Eigh Bacolod

"It is sad of course, to forget. But, it is lonely to be forgotten. To remember when no one does." (Schwab, 2020)

[pagmuni-muni]

To: Patrick

This is the 2nd poem in this series...

Oct. 10, 2017

To: Patrick

This is the 2nd installment on this series.

Dont lose me in the transition.

Dont lose me in the process of seeking resolution.

If we should part then, let us say good bye.

If what we had are things that we should keep, then let us not waste them in the air and in the dimension of time.

Instead, let us honor it with a goodbye to close wounds that are open, to open windows that should be opened.

Let our heart stay where pain cannot; for most good byes have left people broken but, without it people will be left dying.

If there’s a few drops left of Venus’ poison in you, the same poison that made your heart wander to my hands then, say a good bye to me if you wish to set me free.

I will understand, havent I told you? No one has ever loved me long before.

[pagmuni-muni]

To: Patrick

This is a series of poems that I wrote in 2017 for my then boyfriend, Patrick.

Now Patrick is tad younger than I am. He was still in college when we met thru Twitter. He was an "alter" personality in his Twitter profile. He later on connected me to his "real" Twitter account. From there, it was a ride.

The relation ship was short. It was quick to end as it was quick to start. But it was memorable. Every weekend, he will commute with me to my home. He doesn't want me to commute alone, said he. I appreciate that. I am a time and effort kind of person.

Soon afterwards, things got really rough for us and he suddenly just shut me out. And I never liked the feeling of not knowing and being lost. I am a curious person, I find answer to my question, when I am lost I will learn to read map and a compas.

Him shutting me out left me in a terrible place. It traumatized me even to this day.

And this series were written during that 1 week of me being shut until he eventually had broken up with me.

Below is the first installment:

Oct. 6, 2017

To: Patrick

Kung mananakit man, huwag sana yung dahan-dahan. Putulin ang dapat putulin nang walang pagaalinlangan.

Tanggalin ang mga sanang natitira, nagbibigay lang ng pag-asa na ayusin ang mga bagay na nasira.

Sabihing tapos na, hindi naman ako magmamakaawa na pilitin mo pa. Marining ko lang ang salitang "paalam," at "ayaw ko na," sapat nang dahilan para ako’y sumuko na.

Paingayin ang katahimikan, sagutin ang mga katanungan hindi naman kailangang detalyado masagot lang kung bakit ganito.

Hindi man ako guwapo, hindi man ako sikat sa kahit na sino pero, tao rin naman ako nasasaktan sa biglaan; hingi ko lang naman ay respeto kung hindi bilang dating irog, bilang tao man lang Ginoo.

[pagmuni-muni]

10.10.2021

I dreamed of Mama two nights ago.

It’s been more than a year since both Mama and Papa passed.  I had only seen Mama once in my dream prior 2 nights ago.

The 1st dream took place in the PUV terminal in SM Molino. She was in the green multicab which will take her to the route home. I was about to lift the multicab when I saw her. I knew it as her, I didnt really see her face but, something about the presence made me knew it was her. Scientists tell that you cannot see colors in dream but, in that dream I knew she was inher favorite violet blouse... the one she was wearing when she passed... the one she was wearing when we buried her.

The recent dream took place in an unkown garage. I have never seen that garage before in my life. I knew it was a garage because of the tools in it. I saw standing beside a vehicle I didn’t recognize as well. She was smiling. I knew she was smiling. Something about that presence in my dream told me she was smiling. I was in my lilac shirt, again I just knew it was my lilac shirt. I curled on the floor and cried. A part of my mind told me to not wake up and continue with the dream, maybe Papa will come visit to.

I woke up. I woke up and I cried. I said a little thank you prayer for allowing her in my dreams. Tears are building up as I write this. I fear that as time will pass, I will start to forget the sound of her voice, or how she smiled and call my name, or how she hugs me from behind during family supper and/or lunch.

When she passed I thought I couldn’t moved on. But the pain started fading or started turning on and off rather. It bounces back and then it bounces off.

I miss them so much. Maybe next time, when I can start listening to Papa’s favorite song he would come visit me, too.

[pagmuni-muni]

10.05.2021

In my life, there are two kinds of darkness.

The other being more frequent than the other. But, both of them is darkness nonetheless.

The first kind of darkness is the darkness that glooms overhead. It darkens the sunshine that screeches from the heavens. It weighs on you and puts you down with a nimbus cloud. It’s colored grey. I know it’s there because all the shadows are gone. And you know that there is no shadow because there is no light. The shadows? They possess you. They give you thoughts. They fill your mind and your heart. 

The first kind of darkness makes you seat across the room where you could see the whole view. And every edge and every corner, every bottle in pantry, every chemicals under the sink become opportunities of ending it. To seat at the far corner and you hear voices that are not there. You hear the past echoing from inside and no matter how hard you try to meditate, “I forgive me,” it is just not cutting through. You haven’t forgiven yourself. You are not worth it. When you’re gone everyone will cry for a moment and move on. You will leave no mark. You will go like a spec of dust carried by the wind, seen but soon forgotten, once there and then forever neglected.

The second kind of darkness is the darkness that wear a mask. it’s the darkness that allows the sun to shine, it’s the darkness that allows you to function, it’s the darkness that allows you to get busy and productive. But once all teh activities are done, you crave for more. You want action, you want to move, to want noise, you want to watch a movie -- a comedy for that, you crave for food and even if your stomach is full, even if you feel it stretched you crave for even more. You want to devour, to eat, to taste everything you could.

And when everything is done, when foods stretch the stomach even further, when there is no comedy movie available, when there is no romance movie available, when there is no gore movies available, the second darkness manifest itself. It doesn’t cover the skies. It doesn’t darken the light. It manifests, it appears right in front of you. The nothingness -- the void. It’s empty. No voices, no echos from the inside, no flashbacks on past mistakes, no flashbacks on people hating you, no recollection of judgemental stares, of sarcastic smiles and laughs and head shakes. It’s just nothing. 

The first darkness, at least, acknowledges my breath, my beating heart and eventhough it wants to end me it knows I am alive. But, the second darkness? It doesn’t care about my deep breaths, it doesnt care about the tears I want to shed, the second darkness appears as if I am no longer from this world. The second darkness voids me, it cancels me out. 

There is no better option between the two. These darkness do not book an appontment with me. They appear like an uninvited guests. And no matter how much I try to shut my doors, no matter my efforts of hiding my laughs and joys from the world they know where I am.

Image Source (www.statepress.com)

[pagmuni-muni]

09.26.2021

It has been a while since I last wrote in these pages.

I went back to a few of these posts and I cannot rebuild that image of myself again.

I write. I am not a writer but, I write. I have these colors and images in my head and I can put them into writing. I remember my college English professor (on one of the classes I skipped) showcasing my descriptive essay writing; accordin to some of my friends on the same class the professor said that I was the only one who got it right. That is almost a decade ago. 

I do not have the writing talent as writers would have it. I write based on my emotions, I write to ward off the darkness that used to gloom overhead, I write to lighten up the load on my chest.

But like reading, I stopped. I stopped reading books when I started working on my college thesis. I stopped writinga few years after I started working.

But, the emotions, the darkness, the load they didn’t stop coming. 

And now I am back here. To a me I used to be. Struggling to find the correct words to use. I am back to a me who, when he looks in a mirror, sees nothingness and a waste of space.

I will start writing again. I will oblige myself something to be thankful for each day or each week or each month. But, I will find something to be thankful for -- something to keep me holding on.

[pagmuni-muni]

kuya hello po :D

Hello! :)

[pagmuni-muni]

Can I ask you out on a date?

Hi, anon! I havent been on Tumblr lately.

[pagmuni-muni]

To: Von

I do not intend to force you to share my sentiments in writing this.

My only intention is to spill all the hurt that is burning inside. There is so much.

You wouldn’t be able to read this anyway.

I hate you, Von for being the perfect guy for me.

I hate you, for the pasta you made and the spare rib you cooked.

I hate you for staying up late waiting for me to arrive.

I hate the stolen kisses, the tight warm hugs... I hate that I keep on remembering that I woke up inside your arms.

I hate that you kissed me good morning.

I hate how we strolled around the grocery while I push the cart and you pick your items and I remind you, “that is not on your list.”

I hate them because the good things are the only things that hurt you after they’ve gone.

I hate the way you told me you like me.

I hate the fact that I lied down on your faulty bed where you’ve fucked guys hours before I arrive.

I hate how you didn’t value me. I hate how I didn’t value me.

I hate howI deceived myself that you would change your ways.

I hate how I lied to myself and told me I am deserving of you.

I hate how I wait inside the taxi to get to your place and imagine ho I am going to make lambing to you.

I fucking hate just sitting there thinking would there be someone you’re fucking when I arrive because that would have been too much.

But you were good. You scheduled us like you scheduled your tasks.

You hugged me tight and kissed me, told me you’d wait till I’m ready. You are one fucking emotionless sweet psycho.

I hate how you talked about the guys you’ve fucked just days ago right ion front of me.

I hate myself for listening. I hate myself just for being there.

You promised me a proper date, but all I got was an information of your sex video.

I was seating there, holding back the tears just casually listening to your sex stories. I wanted to run out and bawl my eyes out. I wanted to pick my bag go home and hug my mom.

But I like you that much. I liked you so much I have forgotten to save myself from your pit of honest deception. I am stuck.

Right before I leave I kissed you on your forehead, told you I’ll be coming back.

I woke up and realized, no. My presence is worth as much as my absence. Without me you’d be fucking other guys, with me you’d be getting blowjobs.

I hate how you don’t feel.

I hate how I feel so much for you.

I hate how I’m always wrong.

[pagmuni-muni]

I like the way you pulled me in for a hug.

And the way you stole kisses

I like the way you sleep and roll around the bed.

I like your snores and the way you turn them off when you roll to your side.

I like everything you.

But we are perfect puzzle pieces from different puzzles.

So, we still won't fit.

[pagmuni-muni]

Kelan last mong relationship?

we broke up May last year.

[pagmuni-muni]

Sabi nila dapat akong magpaka misteryoso to be likeable the least.

Kaso hindi ko kayang magpaka misteryoso. My life is an open book.

I share my stories. I share the lessons I learned.

[pagmuni-muni]

Ang Unang Lalaking Minahal Ko

Matagal na mula nang huli akong magsulat at maglagay ng kahit na anong post sa blog na ito.

Noong una akong gumawa ng blog sa kabilang site mga walong taon na nakalilipas, parating patungkol lamang sa isang tao -- ang unang lalaking minahal ko.

Nagsimula lang naman yun sa asaran eh. Mas bata siya sa akin ng dalawang taon, ngunit isang taon lang ang agwat namin sa eskuwelahan. Medyo matalino kasi siya. Walang halong sarcasm. Matalino siya.

Mula sa asaran, naging magkaibigan kami sa friendster, tapos naging chatmates kami sa Yahoo Messenger! inaabot kami ng madaling araw sa pag-uusap kahit may pasok kinabukasan. Pero sabi ko sa kanya, “walang pansinan sa school ha” kasi alam ko mas palalo kaming aasarin.

Ngunit sa bawat gabing nagkaka-usap kami mas dumarami ang nalalaman ko tungkol sa kanya, nalaman ko na galit siya sa akin noong 1st year high school siya kasi pinuna ko raw yung parati niyang chin-up. Sabi niya double chin daw siya kaya lagi siyang nakachin-up.

At ayun, sa bawat gabing nagkaka-usap kami mas nahuhulog ang loob ko sa kanya. Pinaparamdam ko sa pag-aalala ko sa kanya, sa pagtatanong ko kung kumain na ba siya, kung kumusta yung exam niya, yung buong araw niya...

Akala ko gusto niya rin ako. Dahil sa bawat gabing nagkaka-usap kami, nararamdaman kong espesyal ako sa kanya. Dahil sa oras na binibigay niya, sa saya na naidudulot niya...

Pero sabi niya, “Hindi naman kita gustong maging kaibigan, kailangan ko lang talaga nang makaka-usap...”

Nag-sorry naman siya.

At mula sa unang lalaking minahal ko ang pinakamahalagang bagay na natutuhan ko ay ang pagmamahal ng totoo na di iniinda ang sakit at tagal nang paghihintay, ngunit sa pagtatapos ng bawat araw ang huling taong uuwian mo ay ang sarili mo kung mahal mo siya dapat mas mahal mo ang sarili mo... kung nasasaktan ka na, kung nasisira na ang pamumuhay mo bumitaw ka na kaya kang mahalin ng sarili mo nang higit pa sa kaya niyang ibigay sa’yo. Darating ang araw may taong darating para sa’yo at ang tanging bagay na maipagpapasalamat mo sa taong nanakit sa’yo ay nang sinaktan ka niya naging malaya ka para gawing mas mabuti ang sarili mo para sa tamang tao.

[pagmuni-muni]

Merry Christmas, Eigh! :]

Merry Christmas, Anon! And a prosperous NeW Year to you! 😘😘😘

[pagmuni-muni]

The creation of our story is subject to ideas inflicted upon ourselves. Our words are but mere illustrations of the workings of our mind,behind every stroke, of every phoneme, and of every rhyme is a story of what had been, what has been, and the what will be.

We fear, mostly, the past to which we cannot afford to go back anymore. Life, without mistaking, is your permanent canvass.

Some say, fear the future for you've no idea what will you be or if you will ever be there, at all.

Should we instead fear the present and the inevitable crossroads we face?

There is no understanding the space and time dimensions, but beneath all these unfathomable things is still one fact that needs no explaining -- you are still holding your brush and you still have your canvass, however you wish to create so be it.

You are your own artist, you are your own masterpiece.

[pagmuni-muni]

Hi! My name is Eigh, but you can call me tonight! Lol. 😂😂😂

[julshii]

anyone please ask your crush out like this

[julshii]

The thrilling answer

[brojohn4lyfe-deactivated2015102]

no they need to kiss out behind the school!!!!

[daitoshi]

oops my hand slipped

[moodycrissy]

nexttttt pleaseee :D

[sinofangels]

Come on guys add on to this tumblr needs this to be a comic series

[maria-ruta]

I was asked for doing this, so I did

BAM!

I’m out of ideas! XD

next?

[hamburgergod]

THIS IS TOO CUTE I CAN’T LEAVE IT ALONE I’M SORRY

[maria-ruta]

OHHHHHHHHHH MYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDD!!!!!!!

LOOOK ATT THIIIIS!!!!

LOOOOK ATTT THIIIISS!!!!

80

NEEEXT!!!!!

[placeholderaccount]

IT HAD TO BE DONE:

[maria-ruta]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*O*

OH MY GOOD!!!!!

ThAT’S IT!!!!

#0o0#

[theartofwazzing-blog]

so yeah

[thornsword]

WORDS CANNOT EVEN DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS

[kyounlimited]

And all the people that collaborated on this!!!

[pagmuni-muni]

The worst kind of fear there could possibly be, is the fear of losing yourself....

Of growing up and of looking at a mirror seeing a stranger instead of yourself.

Because in all these years what have you done but bury your soul in layers of hypocrisy and of pretense because you have wanted society to like you.

So in this day as you hold the knife's blade against your wrist, do ask yourself one little thing. How much did you like you?

Slit your skin bone-deep, let blood flow out of your system, purging you out of the waste you call life.

For in the end. When everyone else has turned their backs on you; you have no one left, for you, too, had turned your back on yourself a little while back. Do you remember now?

This is not suicide. You have murdered yourself.