silence

Silence

When all that’s left is silence,
there is nothing you can do
but to endure the cacophony of voices in your head
at two in the morning
in the middle of that cold dark room.
One tiny voice tries to scream
to keep the sanity inside that head
but the million other voices
seem to think otherwise.

When all that’s left is silence,
your senses seem more alive.
You can feel the darkness creeping in to your soul
freezing everything inside of you
as its claws touch your heart.
And even though the heart pumps more blood
to keep you warm as a sign of protest,
the darkness wins and you fall in to the cold pit
especially made for you.

When all that’s left is silence,
you begin to lose sight of the light.
You become trapped in an abyss
where not a single sign of hope is visible.
And no matter how you cry,
how you howl or scream or shout,
nothing will answer you back from all your whining.
Nothing at all, even your echo will be afraid
to reverberate within the emptiness.

When all that’s left is silence,
the past slowly walks in and fills the emptiness
with all of those moments, those memories
that you have been trying to erase with utmost effort.
Yet here they are, endlessly haunting you
and trying to bring back the excruciating pain
from the wounds you thought already healed.
Tears roll down your cheeks quietly because you already know
that crying out loud makes no difference.

When all that’s left is silence,
you suddenly find yourself bare and unarmed
in a duel against the scariest of foes.
It is ‘You of the Now’ against ‘You of the Then’
fighting for the right to be the ‘You of Tomorrow’.
Opening old wounds, creating new ones,
not realizing that neither one comes out unscathed.
In the end, the ‘You of Tomorrow’ will similarly be
scarred and scared of living.

When all that’s left is silence,
there’s nothing left to hold on to
as if every one you love has left you behind
empty, frozen, and unimaginably broken.
You hear voices screaming your name along with words
that make you doubt yourself even more.
All you are left with is a small piece of self-worth
that you keep in your pocket to push you forward
yet swiftly vanishes on the palm of your hands.

When all that’s left is silence,
you’d feel numb and beat and sore
from fighting your inner demons within the edges of your mind
as they burn your soul until it leaves you behind.
As always you find yourself alone and cold,
up against the things that scare you the most.
You even wonder what keeps you fighting,
you question yourself how you win each match
and end up facing a new day to live.

When all that’s left is silence,
you try your hardest to calm yourself down
so that sleep can finally embrace you
and tuck you under your warm blanket.
Only to be interrupted a few deep breaths later
as the sunlight creeps through the window sill
shedding light once again to your once cold dark room.
You open your tired eyes and reach out for your mask
trying to hide yesternight’s battle scars.

When all that’s left is silence,
you ask yourself, ‘What else can I do?’,
thinking that there’s no purpose to be in this world.
At the end of each day you find yourself
in the same state, so detached from reality.
Routinely putting your mask on and off
and continually fighting your inner foes,
you ultimately conclude that maybe it’s time
to finally succumb to the quiet.

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Writer’s Block V – A Lack Of Creative Juice

Recently I’ve reverted to doodling or doing simple sketches. Now I feel like I badly need to produce tons of creative output because it has been so long since I last created an artistic work or a good literary piece. I even bought a pen tablet so that I can directly make my drawings digital. But whenever I start facing my computer and opening certain programs — whether Photoshop, FireAlpaca or even Notepad — my fingers suddenly get stuck on the mouse pad making circles with the cursor while my brain tries to conceptualize what I want to draw or write. For example, a few minutes before actually writing this post I have already written around 150 words about something else which I randomly deleted leaving me once again with an empty Notepad window. Therefore I decided to just write about how I could not find the motivation to write something that would be worth reading or draw something worth seeing and sharing.

Some people tell me to just put it out there and let my creative juices flow whether or not it’s a great work just so I have an output. The point is to not stop writing or drawing until I finally get to the point when I am actually producing something wonderful. I feel sparks whenever I think about this advice. But apparently, it’s not enough to keep me bursting with enthusiasm.

At times, when people ask me why not just write something, I just give them a nonchalant shrug and say that it’s too cold for my brain to work (sure, blame it on the weather). There might be a connection between shorter, colder days and my brain’s creative juice shortage but probably that’s not the main reason why I just can’t make any creative outputs lately.

However, I am truly hoping that practicing with my new pen tablet would jumpstart my gears and make my brain overflow with creative juice once more.

***

Me: Yey! A pen tablet. Now I can do a lot of digital sketches!
Brain: Hehe… Good luck with that.
Me: T^T

Thoughts Of Her

This post is one of the challenges I made for myself this year. I want to inspire someone every day — if I can — by writing random thoughts about her. I will edit this post every time my mind comes up with some random musings about her. She knows very well that I am not so good when it comes to talking so I’ll make her feel inspired through a medium I can be good at, that is writing. This will be somewhat like a journal where I write my thoughts of her, taking note of the day it came up on my mind. I am hoping that she would read this post and check it as often as she can. My main goal is to make her smile even though I’m not always by her side. She may not know it but her smile is contagious, I just can’t help but smile when she does.

~ To you, stay happy. ~

March 18
After so long you finally responded to me again. I was worried you were having some problems, so I guess I’d have to say I’m sorry for flooding you with messages. At least now I know that you are alright.

February 20
It seems funny that sometimes I feel like we are driving down a one-way street because I can never seem to meet you. I wish the street we are on would have been two-way so at least, even though we drive on opposite directions, we still get the chance to see each other’s faces.

I truly am amazed that despite the perception of most people that I am standing on a pedestal and always ready to deliver my speech, I can never seem to step up in front of you and say my piece. Words fail me when I’m with you. However, your presence amid the silence is curiously comforting.

February 17
It has been so long — or it feels like it — since you last gave me a response. It was wonderful.

February 14
I wish that the flowers I sent you yesterday in remembrance of our first “date” exactly five years ago made you smile the way you made my heart smile when you thanked me.

February 11
For this day, I would like to quote a line from Birdy’s song called Wings. “In the moment we’re lost and found, I just wanna be by your side if these wings could fly.”

January 29
As I ate a bar of KitKat a thought came into mind: I wish I could give you all the KitKats in the world so you can have more breaks and I can see you more often.

January 25
I was hoping I could see you, but I guess the circumstances would not permit. If only I could give you all the break time in the world just so I could see you again, see you smile once again, I would feel so blissful.

January 24
I miss your messages. I miss your smile. I miss your presence. I miss you. My week has been tough but when I think of you things become lighter. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.

January 21
Every morning as I wake up, I think about how to make you happy for the rest of your day. I feel bad for coming up only with “good morning” messages because I’m too far away to tell it to you face to face.

January 20
I wish we could have seen each other. It’s been a week since we last saw each other but it feels longer. If only I can be near you most of my time.

January 17
I miss you. Hoping that we can see each other once more.

January 15
Today, I’m thankful and very truly happy because despite of your busy day, you took time to respond to my messages. You don’t know how much you made someone happy today. I hope I can make you happy for the rest of your day, too.

January 14
Earlier this morning I was thinking of our breakfast last Sunday. I just realized how much I like listening to you. Your mere presence makes me happy and your smile blows me away. Then a few seconds ago, I saw your smile on my news feed. I wish you know how much you make someone happy, and hopefully that idea makes you happy as well.

January 13
As I was walking along the streets of Manila, I can smell the scent of mangoes and thought of you because you smell just as sweet.

Heartbeat Of A Tin Man

Tin Man

Tin Woodman a.k.a. Tin Man

There he was, rusty and hollow. His body made of tin. Alone, chopping wood like he always does. Suddenly, he felt an ache by his knees. He picked up his oil can and poured on them. He can walk nimbly once again.

With his hands tightly gripped on his axe, he chopped and chopped and chopped more wood. For he knows not what exhaustion is, something his tin body can easily shrug off. He can work round the clock stopping only to pour oil on his rusting joints. Alas he might never get tired, but he could never stay nimble forever.

Once he knew a servant girl who he had not seen for a long time. In his faint memory of her, he knew there was something he had for her. His mind does not remember what it was. He only knows how to chop wood, but it cannot be that. No one, not even a tireless Tin Man, would want to chop a sweet young lady like her. He thought hard, as hard as his mind can. There was something he had for her a long time ago. He admired her.

Click.

He heard a strange hollow sound. But then silence. His mind returned to the idea he remembered earlier. Admiration. He admired someone long ago. How one admires another person, he is mostly uncertain. For this Tin Man had no heart.

Click-cluck.

There it was once more. That hollow clicking sound he cannot seem to find wherever it was coming from. He took his oil can and poured heavily on all his joints. Maybe he’s getting more rusty and creaky resulting to these hallucinations. Or maybe not. Because again, there was nothing but silence.

Once more he reminisced that beautiful lady he knew way back when. He remembered the way her lips curved upward which made her face brighten up like the crescent moon at night. Maybe that was what admiration is. The way someone’s face seem to bright up the darkness with just one smile. He was unaware that while drowning in his deep thoughts his lips began to curl upward, too.

Click-cluck. Click-cluck.

He took hold of his oil can and poured on his joints once more. Funny how thinking about what admiration was has made him creaky somewhere he can’t determine. As the black oil gushed down the nozzle of his oil can he remembered the deep black eyes of that wonderful lady he once knew. The way she looked at him — that only time she truly looked at him — felt like they were in a world where no one else existed. Suddenly, there was fluid flowing out of the Tin Man’s eyes rolling down his cheeks, but he never noticed.

Click-cluck-click-cluck.

He was surprised of what he found. His lips were smiling though his eyes were welling up with tears. He found himself in an unfamiliar scenario, something that would endlessly boggle a Tin Man’s mind. Maybe he had poured too much oil that they’re flowing out of his eyes, he thought. But now, that hollow clicking sound did not stop. It kept going and going, faster and faster. He leaned to the left and then to the right, trying to listen where it was coming from. The sound has become more intense, he thought, that his hollow body seems to vibrate because of it. His joints, creaking but nimble, shuddered as the sound grew not louder but stronger.

The Tin Man gasped and jumped in surprise. That sound, that hollow clicking sound growing stronger in each passing moment, was coming from inside him. Inside his hollow metal torso, the sound began escalating. His mind could not find peace because of this unfamiliarity. He was doing his routinary job as usual but this never happened before. The one thing that differs this time was the thought of that young lady and of…of…admiration.

His world seemed to stop. He seemed to have comprehended the situation now. Yes he became a Tin Man, but he never lost his heart.

Suddenly, he found himself running towards the place where he first met her leaving his axe and oil can behind, not worried of being consumed fully by rust. This time he knew, his newly resurrected heart will keep him nimble until he reached her. Soon, he will find bliss.

Writer’s Block IV – Endings and New Beginnings

The school term is about to end. Year 2013 is about to end. All of the stress from work will soon end. But one thing is not reaching its end for sure, and that is my 2nd Book Project.

Apparently, NaNoWriMo was not enough motivation for me to finish a few chapters in my writing project[s]. The Christmas season is also not very conducive if one wants to simply make time to write for pleasure. However, I wonder if this holiday break will give me ample time to actually focus on this project, or all the stress from the Christmas rush will dawn upon me and activate hibernate mode.

It is probably because I am not a good writer that I can’t find any good motivation to keep me going. Or maybe because my passion and the field of my current profession exist in parallel dimensions. Probably, I’m just speculating a lot of different excuses in my mind which I can use whenever I rant about not finishing this writing project because I’m too shy to admit that I’m just one lazy bloke who could not afford any time to finish the writing projects I started.

Migraine attacks me like a thief in the night — unexpected and very untimely. Right now, I can’t even focus on writing anything (you wouldn’t believe how much effort I’ve spent writing this post).

On the brighter side of things, a new year is about to come and you know what that means. A chance to start anew with things left behind [unintentionally] during the previous year. I am very bad when it comes to being optimistic, but it wouldn’t hurt to hope for a bright sunshiny 2014 and to look forward to more wonderful things that may come with the new year.

Writer’s Block III

Six months have passed and sadly, I have only moved a few sentences forward with my 2nd Book Project. I started this last May in order to have some sort of creative output. This project, which was mentioned in an earlier post, was inspired by some of the books which I [unfortunately] still haven’t finished. Amazingly, my mind subconsciously reminds me of this little writing project that I randomly open the file in my laptop and browse through it then just stare at the half-blank page.

I feel like a failure now after promising myself to not let anything get in the way of finishing this project, not even myself. Sadly, stress has eaten most of me that I resort to doing recreational no-brainer activities — of course, sleeping is number one on that list.

Pressure struck me since November is NaNoWriMo and I am certain that I can’t finish this novel within the month but my mind keeps nagging me that I should at least try to finish half or even just a quarter of it. I’m no expert in writing. Others may see me as a writer-wannabe who pretends he can actually write some good stuff out of his imagination. Probably there is a part of me who thinks that way that I actually am giving in to this pressure (or am I?).

No, I do not intend to finish this project by the end of the month — though that would be amazing if I could — but I do intend to at least make some progress this November. Maybe I should take away some of my leisure activities and just sit on my bed, turn my laptop on and play around with the keyboard until I end up adding even just one sentence to that half-empty space on my screen.

Our First Night

It was the first time I saw you. Your long black hair shining amidst the darkness of the night. As it seems, the moon has grown a liking to you, like you were under a spotlight and the whole park was your stage. When you walk, it seems as if you were gliding through the clearing and the fallen leaves dance as you pass them by. My heart thudded rhythmically with every step you took. Flowers woke up from their slumber when your fingers touch their petals. The crickets played a serenade only you can make them do as if they were under a spell. Everything was simply beautiful.

You suddenly stopped and everything fell silent. Your cute little chuckle broke this silence and it melted my heart. I can feel that you were smiling even though you were not facing me yet. I choked when I was about to say something, your laugh grew louder and prettier. Listening to you when you laugh felt like I was having a music therapy. Every part of me was soothed by the mere sound of your voice. I started laughing with you, I already forgot the words I was about to say.

There was nothing else in my mind in that moment but the longing to see your face. You began walking towards the moon again. I started to follow you but for some weird reason I can’t seem to reach you. I started to run, almost tripping on a tree root, which made you stop. I saw the balls of your feet moving, you were turning to face me…finally.

If only I did not wake up, I would have seen your face. The face of that girl who makes wonderful music from her laugh. Now I am left with only this wonderful memory of spending a walk with you one night in my life without ever knowing who you are.

When Words Aren’t Cheap

Words. I love them. I really do. As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts in Facebook today, “I believe the best story about unrequited love is this: falling madly in love with WORDS without realizing how deep you’ve gone.”

Words make up our daily connection with mostly everything. They can be tools, materials, even weapons. They can heal you, they can steal from you, they can even inflict a great deal of damage on you without leaving a physical mark on your skin. I believe words have been used and misused by many of us, not excluding myself. That’s probably why there is this saying, “Words are cheap.” They can be used in misconduct and dishonesty. Once you use words to cut someone so deep, even a sorry would not be able to erase those scars.

But ironically and amazingly, words are meant for a lot of wonderful things in life. When used properly, they can motivate you and push you forward. They can even heal your wounds — not entirely erase them but at the very least ease the pain. It can help you grow and make you more knowledgeable of the world. It makes you bigger, it gives you further reach and may even bring you to success. That’s why I consider words not cheap, but rather, priceless.

Of course, we would get the benefits if we use them properly. Just remember that even though some people may be tossing out words as if they’re worth nothing, it’s still our choice if we would treat ours as something worth cherishing.