Ode to Paranoia

You hug me:
you want to stay.
I breathe in your intoxicating perfume:
I know it will stay in my system for a while,
for a while.

I'm fighting the urge to keep you -
you are bad for me
but I feel safer with you around.
You keep me safe;
you keep me sane

or insane? As I ponder,
you hug me some more.
Too tightly,
as if you are begging me
to listen to your logic.
And I am listening,
though you might be bad for me.

I fall silent
and inhale the reality you bring;
you loosen your hold and Hope springs.
You stand beside each other
and will me to choose.

And I can't.
It would have been easier
if one of you fought for me -
harder than the other.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

And I choose
neither
and both.
I hold my ground
and wait for reality.

I say

no more to masochistic adventures and "end-less" roads.

no more to hot, senseless pursuits, to one-sided devotions.

I am no saint. But I also don't want to be the losing sinner.

I was at home in that insane whirlwind but got scared of being spewed out a little too early.

to stay means to subject myself to whiplash.

to leave means I'd only have might-have-beens to look back at.

but there will never be might-have-beens, cause there never was.

"Whatta laugh." But I'm not laughing.

I wasn't supposed to think about this, but I am. I am drawing castles in the air.

the breeze chills me. And it reminds me of a faint perfume. Not mine. Never mine.

"Walk away?"

I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. My own feet just thought wrong. Even my instincts failed me. My heart? Leave my heart out of this.

there isn't anything here for me to wait for. Not even hope for.

you have never been here with me.

your home was elsewhere, but I had the gall to think otherwise.

what I think must be said, but think otherwise.

"I know", but I don't really want to listen to words that would further crush my pride.

I could have been. I could be. But, no. My chances are frugal. Possibilities though endless, remain in my head.

you think this line of thought is inappropriate. I think it is only fitting.

"Walk away."



I say, I will.

---- And I will.

Almost there.

Browsing through my "parked quill", I saw an entry I had for June 23, 2005. The first line looked familiar, as well as the rest that flowed thereafter. I decided to update the last part, though, for Time's sake.

Additional note: I didn't just update the last part. I modified the entry from top to bottom, not completely but enough to change its feel.

I'm torn halfway between the gutter and the stars. To fall means to go back to certainty, with the stable pavement under my feet. To soar means to touch the sky, to lose myself in the process, and perhaps to realize there aren't enough comets for us all to call our own.

This is the farthest distance I've flown so far, not to mention the strangest route I've taken. Law is art and science fused, they say. Perhaps that is why I had thought I can just go halfway. I live for art; I'd rather die than study science. I had thought I would be torn halfway. But I've moved past the midpoint, just a short distance from the clearing.

In the course of three (yes, three) weeks, my then uneventful life experienced a lot of good times and enthusiasm, bringing back the bloom in my cheeks. And it was as if I were sixteen yet again. I gallivanted with countless of people who had been longing for a tease of the carefree life once more, and albeit temporarily. I've surrendered to sleepless nights due to booze, fun, and freedom. Letting my hair down, I engaged in unplanned conversations and trips, in adventures and misadventures.

And when I returned to the uneventful life I had, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I still had spontaneous bursts of energy and verve within me. Everything's fast-paced and monochromatic now, save for the ties and scarves and shawls worn by the expectant faces around me. But I still feel refreshed. I still have the urge to giggle at every unusually mundane sound.

And I realize that this is what I'd like to do (yes, 'this'). Though Code's pages mandate discipline, I choose to sway against necessity and imperativity. The right to expression. The freedom to be. And the choice is mine, as it had always been.

I've found my lines. I realized it as soon as I changed the title from "Halfway" to "Almost there."

You see, I don't search for my passion anymore. I make it - from scratch or otherwise.

Bye bye, fiction.

Law school's assignments and readings have become a little more tedious; the classes have become so monotonous that my ears can't help but drown out class discussions and recitations. God help my grades, then.

When I'm in Veritas (our classroom which is located at the 4th floor of our school building), I often find myself staring out of the glass windows, that is, when the blinds aren't drawn. Otherwise, I'd just be staring at the wall behind the current professor's head and dream.

Hah! So times haven't really changed. I'm still physically present in class but my thoughts are elsewhere. I don't think it's normal since all my other classmates can thoroughly immerse themselves in the Rules of Court and what-nots. I, on the other hand, dream about actors, and singers, beaches, and Volkswagon autos, and musical compositions, and going to Ireland, and Korea, being swept off my feet by the perfect man ever, and... everything that I can never have and everything that can never happen to me, really.

*Sigh.* Just thinking about having to stop daydreaming and creating stories in my head depresses me. It's only in my head that "things" happen. The hopeless dreamer. Or hopeless romantic. Suit yourself. My classmate told me to stop reading novels and to stop watching movies or series which cater to the emotions. She said these catalysts will only make me idealistic and, obviously emotional. I got the impression that those "states of being" have to be avoided, just like the plague.

And I think to myself, wouldn't that be really hard - to be devoid of emotions, I mean, and to be so cynical that all you can see are the sharp angles and lines of everything around you? Angles, lines in all harshness. But with dreams, idealism, and a heart, I can play with these angles and lines and turn them into something fun and creative. Or something impossible. Fiction. Whatever you fancy. But still, the life is there. My life and my heart are there.

I don't want to live in a cold, indifferent world. But if I continue dreaming about impossible things, I'd find myself in a backwater town, hanging clothes early in the morning while whistling country tunes. But if I quit daydreaming, I'll turn into an unimaginative old prude who's as robotic as the Energizer bunny.

Daydreams lull me to sleep. They calm me somehow. They cheer me up when I'm down; they entertain me when there's nothing to do. They give me my healthy dose of sadness at times, even. But they also distract me like crazy, as if my brain is on daydream autopilot and there's nothing I can do but watch the images. And everything gets drowned out, even the important things. In that case, they blind me.

As anticlimactic as ever, I know now what to do: I have to let go. Grow up. Forget the fantastic stories in my head.

It's going to be a hard withdrawal issue. But I just have to deal with it.

taking a deep, positive, breath

A master of the art of tax and procedure told me to stop being melodramatic. And that I have absolutely nothing to be insecure about. And that having faith can sometimes prove to be beneficial to one's spirit.

I don't really agree with him but I guess I won't damage my brain if I do try to be positive for a while, or at least until my nerves can't take this (noxious?) change anymore.

Truth be told, I want to trust people badly and just hold on to that sprig of hope that there ARE still good people in the world. Honest people. Trustworthy people. Sincere, good people.

Fine. I just want to be in control of everything. I don't like to be surprised. So what better to do than to anticipate cruelty. But I guess that's just not how the Heavens had wanted Its people to be like. (Funny I always say "the Heavens" instead of God, Father Almighty, etc.) I guess that's where faith steps in.

I spend 99.9% of my time (almost) just worrying about the future and doubting people's intentions. The practice hasn't made me more human nor more discerning. In fact, I think it has made me older but, definitely, most definitely, not wiser. I should trust people. Especially those who have been there for me, through the good times and even some of the bad times.

They might have hurt me along the way, with their insensitivity and whatnots but hey, I've hurt them too. An eye for an eye, though I am most vengeful.

But hurting is not the point. Learning is. And "searching for the thing that's worth living for." The search. I've found mine more than a year ago, after praying at the Monastery of Transfiguration in Bukidnon. Although a few months thereafter, I've forced myself to think that the happiness will not last in order to "remain sane". However, it worked against my purpose.

There must be a reason why the Heavens (okay, God) led me to where I am now. To amuse and entertain others with my crazy antics and my uncanny knack for corny jokes? To nurse people when they're not in tip-top shape? To be there for the one person I care much about during his "down" times? Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. I could only surmise but I shouldn't expect my reward immediately thereafter. Neither should I demand for it. Heaven knows what to do and I should have faith.

Love? Of course I should have that too. And DO, that, mind you. Without doubting, without asking why and what for. Without bartering for something in return.

It's a long way off my usual course of business but I guess it'll be worth all the sweat in the end. The learning process never stops and if I'd ever find myself falling from a cliff after, I shouldn't regret. Even falls feel good: the wind blowing through your hair, the velocity, nothingness around you. Falls do not go on forever. You hit the ground and you have a new life. Life begins for you again, one way or the other.

I wish he'd read this and feel my sincerity, my contrition. I've been self-destructive for so long and have always justified this by some lame excuse or another. It has got to stop. I have got to live meaningfully.

I'd laugh a lot more. Laughter is not only good for my heart but also for my abs. Since I'm thinner now (I remember that light post of a guy who had referred to me before as "chubby"), having sculpted abs should make me look tougher.

If the month ends with me in tears, fine. In laughter, better. No regrets still. Every step I have taken to get here has a meaning and a few gashes won't make me less of a person. The important thing is that I have taken those steps, and lived.

P.S.
Chang, please support my "positive" stance. Comment positively. Hahaha!