TwoZeroOneOne

You know how sometimes they say that you'll only realize how worth it something is after you go through it and look at the experience through hindsight? Or when they say that really, if you want to learn new things, you'd have to do stuff you've never thought of doing before?

That's exactly what this year was to me.

If 2010 was the year of firsts, I guess - in more ways than one - this year was a year of guts. It was this year that I tried out for something I promised myself I will only do if the hell freezes over, when I said to myself that I wouldn't do anything reckless anymore (and then doing it at the soonest most convenient time), when I told myself it will only be about acads, and nothing else (yeah, right). Ironically, though, 2011 showed me the complete opposite of what I wanted, or thought I wanted, for myself.

More than anything, this year taught me that the limits of my abilities are figments of my imagination, that if I wanted something, the only thing pulling me back was my fear... of being rejected, of disappointing people, of failing... and part of accomplishing the goal - of clinching that victory - is acknowledging my weaknesses, and kicking them in the face as I run towards my prize.

Also, this year taught me the value of trying new things... of jumping without reassurance that I'll fall in a safe heap... of not being afraid to meet people... of being open to the idea of going beyond my comfort zone, and enter my courage zone... of taking risks, taking chances, getting hurt, and making changes. This year looked me in the eye and told me that it's never about where you're going, it's who are staying with you during the whole bumpy ride, filled with pit-stops, detours, and wrong turns. It told me that happiness wasn't something out of my reach, that it was right in front of me, and all I had to was open my eyes and will it.

This year taught me that yeah, you can go through life alone, but it's going to be a crappy ride if you go solo, because no one will cushion you when you go through a bump on the road. It taught me that family isn't just biological, and whatever family I have, I'm sure it'll stick with me no matter what.

This year taught me my life won't ever be perfect, and oftentimes, things will happen that will try to shatter my beliefs... and though I can't do much about that, I can always believe that everything's going to be worthwhile in the end, that Someone out there has made plans for me, and for me alone.

I learned this 2011 that despite everything - calamities, deaths, diseases - this world is full of beautiful and compassionate people. I learned that just because we don't see heroes everyday, doesn't mean they're not around. I learned that especially not after helping the victims of Sendong, but after we packed our leftover Noche Buena and gave it to the homeless in Katipunan, who slept early because they didn't have recently ingested food they had yet to digest.

This year, I learned that ultimately, if I wanted something accomplished, I would have to do stand up and get the job done. Sure, having people around me helps, but I can't just rely on people telling me I can do it, I actually have to show them I can.

This year taught me the value of writing things down, of taking pictures, of creating things that remind me how thoroughly blessed I have been this year.

2011 taught me to open up, to listen to others, and to realize that I need people to complement me, because - and I cannot stress this often enough - I can't go through everything alone and do it well. 2011 showed me the BookBench, the YFC Web people, the AROTC, the 2nd block I have fallen in love with, the LFC and 9gag. ;)

Granted, there were times when I wanted to just lock myself up and quit, or show apathy at everything. There were times when I doubted if all I was doing was worth it, if I can find justification in the fact that I was giving up time for friends for other things which I felt - that time - wasn't as important. Hell, it was this year that I made the most number of sad and angsty blog entries... but you know what?

I honestly wouldn't have this year any other way.

And if asked if I'd go through this year again to fix all my stupidity and to do better, I'd say it was a tempting offer, but I'd turn it down. Why?

Because now that everything's said and done, my 2011 was actually perfect. In its own twisted way. Exactly how perfection is defined for me.

And yup, I sure am ready for 2012. Bring it freaking on. Happy new year, everyone! :)

A waking-up homily by an inspiring Jesuit

Most probably, a black hole lives at the center of our Milky Way galaxy.  It is probably a dead and very dense star pulling other stars and planets into itself like a sinkhole.  Without wonder, we say gravity is what holds us together.  We are no longer perplexed that two things (just by having mass, whatever that means) should attract (and not repel) each other.  What is it about matter anyway that pulls or warps the fabric of space-time?

We say E=mc2;  we see it working in the raging fires of our sun and in our nuclear furnaces, and we are no longer puzzled that energy should be “fungible” (i.e. interchangeable) with mass.

We hang electric lights on our trees and we take for granted the little ripples of energy that wave forth from these little stars to reach the tiny non-digital cameras in our eyes.

We see starlight and we are no longer startled.

We agonize over the kind of gifts to give one another, and open our gifts in our homes and we say this is how it has always been and how it should be every December.

We fight our wars relentlessly and we say this is realpolitik or deterrence or practical policy.  We break into splinters and make divisive alliances, and the usual script is to blame the serpents on the other faction or fraternity.

We wring our hands over the greed and corruption that steal the future of our people and we say this is the way the world works.  We see evil thrive and good people become bad, and we no longer wonder why we are powerless to right a wrong, to tell the truth, to dispense justice in the flawed systems we have made for ourselves.

We cheat and we say everyone cheats.  We fight fire with fire to avoid being burned.  When we are hurt, we exchange tooth for tooth, eye for an eye, and we are pacified somehow by this false parity and transient vindication.  Of course, the pain is sharp, sharp enough to blur our sight so that we no longer see that eyes (or teeth) are not fungible.

We gaze at our spouse, our parents, and children.  If our most intimate of relationships have become chores to us, it is because we no longer bother to even remember and rekindle the love that once was clear as morning.

When we wound one another, we drop our sorries and confess and do our penances.  Do we still wonder why scars do stay, why the injury of sin, its trauma and its swelling do not just go away?  We have grown to expect lesions to close at our speed and at our bidding, and not at the pace of those we have wounded.

We text our words and telegraph (or tweet) our emotions;  we codify them into numbers (14344), and skype our presence.  We tag each other and label “like” on our posts, without pondering any more about the longings beneath these kinds of digital connection.

We see our world spinning faster than ever even as it becomes flatter.  And so we multi-task with the multi-info at our fingertips.  We take all these in stride and yet we seem disabled from pausing to wonder why we are tired or stressed or distracted.

The child raises the string of sampaguita to our car windows and the stab of guilt lasts only until the light turns green and we settle back to our seats and curse the traffic.

We see a virgin giving birth to a child and we say, so what.  Been there, done that.  It is only a matter of time before we uncover the genetic secrets and wield the biotech tools to make that happen.

In countless Angelus prayers, we utter the same words of Mary’s oblation.  Behold the handmaid of the Lord, be it done to me.  To say yes to the summons of an angel, to risk the unknown, to go on living despite what we do not see:  is it no longer astonishing, this faith that can endure and do wonders?

We see the child in a manger, immortalize this image in our belens.  Does it still grab us, this mystery of mysteries of our redemption?  From what again are we being redeemed?

Behold this wonder:

a living, moving,

startling likeness of who we are,

who God is;

what God awakens

when God sleeps

on the crossing

wood of our manger.   

We have lost the wonder of it all, lost the gratitude, lost the likeness of who we are, who we are meant to love, how life again could matter.

No wonder, God came to us as a child in a manger.

- Fr. Jett Villarin, SJ

Today I write blabs

I'm not far from believing that hatred happens because we fear. In fact, oftentimes, we find it hard to find a difference between the two, so much so that we don't realize we're only doing one thing when we actually mean to do the other. We say we hate capitalism, but don't we sometimes simply mean we fear the monsters it has allowed us to become? We say we hate falling in love,  but don't we - more often than not - mean we fear the thought of giving our all to an entity separate from us, and having to deal with the consequences if our feelings are not reciprocated?

Unearthed: COCC musings (16 July 2011)

I write this on a Sunday evening, half-dazed. After training last night, Andrew, Veron, Jus and I went to McDo (now our unofficial tambay place, I guess) to replenish all liquids and fat lost. Last night after the training, and after eating, Veron dropped me off before she went up to Mandaluyong because I had to go to Taft for a Youth For Christ party where I'm a photographer. However, The Man Upstairs had other plans. I arrived in Taft during the closing prayer so I just spent the night hanging out with friends until 3 AM. I woke up 6 AM today and went straight to another YFC event - Family Culture, and as of the moment of this writing, has had no sleep yet..

...and weirdly I feel full of life. Yesterday's training was different precisely because it was about us. I learned so much last night, not just the Creed, not just a bunch of plebe knowledges we're supposed to memorize, but things about each other. Birthdays, lovelives, alcohol consumption, vices, last night was not just a night of physical training, it was a night of learning.

I know I sound all cheesy and crap, and I won't deny that half the time I just wanted to say "OH SCREW THIS. I'M LEAVING!" because of cramps, or the pain, or the disgusting wound in my right palm, but every time I would decide that I want to leave, I look at the other four and realize why I'm staying. I'm not as strong as Jus, as sporty as Veron, as confident as Espa, or as striving as Andrew.. I'm only stubborn. But it might sound ironic (and as I write these down I realize what it's true), but I believe in us. We're a pretty good team, and it would suck if one of us would have to leave.

Saturday and Tuesday trainings... GAME FACE ON.

Unearthed: COCC musings (12 July 2011)

It's Saturday morning now, and in a bit I'd once again subject myself to abject (subjective! Wow, play with words) pain, but I just have to write here what I feel ever since that Tuesday training day (where Francisco joined us) until last night, Friday.

Truth be told, I'm quite disappointed (maybe even annoyed) with Francisco, it's not the fact that she left that made me feel this (I mean, there are only 5 of us left, so it'd be stupid if I pour my negativity on her), but the fact that she never told anyone. That she never even tried. That she never even attempted to see the reason why we're (we're as in Veron, Jus, Espa, and Andrew - I've grown quite attached to these people, I feel awkward calling them by their surnames... at this point in time, it may be a bit early, but they're more friends than comrades now) still here, still fighting, still aiming to achieve the goal that not many people have gotten.

That aside, I feel extremely comfortable with the four now, and that's a nice thing. Right now, it's 0300h and I'm with Jus and Espa in McDo, waiting for the others to arrive. I was with Jus the whole day last night, buying stuff. Incidentally, he also was the one accompanying me last Tuesday after the trainings, when Pulido went home, and we went here in McDo to utilize the free housewater.

Last Tuesday was a considerably better experience, but it doesn't mean it was less challenging. We had to make speeches in front of our comrades, and once more I felt that uncomfortable feeling I get when I talk about my weakness - my allergy. If then, I were invited to speak of something else, I would've spoken about my favourite movie - Coach Carter - and how it's been nothing but my ray of light whenever I'm on the verge of breaking down - or when I've simply broken down completely. The PT was something I will always remember, but it's the lessons that night that I will never forget.

Oh, also, I got sick last Wednesday. Tuesday night I didn't drink my meds because I had a paper due Thursday and I made an all-nighter (8 pages of single-spaced, font-sized 11 Garamond stuff) so I woke up literally shaking. My blockmates worried, but it was Veron who told my Psych prof my condition and Jus who brought me to the infirmary.

Gosh, it's only been two weeks but I already feel home with these people.

Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other
people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

Unearthed: COCC musings (09 July 2011)

I have never felt so tired - and simultaneously accomplished - my whole life. I hate counting my accomplishments because I feel like doing so makes me feel the ugly version of pride, but despite the fact that I wasn't able to count the many push-ups I've made, I feel awesome after having survived the almost-14 hour torture -- if you could call it that.

Anyway, I'm writing this down while the whole house is in complete and utter chaos, my siblings and I are planning to watch Monte Carlo later and if not for the fact that I would want to forget the physical pain right now (although I must admit, that Alaxan I took worked to alleviate my pains a bit) and have fun with my brother and sister before they resume being adults again, I wouldn't have agreed to go. I arrived home at 12 last night (technically this morning) because I had a meeting with the YFCs and I love how they were super attentive to my needs after seeing the crumpled state I was in.

Hmm, last night was... well, different. I was never the sporty kid. The closest I had to a sport was ballet... and even that didn't work well. I met a few people who would be spending the rest of the semester with me (assuming none of us quit, that is) although I admit I am a tad bit disappointed with the fact that the others quit so early in the round. Yumul, Cruz, Arzedon.. I see potential in them, the first two especially, and it just sucks how the people I know most in COCC are the ones who left.

(I jump too much with regard to my writing, but anyway...)

The training was honestly deadly. Half the time I was telling myself not to cry not only from the physical pain but from the prickling of my skin allergies. On my way home, I remained stoic, but when I dived onto the comforts of my bed, I literally broke down. I cried because it was painful, because I felt weak, but mostly because I couldn't do anything else but.

Then I decided on one thing... I'm sticking with this. Because seriously, it may have hurt, the numerous PTs and the running (running and I are mortal enemies), but the fact that I remained standing, that I didn't let the weakness of my self get the best of me, that I stood in front of my full-body length mirror last night and made the finger to the invisible people who believed I couldn't do it... that remained my motivation. And as long as I have those motivation, I don't think I'll be quitting anytime soon.

II

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgtoten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books currease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.


I hate being the happy person in the group. Today, for instance, marks one of the most depressing days for me this whole year, and believe me, I've gone through a lot of those suck days.

I said hi to one of my best friends, and she replied. I answered with an emoticon showing my sadness and a "I'm depressed." She said "Dude I am waaay more depressed than you are. Why, what's up?" After I told her, she told me the same thing everyone says whenever I'm down in the dumps -- "Let's drink!"

She then told me what she was being depressed about and although, yes, her problem was FAR more colossal, I just can't understand why people don't think I can be sad, too.

Is it because I'm named Joy? That I shouldn't be anything but happy? That I COULDN'T be anything but happy? That all I have to do is show up and brighten someone's day?

That's faulty.

What if I can't brighten up my own?

These next few posts are not so much compromise as they are pathetic excuses so I won't do my final paper

She resurfaced on the edge of the icy water. This is it, she thought. She wondered what could've happened if she accepted the challenge given to her by the goblin, she wondered if this was how dying felt like, she wondered lastly what other people might think once they see her body floating on the surface of the pond.

Maybe this isn't as bad as it seems it is, she heard her mind say. After all, I was practically born into this lake, I'm a naiad, for Neptune's sake! In fact, had it not been for that goblin's treachery, it would not be me, but him, in this lake -- feeling every muscle numb, every hair standing up, every tooth chatter, every...

And then, darkness.

But it was not quiet, for in another world, a banshee was screaming.

From spiral staircases

There are a few things no one tells you.


First, no one really tells you if the things you dream of will become a reality. No one can really assure you of your dreams, or can promise you a future and fulfill it. No one can tell you he'll stay with you forever and stick with it. Not because he's unable to do so, but because he can't ever be sure if he can.

No one tells you that you will be unable to do something permanent tomorrow. No one tells you that you can't make or destroy a life come the next day - because you totally can.

More importantly, no one tells you when you're really ready; truly an adult. Suddenly, you just wake up and you're doing things you never really thought you'd be doing. You open your eyes and you're doing the laundry, cleaning your apartment, and filling out forms. You're not who you are anymore. You're not who you want to be, even, sometimes.

You're just you, you're *still* you; but you're not, not really.

I'm at that point in time right now. Now I pay the bills, talk to people in suits while wearing suits as well, and driving a car. And nobody told me the time was now. In fact, I don't even remember waking up and seeing the world from a different vantage point. All I know is, I'm not a baby anymore. And in an unspoken point sometime in the past, I became someone else. Not completely, but partially. I became the person no one told me about.

That's pretty scary, don't you think?

Because we all need something to hold on to should the occasion arise

An epiphany of sorts

I was rummaging through the catastrophic jelly mass that is my brain and I have come to realize one thing - I want a job. It's not so much about the money that appeals to me, or the fact that I can brag about earning to people (not that it's not a big deal, of course), but the fact that I want to actually make something out of myself. I believe it's more of a feeling of the self-accomplishment I can get when I receive my first ever paycheck for something that only I did, that only I can be able to do.

It's bothersome being - no, remaining - in a slump when I know I can do something more.

This time, I really know I want to do something more.

I just don't know how. At least not yet.

I liked today.

I was never the clean bee. I liked my place messy. For as long as I remember, I've lived a life of spontaneity, non-compliance to schedules, and, on a greater scale, anarchy.

But then I got tired of the monotony of the spontaneity and I decided to do the unthinkable: revamp my room.

Never in my 16 years of existence have I ever been thankful that I had a room as minuscule as the one I have now. And for the record, pink is not my favourite colour. It's actually blue. Why I have a pink room, however, is a long story, but it involves accounts of me throwing tantrums during that time my parents were looking for room paints so they thought it'd be torture for me if I had a pink room.

(I abhorred pink when I was a kid. It has, however, grown into me. That's what happens when you wake up to a pink room almost everyday for a year.)

Anyway...

Before pics. I have a skewed sense of orderliness. Finally, when I didn't know where to step any longer ("What if my foot lands on my laptop next instead of the floor?"), I decided to unearth the mess. My study table probably had a foot of paper accumulated over the first year of college.

After! And well, I honestly feel so accomplished. I made paper cranes, and since I'm on summer break with probably nothing but my upcoming driving lessons (I can't believe it, too. It sounds so foreign and... adult.) and visits from Qatar friends, I'll probably make a thousand paper cranes for Japan.

Today was a tiring, tiring day. But seeing the fruit of my efforts, I'd like to think the day did not go to waste. Hay, if only being productive was this easy.

Last night

was that night most girls were dreaming of ever since they realized that the Cinderella story could happen to anyone, that night most boys were preparing for in hopes of clinching that princess they were sure was for them, that night were people knew they would be spending the first night of their nights together with people they were sure they'd be with forever -- prom night.

For the record, I attended both my junior and senior prom. For the other record, I cherish both immensely. And no, I am not covering up some bitter issues because I honestly believe those two proms were among the things I never would forget, despite my usual display of apathy towards several things.

However, I never went to prom with that special someone, mostly because I've never met him yet. Granted, last year's was close to magical, the perfect dress, the perfect date (who, unfortunately, I just didn't harbor romantic feelings for *sigh*), the perfect night, but without that perfect one.

...oh shoot, I'm being my closeted hopeless romantic self once more.

I'm back to square one.

And I'd like to make introductions. I'd like to leave all the negativity behind, the shit behind, the worries behind -- and start anew.

Hi. Call me jammed.

I'm severely mediocre. I'm average-looking (maybe even below it), I get okay grades, my life is so-so, my foot and dress sizes are medium... yeah, I'm your girl-next-door.

Only I choose not to be.

On rare days when the sun is up but the clouds are overhead threatening to cover the sun up, while the wind blows but the rain doesn't fall... that's when I feel most invincible. I love cold nights, hot chocolate, soft beds, horror movies, psychological-thrillers, BlackBerries, pillow fights, daydreaming, teaching myself how to play the guitar, laughing, writing, Harry Potter, reading in general, debating with myself.

Honestly though, if and when someone asks me what I think I'm really good at, all I could do is shrug, because I honestly don't know. Especially not if you don't consider embarrassing myself in front of many people a marketable talent.

I'm not different from anyone, although I try to be. I fall for the most outlandish guys, laugh at the lamest jokes, think of the most sensitive topics, and - when things go my way - I stand out. However, it's better compared to a sore thumb than a nicely coloured pen amidst black.

I'm not spectacular, and though I do my best, I'm pretty sure I won't ever be.

Right now, I'm just a teenager, penning my thoughts down; hoping somewhere out there, someone's reading, understanding, empathizing, contemplating, learning; and wishing, wishing that the people for whom I write this blog for know I wrote it for them. The same goes to me as well.

Throw it away, forget yesterday,

x

Tonight I Can Write - Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example: "The night is shattered, and the blue stars shiver in the distance." The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. That I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights like this one, I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too. How could one not not have loved her great, still eyes? Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered, and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight searches for her as though to go to her My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same the same trees. We, we who were, are the no longer the same. I no longer love her, that is certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her ear. Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that is certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms, my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer, and these the last verses that I write for her.

Puedo Escribir los Versos mas Tristes Esta Noche  Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche esta estrellada, y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos". El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta. Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Yo la quise, y a veces ella tambien me quiso. En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos. La bese tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito. Ella me quiso, a veces yo tambien la queria. C�mo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos. Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido. Oir la noche inmensa, mas inmensa sin ella. Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocio. Que importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla. La noche esta estrellada y ella no esta conmigo. Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos. Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Mi corazon la busca, y ella no esta conmigo. La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos arboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuanto la quise. Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oido. De otro. Sera de otro. Como antes de mis besos. Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido. Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa, y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo. Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche.

Source: http://www.links2love.com/poetry_12.htm
I have always been apathetic towards poems, but then again, I have always been apathetic about everything in general, so being indifferent regarding something so trivial such as poetry would hardly be the icing on the cake. 
Then I read this poem.
And honestly, it encapsulated everything I felt today -- for the past few weeks, months even. I honestly have to stop thinking about lost what-ifs and forgotten promises, so I guess this entry will be the last of the many entries I've written about that one person. The final breath, the last goodbye, the period to a sentence, the End to a novel. 
I'm honestly done being apathetic and merely existing. This time, I'm going to live. And already, I'm loving it.

Angst?

Learning no truth:
False pretense,
Fiction,
Abysmal lies.

This is a poem
About a flower
in the breeze,
A wave
with no wind.

A girl met a boy
Who loved a girl
who broke her heart,
by breaking his.
Pitiful.

She let him go --
Made him wander,
made him wonder,
What happened
to what should have.

It's quiet.
No more heartbreaks,
Lies, cries, excuses.
Just the rustle of leaves
above his encased body.

I'm going to start the year right with honesty.

I'm not happy.
   Not right now.
I laughed today and made people smile, but I never really felt that tickle in the pit of my stomach.

I'm not sad.
   Not in this moment.
I haven't cried in a while, haven't sympathized in a long time, haven't felt hurt in as long as I can remember.

I'm back to what I was a few months ago.
   I'm apathetic once again.
Numb. Indifferent. Neutral.
   But I want to feel. I honestly do.

I leave again tomorrow

That's what I learned for the most parts of 2010, and I guess it was my biggest realization. People leave. Sometimes they do so out of need, sometimes because they want to, sometimes because of no specific reason... but they do.

And come tomorrow (which, due to the postponement of this entry, is already inaccurate - I leave in less than 20 hours), I'll be doing the same; and while it is but a temporary leave, it still is as hard as it was when I first did it. I guess I can only sigh...

I don't plan to sleep tonight. Not because I'm insomniac, but because there's a tiny part of me that is trying hard to believe that if I don't sleep tonight, then the world will cease to spin, that time won't move, that I won't ever have to leave again. And however impossible that sounds, I'm holding on to that tiny part... mostly because I want it to be true.

A journey

Last year, aside from my 25 days of self-portraits, I attempted a 30-day project with Apple Cider, my small bear. Due however to unfortunate circumstances, I was unable to finish it because I wasn't able to find my last picture -- the picture for the 30th day.

 This year though, I plan to make a 365-day project -- and stick to it. The details are as follows:

• Do a 365-day project with weekly categories using my BlackBerry.
• As much as possible, no too huge tweaks (only color schemes, compare and contrast)
• Write about the picture of the day
• Learn

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P.S. Mnemosyne is the Greek deity of memory, and mother of the 9 Muses.