DAISIES AND TEARS

🌙 Jazper Zaguirre, 17, Books and Roses 🌙

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

Hidden Audacity

"What's it like to be depressed?" She asked with debilitating intonation, and with quite calmness in her voice. "Why are you asking me this?" Of course, I replied without hesitation because no one should ever shut down someone who feels agonized. "Having to be depressed is like being stuck inside a dark box with deafening silence, and nothing fills it," I said, "Only your thoughts that cause too much pain and tragedies that make your life miserable." I paused for awhile and then looked at her blank eyes, "Depression is tricky, you know. It can be an avenue for happiness, but with that, it ends and continues to break you apart. Depression is never something 'Just a feeling' it's a contagious disease that can kill you — easily. But you can defeat it. Only you can defeat your depression." "But, how should I defeat it?" She asked. "That's not the question," I said, "The question is how will we end it?" "How?" She abruptly asked me. I said, "Take courage and go out of the box."

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

The raft crumbled and its pieces tumbled to the unforgiving sand, the stars stayed still, the waves are still dancing, the moons are still singing. The mumbling breeze still lingers to the unsteady leaves of the palm trees. I have nothing to sail on my way home. It is still a lonesome night. I am filled with fright. Please, come and take me home, tonight.

still, an unusual voyage // jazper zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

The moons sing, and the cry of the sky is deafening. The waves that linger beyond the silent raft, creates a violent noise. The mystifying air breeze persists inside my bereft lungs; a strange murmur begins to conceive. It is a lonesome night, when everything begins to collapse and afflict. I am sad. I am alone. I want to go back home.

an unusual voyage / jazper zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

☽ DANDELION FIRE ☾

I am a moving statue, breathing a pristine air; in a perfect condition. I am a living statue, moving adequately as the world expects. Though, I am moving, I am immovable, I am vulnerable. I cannot demystify things when I caused something bad. I break. I shatter, until I met you.

You were a dandelion, stuffed with a fire for every adventure, a burning thirst for belongingness. You were a dandelion whose as vulnerable as a statue. You may fade, you may be blown away but you have your reasons to stay.

You have thrown all your cares away, move from place to place and find a way. One day you entered a mysterious place, alone, standing, I was there. You stared at me about half an hour, then you blatantly smiled and grinned at the 31st minute of our meeting. I saw the fire inside your eyes, a passion for living, and a living of surviving. I saw the melancholy of your metaphoric smile, and I immediately felt the connection, the blueness, I say, of our emotions. And as you stared at me, I said...”You’re a dandelion fire.”

Your brows went from side to side, you were as though - shocked. Maybe you did not expect for me, to have uttered that phrase, or you did not presume that I, a statue, talks. Then again, we got along.

We both took the chance to encounter each other’s tormented dreams. You let me witness your contemplation about life, and from that moment, we talked about life until 4:30 AM. I wasn’t prepared to have had a talking like that, but then again, we got along.  

I shared mine, too. Of course, I wanted to have a foundation for my feelings, an assurance that there is someone who’s willing to catch me whenever I fall. You did not hesitate to say, “Yes.”

So we were there until 5:18 in the morning until you have to go for an adventure. You weren’t sure if that was the last time we’ll ever intertwine again. It was a little saddening and disappointing, yet I had my reasons to be gay. I am a statue, whose face is always being stared at. Whose body is always being left. Taken for granted. A diary. An avenue of fiery experiences. 

-

You weren’t a dandelion fire, after all. You were the missing piece of my broken body, you were the roots that made the flowers inside my lungs stay alive. You were a dandelion who never gives a damn care whether he’s being blown away or picked. 

I am just a statue, and you were a dandelion that lit up my whole world.

―                                                Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

Kailan ba matatapos itong mga dayukdok na 'to, na pilit na ibinababa ang kapwa nila? Tila hinihilamusan ng kasinungalingan ang kanilang inosenteng isip, binuburdahan ng isang kaakit-akit na tela ang mala-putik na bakas ng hirap, idinidikdik ang kahatulan sa musmos na kaisipan. Kailan ba titigil ang mga halimaw na ito, na pilit binababoy at dinudungisan ang Bayang pilit na iniaangat ang sarili nitong ngalan? Kailan pa mananahimik ang mga hari-hariang ito na kung umusta akala mo'y may antas ng karunungan, akala mo'y hinuhubog ang kahusayan ng sambayanan, akala mo'y may naiambag ng maganda sa bayan. Kailan kaya muling yayakapin ng mga tao ang nakasanayan nilang kalayaan? Kailan? Kailan?

nasaan ka, o, kalayaan? // jazper zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

TAMA PA BA?

Hindi ko na dapat nararamdaman lahat ng ito, dahil isa lamang itong tukso, ngunit sa paglipas ng mga oras, habang tayo'y magkasama, sa'yo lamang umiikot ang mundo ko. Tama pa ba na mahalin kita? Tama pa ba na alagaan ka? Tama bang lumaban pa? Kahit na sobrang sakit na? Hindi ko na dapat nararamdaman ang lahat ng ito, dahil sabi ko noon sa sarili ko, natutuwa lamang ako sa'yo, dahil ganoon ka na talaga, maalaga, mapagpasensiya, at tila naiinggit ang araw at ang ulap tuwing tayo'y magkasamang magkayakap. Tama pa ba na ituloy 'to? Tama pa ba na magkaroon ng tayo? Tama bang Ipaglaban ang lahat? Kahit na sobra na ito sa bigat? Hindi ko na dapat nararamdaman ang lahat ng ito, dahil alam nating pareho na mali. Maling-mali. Kahit na sa paulit-ulit tayong humingi ng patawad, kung paulit-ulit nating gagawin ang bagay na ito, kulang ang langit para umabot pa tayo sa salitang "KAPIT." at sa pagkapit, alam kong mayroon pa rin akong "KAPALIT." Kaya ang tanong ko, Tama pa ba na ipaglaban ka? Tama pa ba na ika'y bigyang-pansin pa? Tama bang depensahan ka? Kahit mundo mo'y nasa iba na? Hindi ko na talaga dapat maramdaman ang lahat ng ito, dahil alam nating walang patutunguhan ang mga ito, at dahil sa ako lamang ang tila isang mandirigma na mag-isang lumalaban para sa salitang "TAYO" handa akong matalo. Handa akong matalo para sa salitang "TAYO." Tama pa ba ito? Tama pa ba ang nararamdaman ko? Tama bang sabihin ang lahat ng ito? Kung masasaktan lang din naman ako, Hahayaan ko nang ramdamin ko ang lahat ng ito, lahat ng kirot, lahat ng saksak, lahat ng suntok, lahat ng bato na ibinabato sa akin ng tadhana na sadyang malupit at mapaglaro; hahayaan ko nang ramdamin ko ang bawat hapdi, bawat sanhi ng iyong hindi pagkapit, raramdamin ko lahat ng ito hanggang sa sumapit ang araw na ako'y tapos na sa pagkapit, at ako'y nakapaghanap na rin ng bagong kapalit—tama pa ba na nararamdaman ko pa rin ang lahat ng ito? Hindi ko na dapat nararamdaman ang mga bagay na ito, ngunit, mahal, hindi ko kaya, at sa tingin ko naman ay kaya mo. Hindi ko man mapigilan ang lahat ng nararamdaman ko. Sana naman, madama mo lahat ng hinanakit ko. Pansinin mo naman...ako. Dahil andito lang naman ako sa tabi mo, handang ialay ang balikat ko kapag pumapatak na ang mga mala-dagat na luha mo. Kahit na alam ko na mali na alagaan ka pa, tinutuloy ko dahil mahal kita. Pansinin mo naman ako, dahil andito lang naman ako sa tabi mo, handang ibigay ang lahat ng makakaya ko, sumaya ka lamang, kahit na masaya ka sa iba. Handa ako sa lahat ng iyon. Kahit na ang dahilan sa pagngiti mo ay "siya." Mapapansin mo pa kaya ako? Mukhang malayo ka na, may kapiling ng iba. Hindi alintana, masaya ka na sa kanya. Natutuwa ako, mahal, dahil masaya na kayong dalawa...sana naman ay hindi niya madama ang aking mga masasakit na alaala noong mayroon pang tayong dalawa na ngayon ay naglaho na. — Jazper Zaguirre, May 26, 2017.

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

MAYBES ARE PAINFUL

Maybe tomorrow, it'll be great, as sun shines today, stars race as they display, maybe tonight, it'll be tranquil, as the moon sighs in relief, brighter as it beam, maybe today, it'll all ease the pain, the breaking of dawn, the vanishing of the shadows, the morphing of light. Maybe that is tonight, the resilience of the shooting stars, hopeful as I wish that tonight, it'll be as though nothing tormenting happened, as though the morose agony won't deprive the endless painful nights. Or maybe, it is not tonight, and maybe I have to wait for a long sleepless aching nights, again. — Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

COERCIVE POWER.

One of the things I’ve learned from our Philippine Politics and Governance class is the ‘Coercive Power.’ It means that the power is derived from one person’s ability to influence others via threats, punishments or sanctions.

We all want to be as good as possible, right? We want to be the best version of ourselves. We want to prove people that they cannot insult the process of changing yourself holistically. We ought to be good. We desire to be good. But, the thing is…do people that surround us affects the process of changing ourselves? Or are we just threatened because the way you used to live is the way they are now? Are those insults are becoming their power to contradict the things you’re doing?

Yes. That’s Coercive Power. They take the good things you do as bad, and threatens the things you do and leading to having some doubts on how you should continue abiding the process of changing. The problem is, people are being discouraged by the insults and the threats they hear and receive. It lessens their hope. We are a changing-process; changing is NOT that easy. So why take over to someone you know who tries to change, the insults and the threats that’ll only make them feel bad.

Yes. People explode. It’s our nature. People threat. People judge. People have flaws. People are imperfect. People make mistakes. People are not holy. People ate people. They also have their temper limit.

- Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

TELL ME.

You don’t own me, Perhaps, you never will, My heart cries and shouts for help, And this is all i feel.

You don’t even say my name, And won’t even play the game, ‘Cause if you love me, You won’t think that is a shame

I never asked for you to stay, But i never thought that you’d look away, I don’t expect for you to come back, But I'll wait for you everyday.

I never failed you, and I've been good Did all the things you said, I should But I have to accept, that you don’t love me But our names will always be carved on the wood.

So tell me if you love someone new If you can’t say the word And tell it to the world Then she is not the girl for you.

—Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

ENCOURAGEMENTS.

I love giving encouragements to people, for they genuinely accept the things you say, the things you want to teach. It just makes me joyful whenever I see someone sighs in relief, whenever I see someone rise up from their burden. I love giving encouragements to people mostly when my heart is full of enthusiastic thoughts that crumble any moment soon; when I feel the need of encouraging people, because somehow I feel this tiny connection to people, that maybe, I am the message they've been waiting for. But sometimes I'd like to stop encouraging people, because at times, I feel like I am bragging about my happiness that leads to giving people exactly what I think, they need but that leads to pushing them to be as happy as I ask them to be, without even thinking to set-aside their feelings. But, I can't. 'Cause I feel the duty of having a task to encourage and influence people whenever they need, but why do I sometimes feel betrayed? Why do I feel empty after I speak up to someone? Why do I feel the need of encouragements after I bestow it to people? Why do I urge myself to still encourage people in spite of my devoid empathy? Maybe, out of all the encouragements I gave, it has something beautiful to give me. I'd still love to give people encouragements, but I'd also like to receive such. — Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

"There is a time for everything, White roses bloom, Black sands kiss the ocean, Sky goes velvet, Blue curtains fold, Horizons exquisitely display, There is a time for everything, And you are my everything, Like those things, I have a time for you."

excerpt from a book I'll never write // Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

YOU WERE AND THEN YOU WEREN'T

I am laughing, not because there’s something funny happened, but I am laughing for what’s happening—is very ironic.

Remember how I used to write poems about you? You were my first subject poetry, you were the first reason why I built a foundation on writing, you were my most painful idea, and the most beautiful one at the same time, you were the broken phrases that stayed on my broken verses, the broken verses that remained on my broken lines, you were also the blood that ran through my veins, the sunshine upon my face, you were the butterflies that flew around my belly, the thoughts roamed inside my mind. You were my pens and words and ink an paper, the music in my ears, you were the sorrow I wanted to deal with, the labyrinth I never wanted to escape from. You were my heaven on earth, and the earth on my system, and the system on my way, and the way in my life. You were the guilt on my liable obligations, the shivers that lingered on my spines, you were never just something amazing to stare at, you were the air I used to breathe in, you were the only one who kept me alive.

I am laughing at these things on how I still speak so highly of you, as though you did not stab me in the back, as though I am the one who left. I am laughing, on how you are asking me now, for a help—a help I, long ago, needed. A help for a lovely poetry you’ll offer to someone you love. Ironic, isn’t it?

I am laughing on how you are enthusiastically asking me to help you for a poem I am hungry for you to give me. I am laughing on how you have the guts, really, to ask me for a help. I am laughing on how you asked me, 3 in the morning, exactly the time I am writing about you.

And I guess, you are still the knives that push and pull in my back, the fire inside my freezing heart, I guess, you’re still the agony that swings in my mind, the guns that willingly pull the the trigger itself to kill me. And I guess, you are still my most painful poetry.

— Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

Jazper Zaguirre, A conversation I'll never start with you.

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

SATURDAYS WITH JAZPER.

This is the thing I really admire about Saturdays. It gives me this aching pleasure of being lonesome, of being liberated from the reality, of becoming unnatural without the eyes of the people; without judgments in their sickening mouth. I really must say, I have a thing for Saturdays, not only just because I get to rest after adventuring to some warcraft school, but It just relieves me.

“How could someone be as happy while sobbing for the people who got away”? You might ask. How? Just like this:

I don’t take it pessimistically, I mean, that is the time where I can contemplate about life; reflect to whereas I can grow not just mentally and socially, but spiritually as well. Yes, sometimes, I am fed up with opinions; by that, I mean, I drown myself, too, for I am easily excruciated of the possibilities, so I sometimes, back out. But does that make me weak? No. If history speaks, there was never a time that marks me as weak.

To give you more specific reasons on liking Saturdays, check this out:

I have a friend, whom I referred to as nonchalant; we talked for about half an hour, regarding to books and poetry, as well. He doesn’t read yet he writes—powerfully. I hated him for not reading, that I even wrote “I HATE YOU.” On a piece of paper. For once, in my entire book-worm life, I’ve never expected to meet someone who as though, shows and displays a disgust on reading books—Uninterested.

So basically, I persuaded my friend to read books, and to make the story short, he agreed and promised if he starts reading, I’ll lend him books to read. I was so relieved.

So relieved that it got to the point where I thank myself for influencing people to read, but for a personal reason, I’d like to hear other perspectives from people who write; about pain and sadness, and to that, I saw one. And I love him for that.

So tell me, do I love Saturdays? Have I justified my reasons? Have I contemplated persuasively? Have we met before? Nah, let’s meet this coming Saturday.

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE PERSON I LOVE THE MOST.

Dear beloved,

Hey, how are you? I know you are feeling okay, for we cannot withhold the fact that you are stuffed with butterflies inside your belly, while mine is being euthanized, for it no longer has anything fain to suite it. I know you do not give a single damn about it. But just to let you know, I am felicitous about it.

I know, for a fact, that it’s my fault that I cannot forget you—you should jump for joy that you don’t have to fear oblivion, ‘cause out of all the things you’ve made, I won’t forget you. Go, laugh. Laugh at the stupid person I am generating, yet this person you are laughing at, you are not giving attention to, rather, is the only one who won’t forget every little details of you, every smell of your pleasing perfumes, every smile that you display, every manly things you do. And out of all these things, I’d still acknowledge, the affliction you have brought me, the outrage you’ve painted on my face, the despair to face people with a brave heart. But, honey, you are lucky not to have me, because when the day comes when everyone has forgotten about you, the person who you laughed at, can detail every things you did, and will make you remember who you are.

Hey, so anyways, how are you, really? I just assumed that you were fine. But, I hope you really are. And to tell you, I am not.

Sincerely yours, The one who stayed.

—Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

I HURT, TOO.

No, this is not just an apology note, this is to annihilate your heart as well. This may sound a bit cliché, yet I’m finding a way for all of these to say. I hurt, too. I can still feel the agony, this inevitable pain, this unending melancholy, when I descry a wonderful solidarity of two youthful people who are really, as people see, flawless and impeccable to each other, but again, I hurt, too. I can still feel the angst of building a conversation to the both of you, as though my heart races in fear and doubt, because I hurt, too. For you to understand how lucky you both are to finally cope with each others arms, let me make things comprehendible:

1.) Whenever you both are happy, as though you cannot witness the glory of the day hereafter, there is someone who feels completely the opposite of these;

2.) At happy times, and when you share each others smiles, someone feels sorry for not fighting for the relationship he used to have and the smiles he used to own for;

3.) At times when you both partake the love you bestow, someone feels abandoned and forsaken and;

4.) As you both made up your minds that now is the right time to testify the love you both have, my relationship to you both started to fall apart; a friendship vanishes, and a companionship fades.

So now answer me, is it my fault, that you both chose to break my heart instead of thinking that you should set-aside my clueless feelings?

No, For I hurt, too. But, I still love you, two.

- Jazper Zaguirre

[thisisyourlabyrinth]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY.

It’s a special day, for you, my dear And my presence will quite disappear Can you tell me, dear, what happened here? ‘Cause I can’t tell, I’m filled with fear.

Tell me, honey, do you love me, still? 'Cause if you do, is that for real? And still, It’s a special day, for you, my dear Can you come over and have a meal?

It’s a shame on how I loathe you, dear For choosing her, yet I’m still here But, honey, thank you, for choosing her 'Cause I’ve been changed for the better.

Still, it’s a special day, for you, my dear And of course, I will still disappear, 'Cause you can only see her smile Not mine; noticing it a long while.

Happiest birthday, my dearest dear, Wish you hadn’t wished I disappear, But, let me tell you something clear: Don’t ask me where she went 'Cause I can’t tell you, to me, she’s not near.

But, today I want to forget you and completely disappear, But I guess, it’s still a special day, for you, my dear.

— Jazper Zaguirre