but… I don’t know where to start.
your mind must be a drastic place
Since I don’t know how to start to write something noteworthy ever since I started to stop writing, let me start with a question. Asking myself is my daily mantra during college days whenever I am feeling anxious with the things I see. I am really an observant type of person and I absorb everything that I see to the point of corrupting my own system until I self-destruct for a mili-second then after that I’ll be feeling like nothing ever happened.
So the question is why?
The word why is often used to ask a certain situation or thing wherein it has
something to do with cause and effect. Why are you writing? Why are people so
obsess with other people’s lives and why do we need to take academic classes
when people say that the real lessons are found outside some petty
institutions? I pondered for a moment and thought about the things I asked
myself tonight. I just realized that we come inside a school and go with the
papers that we need to show people to validate our intelligence and walk away
with the by-the-book knowledge that we have, thinking we know everything and we
hold the world right under our palms. Come to think of it. We ask too many
‘whys’ but did you ever asked yourself if that is the right question to ask?
Maybe we can ask using the word ‘what’. What drives you to write instead of
asking why do you write? What gives a certain person a reason to be interested
with someone’s life? Also, we can use the question, what keeps you into school?
I’ll be answering those question in the latter part of this journal but first,
let me share something with anyone who is taking their time to read this.
It says that once in your life, you’d be wondering if you are genuinely happy with the things you do and the people you are dealing with. It’s true. I always wonder and daydream like my mind is taking me to some gray space where even if I scream aloud, nobody could hear me. I am trapped inside my own mind where I can find my inner peace and solitary escape. Some say I am weird some say I am just a lifeless face that soon, people will forget but for me, I am who I am. I am not what I love, not what I do but I am who I am. I don’t seek validation from other people for me to feel comfortably relaxed with the way I act in front of them or in front of the mirror. Do not be afraid to sound your barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world because if you cannot find your voice, let people find it for you and eventually will let you remember why you even started to exist. Sooner or later, you will be dependent to them and when they left you in the ruins, you’ll come to realized that even the best heroes fall short. Even if they show love to you, it doesn’t mean it is forever. You’ll be able to realize that you need to make your sound, your own sound. You won’t have to find it because you can make one and make yourself believe in your capabilities to get up in the saddle. The gist is that it is always a matter of choice. There will be riders and hitchhikers along the way but in the end, you’ll be surprise that they would be looking at you from afar. Some will be clapping at your victory; some will mock you and try to pull you to the bottom again.
FOR THE LOVE OF WRITING
I’ve written too many words for nothing so now, allow me to answer my own
question since it is mine and I need to seek answers alone. What drives me to
write is the things human beings don’t usually care about. It is like loving
the idea of love but being so afraid to take it in. I write to ease the itch to
spill inks from my mind to my mouth down to the pen I am holding. Let’s talk
about those things I am talking about specifically. First is that I am really
curious with the different types of skeptics. There are scientific skeptics who
are skeptic with psychics, philosophical skeptics who are skeptical with the
senses and external world and other things that are still unanswered in this
world and lastly, the literary skeptics who are always questioning how the
characters are like that in that certain novel they are reading and happened to
finished. I write to immortalize memories, to build a forest that I’ll burn
with eternal flame forever. I write because of the bottled up feelings that has
been thrown at sea, my forever condolences to those buried emotions that still
trying to heave for air and to show the beauty of being in the dark. I’ve said
understatement words for the love of writing but one thing is for sure, my
earthly body will die but the outcry of my words would be eternally screaming.
You paint words,
A wonderful lonely work of art,
your mind must be a drastic place,
so terrible that only those who died inside
can get in.
RADICAL – RV
https://valesthegreat.wordpress.com/2018/02/02/radical/
WE CO-EXIST BUT DOES IT MEAN WE NEED TO PUT OUR FINGERS INTO SOMEBODY’S
CAKE?
The sea is clean until human beings learn how to swim, the bathtub is clear
until bubbles dominated it and we are all white spots in the vast sky until the
rain comes out. Somehow, it’s not related to the subtopic of the journal but
let me expound the idea. How many people are being condemned for being real and
for doing that they think is right for them? One of the many things I am always
been observant about is the fact that people always stick their noses into
somebody else’s lives like they need to be in the know about every spoon a
person drops. Is it worth it? Or you’re just putting the wrong ingredients in
your life that made you look at the world differently because you’re seeing it
with somebody else’s eye and not your eyes? Some says we co-exist and as
cliché’ as it can be, no man is an island but it doesn’t mean to forever
hitchhike in others’ journey. You have to find your own path and if you cannot
find it, make your own path. It’ll be a rollercoaster ride with a lot of
unexpected obstacles. Never live their life because you have your own. We
breathe the same air, yes. But we have to breathe out our own colors. Be of
great help with the people around you but never decide for them. Give advice
but let them have their own decision and never dip your butter in their
coffees. You can be just an inspiration or a pillar that’ll help them stand
tall but never be the walls and the ceilings for them and keep them inside your
cage. Again, never put your icing in their cakes.
Look at your surroundings
They’re alive yet so dead
Damped with lifeless emotions
Buried six feet under
Yet showing themselves perfectly fine
Embrace the solitude
And conceal the emptiness
That’s how you survive
So what if their leaves are lush and yours nearly gone?
It’s not a matter of how fancy you are
Because those leaves are nothing without the roots
And we are all going in the same last page
Just a matter of time.
ONLY IF WE CARE A LITTLE BIT MORE – RV
https://valesthegreat.wordpress.com/2017/08/30/only-if-we-care-a-little-bit-more/
“As the clock ticks, I don’t know where will this journal will take me. Will I find my way back into writing or not? Nevertheless, I’ll continue this no matter what.” I told myself while whispering on the pen to spill good inks.
I’VE BEEN LOCKED OUT INSIDE A SOCIALLY-CONSTRUCTED CAGE.
When I graduated in high school, all I want to do is to do art and write and
learn technicalities when it comes to literature and art but then I realized that
we are locked out inside a social-construct concept that you are not
intelligent and not deserving when you don’t have papers to hang on the walls
of the house and bring wherever you go. Since I was a kid, I started reading
science related books because I wanted to be a scientist who studies about
fossil fuels and other old artefacts of the world. Go to the center of the
earth and build a house there and never go out again. I also want to meet real
life witches (anti-thesis to my studies about scientific “facts”). I’ve
completely forgotten about those when I started to do art and art is everything
impossible and it makes surreal things real without scientific basis. I felt
free. I often ask myself, what victory is for when you only did it coerced? When
I was in college, I don’t understand why I am obliged to do a certain task. I
have a lot of ‘whys’. Sooner, truth hit me real hard when I started to have
some responsibilities like being the class president and having a position in
our council. WE-COEXIST. I always include that word in my write ups because I
have learned that in order for you to grow, you should know how to feel and how
to relate to others. I felt freedom for the first time after I caged myself
inside my box and put labels in it. I felt free after being able to release the
bad aura that has been clouding me and I embraced the sadness and loneliness as
I embraced the joy and bliss. There is always a yin and yang to everything. I
still have episodes but it is not as often as when I was in college.
She wore the sunlight as if
there’ll be hurricane afterwards,
the way she holds the thunder;
the way she touch you when you’re homesick.
When will you come back?
Her light’s fading,
not having the slightest idea
If she can hold your soul in heaven.
In a hundred echoes,
In a thousand pages that yellow it turned,
She’ll follow you,
Until…
She died in the cradle of the wind.
PARE-DIES -RV
https://valesthegreat.wordpress.com/2018/02/05/para-dies/
I hate entitlements way back but when I started to have a good taste of
victories, it all came up inside my head and the feeling of not letting people
pass the level of the so-called intelligence I have is one of the many things
that keeps me frustrated. It doesn’t help me grow because I listen selectively.
If you are credible enough to let me eat your dust, I’ll let your advice sink
in but when it’s not, I won’t take that. But as I said, that was way way back
when I still don’t know how to accept failures and make those wounds into
wisdom. The only things the I’ll be leaving you people is that never be
corrupted by the system just because it seems better or liked by many. Do not
be a prisoner of the society and make your own mark.
This is my risky attempt to write a journal again that I could send to my
friends to ask for their critiques. The blood is boiling in my veins and
something tells me that the ink I spilled is the blood that keeps me alive. I
may sound like romanticizing the love for writing a lot but I know that I have
to. I hope I could find my way back to writing a noteworthy ones instead of
asking too many ‘whys’.
I met you…
In a strangest possible time of my life.
that is when I’m sailing on dead waters,
tear drunk—
and with your song,
I sober up.
FORTUITY – RV
https://valesthegreat.wordpress.com/2018/01/31/fortuity/
I’ve been experiencing episodes of dreams where in I am in a maze and
the puzzles are made out of words that is screaming from the center of the
labyrinth. The voice is familiar to me – the sound of a girl crying over a
crumbled paper on the ground that happens to be her first literary piece. Until
she became silent, hearing the tip-tapping of her pen and the clicking of her
typewriter. That sound is non-stop until I found a light and made me remember
where it all began.
The girl at the center is me.
The Unworldly World of Words 