There are times when a feeling of expectancy comes to me, as if something is there, beneath the surface of my understanding, waiting for me to grasp it. It is the same tantalizing sensation when you almost remember a name, but don’t quite reach it. I can feel it when I think of human beings, of the hints of evolution suggested by the removal of wisdom teeth, the narrowing of the jaw no longer needed to chew such roughage as it was accustomed to; the gradual disappearance of hair from the human body; the adjustment of the human eye to the fine print, the swift, colored motion of the twentieth century. The feeling comes, vague and nebulous, when I consider the prolonged adolesence [sic] of our species; the rites of birth, marriage and death; all the primitive, barbaric ceremonies streamlined to modern times. Almost, I think, the unreasoning, bestial purity was best. Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I’ll laugh. And then I’ll know what life is.

Sylvia Plath

you, thanks!

The internet is full of rants. Help tip the balance: today, simply be thankful for something (or someone).

Two days from now. It will be my birthday.

And it’s on “friday the 13th”. I hope nobody tries to kill me.

So, ummm, I’d like to say thank you.

To the universe for allowing me to exist.

To all the people I have met, who made me who I am today. Thank you for the love! (I hate drama)

To the skies and seas and mountains and trees. (Do you know that I’m a nature-lover?)

To music. Earth is heaven with you. (I have a  31-gigabyte worth of songs in my hard drive. Is it enough to call me a music-lover?)

To food. I’d simply die without you.

I can’t think of anything more.

22 years of life on earth.

I could not be more thankful.

we are human

I rode the public jeepney. Immersed in deep thought about my upcoming exam. Pondering how to finish all these unending list of readings. How to understand all these complex diseases which eventually lead to heart failure. Or the complications of diabetes. Or how to master the art of not sleeping. Ugh. My mind was racing. Like a machine calculating all the possibilities and time-frames and schedules and what-to-dos and what-ifs and whatnot.

I felt a touch in my arm. From the corner of my eye, I saw a cute little hand. A baby’s hand. It was rubbing the skin of my arm. Yes, touching me as if to send some kind of nonverbal message. It did not stop.

I felt a warmth inside me. For a time, I thought it was weird. But then I smiled. I felt good.

I never thought such kind of human contact could give me that. A feeling of reassurance. A kind of message somehow telling me “hush now, it will all be ok”.

It will be.

me yellow square mate

Weekly Photo Challenge: Companionable

Image

Companion, you have kept me sane all those boring summer days back when I was younger. You have listened to all my self-talk, rants, propositions and whatnot. Despite my rusty, far-from-golden voice, you have dared listen to me every time I Youtube-karaoke. You have struggled to hold on every time I put my phone on you (this one’s some kind of plush cellphone rack), it must have felt like you were carrying the world. You have seen all of me, inside and out.

Thanks for the company, mate. You deserve some crabby patties.

bad morning?

Waking up early in the morn trying to catch-up on seemingly endless readings about the heart and its complexities only to hear the phrase “I wanna give up, almost” or something like that, from your mother isn’t just cool. Not to mention my ginormic canker sore, I simply am not in the mood to reserve an ounce of patience and understanding to any kind of living organism. Exams are fast approaching, people.

To any parent out there, I know I may not be in the best position to lecture you on good parenting. But if there’s one thing I want to shout out loud:

Parents should never make their children feel like they wanna give up. Even if it was merely a slip-of-the-tongue or done on a whim. Every word that leaves a parent’s mouth is just too heavy and powerful. I hope you be more subtle. Or whatever.

No worries, I still love my parents.