1. how it feels like to be the first born

    I. Your mother got all her tissues ripped off just so you could see the world. She saw that oblivion is beyond pain and when she tried to reach it, the pain inflicted once again and never left her side until your growing years.

    II. Some of your mother’s tissues carry her dreams which subdued after she married your father. Some of them got stuck on your skin on your way out of her womb. At the day of your baptismal, she entrusted you all of it believing that you could fulfill them. That will be the mark of your burdens and there are more to come. Your fate has been decided, and you cannot do anything about it.

    III. At five, your father would teach you how to read. He would let you climb on his back so you could see the world. From the top, the world would look like it’s just all blue and green. Few years later, you would see it muddy and white strands are scattered all over its face; so you would ask your father if he could carry you again but he would not let you anymore.

    IV. You would learn it from himself. You would learn that this world is terrible and he tried his best just to hand it to you on a silver platter. Unfortunately, a pawnshop nearby glittered at the sight of your matriculation fee. Your silver platter was never redeemed.

    V. You would have friends with dozens of siblings. You would play with them, and sometimes you would get into fight. You would start asking why the hell you don’t have any allies and why the hell they do. Ask your Mother. Tell her it’s lonely and you need someone to play with. She’d ask you in return, “Honey, isn’t it nice having your father and I all by yourself?”. I know. I know you can’t tell her that all it ever felt like was solitude. All it feels like is that you are like a stand alone leader of a one persona group and you have to do the deeds yourself, redeem the good points yourself, suffer the disappointments yourself.

    VI. Good news. You’ve got a brother. You wonder how would your parents unravel the world to him. You feel remorse towards him but then, you tried carrying him on your arms. It felt like you’re carrying the world.

    VII. Your brother turns five. Just like you, your father carried him on his back. He saw the world. You saw his eyes and down them, you saw yourself way back few years ago. He climbed down and ran to the neighborhood shouting that “The earth is blue!! The earth is green!! The earth is so lovely as it may seem!”. Your father would warn you not to tell him what it really looks like.

    VIII. Your brother got scraped knees after a day of endless running. You tried to heal it with an alcohol but your mother was already there. She told you that you cannot heal something by hurting. I wished she told me before, my memories of wounds wouldn’t be worse as they are today if she did.

    IX. Today, I realized that being a first child meant something. Being the eldest meant something. It means to be the first carrier, to be the first absorber of the world. Now I know why people would carry on expectations to their first born. We serve as warning to the people. We are the harbingers of the threats of this world.

    Also, to be a first born does not mean you would have the world in a silver platter first. To be the first child, you must accept the world and set aside the platter. To be the first born meant to carry your brother on your left hand while your right works on the golden spoon you have to feed him.

    X. To be the first child means to hand the world beautifully to someone after you. It means you have to be willing to patch them again after the world.

    It means that your left hand must not rest while the right hand works. Your left hand will still have to carry your brother at the top of the world you’ve built a silver platter with.

     
  2. Keeping a weather eye on the horizon.

     
  3. Ode to the first love, goodbye

    I held a strong belief that first love isn’t necessary tragic as it seem. First love is like kissing a warm cup of coffee for the first time and then feeling the same intensity after kissing it again the next day. That’s what I felt, it’s always new no matter how many repetition has gone through. My hope extends to the farthest corners of your calloused hands so whenever you would try to touch anybody, you would feel them. You’ll feel, I know. You’ll feel them on the core of your insides and they would linger on your breath, but they wont last. Eventually, they will vanish into thin air just like all of the things you hid before summer ended. So I suggest you put them somewhere safe and somewhere not fleeing, somewhere they could hold onto you.

    I know those places. I wrote them into flashcards just in case people would wonder where. I scattered them on the bristles of your hair, I sunk them into your skin, I buried it deep, deep down there, though I doubt if you may have one, I know I buried it somewhere between your right and left ventricles so it wouldn’t come out. If ever it would, it would come out of your lungs and finally, you would breathe love. You could finally utter words of affection without feeling remorse and any kind of hatred in the world.

    The oxygen in your blood with glow, rekindling the poison into something else. Bleed love, not blue. Bleed, dear. Stop bleeding inside. It’s humane to bleed. Sometimes bleeding is a way with humans to set free of themselves.

    If I would count the years, would I have the chance to turn back time? But I can’t. That’s the thing with clocks, they only take one turns, no going back, just going forward until you reach the same place again.

    Never falter, my love. I’ve seen the stars and I hope you would see them too someday. Someday, you would bring back the sun that once has set.

    Someday, you would not live in fear of exposing your own skin and you would let the rays ignite you.

    I am with my own sun now. Thank you for helping me find it. I hope you do the same. I believe in you for the heart always remembers. I loved you. The heart will always remember what is to keep and what is to let go.

    This is really goodbye, I guess.

     
  4. He faced all this for you, for you to be loved, blessed, glorified, exalted, satisfied, accepted, freed and resurrected.

    (Source: worshipgifs, via starofmyreveries)

     
  5. I’ve missed three sundays being remarkably the irresponsible storyteller I am so here’s Ayel catching up with the things she missed even though it isn’t sunday. Anyway,

    C U R R E N T L Y

    R E A D I N G things about Human Ecology and I just figured out that only UPLB offers this kind of course and it’s both a pre-med and pre-law course.

    W R I T I N G about someone who radiates warmth out of my heart lately.

    L I S T E N I N G to more of Up Dharma Down’s songs because I caught a hangover bug last saturday night when I heard and saw them perform live just few steps away from me.

    T H I N K I N G about tomorrow, the real kind of tomorrow. There’s something that will happen tomorrow and I am nervous about it. Hope things would turn out well.

    S M E L L I N G pandan and tanglad leaves I got from our garden because we’re having dinner outside the house. Mom is becoming more and more random the past few days.

    W I S H I N G for a productive and well spent vacation that would prepare me for the upcoming college life.

    H O P I N G for a positive outcome for what I have to face. Well, you know what they say: “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches the soul.”

    W E A R I N G the shirt my soul sister gave me last  graduation day. Most comfy tee ever.

    L O V I N G the phase of the past few weeks and days. They’ve been really productive and I have, on the other hand, produced a lot of serotonin in contribution.

    W A N T I N G to enroll in a workshop such as dance or music workshop because I have this of one of a hell long vacation.

    N E E D I N G a lot of faith and for myself to be strong for so long. I have this some sort of Project Evolution which will require a lot of patience and endurance. “Have a little faith.”

    Tho this may be a little late, I hope you all are having a blessed and wondrous palm Sunday. Celebrate this Sunday by sharing your happiness with someone and a little sacrifice wouldn’t hurt for this upcoming holy week.

     
  6. "Minamasdan ang saya ng puso mo sa piling ng iba." Up Dharma Down, April 2014

     

  7. i hope you find solace here in my arms just as the next cold pillow felt I hugged this morning

    I’ve seen people who have hardly recover from a bad fall. Some get their bones dislocated, fractured even, some got their teeth broken, bruises are always present and wounds that cut deep inside the flesh. How could someone manage to do the same deed again after knowing the consequences of falling? or worse, the bad fall itself?

    We both saw each other jump into that cliff and fell into our own knees, scraping them and treated them the wrong way. We patched our hearts on our own thinking that maybe a teardrop would carry all the burdens away and dissolve into the pores of your skin.

    Yesterday, I saw a man wearing a shirt saying: “Doctors are the most patient people.” I’ve come to this thought for a moment that the reason why we put the wrong bandages at the wrong places, why our sprains would never heal and the cast is not enough for bone dislocation is that because we aren’t doctors. We aren’t the most patient of people. We do things on our own thinking that it is possible to break a world record in the field of fast recovery.

    What I am really trying to say is I want you to stop holding my hand whenever our fingers find their ways to intertwine. Stop holding my hand if you wouldn’t choose to stay. Stop going near me before the words come out of your mouth pushing me away. Stop bringing butterflies that make me jitter because I am never an art exhibit anyway. Take them away before they hung and be a living graveyard of cobwebs. Stop placing your head on the warmest parts of my body, instead, why don’t you place them on the hearth of the home you’ve created from my bones.

    Stop if you’re going to leave anyway, but you could, however, choose to stay.

    Stop or stay.

    Stay. If you can’t, if you won’t, leave.

    Good bye, or maybe,

    Welcome, and lie here in my arms. Let’s build a home that wouldn’t break once we have decided to try again another fall.