Friday, August 28, 2009

Classic = Timeless

(In which I finally post the song which breaks my heart every time.)
***
And I heard it again on the radio.
video

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Why Can’t You See?... You Belong With Me


(In which I'm starting to love her.)
***
I’ve been hearing a co-teacher singing a very cool song by Taylor Swift since yesterday which got me so curious. It is really good I wanted to post it here and I swear I did my best to have it uploaded. And I did (after an hour!) So here it is! Enjoy!
video
You Belong With MeTaylor Swift

You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset
She's going off about something that you said
She doesn't get your humour l
ike I do

I'm in the room, its a typical Tuesday night
I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like
And she'll never know your story like I do

But she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts
She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers
Dreaming 'bout the day when you'll wake up and find
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you
Been here all along so why can't you see?
You belong with me
You belong with me

Walking the streets with you in your worn out jeans
I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be
Laughing on the park bench thinking to myself
Hey isn't this easy?

And you've got a smile that could light up this whole town
I haven't seen it in awhile, since she brought you down
You say you find I know you better than that
Hey, Whatcha doing with a girl like that?

She wears high heels, I wear sneakers
She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers
Dreaming bout the day when you'll wake up and find
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you
Been here all along so why can't you see?
You belong with me

Standing by, waiting at your back door
All this time how could you not know that?
You belong with me
You belong with me

Oh I remember you driving to my hou
se in the middle of the night
I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're about to cry
I know your favorite songs and you tell me about your dreams
I think I know where you belong. I think I know it's with me.

Can't you see that I'm the one who understand you?
Been here all along so why can't you see?
You belong with me

Standing by or waiting at your back door
All this time how could
you not know that
You belong with me
You belong with me

Have you ever thought just maybe
You belong with me
You belong with me

Monday, August 24, 2009

On Happiness: A Letter To Someone From the Past and Present

(In which learning the difference makes the difference.)
***
August 23, 2009
8:05 PM
Dear,

I want to share with you one of the best lessons, er, or should I say, the only good lesson I got from a professor of American Literature way back my second year in the university. She once asked us the definition of happiness, which we tried to answer using the different shades of the word’s meaning. Then, as if to augment our agony, she asked again “What is the difference between satisfaction and contentment?” A classmate answered, “Well, they both suggest happiness.” to which the professor replied, “Yes, they do. They are similar in the sense that they both suggest happiness. However, it’s the duration of happiness that sets them apart.”

Then silence fell over the class. And she continued.

“Being satisfied with something, or someone, gives you pleasure from happiness that is ephemeral and volatile. Satisfaction suggests conditions, and if those conditions are no longer met, you cease to be satisfied and you cease to be happy. Your happiness, therefore, is short-lived and ends upon the change of conditions. Contentment, on the other hand, suggests happiness that is long-term. When you are contented, there are no but’s, no maybe’s, no if’s. You can stick with someone or something and never get tired of it. You don’t need any conditions. So if you want to be happy, you need to be contented.”

You told me once, that you’ve always wanted me to be happy. And whatever you’re doing now is a manifestation of your pure and unconditional love for me. Thank you very much. But dear, I don’t need another mother. You can do better than that.

But despite everything, I want you to know that you are very much appreciated and loved. I’m not the silly kid you used to know. At least not as silly as I used to be. You see, I am thinking now. But please do not forget that I am also feeling.

No matter how much we try to categorize things, I believe these present feelings and intentions will be hard, if not impossible, to classify under a specific term. I don’t really care much about it. What’s more important now is, sadly, the ephemeral factor of this relationship - however you want to call this relationship.

I’m starting to understand, but not fully. All I know is, from what you said, you are offering me pure love that I either overlook or do not see at all. You might be right. But I guess it is not wrong to think that your pure love is equal to charity. (Thank you for your generosity.)

Or maybe, what you’re really trying to teach me is that you can only give me the satisfaction from the knowledge and feeling that I am not alone – for now. That you are just nurturing and taking care of me until I am strong enough to be free from your benevolent guidance. My dear, how lame and corny can you be! Your litany of reasons and justifications and excuses make me feel like I’m a bird learning to fly. How literary! But you’re right. For now, I am dependent of your presence. So dear, let’s keep it simple. Drop the nonsense lines and unwelcomed names. I see that it’s not happiness you’re giving, but the realization of the truth that it is contentment I need which is not in you.

Dear, please do not let your pure love drag me to the quicksand of doom. Instead, let it guide me towards complete healing. You can leave anytime but now, nor tomorrow. It is again the question of duration. Until then, please stay and bear with me.

For our happiness,
The Seeker Girl

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Hot and Cold

(In which the wind gave me another memory.)
***

I have had so much hatred to all those FX drivers who have been going through the same route where no passengers get off. Yeah. I like the view in Rainforest Park but the heavy traffic in that area makes me forget all about the beautiful sceneries. It’s really good to stare at all those trees and lovely houses while you get yourself stuck in the heavy traffic due to road repairs and stuffs but if you know you are just minutes away from being late, you won’t enjoy the view.

Today, I am lucky to have a driver who deviates from the usual routine but unlucky enough to have the wrong co-passenger at the wrong time.

So the driver didn’t pass Stella Mariz but the Rosario area. However, a man made an early reminder that he will be getting off at The Medical City. It wasn’t a big deal at first and because I have this very terrible cold and a slight fever, I dozed off. I woke up from my deep slumber just in time to witness a very delightful scene – a road turned into a parking lot. And yes, you guessed it right. I didn’t come to work on time today – again. In fact, the traffic was really bad I have to walk a block to save my paycheck from further deductions.

As I got off from the vehicle, I felt the wind – it was both hot and cold. Whether the feeling was because of my feverish condition, I don’t know. However, I suddenly got the feeling that I want to go somewhere with trees. Somewhere serene. Somewhere quiet and peaceful. It was as if nature can heal me in a way that medicines can’t. And whether it was my body I desire healing for, I don’t know.

I was stuck with that feeling even hours later. What is there in nature that keeps me coming back? Is it the wind? Is it the noises from children running and laughing? Is it the birds chirping? Is it the butterflies that kiss your palms? Is it the tender hands that hold you when you walk? Is it the eyes that watch over your movement? Is it that distinct, foreign voice that shouts your name when you get too far to be held and watched over? Is it the happy memory of sitting under the shade of a tree with a good book and your lover’s head on your lap? Or is it everything?

Or maybe it is just my fever.

Monday, August 17, 2009

On Forgetting

(In which accidentally hearing a conversation made me ask questions… Again.)
***

No, I’m not eavesdropping. It’s an accident. I just felt the urge to write but there is nothing to write about. Or there is. Maybe. But that will cost two reputations so I might as well keep my blog quiet. But the urge is so strong I need to write about something and the conversation that took place just behind my wall gave me inspiration.

How true are the adages “Out of sight, out of mind” and “Absence makes the heart go wander”? I wish they are as true as they should. But then again, I believe, it’s not the presence of the person you are supposed or trying to forget that make everything freaking difficult but the memories. Oh those sweet, haunting, should-have-never-happened stuffs.

The next question is “How long should the person be absent for him/her to be out of your mind?” Is six months enough? A year? How about two? Another immeasurable thing. (This one should happen ASAP.)

Speaking from experience, it s really not easy. I don’t know how it is for you. But I believe that forgetting about someone takes a lot of effort – especially if the mere thought about that person is enough to take you to the ICU. Of course that’s an exaggeration but you get the point, right? But the more guts and courage you muster to forget about that son-of-a-B, they just don’t get you any closer to your goal. Because the more efforts you take, the more conscious you get. And the more conscious you get about forgetting, the more it seems impossible. So my friend’s advice: do it unconsciously. It’ll take some time – sure. But make yourself busy with other people and other stuffs and you’ll forget about that person soon. Got that.

Just as everything about the plan seems to be perfectly executed, it’s the freaking memories that keep you stuck at square one. No. I am not talking about the thoughts of you and that person having a romantic dinner somewhere. I’m referring to things that are, for me, so trashy and cheesy yet so strong. How about the note that she/he wrote on a paper when you’re busy on the phone? The paper flower? Or a conversation-on-paper the two of you did out of boredom which you found when you came across your old folders? I told you they’re cheesy. But nevertheless, it’s the personal touch in them that made them special.

You can throw that. But I doubt if I will or I can. You see, no matter how rubbish they are, they’re still proofs how happy I was once. And seeing them once in a while is another proof that I’ve become stronger. Yeah. You have to shed a few teardrops at times. But that’s just it.

So why do I need to forget? Why can’t I just forget about forgetting? Now I’m back to questioning Time. Sigh. But the night is still long. And I still have memories to keep… out of sight.

Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' (line 89 – 91)

Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." (line 97 – 98)

“The Raven”
Edgar Allan Poe

Currently Reading:
The Winner Stands Alone by Paulo Coelho

Friday, August 14, 2009

On a Chessboard

(In which I rest my survival in Life’s cruel game on a flat surface of white and green.)
***

The second unit of the academy is filled with busy people making do with the very sufficient time left before coming up with a presentation tomorrow. I, together with the other teachers who just came from a pictorial with a student who’s leaving, trotted towards the other aisle to see how the students’ rehearsal was doing when a petite, slim girl wearing a baby pink blouse approached me with widely open arms. I was actually surprised to see her since I thought she was supposed to be in school today. Nevertheless, I received her with equally wide-open arms.

“Hi! How are you?” Emily said.

“I’m fine. Thank you” I said, and followed it up with a cliché that I’ve mastered in this profession. “And you?”

“Yeah, good. Oh! –“

I automatically knew that there’s something juicy she wants to share. Then she began laughing like something’s tickling her and she looked around. She grabbed my arm and led me to my room. The door wasn’t locked and we entered. I leaned on the backrest of my chair and waited for her to speak.

“Tomorrow, “See-You” will have a sports fest. And they’re gonna join.”

I waited.

“You know, Rain, Joe and…?” she looked at me, waiting for the dreaded name to be mentioned. I did.

She beamed. “Yeah, they’re gonna join the sports fest! Rain, is going to play taekwondo, Joe will be swimming and he will be playing – “

“Soccer?”

“No. Chess! Walang soccer.” and she laughed heartily.

“Not a bad choice. “ I said, smiling. “He’s good at that. But he said he rocks in soccer. (I remembered him bragging that when I see him play soccer, I’ll be oh so proud.) Were they required?”

“No, they just wanted to join. But I was laughing at him because he wants to play chess. So I told him ‘No one’s gonna watch you. Your game is so boring.’ That’s really funny!”

“Tell him I am.” And we both laughed.

“When was it?”

“Tomorrow.”

I nodded and looked at her. The smile from her hearty laugh remained. I refrained from asking more about him and the chess game.

“How’s school?”

“Oh! Terrible! You know? I have English 1 subject and I thought it’s madali. But no! I’m wrong! It’s mahirap!” she exclaimed, placing the stress on the wrong syllable when she pronounced the last word. She told me stories about how she thinks of me every time she has difficult essay homework and that she should have listened to my lessons more carefully when we’re talking about essay witting. I managed to respond to her inquiries while my heart is sinking. We went out of the room and were welcomed by the gazes of the students who were practicing how to sing Michael Jackson’s “Heal the World”.

I walked slowly to my other room. It seemed like the students are so busy doing their stuff that they don’t mind skipping classes. I sat down on my chair waiting for Jean. I thought for a moment. How long that moment seemed for I have went back to my old safe of memories within that short span of time.

He is good at playing chess. I discovered it when I asked him if he wants to play Scrabble.

“No. I like chess. You like chess?”

“I used to.”

“I want to play chess.”

“I don’t think we have a chessboard here. You should bring yours.”

“I don’t have. In Korea.”

When we finally get a friend to bring her chessboard, we played. Mine was black. And in a matter of six pieces, I lost. Not that he’s an expert for beating me but I don’t have to be an expert to see that he knows how to play. And he plays well. We never had a serious chess match after that. Either I get bored upon arranging the pieces or I give up at the first sign of defeat.

Once, he and his friend Deum had a bet. Chess match. Best of three. We were sitting around a huge rectangular table. Each player has their cheering crowd around them. Or should I say, Deum has his. I was sitting on the neutral corner. He looked at me with sweet, confident eyes.

“Who will win, you think? Me?”

“I think he’s better. We’ll see.”

“Aish! Ok. I’m alone. But I’ll win.” and he flashed a smile. It must be the kind-that-charmed-women-all-over-South-Korea sort of smile which Kaye has been telling me about.

The game ended. He lost and charged the other player of cheating, which Deum responded with “No! Touch move!” and was answered by another “Aish!” and an appealing sideward look at me. “Yeah. Touch move.”

One more “Aish!” was muttered.

The second round ended with a score of 1 – 1. The crowd was dispersed when the bell rang. Everyone was eager to go home. Deum gave him a thumb down. “I was just kind.”

“No! I won!” and he looked at me. “Right?”

“You did now. But it’s a tie. You still have one more game. So who won?” I inquired with a smirk. "No more. Time is finished." Deum responded.

I was facing the empty seat of Jean and I asked myself again. Who won? Come to think of it, everything that happened was like a chess match with crystal pieces. Mine was black. And I cringe when I look at the state of my game. I should have castled. My queen was gone. My rooks were gone. And I’m counting on a Bishop and a Knight, struggling for my pawns to get to other side.