Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Going Dark

Excerpts from Post-Haiyan blues:

11.26.13; 02:45 PM
A strange thought darted through me, pointing out my indifference. "Who cares?", I mused. It was harsh and totally unexpected, however, it was not without reason. For several days I have mourned for the life I used to have and for the people it was surrounded with. A part of me knew that keeping myself together meant pushing back emotions and teaching myself not to care. And so I did.

11.26.13; 08:42 PM
Drafting my first attempt at running away.

11.27.13; 12:28 AM
Disappointed by the turn out. And despite how horrible the network is right now, I still don't blame it.
I sit, waiting for midnight, trying to get some chance at the supposedly working network. Skimming through texts and call history, I simply found no effort shown from the other side.
And I call them friends.

11.27.13; 12:45 AM
I almost hung up. "You deserve it", she said. Fuck. No one does. No one deserves to be stripped off of who they are, not like this, and especially not after what we've been through. I admit I was more than lucky having to survive Haiyan but I have lost something, too. I may have gotten out easy but what it took from me, what I left behind, they were all real and dear to me. How dare she speak of solace and isolation. And deprivation, shit.

11.27.13; 06:48 PM
She called. I panicked, too eager to hear her voice. It's been days, a heck lot more than she predicted. Not her first time to call, though. Gripping a plastic of cold Coke, a rarity at this time, in one hand and some rice pancakes in the other, I quivered as I pick my phone. It stopped ringing and I heard an empty line. I thought it didn't get through. But then I heard her ask, "What 'ya doing?". "Eating", I answered. It went on for a quarter an hour or so until she was called up. We bid goodbye and I came downstairs, smiling. I missed her, I told myself.
And I just kept smiling.

Sunday, May 01, 2011


THURSDAY, APRIL 28, 2011. Despite the total laziness flowing in my body, I rose up to my angry alarm and defied my own desire to stay asleep. It was just 4am after all and I haven’t had enough sleep since I went to bed that evening around 2 in the morning. But that day was different, need I say, special – at least for me and a hundred more others. Excited, as we all were, the need to be on time was of utmost importance. I rose up, went down, took a bath, prepared my things, and went to the salon as early as 5:30 in the morning. It was at times like those I hated being a woman. Imagine having the need to look beautiful at the crack of dawn. It was pretty absurd. Why need to go have your face and hair done when even without it you already look like you’re the one marrying Prince William? LOL. After I got there, saw my other friends looking beautiful in their painted faces. I tried not to stare but ended up admiring those talented artists as they were painting each faces like a canvass, turning my plain, simple-looking friends to princesses like me. Then came my turn and I soon looked like the future queen of England. Haha.

Shortly after the transformation, I left my friends, walked under the beautiful rising sun, and went to my brother’s place to change. There, I took out my dress, which, if you still haven’t seen it, looked like the curtain hanging from our living room window. Just the same, I wore it. It was my mom’s design, after all. Haha. It was almost 8am when I finished preparing, hating, and complaining about my dress and shoes; I should have hired Sarah Burton. I would have looked fab. Haha. “Issa, dream on”.

A little while later, I found myself standing inside the old library. It was, I guess if my memory serves me fine, my fourth time to enter People’s Center. Back then, I thought the place was relatively small, but last Thursday, it came to me, “Dude, it’s such a huge place. How, in the world, will I get to walk tall in these shoes?”. I was getting all sorts of uneasiness, fear, and discomfort. My shoes were quite loose and I feared, with those, I might humiliate myself by tripping. Good thing I didn’t. Okay, so I stood there for almost an hour waiting for my family and classmates to finally arrive. Took some pictures, posed for some, and took some more. It was right before the event started when I realized my feet hurt. I should have sat down when I arrived. But since it was too late, I tried to bear the pain.

As the program progressed, I felt more at ease. I became more hopeful that I’d survive the event with no major injuries. Haha. But my ‘hopefulness’ was short-lived. I almost backed out when we were about to ramp up the stage. There was, to my dismay, my adviser handing out certificates up the stage. Man, did my insides go rumbling in an instant. I was to shake hands with the person who’s single-handedly responsible for my finally being part of that event. I felt quite reluctant. I owe that person much and it felt like I don’t deserve to be there. I wanted to run and hide but there was no way of escaping. Surprisingly, though, as my name got called, she greeted me with her encouraging smile and congratulated me. I felt great relief when she said that and the only reply I could utter was a simple “thank you, ma’am”. As I went down and walked back to my seat, I felt like shouting. It was then it sank to me, GRADUATE NA AK!.

Yes, it was my graduation day. After six looong years of waiting, I was finally wearing an ecru dress and a SABLAY. Haha. I just hope, despite the long wait, my mom is still as proud of me as if I had graduated two years ago. Naks, drama. Haha.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Count the 'Pity'

The resemblance is there and I can see it just by looking at my own photograph. My mind is telling me that if I look a lot like her then there’s this huge chance of me ending up like her. And that thought made me feel disgusted. Not that I’m insulting that woman, it’s just the thought of ending up miserably in life and being pitied nonstop by everybody else make my stomach churn. It’s probably seeing how she’s constantly being judged and subtly persecuted by our very own relatives make me want to choke up to death and not see how’ll my own future will fail me as a result of my careless way of living. I’d tell myself repeatedly that not in any chance will I allow myself to become that woman – someone who denies to herself that being pitied is painful, that every penny she gets out of pity is still acceptable, and that, in reality, she pities herself more than other people do. But regardless of how I try to reason out to myself that I’m far from being that woman, the similarity of the path we tread or treaded becomes more visible. I can see now the worries my mom had when she saw what I was becoming. Surely she had that déjà vu moment back then. I can’t blame her. The fact that I’m admitting to myself that I can be like her is just too horrible enough. I feel so helpless being impaled by my own flaw. Having to battle myself from succumbing to my slothful self every morning makes my chance in getting a better life more skew. Gawd, I pity myself more…

I’m not like her.

I can’t be like her.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


If I fall, I fall

I think of nothing else

With my mind as empty as this hall

But with my heart almost at its full

I grasp helplessly down to the floor

As I grope, yearning for your hold

My breath would be of no respite

Like a downfall shattering my life.

Will this be my demise?

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Why I Hate Saturdays

Well, today’s Saturday and when I wake up later, it would be even more obvious that today truly is Saturday. Most people would celebrate on this day because Saturdays to them mean being at home and having some rest. It’s like an escape from the busy, tiring working days and a breather to their tired, suffocated minds. But for me, it’s the opposite. I despise the idea of having Saturdays [and Sundays] for a break.

While in college, I learned that during these days [Sat and Sun] that you suffer much. That in these fucking days you will find time to burden yourself with thoughts about life – your own miserable life. You get to spend a day or two on your own, pondering about anything or everything. It’s like a hard slap on the face, constantly reminding you of the reality.

However, as of this moment, I cannot say I have the same reasons for hating the weekends with that when I was new in college. Now, it is different. Now, I am a full-time bummer who still hasn’t graduated because of a 3-unit subject; with my days spent at home doing nothing productive. I have then, unconsciously, established this lame routine of waking up late, scavenging for food, lying in front of the Tivo, and surfing the net whole day. Plus I get to sleep any time of the day I want. Guess what? I like it.

It’s on weekdays that I get to wake up in the morning with no one else at home, with no one to tell me what to do. It’s these days that I am free to do anything – max out the volume of my speakers, dance like a rock star, and even act out anything/anyone just to entertain myself. Most of which, I can’t do when my mom is around. Not that she won’t allow it, it’s just that I’m not comfortable doing it when she’s there.

So basically, Saturdays would mean no work for my mom and a torture for me. It’s not that I don’t want to be with my mom, I just don’t feel comfortable being with her. There are too many restrictions, barriers, or whatever it is that stops me from being myself around her. Please, don’t get me wrong, I love my mom [very much]. Maybe it’s just a result of how we were raised – of how we were brought up like each one of us has our own little worlds and is to remain confined in it. Locked up.

…and today is Saturday.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...