It's not always rainbows and butterflies

John Green said pain demands to be felt. I say, it's your choice whether to give in to pain's demand. This is the story of a 16-year-old dreamer. Bear with it. Her name is Wendy. She loves Jose Rizal and Peeta Mellark. She's dramatic, funny, witty, weird and anything she wants to be. A product of UST and currently a pursuer of knowledge from UP Diliman.

[literallynoble-blog]

Hindi “lang” ang kaibigan.

Hindi ka niya naisulat. Hindi ka niya kailanman isusulat. “Hindi ito tungkol sa iyo”, iyan ang wika niya.

Kaya hayaan mong ako, ako ang magsusulat tungkol sa iyo. At kahit pa wala ako sa lugar na magsulat ukol sa iyo at para sa iyo, isusulat kita, kahit pa hindi inari ng mundong isulat pa ang mga bagay-bagay na namagitan sa ating dalawa.

Dahil ang totoo, walang namagitan sa ating dalawa. Wala noon. Wala ngayon. Hindi ko hahawakan ang kamay mo. Hindi mo rin hahawakan ang kamay ko dahil alam naman nating dalawang basa ito. At hindi mo rin naman kailangang hawakan ang kamay ko dahil matatawa lang talaga tayo.

Itinuro ng mundo na magsulat tuwing umiibig, tuwing masakit, tuwing masarap, tuwing may mga ungol at tuwing nagdarampi ang mga labi’t damdamin. Kung gayo’y bakit kita isusulat kung hindi naman natin dinanas sa isa’t isa ang mga ito?

Isusulat kita dahil mahal kita – hindi pag-ibig na tulad ng nadama mo para sa kanya, o nang nadama ko noon para sa taong ngayo’y ni hindi ko na kilala. Isang pag-ibig na hango sa pagkakaibigang pinanday ng panahon at pagkakataon. Hindi humihingi ng kapalit, ng kilig o ng anu’t-ano pa. Ikaw at ako. Patunay tayong maaring umibig ang babae’t lalaki ng wagas ngunit hindi romantiko, na parang isang kapatid, kapanalig, kakampi at kasama kung nanganganib.

Tinuruan mo ako ng kimika at kasama kitang pumayat, maging noong tumaba. Itinanong mo sa akin ang mga bagay na akala ko’y hindi ko kailanman sasagutin kung ibang tao ang nagtanong sa akin. Hindi ko alam kung may naituro ako sa iyo, isa ka ng henyo at sa tingin ko nga’y ‘di mo na kailangan ang tulong ko. Ang pangako ko lang, nandito lang ako ilan mang lalaki ang kumatok at umalis sa pintuan ng buhay ko, gayunding ilan mang babae ang patuluyin mo sa init ng yakap mo.

Hindi natin maipapangakong uuwi tayo sa isa’t isa – dahil pareho tayong peregrinong sumusunod sa ihip ng hangin kung saan patungo ang ating mga pangarap. Masasabi kong malayo na rin ang narating mo, mula sa sulok kung saan unang nagpumiyos ang ating mga mithiin sa buhay, kung saan inakala nating lahat ay kayang mapagtagumpayan ng mga pusong walang muwang basta’t umiibig, kung saan ang bawat halakhak natin ay sapat na upang mapawi ang pagod na hatid ng eskwela. 

Hindi tayo nagmahalan kung ang pag-ibig ay tungkol sa init at tamis at mapupusok na mga salita. Ngunit ng matapos ang ritmo ng pagsayaw natin sa kanila, ikaw at ako ang siyang nakinig sa mga ‘bakit’, ‘sayang’ at ‘sana’ ng mga natapos na kabanata – ng mga taong nawala, nawawala at sa mga susunod pang taong ating mawawala. Mahaba pa ang ating mga araw at ilang taon pa ang dadaan. Ilang pahina pa ang igugugol ko sa pag-sulat at ikaw sa pagtuklas at pag-gawa sa siyensya na iyong minahal noon pa man. Hindi tayo nagmahalan kung ganon.

At ito nga’t sinubok kong isulat ka gayunpaman. Susumahin ko ang bawat anggulo ng mukha at pagkatao mo gamit ang mga salita, sapagkat ang mga kamay ko’y pagal at palpak sa pagkulay at guhit. Susumahin ko ang mga mata mong nakuha mo sa iyong ina, mga matang ibinaling mo sa lahat ng iyong mga minahal at pinakawalan. Susumahin ko ang bawat tanong na ibinaling mo sa akin kasama ng mga sagot na alam nating hindi na kailan man dadating pa.

Paumanhin, kung hindi kita maisusulat. Sapagkat itinuro ng mundo na magsulat tuwing umiibig, tuwing masakit, tuwing masarap, tuwing may mga ungol at tuwing nagdarampi ang mga labi’t damdamin.Hindi naman natin dinanas sa isa’t isa ang mga ito. Dinanas natin sa iba. Dinanas natin at ibinahagi sa isa’t-isa. Daranasin nating muli at ibabahagi sa isa’t isa. Salamat at paumanhin.

Hindi ka niya naisulat. Hindi ka niya kailanman isusulat. “Hindi ito tungkol sa iyo”, iyan ang wika niya.

-Para sa isa sa mga pinakamatalik kong kaibigang lalaki. Papayat na tayo. HAHAHA

[literallynoble-blog]

Comm 120 Media Law

Luz Wendy T. Noble

1. BA Journalism

2. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho - its simplicity and legend-like narration makes it more classic, philosophical and literally a book favorite of all time for me. It inspires us to dream big dreams but to keep within our hearts a sense of ‘home’ where we could always return to, where we feel safe and comfortable and where we could keep the treasures we have acquired along our sojourns. (I really don’t have a favorite book I guess because I like a lot of books, I guess)

3. Barber’s Tales - I’m into indie films as they are very close to reality. The Barber’s Tales is a combination of disciplines and things that have always been controversial and close to me as they are the problems of our society I wish I could take part in solving (baby steps maybe) like feminism and politics. The film is somehow historical as well and I also like delving into history. And of course, it featured Eugene Domingo’s exceptional artistic performance.

4. Kara David - Even before I entered CMC, I have always looked forward for her documentaries. Her advocacy to help indigenous communities made me love her even more. She’s strong, adventurous woman who would ride motorcycles for fieldwork or climb mountains to tell us unheard stories. I also heard she still makes her own script even if she’s already a big name in the industry. Plus, we both love Rizal. 

5. Sunday by Bloc Party - (had a hard time choosing a favorite song for all time really as it depends upon the current state of my life) It appeals to the hopeless romantic side of me + the insecure and not assured of my abilities in life side of me.

6. Siomai - my life is a quest of finding the best siomai in the universe.

7. Hobbies - Reading books, writing about feelings :)), listening to music, stalking Rizal, watching films (and trying to interpret them) 

[literallynoble-blog]

Will you live to

Do you live to die? Or do you die to live?

Since I shifted to Journalism last year, writing has been both my sanity and insanity. It is my healing and my very destruction. Each coverage changed me for the better (I would like to believe) and has showed me how wounded our society is. Each midnight attempt to uncage my deepest hopes and fears and losses is both nerve-wrecking (let’s pretend the soul has nerves if it doesn’t) revitalizing for my suffocated soul. And once again, I want to blame Paulo Coelho for bringing unease to my thoughts that urged me to painfully write again. 

Yes, painfully write again. Because even the most beautiful things in life are painful. It took me more than a hundred thousand minutes and a book about a woman who wanted to die to validate this. It took a tear-washed eyes to see a life worth-living down to the millisecond.

“Where is my soul that I might play the music of my own life with such enthusiasm?” (Paulo Coelho, Veronika Decides to Die) 

I used to be obsessed with the idea of finding a home in somebody’s arms (after reading Coelho’s The Alchemist) until I got sick of always making room for understanding and never being understood. And so I guess, never mind being understood. It’s time I live this life for myself. And please don’t tell me this is selfishness. Because as I live for what makes me happy, I have the certainty (and I have always mingled with uncertainty so this is a big thing) I will come across pieces of people’s stories that will also be touched for the better in my attempt to make this life count. And that will not be selfishness at all. If I come across home someday, that will be great. If not, Wendy the journalist will be at home with her adventures from all over the world.

And this is what I will always tell myself from now on, when the ride is smooth-sailing and when it gets draggy:

“So live. Live as you touch people’s lives with words. Live as you play with destiny and become great not solely because of the universe’s conspiracy, but with what your efforts have allowed you to be. Wake up each day and see the world as if you will not be here tomorrow. Read books and make the characters alive in your mind and let them die as they must with a justified life. Listen to music and exist in each drum beat. Paint even if nobody will ever understand. Sometimes it’s enough to care, even if you don’t understand. Watch TV with you family and tell them you love them just because. Call a friend to say that a stranger reminded you of her but will never replace her. Give that kid outside your spare cookie and smile. Do the things that make you cry because they’re just that worth it. Love so much, the kind of much that might destroy you but will do so beautifully. The kind of much that when it’s over, you know you did well to keep it and smile because life just happens. Do not wait. And if you must, live as you wait. Never wait to live. For whether you believe in deities or in a Supreme Being, the clock is ticking and the leaves are falling. You might want to rot with a dignity that in your only life, at least you lived. 

Allow me with what little credibility I have to tell you that:

Do not be afraid of dying. Be afraid of not living.”

Do you live to die? Or do you die to live? Choose the latter, dear reader (if I ever get one). Always. 

[literallynoble-blog]

Besh

Nitong umaga muli’t muli ako’y isang bata

Nagpapanggap na unang beses natutong magsalita

‘Pabebe nang sinabing “Happy Father’s Day Papa”

May ngiting hindi maitago sapagkat kapiling ka

Nitong tanghali sumimba tayo’t umuwi

Basbas ng Diyos mula sa dambana

Ama ko’y baunin mong lagi

Saka pag-uwi naghain si Mama

“Bumaba na at sabay sabay tayo.”

Inunahan kitang bumaba ‘pagkat

Abala ka pa ng pagpaplano kung paanong

Kakantahin mo ang “twerk it like Miley”

sa ‘dubmash” (oo dubmash at hindi dubsmash ang tawag mo)

na sa akin ay pinadownload mo

Agad akong tumakbo sa pamilihan

Binilhan ka ng tsokolateng keyk

At ihinabol sa hain ng Inay

Ngunit wala sa kalingkingan iyon Papa

Sa lahat ng aming natamasa

- edukasyon, aklat, pangkain atbp

mula nang magtrabaho ka doon sa malayong Arabia.

Nitong hapon naman ika’y nabungi

Natanggal pustisong ilang taon na ring ibinaon

Nakita kong nalungkot ka pagsulyap sa sarili

At kahit hindi mo wikain ramdam ko

Na takot kang agusin ng panahon

Nitong gabi ika’y nagpagupit at nagpatina

Para naman japorms at hindi mahuli

Kaso lang pagkabanlaw sa buhok ‘ay inao nga

Hindi mo nagustuhan ang bago mong itsura

Hinintay kong matawa ka sa pinapanood mo

At nakita ko na nga

Ikaw na kulang sa ipin at may kakaibang tina

Napangiti ako

Hindi natawa

Sapagkat napagtanto kong

Mahal nga kita

Hindi lang dahil sa gwapo ka

At sa’yo ko namana

Ang husay, dangal

at ang sabi nilang nangungusap kong mga mata

Hindi lang dahil sa hindi mabilang na librong nabili para sakin

Tuwing nagpapalamig tayong dalawa

Hindi lang dahil sa bawat pangarap na

kapit-kamay nating binuo

Oo’t mahal kita dahil sa mga ito

Ngunit mas minahal kita

At mahal kita kahit na

Kahit na pinalo mo ako ng ruler

Ng hindi ko maisulat ang letrang “G”

nung bata pa

Kahit na salutatorian ka at first honorable lang ako

Nung elementarya

Kahit na may minsang dumating dahil sayo’y natakot ako

At nasaktan dahil sa panghihina mo

Mahal pa rin kita

sa kabila ng mga kaunting pagkukulang

na atin nang nalampasan

Patuloy tayong maghihilom Ama

Sabay na babangon at maglalayag

sa panibagong mga istorya at kalokohang

tayong dalawa lamang ang makakatawa

Mahal pa rin kita Ama

kahit pa pumuti ng husto ang iyong buhok

At tamarin ka ng magpatina

Mamahalin kita

Kahit pa maubos ang mga ngipin mo

at gilagid na lang ang sisilip

sa labi mo tuwing Bulagaan na.

Totoong bawat sugat ay naghihilom. At kahit gaano kabaduy,  totoong walang hihigit sa pag-ibig. Maligayang Araw ng mga Ama, sa Papa kong nagturo sa aking mahalin si Rizal, at higit sa lahat, sa Papa kong nagturo sa akin kung paano magmahal - walang pag-iimbot, magpalaya, magpatawad, hindi magtanim ng sama ng loob, magtiwala at magtiwalang muli. Alam ng Diyos kung gaano akong nagpapasalamat na ikaw ang aking Papa. Sa uulitin. (Sa susunod kong buhay, ikaw pa rin sana).

*Sinikap kong magsulat muli sa Filipino, para sa iyo, Besh.

[literallynoble-blog]

Mama

It’s in the crease between her eyes as she sleeps. They call it wrinkles but to me, they have been a proof of her being beautiful without trying to be. The years had not invaded her beauty; it had actually made her bloom more. And I glance at her, with the aircon whining something I will never understand. My mama has finally fallen to a slumber. She has often complained these days of not having a decent sleep because when she wakes up in the middle of the night or before dawn, she cannot go back to Dreamland anymore. I wanted to lie down while making this write up but her head was tilted towards the side of my pillow so I tried my best to get it without having to wake her up. How many times in the past did she have to sleep without a pillow because of me? How many times did she missed a nap because of the fragile cry baby whose weak lungs made everybody alarmed, whose tiny fingers are the very trembling ones typing this right now?

           I love her - too much that I’m afraid I settled with it and didn’t even bother to make her feel it. I love her - too much that seeing her cry makes me angry. I love her - too much that her hug makes me feel that the road might be bumpy, but will definitely be smooth somewhere.

LWTN circa 2014. 

[literallynoble-blog]

"One day, when you are 14, 28 or 65

 you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that  cannot die.

However, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find --

is that they are not always with whom we spend our lives."

She didn't meet him when she was 14, she's not even 28 or 65. And no, he didn't start a fire in her. Fires were dangerous and with him is safety. She was 16. He was, on the other hand, only starting his way to living his life. And she didn't want to get on his way. He neither didn't want to get in her way, I guess.

And they say that all stories end, but this one is going to stick around (at least for her). And even if it might end, it will never really end. Because there are smaller infinities. And in smaller infinities, the two of them coexisted in their own happy time, in their own happy place of petty misunderstandings, food trips, a few walkathons and a lot of loopholes within themselves, a multiverse of their own that made a universe possible - a universe filled with a hundred and one of their differences and a tiny scoop of maturity to understand that made a bigger difference than all their differences combined. I suck at talking science (actually in a lot of things generally), but time is relative. And just maybe in a continuum (and even if it sounds pathetic), she and he WERE at that state. She and he ARE at that state, she and he WILL ALWAYS be at that state. 

I really don't know if you're spending this day with a new person in your life. I guess I just wanted to say, Happy Valentines. I hope that you are happy with your choices in life. 

For if you are, then it would already suffice I guess. It will,  (at the very least). 

[literallynoble-blog]

Today, I lost my wallet. And I feel terribly heartbroken because of this.

It was my first 'pandalagang' wallet. Mama gave it to me when I started studying in UP. I remember almost losing it before at the Nationai Institute of Physics, but a good soul contacted the number in my card inside the wallet, and gave it to the guard. Today is a different day. I have forever lost the following:

1. The wallet my Mama gave me, the wallet that absorbed my hands' perspiration for the past year and a half.

2. Money (that should have been my payment for the Journalism shirt I ordered plus a week's allowance) and ATM

3. My Grade 4 ID, my first UP ID, the Dominican Prayer handed to us on our high school graduation day.

4. A 15-year-old letter Papa wrote to me about him wanting me to pursue becoming a doctor.

5. The timeline of the life I wanted to live written on 11/11/11 for our TLE Class where I said I wanted to become a Broadcast Journalist or an Architect. And that I wanted to marry somebody I truly love. And that I wanted to have four kids. And that my Beer Republic Barkada will build our own business. And that I wanted to travel the world with my family and friends. 

6. The heart-shaped post-it note my club adviser gave me when she announced that I am going to be the president of the Social Studies Circle.

7. A family picture where I was a brat who didn't smile for the cameras.

8. My best friend's note telling me not to be pressured in Journalism because I am not a pressure cooker. :( 

9. Movie tickets, UP Fair Tickets, History Comes Alive Tickets. :( 

I guess I cried my heart out today, not only for the money there but more of, for all the mementos that are now only relived in my memory. And sometimes, memories fail us too. Yes, I'm a deeply sentimental being. 

No, I'm not trying to impress. I just wanted to write out how I feel on this forsaken day. Last February 13 was a different story, a very different story. I'm not even asking to repeat it, I just didn't expect a reverse of it. Last February 13 was a day I don't ever want to forget. Today is a day, I would want to forget.. 

[literallynoble-blog]

When we were young, wishes were meant for toys, and more toys and gifts and prizes. Wishes were about how we want to be when we grow up. I believed there was a time I wanted to become a doctor, or a pharmacist, or a nun, or a flight stewardess. Also, for each of my birthday, I wished my Dad was home with me. And yet as we grow older and leave behind the marks of make-believes (or do we? Or just shift to bigger make believing - that we were better, that we could ever be enough, that life was a bit easier), wishes transformed into desperations - such a scary word. The mother wished to win the lottery. It would lift her family up away from poverty The student wished for better grades. The lover wished his beloved to love him again. The commuter wished for a better traffic. The lost wished to find her way, or at the very least, to find her way back. Alas, my favorite author said that the world is not a wish-granting factory. We all gotta be our very own genie. Haha. I wish.

[literallynoble-blog]

today I saw Oble hugging the clouds

even if they were far away.

So it's possible huh? 

To embrace somebody

from a distance...

even if you can't make them stay.

-LWTN, le sept octubre 2014

[literallynoble-blog]

And the worst part is, before it gets any better We're headed for a cliff

Cliffs are dangerous and beautiful at the same time. The view from there will make you see the things you were missing from an urban life. Cliffs - you can either scare yourself from falling down from them, or enjoy the thrilling view from above. 

He is somebody's cliff. He might be her downfall. He might be the place she refrains from visiting because he seems too dangerous. He is dangerous because she knows she will never master his ways, that he will never be hers. He belonged to the mountains. Or maybe a property of a traveler who came before her. She knew of course, that she was just another girl to him, except that a part of her hoped silently that she would mean something for him, and even a little something could suffice.

But it has come down to the realization that he will always be her cliff, the one thing that makes her afraid and amazed at the same time. Afraid, of course, of an accidental fall, of fallen tears, or fallen dreams or anything that might get broken again. Alas, the cliff made her amazed too. Because the cliff made her realize that life was beautiful, though tiring sometimes. He, her cliff, made her realize that some things might be exhausting, nevertheless always beautiful and worth the climb.  

[literallynoble-blog]

Relationships and the Journalist

1. Make sure the news lead is written well.

   You never know until what paragraph will you keep that reader reading. Get him/her enticed to your story by writing a prolific lead. In life however, we do not have the luxury to choose how relationships start. But if you can, make sure it's a beginning that counts - one that you can look back and hold on to when things are hazy and starting to fall apart. I used to think it's okay to keep a reader hanging and usually make the more interesting part in the middle. For to me, beginnings and endings will always be necessary, but what counts is what developed after the start, and what kept you holding on or what broke you down that lead to a happy or sad ending. So just as journalists strive to make a good news lead and an interesting development of the story, make sure every paragraph and every moment counts before he stops reading.

2. Get your facts right. Libel might always be around the corner.

Accuracy and precision. They are one of the pillars of journalism. Take account of what you say and what you write especially if there are people involved. You might hurt them because of lies, hearsays, overthinking stuffs that should not have caused a scene if you managed to verify things first. 

3. Keep it straight. And simple.

After number two, you are ready to continue on with the development of a story. Relationships don't have to be as good as fiction. What's important is that you make sure you make the other person feel important, or not anymore important if that's the case. 

4. Know what you write about. Know what you fight about. 

It is vital to be engaged in the story you are writing. What were the laws? What were the rules? On what grounds did the accusation happened? Where do you stand? Where does she stand in another man's life? What are the repercussions? Will the story put your life to danger? How far can you go for it? 

5. Learn how to trim down your news when events call for it. 

The newspaper cannot accommodate everything you have written. There will be times your editor tells you to trim down some paragraphs because there is a limited space because the ads are coming. Make sure your news can still stand after removing some paragraphs. Make sure it still make sense. Make sure you will still be whole when some people are trimmed down from your life either by your/their choice or by circumstances. 

5. Fight for your story.

And after you finish your write up, the battle in the newsroom begins. What stories deserve to be published? You've worked hard for your story. You've worked hard for your relationship.

"And you're stupid if you don't fight for your story kasi pinaghirapan mo 'yan." (Reyes, 2014). You should of course fight for your story. But don't forget to consider if there are stories far important than yours for publishing that needs to be known by the people. Don't forget to consider if the story you have worked hard for is worth the fight, or just not anymore or if you're the only one fighting until your hearts get sore..

LWTN, 31/8/14

[literallynoble-blog]

I hate UP because..

I happen to come across a lot of my first sem GE classmates last Friday. They were tourguiding for The Great Freshie Tour. We passed by and I just put on a friendly face, not so much of a smiling one, not so much of a blank slate, just enough to make them feel like "hey I recognize you, we were laughing hard in (*insert GE class here). I don't know if I was hoping they were the ones to greet me first. But somehow, a part of me wished we were still "friends" because we had good times together - for a sem at least.

And sometimes I hate UP because of this. We are so flexible. It's a good thing of course to become independent. But UP creates awkward friendships for me. You meet a lot of people you create good memories with you're not sure you just ought to forget because the sem is over anyway and you'll be busy with new classes and the university is so big the next time you see them they're a totally different person already, as if you never laughed or went home together, as if you never asked if tey were prepared for the midterms or the map exam. 

I guess it all boils down to the realization that UP is survival of the fittest. And whoever thought of that first might have meant that by "fittest", friendships were included.

PS. Let's make our friendships fit Speech Com friends a'ryt? 

[literallynoble-blog]

The odds are odd.

Warning: To the few who bother to read my scribbles of thoughts compiled here, I just wanted to say sorry if the topics seem always to be about love. I'm trying my best to write about the other things that bother my mind at night and in the hundreds of walks that I've endured (especially at school). But allow me to play the stereotype of my fellow youth - the lovesick ones. I know the time will come when I will have and will want to write about more serious issues in this world, because I will live and breathe writing for a lifetime (I'm going to be a journalist, and may the good Lord help me fulfill this Personal Legend as I become His instrument of truth as well).

Also, it's not a bad thing to write about love these days right? After all Morrie Schwartz' favorite quote was:

Love each other. Or perish.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ikaw na lahat e. Parang kapatid. Best friend. Singer. Boyfriend. At ngayon asawa na eh."

Today my tita (but I call her Ate) married her best friend. 

They've know each other since elementary. They were classmates and neighbors in Sta. Clara. They were friends in high school. They lost track of each other in college until they met again in Manila maybe 5 years ago. And they eventually restored their friendship again. Both of them that time were in their late 20s. Both were unmarried. Both enjoyed the company of each other. I saw Kuya Mario whenever we had family gatherings and I would even ask them if they were together. It was only lately when they became officially a couple and they even visited our house to announce it. I remember cooking carbonara for them and I teased Ate that I was just so happy for her. Deep inside I really was. (I actually taught she will be an old maid.) Her husband was so kind. He even invited me to come with them for their date slash become the third wheel. She, on the other hand, was clumsy and without lady-like etiquette like me. I envy her. What would it be like to end up with a best friend someday?

(But if I do get married) As long as he can buy me napkin (with much honor and delight,and will be willing to go through hell for a week or so of my PMS and dysmenorrhea-related emotional outbursts), go crazy with me or at the very least understand that odd things make me happy, sing songs for me, or sing songs with me. Dream dreams with me and turn them into reality with me. Generally, a best friend I can trust and be quirky with, and a companion in facing the harshness and goodness of reality. That would be enough.

Is it too demanding? 

Yuck. I might delete this soon. This is too cheesy and World of Form-ish. 

[literallynoble-blog]

"..not sure how I got there, all roads still lead me here." This summer was the longest. This summer was made by choices. Choices that will determine the route of this voyage. Did I choose the smoothest course? No. Things are not meant to be easy all the time. Things people pursure should be worth it. Is this worth it? Was it all ever worth it? ..they will be worth it.

[literallynoble-blog]

there are moments of course when i wish i could call you mine, but the larger part of me would never fail to remind..

He does not belong to you.He belongs to himself, just as much as you yourself belongs to you alone. He is meant for far greater things in life. 

And so I wish sometimes that we met later in life. When we have already done the things we want to achieve. When we are already who we want to be. 

Ahh. This is fine. I am the girl whose heart isn't beating for any boy out there. I am the girl whose heart continues to beat as she takes on every step to turn her dreams into reality. 

My heart doesn't beat for anybody. But I can only hope this continues to beat near your own, in such a way that is compatible with the beating of yours, in a symphony only the two of us can grasp. xSLBx

[literallynoble-blog]

say something

say "i'm going"

say "don't worry, i'm staying"

for heaven sake say something

don't leave me hanging

or if you have to

at least give me something to hang on to.

say something. 

[literallynoble-blog]

Sardines of Thoughts Sprinkled with Lots of Uncertainty Sauce

Each person's Personal Legend has it's own stopovers, detours, crossroads and oases. What else? Each one of us has a home - "a place to start from and return to" as my yoga app would describe the Mountain Pose. It actually made sense now. Because each of our homes are like mountains - only with different peaks that only the domestic residents have mastered, somehow somewhere our most kept treasure can be found there. If there is one thing that I learned from Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist that made me write this first before I finally get some sleep, it's that after reaching the zenith of success, home will always be home. Our hearts will always yearn for it no matter how far we have reached in our sojourn. It is the ultimate treasure chest. Home is where we learn to love, in the most true sense of loving. For some (even to Wendy not so long ago), love means staying because all will be enough if you have the one you love. But i missed the whole point. The point of love is to be a driving force! To continue fulfilling your own Personal legend no matter how hard or dangerous it gets. Because at the end of the day, the mere thought that you have a nest to rest upon which is the bosom of your loved ones to go back to when you've reach your goals would be enough to keep going no matter how strong the wind blows on your direction. I get it now. Real love will make you grow as an individual person. There are no promises required. Spoken words are but a shallow level of connection for the souls if they were made to be companions. The mind may doubt but the heart is sure of itself - it will lead you to places you want to see and will eventually lead you back to the arms of the one that really mattered from the very start - that is home. Home has a sense of security. -the way my parents trust me whenever I go out with my friends, that I will always go home no matter how fun it has been with my soul sisters. Home has a sense of comfortability - the way I can look like I'm literally at home when I am at school with my shorts, Tshirts and slippers or when I laugh with no ethics without having to worry about what my friends would think because they know it's me. Home is where I can sigh, finally settle and think to myself - "Ahhh, 'twas tiring but worthwhile." It's during a trip on a train going home, with my two legs forming an equilateral triangle with the ground because Physics says that having this position will make the center of the gravity (which is my body) more stable during the train's trip. It's in the absence of the certainty of whether he comes back after fulfilling his Personal Legend which is somehow related to the Art of Alchemy. It's during a hot afternoon and two bodies are Indian sitting in an amphitheater under the scorching sun. It's in a museum that houses histories with still underrated greatness. It's in a space only visited by two people maybe a hundred kilometers apart, talking over the phone wishing voices had the power to teleport. I'm sleepy and to cut it short, home is with you.