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In Vain..

The month of May has just started and we were anticipating more of the sun’s fury, as likewise informed by our ever reliable PAGASA (?). Come May 1, a local holiday here in the Philippines, it was announced that we were to experience the hottest temperature to date, since January. And it was absolutely parching when me and my friends went outside to buy a can of Coke. We ran, no, we dashed to get to the nearest drugstore as we were literally roasting the minute we stepped out of the building. The can of coke was icy cold, and it was a a huge relief. I rolled the can over my head, my cheeks and my neck, feeling its coolness drench my sweat glands for a second. And then we dashed back in to the office, like we were running for our lives. Then the next thing we knew, the sun was no longer there and fell humongous droplets of rain from the then-black grey sky. It seemed angry, and it gave us a terrible downpour. Everything was blacker than anything else since then…

My boyfriend has not texted nor called me since last night. I’ve tried calling him probably thirty times in a row but his line was out of coverage. I was already anxious ‘coz he wasn’t also online. I thought he might have been charging his phone. It was raining really hard and lightnings were visible through my curtained windows. Power outage was also an option so I tried to calm down. I knew he was just at home and there was nothing to be worried about. I gushed myself for a bit on my favorite tv drama, let half an hour pass. I reached again for my phone and dialed, praying while waiting on the other line to just let it ring, just one ring and I could breathe. It rang, one, twice, thrice, and he cut it. That’s the usual move. He would cut my calls and call me back. However, he didnt. So I dialed again, another ring was heard and was cut again. Still, no return calls. I thought he might be having a hard time connecting, like before. Especially with the bad weather. I waited, yet again and  there was none. Just me, staring at my phone, waiting for a message that could have said “I couldn’t reach you”. That would have been better, at least. But there was nothing. I sent four or five messages, I said I miss him. We were supposed to go out today, but because of the awful weather, I wasn’t permitted to go. There was also flood on the streets already. It hurt me that I wouldn’t be seeing him for another week. And now this. The only communication we have when we’re not together, and it’s giving me a headache. He knew how I feel when I get worried. I cry, I cry really hard and bad thoughts creep up into my head. And then I’d cry harder, and he’s still not texting me. I haven’t even slept right the whole night due to power failure and I was thinking what was happening to him. I have no idea what was and is going on. And I am still waiting. I’ll probably be waiting all day..

 

John and Anne ~

My boyfriend said he was reading my blog, this blog, last night and for the Nth time, told me he loved reading my posts, like he was being taken back in time. When our love story was young and sweet :p

Thinking back, I couldn’t imagine that in the next 5 months, we would already be celebrating our 2nd year anniversary. It never felt nor it occurred to me, that we have been together for a while now. Because everytime I see him, my heart flutters in a childish, frenzy beat that I have felt during our first few dates. The funny, goosebumpy thrills never ceased. The streaming of joyful tears will run about endlessly, at the mere thought of his face, his warm embraces and gentle kisses that I could almost feel, everyday, every night. And I am certain that it is here to stay.

pedring

3 weeks ago, super typhoon pedring washed off our house. my home of nearly 25 years is now in ruins and still underneath about a foot-thick mud. our roof was a shredded piece of wood and steel on the floor, where our cream-colored vynil used to be. the 2 tv sets lay submerged on our ocean-house floor. on top of the tv sets sat our fridge. surrounded by broken glasses and twisted metals. our steel-screen door was nowhere. it must have been torn off the hedge, washed away by the tides and into the sea. it could have been found somewhere by the junkyard. clothes and shoes were all afloat. shoes can no longer be called a pair.
power’s off for almost month now. fusebox still dripping. there’s only still blackness against a now-sunny morning. our once home is no longer inhabitable. i hoped to have salvaged even my book collection. but there was nothing left except 4 walls..

what the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve for

Blue Eyes

I have always wondered how I would look like If I had blue eyes

I thought there would be strange feelings while wearing those stranger’s eyes on mine. I wondered how it would feel If I cried with those eyes..would I feel like an ultimately different person? Would I look like a doll just as other girls would have when they wear blue contacts? Would it do any better for my cosplays? I have no idea..

Dear Diary…Chopsuey I

I am quite happy that he’s better now, and will be back home today. I can’t wait to go out with him again, to his gigs, to my cosplay events..and afterwards..to our own events. PH!!!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I couldn’t discern the massive pulsing excitement of seeing him and having to kiss him again yesterday. It seemed so long. I loved the way I moistened his chapped lips. The way he pulled my body too tight against his own like he was trying to fill out all the barren spaces in between us. I love him very very much.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Everytime I think about his face, my heart wants to blast out of my chest. I couldn’t seem to wipe a silly grin away from my face. It feels so young and cheezy and I’m loving it.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

One friend asked me, “Is he the one?” which left me blank. She asked me again and I just shrugged.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped. “I do love him. But are present emotions sufficient parameters to reach a hasty generalization that HE IS THE ONE? frankly speaking, I am clueless.”

She stared at me with a void face.

“But I do hope he’s the one” I whispered, and felt a little smile on my pursed lips.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Going Back to Grey

He came here ahead of me. It wasn’t him then, it was a girl: a girl so pretty and prim. For a week she didn’t last. Her blamelessness was lost. In her place came a man. Silent. Reserved. Suave. I took no notice since I was very much preoccupied by some other, whom I thought was far better. Indeed, I thought. How thoughts could go wrong! They were never certain anyway.

He was doing errands for everybody, slaving for them but me. He was aloof, or so I assumed. It took one little moment for me to need his presence. It didn’t hurt then. His glance caught mine, without the clichéd spark that every girl was dreaming to witness. That idea never came in for so many times until his voice is gradually penetrating into my comfort zone. What comfort zone?!

My daily routine was grey, and I needed some colors. I was used to the dead air I was living with for a month or so. That was my comfort zone. When I had no idea what was going on with the world out there. His voice was poignant and sharp and it could pierce. My comfort zone wasn’t spared. His eyes smiled and it smiled at me. My lips shuddered at the eagerness to respond back. I eventually trusted my ambiguous notions. After all, it was somehow good to have somebody to talk to. I was more bored than the dead and it was never prevalent to have me bored rigid of anything else in the world.

I found a friend in him and he instantly became the pages that I could smoothly write my whimpers onto, as I had things to tell but didn’t have the courage to. He was my diary, my breathing and bleeding diary. I could write and write and write some more and he would still crave further, which I undeniably fell in love with. I loved his enthusiasm to learn everything about me, like he cared. He said he cared. One word I despised. One word abused by every man who was caught in the shackles and is no longer free. How can one care? Apparently a lie I thought I should’ve forgiven, and yet, have not forgotten. As coward as my not telling those things meant to be unveiled.

I wanted badly to touch him, kiss him, and tell him how he had been the lingering dream I tried hard to eradicate every night. If he only knew how it kills me to see him, and her, whole together, while I’m slowly breaking apart. Sinful as you may call it, he once said he was mine. And I would have been his if I wanted to. That was stupid, of course I wanted to. We wanted to. But we could not. We should not. Somebody owns him and I was damned, years late.

Somehow I was able to live behind the deceptions of it all. While I was caught in my reveries of the him-and-I, creating funny noises on my mind exchanging words meant to exist within the spheres of my illusions. I chose to believe my own fantasies and learned to indeed believe them in due time. I was beginning to find bliss in it, and when I was ultimately blown away, he said goodbye.

He was going back to her. I heard him say farewell. But it didn’t sink in. he was walking away now. I was watching his every step, getting farther and farther away from where we used to be. But I’m still here, here where we used to be. I’m staring at his chair, the chair where he used to be. I know he’s never going to be back here, where we used to be. I think I’m seeing all the colors draining from the mainstream. And now, just about now, I’m beginning to go back again to grey.

—found this draft here, I can’t remember anymore who I was pertaining to but I thought I shouldn’t let my pieces die in the backyard so I posted it. No offense meant. :p

~johanne~

One melodious strum on his guitar

sang arduously in to my heart

and with the murderous faint of his voice,

my world seemed all in motion.

All else was a  squabble of noise

blending into the charcoaled air

His songs were etched of glasses,

cutting through thick mists of red rain.

I see his music swirling about my head,

ransacking another serenade’s stead;

endowing life to the ones that were dead

and the living all have gone to fled.

His gaze burns the veins under my skin

and bursts of a billion cries within.

every strand of my hair yearns for him

like my life siphoning out of my dream.

That dream where rockers and cosplayers

conquered, stripping me off my dress.

Stepping like a mile closer to his oblivion

They hail me Queen, chasing my Ascension.

Where he would be with the twilight

waiting for my Resurrection. And

we would sing and make love until the

breaking dawn kisses the dead of night.

CINDERELLA

Posted on November 24, 2006 by gothica-eternia.

The Question: “This year’s theme for the Fanta-IAS-tic week is: IAS @ 72. Soaring high through a unified community. But what if the community doesn’t want to be unified? Would you still consider it a unified community?”

The Answer: “I will not consider it as such, but I can help in making it one. I believe that the foremost factor to be considered in a unified community is genuine acceptance of other people’s flaws. Because once we’ve learned to embrace their imperfections…

-deafening applause and standing ovation-

– my nerves quivering all the more –

– I gestured a hand to stop the commotion-

-silence-

“…We may now undergo a hand in hand construction of the citadel of unity. Thank you and good afternoon”

-Another standing ovation and a series of more deafening yells. –

I was still gasping for breath even as I had been drowned by the curtains and my knees wanted to give up on me, but the lingering thought that I had given my best shot and the overwhelming cheer of the audience kept me on balance. It’s over, I did it. I had exhibited everything I got, beauty, talent and intellect, as I graced the stage of the FEU auditorium last November 21, 2006. To represent the literature department in the first ever Mr. and Ms. Institute of Arts and Science for the 72nd celebration of the IAS foundation Week. I never thought this day would come, never in my wildest dreams. But I did, and it was something never to be eradicated in my memories. My very first beauty pageant, I ended up victorious. . . .

First category: Projection of Org. Shirts

My jaw fell on the floor as I came into the dressing room jam packed with the candidates and all together with their ever trusty gay beauticians lugging humongous baggage of make up and gleaming tiaras and sparkling accessories. I couldn’t believe my eyes with the scenario. I thought it would just be a simple pageant, fellow classmates acting Fanny Seranos and Rene Saluds but behold! The dressing room was an instant gay salon! Good thing my mom didn’t trust me much with the way I fix myself up and decided to go with me. I felt sorry for myself that nobody would give me space so we ended up in a corner beside the toilet. Boohuhu worse, nobody followed the policy: Org shirt oh alright, but with uber mini skirts all sequined up and absurd looking plus cowboy hat and combat boots? And a trench coat for full effect! Tae, I was the only one in my elephant denims and sketchers and feeling all unglamorous, I sought for rescue from my handy goth vanity kit and thick eyeliner and mascara. If you can’t beat’em, then join ‘em! I pulled up my shirt way up, perhaps an inch below my chest and tied it at the back and pulled my pants down to exhibit my perfect size 24 waistline! Well, I had no other gadgets to put on some drama but at least I hat the guts. In fact, I had a lot of guts that the pageant covers 8 pairs and I was the 9th candidate, the only candidate of our dept ( My man backed out due to unexplainable stage jitters probably so I was left with no other choice but to muster up all my courage and say: “Yes, I’d still do it, with or without him”. Because I thought he was kidding, and nah uh uh…gulp!) So I went off and did my thing, shook my booty for the world to see, under the spotlight, a thousand and 200 people staring at me. At that moment, I’ve only thought of doing something unique to somehow leave a mark, so I did my usual boyish strut, I pulled my sleeves up so that my incredible muscles show and tossing a sharp, serious glances on each judge, I wooned the attention of the audience and they cried “astig!” and “angas!” instead of the preferable “Wow! Ganda! Sexy!” tags.. Well, in fairness I’m Mr. and Ms. IAS in one! Carry mo!

Second category: Sports wear

I felt somewhat hesitant to wear my all white and red tandem for my tennis wear, all good purchase from the Ukay-ukay and a donated red tennis racket from my goody adviser. Thought ‘twas a cool attire, before I saw all my comrades wearing signatured equestrienne/cowgirl-with-real-whip/cheerleader/archer and shooter attires. I felt like a rag doll at the second and all I had was some nerves and prayers . What can I say? They got money to splurge, I got charity funds! Well, there’s nothing more to do about it, I’ve prepared myself for the unconscious utter humiliation of it all! I guess this would be the last straw, showing up my face in public in rag clothing! First two categories busted. I’m a hopless wrench. Audience impact was a horrible 3 or 4 percent out of ten! T_T

Third Category: Evening Gown

After 2 painful categories passed, my third lifted up my down-in the dumps spirit when I slipped my tangerine tube gown with a huge peekaboo on the waist to the back . Thought some were to be mistaken as porn starts in the making: slits as long as a yard, heels as high as 5 inches and plunging necklines down to the navels. I didn’t feel insecure. Because I knew I look good in my gown. Others were trying to seduce the audience, uh I guess, as they exaggeratedly swayed their asses from side to side and showing off their legs from the side slits. My God, boobs and butts everywhere backstage. My package is small alright, but my vital stat is something I’m most proud of. At a height of 5 feet 6 ½ inches, with a figure 32-24-32… the crowd was on my side. And they went more insane as I started off my a-walk-to-remember rampage. Elegant and princessly turn-arounds-ala Miriam Quiambao. Done like a pro! Hah! The cheers and chants sky rocketed my stage presence slash star appeal points that hit a perfect10!.Whoa!! Now it’s a comeback!

Fourth Category: the Question and Answer Portion

Now my moment of truth cam when the just pretty are to be separated from the intellectuals. We were locked inside the dressing room and the first pair was called. Same question for the girls and another question for the guys. I felt the extreme coldness of my sweaty palms, my stomach aint feeling good. I was really nervous. I had to make an impressive notion of the verdict. I can’t fail this portion it’s my forte! I amused myself with the funny antics of my fellow candidates to lessen the pressure in my chest. Some were praying, some farted in fear, some rushed into the toilet and some went wildly crazy yelling “Aaahh! Anong tanong?! Anong isasagot koh!? AAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!” I prayed hard and asked Him to clear up my mind and grant me a well-opinionated perception. Divine intervention spilled from the slightly ajar door as a heavenly beep was heard and ignored but the panic in me was great. I can’t fail this one! Absolutely not this part! I’m a lit major! I’m the most intelligent of them all! Then my name was called and the butterflies in my stomach started fluttering. Oh boy, here it goes. When I went to the stage, incredible increase of my fan base was undeniable!. They loved me na!. The screams even grew louder when the host introduced me.

“And the last but definitely not the least, our one and only candidate for the literature department… Ms. Rose Anne Cruz!”

I was increduluous with the astounding series of chants as they cheered “literature! Literature!” It was like, this is a dream! Oh my God… The host began the question and I could barely hear him amidst the crazy crowd.

(just take a look at the first part of the blog. masakit na ang daliri ng nagtatype)

After the curtains closed, I smiled. Certainly, I gave the answer they were looking for. I made it. I’m sure of it. As I went back to the dressing room, a lot of unfamiliar professors and student officers approached me and even congratulated me. To my wonders, and they all exclaimed…

“You’re the best miss literature!”

“You were excellent!”

“Very very intellectual answer”

“May tama ka!”

“May panalo tong batang to”

“My future ka iha… maganda”

“You have the crowed in your hands Rose Anne”

“Rosy! You’re the Man!”

“TIDIIIIIII!!!!! Ang galing mo!!!!!”

“Ate Rose, ewan ko lang kung di ka pa manalo nyan ha!”

“may Citadel k pang nalalaman ha!?”

“ano ung Citadel?”

And achuhu …..Etc etc. I was in cloud 9. And I never wanna go back to being ignored. Because today, I’m well known….. very well known.

The awarding…

We all lined up and was greeted one by one the Associate Dean (I supposed), when it was my turn, she leaned closer to me and whispered:

“I think you’ve won.”

And she gave her warmest smile. I didn’t really want to expect but how can’t i? almost everyone’s bet was me! I was so certain I had a place but definitely not the Ms. IAS! And my assumptions were confirmed when they announced

“And the second runner up goes to….

(the audience parted bets when they were asked for their respective candidates. coincidentally, it’s another round for LITERATURE versus PSYCHOLOGY!) ahahaha…

-drum roll-

“…Ms. Literature!”

tadaaah!

they handed over my small trophy and the golden sash, plus another round of applause and photo shoots.

hmm..A little frustrated but it’s okay, I’m still a winner! I knew I garnered a perfect score for the Star mind and stage projections of the evening gown but the Org shirts and sports wear were totally down in the dumps. Well, the hell I care? I may not be as pretty as they are, but the knowledge and abilities I was endowed with made them eat my dust! Crown or no crown, I’m still the triumphant one. From being high school reject to a popular runner up princess of the Arts and Science… My ambiguities faded. I’m worth all the applause I got. Thank You Everyone! This is my dream come true. Thanks!

now for my detractors..i dedicate this song to all of yah! sing it…

“AKO….ANG NAGWAGI!!!!!!” by Dulce….lalalalalalalalalala

Boiling Kettle Water

It was such a different morning.

4:55 am. About a few more minutes and I had to get out of bed and get ready to go to work.

I felt drugged. A couple of weeks ago was just the same as this morning was, and that is so not good.

*tap*

*tap*

“Get up dear, get up now. come on sweetie it’s five now. Get up or you’ll be late”

that’s a familiar ring, resonating back and forth of the walls of my hollow head. I got up, my vision a blur, my ears a buzz, my heart a frustration. I don’t want..to..get..up. I don’t..want..to..go..to..work.

I dragged my foot, then the other, then the other again. Drag, Drag, come on. just a few more steps before the dining table. Oh look at that sweetheart, it’s uhm hmm..fried rice and eggs and hotdog! Oh look there’s another surprise, it’s..it’s..uhmm..smell it. It’s coffee. My stomach churned.

*whistle* (long and eerie)

“Oh dear, the water’s ready. a little faster sweetheart”

I munched, I chewed, I neebled like a kitten.

I went back to my room and opened the cabinet wide wide wide. hmm, black and red? violet? blue or green? Ah, i know..what do I feel today? Alright, there’s my black pants and Black top. oh and look, my red flats and red bag. oh good, there’s my undergarments. my towel was waiting there for me, lying like a stupid old piece of..well..towel.

I went to the bathroom. oh wait I forgot the damned kettle. Too bad. I was too bummed to go back but heck, here it goes. i’m holding it nicely. It was so hot. It was burning my fingertips. Oh look, the bucket’s filled with nice cold water. Get the pail out the stupid bucket and pour out the stupid kettle water damn it.

*pours*

*ouch!* *ouch!*

oooh..it buuurns! I watched in subtle horror as I slid beside the bucket, all mushy and slippery, watched the kettle slip from my clumsy fingers and the boiling water seemingly in a very very sluggish motion pouring out of its mouth. Water and more water flowing nicely over my arid skin. It was nice. it felt nice to feel horrified.

Am i dreaming? asked the foolish little voice. of course not idiot.

I watched and enjoyed, boiling water out the kettle splashing freely over my arms. How could I not immerse myself with this beauty? it feels exactly the way i do. lookie, lookie, it didnt want to join the baby rapids inside the bucket. As much as i didn’t want to go with the rapids as well. my own rapids. I was trying to sail against the current. and boy, was that really effin jerky? (of course)

I just realized, maybe, just maybe, had I not tried to pray for this, will i still be here?

My Rockstar: Dear John

There’s a man that makes me happy and sad.

Happy to have him near me, loving me and taking care of me. Sad, like the saddest love song that relentlessly playing through my head, useless even if I would try to stop the music from spinning about my consciousness. We would part all the time, and all those times that I could see him go away, he’s taking a part of me with him. and I need to see him back so I could be whole again.

Whenever I see John, my blood curls to the top of my head and my hands would feel stiff and numb. And I soften up when he starts to smile at me. I feel made of wax, I could melt any minute.

“Hey love” he would say, and he keeps me in trance like Edward Cullen dazzles Bella Swan. My heart pounds out of my chest, bursting with intense thrill at the sight of him. I want to grab him and kiss him, kiss him more like time does not exist and the world owns nobody else but him and I. Thousands and millions of throbbing electricity rapidly flux unto my head to the tips of my toes.

I feel weightless and sore. And the hurt is piercing me. Needles raining on the surface of my skin, each prick sleeps and dies when his hand begins to travel about my arms and he gently hugs me. I could stay that way forever.

I could see him caressing me and kissing me in my dreams. Until my eyes pry open and this god like rockstar is still in front of me. He’s not a dream. He’s real and I could feel him. I could feel his face, his lips against my fingertips. His hands, that’s too cool and hot when I hold them back. He’s real. I could feel his body and the heat that ignites. he’s real, way too real. Even better than a sweet dream. His lips sweeter even than a love song.

He is my love song and he is a lot of words. Words that’s easy to comprehend, nonetheless, the hardest melody to sing and to memorize. But it wouldn’t be good to memorize as I want to keep him to me unread, unopened and unsung. And I will forever sing him the way I know how.

I am writing, and all I have in my head is his face, the sound of his voice, the bolts of his scream. And thinking about him makes me shiver. Makes me weak. Makes me dead. The sound of his voice brings me to life. Brings me home. Takes me to the wind, cradles me to the wide vermilion skies by the grace of the clouds. and when I fall back to earth, I would know for sure, he will catch me and hug me and kiss me and love me again.

Dear John…

I love you