Hook

tumblr_o1p091oump1u3dao5o1_1280

source: tumblr

The dysfunctional amongst us has a monster inside.We have a kryptonite; an addiction; a hook. We get drunk in loathing; anger; pain; lust; doubt;  fear and all sorts of toxins inside us.

We may deny or knowingly define ourselves with what this hook dictates. We may unconsciously follow that pattern again, do that unwanted bad habit, start that uncalled for vice. But, my friend, it is incredibly unfair to allow yourself to be crippled. It is unfair to settle for what was a result of an overwhelming damage.

Heal my friend. God did not create us in this world to scratch an itch or intoxicate ourselves with anger.

He knows that we are strong enough to fight an internal battle that was solely meant to be faced by you. For his love is internal and infinite, so should our love for ourselves. We do not need to understand why we are like this, but rather, we should declare that we don’t deserve to be dictated by this damaging hunger.

Such a waste of a beautiful soul if you let your hook take control.

Advertisements

Perspective

“You have to push through..” Faith encouraged.
“I know.. “ was my meek reply.

She reached out her hand and looked into my eyes. It radiated with so much hope , intended to affect my dampen soul. But I recoiled weakly, covered my mouth and looked down.

“What is the point in trying.. If you already gave up.?” She said while continuing holding out her hand. I frowned in confusion.

“What is the point of waking up every day.. Living and breathing if you have already decided that life is going to screw you? What is the point in doing your everyday mundane tasks when your soul is drowning in misery and you’ve settled for that without even trying.? “ Her optimism was blinding.

“I guess..” I started nervously.. ” I guess.. I don’t see the point anymore. I’ve done and tried living.. Giving everything into something because I believed things will turn out fine.. But it didn’t.. I didn’t prepare myself from the crippling pain that came when reality struck me.. I couldn’t come back when all I believed in wasn’t true.. Life is too painful.. It’s too painful.. “

Faith just smiled at my answer.

“But you’re still here.. You’re still breathing, and that counts..  So please,  let me hold your hand..  And let me to change your mind.. Maybe, you’re just concentrating too much on the pain.. There are different ways on how you can see things.. “

I  hesitated. But.. I exhaled and took her hand.

Hopeless

It’s funny how you make me feel. I feel so happy despite myself. Wishful. Safe in this bubble.. Trapped in my own thoughts of you. Nothing has to happen. No.. Nothing has to change.. I want to keep this to myself. All mine. Reality might spoil it.

And I know that when it will slip out of my tongue, I’ll watch tragedy come to life. From the light, ideal images in my head. It’ll unfold to conflicted intentions, unmet expectations or assumed feelings.. It all will become a blur. It will all become nothing. Pointless.

No, I am selfish like this. I just want this to be mine. To hold a hand made out of air. To just let it run in my head. Because either I want nothing. Or You. Yes. No in-bet weens. Just wishful thoughts of possibilities. Or Us.

Dear Words:

Sorry to come off so strong (gingerly combing my hair). But umm.. I mean.. I mean, we’ve been together for so long so I think It’s time I tell you. It’s pretty obvious, anyway. I’ve been caressing your might, your abstractions, your wonder, your power since that fateful day I started a journal in 6th Grade.

I must admit, initially, I sucked at handling you. You know, I sucked at correctly constructing phrases/sentences of you. And um..Yeah..I sucked at narrating stories made out of you.. Or even using you in conversations (pppfffft.. Ok, I still suck at this up until now). Let me explain that at that age , you know in my defense, I was only capable of forming short sentences. I was too eager to write those capitalized, highlighted and loud thoughts in my head.

I tried creating songs, poems through your beautiful, beautiful presence. At that tender age, your influencing was intoxicating. I had so much thoughts of you in my head but I consistently, CONSTISTENTLY ineffectively expressed you in writing. That’s why at that time, I was hesitant at confessing my feelings for you. I wasn’t so sure if I was ever capable of justifying your worth. I can’t even describe how something as un-assuming as you could stir me up like this.

I tried to turn off my emotions for you because of frustration. Well, I continued my journal thinking it was for my own benefit. Because, you know, I was self centered and I wanted to write about myself. Then, without taking notice, my then budding feelings for you grew stronger. Well to be honest, this realization didn’t occur to me at that period of my life. Your significance was greatly emphasized to me recently. Accurately, about two months ago. Anyway, I realized that through writing, I could place my thoughts eloquently. Aside from the infinite possibilities of creativity I could explore through you, I realized that my journals were a form of therapy. Those journals kept me sane and rooted. My inner core grew stronger as I kept my journal through time. Figuratively, Words, through my journals, you were a magic door that lead me into understanding myself more. You were that hand I was holding all the time while I tried keeping true to myself.

Oh! And you didn’t stop there! You enticed me more when I got hooked with reading books. Oh Words! What a divine thing you had allowed me to discover! I remember one afternoon, while in college. I worked as an office assistant and my task was too mundane to be tolerated. While at work, you introduced me to this book titled “Shadow of the Wind” by Carlos Ruiz Zaifon. And it was like fate! Oh! the labyrinth, the thrill and the danger that I was lead to! it was just exquisite. It was a divine experience that I would excitedly retell every time anyone ask me to recommend a book. And Harry Potter! Oh Harry Potter! The Hunger Games series! Uncle Tom’s Cabin! John Grisham! Jane Austin’s masterpieces! Oh God..  Oh God..! Those books.. (sighs and dreamily recall every fond memories with books. Then, refocuses and gets back with my act of professing.)

Look, all I’m trying to say is all of my life, I tried other stuff. I’ve tried traveling, food, exercise, sleep, movies, alcohol, parties, internet, social media, interacting with people and hmmm.. maybe, religion while I was under the roof of my grandmother. All of them seemed mediocre. Nothing tickled my fancy. Not up until I met you…

Ok.. ok.. It was obvious that I wasn’t very clear about my love for you before. Some years, I tried to stop keeping journals because I found it exhausting to SHARE EVERYTHING. I was in denial, ok? I thought it wasn’t cool or something. Anyway, it was the frustration that I was feeling because I was unable to express you properly kept me away.

But now, I’m not turning back. It’s now or never. My passion has grown too much that I’d be damn if I leave you alone ( I know.. I know.. I’m being overly dramatic). Although, I still suck at expressing you verbally. I mean, my peers would even joke that I need a subtitle while talking to be understood. And I make up the lamest joke and awkwardly share it to them. And the look on their faces would DEFINITELY tell me I’ll never be a comedian ( it’s ok. no aspiration on that aspect,anyway). I mean, we’ll try to work out the verbal part. But um.. Either way, right at this very moment I’m definitely sure of my devotion.

So there. I said it. I love you.

Please, say something..? And please.. love me back.

Sincerely,
Lawanen

Potential

tumblr_nnj5u0YaFs1upj4mto1_500

I tapped my pen while thinking of something to write about. Topic. Topic. Topic. I mused.

God. Writer’s block. I sighed while scratching my head. Trying to get my creative juice going, I read the entries of the blogs that I followed for some inspiration. Instead of getting inspired, the whole ordeal brought out some writing insecurities. I felt incompetent. While reading, I imagined the other writers not sweating any of this small stuff. I picture them joyously typing their entries away, sipping coffee or any other incredibly delicious drink, looking all cocky as they write down their already weaved humorous short stories or awe-inspiring realizations. Unlike my fumbling novice state, it was eminent that some of them had identified their style that makes them stick and had embodied that gracefully. I, on the other hand, can’t pretty much decide how I should I write and what should I write about.

I encouraged, nay convinced myself that if I kept going, maybe I’d finally identity the type of writing that will completely represent me. Maybe in the future, I’ll find that knack that might make people look forward to my entries because I! And only I could write like that! (glorious sound effect in the background) Yup… I tried telling myself that. Then while in the middle of self pitying and encouraging myself, (it was a confusing state) I realized that at this point of my life, I haven’t been really outstandingly good at anything that I’m currently doing. Right now, all that I am is a potential.

I mean for my day job, I’m a full time programmer and I’ve only been practicing it for almost 2 years. In the IT world, that’s not long enough to be considered an expert. Seriously, my title still reads “junior programmer”. I still need a senior programmer’s help on stuff. So there. I POTENTIALLY might be an expert on my job someday but definitely, not today. Nope not yet.

And then, there’s writing. Oh…. Writing. The passion I tried to ignore. I’m a toddler on this area. The state or goal I want to achieve is to rightfully express myself. To be satisfied with what I write. That I’d be able to tell my story the way I imagined it. But um, can’t blame my still “potential state” because my efforts in writing has been considerably passive. I only get interested for a period of time. After that, I’d shun it away because I find the ordeal exhausting. Then maybe after sometime, I’d find a way to revamp my interest. But eventually, after a month or two I’d discontinue my efforts. Hopefully this time around, I’d stick to this attempt (finger’s crossed).

Oh, the other tons of stuff that I’m still not really good at! I tried yoga last year but never got to advance state because I got lazy. I used to explore my potential in dancing back in college but never had the guts to try it out again because I find it embarrassing to dance at my age. (Meh, Go figure!). Then, there’s cooking. I could whip up some so-so dishes but, you know, never those mouth watering masterpieces.

I wonder if I ever got stuck pursuing at anything and it won’t go anywhere. That my level at any of these things will remain as is despite the efforts or the time I put unto it. I wonder if all efforts will only be in vain. What is the measurement for being an expert at something, anyway? How could I declare that I’m really good at this? How is that sized up?

Hmmm.. Oh well, at least I’ve finished all worlds in Plant vs. Zombies. WOHOO!!!

The unconscious effect of reality

tumblr_inline_mtyh8bsjDV1r63h2z

Bitterness: The villain of all stories. Surmounted atop of this black murky feeling is that expected cynical point of view and sarcastic humor. Draw her as a caricature and you’d imagine an uptight, fashionably dressed, self-absorbed bitch sucking the life out of a cigarette. You snicker and laugh at how she reacts to reality. It’s as if experience pushed her to that corner. But while you continue living your life, you’d never notice your transition. Your unconscious of how embedded money is to the essence of your living.  You click and tap the keyboard away never realizing your hands became claws that desperately chases after success. For money.

Then, there’s coffee. It used to be a beverage. But gradually, it became a substance you depended on. Then it transitioned to nicotine. You feel agitated without them. It’s as if you won’t work unless their in your system. Like someone or something has to push your “ON” button.

You wouldn’t know you have gone too far up until you throw resentment to EVERYTHING life puts you up. You are unnecessarily insincere, too wrapped up in a fancy facade hoping to get that deal and too far off the trail to know the difference between really connecting and being manipulated. Too tainted. Sullied. You now bathe in that black murky feeling of Bitterness. And you can’t even tell how far off you are..