Tag Archives: LIfe

Cried out empty



Picture (c) BlackMamba

I feel cheated.

I must say I’ve never been in a wilder roller coaster of emotions. I feel drained. I thought I’ve shed all my tears dry for this but I shocked myself again with a fresh batch of them just a while ago. I guess my life has been set to be melodramatic, crazy, intense, and finally, numbing as exhaustion creeps in.

On with the story:

Yesterday was the last day I could give my answer to an opportunity I was given.

I had talked to my parents for months, and throughout the semestral break. Finally, they conceded minutes before 5 PM of the last day of confirmation. And so I rushed to the office, shaking like a leaf, burst through the office doors, and teary-eyed, told them the news. Actually I’d told them maybe a day before about the situation so at least they won’t be shocked. I had used every reason imaginable to appeal to my parents, and finally on the last day they conceded. I didn’t expect this to happen. I thought the chapter was closed and done. Although of course, I could not help but completely extinguish the small spark of hope that remained in me. As long as there was time to confirm my decision, as long as there was time to send THAT email, still possibly the impossible could be turned otherwise.

But then when I arrived there at the office, it seems that they had relayed my answer for me. And it was immediately offered to another applicant decked in the waiting lust, I do not fault them, really. They thought that that was the end of that. But the slot was given to me, and I still feel it should’ve been mine to deal with. There was a reason why they gave me time to confirm my final, irrevocable decision. I thought I still had until the seventh of November; I should’ve. I get it that accepting the slot entails responsibilities, but the right to accept or reject it was still mine. But that was taken away from me.

I don’t know what will happen now. I’m in limbo. They told me to wait for word from them if the slot would be given. I don’t know, I have next week. I feel a certain melancholy, like I’m blanketed by this sheet of sadness. This is beyond exhausting: things–my life–being decided by people other than myself.


Can’t the slate be wiped clean?


While the last days haven’t been frenetic in terms of physical activities (I pretty much bum at home during breaks, reading books, watching television, and again, reading, reading), I have had some big decisions to make.

I have worked towards a particular goal and desire of mine throughout last semester. I thought I would be going too. But as it turned out, no matter how much coaxing I did, no matter how much I argued, ultimately my parents’ word remained the law. I see the logic in their arguments. Still, I could not help but feel that they do not get the reason behind my wanting to go at all. I simply want to go because of the experience. I want to go to gain a certain maturity, borne from having seen some other part of the world, from living in some other culture. I want to meet new people, get to know them, perhaps befriend them despite our differences. I wanted this to impact me in terms of deepening my perspective of the world, giving me growth, giving me confidence.

But that is not how things are destined to be, it seems.

Actually a few hours ago, as I thought to write this post as a cap off to the break and as an ode maybe to decisions made, I felt pretty light. I felt hopeful and excited for the new semester. I even sent a text already to the Office in charge of this whole thing. It felt bad, I felt bad for them. I know that they worked hard to facilitate the exchange, to help me. I admit to my mistake in all this. Perhaps I’d been so excited by the idea of getting to finally experience something of this degree, of this potential, that I got blinded from reality. I’m 19, strictly already already an adult, a young adult. But the reality is: my schooling is still financed by my parents and my scholarship. They have a point in wanting me to graduate as early as possible, so I may finally gain financial independence. I guess getting to live out some idealistic 5/6-month dream is not part of my reality.

And you might ask, why not work to ease the burden? Believe me, I have since tortured myself about all these questions, all these ‘what-ifs’. It’s scary, but I am ready and willing to step up to a greater level of responsibility. But–it seems that there’s always that BUT. Again, the argument of me only prolonging my schooling gets rehashed again. That’s essentially the gist of the arguments, anyway.

If you’re reading, I don’t know what you’re getting from this post. You might think I’m whining. You might think I’m a total failure, a disappointment, for not being strong and willful enough to go after a dream. But the truth remains that: my will is not the only one that matters.

I also want it too. I want to graduate already too. My course spans five years, and stopping for a semester will entail another additional year of schooling. Perhaps yes this is a great opportunity, but the timing just isn’t right. But I have thought about this hard even from the beginning, and I had begun to accept it. But my parents just can’t, and I just couldn’t leave without their approval.

I just plan to bury myself in worthwhile endeavors this semester. Although that won’t probably make me less aware of the big opportunity that I threw out the window, I hope it would lessen the pain of that awareness.

My heart is aching as I type. I hope I can blur that pain with worthwhile things this second semester.

I’m (You’re) an artist because…


I spotted an interesting book getaway from Christian Mihai‘s blog. He’s giving away ebooks of his own works but have asked interested participants to first answer a question to get a chance to win.

The question–or rather the statement to complete: “I’m an artist because…”

My answer:

I am an artist because I treat every day as a canvass on which to paint at will. Unintended splatters may color the surface but I can always do damage control, and just brush paint over the bad again to achieve the picture I had in mind. Or I could just let and use them and thereon let spontaneity take its course.

I’m an artist because I believe in living life and fully feeling every moment. But whatever happens, whatever forces may come at play, whatever inspiration may drive me; I’ll remember that it’s my arms that create art on the sheet.


Apply yourself, let your creativity flow.

That came out of nowhere, so artlessly–really as if I were an artist (as I’d like to think). But I guess we all are, in our own right. Something really can be said of spontaneity, methinks.

What about you? What makes you an artist? Delve deep into yourselves, and post your thoughts below. Or you can go visit Christian’s blog to have a chance to win yourself. Nonetheless, it’d be great if you could still link your answers back to this page so we all can hear it. =)

(Photo taken: robertadeiana.com)

Tests of Friendship



My friend fell sick.

And not only did it happen with an awful timing, she also fell for a most unlucky and uncomfortable disease. Apparently she came into contact with someone with varicella, better known as chicken pox, and now she has those blisters covering her body everywhere.

I’m writing this because this most recent happening has put our friendship into perspective. I actually invited her to come with me to the mall just the other day, with the intent of dining there and buying a new pair of footwear, on my part. I still hadn’t known about her condition. Even she herself was unaware what the symptoms meant, probably never personally knwoing anyone who’s had it before. The first time I saw her spots, I immediately thought that she could’ve contracted chicken pox. Thus I was exposed to her all throughout for two or so hours, and we even shared a serving of fries!  But I wasn’t too worried at first as I had contracted the disease back in high school, and I knew that getting the disease is supposed to give you lifetime immunity against it.

But then, I asked some of my other friends and one told me that she knew someone who actually was a repeat case. Only then did I get overwhelmingly worried. Like most, I couldn’t afford to fall sick–most especially not with chicken pox. I actually have a string of exams just a week after the writing of this post! Not only will my academics get compromised, literally no one can actually take care of me. My parents are miles away (I’m in university). Probably my friends, but I would be fair and not expect them to risk themselves just to take care of me. Comforting texts and messages, perhaps. 😦

So the next day, my friend goes to the infirmary and indeed, it is chicken pox. She’s still in isolation now and in treatment in the university infirmary. And so, this is the part where I question and ponder about our friendship. She asked me to go to her dorm room and secure things she needs for her isolation, but I declined… Does this make me a bad friend? Or am I not a true friend to her at all?

The simple truth of it was: I WAS AFRAID. I researched about varicella in the internet, and indeed, I realized that immunity is not a guarantee. Chicken pox is highly contagious, and one’s developed immunity to it totally varies from person to person, as every person’s immune system varies. The virus actually stays within your system after you’ve defeated it, and can get reactivated. Or worse, you can get a case of shingles, an advanced, extremely painful form of the disease if your immune system’s really weak and vulnerable (a more frequent happenstance with the older crowd).

I texted my friend, and talked to her to make her understand. I said I also could not risk my other roommates, besides the possible risk to my self. I reminded I had no close relatives at all, as opposed to her having at least an aunt nearby (who unfortunately can visit her only on Sundays, because of work…) who I could ask help from. Anyway, her doctor has banned visitors.

Still, I tried to help my friend. I notified her dorm manager of her condition and warned that her roommates may have to take certain steps. I also asked for them to gather her much needed things to give to her. I texted our guardian who at the end of the first day of her confinement sent someone to buy her medicines. I sent messages and called. I did all I could save for one thing: see her. I keep telling myself that surely for now, I have no choice. It wouldn’t do any one good if I also fall ill. Surely, I’ve done right by her. It doesn’t stop the awful feeling though, that I’m not doing enough, that I’m not being a TRUE FRIEND at all. Especially after realizing that should the clock get rewound, I would still do what I did, and moreover choose to not have seen her in the first place at all…

Just this afternoon, it got worst. She’s run out of drinking water and asked for me to buy her some. I went to the infirmary, fully intending to just leave it to the nurse (as was both our understanding) but today’s a Saturday and the only nurse there was in charge of the ER so she couldn’t leave her post. I was given leave to go to her. But I chose to just leave her water right outside her door, and did not even knock. I texted her under the pretense of giving the water to someone to leave it right outside her door. Still, I was conscious of the possible consequences of the situation and was only trying to keep myself from getting sick.

BUT I FEEL AWFUL. I feel pity for my friend. It must be kind of lonely there, with no one but the doctors and the hospital staff for company. But I just couldn’t do anything more. Even now, I’m worried. I think I may be itching in some places. My mother through the phone tells me I could just be imaging them. But there’s naught to do, and I could only wait, and hope, and pray for myself–and for my friend.

My mother actually texted me the other day to just visit my friend and just bath and scrub myself clean afterwards. I was actually hysterical over the phone. All the search hits in the net are quite scary, they only exacerbated my tension. But perhaps because chicken pox is truly a difficult, so easily caught disease.

Pondering over my mother’s text, I could not help but wonder if she too was disappointed in me. She knows my friend, knows that we’ve been through a lot together. Besides feeling perhaps relief over her daughter being so conscious of her own well-being, could she have been disappointed in raising a child who abandoned her friend when it first, truly, really mattered?

And so now, my heart still aches; and worry still flutters in and crowds my mind. I can only pray to God that my friend heal quickly, and that I stay healthy and hale.

** Source: http://www.estatesgazette.com/blogs/property-law/heart.jpg