Unsolicited Thoughts

My dump of matters that both bother and excite me.

[childishjournals]

It’s difficult to understand

The truth of love

When you aren’t ready

to experience in all its forms.

The innocent, the familial, the friendly,

Romantic, yearning, and dreaming

The selfish, the painful, and the twisted

We’ll never understand its truth

Until we understand the choice we need to make

We like because,

We love

Despite

[childishjournals]

The nameless people we meet.

I was fed up with the city – the tall buildings, the noise of traffic and trucks, the smokey humid air that mixed with the sweat of people making their way home. Everything about the metro felt fast and available, as if opportunities could knock at your door at any given moment. If you weren’t ready to greet it, you’d miss your chance from a life full of freedom. This hustle-and-bustle I knew too well felt far far away from what rushed over me when we got off the bus at Baler.

It was hot. A mix of cars, tricycles and people filled the streets. You could see famous food joints in the area like Andoks and Mang Inasal, but there were local “eat-all-you-can” buffets for only Php250.00 that sold panglutong bahay and a hearty number of grilled seafood along the main highway of the town. Baler had similar qualities with other provinces around the country, but it had a certain kind of uniqueness to it; it felt like the kind of slow afternoon where the sun lazed its way through the remaining hours of the day. There were animals, neither strays nor pets, that rested at the front of their own self-proclaimed homes. People drank their coffee under the shade, shielded away from the heat of the afternoon haze. Children were challenging their own ingenuity with whatever they could find in their surroundings just so that they could keep playing. Everything felt slow, and it was great.

Kodak ColorPlus200 Photographs by Bradd Gabe; developed by Sunny16 Studios

The beachfront was about a 10-minute tricycle ride away from the bus terminal – but a 20-minute walk to our destination wasn’t a bad choice either, given the availability of sidewalks. We decided to take the leisurely route. I was ready to unravel what this charming town had to share; my analog camera and a pack of film rolls were at my side, waiting to make every shot count.

Kodak ColorPlus200 Photographs by Bradd Gabe; developed by Sunny16 Studios.

There were many buildings that looked old – not the kind of old you would think of as “antique” but closer to worn and abandoned. From what we saw online (when we were planning our out-of-town itinerary), the very same buildings looked new and very much alive in the images on Google, even if they were uploaded not less than 5 years ago. The town was an odd mixture of small storefronts, to abandoned structures, to aged and rusty resorts. Even if there were people who were constantly jumping to the next activity or travel groups lining up for the tour buses to the next site, there was an evident silence from the walls in between the streets. The moss-covered concrete structures have stood the test of time, observing each traveller as they made their way through town.

Kodak ColorPlus200 Photographs by Bradd Gabe; developed by Sunny16 Studios.

It was low tide by the time we got to the beachfront. The shore that graced our feet was cool to the touch, the waves were calm. The surfers and morning beachgoers were all back at their lodging or at a karenderia refuelling for another round. Only a handful of adults were seen in the area, children ran freely rushing from one spot to the next across the beach looking for some kind of mystery beneath the sands. Despite it being a bit past noon, there was an overcast that forced the sun to peek down at us shyly, while the wind from the ocean welcomed us to its shallow warm waters. The horizon stretched beyond our periphery; our view – a graceful blue grey, was nothing but romantic to us.

Kodak ColorPlus200 Photographs by Bradd Gabe; developed by Sunny16 Studios.

My partner and I continued walking down the beachfront in search of a cup of coffee to pair with the view. The farther we went the more abandoned the buildings seemed and the stronger the absence of people felt. We decided to put our trust in Google Maps and followed its directions to the bookmarked café we had in mind. When we arrived at our destination, we were greeted by a bare concrete house and an unkempt backyard. A girl with a pile of long curly hair sat by the concrete fence of the supposed café, watching the waves. She had a glass of iced coffee and a vape which rested on the cracked wooden table. She had a mellow presence that gave off the impression that she was at home.

The entrance to the café was right behind her, it was a large wooden glass-paned sliding door. A single person stood behind the counter, silently waiting for the next customer to arrive. We entered the shop and ordered our coffee. They were selling an interesting cup of spicy spanish latte – to put it bluntly, the drink was iced but the flakes of dried chili warmed my chest.

My partner and I sat right outside the shop, by the fence, where the curly haired girl sat. The sky cleared, and the sun shined brightly. I noticed the girl at the other table had an expression I knew too well – she was working up some talking points.

“Dumayo ba rin kayo?” she mumbled to us, cutting off the conversation between my partner and I.

“Sorry, what?” I responded, asking her to repeat again. She flinched, swallowed the anxiety and recomposed herself. She said in a more pronounced voice,

“Kelan kayo dumating dito?”

“Ahh,” we expressed. We shared to her how we arrived just recently, what we’ve done so far, and the next activities planned in our itinerary. She agreed with the places we’ve visited and plan to go to next, but she added a few other spots we could check out, most likely those were listed under her favorite things in Baler. She shared about these gorgeous rock formations during low tide at the other side of town, to partying at a newly opened rave club, to random friends she’s made over a bottle of “Red Horse”. I learned that she has never tried surfing. Ironic, since she seems to be a local in Baler, one of the most prominent surfing capitals of the Philippines — all because she was too scared to try.

It was a lot to listen to… from a total stranger, I rudely thought to myself. She chose to spend her vacation far from how I would choose a peaceful out-of-town trip, although I couldn’t help but pay attention to every single detail.

The conversation went on, we would compare the differences between the metro and this small town, how everyone around was friendlier – more earnest with their responses, how the tricycle fare may be a fixed Php50.00 but can take you kilometers away, to how Php200.00 can go a long way for a heavy and fulfilling meal. The constant worries we had day-to-day weren’t present here.

“Why Baler?” she asked us. My partner and I shared a glance and all we could tell her was that we wanted to go to someplace new. I returned the question,

“How come it sounds like you’ve been here again and again?” She grinned and let out a small giggle.

She shared the first time she visited Baler; it was a last-minute decision. Back in 2020, during the COVID pandemic, she was on her way to her grandmother’s home in Aurora. Baler was one of the towns on the way to her destination, so she decided to stop by for a few days – this whole getaway was a complete secret from her family. Since then, it has become a ritual. Her own personal secret, whenever she’d visit her grandmother, she’d always plan a 2-3 day stay here in Baler. You can see her face brighten up; her eyes sparkled as she gazed outward to the sea. I guess all those past trips played through her mind.

The mundanity of the lives we lived in the metro was something we shared, and we understood precisely the frustrations that came with it. However, the carefree outlook to let the surrounding events of the day swoop her in and take her to a new course, felt terrifying yet blissful to me. She had freedom that was far from what I knew it to be. She had the strength to trust in knowing that at the end of it all, everything will be alright.

Our drinks ran out, and the conversation felt like it had reached its conclusion.

“San ka patungo?” my partner asked the girl.

“Diyan lang,” she pointed in the opposite direction to where we were heading to.

“Kumuha ako ng surfing instructor,” she shared one last time. My partner and I smiled at the sudden change of pace we felt from her. We said our goodbyes and watched her walk away – only then did I realise that I didn’t get her name, nor a proper picture of her.

Kodak ColorPlus200 Photographs by Bradd Gabe; developed by Sunny16 Studios

We left the café and made our way back to the starting point of the beachfront. Since that encounter, the rest of the trip felt different. I found a kind of yearning when observing the people around us.

What are their stories?

How did they get here?

Where are they headed next?

That slow pace that greeted us from the bus, turned into curiosity which grew to excitement – my whole internal rhythm shifted.

FilmNeverDie Suibo500T Photographs by Bradd Gabe; developed by Sunny16 Studios

[childishjournals]

In a circle of yearning and guilt.

The premise of this story is the relentless drive of yuppies who want to thrive. It's the thought of continuously placing ourselves in uncomfortable enough situations we are propelled into a much faster trajectory of growth. Why are we constantly doing this to ourselves, pushing harder and harder?

Perhaps there's joy in the thrill of a challenge, or maybe it is linked more to the will to succeed. What is the definition of "success" these days? Is it financial status? Career? Brains and capability? Hmmm... If it's just that, why does life sound like a constant battle that needs to be fought to the top of the pyramid?

I have found myself in this circular behavior of guilt and yearning. Guilt is there when I have free time on my hands. The right to rest does not feel right. But, in this pursuit of constant productivity, I find myself tired and yearning for the slow times in doing nothing. Will time allow me to at least enjoy this part in life?

What has this society moulded our ideals and beliefs into? Are the reasons we tell ourselves a conspirancy to keep moving forward with our day jobs?

I want to create, and I feel like I don't have the time anymore to do so. I've consumed the little headspace I have left and creation is not a part of it. I should seriously get help because I wonder why I enjoy and dread the decisions that lead me to this kind of life.

[childishjournals]

Angles and Vantage Points

Who's got you thinking, about the frustrations that coat your weary mind? Possibly your boss who leaves you a thread of tasks and updates on a job that can definitely wait for the weekday. Maybe the administration who lead this country's government, endlessly contradicting each other, trying to deliver what they believe is good ordinance. Could it be your mother, telling you what you need to do, because you know... mother knows best?

Our reactions aren't exactly welcoming towards the decisions of these external parties, organisations, people. We often opt towards a certain reaction the moment we hear them deliver their message. Annoyance, mixed with tiredness and ridicule, or maybe plain loathing.

This reaction tends to bring out the worst of us all -- our biases. Our belief that there is no one else better to say it than ourselves. We tend to think that we know better or have the bigger picture in mind. We see with our very own eyes what is more than the story the speaker tells. We may be the more enlightened one. The bigger man among the two, choosing to stay quiet and to listen to their ignorant tale of woes.

Communication, is often overlooked that it is carried by two parties. The speaker, and the listener. It is never complete without the other. This defines the very core of what it means to be a social being. We interact with each other, live together, form communities to survive, build countries to live and prosper. What creates these possibilities from the ground under is the communication that occurs.

So what is it that gives us the right to loathe the speaker? We don't, and we never should. We see things in our own perspective. The stories of a person may seem like the orange haze shrouding the late afternoon sky in our minds, but to that very same person it may be a dark storm filled with nothing but thunderclouds. It is with our growing experiences that brings us to the unique forms we tell our stories in. It is with these experiences that we hear and see the stories of others in a different light. If we all carry our own perspectives, our reasons as to why we decide to tell our tale in such a way, why is it that our mind frustrates over the speaker's beliefs?

It may be the lapses we forget in listening to story, or the challenges we miss out when conversing with others, that poses the challenges with communication. But, these two never work together without either parties choosing to understand why they speak, or why they listen.

Instead of hearing the words of your boss in the form of stress, before creating a frustrated thread of tweets of our broken government, or hearing the words of your parents in the form of a burden, maybe it's time to hear out their story. Maybe, it's time to understand the 'why' that led them to this moment. Will it be much of a challenge for us to try to see what may be the intention behind the suggestion? Is it a challenge to take a moment to see the vantage point of your speaker, the angle of their argument, and the possibilities they envision moving forward? Let's give it a try.

[childishjournals]

A reminder

I've forgotten what it was like To feel the wonder of hope, The desire to dream without fear, A will to live 'with' rather than 'for'.

I've forgotten what it was like When love was a reality and not some fictional story you’d find in a book, A chapter for me to hear your voice after a long tiring day, Or an excerpt of discovering every quirk, flaw, scar, and feature that makes you beautiful and amazing.

I've forgotten what it was like When the world was so colourful, Bright and vibrant with your sound of life, Resonating a joy and happiness only the two of us understand and play on repeat.

I've forgotten what it was like To be vulnerable and bare, To give my whole entirety and beliefs, To trust without question and yet feel so alive in the daylight and safe under the stars.

I've forgotten that it was okay to be happy when I'm cared for, To be honest and true, To be free of judgement and doubt in your arms, To feel love without owing anything more than we can and are able to.

I've remembered and felt it all again, The forgotten memories of this child's hopes and wishes, I've remembered it all because of you.

You, Are the constant reminder, That there is good and beauty, Hidden in the most unexpected of places.

[childishjournals]

What is love? (as defined by a Filipino)

The Filipino word ‘Mahal’ can mean two things.

If used as a verb it is understood as ‘love’.

“Mahal kita,” would mean  “I love you,” “Ang pagmamahal ko para sa’yo,” “My love for you”.

But if the word is used as an adjective, it is understood as ‘expensive’.

“Ang mahal naman niyan,” “That’s quite expensive”. “Ang mahal na ng bilhin,” “Things are getting expensive”.

So in the end, we can say, “Mahal ang pagmamahal,”

“Love is expensive”

It is not cheap, it is not easy to find. It is not something you can buy at the market, nor is it effortlessly replaceable if you have lost love somewhere at the street. And love is definitely not easy to fix once it has been broken.

Some people say they’ve found love. Siguro Class A product yan, nabili mo lang sa Greenhills o Divisoria.

Love is expensive. When you see it, you know you want it but you hesitate, because deep down, you know it’s going to be painful. Well, it will be. And it’ll be worth it, and long lasting. And the world will seem, a bit more complete, when you finally have love wrapped around your waist.

It’s just that, it’s difficult to find the quality of love your heart needs.

But that is life and that is love. It’ll take time because one needs to invest in love.

[childishjournals]

A Silent Confession

I never understood why so many people fell For your constant jokes and punchlines Witty comments, and opinionated mindset It was clear An unexplainable charm coated your words, Voice and demeanor The way you sat beside me and breathed Looked at me, touched my skin Even if it was the slightest brush Off of the back of your hand To the gentle poke of your fingers On the edge of my shoulders It's a feeling I've never felt before That could not be described with just a sentence Your distance made me crazy Whether if you were far From my body or mind I yearned for your sound, Or if you were near My heart would burst Of joy and insecurity I would black out My eyes would search for things that were not there Just to avoid the dark brown pierce of yours I was scared that you would see Right through my walls But that one short morning Where you held my soul And played with it to your heart's content I can't help and think That you found out As the tension lightened In the millimeters Between our skin After that You looked at me As someone new Help me understand How do you do What you do To get people hooked On you like an illegal drug Hidden from the authorities It is definitely an addiction Sooner or later Maybe it will fade into nothing But as the effects still linger I can't help but Beg for more And hope That this does not destroy me.

[childishjournals]

if the cosmos were to grant us a sight and piece of wholehearted wishes, I would want nothing more than music filling my ears over and over again.

[childishjournals]

Farewell To My Star

She walked away and left traces of her footprints on the sand; her hair blew across her face as the warm ocean breeze rushed past us; the setting sun blazed the tears on her cheeks shining brighter than her highlights. She left just like the others, one after the other. But… this was different.

As she left, she took away pieces of who I am with her; I was scarred and worn but sadness did not take over. Instead, something nourishing found its way through me as our paths separated. It was a kind of gratitude that cherished our laughter and pain together. The kind that made my tears curve around my smile as I saw the last features of her back fade away from my sight. “Thank you,” I whispered.

We did not make a mistake in loving each other.

[childishjournals]

How To Be Productive

Here are four easy steps to, supposedly, becoming productive and maybe discovering yourself along the way:

Grab any material you love to exert your ideas upon -- for me it would be my handy-dandy notebook... in my phone since my handwriting is crap and gorgeous moleskin notebooks don’t deserve such vandals.

Now get something that calms, yet excites, your mind; it could be music, smell of food, taste of food, or maybe, sound of food being cooked at 4 AM. My preference may be pretty clear. Yes, I’m guilty for putting on some oldies music and listening to that classic groove of a sax and piano. Though, a good sandwich or cake would be wonderful right now.

Assume a comfortable position, not too comfortable that you’ll be lulled into sleep. It is important for your body to relax so that those creative (organic or inorganic) juices come out properly. For me, I like to lie down on my bed with only my bedside lamp on. The dimness is quite promising. It gives me a sense of tranquility for my rather anxious heart.

Now for the final step, stop reading this and get to it! Seriously, what is stopping you from doing what you want? Insecurity? Cowardice? Inability to actually comprehend the action? Please, the only thing impossible in this world is to be God. Everything is given to us, everything is shown to us, it’s just a matter of opening our eyes to the reality of our imagination and creativity.

Too difficult to grasp my meaning? Here, let’s review this in another perspective:

Acquire a medium of expression. Since the beginning of time, man has always been an expressive creature. Be creative with your output, just like how the cavemen made those murals with whatever nature’s spices could offer.

Find an inspiration. It’s not that difficult, you just need to look at what’s in front of you. Well… looking is not enough, opening your eyes is more difficult than actually doing the action itself. But really, that’s all it takes, open your eyes to what’s out there.

Don’t pressure yourself. We won’t get there right away and we’ll need to fall upon something after losing our grip on what we dearly held onto. It’s rather, quite normal. So don’t be afraid, your only competition is yourself.

Start small, no matter how unnoticeable it is. When you look back, you’ll realize how far you’ve gone. Give yourself a pat on the back for a job well done on that one sentence you wrote for your essay, or a set of lines for your next song.

I know, my words don’t correlate but who said that I was here to give you what you want? Life is confusing and the answer isn’t a delivery service to your doorstep. I’m merely an accessory to your journey in discovery.  Albeit small or big I am to that journey of yours, we all deserve the right respect and acknowledgement.

So my dear friend, I hope you end up being productive and, at the same time, finding yourself along the way. According to Plato, “a life unexamined is a life not worth living.”

P.S. I make no sense.

[childishjournals]

Windswept Fields

Take a deep breath and see, That all your worries Aren't what they used to be. Stop for a moment and look, That maybe our lives Would turn out differently in this book. Let it out and smile, Because all you've been through Was worthwhile. Leave it be and move forward from what you hold, For this is a new story You have yet to unfold.

[childishjournals]

Beach

The crests that glimmer under the sunlight, the crash of waves that reach the shoreline, the endless ombre of green and blue, You will always meet a land either baked or cooled.

So leave your feet behind on the sand, feel the breeze rush through your hands, and look up towards the endless azure.

My dear, always remember what you want to do.

[childishjournals]

A Walk To School

Every time I got off the train and walked to school, I’d pass through a thousand colors. They filled every day of the week, completing the canvas I carried across my chest, But out of all the colors out there, Only a few made up the main impression of my – almost complete – artwork.

Aimlessly treading the pavement, Grief sat on the benches, hidden beneath the shadows, Holding a small shirt, covered in her tears. One morning, weeks after the occurrence, She gave me a bracelet made for the supposed years. It was small, but this I could tell you, it was full of love.

Sadness, on the other hand, did not cry as often as Grief... She was silent. She smiled at me every time I passed by her at the station. She wore crimson bracelets that never seemed to dry, They had a broken innocence to it. It just never came to anyone's understanding why she chose to leave.

Desire, well he was different. He pranced under the spotlight, getting the attention of all. Every time he saw me walking to school, he would start a conversation. He talked so much about himself; it didn't really matter if I responded or not. The words that reached the colors around me said that he was full of self-proclaimed significance, But what I saw was a dull color on a lonely palette.

I remember passing Misery at the side of the street, She sat perfectly still, holding a drugged doll in her arms. Covered in rags and dirt, she kept Hope with her, waiting for circles to be given. At night I saw her wait by the road as she sold all her charms, Stacking the drugs and the drugged, just hoping she was left without a pang.

Hope, who had lengthy conversations at Misery's side, wore false prayers and quotes of "great" leaders. She would preach to me, whenever I passed by the monument at the park. For me, everything Hope babbled about was blood and money; I took them for nothing, But the only thing I did receive was what my parents told me: She didn't understand how to let things go.

My days were filled with these colors, It came to my realization that my canvas had little to no progress. I did my best to make it look better: strengthening the accents, meddling with the contrast, and mixing a few that seemed to complement. Somewhere along the way there was one color that blended with almost all but, as it did so, it left a very distinct mark on my painting.

Happiness strode through the train station like any other person. He didn't look any different than the colors that painted the walls around me, But what made him different was what he covered his canvas with. Happiness was there sitting on the benches at the station, Talking with Grief about wizards and little princes who travel through stars and asteroids. He had given her a cup of coffee to place her hands around. Seemingly, that tear-stained shirt, she held onto so dearly, began to dry despite the dampness in the station. Happiness was there embracing Sadness within his arms, They both smiled and laughed at jokes that never seemed funny. It was that one morning when I saw Sadness' temporary beauty. He had given her a pair of brown bracelets that clung to her skin and had white polka dots on it. The day Sadness left, she wrote a note: “It was Anger who left me, but it was ‘him’ that made me realize that I could find something real again.”

Happiness was there laughing with Desire as they got out of the station, They conversed loudly and were excited every second they shared something new. As usual, Desire kept talking and Happiness just listened with a smile, But as I overheard their conversation on the way to school, It was as if Desire’s words were richer and his sentences more complete.

Happiness was there handing Misery some food from his bag, He would sit by her side, watching the birds fly through the trees. They shared a cup of water and spoke to each other like they were in their own dining room. He had given Misery as much as he could, despite the empty stomach that led his day.

Happiness was there listening to Hope preach about Mischief and Discord. After school, I saw her crying on his shoulders, Dry blood and broken petals are what hid a scar of age, Ever since, Hope became a wilting flower, whose petals fell with grace, Now, she spoke to everyone about Peace and Love.

It was Happiness who tapped my shoulder at the school gates. He handed me a brush of untainted hairs and a gaze of nostalgia. He told me that he didn’t need it anymore. Reluctantly, I accepted the gift and watched him walk away.

Days passed and colors flew, I carry the brush Happiness gave me, everywhere I go. With every stroke I make with it, I feel more complete. The colors, that fill my canvas, are somehow different than before, Everywhere I look, Happiness is there.

[wordsnquotes]

Most people have no imagination. If they could imagine the sufferings of others, they would not make them suffer so.

Anna Funder, All That I Am  (via wordsnquotes)

[childishjournals]

10/30/15

That morning, I went to school to help facilitate the enrollment process; just like what any good officer of the student council would do. After the strenuous morning, I had lunch under the shade of the majestic trees, basking within the kiosks situated in our football field. I waited for my band mates so that we could work on our song entry. First place wins fifteen grand, who wouldn't want that? We put our hearts and souls into the endeavor. Lastly, by 3:00 pm I wrote down the minutes of our monthly executive meeting, just like what any other secretary would do. I sat for hours through the drone of people, keenly listening for any important detail I wouldn't want to miss. I arrived home by 6:00 pm for dinner, tired from the busy day -- a day that was part of my week-long semestral break.

A schedule-filled day with not a single minute to spare, that was how I foresaw it the evening before. I knew well, how things were going to unfold for that day. Well, this is all I can promise you, expect the unexpected.

I should've known then that the day was going to go a bit differently from what I initially foresaw from my alarm clock alone. It didn't ring; well, maybe it did but not loud enough for me to hear. I woke up a few minutes longer than anticipated, just a few. As what any other millennial would do, I reached for my phone and turned it on. What greeted me were a number of texts received and calls missed coming from one person alone. And as quick as I got a glimpse of the notification, the call came in.

I answered, in quite a bewildered state; I got up and made the effort of taking the adventure from my room to the front porch, since cellular signal is better and not crappy in that area of the lot.

"Hello?" I jived, trying to mask my freshly-awoken vocal chords.

"Let's go to Iligan!" The voice said enthusiastically. First thing in the morning and I get a call from my friend telling me that we are going out of town. Why couldn’t she wait for... like... later that day?

"Uhm, sure. When?"

"Right now!" ... now, I see why she called, this was a very last minute invite. Super-duper last minute.

"WHAT?!" is all I could reply, well aside from the complaining about how my planned and scheduled day would go, the amount of work that needs to be done, and the responsibilities that are expected from me. Everything, that I have settled in place, suddenly felt like they were falling apart and that I was doing my best to bring the pieces back together; except that the pieces will have to be placed differently for the day to continue on.

Long-conversation-short after a few minutes of persuading me (really, that’s all it takes to interest me to take a vacation and ditch work), I gave in to the pleasure of adventure. I made a few texts, a few calls, cancelled all my appointments (I sound so official and business-y here) and rushed back to my room to get ready for the road-trip.

Eventually, my friend arrived 15-minutes later, in a rented car -- with her boyfriend driving, of course. I got in, somewhat disheveled from a bath, with a piece of bread in my mouth, a pack filled with adventure and excitement, and a ton of questions.

Turns out:

They've planned this for weeks (months maybe).

She invited me on the very last minute (because she thought, “Hey, what about Bradd?”).

I was tired from all the work I've been doing (it’s sembreak and I still didn’t do anything that’s not schoolwork).

I deserved a break, no matter how.... uncanny its timing was.

Hours after, (after eating breakfast and picking up the rest of the ‘crew’) we were on the road to Iligan. Exciting isn't it? An unplanned adventure -- well on my part it’s unplanned. It was definitely my first time to visit the attractions in the said city.

2 waterfalls: Maria Christina and Mimbalot falls. Trailing over rocks to get a good angle and climbing up a few steps to dive a few ungodly feet above the water.

A small trip to Maze park. More like a peaceful trail through the silent empty lanes of the amusement park.

We got in the car again and drove a few more kilometers ahead, and for some reason we were in Lanao del Norte (but still in Iligan City, I don’t get it, as well) where we trailed down a mountain of four-hundred-plus steps to reach one of the most beautiful waterfalls I've ever seen: the Tinago Falls.

Random Trivia:

“Tinago” translates to “hid” in our language. Like the sentence “tinago niya” would mean “s/he hid it”. I believe that it was a witty and fitting name for the waterfalls since it was well-hidden by cliffs and trees, even the sound of its crashing waters couldn’t be heard from the top of the steps. 

It was amazing. We had to pull our raft through the gushing water to reach the foot of the falls. The gust of wind and roar of water blasting at my ears was calming; our faces were constantly sprayed as we reached the full grandeur of the waterfall and they were definitely brimming with joy and laughter.

I floated there in the center of the lake as I stared at the scenic opportunity the area gave. It was perfect. A perfect semestral break, even if it was just for a day. Above, I looked up at the azure sky, coupled with the lush green of the trees that made its way into the heavens, the roar of the raging waterfall humming in my water submerged ears, the gust of wind blowing on the tip of my nose, the setting sun sparkling the water ever more brightly as if jewels lay hidden in between the current.

By the end of the day, it wasn't only the lush greens or the beautiful blues I enjoyed, not only the silence and peace brought by the hiking trails, not only the memories that can never be taken away, but the one friend who decided to go out of her way to invite me on the VERY LAST MINUTE, to give me that one unplanned adventure, that one unexpected lifetime experience, who made me really happy. It was beyond great because you can hardly come by a spontaneous and joyful experience like that in your lifetime.

We truly need people like this: people who care in their different ways and unexpectedly different decisions. People who are still there by your side even if it has been quite a while since you last saw each other. People like this are one of the many reasons why life is a constant adventure of the unknown.

[wordsnquotes]

Sometimes, the biggest secrets you can only tell a stranger.

Michelle Hodkin, The Evolution of Mara Dyer (via wordsnquotes)

[childishjournals]

Dreams pt. 1

Lost in the stars

I screamed, louder than I thought I could. I was surrounded by shadows. A pale moon suspended on a black sheet, shining a silver blue light; it made my hair look sickly yellow. I fell on my knees and cried, my tears rolling down this white satin dress. What is this feeling? Agony? Misery? Synonyms, yet each word left a distinguishable impact within me. I covered my face, feeling the shame of something that I knew did not exist. It left me confused and lost.

Something was coming; the anonymity sent chills throughout my whole body. It tore through me. The winds that blew on my face made me feel like a corpse. My emotions were in a state of turmoil. I cried, I grieved, I was disgusted. I realized the truth--I wanted it to stop.

It felt like I was given no other choice but to run. I ran to wherever I could run to, flee to wherever I could flee; to escape whatever I was escaping from that was causing this insanity I knew as reality. The thought of it felt like an endless flight.

No matter how far I ran I knew that there would be something to pull me back. I knew the effort was futile but I kept on running. Why won’t my legs stop? I lost all reason, my body just ran even though my mind had told it to stop.

The moon darkened, the road a steel hue of gray. The world around me changed into an eerie black and white. The trees, dark like ash, stretched its naked branches like streaks of lightning dancing in the sky.

I looked behind me and saw it: nothing. Nothing was a black span of coldness that greeted its friends at the end of a journey. Unable to accept what I saw, I focused back on what was ahead. That was my mistake. I was too drawn on what I had left behind that I forgot what I ran towards. The road had been cut off at the edge of a cliff. I tried to stop, my body fighting for balance. Trying not to fall into hell. Hell towards raging waves on a cascade of rocks.

The darkness expanded towards the vast starlit horizon. The reflection of the evening sky made the ocean seem like it was infinite. If I were to fall I would seemingly fall into an endless flight towards the stars. Am I to witness this standing here taking in the view or am I to plunge towards uncertainty, the ocean of spectacles?

I lost it. My whole body gave up and my journey towards the stars began. My fears faded away and tears flew for the first time. It felt like the arms of the clock wound back into place; everything, slowed down as how it should have been.

The cliff slowly burst into a pinnacle of black clouds as I fell farther away. The moon vanished, giving way for the stars to shine ever brighter. Everything broke, like glass shattering on a tiled floor--the ocean’s surface did otherwise. The reflection of the stars distorted and sunk into the water. My body began its decent to the abyss as the little specks of light trailed.

Apathy was emitted in this darkness. My fight back to the surface was useless as I slowly lost consciousness. The starlight, ever so filled with innocence, circled me. I stared as the light enveloped my body, it danced to an uncertain rhythm, drawing the air right out of my lungs. Finally, this solitary confinement brought me peace.

Among the flurry of light there was a prominent glow of a blinking red dot. Minuscule, it may be, it stood out among all the other things. But little I knew that the red light was something terrific, something corrupted. It flashed. The light beating faster and faster--each passing blink the light grew bigger, shined brighter, emanated stronger. Everything felt horribly wrong. The light bled; the blood leaking out, reaching out through the milky plane. My head twitched… my arm jerked... then my leg--my body convulsed.

My whole world shifted, I flailed on familiarity. The softness my head was shaking on felt damp. My heart pounding as my eyes focused in the dark. The hum of a faraway engine, followed by a few more, echoed in the distance. Sweat rolled down my neck sliding to my chest. I clenched my fist, pulled my blanket towards my face and began to cry.

“It was not real,”  I tried telling myself. I tried but I could not find my way back to the stars.