Troika III (Finale)

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Third Party

You had a problem with your best friend recently. I was there to help you.

You talked about how hard it was for you to lose a friend. I listened to your sorrows.

You said you felt like you were abandoned and things just fell out of order. I saw your struggles.

You asked me to stay faithful as a friend. I did as I promised, though I thought I was rational.

You thought we were good friends. I thought we were close friends.

They knew all of these stuffs. They asked who your best friend is.

You uttered a name, your best friend’s name. Not mine. And I thought, damn, get over it!

I felt bad and betrayed. You never said a thing.

I am just a third party trying to enter an exclusive relationship. You never realized though.

I am just a guest to your sortie. You invited me still.

I told you to get over it. You said the same to me.

I was speechless. You were right.

They knew all of these stuffs. But they know nothing really.

I am going to find me another. You said nothing. I said nothing. Done.

Troika II

-->PART II (The Boy Who Cried Foul)
I wanted to throw a hard punch straight in to your face when I heard you talk shit. And I was right there when you said a word that made my temper blow up. You were teasing me in the wrong moment and damn, I was so pissed off. Good thing I collected my thoughts and remember what my mom told me about throwing tantrums in public. You were a lucky bitch then. I told you to read my blog and see my wrath.

Three weeks later, and a blog terrorizing your whole existence in earth did not materialize. Why? I don’t really know. Maybe, the whole “threatening” thing was just a spur of the moment, an empty threat hoping to send you a warning that I am not comfortable on the idea of you making a big joke of my dire emotions. And I guess you got my point then since you stop talking shit into my face.

Or maybe, I just got tired of dealing with such emotions that I just don’t care. Really, I’ve had enough baggage in my life and to carry another (and you’re not as light as you think you are) is just too much. Too many enemies for me; too many bridges burned; too much negativity in my life.

And maybe, I just understood your point - that I am taking this thing too seriously that a mere mention of a name makes me furious. Maybe you thought, it’s ok to talk trash to the resident trash-talker in Aguman.

Dude, you are just too lucky you never have to experience the things I have gone through. My life really is not really an open book, and you may not really know who I truly am. But at the end of the day, one learns his lessons and every bit of anger is forgotten. Hence, you are forgiven.

Troika

If it happens once, it may never happen again.

If it happens twice, it will happen a third time.

I have always believed that in life, everything comes in pairs - sun and moon, spoon and fork, gun and bullet, boy and girl, black and white. Opposite or not, there will always be “that” one thing which perfectly fits the other, the one who’ll perfectly complement the existence of another. Everything in pairs and that’s the scheme. But then again, is it really the case? I found myself contemplating on such idea. Until finally, like Archimedes, I reached my Eureka moment - Life is not about pairs and partners and duos, moreover, it comes in threes or trios.

For in the sun and moon, there are stars that never dared to rest a single jiffy in giving off light, though mostly unappreciated, and greatly ignored.

For in the spoon and fork, there is a knife that’ll cut the woes in dealing with chunks of meat, lending its sharp blade, and making up for the bluntness of the more likely pair.

For in a gun and a bullet, there is a trigger that’ll exert every inch of effort it has just for a innocent bullet generate a force destructive to anyone who heads in its way.

For in black and white, a gray exists to compensate for what the pair cannot classify, to define the ambiguity of an area, to offer a neutral haven for those who could not make up their mind.

For in a boy and a girl, there is that one person who’ll have to deal with a temporary pain until s/he is finally given his turn for the needed attention and much wanted love.

And the situation gets vague and the complexity worsens. For in the natural order of things, everything leads to entropy and chaos is an organized clutter.

PART I (Win Some, Lose Some)

I had always been extremely competitive ever since. I am in constant pursuit to better than myself and others. I hate losing, especially sucking up and disappointing myself by delivering a lackluster performance when it matters most. I take losing so seriously that it came to a point that I developed a fear of failing. Then, I would cry, blame myself and feel sorry for my tainted, belittled ego. And the self-pity would last for days until I would found a way to redeem myself and boost my confidence once more. And for someone who regards ego so much, having my confidence back is rather orgasmic.

Well, everything changes as wisdom and perspective progresses through time. Though I am still that overly egoistic boy, my perception of losing has changed - big time. Before, failure was a ghost I cease to recognize. Now, I see failure as a nasty vegetable you may need to eat to somehow suffice the nutrient you lacked that lead you to your letdown. Failure is a detour, not a dead-end. And we have to deal with it every once in a while.

Like how I managed to deal with my three game losing streak in university-wide contests. Last semester, I had a three game winning (not really winning, since they are all second places) streak and earned some extra breads. Now, three losses and more money spent for a chance to earn anew. You see, life is in really in threes, even my winning and losing streaks tell so!

Anyhow, I guess, this is not really my month or my year, perhaps. But I have no choice but deal with the cards life gives me, right?

co (http://www.lasisblog.com)

An Ode to that Arab-Looking Guy

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“Angas ng dating nung lalaking yun. Pa-bida pa. Sa gitna umupo, e late naman siya. Mukhang arabo pa.” I told Val, my seatmate and BS Math friend, on the opening day of our Educ 100 class. It was a freakishly hot summer afternoon in UP and the mere thought of going into class is just dragging. Well, had it been my way, I would have stayed home, watched all day and tired myself in doing nothing. But when you’re in “purgatory”, i.e., non-major status and needed to shift badly, you have no choice but to sacrifice your ultra elusive precious vacation.

Obviously, I was in my usual self then, being a brat, throwing grand tantrums, dishing out people and all. Well, blame it on the weather; or in my “hanging” academic status; or in my unstable, stressful “love life”; or in the fact that my batch mates are graduating and here I am sitting in this boring room instead of practicing my graduation march. There are obviously a lot of things going on in my life then and I was about to throw in the towel and quit. But I wouldn’t mind spending that one last chance of getting back at people I hate. And so this Arab-looking guy, a complete stranger, my first “potential” prey, had to experience my wrath of nastiness. Or so I thought.

Fast forward, almost a year has passed and here I am, practicum-shy of my long-delayed graduation (finally!), completing a degree in education (who would have thought?) and single yet contended (but that’s another issue!). And for that Arab-looking guy? He dropped out of the course because of “extreme emotional violence and trepidation” from a classmate. Haha!

Seriously, that guy is one of my best buddies in UP. We were reporting group mates in that class (di ko pa din na-gets yung game mo!), thus, became seat/activity/”bash” mates plus share a couple of friends and a professor. Also, we were shifting into Educ, thus spending much time chasing the notorious, ever powerful Ate Glo. Good thing, we were both accepted in Educ or else the story ended right there and then. And now, we are torturing ourselves in a Physics (his major and my minor) class.

In such a short time, I gained a friend worthy of two. (Oo, Lawi, dinelete ko sila. Haha). Enrolment pal, “Bash” mate, taxi friend, ka-alaskahan, Starbucks buddy (lugi na ko dahil nauubos allowance ko sa almusal natin). Haha!

Well, he may not fully experienced my wrath but I always make sure he gets a dose of it every once in a while.

Thanks, Andrell Adik, humanda ka sa Tuesday. Inuna ko pa tong pinapagawa mo kesa sa probset natin. Kokopya na lang ako sayo. Haha!

P.S. Di ko pwedeng apihin si he-who-must-not-be –named. Kawawa naman yung tao. Haha! Di naman siguro siya nang-aagaw ng friends e.

Sh*t Happens

I don't know where to begin, how to begin, what to do, why do it and what the f@ck am I writing?

Sh*t happens. Yeah! And if that sh*t happens to be your ex-lover showing up with your batch mate, then shut the f*ck up and don't be bitter about it. Well, remind yourself you are so much better after breaking up. Really.

Sh*t happens. And if that means you are my age and you got grounded, deal with it. You have no choice. You do what you have to do. Respect.

Sh*t happens. And if some of your batch mates failed to show up in your batch bonding, then at least enjoy the night with those who came. They have their reasons. Some are valid. And others? Cut the crap. I ain't gonna be nice anyways.

Sh*t happens. So what? You're gonna make it through anyways. I've been through the roughest and I'm not backing down.

So bring it on bitches! Die you suckers! Sh*t happens and so is luck!

An Open Letter to Her

It’s been weeks since I last talked to you. The last I remembered was a chat on Facebook I was supposed to ignore. Or is it weeks? Months, more so, I guess. It’s amazing to note that such span of time, when we can’t forge a day without talking to each other when we were so much together. But what the heck, everything’s done and so are we.

Well, for a guy who thinks he has something to say to everything, I was mute about our supposedly “break-up”. Yeah, I had talked to a bunch of people about my sentiments yet I haven’t issued any press release or official statement about all of the drama that is “us”. But don’t worry; I will not bother talking about details of our “break-up” here. I just want to reconnect with you through this.

In the 11th, I’ll turn 21, a year older, and/or wiser. Remember how excited we were to plan your 18th and my 21st birthday? I was ecstatic then since we get to spend our debut both in the same year. But things have changed and the course of our relationship turned into a dead end.

I am turning 21 and yet I am acting as if I am a brat- not talking to you, nor even looking at you. I am trying my hardest to ignore you and convince myself that you’re just an entity there of whom I should not be concerned. Sigh. I guess, we both knew how painful it is to do so.
Well, what the heck. I am lost for words right now. How will I say this? You hurt me. You hurt me so much that I am doing this to you. You hurt me so much that I acted bitter and resentful. I was so hurt that I had to reassess myself and see my worth as a man. You hurt me. But I may have hurt you too.

I decided to end our relationship then just because I thought I am fed up with you and your immaturity. I was immature, too, you see? I was more concerned of myself then that I never listened to your explanations. Had I been more open-minded, I could have forgiven you. But, shockingly, I must admit I never regret making that decision. All of the things I’ve seen and heard I decided that it was better to salvage the respect and friendship left between us.
I would like to be believe that what we had was love. But we can’t live on love alone. You know that well enough, too. But why am I even writing this letter?

I missed those texts and the concern and all. I am thankful for that. But I am not going to beg for those once more. It’s time you give that to him. I heard you’re doing fine with him, steady and ready. I am happy for you, seriously. Oita. Ala mu.

I Call My Kids Special

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“I Call My Kids Special”

I.

They call my kid stupid

for he cannot write nor read

but I know he is intelligent

and to teach him, just be patient

Still they call my kid abnormal

I call him just as special.

II.

They call my kid unruly,

for he loves running around actively,

he may not seem to care,

but everyone deserves a pair.

They may call him abnormal,

but I call him very special.

III.

They call my kid useless

for he always needs to rest,

he may never be get to dance,

but he still had his chance.

they still call my kid abnormal

I call him just as special.

IV.

They call my kid weird,

for he never wanted to be jeered,

he may be too messy and bossy,

but he also learns very quickly.

And they call my kid abnormal,

I call him just as special.

V.

They call my kid futile,

when he cannot react he'll just smile,

though he may not hear a single sound,

I know his abilities are completely unbound.

Still they call him abnormal,

I call him just as special.

VI.

They call my child miserable,

for he cannot behave proper and able,

he resists changes and shows distress,

so guide him and love him no less,

Still they call my child abnormal,

I call him just as special.

VII.

They call my kid worthless,

for his behavior is a mess,

he never conforms and he always lied,

but we should understand, there was never a guide.

Still they call him abnormal,

but to me he is special.

VIII.

They call my kid unfortunate,

for he cannot see what's in his fate,

though darkness may surround his whole hind,

I know he shed some light in his mind.

But they still call him abnormal,

to me he will always be special.

Music by: Kenny Logins' House at the Pooh Corner