Keeping the passion burning

I’ve come to realize that the reason I failed as an athlete and maybe the reason, why I’m still at level 35 in Candy Crush (instead of being at level 499) is because I always think I should opt for the easier way. I don’t challenge myself. When I fail for the first time, I feel dissuaded and don’t try again. That’s a wrong mentality and I should practice embracing all kinds of challenges that come my way. I should be conscious in viewing each challenge as an opportunity to grow. It should be like that, isn’t it?

My sister’s post on Facebook actually encouraged me to write about this. Her post reminded me of what J told me. He said that to keep the passion burning, he continues the deeds that feed his passion. He fuels his passion, keep it burning with the activities that nurture his soul. He doesn’t allow failure to dampen his spirit or put him down.

I know I should be like that also. I know I shouldn’t cower during class recitation or discussion. Instead, I should raise my hand and not be afraid to share my ideas and views. If I am wrong, that doesn’t define me as a whole. Instead, it should be a step higher, for I have learned a lesson through my mistake.

I admire J for his disposition in life. I wish to be like that in that aspect.

I know there’s still a long way for me. And I should be aware of the things that I do–whether it promotes learning or idleness.

This realization is the first step. There’s more to go and I’m ready.

Kaleidoscope

I was composing some happy post earlier when I found out something that made me very sad. I couldn’t finish the blog and I left it in my draft folder. I don’t know if I would want to go back to it.

I do want to finish this book by Murakami, IQ84. I’ve been wanting to finish it but because “I had to prioritize things, it had been in my desk for many months now, alone, unopened.”
I treasure that book because it was given to me by someone who has a good heart, who tried to understand me in his own ways. This someone was someone I would have wanted to be around but it wasn’t possible without conjuring negative feelings and reaction from people I love. I guess I had to do it.

Anyway, I feel bad right now, so bad that I deactivated my facebook account.

An apology to nobody in particular

This one goes to the people I’ve hurt–consciously and unconsciously.

Because we do hurt people even those we love and even by simply being true to ourselves. It is a relentless quest to follow the path of perfection, but we can only do so little in our lifetime and so we try our best to be better.

I’ve been an offender and a victim countless of times. Sometimes I utter harsh words unapologetically. Sometimes my actions are misinterpreted. And the nearest, most accessible defense would be that I am just being me, which maybe the most selfish thing one can commit.

Because we live in one world, one community. However, we all don’t think the same. Or my thoughts may have crossed you, too, only that not on the same time I did. And so frictions and misunderstandings occur.

I have so often tried to understand people, and even to a fault because by so doing may create borders and ill-feelings towards the other. I don’t need to be very specific on this. At times, it all boils down to the fact that we cannot ever please all people. Such a relentless quest.

So I apologize to the people who loved me, yet in many ways, I’ve taken for granted.

To the people I’ve never said said goodbye to, I’m sorry. Even if it felt like I didn’t need to or that I thought there was no need to do so, I think we all deserve a proper good bye.

To the people who needed an explanation from me not just an apology, to those who needed to hear from me, I am sorry. I think there are times when all we need to move on from a certain place and phase is a simple explanation from a specific person.

To the people whose thoughts, feelings and opinion I deemed unimportant in my existence even if I mean something to them, I am sorry for the insensitivity and airs I’ve shown. I think it affects our relationship with other people if we are a little unkind to the people who care for us.

To the people in my life right now, whose life I do not fully understand the reason I harbor ill-feelings and animosity. I think it’s just fair for me to look at things from other people’s perspectives before judging.

And I wish I could just focus on the positive feelings and attitude all the time. And I wish I have all the patience and courage that I could muster especially during trying times.

Right now, I can only apologize with all the good intentions I can give. And even this doesn’t reach you, I hope that in your heart you have also tried to understand and have forgiven me.

xoxo

Love, coffee and the rain

In the end, I want us to hold on to each other and love each other…unconditionally.

Rainy days. I’ve always loved raining days like this. Rain gives me the reason to spend some quiet time near the window, with coffee in hand. And as I do so, my thoughts fall on us.

There were lots of good memories and it’s only been a few years since we started going steady. Good memories. Maybe I can live with good memories. But memories will be all I have.

As I try to imagine life without him I was reminded that a few nights ago, we walked in the rain after hearing mass. I was clutching my shoes in one hand and holding his hand in the other. We were laughing like silly kids. I told him if a co-worker sees him he’d never think it’s him.

We changed into dry clothes inside the car that was parked along the road. A few people gave us some strange looks. I changed into a running attire even if we did not push through with the prior plan of running under the rain. Instead, we looked for a restaurant that serves noodles. We found this Japanese restaurant along Pasay Rd. We went in–with my wet hair, running shorts and jersey–like the crazy that we were. I said one Ramen might not be enough and so I ordered Katsudon. We had the Ramen and Katsudon split into two bowls each.

We took a photo of us. A souvenir of our craziness. In my head, it would be a nice picture to show to imaginary future children.

We looked good in the photo. Later on when he showed me the photo, I cried so much harder.

I can’t exactly recall how it all started. At one point we were comfortably snuggling close to each other, lovingly gazing at each others eyes. And then one of us, may be me, said something that caused the friction between us. It had never been easy for us to meet halfway moreso, understand each other. I know we will never truly understand each other, yet I want to arrive at a point where we’ll agree on something or that we will both do the same thing about a certain matter.

I’ve heard somewhere that to love is to love unconditionally and that both have to work together towards a common goal. Perhaps ours is a relentless work on progress. And we keep on trying. And trying. Is that what it means?

Then why was I close to giving up last Sunday evening when the rain was pouring unstoppably along with my tears?

A couple of nights after that incident–when we again patched things up albeit some traces of pains and guilt and more uncertainties–he asked that if ever I do it again, would I still allow him to see me or get in touch with me. I honestly told him I don’t know.

At times, things can go pretty smooth between us that we think we’re actually headed to “that” certain direction but every time our differences resurfaces, it causes stigma and strain to this relationship we’re trying to bring to a higher level. So we go back again, and try to become a better partner to the other. Maybe the question he asks himself for me is “until when?”

I don’t want to give him beautifully crafted answers such as that I will endure all for this love, that I will do absolutely anything and everything to make him happy, that I will be the best that I can be or that I will always meet him halfway, wherever he is. I know for a fact that I can not promise that at this moment or if I will ever come to that point. I don’t know if it’s even the right thing for me to do.

I cannot give promises. I can only give him my love and MY NOW.

This thing we call love

Love is.

I didn’t know that you can feel a whole lot of different emotions all in the same day. And simply because of love. Because you’re a mortal who has fallen unwittingly in love with someone so different from you. While some people would like the idea of being with and loving the person whose ideas and views are–most of the time–different from or opposite of yours, it has dawned on me that you have to be ready with absolutely everything. But as lame as it may sound, love doesn’t give warning or signals for you to be prepared. You simply fall, and sometimes, hard.

And as ironic as it may sound, he can make you all giddy and happy or send you rolling on the floor in laughter. Yet he can also give you sorrow and pain. He can hurt you so much and make you cry hard even with a simple one-liner statement. Alas, this love.

I was so close to throwing my hands up in the air last night. I was so close to just surrendering because I know deep in me that I can live with our good memories together. But he has his ways, his own exclusive gateway to my heart and suddenly I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave. It hurts so much I wanted to explode or just forget who I am and the entire moment. He reminded me of his love and my love for him, and in an instant, I knew I couldn’t do it.

Why can’t we be on the same line, same texture in rubbing each other with our words, same state of thinking…why can’t we be? We keep rubbing each other the wrong way, hurting each other with words we didn’t intend to hurt. And it’s changing me not in a positive way.

I could give in for, at least, a more peaceful and harmonious moment. I could agree to disagree. I could disarm my spontaneity if only for the better. Yet it silences me and being so is far more dangerous than talking. Spontaneity kills the moment. Even if you talk from the heart and not from the head.

We both are not perfect. We both have our pride and ego. And I wish we can both let go and simply accept and not press harder on matters that have wounded us already.

In the end, I want us to hold on to each other and love each other…unconditionally.

To my crying soul

Tonight I cried for reasons I cannot all identify.
I want to flee so you’ll see a faction of me that you don’t quite grasp.
I want to force my heart to wallow on pain and accept that it shall always be part of me
I want to do something drastic, something you never imagined I’d do,
like leaving everything behind for something unknown, for somewhere I do not know.
You perceive my outer layer as simple
No, you don’t quite see.
And so I want to flee because you and me is something I don’t want to imagine will be, you and me sends pain to me, you and me are oceans apart. You don’t quite see the innermost of me. And I don’t see you too as fairly as you want me to. This is how it should be, you and me, in two different worlds. You in there and me in places you’ll never know.

The summer I turned beautiful

Since summer’s almost gone, I’m gonna write a sort of tribute to the sweltering heat of summer, but in retrospect.

Unlike kids who grew up showered with love, affection and attention from their parents, mine apparently lacked quite some percentage of each. As a kid, I never felt pretty or bright. Maybe deep in me I knew I was. No offense meant to my dear unconventional, slightly erratic parents but I know they just weren’t like other parents. They’re okay and I love them for who they are though.

And so I grew up a little bit awkward considering also that I was a bit taller than most kids my age. I feel so unpretty when seated next to my friends in the church. In my mind then, my friends’ parents were richer and richer kids were prettier. I don’t know where the hell did I get that idea. Maybe I was looking at my friends’ contentment with the materials things their parents could afford to give them. And whatever made them happy also made them beautiful. How superficial, if I were to look at it these days.

When I was in first grade, my sister had a classmate who was fond of me. To me, Maureen was the most beautiful of all sixth graders. She’s tall and skinny and could rock the whole school in her shorts, white blouse, back pack and sneakers. She was my idea of a “cool” girl. And she was nice to me.

She would braid my hair and lightly pinch my nose. Whenever she does that I feel like I had an older sister who makes me feel as beautiful as her.

We all need affirmation.

(To be continued…I suddenly lost the gusto to write)

A retrospective analysis: Why we so often fail to connect

J doesn’t understand my extrovert-introversion. Sometimes he thinks I just won’t share my feelings or what’s going on in my head. He thinks I won’t let him in. I am different. I have my own ways of dealing with everything. Sometimes it feels as if I’m being squeezed, tossed and turned. It makes me unhappy.

I also do not understand a lot of things in his life but I guess there are things you just have to accept, even if it’s beyond your comprehension. That’s where respect comes in.

I am a lot like the writers whose works I read. My brain keeps on feeding me ideas I can never ever share. It’s for me to keep. It’s a sacred thing for me. I cannot simply unleash every little thing that goes in my head. It makes me feel so weak and naked.

I can only share intimate thoughts like this when I feel the need. And even so, I choose the medium and my audience. Because that’s what I am. That’s who I am.

The need to rest

I am so tired these days that all I wanna do is wander around and think of nothing at all. At all.

Matter fact, I just wanna wander under a long, long line of fire trees until I get exhausted and pass out.

or maybe I just need another cup of coffee. somewhere.

A love affair with running

So J and I ran yesterday in Philsports Arena (popularly known as Ultra). It was very therapeutic. In fact, it wasn’t only our run that was therapeutic–the entire moment, having J beside me, all the thoughts that went through my head all the while were very therapeutic.

Running for me is also a way of self discovery. Very much like writing.

For a good part, it was also J who helped me discover more about my self. I love having him as a running mate because I can share something I am passionate about more openly, and thereby letting him know me deeper.

I love running with him because we are so different that we see and understand each other better through running. Let me delve more about that.

Running to me is like basketball to him. Running to me is also how I view life per se and how I react to certain changes, movements and challenges that go with it. And many of our attitudes in life are seen in the sports we play.

J is very “explosive” in sports. Yes, he is also aggressive in life–a good trait especially in the corporate world. I believe that trait will position him in where he wanted to be in God’s time. I, on the other hand, is not so explosive but intent and utterly focused albeit very quiet. It was never my nature to run after something with the rest of the world if I’m not quite certain I absolutely want it, or if it’s worth it. Here’s another picture of our different personalities, which I think actually complement one another.

Last night, in the starting area for 100m dash, there was a lady [who’s] around my age, positioning herself for a run. J, gestured to me as if saying that I should approach the girl, perhaps seeing that we both share the same passion and we were about the same age. I shook my head and said, “No, that’s bad. It’s a unethical.”

Because for me it is unethical to “rouse someone who’s in deep meditation.” Running is sort of like that to me. It’s very personal. An interruption is often unwelcome. Running is like writing.To observers, it can be a very lonely thing to do because you tend to become so absorbed in your own world and you think of nothing else, not even the crowd cheering you on, not even the environment. You save it all for some nostalgic throwback times later on.

Truth is, runners often don’t care about other runners unless they’re in a competition or they are blocking his way in the same lane. They just don’t care.

J said that seeing other people around–those who are busy playing Frisbee and soccer in the field–makes him feel better. The idea that like-minded individuals are in the same place playing sports they are passionate about makes him happy.

“It’s good to see people who [promote wellness and good] health through sports,” he said.

I agree. However, I don’t really think about these thoughts when I’m running. I save these thoughts for writing, such as now.

But these weren’t the thoughts inside my head while running last night. In my head were my gone days in running including those specific moments–not particularly significant at that time but which I didn’t fully grasp the meaning of or I failed to look at in a clearer, bigger perspective. Those were just short bubbles of memory that sent me back to the different dormitories I’ve lived in college, the people I know and who also know me but didn’t really talk to and those unchartered territories back then.

Last night, I saw this girl who used to be (or maybe still is) a member of the national team in sprint hurdles. I know her and I know she knows me. Back then she had a longtime boyfriend who was also the fastest sprinter in the men’s national team. He also played for La Salle during his UAAP years. They made for a perfect couple. Some even say theirs was a pair made in heaven. She was tall and good-looking and he was also tall and good looking. Then they broke up. The he got injured. Then she got injured. And I never heard about them again because I was in a different world already. Not that I cared for them anyway. But I was observant.

And then now I thought it must have been hard for both of them having to face different hurdles and pressures in many areas of their lives.

I also thought about how many people–my family, relatives, friends, former classmates and colleagues–didn’t fully understand my life then as a student athlete. I guess they never truly understand. I have this inkling that some of them, except for my family and friends, only see this gregarious funny girl who excels in class and plays for the varsity for the sake of scholarship and recognition. Not that I need to show it to them or that they need to see me clearly but I think the fact that many of them misunderstood me was the reason why some of them talked behind my back or spread rumors about me.

I was never a regular student–the ones whose tuition were paid for by their parents and who didn’t need to maintain a general weighted average of not less than 1.50, the ones who didn’t need to get up at four in the morning–rain or shine, holiday or not–to train.

I thought that if they understood my love-hate relationship with running, how it shaped my life and brought me to the place where I met them, they would realize that much of what I am was a product of a place they’ve never been to. And they’d look at me in the eye knowing that even if they don’t fully understand my life, there’s something in there enough for them to know.

And I also thought that my being disconnected with my family was more because I didn’t welcome them, didn’t bring them in. J is the opposite. He would always look for the greater side of things. He would try his best to make things right and sometimes to a fault…because sometimes, it takes a lot of connected hands to make a circle and if one is not willing to align, a circle will not be formed. But the point is, he tries and he never get tired. And I realized, I should’ve done that,too. Although it’s never too late yet. In fact, I am more connected now and still trying to be better at it.

And I also thought that no matter what, I would still keep running as long as my body permits me to. Because running not only re-energizes my body, it also feeds my soul.

And to J, thanks for accompany me in this journey. I know you have your own personal journey, too. And I’m also glad to be a part of it.

Note: this is a late post.

A love affair with running

So J and I ran yesterday in Philsports Arena (popularly known as Ultra). It was very therapeutic. In fact, it wasn’t only our run that was therapeutic–the entire moment, having J beside me, all the thoughts that went through my head all the while were very therapeutic.

Running for me is also a way of self discovery. Very much like writing.

For a good part, it was also J who helped me discover more about my self. I love having him as a running mate because I can share something I am passionate about more openly, and thereby letting him know me deeper.

I love running with him because we are so different that we see and understand each other better through running. Let me delve more about that.

Running to me is like basketball to him. Running to me is also how I view life per se and how I react to certain changes, movements and challenges that go with it. And many of our attitudes in life are seen in the sports we play.

J is very “explosive” in sports. Yes, he is also aggressive in life–a good trait especially in the corporate world. I believe that trait will position him in where he wanted to be in God’s time. I, on the other hand, is not so explosive but intent and utterly focused albeit very quiet. It was never my nature to run after something with the rest of the world if I’m not quite certain I absolutely want it, or if it’s worth it. Here’s another picture of our different personalities, which I think actually complement one another.

Last night, in the starting area for 100m dash, there was a lady [who’s] around my age, positioning herself for a run. J, gestured to me as if saying that I should approach the girl, perhaps seeing that we both share the same passion and we were about the same age. I shook my head and said, “No, that’s bad. It’s a unethical.”

Because for me it is unethical to “rouse someone who’s in deep meditation.” Running is sort of like that to me. It’s very personal. An interruption is often unwelcome. Running is like writing.To observers, it can be a very lonely thing to do because you tend to become so absorbed in your own world and you think of nothing else, not even the crowd cheering you on, not even the environment. You save it all for some nostalgic throwback times later on.

Truth is, runners often don’t care about other runners unless they’re in a competition or they are blocking his way in the same lane. They just don’t care.

J said that seeing other people around–those who are busy playing Frisbee and soccer in the field–makes him feel better. The idea that like-minded individuals are in the same place playing sports they are passionate about makes him happy.

“It’s good to see people who [promote wellness and good] health through sports,” he said.

I agree. However, I don’t really think about these thoughts when I’m running. I save these thoughts for writing, such as now.

But these weren’t the thoughts inside my head while running last night. In my head were my gone days in running including those specific moments–not particularly significant at that time but which I didn’t fully grasp the meaning of or I failed to look at in a clearer, bigger perspective. Those were just short bubbles of memory that sent me back to the different dormitories I’ve lived in college, the people I know and who also know me but didn’t really talk to and those unchartered territories back then.

Last night, I saw this girl who used to be (or maybe still is) a member of the national team in sprint hurdles. I know her and I know she knows me. Back then she had a longtime boyfriend who was also the fastest sprinter in the men’s national team. He also played for La Salle during his UAAP years. They made for a perfect couple. Some even say theirs was a pair made in heaven. She was tall and good-looking and he was also tall and good looking. Then they broke up. The he got injured. Then she got injured. And I never heard about them again because I was in a different world already. Not that I cared for them anyway. But I was observant.

And then now I thought it must have been hard for both of them having to face different hurdles and pressures in many areas of their lives.

I also thought about how many people–my family, relatives, friends, former classmates and colleagues–didn’t fully understand my life then as a student athlete. I guess they never truly understand. I have this inkling that some of them, except for my family and friends, only see this gregarious funny girl who excels in class and plays for the varsity for the sake of scholarship and recognition. Not that I need to show it to them or that they need to see me clearly but I think the fact that many of them misunderstood me was the reason why some of them talked behind my back or spread rumors about me.

I was never a regular student–the ones whose tuition were paid for by their parents and who didn’t need to maintain a general weighted average of not less than 1.50, the ones who didn’t need to get up at four in the morning–rain or shine, holiday or not–to train.

I thought that if they understood my love-hate relationship with running, how it shaped my life and brought me to the place where I met them, they would realize that much of what I am was a product of a place they’ve never been to. And they’d look at me in the eye knowing that even if they don’t fully understand my life, there’s something in there enough for them to know.

And I also thought that my being disconnected with my family was more because I didn’t welcome them, didn’t bring them in. J is the opposite. He would always look for the greater side of things. He would try his best to make things right and sometimes to a fault…because sometimes, it takes a lot of connected hands to make a circle and if one is not willing to align, a circle will not be formed. But the point is, he tries and he never get tired. And I realized, I should’ve done that,too. Although it’s never too late yet. In fact, I am more connected now and still trying to be better at it.

And I also thought that no matter what, I would still keep running as long as my body permits me to. Because running not only re-energizes my body, it also feeds my soul.

And to J, thanks for accompany me in this journey. I know you have your own personal journey, too. And I’m also glad to be a part of it.