there.

Yesterday, when I was young

This song was the soundtrack of the movie which just made me cry liters of tears-- Once in a Summer. I'll write more about the film after the pain subsides.

Yesterday, when I was young,
The taste of life was sweet, as rain upon my tongue,
I teased at life, as if it were a foolish game,
The way the evening breeze may tease a candle flame

The thousand dreams I dreamed, the splendid things I planned,
I always built, alas, on weak and shifting sand,
I lived by night, and shunned the naked light of day,
And only now, I see, how the years ran away

Yesterday, when I was young,
So many happy songs were waiting to be sung,
So many wild pleasures lay in store for me,
And so much pain, my dazzled eyes refused to see

I ran so fast that time, and youth at last ran out,
I never stopped to think, what life, was all about,
And every conversation, I can now recall,
Concerned itself with me, and nothing else at all

Yesterday, the moon was blue,
And every crazy day, brought something new to do,
I used my magic age, as if it were a wand,
And never saw the worst, and the emptiness beyond

The game of love I played, with arrogance and pride,
And every flame I lit, too quickly, quickly died,
The friends I made, all seemed somehow to drift away,
And only I am left, on stage to end the play

There are so many songs in me, that won't be sung,
I feel the bitter taste, of tears upon my tongue,
The time has come for me to pay,
For yesterday, when I was young

Beautiful letters

When I come across
beautiful letters
strung together,
a phrase,
a poem,
a story,
my heart stops.


-h

Hild

Oh, when I flung my heart away,
The year was at its fall.
I saw my dear, the other day,
Beside a flowering wall;
And this was all I had to say:
"I thought that he was tall!"

Healed by Dorothy Parker

My name shortened, "Hild", in a way that would enrage my speech communication professor, sounds like "Healed". In the same way does the above poem written by my new-found friend, seems to reflect my current predisposition relating to how I saw certain people in my past. Always, nature has its way of claiming that sometimes love can be blinding. Perhaps, perhaps, only true love can unveil a blinded pair of sights.

While awaiting the truth behind that assumption, I'll drink all the coffee I could leisurely gulp. :)

Ipinakikilala, ang bago kong kaibigan

Kakakilala ko lang kay Dorothy Parker. Nang mabasa ko ang ilan sa mga tula niya, naalala ko ang sinabi ni San Agustin: "Too late have I known thee."

Charles Dickens

Who call him spurious and shoddy
Shall do it o'er my lifeless body.
I heartily invite such birds
To come outside and say those words!

Dorothy Parker


Sa tingin ko, magkakasundo kami ni Dorothy.

In the End

When words of stones were thrown upon me, perpetrators heard not a single word from my mouth. Friends began to be divided into the real and the unreal. One thing that painful experience taught me was to be ever thankful and faithful to the real ones. Because as Martin Luther King, Jr. put it, "In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."