"Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's where you found me
When you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time...

... I want you so bad
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time"

I have always admired Aileen's creativity and talent and ever since I was little, I've always wanted to become a photographer. I have been told I don't have the talent and just as well, I've been told by some that I do.

I've decided to have the last say in what I can and cannot do. It matters not what other people say, I have the personal stake in my own happiness and fulfillment.

Yesterday, I launched a new dream to nurture along with my passion to write the story of my life, in my own perspective.

I kid myself these days that you're somewhere miserable and sorry but I know you're not. I hope you are.

I was never the person to play games and I thought you know that by now. You of all people. I am still mad at your words thrown carelessly and your insensitivity. I can feel my pulse racing every time I remember and it makes me want to scream and cry.

I hate you for thinking such lowly of me. I hate myself for crying and feeling bad even though I know that you're the one at fault. More so, I hate you for making me hate myself.

You brought out one of my worst character and I won't forgive you because of it for as long as I remember. Until such time I forget, you will never be forgiven of it. How did you make it possible to make me hate you so much I am holding a grudge?

After this, I won't be that easy to "find" anymore. If you really want to find me, you know where to look. Not that you'd bother, anyway, being the foolish insensitive prick that you are.

I am cutting whatever personal bridge that connects us. This way, you'll have no reason to doubt me for after this, there won't be any "me". Maybe this is rash and selfish but stuff it.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Have a great life.

With every death comes a new life. A new step lands tomorrow.

Of dreams recurring
and longings deterred,
a helpless quiet sigh escaped
fleeting and bare.

Could it be
a paradise void of bliss?
Can a sun weave ribbons of light
barren of warmth and life?

I wonder
is it deceit?

Reckless hunger,
hateful heedless lust;
how can a passion drive dreams
to crippled senseless satisfaction?

If perfection cannot be secured,
how do we tame
unbridled hopes?
Where do we find
an enough that is enough?
Where can we nurse
a burning desire that won't ever age?

If nothing is certain,
how will my heart learn to believe?

01:25pm
05/20/08
~djf

We are all in someways, dreamers.
None of us can deny that
we have been waiting for a love to keep us warm,
to wrap its fineness around our crude selves.

For what would we all be without it?

Pathetic creatures that we are
needing globus hopes to keep us afloat
the choking waters of reality.
We'd all be consumed by our vanities,
we'd all be always half-way there
if,
not for love itself.

It rained letters today.

Old dusty letters that have been efficiently packed hidden and stacked from any possible prying eyes. I guess I'm really good at hiding things because I even forgot about them.

I was looking for the pair of my black velvet boots and I thought I stashed it somewhere behind all the other things I cannot remember anymore. You see, on the top self of my cabinet, there are all these plastic bags packed to maximum straining capacity and they've been there so long and there are so much of them I can no longer remember what I've stuffed inside them. I am a self confessed pack-rat. Guilty to the insides of my every bone.

What else would a sentimental love fool to do when she discovers old letters but of course, fall on her knees and eagerly read them all. My sister walked in on me while I was trying to get my hands on to all of them and read them at the same time and she said I looked like I was some obessed tomb raider who've just discovered the core of the answers to ever mystery in life.

They were all love letters. Both from him and from myself. The ones he wrote, they echoed a distant life I once lived. The letters I wrote, the ones I've kept unsent, left me with aching familiarity of how I once loved and lost.

I wish I could say that I don't love him anymore because I still do. I don't love him as I used to and I guess, in a way, I don't love him anymore at all. I still however, love the memory of him. I believe that when you truly loved someone, even after the relationship's ended, one cannot just instantly rid of the emotion like as if it is a light switch one could just flicker on an off in a whim.

When you give your heart to someone, you cannot really take it back. What you can do is forge a new love from the shadow of the lost one. Love is enough for all and cannot be depleted. But that doesn't stop the wrecking havoc of a heartache that follows after a break-up.

I don't know why I kept the letters. Reading them relived the emotions that were. I felt vulnerable and sensitive, naked to every bitter attacks of insecurity and questions that never were answered.

Nevertheless, the incident also gave me the chance to appreciate more the blessing of him, who gave me his all and still is giving more. With his patience, understanding and loyalty, I am never left wanting.

He makes me feel like I am the world to him. He is my personal eternal sunshine and I am constantly wrapped secure in his love and nothing just compares. He loves me to the point of diminishing insecurities and sultry breathlessness.

La vie en rose!

It's been quite a while since I last wrote some thoughts here. So many things happened and so many things changed. I guess we all go through phases in our lives where we need to change but we don't know what. We struggle to keep whatever it is in ourselves that we think makes us worthwhile and then we try to sort out the things in us we think we need to change. But then there are elements around us that affects us in a way that we can't help. Before we know it, we're all different persons from what we expected and thought us to be. The changes are often left unnoticed until the time comes that we had to make an important decision that we realized we're not who we were used to be.

I have read somewhere that the most profound questions are the simple ones. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? These are simple questions we often take for granted but see how your answers change along with time.

During my break from the cyberworld, I finally owned up to my promise to clean my book shelf. I got rid of old notebooks I've been hoarding since forever and I was able to see some old journals. Old love letters and old contracts to self left me both triumphant and heartbroken.I am amazed at how much change has happened and to how different my answers now from about 4 years ago.

THEN:

Where were you born?
-I was born in Bacolod.

Where is your home?
-My home is in Dumaguete. Somehow, I don't belong where my family is. Alone, I have found belongingness in Dumaguete.

Where are you going?
-I am going away. To a place people don't know me and to where I've never been to, before.

What are you doing?
-I am making myself finish this course - unwillingly for the sake of my family.

NOW:

Where were you born?
-I was born in Paradise, in a sunset kissed sugar-laden shore.

Where is your home?
-My home is with my love. I don't belong anywhere else but with him, where I am truly myself. Wherever he is, I will belong.

Where are you going?
-I am going away. Each sunset is a passing promise that I am a day closer to the embrace of togetherness. I will travel with him - he who is the keeper of my heart. I am going to wherever he is.

What are you doing?
-I am doing what I love most - I am writing.