TIC TAC TOE

Things change.

People kept changing.

The sun always rise and set at the same direction but not those whom it shines for.

You love her so much to the point that you think your heart will burst out but today, you just woke up hating the day you met her.

You lose your mom in a car accident a year ago. During those four months of grief, you were convince that you weren't fit to live in a world without her anymore. Two years had past now and as those suicidal thoughts visit you at night, you were suddenly afraid to die.

Being a mother of two kids, you watch them go to their first day of school. They were shrieking, calling your name and begging you not to leave them alone. Last night, your conversation with your first born was tough. He was informing you that he's getting married but you don't like the girl. He was just informing you. Your permission would not matter.

You knew her like forever. You swore to each other--bestfriends forever. She goes abroad three years ago to follow my dreams, she says. You folow yours. The communication between the both of you, during those years, were little. Last night, you see her at your alumni homecoming. Your eyes met hers, she gives you a smile. Only a smile.

Things keep changing.

Peole keep changing.

Nothing last forever. We all know this. But at the end of the day, we keep on seeing ourselves having the kind of forever we always want.

We keep on believing on things that time couldn't touch. But we're aware that we do not own anything.

How utterly sad is to realize that as long as there is time, there will always be change.

FRAGMENTS OF TIME: INTRODUCTION

It was a very humid night when my sister, maybe drug from three hours of internet browsing, ask a question I keep on pondering for three days now. She had just knew 30 minutes ago that Im the author of a blog called Apples and Midnight Stories.

"Such courage", she exclaimed. It was, really.

"Well, it takes a strong woman to speak her mind diba?" I said, quoting the words of a famous Philippine talk show host.

We laughed.

"Why do you write, sister?" she teased.

For a moment, I ponder for the right words. Those that will shut her up. :p

Finally, I said, "Why wouldn't I?"



And it goes that way. Why wouldn't I? Why would the rest of the world will not? Writing on this site and on my journals are my way of talking to the universe.

Contrary to the usual belief, emotions and events have their equivalent words. I believe its necessary to write down those things that made you glad, put you to tears, reminds you of your fears and whatever emotions an event stirs up in you. Writing them down would somehow make the time stop. Those feelings, events and people that had been converted into words became immortal. Frozen forever in time.




Each of us has their own stories to tell, remembering hurts, but one day we'll realize that not being able to remember hurts more.

For the first time ever, I decided to remember my life. I will snatch those memories from the past and write it down making them untouchable by time.

Don't get me wrong though. Past is past and we were taught not to dwell with it anymore but I think there's beauty in sharing with the world those things that made you who you are.

After all, at the very end, we will all end up like the things we wrote down--stories.

THAT COLD COLD

You were there.

Underneath the vast dark sky with the gentle wind washing through your body. You have your friends with you. Your friends for almost ten years, having known each other for quite long, you knew they were more than special. Its dark out there and cold but you found pleasure in enjoying the soft wind that brushes through your face and all over your body.

You feel naked that night for you have left your walls unguarded. Why would you? The people who always do their best to hurt you were far away.

For the first time in two months, you felt free. Free from all the judgement of the world. No one will try to define you here.

And as you look at that nightsky you suddenly felt miserable. Why am I living like this? Why, in all people do I have to live like this?

But you don't have an answer for that one. Not yet now.

POKER FACE

The days that gone by without me writing in here were greatly spent on things that my parents considered what matters but does not make me happy.

I am working now.

Let's just say inside one of the most prestigious hospital in the country. For the meantime, not a nurse per se but as a medical secretary. The environment was good. The income enough to sustain me with my needs and wants. The workmates, however, sucks. But they're okay as long as our relationship remain professional.

People, especially my mother's friends say Im fortunate. "Not everyone can be a lucky as you", they say. I have not been in a word fight with my mother for three weeks now and I can now buy my sister things she wants. But deep inside, I am not happy. I never appreciate this opportunity and I don't feel satisfied.

You may find my reasons dumb but hey, Im not going to live forever, time is bloody gold for me, I don't want to waste any of it in a place that was not really for me. The work was routinely unchanging, without surprises, without difference and at the end of the day, without a sense of fulfillment. The people in there? I don't like any of them. I am not being judgy but people can be known by what they say isn't it? Everyday the talk was purely small but its like the earth's axis will stop if they will not talk about those stupid things. They think they were knowledgeable and wise but if you dare ask why, they would just say "its how things were". How pathetic. The worst part can be concluded at the end of the day. Because things are in routine, there was a feeling of being useless. Its like you were just hired to do things without learning and growth. You were there as if design to work as intended. I have never imagine that I will be in this situation where I cannot make anything worth it. This whole thing ruins my dreams of working and making my dreams come true and I have come to hate it.

I hate it but for the meantime I plan to stay doing one of the things Im good at--pretention. I am a great pretender. Pretending to be happy and practical but inside cursing myself because Im motivated by money and petty things Im getting in return. I am once again imprison. Im laughing now, actually.

*sighs*

I tried explaning this things to my mother before accepting the position. I told her I want to work in a place where I can be a nurse or an educator because that's what I want to do. But instead of listening, I doubt she hear any of the words I said. Its like were both talking to each other with different languages we're both stranger of. She insist that my decisions were not always right and that I don't know anything because Im just 21 years old. "You have not seen anything yet". Thanks to her I realized how different we are to each other. She wants a simple life, dying with the world not knowing she even exist. I want to be known and to die with a legacy. Yes, I may have come from her womb but that's all there is.

At this moment, I think my sole choice is to be strong and stay detach. I will still educate myself of the things that matters and continue writing in here to keep my sanity in check. Besides, the good part of that stupid job is that Im earning money enough to provide small luxury for my sister and save so I can enroll again taking forensic science. The lesson here is endurement and patience and humbleness and who knows I may be awarded of having the best poker face in the history.

I swear after this is over, I will walk away from there and I will not look back like I'll turn into salt if I did. Ever.

GONE ARE THE DAWN

She stirred up just before the sun rose and envelopes that part of the earth. She looks around the bed which she shares with her parents and two siblings. She was five then and her mother was nowhere to be found. "She's gone to work now", she reasoned to herself. Suffering from a childhood separation anxiety, she comforts herself by believing that her mother will be back as soon as her work was complete. She felt herself crying but if she do her sister would stir up and cry also. "I must be brave", she encourages herself.

And so it goes.

She was in her twenties now. No separation anxiety to be worried about, or so she thinks. But why now? She have watched friends come and go. She knew how her grandparents had gone from being the ones larger than life until sickness strike their tired bodies making them take a rest forever. She knew now that people can suddenly go without saying goodbye. So why now is she experiencing extreme nostalgia? Why is she experiencing this strange loneliness as if she was faraway from home and her people.

She had grown up. Yes, but maybe the repressed feelings of that dawn when she didn't let herself feel the anxiety brought by her mother's absence had become overflowing thus her subconcious mind tries to lessen it by making her feel now.

Is she dying?

No.

"I must be brave", she told herself. "It comes and goes but what's important now is your feelings. Feel, my child self. Feel so you will be free."

WE ARE REASONS

We are what we are because we are made out of many reasons.

We are often defined by who are our parents, labeled by the society through our diplomas and ranked by our income.

We are our childhood experiences, our defeats and our victories.

We are our choices and the consequences of each decisions we made.

We are what the church says we are; a child of God, created in His image, made to be loved and what the science says; a product of evolution.

We are what we says, what we eat, what we wear, what we read, what we watch and what we listens to.

We are what scares us, what makes us smile, angers us and what bring us to tears.

We are every single day we live, and every single day we begins to die. We are our emptiness and our fullfilments.

We are how we treat others and how others treat us. We are what we reap because of what we sow.

We are all of these reasons, yet I can't help but wonder, who are we going to be if we come to wake up one day and somebody had taken all these reasons away.

SICK PEOPLE IN A SICK WORLD

People make mistakes.

They are not gods, they are humans. Mistakes, thus, are one of the things that make humans a man. Its quite logical how we come to be what we are, mistakes, on the other hand teaches us how to be strong and better. There is nothing to learn from perfection, it is through failure that one can become what he needs to become.

Peolple make mistakes, but blaming others out of your mistakes is a different story.

I noticed that as humans make mistakes they are also capable of making other things. They were capable of blaming others out of their own insufficiency. Certain ones have this sickening tendency of finding fault in you so they may prove to themselves that you are not as good as it seems to be. They will, in many situations, try to put you down so they "can" feel good about themselves. As if finding your imperfections will make them rich and famous or make them a nominee for the Oscar's award.

People do that. That's one of the things that make them humans.


How tragic are the substances we are made of.