Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Who Stole My Magic?

I’ve concluded that I have lived the life I sought to have, the life that is now burning my skin and breaking my every pore. The life I thought I would never have, the one with magic like in my dreams.

I am in love with too many things and that is what keeps me going. It could be good; it could be bad for me. Either way I chose this and I must face whatever lies ahead. Come what may – my mantra. My mother once told me, “you can never find yourself in someone else’s imagery of you, despite the fact that you’ve spent your entire life with them, what you know of who you are is what only matters.” It stuck to me like a fork on my throat.

As I grew up I fought for what I always wanted to have - freedom to know. I’ve always wanted to know how things happen and how they do it. I was never a keen observer like the talent my siblings have. But I was always interested in things, so many things as a matter of fact. Though I was never really hungry to try stuff but like God’s will my path always cross their way, then the hunger begins. Magic is in me! I admit that I get influenced easily. Negative and positive feedbacks never mattered to me until I get a stone thrown at my head then it starts to bleed like hell and I am shaken out of my reverie. The magic is gone!

And to hell indeed I go. With my hunger I go down with disappointment, with my frustrations, with my anger, my hatred and my sorrow committing crimes of killing my own happiness and the happiness of others around me, loosing what I really wanted to have, loosing my own ambitions, loosing my magic. I’ve been a murderer of someone else’s dreams, someone else’s love, someone else’s scene, someone else’s courage, someone else’s future, someone’s ambitions, and someone else’s magic. And so I am condemned to loose, loose the people I’ve been with. Steal their magic as I loose my own. They aren’t aware of my guilt, the guilt that hunts me as I step inside my room, close my eyes and try to dwell on my lose. But as I try vainly to keep my silence in prayers and imprison myself inside my room, I suffer more. I keep my thoughts in the flesh of my heart not in my tongue and my memories in the walls of my bones not in my mind so as to not have the urge to recollect them just in case I would need to. I would survive a day, a week, a month and luckily now, a year. The only magic left.

As I hit another stick of cigar my eyes begin to grope for my magic, my magic with the people and the parts of my life that I fell in love with. I don’t know if they are still capable of understanding me and my words, my emotions, my actions, my indecisions, and my push to get back the magic I lost. I just don’t know. I had turned my back on many of them knowing I had failed them, knowing that our magic is gone forever.

I’ve accepted the fact that I don’t always know how to understand myself what I really want, but often well in understanding others. Because like them, I too need other people’s magic to help me define me, to show me their imagery of me, disobeying my mother’s words. I honestly say I can’t stand-alone. I try with the use of my little magic left but the sparks are too thin to keep me going.

Everyday I watch the sun as it illuminates my room with all its glory. I envy it for the fact that even if the clouds come out and block his way he still embraces his chance to prove himself again and the magic he can bring. I can never be like that. I can only let the bad things ruin me until I’m crushed into pieces and the little less magic left is entirely gone. I am weak. I am fragile and I am breaking down. I have lost all traces of magic in me and I no longer have anything left inside.
I’ve concluded that I have lived the life I sought to have, the life that is now burning my skin and breaking my every pore. The life I thought I would never have. I am not okay, and I admit. My life is a mess and I can’t stand it. My life has been ruined that only the hands of the offender can mend it. My magic has gone, and who stole it? Could be just I.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

I am Ayin

If you were a painter I’d say you would paint me as a cascade of blur and that my shades aren’t sophisticated enough to catch attention. I’m a constant ridicule to the likes or even to the unsung ones. You would sack me away from your gallery, hidden yet authentic.

But I’m a bona fide one-off of the few. The few who cares yet the few who doesn’t really look around. I walk in and out of my own shoes thinking I could be this and I could be that. I get influenced easily. Tell me a story and I’ll write a book about it. Hum me a tune and I’ll sing it. I’m a sucker for life itself. The delusional circumstances always keep me alive and yearning for death. Yet I do not want death to come. I live driven by my own shadow and lights.

If you were a musician my singing voice could have been a fake falsetto. No one really recognizes the difference unless they too are true musicians or is too ordinary to care.

If you were a millionaire I’d be a penny. I’d worth a coin, one-hundredth of the value of your basic.

I am a hundred times indescribable, a thousand times indistinguishable and a million times rarity. I am Ayin.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

...in the shadows

For some reasons, I had to stop my self from daydreaming. Daydreaming that my charming prince will come. He will hand me flowers and chocolates and speak to me softly saying I will be here for you until the time is thru.

Physically he is tall and relatively slim. Sometimes bearded with piercing brown eyes that could wound anyone at the sight. His smile doesn’t seem to show too often unless provoked with stern comedy. His dark hair more often polished and tousled and his clothing, casually smart yet comfort is a factor in his well-made and expensive attire. Usually, he rides the wave of success in life and is therefore able to display an air of authority and confidence in his position. Others respect him for his determination and passion to succeed.

This man is serious and often secretive. Most of the time, what he doesn’t say, says it all. His looks can condemn and his gestures can betray. He is as vulnerable as any man, but he rarely shows it. The darkness of his past is scribbled on fault lines in his face and the emptiness inside him beneath every pore of his skin.

He is a good speaker and a listener as well. His voice trembles a different kind of authority to counsel and inspire. He is kind and an inspiring man whom I would call for guidance and advice many times, which in turn gave it with all his willingness and compassion. His hands are a plate of confidence to either push you up or pull you down. His body is a temple of silent bravery and armor from defeat.

This man is Sid, the man whom I entrusted my heart with.

Many times the road is winding for us. Some other times it is a hundred and one loops like that of a roller coaster. But we have held hands during those times. Some times our words are hurting some other times it doesn’t. And when we say nothing at all everything just falls into places. Now, the silence has become so eerie, enough to keep us apart, enough to explain the air of questions, enough to break us apart. But ties have been made. Like foundations unseen, we continue to huddle in each other’s shadow. The only question now is when do we keep on groping in those shadows. Doesn’t it scare you? Doesn’t it hurt your eyes? Doesn’t it make you feel alone, even if you feel the hand?

I am here. On the other side of the shadow I stay grounded groping the same hand you extend. Yes, I can feel you. Yes, I always dream about you. The hand, even in the shadows, I can feel them. Your hands they’re soft but not weak and gentle but comforting. I love the hands that I feel that I daydream about it. I don’t need to see the entirety of you to comfort me, just the hand will do. So don’t let go if the other hand that grasps in the other side of that shadow because doing so will some reasons, I will have to stop myself from daydreaming.

Friday, November 16, 2007

My Fabricated Thoughts

Welcome to my fabricated thoughts. This will be my personal notebook about my life from now on. Not because I’m tired of Friendster, Multiply or my Greatest Journals but because I just want a site that will feature my name on top as in like the URL. Ha-ha.

Anyway, let me introduce myself, for the nth time.

My name is Ayn. I am 22 years old. I am the eldest in the brood of three and probably the thinnest in our family (that’s because the rest of them are fat). We’re a family of food lover. My father has the real talent in cooking while my mom, well; let’s just say she is good at cooking but not consistently good at it. I have two siblings, second to me is named Iris; she has turned 21 and my younger brother Nico at 9. They all live in our house in Antipolo while I stay in my Auntie’s place in Marikina.

I was born June 16, 1985 under the sign of Gemini. It said that I’m either a good listener or a good speaker. I thought I am both. I am not a fan of superstitions or the likes of it, really, but I can be one if you lead me to
http://www.newagestore.com/tarot/reading.asp, hehe. I have a 5-month-old Pit bull given by my friends Andie and Kulet as a birthday gift. I named her Yucky and due to some circumstances (which I can’t explain to my self either), I simply don’t want to take care of her.

When I’m in our house in Antipolo I’m just often inside my room. I use to share it with my sister but as we grew older and due to our rampant mood swings, conflict in ideals and beliefs, and the usual sisterhood gap she had to move out. In my room I sleep all the time or if I’m really helpless I’d listen to my mp3, read a book or scribble my thoughts on my journal. I’m a big fan of the Backstreet boys, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Macy Gray, Madonna, The Killers, Incubus, Jojo, Lindsay Lohan, Justin Timberlake, Garbage, Korn, Limp Bizkit, Bjork and a whole lot more. When I was younger I’m really into the pop culture until I heard of Brandon Boyd. I am at my happiest when I’m there in my room just staring at the wide-opened windows and stare blankly at the rays of light as it hit my bedroom wall. I really do not know the ways inside the house. Cleaning, cooking and laundering is not my thing but I do push my ass up when my room or the house needs tidying. I can only cook hotdogs, eggs, canned corned beef and my favorite instant noodles. I am nowhere near the talent of my mother or father in the kitchen. I no longer eat pork, and that’s not because of any stupid diet or religion but because it makes me sick, period. I love Jollibee’s famous fried chicken. I love Go Nuts donuts as well (Amazing Glaze, baby!). I love eating pizza, Crispy fries, vanilla ice cream, Oreo cookies, Coke, chocolate milks, Cadbury Chocolates, Butterfinger, Lasagna, Wendy’s Ceasar Salad, Starbucks’ Coffee Latte and Caramel Frap with 2 servings of Espresso, Coffee Bean’s Chocolate Dream, McDonald’s Chicken Fillet and ad infinitum. He-he.

I had been a part of my college student council. I was a staff member for the Arts and Designs Committee and a Literature team contributor for our school paper called The Paragon. I enjoy writing, reading and sketching. I love everything about arts and literature. Sometimes I imagine myself living in Rome or Barcelona or in Paris touring their most famous art galleries and museums. I once daydreamed about walking in The Louver and exploring it ala Robert Langdon in The Da Vinci Code. Another day I thought I was the one who wrote The Alchemist and the Lemony Snickett’s Series of Unfortunate Events but only end up clutching it tightly inside the malls bookstore, daydreaming. My ambitions made me write a general fiction novel that I have had on drafts for more than a year now. I called it The Consolation. It’s a unfinished and is still in my editor caring arms. Hi ma’am! : P. I’ve been trying my hands on Photoshop and learned a couple of tricks there for s short span of 2 months but I’m no pro, just some wannabe photo manipulator. He-he.

I played high school softball for two years and had tried basketball and table tennis as well. I watch the NBA’s but not as often I could now that I’m working graveyard shift. I love watching tennis especially when it’s Andy Roddick, Feliciano Lopez or Roger Federrer playing. I am sporty yes because I enjoy it but when I discovered my illnesses, take note, illnesses, I almost forgot how fouls are committed in basketball. Hmmm…. But seriously, I am not terminally ill. I just had been diagnosed with viral infection twice and hyperthyroidism or the so-called Potassium disorder when I sort of stopped smoking. Okay, mom and dad, if you’re reading this, I can explain so please stop yanking the knife. :D

In few words I am a lover not a fighter. I can be tough at times but that only happens when I am persuaded. I could be what you want me to be as long as I can manage it, but if I can’t, don’t worry I’ll let you know. I loose my tongue when I’m angry or sad, meaning I don’t really talk it over, I’d just rather keep quite until my mind is all set. I’m downright a wallflower at get-togethers but good at crowds. I know how to party or rock and I know when to chill. I know when to be smile and when to cry; I know who should be treated right and who should be not. And I know when to be a good girl and when to be really bad.

Welcome to my world. Welcome to my Fabricated Thoughts!