chrisuperpo

[chrisuperpo]

I don't know why I am writing this. But the rain is falling outside my window, and i don't have enough of smoke. I am in this strange city, alone in this room and still alone outside this house. And I want to go home, but there is no home to go to. And that's make me sad. So I play Vivaldi's Four Season in my cellphone, and write this. I don't usually listen to classic music, especially those kind which has no lyrics. I am not that type of person. I like words with rhythm. Poetry being sung. But I am sad, and Vivaldi's reminds me that this is going to change. As his song shift from winter to spring, I know that this sad will end and happy will come. That makes me relieve. I always like listening to music. But I couldn't sing a note. I always like the idea of love. But I couldn't handle a hand. My hand sweats a lot. I thought by this age, I am already certain what love is. I should know by now that when she appears before me I would recognize her. I would have hugged her, if I did. But I didn't. And like in love, music is still strange to me. I don't know anything about both of them, but they make me hope for the better, and that's what important. So I play Vivaldi's Four Season again.

[chrisuperpo]

biggest faker

i don't know much about happiness but let me tell you where i am good at: identifying a good laugh apart from the fake. i see the strain in the muscle the quivers in their lips the shame in their hands covering their mouth as they laugh afraid of others to see how fake they are but their eyes betrayed them, the eyes show how desparate they are to win among themselves most of those fakers are in this competition called "i've got the best life". and those who forget to laugh loses the chance to hold the prize what is the prize? i don't know. but in this world that even the best things are useless and transient, what is there to gain if you win? i don't know. but i still want to win. so i also laugh with them.

[chrisuperpo]

Sa milyong-milyong alon sa dagat, iilan lang din naman ang nakakarating at nakakahalik sa dalampasigan.

[chrisuperpo]

May isang panaderya malapit dito sa amin kung saan ang tanging tinda nilang tinapay ay pandesal.

Madalas akong bumili ng pandesal dito tuwing umaga kahit hindi masarap.

Isang araw nagtanong sa ‘kin ang aming kapit-bahay kung bakit patuloy at walang tigil pa rin akong bumibili ng pandesal sa panaderyang iyon kung may malapit din naman isa pang panaderya na may masarap na pandesal.

Sagot ko, kasi tuwing umaga bago ako bumili ng pandesal ay nagtatanong ako kung masarap ba ang kanilang gawa. Sabi nila masarap daw.

“At nagpauto ka naman?” patawa niyang sabi, at saka umalis.

Ang hindi niya alam ako ang nang-uuto sa taga-gawa pandesal sa panaderyang iyon.

[chrisuperpo]

Bago tayo mamulat sa mundo Nakahimlay muna tayo sa sulok Kung saan ang dilim lang Ang tanging tahanang Alam ng ating mga puso. Dumating ang liwanag Na lumamon sa dilim Sinanay nating huminga sa bagong dating Hanggang mahalin natin ang araw At katakotan ang gabi. Ganun naman talaga tayo madaling makalimot sa bisig na minsang naghatid sa atin ng init na minsang yumakap sa'tin na minsang tinawag nating “ating”.

[chrisuperpo]

Things I feel today: 1. I am hideous unworthy filth boy you'll meet in hallways. 2. My nose is such a disgrace 3. I don't love myself because how could i 4. I'm trying to love myself but don't know where to begin 5. I'm starting to hate myself 6. I'm starting to believe that my life would be just a waste, another waste that will rot hard for just a number of days 7. My confidence is as low as my grades, failing point always 8. My grammar is awfully bad af 9. My poetry is nearly as bad as my personality 10. I'm trying to build myself from the ruins of my old pal i killed

[chrisuperpo]

23 year old Chris, I know I ought to tell you everything nice, good, or even magical, since you are dying. But I know that would be bullshit. I know you, you rather want the truth. So here they are: Maybe your back are sored already lying in the bed of the hospital. You always hate the smell of hospital. I hate it too. It smells something you can't put a place into. And when you were younger, you said, maybe this is the result if the smell of the living mixed with the rotting body of the dying. This year, when you were still living your nineteen year old life, something very disappointing happened. You tried your best to fit in the world of your idols. You competed in poetry interpretation, and you got lost. You joined in a scriptwriting competition, and brought nothing home. You were supposed to be good at these things. But when you went out and showcase what you have, it seemed you have no talents at all. You sucked at being 19 year old, you know. You can't even get a medal or a trophy. You tried your best but you were a failure. You were depressed every single day. You locked up yourself to your very dark room. You pushed away people. You overthink everything. You stopped dreaming about things. You made two girls cry. You went back chasing your first love. You cut your friendship to almost everyone you knew in high school. You wanted to die, but you were a coward and you loved your family. You should be grateful people like you die so soon. You were a failure, so what? Insect will made their claim on your body in few years to come. Everything happened should happen.You are exactly where you supposed to be now. The depressions, the losing, the pushing... these things should happen. They led you where you are now. Just smile. One thing, could you please message me back about the years that happened between our time? I mean I when you were 20, 21, 22 years old. When was the time you diagnosed with what you are having now? Do i get better? Do i find the answers to all the questions? Tell me, please. Your nineteen year old self.

[chrisuperpo]

When they all left the office, that's your chance to take a selfie.

[chrisuperpo]

At House of Frida-Bacolod

[chrisuperpo]

Eternal Sunshine of Fearful Mind

Once there was a cockroach who lived in the garbage dump site for so long. He never sought another site to hunt for foods. He felt contented in every garbage that his dump site could offer, or atleast that's how he rationalized it. Well, it just so easy to pretend that you're contented than to face the truth: he is afraid of getting stamp on by chance or slap by a slipper intentionally. One day there was a beautiful cockroach who passed by his site. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. His jaw dropped. His world stopped. And he knew that he was seeing the girl of his life, his soulmate. He saw her, his destiny; only she didn't. She continued her way out of his site into another garbage dump site. Probably seeking for food, he thought. He wanted to follow her. But what if outside has much more to offer, and he would feel discontented with every food his site could only offer when he returns. What if outside would inflict greed to his system. What if outside demands him to seek more. He is so afraid of everything outside could have. The uncertainty of events, the shoes stamping, the slippers slapping and everything. He let out a sigh, close his eyes, and began to sleep. In his dream the beautiful cockroach stayed in his site. And they lived contentedly ever after.

[chrisuperpo]

a group of cockroaches gathering in a dark messy room that has been abandoned for years. they're having a meeting of their lives. they are, today, going to be transformed to beautiful butterflies as what the eldest cockroach said. to be honest, none of them has witnessed such thing. but one day after a hazy afternoon, amidst fog and smoke the eldest cockroach appeared hardly breathing. he went black out as soon as he saw other cockroaches. and when he woke up, he told everyone what had happened. he said that he was meeting the girl of his life. he was planning to propose to her. but before he could bend his knee, a liquid was spill to the girl of his life and a spark — a spark— transformed her into an awesome red butterfly. and the other cockroaches dropped their jaws with amazement as they heard it. and they needed no proof to believe, shutting the hell up all the questions they could muster. the idea of transforming themselves into a butterfly is enough for them to believe without reservations. so in this day, in this place where the eldest cockroach saw his beautiful cockroach turned into a butterfly, all other cockroaches will transform themselves into something more beautiful and easily to loved creature of natures. they see the container that read gasoline. and as a man pours out the liquid they exclaim in happiness. and as the lit match falls down they exclaim in happiness. and as the fire lights up they exclaim in happiness. as the flame reaches their heart they exclaim in happinees. poor messy cockroaches, they die knowing they would become something they could not. poor filthy cockroaches, they die as martyrs to their illusion.

[chrisuperpo]

Higit sa ano pa man, una tayong umiyak kaysa tumawa sa buhay na ito. Paulit-ulit muna tayong gumapang hanggang sa makatayo sa ating mga sariling mga paa. Ilang ulit munang nagkamali saka natuto kung paano ba dapat mabuhay. At sa ilang libong aral na ating natutunan ang layo pa rin natin sa kung ano ang totoo. Ilang tama man ang ating gawin mamatay pa rin tayong hindi masisilayan ang anino ng tunay na dahilan kung bakit tayo nandito. Hindi tayo nandito para mangarap na balang araw ay yumaman. Hindi tayo nandito para pumasok sa eskwela walong oras sa isang araw, limang araw sa isang linggo, apat na linggo sa isang buwan, sampung buwan sa isang taon, higit kumulang na labinglimang taon sa iyong buong buhay. Labinglimang taon kapalit ang diploma. Hindi tayo nandito para sa isang papel. Hindi tayo nandito para magtama ng lahat nang mali. Ano bang alam natin sa tama? Wala. Kaya hinay-hinay lang sa pagtataas ng daliri para punan ang kapintasan ng iba. Hindi tayo nandito para isalba ang kalunos-lunos na kalagayan ng bansa. Hindi tayo nandito para ihahon sa hirap ang pamilya. Hindi tayo nandito para gumawa ng mabuti sa iba. Hindi tayo nandito para yumakap sa kung ano ang sa iba ay tama. Hindi tayo nandito para magdasal na marating ang langit sana. Hindi tayo nandito para sa anuman o kahit sinuman. Kaya hindi man natin masilayan ang tunay na dahilan kung para saan nga ba ang buhay na bigay. Bakit hindi mo sa sarili mo ito ay ialay? Ang mabuhay araw-araw habang kinikilatis ang iyong kabuuan. Ang tanungin ang sarili kung ano ba talaga ang gusto. Ang huminga at magmasid nang hindi nagmamadali. Bigyan ang sarili ng galak sa pagtanaw ng lahat. Ang pagtigil sa lahat ng gusto ng mundo na gawin mo para damhin ang katahimikan na umaalingawngaw sa iyong kalamnan. Ang magmahal, ibigay ang lahat ng laman ng iyong puso at magising isang araw para mamaalam sa iyong sinta nang hindi nagdadalawang isip. Ang lumayo at hindi lumingon. Ang pagbalik na parang hindi ka lang lumisan. Ang pag-iyak sa lahat ng sakit at pagpahid sa lahat ng luha. Ang pagdama sa lahat ng emosyon. Ang hindi pagpigil sa sarili na tumawa. Mabuhay ka na parang ang buhay mo ay parang sayo lang. Maging madamot ka kung kinakailangan. Maging tamad ka sa araw na gusto mo. Magbasa ka ng libro hanggang kaya mo. Pumunta sa concert ng gusto mong banda. Kumanta sa loob ng jeep na parang walang bukas. Matutong umayaw. Hindi ito tama. Ngunit hindi rin ito mali. Walang alam ang mundo; huwag kang papauto.

[chrisuperpo]

the only way to win my soul is to first realize it does not need saving

[chrisuperpo]

Huwag kang maniwala sa kanila. Hindi maganda ang ngipin ng pag-ibig. Wala ito kayumangging mga mata na nagbabago kapag nasilakan ng araw. Hindi matangos ang kanyang ilong. Hindi pula ang kanyang bibig. Hindi siya mabango. Ang mukhang sabi nila sa'yo ay mukha ng pag-ibig ay isang kahibangan. Dahil sa katunayan, wala itong mukha. Hindi ito palangiti. Hindi ito nasasarapan sa tsokolate at lalong ayaw nito sa bulaklak. Pero mahilig itong lumapit. Tapos paunti-unti kamay ay ilalagay sa iyong balikat. Tapos sasabihan kang ikaw ay maganda. Tapos ikaw ay ngingiti. Tapos ikaw ay mapapayakap sa kanya. Pero hindi siya yayakap pabalik. Bagamat magpupumiglas siyang makawala sa iyong bisig. Ayaw niyang nasasakal. Kaya hahanap siya ng ibang balikat na mapapalagyan ng kanyang kamay, at tengang bubulongang “ ang ganda mo” pero hindi siya gagapusin. Ikaw ay iiyak. Tapos sasabihin mong hindi iyon ang pag-ibig. Pero mali ka. Kung ang iniisip mo ang pag-ibig ay gustong maging isa kasama mo habambuhay. Mali ka. Kung ang iniisip mo ang pag-ibig ay magbubuo sa'yo. Magtatama sa lahat ng mali mo. Mali ka. Kung ang iniisip mo ang pag-ibig ay puno ng talino at karanasan. Mali ka. Kung ang iniisip mo ang pag-ibig ay hindi ka sasaktan. Mali ka. Sapagkat... Ang pag-ibig, higit sa lahat, ay hibang sa kalayaan. Hindi ito perpekto. Wala itong mukha. Hindi ito ang kulang sa buhay mo. Dahil ang pag-ibig, hindi man natin lubusang maintindihan, ay kulang din.

[chrisuperpo]

Nandito na tayo sa pinakamahirap na parte ng ating buhay. Kumbaga sa bagyo naghihintay nalang tayo dumating siya at humagupit. Nagawa na natin ang lahat ng pwedeng gawin. Ang tanging pwede nalang gawin ay tumingala sa langit at maghintay ng mga bumabagsak na tala at humiling ng lahat na sana na pwedeng dasalin. Sana sagutin na niya ako. Sana nagustohan niya ang liham ko. Sana nakita niya ang pintig ng puso ko sa bawat espasyo ng mga salita sa sinulat kong tula sa kanya. Sana hindi pa niya ako nalilimotan. Sana mabayaran na ako. Sana magkapera ako. Sana makapasa ako. Sana magkahimala. Sana umuwi na siya. Nandito na tayo sa punto ng pagpipigil ng hininga sa mga hindi siguradong paparating. Umaasa sa libo-libong bituin na dingging ang bulong ng puso na makamit ang nais. Nandito na tayo, ngayon pa ba tayo susuko? Isang hakbang na lang buntong hininga ang babati sa atin. Kaya humawak ka sabay nating harapin ang mga along dala ng bagyo.

[chrisuperpo]

i am coming back to this. always. #sacredheart

[chrisuperpo]

Holy is the darkness. Holy is the sky filled with scattered stars. Holy is the night I think of you. I think of you like children look forward for the recess bells. Gripping at the end of the armchair, looking at the teacher but doesn't see her. I think of you most when the rain fall with the unusual scent of pavement wetted for the first time for a long period of time. I imagine your frizzy hair you don't give a damn of comb every morning. Call me crazy, but I hear your voice sometimes all day, I kept my neck constantly turning to every angle just to make sure it was not yours. I know it was not yours, because how would you be here near me, but I am a little hopeful anyway, I turned. I can see you writing me in a special scented paper you have kept for years, and I wonder what would be the adjectives you write about me. Because I care about how you think about my nose. I care about appearance. I care about lips color. I care about hair scented with shampoo. But that doesn't mean I care if you your features don't meet the standards of this world. I just want to see you. Your face, I want to memorize every contour, every angle and edge, and your eyes that reflect the universe I am so afraid to put rain into. I want to keep you like a photograph inside my head. And I will carry it like story storytellers tell— so proud. Talking as if he owns the world just because he knows he does. Tonight, I will just idle here under the sky full of stars and a boastful moon above me. Trying to paint your face in my mind with a color of realism I have gathered inside me. I will paint your eyes blue like river reflected in the clouds. Your eyebrows red, cause I know you are bull fighting everyone who wants to ride above your back. Your lips are yellow, always afraid of words to fall out, always holding, never telling what your heart is shouting. Sometimes baby, you just have to pull up your guts, and fucking tell that lady with a cat in her hand, when she asked you what you think of her hat tell her that it was awful, just like that and walk away without turning back. Sometimes you don't have to wait for the waves to get back ashore. Sometimes you have to wear off your shoes, and chase the waves. Chase the waves. — Loooooooonging; cmd