A letter to the wind

Dear Wind,

How have you been doing as of late? I hope you're doing fine whatever you are doing. I hope you're feeling fine whatever you are feeling. Most importantly, I hope you're as happy as you were before, as you have always been, before we met, if not happier. That would be the only redemption for that phase, you know.

We haven't really talked for quite a while now. And I just mean the way good old, average friends would talk to each other. I don't even mean close friends. Nowhere close that. Nil. Nada. Zilch. To be honest, it's kind of frustrating that we're like this now, you know. It's unfathomable why we have to be like this. When did it start? Did it start when you decided to stop after that fateful call? Or was it a timed reaction, an inevitable event, something you knew was bound to happen? For the life of me, I still can't figure out why exactly we stopped talking, why you stopped after that day, why we stopped sharing. Let me just share though that I may have just validated what people say about losing that person whom you talk to virtually everyday. It's goddamn devastating.

I don't know why I'm writing to you, Wind. I know this will be for naught. Chances are you won't read this, or if you would, you'll simply dismiss it. These will be the same as those words that were sucked into the silence of the continuing pretense that nothing was ever actually said. Gone with the wind at the very moment the words were heard or read. But I'll still write. I'll still speak these words. I have to. And I am sorry that I have to be this selfish. I just have to write this one out. You know me. I make more sense out of the world when I write it out. For old time's sake, I hope you'll allow this selfishness of mine.

Looking back, I realized how disappointed I am of myself and, to my immeasurable sadness, of you. I am disappointed at myself for not taking my side fully when things were ending. I was swallowed into your belief that all is lost that it didn't occur to me that I should have defended myself, my person, my history, and whatever we ever had. I know I failed you when I didn't care how people would interpret my actions that, back then, could have the potential to hurt you. And that is another source of disappointment for myself. I am sorry I didn't bother thinking better back then. But of all the disappointment that I could have, I didn't want it to be of you. And it hurts so bad, and if only I can choose to not feel this way, I would, but I really am disappointed of you. This may just be me, my thoughts, and not actually you, and anyone can point to me that I have not an ounce of right to expect that much from you for me to be this disappointed, but please hear me out even just for a while.

The most painful part of that ending, which up until now, though I try my best to accept, but I still can't, was the fact that you didn't even bother asking me about my side of the story, my truth, my history. You didn't even bother demanding from me an explanation to shed light to what really is true. You didn't give me a chance to tell you how many friendships I inevitably fucked up without me knowing, whether I liked it or not, how much alone I was because of that for most part of my college life, and how much of that still resides within me. You didn't even bother the slightest bit. Remembering that day, I cringe at how I seemed to have been so desperate trying to explain when you have already decided to no longer listen. You allowed me to explain just to let the words pass from my mouth for the sake of it, without ever appreciating any meaning from them. My words back then, I realized, meant nothing. Though at the very least, I realized that these words were not the words I needed to tell you. It may have been because somehow I felt you have your mind made up that my desperation got the better of me. I didn't fight for myself. I was sucked into their truth, the truth you have believed in without hearing mine.

I am sorry to rant this one out on you. You were hurting then and it was also my fault. I didn't care enough so that you could have avoided the pain you felt. But, Wind, why was whatever we had so fragile? Why did you allow it to be that fragile? Why did you not fight for it? Was it ever worth it to you?

Perhaps until the end, I won't get an answer other than the silent protest of the wind. That is better if it means avoiding the situation where you are forced to respond. Forcing you is something that I would never want. In the end, I just want you to know that it still hurts as much as it hurt before. Moving on could be easy if only I choose and think it to be. But it's the fact that you're that important of a person that I could not just move on without reconciling all of these pent-up thoughts and feelings, without sullying my picture of you. You are kind, selfless, generous, and ever caring. I believe all of these by heart. But if I just "move on" without fairly resolving all of these thoughts and feelings kept within, I fear that even if I will force myself not to, I will still end up hating you for something you should not be hated for. And that would just kill me inside. You don't deserve any of the hate.

I am sorry that I am such a difficult person with this complicated way of thinking and feeling. It's just simply me. I hope that I could have shared more of who I am and how much of a loser I was when it came to dealing with friendships. But perhaps it may just be a tiny bit too late for that now.

Wind, I don't know how I should end this letter. I know, however, that whatever manner I end this, nothing will most likely change. I'll still be in limbo and you'll still be as lively and lovely as you are. Maybe it would just end up me getting used to being in limbo, if that is at all possible. It's just that I don't know how much more strength I can amass just to stay in limbo with a resolve of never ever resorting to hate the picture that I have of you.

I hope this letter, if ever you've read it, wouldn't ruin your day. Beyond this though, remember I will still always be there when you ever need a complicated friend like me. You know me. I can be professional when need be. I promise to give my best to hear you out and help.

That should be all, Wind. I hope we can get back to talking the way we used to before any of the complicated stuff started. I knew I already lost you as a close friend when I can no longer read the "rehearsed shenanigans". I don't want to lose you as a friend. But this is all I and me, which is, again, a call for an apology for being selfish. Whatever you decide to do, I'll respect it.

With all of these things said, I hope you're fine (coz you're oh so fine) and (still) kicking.

Truly yours,
G

Conversations after a pilgrimage

Average Me: It's been a very long time since we've last talked like this. When was it? Around August of '15, right? 

Buddha Me: Yes, around that time. 

Average Me: Why have you left?

Buddha Me: It is not that I left, but it is more about you exploring other perspectives deeply. 

Average Me: What does that mean? That you had always been there? 

Buddha Me: Yes. 

Average Me: Exploring other perspectives deeply? 

Buddha Me: Redefining yourself. Don't we disregard, if not discard, part of ourselves when we try to redefine who we are? 

Average Me: So, I neglected you? 

Buddha Me: Sort of. 

Average Me: I'm sorry. 

Buddha Me: Hahaha. It's no problem. We've grown together anyway. 

Average Me: Thank you for understanding. 

Buddha Me: You're welcome. 

Average Me: If you don't mind, I would like to seek guidance once again. 

Buddha Me: Whatever it is I can help you with. Go ahead. 

Average Me: Thank you. I would just like to know if you think that I'm a lying, cheating asshole. 

Buddha Me: Are you? 

Average Me: No, I don't think so. 

Buddha Me: Then so be it. 

Average Me: So be it? 

Buddha Me: Yes, so be it. 

Average Me: Nothing more to it? 

Buddha Me: Yes. Why is it that you're so bothered? 

Average Me: I mean, I understand that what others think don't matter as much as how I know myself, but I just can't take how people see me for someone I am not. 

Buddha Me: Then let them be. Focus on yourself, becoming the best version of yourself, and doing good. That's all there is to it.

Average Me: But it pains me. 

Buddha Me: Of course. Because you don't completely believe that you are not, in your words, "a lying, cheating asshole". 

Average Me: No, I do. 

Buddha Me: Then why does it pain you? 

Average Me: Because someone important to me doesn't believe that. 

Buddha Me: Then that only means you don't fully believe yourself? 

Average Me: How is that the case? 

Buddha Me: Do we really live for ourselves? 

Average Me: No, of course.

Buddha Me: Do we live for others? 

Average Me: Yes and no. We don't live for others completely. 

Buddha Me: Then who are these "others" that we live for?

Average Me: Those people who matter.

Buddha Me: Exactly. 

Average Me: What does that mean? 

Buddha Me: You don't completely believe you are not what you deny you are because you have failed important "others" to see you for who you think you are. 

Average Me: But shouldn't they just accept me for who I am? I fully believe in what I believe.

Buddha Me: Think of a pyramid. From its triangular face, you can see that it's triangular. From the top or from the bottom, it's a square. If I ask what shape he sees to a person looking at the pyramid's triangular face, he will say it's a triangle. If the person looks from a top view or sees only the bottom, he will say it's a square. Now, is either of them lying? 

Average Me: No, they're both telling the truth. It's a cliche, but it's "a matter of perspective". 

Buddha Me: Exactly. 

Average Me: So, I failed them, right? And as a result, I failed myself, right?

Buddha Me: Have you? 

Average Me: Yes, I did.

Buddha Me: So, be it. But do good. It doesn't end here. What is truly important to you? 

Average Me: The best for those important others. 

Buddha Me: And? 

Average Me: And myself. 

Buddha Me; That's right. Find the balance. Find your balance. 

*long silence

Average Me: I guess, I'm really an asshole, aren't I? 

Buddha Me: Are you? 

Average Me: Just an asshole though. 

Buddha Me: So be it. 

Average Me: Yes, so be it. 

*long silence

Average Me: Thank you. 

Buddha Me: You're welcome. 

Ngayon

I will still meet a lot of people in this life.
And perhaps, in time, mahahanap ko rin iyong iintindihin ako nang buong-buo.
Tama ka. 'Wag tayong magsabi ng tapos.

But right now, alam ko, at sigurado ako, na iisa lang ang gusto kong makasama hanggang sa huli.
Iisa lang ang makapagpapatibok ng puso ko tulad ng ganito.
Right now.
Ngayon.
Iisa lang.
Sigurado ako.
At nag-iisa lang simulang nagustuhan kita.

At iyon nga ang nakakalungkot.
Iyong alam mo at nararamdaman mo at na-i-intuit mo na hanggang sa huling hininga na ito.
We could be forever in a world not meant to accommodate forever.

Ang mas masakit pa, it's not much of my choice anymore.

'Wag tayong magsabi ng tapos.
'Wag tayong magsabi.
'Wag tayo.
'Wag.


;

Sunday Morning

That someday it will lead me back to you
All the way back home, Babe, back to you

You may not know but, Baby, you're all I need
And in darkness you're all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
I'll get you what you need

A little less of what is, a little more of what isn't

CHAPTER 3

Love is a strange thing. One moment you're up, the next moment you're down. It's real but also an illusion, warm but also scorching, selfless but also selfish, forever but also temporary, full of hope but also laced with despair.

I'm intentionally contradicting myself now. You'll know why.

Right when I decided to step out from the world of dreams, I woke up to another. To my joy and dismay, she was there. And we, the two of us, were the center of that world.

Walking, talking, running, chasing some unknown-dream-element from time to time. Holding hands at some points, delighting at the Sepia sunlight, we were absorbed into the strangeness of that dream - that strangeness that any decent dream would have. But as common as the strangeness was, the dream wasn't as common. It was, to say it more accurately, a little more of what isn't.

"We" weren't a reality.

The dream was as lovingly warm as the waking-up-to-it was painfully scorching. It was summer time. But the heat of the summer was more than literal. The scorching pain of a metaphorical wound borne out of the fact that there's nothing was as real as it gets. And though it's nothing, it kicks as hard as it can. Repetitively, continuously. Distract yourself or get used to it. Those are the only options.

Nonetheless, we go, we live, we strive, we hope, right?

So, I did.

Then moments later, what isn't became what is.

I opened my eyes to find myself, unexpectedly, living the life I was just imagining a few moments ago. Not fully, no, but it was there! Could you imagine the joy, the ecstasy? The selflessness and the selfishness of love finally found its equilibrium.

Shoulder-to-shoulder while in transit, you could hear the roar of the wind, the beating of my heart, when all of a sudden, a skull crept onto my shoulder. It was the loveliest skull I've ever seen. It was the most loving gesture I've ever felt. It was a spark. It was like I've lived all my life for this moment. To her, it probably didn't mean much, I thought. But it meant everything to me. That contradiction was fine. It's unbalanced, but it's a start.

Then transport me to that hidden park. Moonlight flowing throughout the park. Her face shining, radiating like no other star I've seen in my entire life. Her laugh, as real as it gets. She was the only one there with me but I felt the acceptance of the entire world. A park became paradise.

Those moments wouldn't last forever, I thought. They were time-bound. We were space-bound. But there's a "we". Finally. Every breath, every second, every inch etched into memory. Forever. It was a cliche like in the movies.

"Forever in numbered days, hours, minutes, seconds."

There I realized that forever happens when time stops and space is obliterated, becoming inexistent altogether. It was hopeful. It was happiness. It was understanding why we live while accepting you'll never ever grasp it in full.

It was forever in a world that would eventually die out. It was the once-in-a-lifetime encounter. It was her. And she was love.

She was love.

But it passed like all other worldly things.

And in just a few days later, even without me knowing, what isn't at that time became what is - to my despair. Like a wheel rotating in all of its wheel-glory, it rotated, took a wrong turn.

"Wrong?" 

I make myself laugh with dismay.

Just like that, it's gone with the wind. Air. Got nothing to breathe. I don't need to breathe anyway. I'm already lifeless, soulless. Yanked out of you when the lightning struck at the very place where you were standing. It's hell in here.

"But it's warm anyway." 

That's what I'd want to say. Hell as warm as this is worse than lifelessness.

All I could wish again is just a little less of what is, a little more of what isn't - all over again. Wish is the operative term. You could only wish for the impossible. I broke her heart. I made her life more difficult, more problematic. I became a problem she shouldn't have had. I broke her trust.

"I'm scum of the earth."

Un-scum-ming oneself pains the most when you didn't even know you had it in you to be that much of an asshole. That you could hurt her the way you did. That you were insensitive enough that you didn't even try to just care, even for a moment, for those who could see you and her, which would then affect her.

But she's the toughest girl I've ever met. Though if I could ask, I would, for another chance at life. But like the movies, it won't last forever. It ends. And so, it ended. Credits. Curtains closing. She won't change her mind about me anymore. It's my own doing. I deserve all the hate and despair. Though she won't hate me for it, because she's just that mature, I would. I should. I have as much responsibility to hate as much as I have to love.

I guess we do really only live once. And now, I'm lifeless. But this shell continues on, strives onward to accomplish its goal. It's just that, it's much lonelier now.

Actually, it's empty now.

There. I guess this should end this book, right?

"Hahaha."

Ang sakit ng bagsak mula sa itaas

Ang haba ng mga araw. Kahit na pagod at puyat, di pa rin makatulog. Dahil ba sa kape ito? Hindi. Pero, point is, there's no use fighting it. Padala na lang sa pagkamulat.

Ganito pala ang pakiramdam na makasakit, masaktan. Ang tanga-tanga ko rin pala. Di na ako natutong makiramdam. Ang proud na sensitive ka sa nararamdaman ng iba, pero wala pa rin pala.

Siguro nga ganiyan lang talaga pag lumilipad, kapag high, di mo na nakikita ang maliliit na detalye na importante pa rin. Malalaman mo na lang pag tinanggalan ka na ng pakpak.

Ang sakit ng bagsak mula sa itaas.

Questions that won't let me sleep

Love pertained to herein is that for a significant other. Romantic love, if you will.

---

What is love?

Ask the typical science guy and you'll get that nerdy answer regarding biological fluids and chemicals that result from attraction with the ultimate goal of procreating, you know, as the scripture said, "GFAM." (I guess that's where science and faith intersect.) But since you're asking me, I'd say it's the state of one's life, while being an independent phenomenon initially but not totally, when you experience and feel and think about all those matters and non-matters that are circumscribed within  -----------

Ah, fuck it. I don't know. I can't even assemble the thought into intelligible strings of words that would make me sound credible. But what I can say is this: whatever love is, it keeps me awake at night, thinking and unthinking of what is, replaying moments of what was, creating moments of what will be (or what isn't) - hoping these moments come true at least in the night's dreams.

Love doesn't make sense. It demands to be felt, to be considered, to be essential, even when you don't fully grasp what it is. It also doesn't make sense when you somehow do grasp what it is but you believe that experiencing it at a particular point in time is unreasonable. It's unreasonable when in the midst of the experience, your reasonable self kicks in and you ask yourself something like this:

"I don't even know her that much. I haven't spent time with her that much. I haven't learned most of her quirks and favorites and dislikes. Nor have I understood her silent words and gestures and when they visit. I even lag behind in seeing much more of her perfections and imperfections. But what the heck is this?!" 

It's unreasonable; totally irrational. Undesirable for the rational man.

But love makes sense too amidst all of this. For the wise man, it is a natural part of life. For him, it makes sense as much as the fact that the Earth revolves around the Sun makes sense to him. It makes sense as much as why rivers flow the way they flow and waterfalls have water that, indeed, falls. And it is much more than curiosity or an apparent short-lived experience.

Curiosity ceases the moment you get answers. Love lasts. And for a rationally curious man, when the answer desired by curiosity is deemed of less value than the effort to get the answer, even when curiosity is not satisfied, he lets go. In love, the equation gets distorted. Actually, gets decimated. There's no longer a cost-benefit consideration. Otherwise, if there is, then that wouldn't be love but business, some work. For loving another is not demanding from the other what you believe you ought to receive. You are two independent individuals choosing to stay together and make each other feel significant.

And in love, man doesn't really let go, even when he said he did. It'll be forever with him until he ceases to think, to feel, to exist. Was there any man who have truly loved and who was not changed by this love forever? This is why it's not an apparent short-lived experience.

I guess that's what love is. That incredibly intimate and personal experience and state that you feel when you're engaging in it, whatever it is. And one can never really coherently and definitely answer what it is no matter how many sleepless nights have passed.


---

Why even bother loving?

I have to be honest and agree with the choice of words for this question. Love is a bother, that is, when you look at it circumscribed from a very limited point-of-view, like looking at it through a microscope. See, when you think of work and all the things you need to do for the sake of your career, and you factor in love, it's a bother. It will, inevitably, take away time you could use to be productive in the sense of accomplishing work. But when you expand your view, say you think of life as a whole - that some 80 years (on average) you'll spend in this gravity-suspended mass of brown, green, and blue - you won't be seeing it as a bother, but as necessary as breathing. You see, you work to live and not live to work. (Says some wise Chinese guy because it totally has that Confucius feel.)

I bother to love her because it inspires. It ignites my creativity, my passions. It touches my whole being and guides me to become a better person - to think deeply of her and how my actions ultimately affect her. Heck, it even improves the manner by which I execute work.

Yes, there is pain and that could be a bother. It is true that loving is risking. But you'll never get the fullness of what it offers when you don't risk feeling pain and discomfort from time to time. (Add awkwardness in that mix too.) To love then becomes a calculated decision to take the risk. And look, when you fail and feel pain, you are given a chance to channel the pain into an opportunity to become a better person. This opportunity opens up to you because you've given everything and you live in the moment, that is, you drink the very essence of living. For when you don't risk, you risk to regret. And when you regret, you'll forever be stuck in the limbo that is what if.

But that's just the part where you do the choosing. How about that part where you don't?

Well, you bother to love because it bothers you unceasingly when you don't.

---

How can you say you love another person?

When the person matters to you a lot.

Matter occupies space and has mass. Add love, and it's a lot of matter. Therefore, you love another person when the person occupies space and has mass, a lot.

Occupies space

I can say I love another when she occupies an incredible amount of space in my head. And when she occupies space in my soul. When she resides in that hole in your soul and reassures you that everything's going to be fine, definitely she matters.

Mass

And when she occupies the space beside you and you feel the force, because Force = Mass * Acceleration. Acceleration in this case being the ever-present gravity. And she's gravity because her effect on you is ever-present.

A lot

And you a-lot so much time thinking of her.

What a wordplay

Cut the wordplay and know this. You know you love another person when you even bother to make a wordplay describing her. You know you love her when you know it's corny but proceed anyway just to make her smile. You know you love her when much of the hours you're awake is spent thinking of what she's probably doing and if she's fine and if she would ever feel the same way about you. You know you love her when you're much more awake than asleep. You know you love her when your attraction isn't reduced with the imperfections you see, but you get attracted even more for these very imperfections. You know you love her when what others say and feel don't matter as much as how you truly feel for her. You know you love her when you're usual independent and cool self is trying to adjust and find a new equation where she is part of your independent and cool (lol) life. But an equation that doesn't impose a particular part/role. That whatever she chooses to be, which you don't know, is fine with your independent and cool life.

You know you love her when you know that she's the variable constant of your life.


---

Any words for the one whom you love?

Honey ('cause according to Gizmodo, 'honey' doesn't expire and all this English-ing just made me want to suddenly use this term of endearment), Babe ('cause you're as adorable as a baby, as sweet as a child), I'm not sure about a lot of things in this life, but I'm sure about this. You're loved.