after 3 days of rest-
this is a rant.
i always thought my current job is my dream job. or so i thought. music can be my life, i could've wanted to do this all my life. making songs. but being in a corporate environment stops the passion. i've said to myself if i only have money i wouldn't be under the pressure of a daily routine, haggling time to what i really want to do. this is silly. complaining. when we should, at all times, avoid it. and the process of defending and taking each blow of everydayness is what matters. i've had too many black eyes, pregnant skins and all the boxer's demise. and now i want to surrender.
but its not the way its supposed to be. giving up on this.
right now im contemplating to resign. im not happy with the environment anymore. i've been over and over thinking... maybe it's just me. feeling so wrong on a very right job for me. i am getting sick and tired. i am getting emotional on this. when everyday im faced with the fact that your job shouldn't affect your personal life. well then blame me because when it gets to my job i take it very passionately personal. its me versus the work. for we are weighed by what we do. how heavy we are in our craft. but the tiring routine, and other what-nots is gnawing my heart to pieces. but then again maybe it's just me. maybe i have to just work and work and close my door to the what-should-not-be's when i start facing this tube.
this shouldn't be a hellhole.
it has a carved a hole to my being. and everyday the light that passes through it burns a wider scope and gives me a peek to a whole new world. it is still a blur though. wonder what would that be. but im pretty much excited of it. the only thing that keeps me going everyday is louiebelle. but that's a happy story. :)
and this, this is a rant.
if butterflies are free to fly, why do they fly away?
- sheryl Crow
freedom is control given. control is freedom taken over.
- somebody who just had peanutbutter for breakfast
set somebody free from what you are in control of in their lives and let's see how they take over that freedom.
philippines. a 2 year old kid. someone you endear so much.
one of the bittersweet-est things in life are free-dom.
just a thought. happy weekend. tomorrow we are free.
today
let me be an undying candle. let me live with this over and over. let me give light to the circumstances that made this darkness.
yesterday
i flickered to the point of a scorch.
let me begin in the midway of the middle of the story.
i was sitting in a polished recline in an airport where feelings of welcome was not welcome-- the departure area. it was a saturday afternoon. the sky cried on my behalf and doubt was its color--neither black nor white. she was asking if i'm supposed to tell her something. i told her "maybe x will be there, i am unsure". then all the people in the airport took off all of their masks and looked at me with their faces, hers. disappointed of me concealing a matter of what is what matters.
fast forward to a week after.
a saturday night communion of friends. wine and painted cards as hosts that some refuse to partake. the sermon was about as what the usual sermon is, faith. the main question that was echoed in the sanctuary was; if you think you're spouse is going somewhere and he is seeing x there but he refused to tell you because he had discarded the thought of telling you, either forgotten, ignored or hidden, would that be considerable or in would that make you feel bad? insecure? that was the tone of the question and its tail points at me.
rewind to a week before.
i was afraid to hurt her. i was scared to tell her that being here in the airport means i'll be with my past in the flesh. the defeaning roar of planes growled at my seclusion of that part of my luggage. if going there would settle everything for the last last time, maybe this luggage will be lost somewhere when i get back to this airport.
40 hours after.
so it did. buried and left at the airport below all the emotional baggage. or so i thought.
two weeks after.
if i had the power to calm crying eyes and invert inverted smiles i would have done it. but i was powerless. the blanket is a lake of tears. the pillows are sob-absorbers. black flowers of doubt and deception grew on the covers of the bed.
two weeks and some days before.
i wrote about the person that i have met when i departed from her for a while. i said, "its ugly that there's a chance that i'll fall for her. and i refuse to".
two weeks and some days after.
black flowers from the bed covers crawl up to her. she read about what i wrote. the possibility that i'll fall for x. she was as anyone would, injured by fire, like a burned loveletter. she felt cheated. i was as deceiving as a demon. i felt eternally racked. i was burning in hell. it was all my fault. i acted on that instance of an emotion. i am all to blame for deception, concealment and ignorance.
so i decided to tell her the whole truth in the hope of splashing water to the fire. "it wasn't maybe, i wasn't unsure. x will be and was there. i am sorry i lied while i was in the airport". then, the black flowers crawled back and ungrew from the bed covers. a second of what could have been tranquility. then, the devious plant weeded out of my nose while she bursted out in sobs of blood. the luggages from the airport rained on my lap and after a hundred thuds, the lights faded to black.
after a few moments
i was the undying candle, she was the endless matchsticks. we go on to illuminating us. to light this room that has faded to black.
yesterday
a big sigh blew the flame and snapped the darkness on when she asked "when was the last time you talked to her?" i said "earlier this afternoon." she asked again "and you havent told me about it?" i said "i forgot." and she asked more "where is the light? why are we in darkness? and it seems that i am out of matchsticks..." i said "i forgot". she said " i forgot is not the answer to the question." i said to myself "this time and honestly, i forgot."
today
this is all the wick i have left. and if this is the last scorch i have left, let me live with it over and over like fire ablaze. let me be an undying candle.
values is what makes a man. the essentials of life. may it be a thing, a pet, an idea, a person, those that we hold of much importance is an integration of our being. if those values are to be gone. we'd feel that we are not whole. a life not fully lived.
as we change through the changing of seasons, we strip off some values. then important things that we espouse are taking a dull shade that we cast them off like snakeskin and grow a new integument that we'll wear in the next zigzag of life. but some values remain. some values are made of bones and corpuscles made from the very integral of our soul.
values that are skin-deep may not be values at all.
family are values. citizenship are values. memories create values. constants of life are values. and not those that can become unvalued by time.
now i don't know how to end this. hmmm... mmmm mmmm
*coz it's been a long time since i 've posted something.
*jumps in on the create posts stool without having anything in particular to talk about*
i dont want to do it but by st. peter's mircale staff i did. two days ago i passed a demo of my songs to synergy music. yep i did. since i'd be leaving our glorious country i decided to leave Filipinos a piece of the music that they want (actually, to be honest, i took chances teehee). all four of them are in tagalog and they are the songs that you usually hear in radio. the songs that most of them intelihente wouldn't want to hear. but accept the fact man, we are only but sleeves of the whole shirt of this popula.
i saw notes on the faces of clouds. and since then i wrote songs. and oh! i had this conversation with dong abay, the farmer-yano, as he calls himself or whoever coined that new alias, weeks ago. man, the guy is amazing. hmmm.. i hope i can do a podcast of that interview here. how how how carabao. i'll do something about that next week. so dong was talking about writing songs, he said, "you can write about almost anything", which is pretty obvious even if you have a pea-sized brain. i can't recall everything he said but the passion is oozing out of his nose! the spaces for you to breathe while listening to his musings are scarce. his zeal for his craft is overwhelming. *looks for podcast*
i'm stuck with this "ikaw" song for months and i haven't finished it because of these reasons:
1. i want it to be contrastive, happy but sadly nostalgic. so i tossed in upbeat drums but setting the key to minor b. minor = sad. upbeat = happy. i don't know if im making sense. and besides i only make music for myself coz the one that i made this song for thinks of it as a sad song, but the lyrics is not really that heavy. here's the torso of the song:
kundi ikaw
kung hindi ikaw
ano ang gagawin
kung di ikaw
hindi buo ang damadamin
ikaw ikaw ikaw
2. sometimes you have that feeling that what you just did is not really that good? so you keep on redoing and revising and redoing it.
3. and again i have no time. but i should have because the parable of talents is ringing in my mind whenever i feel lazy to tinker on my craft.
well as what dong abay said, "bank and bank songs, write for the Filipinos, music is a tool to feel alive." be-a-utiful.
*jumps out of the seat and looks at the guitar...* but i have a lot of officework to do :(
oh, have a nice weekend. :)
conversation is therapy. and opposite of that feel-good benefit of blah-blah is closure slash disclosure. last weekend i had a salad of that, topped with an asian sweet and sour tears and saliva. let me drool all over it again.
why do we sometimes zip our lips to the people we care the most? is avoiding a talk-point that would possibly hurt them a valid reason to keep things to ourselves? but then here's a splash for me (and you?) - all hidden things, in time, will reveal itself. and a disclosure of that kept secret is a conversation in a form of a 350 pound blind masseuse who knows nothing of therapy and by the time his pinky finger lands on your skin, the orchestra of muscle pains is bowed on your body. i can still feel my insides ache as last friday's episode creep back to my mind. she was crying for hours as me the olaf okuninushi of omission sang unsung songs. my heart was crushed. when all the time i want her to be alright. when all the time, i wouldn’t want her to feel uncomfy. when all the time, i dont want her have difficulty in whatsoever. to carry all the burdens literally and metaphorically. yep, and keep things to myself. there goes the conversation of, as she qouted, "hurling blocks of ice on fire". that's why maybe i zipped my lips to some topics that i thought would might disturb her. it ain’t good. right? conversation is therapy.
the weekend that was has left me hollow inside even though i was with her minute by minute. man, all we do is magic and magic and magic. let me get back to that scene. untap, upkeep, play land, cast, attack, take, done? i was giddy when the thought of playing the whole weekend lit up like a good idea but the fiasco is not as what i expected it to be. i would've wanted to talk to her more and more and more. i like it that way. i mean, repeating the words. like, i like this and this and this. but anyways, getting back to talking to her. i want to know more of her, talk of whatnots and what matters. to launch myself to the vast galaxy of her thinking and await comet thoughts. i know she is more than what is visible to the eye. that's one of the reasons why i am with her. you can hurl her anywhere and she'll give you a crash. and we didn’t talk about that. The whole weekend. magic is absolutely entertaining but its a bore compared to talking to her. again, conversation is therapy.
i bought her dwarf hamsters. it's funny that you can watch them tumble, rumble and fumble and you wouldn’t know 20 minutes have passed. how can animals live without the therapy of conversation? the puny creatures that don’t have to talk in order to communicate. hmmmm.. what is the highest level of communication? if conversation is therapy, what is more than that? if therapy is something that makes you feel good, what is it that makes you feel best? i can somehow tell by watching the hamsters... while feeling her just beside me, holding her hand, kissing her from time to time, just being with that someone by whom you can be quiet with. talk is therapy but by the virtue of sleep as the bestest therapy, quiet times are gold...while havin' a lot of lovin'. where was I? conversation is therapy?