Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?

wow that is one difficult question. :-) well, i think i'd go for losing the old ones and than not be able to make new ones. We never move backwards anyway, so we might as well cherish what's there to make than what's there to lose. Thank you awesome asker. :)

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which is stronger water or fire?

Nature has the perfect balance. Neither is stronger nor weaker.

ASK for a good haircut (on Formspring!)

which is stronger water or fire?

Nature has perfect balance. Neither is stronger or weaker.

ASK for a good haircut (on Formspring!)

On Promises

Promises seem to be beautiful things that put us in a dreamy state of looking at the future. It lures us to hang on, because of the belief that at the foot of the rainbow is a pot of gold.

The promise of staying together in romance, or the promise of being there in friendship, the promise to be good and do charitable things. The promise of a parent to take responsibility of a child. All of these creates in the mind a picture of a desirable yet-to-come. Like a scenario of a happy couple ending up in marriage, or a friendship lasting till all of them have gone gray, or making it to heaven after death, or a well-raised child.
A promise is an invitation to a beautiful scenario taking place soon.

It is not surprising how we try to make up for our blunders by devising promises. When we arrive late in an important affair, we promise to make it up. It doesn't matter to whom we promise it- to ourselves or to the professor or the boss or to a date. The point is we make promises as reparations for our faults. I admit to be a constant oblivious promise-maker whenever I disappoint someone. Sometimes an apology just doesn't make it until it's backed up by a promise. You may be forgiven for not making it to a friend's birthday party who really expected you to be there. But somewhere, somehow, you'd get the feeling you lost a bit of the person's trust and appreciation. You will be put in a position of awkward conscience- an urge to convince the friend you should not be reduced to the mistake you made. So you start promising to make it up to her. You make a promise to give her reason to hang on. To keep her trust and appreciation for you just the same. Why do we make promises? Simply because a promise is a "future" thing. Once uttered, it disposes itself into the future and becomes something to look forward to.

I look back at how my life have been ruled by tons of luring promises. How my decisions were shaped by the promises I made to myself, promises others made, and promises I just imagined were promised to me. Check your life and your decisions. It must be that way too.

Once upon a time, I promised my self a successful future. I promised my self a nice cozy house in a mini-forest, a sleek grass-green convertible, an inexhaustible vault cash, a pretty popular coffeeshop of my own brand, a band set in my bedroom, a jet-setter's life and a breezy creative living. But these things are not easy promises. They require a roadmap. I need concrete plans. And this is when they become difficult to keep. I have to make choices that could promise me better outcomes, but not necessarily make me happy at the moment. Like choosing what I think would be a more stable career path over enrolling for my hobbies and the things I enjoy.
 Simply put, setting aside my guitar and learning Adolf Hitler.

This is when promises become dangerous. They dress themselves in fancy pictures of what could be while smothering you to keep them. Making you forget what you really wanted to start with. The promise of faring successfully later on injects some analgesia to the throbbing thought of foregoing some of the things that matter to me. Instead of sketching my life day-by-day with my bare hands, I disposed it into a promise that is far in the future.

Apparently, it's like an analgesic. It makes you forget the pain of having to forego certain things, and get enticed with the vivid illusions of the promise- a colorful yet-to-come. Relationships work like this.
Relationships are built on promises. You make the other promises, and the other makes you promises as well. This is what starts a relationship, but what also ruins it. Unkept promises; They break the relationship altogether. But the funny thing is, we never see a promise as anything dangerous. It always gives us happy thoughts. It always gives us something to look forward to. When people makes us promises, we automatically hang on. In one way or another, we always believe in them. We get drowned in the enticing visions of a promise. It is capable of twisting our attitude toward something. A blunder. A proposal. A desire. Whatsoever. Make a promise, and things would seem to turn fine.

But in the long run, the pain control wears off and we wake up to an excruciating agony. That crucial moment when we get confronted with the issue of whether or not we have made the right choice, or that if we were right believing the promises of the choices we made. Maybe the moral of the story is to not make promises rule our lives. To not live our lives by the promises of the future. Maybe we just have to live it as it is now. Promises make a shaky ground. Maybe we just have to love without looking at the promise it brings, but just how it makes us happy and whole now. There is too much uncertainty in everything. Maybe it will prevent us from falling to hard and break into pieces if we entertain the idea that a promise is only a promise until it happens or it gets broken. We should take a choice by its ability to make us happy at the living moment, and not by the happiness it promises us on the future. After all, life never runs out choices. If we make a wrong choice, we can always override it by making another one.

The promise is only a promise until it happens now. We don't always have to get tied to them. At the foot of the rainbow might be a pot of gold, but the rainbow might be only in your head. 

And the pot of gold is just right in front of you.

Soon

I am here at a small chapel located at the edge of a village. This is a protestant chapel and there is no mass whatsoever tonight. The place is all mine.
Today is a Monday. I am here, alone and embraced by the quiet on an almost 7pm in the evening.

I wish to create.
***

Do you happen to know that feeling when you lie down to sleep on a 2 or 3am, and don't remember what kept you busy the whole day? Like hours seem to be wheeling off so fast, you hardly notice the day wrap up and shut down.

For the past few days, I seem busy doing what I can't even remember I was doing. Days seem to just pass me by like that. Moments are getting more and more unremarkable. Dry. Silent. Empty. Like scenes of a movie that really don't have anything to do with the plot. They just go away... not leaving any mark. They have become indifferent. Like robots.

Days fly so fast that it's become impossible to leave even the tiniest imprint. You know how that feels?
It feels like life is happening somewhere else.

I've been so restless. I feel the need to express. To sort things out. To find my way through all these unnecessary bustle. I need to write. But each time I attempt to write, I lose it. I lose the drive. Like a car engine that won't start. 

You twist the ignition, hear a loud "brrooom". And then what happens? The sound faints and vanishes just like that. It seems like the mere thought of writing is intimidating already. I cannot move inside my head. My thoughts are paralyzed.

What is going on with me?

I look at my old journal entries, read through them. And I get jealous of that kid, that effortless storyteller. Always in tune with her thoughts. Always in control of them, how to make them and convey them. Always has the means, the time and space, to express and create. I really miss that person.

Back in high school, I really wrote a lot and kept a compilation of my output. I had an active blog and a DevArt. Almost everyday, I wrote. I was so good at finding so many special things in just one day and then, I write about them right away. I kept a notepad with me whenever, where I put my poems, and proses, my couplets and undone stanzas.

I was really breathing back then. Now? I'm only learning to breathe.

Time is changing gears so fast, and I'm missing gears a lot. I'm a car engine that don't start. And my thoughts are on coma. Soon, someday soon, life will be happening not somewhere else, but inside of me. Soon, life will come back. Soon I know, are unempty days. And soon, are a boom of written stories. Soon,

I am coming home.

Tried Something Hard

Salamat, Dad.