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The Missing Group Photo

I was browsing through Landian. Gone were the old silly posts where everyone joined in. The posts are rare; the people who once happily joined in the comment threads silent. Or, maybe, the posts were not that engaging already. Maybe, it’s not because people stopped caring.

The next thing that I did was to browse through the meager number of photos in the page. There were print screens of the silly times that had become the bond between the Landian– Judean and Kim’s pair, Laurence’s, other miscellaneous things that just pop out of the blue. And, yeah, my own supposed pairing with Jan Kenneth. Looking at those photos, how I wish I had give a few more comments, a few more likes. If only I could extend the thread.

What I am trying to say, without any tinge of artistic frivolity, is that I miss these people. And you have to give me credit for it because I rarely miss certain groups of friends. I quite easily move on. Maybe, not from them. Or maybe this is just hormonal.

I have imagined myself going through the journey of debating with these people. I have imagined finishing my college life ahead of them–a year ahead–and spending a thanksgiving dinner exclusively with them.  The shitty thing is, as I grew to love debate more and more, one by one, they started leaving the Union, debate. One by one, we were consumed by our individual problems and woes; one by one, they started not attending practices until one day, it stopped.

Honestly, I am frustrated because a lot of them really had it going for them–Mel and Marzh, to be specific. I don’t know if they felt out of love with debate or if they felt unappreciated or were just exhausted by other things like home and academics. But if only I could contain them in a bottle and make them attend again, I would. I am haunted by the loss of such talents not because we are running out of members but because they are among the best that we can ever get.

Honestly, I am frustrated that I am missing them–the gossip, the stories, the everything. I am frustrated because I’m supposed to have moved on already. Unexpectedly, the pain of getting left behind is not easy to forget. It grows each time you remember it; it aches each time you find yourself wanting. Being Trainings Director, it pains me to go to practices and not see them there anymore. It’s like those practices with Kuya Leyson minus the mentor and half the heart of training. I had fallen in love with Landian and our friendship before I even got infatuated with debate. I stayed not only because I found my heart in debate but also because I had friends there. True, I am not alone. But it does not discount the fact that it would be a hundred times better with Landian.

Maybe the fact that we don’t have a group photo was the premonition of the fading of something that had started as a devoted friendship older members were envious of. If only I could ask them to try again–maybe just one more round. If only we can allow ourselves to have that one group photo. Promise, I’ll hit like on each comment because maybe you will also miss the old times.

A dream I cannot chase

Liberating the soul must have a greater placement than the ease of one’s mind or the appeasement of one’s broken dignity. Freeing one’s self from the pains and regrets of quondam dreams and journeys not taken perhaps is the true way to attain contentment and spiritual peace. It is not to say that every dream should be pursued and every road should be taken. It is that the longing to satiate the deepest appetences of the soul never ceases to distract you wherever you go. Sometimes, the longing might be so entrenched with one’s peace that it paralyzes you and you never move on.

This this a silly point to be rethinking about some decisions made in the past. I have traveled long enough down this path. I know that this leg of the journey is almost halfway done. However, during moments when I find it futile to study things I cannot grasp, I will still find myself wishing that I was creating something else out of myself. Having traveled for three years, I must painfully give in to the idea that I will not learn to love it (And how I thought one can learn what to love…or perhaps un-learning to love another is what you cannot simply learn).

I will still pursue this path with all the dedication and industry that I can give except my heart. Down the other road, if I look at it and feel my chest, my heart heaves with every beat to lead my feet down the beautiful, broken path. But down this road, it is simply cold.

It is hard. Every picture distracts me. Knowing that the idea is even a bit appealing to me scares me. I have not moved on; I shall never move on. A dream that I had once adapted from another, I have now truly made my own. How it anchored itself upon the shores of my spiritual peace is Orphic; how I have not been able to forget it is understandable. You can never forgive nor forget something which you do not understand.

 That dream is all-pretty; a dream incompatible with the present workings of my  reality. But it will always be my most beautiful dream. In memoir of my velletie for art and design, the distraction that I shall not entertain anymore. This heart, it silently breaks out of an inconsolable longing for Design, the dream that I cannot chase.

I’m keeping this

Writing on this blog creates a different me every single time. It is as if at a certain time, I unconsciously shuts the other layers of who I am to be able to express myself. Halfway funny, that one would need to repress one or two facets of the self to articulate one’s ideas, musings, and emotions. Perhaps this is one among the many reasons that I still keep this blog even when my other blogging platforms have died. Perhaps aside from the momentary liberating experience of easing one’s heart and soul, I am craving for a release from my own self. Maybe, this is how I fulfill my fantasies of creating a better version of me.

This blog has seen a dozen versions of me. I tend to be honest when in reality I have enveloped myself in dishonesty and selective integrity. I tend to be romantic when in reality I clothe myself in a pretend disgust for romanticism. I tend to be emotional when in reality I am inclined to trust my mind more than my feelings. My freedom here is one of the soul; I am free to acknowledge happiness, litost, grief, hatred, regret, loneliness, and longing.

My haziest dreams and my deepest desires take refuge in secret stories, in short posts, in the pictures that I use. In here, I am freed from the bounds of surviving reality. Ruby, Jane, RJ — I am all that in here while outside the confines of this page I am simply Ruby.

The other side lacks the warmth that makes comfortable freedom grow. Outside, I am forced to induratize in order to protect myself from the pains of being vulnerable. Here, I am free to gush, to blush. I am free to say that I am scared and that I want to be cared for. No one will judge me if I say that I have a velleitie for romance or that I am broken and lonely.

I am subdued; I am in moderation. Life here is moving at my defined pace. There is a calming presence that surrounds my published posts and whatever theme I have chosen out of whimsical deliberation. This blog, it has not betrayed me. It still makes me feel safe and that is how one can truly enjoy freedom.

Little, Ugly Boat

Beyond the eyes of those who live in the grey metropolis, the boat made of rotting wood and rusting iron sailed silently through the waters. Have the eyes forgotten about him, the little boat? Oftentimes, they did. But in the sleepiness of their consciousness, perhaps on those times that memory never speaks of, they did remember…they did know that the boat was there, hoping for a catch. The boat that was of seawater-aged wood, corroded iron, and plastic tarp roof…it never truly left those eyes. Those eyes were constantly watching from beyond the mist-like smog…wondering, questioning, though never hoping that it shall set upon the little, ugly boat again. It was enough that they know the little boat exists. As the little boat tries to hide the pain of water seeping through its floor’s cracks, the humiliation of the constant stench of slime and grime, and the loneliness of sharing the sea with no one during an approaching rain, those eyes closed…and opened without a thought that, maybe, the grimy boat was sinking.

To the Kids

I am a friend of many faces. I will try to teach you, understand you, and guide you. I wish that you could be as twitterpated with debate as black is with night. I am limited. I will extend my arm and sacrifice but I am not infinite. You need to help yourself as well to learn and to grow. I can only water you as much as the rain will allow. Reach for the sunlight; seek it. Photosynthesize.

Leave your knowledge behind; this point is not the place to boast of nonexistent wisdom. Unlearn, learn, and re-learn. Success cannot be found if you believe that you have already succeeded. It is eonian. You never succeed; you only get rewarded and move on. Be the kids who love to learn and who are unafraid of achieving great and then greater heights.

Be the outgrowth. The weeds that survive the weather. Let us struggle and survive and live together. I will be your friend and you will hate me half the time. But I will remain to be your friend until we all become mirifical enough to make our own mentors and our Union proud. Be the grass; I’ll bring the rain.

To Janelle

Be with a man who will not take you to London or to New York or Las Vegas. Be with a man who will take you to places most people have not even heard of. Be with a man who will take you to South Africa, who will watch sunsets with you in the Ganges, who will visit Andean farmers with you, who will want you to enrich your connection with the universe as you visit Cambodia, Nepal, Greece, Norway, or Jamaica.

Be with someone who thinks that the better bouquet of flowers to give you is something that is placed in a pot, breathing, growing. And who thinks that the best bouquet to give you is a trip to Logan Pass. Be with someone who will witness the Delta Aquarius with you. Be with someone whose idea of travelling is staying on street inns and driving to far-off beaches, sanctuaries, fields and towns. Be with someone who will want you to always grow as a person.

Be not with a man who requires you to be a good cook. Be with a man who enjoys your lack of culinary skill, how you both take charge with coming up with edible breakfast. Be with a man who shares in your house chores, who knows that housework is a science that you two should share and learn. Be with a man who knows how capable you are as an individual and as a partner and who lets you maximize that capacity. Yet, he is a man who knows that you want to feel special and cared of at times. Be with a man who lets you take the wheel but keeps the keys. Be with a man who treats you like a lady yet who believes in your strength as a woman.

Be with someone who appreciates you, who recognizes your efforts at impressing him and who tries to impress you back. Be with a man who appreciates you. Be with a man who basks in the perks of having a Janelle who racks her brains for simple yet sweet gimmicks and treats. Like writing games in the library. Or making a jar of bears. Be with a man who is not shy to admit that he blushes at the femininity of the gift; be with a man who competes to be the sweeter one between the two of you. Be with a man who never ceases to court you because you also never stop top try to be pretty for him.

Be with someone who knows how to break your heart. Someone who makes your heart bleed with happiness. Someone who also knows how to break your heart with respect; he does not leave you scarred forever. Be with someone who tries to become your friend, or even just a silent shadow who exists under the sun of your life, even after you stopped being lovers. Be with someone who takes care of you even when he does not have the obligation to. Be with someone who is more of a friend than a lover.

Lastly, be with someone when you are truly ready.