I am currently trying to find a way to fuse this old blog with my new one and bridge the posts together in one way or another. Good luck with that.

note: (this is the only post where i’ll be using an animate object…)

i pine. i perish. but i wait.

fact about me: i wait for the right person and i spend almost half of my life waiting for him.

i don’t settle for less. though there are other substandard penguins who insinuate that i spend my precious time with them while i wait for my partner in life.

it’s very difficult, going against the tide. when i see large ice sheets falling beneath my feet, my first instinct is to seek loving arms that will embrace me and tell me that it’s all right… that i am not alone… that i am loved… that i am precious.

but i know that somewhere out there, my partner is also making the same sacrifice, probably standing under far worse circumstances but still making the choice to wait for me and him to find each other at some fated bend, at some junction of life where our lives will start to intermingle forever.

and it won’t be nice nor loving of me to just grab things out of their sweet time in impatience because i don’t see my partner in my present horizon.

so i wait. and i strengthen myself because i know that even when the time comes that i will find my partner in life, that doesn’t necessarily mean that all my strength and success will be handed over in senseless submission. although i vow to support whoever my partner is in life, i still want to make sure that i have a life apart from him and that life will not cease in the day that we find each other and be together.

i pine. i perish. and i wait.

and i know that you are worth it.

I am a musical note through and through. Please wake me up before the song is over.

I work according to the undulations of which I sprang out of. I work in synergy with other notes, in sweet symphony. I am bare when I stand alone, but sometimes I do try. I end up sounding like an awkward thing trying to make anything up just to oppose the silence of the surroundings, trying to fill with a single smidgen of sound the vacuum which intends to devour me alive.

What is my melody? The fact is that I can never make my own melody alone. I need the right notes, the right bars and an acquaintance with the G-clefs and F-clefs which defines how deep or high I should go in the song of life. I keep trying to find which melody fits me, though the quest continually eludes me. I have hopped from one song to another, hoping that in one of those songs I will find that place, be it a space or a line in the Maker’s staff, with which I can safely anchor myself.

It is best for me to know where I stand when I am used for a certain melody. I make waves and the best music when I am combined with fellows who complement my tunes. I sing my utmost when i am confident that I am singing and positioned in the right song.

Many a song with which I have woefully miscast myself upon drove me to tears, frustration and utmost misery. Sometimes I am just placing myself in a song and not really knowing what it’s for. But I just hope that I am part of a big hit and not some unknown musical flop that does not even rise to the dignity of a musician’s error.

I hop from one song to another today, hoping that I will land in the right tune and be in the right melody. And when it is not the right tune, I wait until the song is over and I try to move frantically to the music sheets of those which seemed to be better than the last thing I had been part of.

Am I in the right song this time? Maybe yes, then I am here to stay for you. But if not…

I am a musical note through and through. Please wake me up before the song is over.

So that I may move on to the next song.

What I want, I get. Sometimes I don’t even have to try.

Just about every man in the universe wishes to languish in my company. One slight touch from me can make any man dizzy with desire. I make him feel powerful because I don’t resist. I flow, with the grace and aplomb of a running deer in the prairie.

I have intensity in high proportions. Even without making a big effort, I know I will stand out. Call me cocky, but really, I am just stating facts. You may hate me for it, but you will find yourself following me even if it’s against your mind’s desire.

Shame is alien to me. It never existed in my vocabulary. I could just devour your entire being in a single swish. I am  a queen, seated high on my throne and rightfully so.

I adorn the arms of the rich and the famous. And nothing less than that. I leave the person who initially possesses me but can’t afford to keep me.

The wind gently blows to enhance my features. I do predict that along with the breeze, your heart will also be blown away by me. I am frail, but you ascribe me more power than what is due me. Your fault, I’m afraid. Your lustful eyes are making you sacrifice everything you have to live for.

I arouse the same intensity of hate and jealousy from my fellows. I am preciously guarded–pricey, dicey and stylish. I go well with almost anything, and I am usually associated and entrusted with the most precious and the most beloved of things and people.

Unfortunately, I am forced to be unfaithful in order to guard my deep dark secrets. I leave my lovers when they are at the height of their emotions, their passions and extreme adulation. As they speak undying devotion, I veer away and head for the nearest exit.

I get easily suffocated. I maintain the good impression I have built for my lover but I don’t stick around long enough for him to discover what I really am made of.

I started out humbly,lower than most people would care to admit to have started out.

I used to be a worm. Hated, forsaken and abandoned. I had to work my way, inch by inch so that I would gain the recognition I thought everyone inherently deserves in this world. I was often unwelcome in all affairs. If I do grace an occasion, it would usually have to be done in secret. I never got invitations and I never belonged to anything. Everything was a mess, and I felt like I had no future then.

Fortunately, I grew up, somehow improved but it was still not enough for me to make my mark in this world. I realized that in order to become desirable I have to earn my way to my freedom. I was mangled, man-handled, tortured and burned almost to a crisp. It was a very painful process. I had to make my own pathway, make myself known amidst a sea of other cocoons who are trying to do the same thing.

We were biting each other’s backs, not knowing that we could have helped each other through that painful ordeal. That’s why even when we emerged from that painful state and became successful in our own right, we never remained friends.

In my ultra-impoverished state, I made the worst decisions of my entire existence. If you see me now, you may not see any physical trace. You might not see the pain beneath all the smooth flawlessness and high market value. But it’s there. I feel it deep within me.

Satin silk is my screen name. But beneath the smooth textures and refinements, a dark past lurks within.

Yes, I am very resilient with outward pressures, but I cannot let any man discover that I get brittle over time and I am highly vulnerable to those I bestow with my intense passion, devotion and emotion.

I dump those who own me way before they grow tired of me and decide to abandon me, because I know that when I fall head over heels and then he suddenly decides to leave, I will be beyond repair. If anything, I no longer wanted to go back to my old way of living where I am alone, forsaken, hated and left to live and fend for myself without a purpose.

When the smokes and mirrors grow thin and familiarity sets in, I know that my alluring skin would no longer be enough to keep my lover at bay. There will always be newly-produced silk that will be shinier, more active and more beautiful than I am.

To attract a lover, that’s very easy.

But to have the assurance of being cared for forever and loved in spite of all the shadows of the past is a divine miracle that may or may not happen in my lifetime.

Until then, I hope. I wait. I play. I flow and I do my usual thing.

Secretly and in the midst of it all, I look out for that one lover who can love me enough even when I am no longer as playful and visually satisfying. I look for that lover who will help me out willingly and gently when I find myself unable to hold everything in.

But I acknowledge that I might as well be looking for a mere phantom and not a real lover. Finding him proves to be an elusive secret that even my deep well of experiences cannot truly fathom.

At the end of the day, it always boils down to finding the perfect match I could grow old with.

I am glamorous, beautiful and with assets that can make any woman have difficulty in walking if she happens to acquire part or all of it.

I am a staple in every little girl’s playroom. Yes, I start them out young, molding in their sponge-like minds the image of what a beautiful woman should look like, of how they should look like when they grow up so that they will gain popularity, have their own Kens, drive their own cars and live in their life-size dollhouses.

I don’t want variety! Behind this plastered smile and shapely legs I want dominion over every single body type. It is high time to celebrate just voluptous frames which are epitomes of symmetry and curvaceousness.

Exclusivity yields status, even in just the mind of a shallow few. I got lucky to have found too many shallow people and became a part of the movers and shakers of every little girl’s self-esteem. Let me just mention the fact that every woman has passed girlhood and none of them are immune from my power.

And I have succeeded. At the outset I stirred every little girl’s dream of princess play in the world of dreams where money comes easy and glamour is within reach and where chores and hard work don’t exist.
I succeeded. Those lesser mortals with small bosoms and shapeless waists have not outgrown their love for me and ended up frustrating themselves and devoting their entire lives to want to look just like me.

The drive which propelled  surgical cosmetology, gyms, slimming pills and bust-enhancing techniques to reach lofty heights in generating income.

The result? I have yielded a mass of broken dreams directly proportional to their waistlines.
True, there are the enlightened few who don’t buy my vision. They are the ones comfortable in their own shape, and reveling in their existence amidst this society which took my standard to be a subliminal barometer of what “sexy” and “beautiful” should look like.

These are the wise lot gifted with enough insight to just buy my ideology. I don’t have as much brain to admire them. But I maintain that they are still the minority, and the majority of skindeep beauty remains to rule the norm.

Also, there are some I failed to brainwash in their girlhood, who didn’t like to buy me shoes and clothes in dress-me-up sessions with other playmates. But they grew up not being quite the woman other people expect. They are deviants and outcasts of society, women who are infused with just a little too much testosterone.

I know I have no capability to walk. If I were a real human I will not be able to walk due to my body’s disproportion. My image is unrealistic and any woman who attempts to be just like me ends up dead, whether emotionally or physically.
I am spiritually deprived. I am emotionally incapable. People who want to look like me fail to understand that I have a package that they will have to embrace if they follow my path.

I know that no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to buy myself peace or feel the joy of being loved from within.

So…I am just dragging every little girl I could find so that I could at least get every little girl to respect me and accompany me in my lonely plight as a mere visual esthetic.

Unfortunately for these girls, they forget that I am a part of play and ascribed more authority to me as they  grew to be women.

I got addicted to the power, and I have no capability to talk or to laugh out loud at their faces for how enslaved they are in looking like me. Neither have the capability to warn those who have gone too far in fulfilling their fantasies to copy my waistline and my bra size and my gams.

It’s their prerogative if they are going to outgrow the lies and start living to love their bodies– a thing I have inevitably stolen from them while they set me up to have tea in childhood afternoons spent in playrooms.

Many people tell me I am beautiful. But who am I? What am I made of? He said…

“I don’t really know…
But all I know is that
you
are
lovely
and
intriguing…”

For awhile I considered it- and I just had come to a point where I realized that what you said about me is true and accurate at that time.

And it was both a blessing and a curse!

Lovely, who doesn’t want to be called that?

But beyond being lovely is a hunger to be really known for who I really am, not for what he merely saw in me.

Yes, I have colors, lots of them in my experiences. I have fancy working, swirling bits and pieces that move in different directions…

I attract men. I attract men who are as shallow as their native eyes can penetrate.

But I what I want the most is for a man to seek beyond that visual circus. Veer away from the lights, veer away from the movements that make me ”lovely” in the shallow man’s eyes.

And see me, the real me despite of, in spite of and amidst all that show of shades against a dark background of my past.

So many people want to own me, liking me for the wrong reasons, without any effort whatsoever to really figure me out.

A wall exists between the eyes of his heart and my true self. They don’t meet. Because his lustful eyes were busying itself in devouring the illusion of my pretty face. And at that time, I caved in and gave in.

I gave in not because he was worthy.

I gave in because I embraced his shallow perspective of who I am. Because I was so lazy to open my own eyes to see beyond my show of colors and see my true self.

And I continued to spin and to spin, bits and pieces of my life falling apart to oblivion as I continued to dance to what he thought I was…

I stuck to the tag “lovely” and “nothingness”. I reveled in the thought of aimless beauty.

But then the eternity from within commanded something more. I started to seek more.

And as I started to seek more, he no longer wanted to be with me. He no longer wanted to be with a kaleidoscope who is getting tired of being a mere kaleidoscope.

And he left.

I lost him.

But in losing him, I gained myself.

I realized who I am.

I realized that the colors are just bonuses.

And as always, I continue to spin, but now with direction. With a fire from within that fails to be quenched, continually seeking for that man who will see beyond what his lustful eyes can see.

Seeking for that man who will look at me with the eyes of his heart…and tell me that I’m lovely for the right reasons.

Until then, I continue to spin…

Spin…

Spin…

Spin…

And spin away from guys like him who did nothing to help me find myself.

And I saw many other kaleidoscopes like me everywhere, spinning to please men, spinning to earn accolades, to be called beautiful regardless of emptiness… Showing off colors without really knowing that their lives are being thrown out carelessly and aimlessly in the air.

And when the show is over, all that’s left is the dark background..

I hope every kaleidoscope sees her worth and stop spinning without aim for something which is popular but shallow.

EVERY KALEIDOSOPE IS PRICELESS, WHETHER OR NOT SHE KNOWS IT.

Many investors give so much money just to be able to produce something as colossal and income-genera- ting as this one. And I can’t blame them for doing so. Because there is really so much money involved in the business of whetting an average consumer’s appetites with images of wealth, abundance and acceptance.

I used to frequent these malls, but lately as I go home from school, I find myself choosing to walk around the territories of my usual mall stopover instead of walking inside after a hectic jeepney ride. I used to reason out that the airconditioning system helps cool my brains and allows me to be in a better frame of mind. But a lot of things changed my point of view lately. First, the fact that a mall is a business, and not something that is innocently tailored to suit consumers’ fancies. Second, the turmoils within that are being triggered by the illusions of grandeur produced by the acquisition of more gadgets– a thing which is futile to the soul and killer to one’s budgeting schemes.

And just like the trend of my previous posts, I write in the perspective of the inanimate object.

Enter you people on my grand edifice. Rich, poor, young or old, literate or not, welcome aboard my facilities. Check out and drool, check out and drool at the newest displays… Here’s something you could buy on your first paycheck. Wait, wait, wait, there’s another one I knew you ladies would like to have! And there’s another one, and another one. From the glazed looks in your eyes I can see how much you want me, how much you want to devour all of me, put as much of me in your shopping bags as your money can allow.

I revel in your illusions. I exist to feed your fantasies of what a good life means. But even I don’t have a unified perspective of good, because all that’s fed in the machinations of my core is to generate income for my maker. I know my purpose, and I circulate on that every single day.
But actually, you can never place all of the blame on me. I AM LIKE A MIRROR TO THE PERSON I AM SERVING. If the person has no control over his or her spending, I mirror a plethora of goods which are mostly wants and not needs. I am not built with a conscience to nag at you when you are already overspending. It is something for you to know and for me to find out.

I am a bad friend. I tend to provide temporary solutions to problems which require nothing from my facility. Maybe a tissue or two, I can provide. But I can never provide peace and comfort– the two things all forms shopaholics are known to mistake me for.

However, I have had satisfied clients. Yes, these are the people know exactly what they need from me and take nothing more than that except on occasional splurging sessions. I MIRROR EFFICIENCY IN A PERSON WHOSE BUDGET IS WELL-PLANNED AND IN CONTROL.

I am a drug to those who are easily addicted. I can drown people with feigned happiness for as long as I can keep them in my wing.

But let me whisper my confession here and now. The thing is, I am just a substitute for the priceless things which people cannot find from within. I project wealth, when real wealth is having good health and a good core for one’s soul. I project false comfort, when real comfort can be found in other people (though most are silly enough to make me a substitute for the benefit of relationships). I project a lifestyle of dreams, a lifestyle that remains empty if it doesn’t have anybody else to share it with. I project abundance, but in reality I drain your pockets to oblivion at any chance I am given. I project acceptance, when in fact I am just a building and can never be a substitute for the intangible things that humans lack.

I am a prison for those who have no aim in life, but a haven to those who are driven by something else stronger than the shallow things I have to offer.

If wrongly and inappropriately lauded as a god, I am bad.

If made and considered as a tool, I am your greatest ally on consumer earth.

I am tall.

With all the grandeur that is due me. I am glorious and truly admired by many. During the day I reach the clouds, but something is amiss when things are bright and gay.
I am alone.

I cannot find a suitable partner to overlook the Parisian landscape with. I am just standing on my own, holding my own every single day.

I am proud and vain.

I am used to being looked up to. I would not settle for anything less, much less roll over or bend for something which could not reach my level. I am not like the Leaning Tower of Pisa which tried to reach the ground for something as stupid as gravity. I am stable, and whether men climb up and reach me, I remain unfaltered.

I am overlooked during the day.

I can never outshine the sun or outsize the sky no matter how tall I am. On sunny moments, I am just part of the greater scheme of things.

I am just like everybody else during the day. Part of the Parisian landscape, epitome of peace and amabasadress of goodwill.

I have issues.

There are times I cry with tears not reaching the eyes.

Often I find myself questioning my worth, but I know that it is in the darkest corners where I shine the brightest. It is where I look my best. It is where God shines best.

My sides are newly-polished. It’s a good thing my driver thought of shimmying me up a bit even just for today. Me and my colleagues in this queue are usually all worn out, steel handles teeming with unknown bacteria due to constant handling. There will be a myriad of passengers under my care for this today. A myriad of trips to generate a few coins for the master controlling the steering wheel.
Some passengers are real treats to look at. They are well-dressed and they smell sweet.But often there are laborers, dripping with sweat complete with wet marks all over their old cotton shirts. Humbling is the experience I bring every typical passenger. They may all not have to interact with each other in their regular jobs, lives and homes, but for as long as I hold them captive in my territory, they will have to be stuck with one another for a few minutes or so. I am the silent cord which holds them together, whether they like it or not.

Sometimes there are dangerous passengers– the sinister types with knives, guns and the balls to rob their fellowmen in unsuspecting moment and unguarded areas of travel. I have been witness to many of these instances, with their different ploys which range from pretending to spit on a fellow passenger and create distraction, to the more direct collection of items in the jeepney through their loot bag.
Right now, there are no such instances. It is smooth sailing supposedly since it’s a dead hour for travelling. Same old route I go to every single day, except during severe traffic such as this during rush hours…

…where the king holding the steering wheel will have to take some alternate routes, if available. Otherwise, there will be an incessant muttering of breaths, of people who think that their jeepney experience must be as short as the strike of lightning, getting more hostile in each second they are held captive more than they expected it.

I am the cheapest and most efficient mode of transportation, although people undermine my worth frequently. I epitomize more of the culture I am submerged in, however little attention they give me. I give passengers a jolt of reality in each ride, an opportunity to mingle with people they would not normally meet in other circumstances. I give failed and financially challenged kings an opportunity to have a decent job despite the high rates of unemployment and the lack of education. Each time my engine roars, more coins come in and accumulate into something that is hopefully enough to feed a family or two even for just a single day.

And if drivers are not king in their homes and in their lives, they will still have opportunities to sit in my front throne, bring the engine to life and steer me to places I wouldn’t have otherwise gone to on my own. Drivers are as different as buildings I pass by each time we travel. There are smooth drivers, drivers who curse a lot, drivers who spit a lot, drivers who like to stop in between trips to chat up with another driver who happens to be on the same road. There are drivers who don’t follow traffic signs, and drivers who play loud music and make a disco out of me. There are drivers who like to squeeze in as many passengers as they can.

Regardless of what they like, I have no qualms for as long as they listen well. The worst type of driver is the one who doesn’t listen. Not just listen to the passengers, but listen to what I have to say. I have my own voice. I have my own needs. I am a machine that needs constant refilling and repairing. Many a driver and passenger has perished at my demise. When one of my tires hit a nail on the road, everyone is a loser. Lost time for the passengers, and even worse is the lost time AND income for the driver. When my engine sputters and coughs, the driver better take heed and take me somewhere for a good tuning up. Even machines need R&R too.

There are passengers, there are drivers but I will never be called functional if there weren’t any roads to travel on. Some of my colleagues in the province are exposed to the rough and tumble of unasphalted roads. I am one of the privileged few who revel in urban city settings and not have to worry about bumping into cows, cow manure, goats or other farm animals who tend to get astray in less developed roads. Still there are humps which try to slow me down in some areas. Ironic that the same people who want fast transportation are also the same people who want to slow me down to prevent accidents. These people are quite hard to get. You never know what they want. For all I know, they don’t have any idea what they really want in anything and everything under the sun. Nonetheless, I am just a machine, a tool and not made to lash back or complain.

What if one day we jeepneys all grew tired of what we were supposed to do. There will surely be havoc on the streets– the same havoc that men experience in their lives when they don’t do exactly what their Creator has expected them to do. I guess I am just fine not having any emotions to mess things up. Many a human has gotten in trouble for those emotions they can’t control. Some are even offended and refuse to function just because of something absurdly simple. Not to brag or anything, but I often get stepped on, walked on, hit, bumped against other jeepneys and cars. But it doesn’t strip me of my purpose because everything in my engine is focused to accomplishing it.
Still, in some aspects humans are luckier especially in feeling those euphoric moments. I don’t feel that elation they feel when they are loved and cared for. Even if I were in the hands of the best driver, the closest thing I could have to feeling happy is to be able to function and be in good shape.

Silly humans. Confused as they are, they have no idea how lucky and superior they are in the greater scheme of things.

but no don’t get me wrong. i am not here to stab people in the back.

i am here to talk about people, though.  all in a good way.
so much of my previous blogs has always been about ME… ME… ME!

and i grew tired of updating it because i grew tired of focusing on… (you guessed it right!)… ME!

andi realized that in life you are not really made to focus on self frequently because a lot of bad things could happen:

a.) you get narcissistic

b.) you get insane

c.) you become out of sync with the world

d.) you get paranoid.

let’s just see where the tides will take me in my quest to look more outside myself. as i blog in another less selfish and more exciting chapter of my life…