Paradosso

You...

...want to but you don't.

...have to but you won't.

....dream for stars yet kiss the ground.

Tell me, haven't you been around?

...show confidence but is so insecure.

...have a good heart but your thoughts are impure. 

...want to use yet end up abused.

Hey, how did you get here, all so confused?

...hate hellos but loathe good-byes.

...crave for the truth but are comforted by lies.

...desire to kill yet you strive to live.

Why, you don't really know what to believe!

...can't even find the words to write your song

...know that he's been right all along.

...admit it, with a face, tired and gaunt:

Yes, you really don't know what you want.

quod contra opinionem omnium est.

Conditionals

If I stop wishing, this ends.

If I stop talking to you, you probably won't care.
If I were her, I wouldn't be as sad.
But, if I had stopped dreaming, I would've lost the dream
                                                                  the wish
                                                                  the prayer I fervently ask for
                                                                                                         but I didn't think
                                                                                                                         or stop
                                                                                                                         or pause.
If only I had stopped waiting, I wouldn't be here thinking of you
I'd be without you.

If I stopped, you wouldn't have noticed anyway.

***

If I say I'm ready, nothing changes.

If I say I'm ready, you probably won't believe me.

If I were her, I wouldn't be as lost.

Yes, if I had been ready, I would've told you
                                                         and her
                                                         and him
                                                         and everyone else in the world
                                                                                            but I'm not brave
                                                                                                             or honest
                                                                                                             or even sure.
If only I had been more sure, I wouldn't be here just thinking of you
I'd be with you.

If I were ready, you wouldn't have noticed anyway.

**

If I go fight for you, everything transforms.

If I go fight for you, you probably won't let me win.

If I were her, I wouldn't be as mad.

And, if I had gone and faced the music, I would've held your hand

                                                                               your face

                                                                               your gaze

                                                                               your heart with such tenderness

                                                                                                               but I didn't think

                                                                                                                       was not sure

                                                                                                                       pretended.

Pretended.

I didn't want you.

If only I had gone and braved the waters, I wouldn't be here just thinking of you

You'd be thinking of me too.

If I did fight for you, would you have even noticed?

Would you have even believed?

Would you have even cared?

*

Would I have ever won?

For if I weren't such a fool, I would've realized that my heart truly belongs to you.

Pretending and/or Acting

When I was younger, I didn't like that word. Pretending, I mean. To me, it sounded so...superficial. Or maybe because I've always associated pretending with the more common Filipino term: plastik. Mapagpanggap. Mapagkunuwa. I've always preferred the word acting. Perhaps it's my theater background. For me, it sounded more...professional. And, no, I didn't think I was rationalizing or calling one thing another. I mean, my personal definition of acting doesn't even have the word pretending in it. (Acting is being another person for a certain period of time, i.e., while you are onstage. It is an internalization of somebody completely different or completely similar to your own personality. FYI.)

After years and years and years of believing this, it suddenly struck me to check the dictionary. Just out of curiosity. I wanted to find out how the world officially sees the word I so glorified and called "better" than some other word. Here's what I found out:

Oh, my whole childhood/teenage life was a lie.

It's funny but, as I think more and more about it, I realized that I've been fooling nobody but myself. I still think that my definition is correct but only in certain situations. It can't be something applied to everyday life. In the end, I realized that acting can be pretending to be somebody you're not. And that's really dangerous. It's even more dangerous than pretending because, when you pretend, you know at the back of your mind that it's not true. It's imaginary, unreal. When you act, you have to internalize and, to Pareng Merriam and Pareng Webster:

To make something an important part of the kind of person you are. An important part of the kind of person you are. Doesn't it make you so much worse when you act than when you pretend? Say, when you act like you know something when, in fact, you don't. I think this is so much worse because you actually start to believe that you know something when you don't.

Or when you act like you care for someone when, in fact, you don't? Doesn't it hurt more because you have started believing that you do care, because you've taken that important part and held it close to your heart? That, when they find out that you don't really care about them, you still recoil from yourself a bit?

Again, realizations come wave after wave after wave. Maybe I don't like pretending because I don't know how to pretend. Maybe I've been acting all my life. Or maybe that's the reason why moving on has been really hard for me: I always act like I'm okay but I only pretend to move on. 

Does that make sense at all?

"And when we meet / Which I'm sure we will / All that was there / Will be there still.

I'll let it pass / And hold my tongue / And you will think / That I've moved on...."

- White Flag, Dido

BUT.

[You know,] my brother once told me that nothing someone says before the word "but" really counts. 
- Benjen Stark, Lord Snow, Game of Thrones Season 1 Episode 3

I want to smoke,
let all the steam out,
blow these thoughts out of my system.
But 

I rarely smoke alone
and I don't really want 
to be alone right now.

I want to paint and draw, 
put some color back
in my dreary life.
But 

I'm missing my muse
and I don't really want to be reminded
that I am alone right now.

I want to dance,
put on my ballet shoes and
let my toes point me to the right direction.
But

I don't hear the music anymore
and I don't want to listen to songs
that tell me I am alone right now.

I want to leave,
run free wherever I want
without looking back.
But

I'm stuck where I am
and I don't want to admit
that I'd be alone if I leave, anyway.

I want to know the truth,
get it out in the open and 
just move on.
But

I'd rather lie to myself
'cause I don't want to forget
that you made me feel like I'm not alone



even for just a short while.

Strip, September.

I know I haven't blogged for a while. This is mainly because August was HELL. I've never had an August worse than the last one. But, being the optimist that I am, I have decided to let that all go, look at everything as a challenge and move on. Don't give me too much credit, though. I don't think I'm doing this because I have matured or something. I just keep on thinking that, if I don't hold my head up high and just walk away, I'd still smell the same poop every single day and that would be just sad. Don't you agree?

Anyway, September is here and some friends of mine have dubbed the month as "Happy September." Only, September, for me, isn't a happy, happy month. It's not hell month, not like August, though. I'd like to think that it's the month of changes. A lot of things are happening and they are happening fast. It's just mid-month and I feel as if I have enough memories to last me the rest of 2012. I honestly find it hard to catch up and it's tiring, in a way, to be always chasing after dreams, whatsits and whatnots.

It's funny how one event can change the way you perceive your life, how a singular moment can create so much chaos that you're shocked, stumped and perhaps even everything else in between.You realize that your so-called principles and ideas are not as grand as you think (perhaps hormonal, even). You realize that the people you thought were like this turned out to be like that. You realize that you overlooked things that were right under your nose -- and you did it on purpose, because it was easier to ignore them, really. And, yes, you realize all these at the same time, and you don't have the time to say "Wait!" or grab a lifebuoy or even breathe for that matter. You end up trying to swim for your life. Otherwise, you'll drown and die out of pressure or you'll float around and simply lose yourself in the process.

In so many ways, September is like that new sexy star featured in your latest copy of FHM: shocking, too revealing, eager to leave a mark in your memory and your consciousness for a long, long time.

Thus, to September, I say one thing: strip. Let it all out. Bare it all. Show me what I want to see...no, show me what I need to see. And, maybe -- just maybe -- when I have nothing in my hands but the naked truth, I'd know how to act and how to do it right come October, November and December.

Strip, September. Teach me how to dance again.

Painting Haikus

Disclaimer: This is purely fiction. Yes, even "him.". I think. :P

Where will all these lead?

Feelings of uncertainty

Comes in waves, crashing.

Tears and fears arise,

Unraveling the disguise

Of strength, composure.

Roads fork and streets wind.

Choices unmade made plenty.

Problems multiply.

The body is tired.

Overused, defeated.

The soul is broken.

Then, unheralded,

Amidst chaos, he arrives:

Hope is found in him.

It's in the banter

About taboos permitted:

Joy is found in him.

It's in all small things

Like curious hymns, guitar strings:

Peace is found in him.

It's in chances, like

Plucking planets from the sky:

Is love found in him?

(And falling real hard?

Maybe dotting i's with stars?

Painting sad days blue?)

Qualms are resolved when

Painting haikus about him

Makes it all better.

And thoughts become things.

Feelings are such mysteries.

Where will all these lead?

(c) 2012