signs of the times

I was poking around in Friendster earlier and well, being the curious idiot that I sometimes am, clickied on this site:

http://salaamlove.com/

Well, it seems that they are also trying to catch up with the times.

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I promise I'll write about the previous days' events in detail. I'll just have to finish some schoolwork and several writing jobs, that's all.

a bit jaded

I am driving myself into the ground. Been up since 5am this morning, and only had a wink of sleep around 7am-ish while stuck in traffic. And I can't really stop; my mind is still damn awake and I'm past the threshold of sleep.

So I compose a little mental to-do list and posting it so it'd be final--

To-do list:
>Greenhills tom. for Geog 1
>Sunday: movie marathon with mom
>Archaeo 2 article review on Tues.
>several Deutsch worksheets for Monday
>and several more writing jobs (indefinite)
>and also a new skin (until I get an idea)

Then add my cold that's not going away. I should really go and seek medical help since it's already a week, but then I have no time. Or rather I have time but I'd rather spend it somewhere doing something else.

Never got to send an entry to the Catharsis contest. Had started on a poem earlier in the day, about 2 lines, which is enough to get the ball rolling, but other more important matters like class intruded my self-induced trance-like state. Oh well there's always next year. I hope.

selfish self-expression.

Three posts in a day. Yes, this is bad and it's getting worse.

The poetry contest for Catharsis closes tomorrow, and until now I am faced with a blank screen, empty as I am. If only in the midst of this despair I can find the muse, but she never speaks about ending; she only speaks of what is. Time is immaterial to her, the one entity never facing any deadlines. Or is she afraid; for she hides when I seek her voice in the midst of the chaos of the end.

And again I question my reasons for writing.

Why do I write? I believe writers are pretty selfish souls torturing pieces of paper--and now the expanse of cyberspace--through the act of unburdening their feelings that in normal circumstances would be just swept under the rug in the run of things. All in the name of self-expression.

And writing in the hopes that somewhere someone out there would say that "I feel the same" and they would find each other through fanmail then mope/laugh/cry/share the same emotions. So slowly more would find more and they'd be one whole community sharing the same sentiment, and the seeds of a revolution are planted. And as they say, rinse and repeat, though some revolutions do prosper but some sputter out and die like an old car engine that's been maintained poorly.

Yes, I do believe I'm pretty selfish myself; then again, who's not? I remember Tine's words: even the act of compassion is selfish, since you help because the act of seeing someone else happy makes you happy.

So everything can be consdered as selfish.

Sorry little paper but I've got no one else better to talk to right now.

annoyed

Now a shift back to reality and for some odd reason, YM decided to conk out when I need it most: me and Victoria's report making process+some storywriting. Don't know if it's my connection or what, since browsing is still normal but PW's also too laggy to be playable (died 2 times without even getting halfway through the quest).

So yes, I am visibly annoyed right now. Sorry Delirium, but Despair's winning me over.

still another random rambling

Like a little lost kid I flip tabs of webpages littered across the vast expanse of space called the internet, looking for some map that will lead me home or somewhere, whichever is nearer.

Ambivalent.

Delirium passed me by on the steps leading down to the FC earlier, and I suppose that's the reason why I'm feeling halfway between obnoxiously happy and seriously depressed right now. Or it's the after-effect of listening to the story of the butcher (who was reincarnated as a cellphone vendor in this age) and the many other koans.

And I hope that you don't interpret this like the younger monk did.

writing and playing

The problem with good games is that they tend to get me hooked, which explains the absence of very recent posts here.

PW-Ph's open beta started on the 18th, and except for Friday (was knocked out by a terrible cold and until now I'm still not completely well), I played most of my free time away. Not that I've completely stopped writing--there are too many nice thoughts whispered by the muse that cannot be ignored--but they're jotted down hurriedly on random scraps of paper and my trusty old notebook. Some of them were actually bordering on the fanfic side, which again shows how hooked I am again to gaming.

Well I expect it to be just in the first few months of playing. When I get to the grinding side of levelling, I probably would go back to writing straight to PC again. And posting here as well.

rambling again

I pop another tablet into my mouth; downing it with more than enough water to get it into my system. Hoping for relief would be an understatement--looking for a cure is more like it. More like looking for an escape hatch down some hole into nowhere, where I am untied from all responsibility. But I fear in that escape, words would not find me anymore.

another end

PW-CBT is ending much later today (it's already 1am on my clock), and well, it was a fun ride. Thanks to all who've made it memorable, and hope to see you all in OB! :)

Here's what I made in waiting-->here. It'll be my sig too tomorrow (I'll make a smaller version).

Now the waiting game starts.

words

Originally written on 08.07.07

Odd that for a (or rather an aspiring) writer, words don't affect me that much.

That wasn't always the case. When I was younger, only a little tease and I'd burst out crying. I was the unofficial crybaby in our circle of cousins, and our almost everyday dialogue would go like this:

Pinsan 1: *teases me* Haha! Di mo abot o!
Me: WAAAH! Abot ko naman eh! *starts crying*
Pinsan 2: Iyakin! Iyakin!
Me: *starts bawling* Di ako iyakin!
Pinsan 3: Hala lakas ng iyak o!
Lola: *comes out of house* Ano na naman ginawa ninyo?! Magsiuwian nga muna kayo!
*all cousins leave*
Me: *would still be crying*

But now, hurl those insults at me and I'd either a) reply sarcastically, b) laugh (if you're one of my close friends) or c) just smile so annoyingly sweetly. This is so effective especially ingame; I remember the time that an arrogant player in (the soon to be defunct) pRose Polaris was mocking me. I just used tactic c and it went like this for at least 15 mins. in the entrance area of Luna Temple:

Player: Hoy weak!
Me: *silent*
Player: Weak!
Me: Ano naman kung weak ako? :)
Player: *shows off and uses that Raider poison skill on the monster that I'm killing, whatever that was called* Eh weak ka eh!
Me: ^_^ ok.
Player: Weak wag ka nga dito! *hits again the monster I'm killing*
Me: ^___________^ *hits screenie button*

That went on for some time and he just gave afterwards. I never got to report him anyway, and never did see him again.

Maybe because now I'm older and a tad more jaded, that words don't hurt me anymore. Sometimes I'm jusst enclosed in a shell of steel and mythril, apathetic to the world. For I have learned that there'll be always idiots in this world, and if I let them piss me off, it's only me that'll be having a hard time.

Some have managed to breach my shell, though. But it's more on because they've fired from inside; like the time that the CMship of Ethereal was suddenly left to us and everything fell apart. I have to admit that I didn't share the same vision, the drive and the time as my predecessor did. And when ideals clash, it's the start of the end. Words flew fast and swift, to and fro, and when the dust settled, nothing was left.

Or a still-hypothetical time when the right him would whisper those three words. After all, a smile can obliterate my defenses, though I'm having second thoughts about the whole thing already.

waiting/warten

Based on a picture, originally written in English, auto-translated and tweaked a bit into German for my assignment. Love that online translator--yes, I can't translate it all by myself yet. There's too much that I must learn, or must give up on learning.

Auf Englisch

Under this umbrella I've waited. A few days have passed, the days passing, fleeting across the horizon. And the rain thundered You ask me, why do I wait?

It is because he said he will come back for me together with our daughter. See? I even have her baby bag with me. And here's her milk and her little stuffed teddybear inside her bag. She would be happy when she sees these.

You say that I'm crazy?

Well is loving your daughter considered crazy? I'm sure she'll return to me, even if it takes a long time.

I must go with you?

No. I will wait here, even if it takes forever.



Auf Deutsch

Unter diesem Regenschirm habe ich gewartet. Wenig Tage hat passiert, die Tage passiert, über den Horizont flüchtig. Und der Regen donnerte, das Tanzen über das Land. Sie fragen mich, warum warte ich?

Es ist, weil er sagte, dass er für mich zusammen mit unserer Tochter zurückkommen wird. Sehen Sie das? Ich habe sogar ihre Baby-Tasche mit mir. Und ist hier ihre Milch und ihr kleiner vollgestopfter Teddybär innerhalb ihrer Tasche. Sie würde glücklich sein, wenn sie diese sieht.

Sie sagen, dass ich verrückt bin?

Das Lieben von jemandem ist nicht verrückt. Ich bin sicher, dass sie zu mir zurückkehrt, selbst wenn es eine lange Zeit nimmt.

Ich muss mit Ihnen gehen?

Nein. Ich werde hier warten, selbst wenn es für immer nehmen wird.

luna

At the crossing of frozen wings
And at the end of worlds
I will pour out
like a waterfall.

Upon these frozen plains we first met.
And upon these frozen plains
Everything will end.

And night shall fall
on the frozen heart of the second goddess.

disconnect

So there I lost my phone earlier, and after getting the customary sermon from mom, I'm pretty back much to normal. Except that there's this feeling of being cut off from all the latest chikka. And not being able to receive all those forwarded jokes. *sigh*

Oh well.

emo(ticon)

I look at shooting stars
laying crumpled inside the wastebasket.
A quick glow
then fading away
ready to be carted to the dumpsite
just like my words
and just like
my every emotion.

Hiding behind punctuation marks
smile, cry, laugh
I lose myself
in a mesh of words.

Sometimes
a couple of symbols
define emotion.

snippets

Interspersed with fiction and reality, my thoughts having fluttered in the space between waking up and breakfast.

Fiction.

I wake up to the smell of brewing coffee downstairs.

It's his last pot before he leaves, and I know he wouldn't want to wake me up just yet.And as I tie in a bow the ribbon of my robe, I know I would miss that smell; it's useless brewing a pot of coffee just for one person.

I started to go down the stairs to the small living/dining room, silently, to surprise me. The suitcases stand near the door, neatly packed, all ready to leave. And on top of the small coffee table was a letter addressed to me, my name printed with his steady handwriting. Had he had it his way, he would've left without even saying goodbye, leaving me with just a note and a cup of coffee.

He was never good with farewells; I'd be usually the one who'd be saying goodbye whenever we attended some party or whatnot. He once remarked that he sometimes finds goodbyes were cruel, as if you'd never see that person again; he liked "see you" better.

I saw him sitting at the small dining table, facing the small patch of unpaved earth overran with small plants and weeds that we liked to call a garden. He was sipping coffee--it was one of the milder blends that I preferred, not his usual black.

"Morning," I whispered in his ear. "Getting from my coffee again?"
"Hey, after this I won't be brewing you coffee for a year, or until I come back."
"Who said I was complaining?"

I managed a weak smile and went to get my own cup. It's only a year, I remind myself. Only a year. I returned to the dining table just to watch him finish his coffee; breakfast just later on the plane. Then the customary goodbyes--or rather, see yous, before he loaded his luggage and boarded the cab.

It's better this way, I try to convince myself.

And after the cab drove away, I went back inside and drained the remnants of the coffee into the sink. I washed the pot, and packed it inside the box. Shame really, it was a pretty new coffeemaker, makes just enough coffee for two.

I'll be sticking to instant until he returns.

Fact

I woke up to sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows. It's another day of supposed rest; I'll be going back to school tomorrow. And today, there's nothing but me and an empty sheet waiting to be filled with random musings.

There's still no certain "he" in my story, no scent of coffee to wake me up. But there's also no pain of leaving, no pain of separation. Simply because there's no pain to speak of.

Only a hollow feeling; and I am reminded of what a wise writer once left in my sig sheet.

Live. Write. Live.

neunundneunzig

For non-Deutsch speakers: sorry for the title (if you can't pronounce it).
For Deutsch speakers: Yes, I am just bored.

As the title suggests, it's my 99th borne-out-of-sheer-boredom-post here (yay~!); a record by my blogging standards. Since everyone's either a) at the soft launch, b) studying and/or c) not in the same plane as I am, I'll just write to pass the time.

So...what to write, what to write.

Or maybe it's time to think about a new skin for the blog again. I have a few ideas already, but I can't seem to get them into a coherent visible form (like the heretic skin I was to make before but never seemed to materialize even with the aid of Photoshop).

And i give up on studying already--the zu+Infintiv thing doesn't make much sense. There's only so much that self-studying can do.

Oh what to do, what to do.