in-hindsite-blog

[in-hindsite-blog]

[original] 

dated: circa late July to early August

Perhaps you never really liked me in the first place. Perhaps I was the only one who has readily there for you, magnifying the concern I displayed towards you. Perhaps you just needed someone in place of her, but you never really let go of her, still.

I used to think that the things that you did (or the things you’ve been doing) were non-negotiables for me. Taking you out of the picture, I could never concur with those acts. 

When I found out you were seemingly enjoying another girl’s company, it came to me that this fight must come to an end. I have never felt so disposable and dispensable. It boggled me how easy it is for you to throw everything out of the window, as if nothing ever meant anything to you. I realized that I will never be enough for you - as evidenced by the number of girls you’ve been as sweet to, while we were having this thing. I know in myself that I am not one to quit, and if not for competition, I still would’ve fought harder. I didn’t want to put myself out there anymore and fight for nothing. Most of all, I didn’t want to burden you any longer. 

Even with this, I am still left to wonder, where did I ever fall short? I still keep asking myself how I could have made things easier for you, how I could have given more, if only I could have shown you how much you meant to me - more than I thought I did. And because of that, I want to say that I am sorry.

I am sorry for the times I don’t reply or pick up. I’m sorry for getting upset over your jokes. I am sorry for not showing up during your gig on your birthday in Starmall when I said I would. I’m sorry for that one time I told you we’d drop you off but I never called back. I’m sorry for being glued to my phone that one night we had dinner in UCC. I’m sorry for all the times I made you worried when I failed to respond on time. I’m sorry for not being expressive with my affections. I’m sorry for failing to reciprocate your generosity and tenderness. I’m sorry for taking long to make things okay after an argument. I’m sorry for making things difficult for you. I’m sorry for making you feel worse about yourself. I’m sorry for making you feel unwanted. I’m sorry for not being enough. I’m sorry for falling short.

Through it all, I can’t help but just simply offer you my sincerest gratitude. I don’t think verbal gratitude can ever repay what you’ve done for me but, thank you. 

Allow me to lift this excerpt off my supposed 2016 New Year message to you, which still very much rings true to this very second:

I just want to express my gratitude for the few months that we’ve been friendships. I can’t recall how we became friends but I’m glad we did, so here goes nothing. Thank you for the occasional libres, for the rides to the station, and even on the way home, for making sure I’m alive and in one piece at the end of the day, for the car conversations that range from random to thought-provoking, thanks for being vulnerable and opening up to me, thank you for giving me a reason to put people first before my work, it made me realize how much I can gain from prioritizing my relationships with other people. Thank you for being one of those whom I can talk to about anything and everything with ease. I don’t know if you’ll believe me but I’ve learned quite a lot from all of your kwentos, whether they’re about your family, your struggles, beliefs and convictions, or even whether they’re about other people - they’ve helped me re-evaluate myself and my dealings with others. Thank you for understanding me when I’m in sprak mode, for respecting my space and the fact that I hate being touched, for riding along with my weird quirks and obssession with cats. Thank you for being funny and annoying but real and genuine in a world where people are constantly trying to put a face. Thank you for being a good friend altogether.

And it doesn’t end there. As our friendship blossomed in the past two years, there were even more things to thank you for:

Thank you for offering me a ride home without me asking, thank you for initiating our conversations, you don’t realize how giddy I feel when I see your chat box pop up, thank you for forgiving me so quickly even if I have done you wrong countless of times, thank you for spending time with me after work, it’s safe to say that being in your company was enough rest for me after a long day, thank you for being incredibly patient with me especially when I get tongue-tied when we fight, thank you for admitting your flaws and mistakes and owning up to them when things go rough, they’ve hurt me more than you can imagine but I’m glad you disclose them to me, and with that, you have thought me a more valuable lesson - and that is learning how to forgive; thank you for being the only person to ask me how I am when everyone thinks I’m fine, thank you for letting me realize that I am capable of feeling all sorts of emotion, thank you for teaching me how to sympathize and empathize, thank you for helping me know how to receive, but most of all, thank you for teaching me how to love. I never thought I’ll be able to give myself as much as I did to you. Whoever I will love next should owe it to you because you were the first to receive a concrete manifestation of my self-giving. 

Maybe I’ll still miss you. Maybe I still wish things were different. It was a great ride with you, thank you for dropping by.

[in-hindsite-blog]

Flashbacks

The morning kissed me on the cheek with a slight sting of flashbacks. 

Flashbacks to the sound of the crashing waves on the beach yesterday, flashbacks to the unwarranted stories I told, flashbacks to this time last year, flashbacks to just a couple of weeks ago.

I still remember vividly what went on in the shores of La Union on the eve of the 24th of May. I remember every single detail. I remember every second I spent with you. But I don’t remember the feeling anymore. I could only go as far as describing it in picturesque imagery but I don’t remember how it felt within. Perhaps that is a good thing - that the desire has finally been washed up shore.

I remembered because as I opened Facebook, I saw a job opening for art director trainees in BBDO. I have half a mind to apply but only God knows what that would do if I get accepted. I know I shouldn’t allow you to still possess a sort of control over my life. Good thing I still remember how life was without you. Most of the time it can get lonely, but most of the time it’s better.

man, i need a job

[in-hindsite-blog]

Begin again

I’m a month short of reaching almost a year of not publishing any write up. That is why I will already I will claim the publication of such before I get to the end of this. Obviously, I don’t usually just write out of habit or out of routine. Lately, however, I’ve been caught up in a rut of sluggish days only to be put to sleep by mental exhaustion from unnecessary overthinking. I guess I am at that point in my life where I am smacked by doubt’s sister every morning - the inevitable existential crisis.

To be honest, I never thought I would experience this. A year ago, I remember being almost certain about what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be. Now, it feels as if I’m waiting for something I’m not sure exists.

I often hear voices, including my own, telling me that great things are about to happen.

Things aren’t just happening.

With the things I’ve read, seen, and absorbed during my duration of being a bum, I felt the pressure of creating a name for myself this early on. So many people my age have done far greater things - interning in Google, starring in a renowned musical, publishing a book, touring the world, producing art for esteemed clients - great things I wish I was also doing.

Sometimes I look back in my past and imagine, what if I never stopped swimming? Would I have been granted a sports scholarship? What if I never stopped dancing? Would I have been a part of a world-class dance troupe? What if I never stopped singing? Would I have been expressing myself through song and not through this half-baked write up? I realized I quit on so many things to focus on my academics. Well you know what, nobody cares about grades in the real world. Perhaps, because I don’t really have something I can hold on to and be proud of, I have allowed fear to loom within and fill up my cup. 

It’s funny how people never suspect me to have fears or anxiety over the future. I’ve always been dubbed as being the jack of all trades, which directly translates to having no problem laying out a path for myself because hey, anything goes, right? It is true that I want a lot of things and I know very well that I possess enough drive to pursue something I’m really passionate about. The thing is, what if I try out one thing and lose my passion for it? 

Recently I have finally summed up what I’m passionate about into one word - storytelling. If I am to take a job, for instance, it would have to be one that will enable me to move people and touch lives through compelling stories. 

And stories themselves are creations - of the artist, of the writer, of whoever has the mind and heart to impart pieces of themselves. This got me thinking. I have always been creating ever since I was a kid. I believe I knew how to draw figures before I could even write. However, what came with being an artist at heart was also being an innate perfectionist. I figured, maybe this is why I never get anything done or never start with anything, for that matter. For someone like me, I feel more comfortable not seeing an artwork come to life than be dissatisfied with its outcome. But this is exactly why the process of perfection often bring artists to their own demise. We expel so much energy on circling around one point leaving us none for the next step.

I’ve embodied this principle of delayed gratification until I came across this tweet:

“The easiest way to kill creativity is to judge your own work as you produce it. Creativity thrives on curiosity and flexibility. Quality control depends on precision. Resist the temptation to edit as you create. Save revising for a separate phase.” - Adam Grant

At this point, nothing resonates with me more than the statement in bold. This is exactly why I have more drafts than published entries. I am so tempted to reach perfection immediately that I fail to relish in the slow and steady process of producing good work. Performance-wise, things haven’t been going well for me and I realized it’s time for a lifestyle change. With this, I will write. Freely.

Unexpectedly, it is in writing that I am able to bring back structure in my life. It is in jotting down words and creating rhythm through sentences that I am able to tinker with the thoughts that run aimlessly in my mind. I wouldn’t call it a passion, but writing has always been a companion whenever I needed one. That is why, I have always wondered how big of a lapsed writer I’ve become if it was something that meant a lot to me.

As I was scouring through websites that I hope would serve as an inspiration for creating my own, I stumbled upon an article that talked about getting started with writing. What struck me the most was this:

“I write because it’s a way for me to process, reflect, and work ideas out. I write because if enough people ask for my opinion on a topic, I might as well have somewhere to point them to. I write because I learn things along the way. And I share in the hopes that the lessons I’m learning can help a greater group of people — not just me.” - Ximena Vengoechea, For the Love of Writing

This statement unmistakably hits home as I’ve always upheld the principle of doing things for others or rather, thinking of others in doing things. Whenever I couldn’t hold myself up to carry on, I immediately think of who can benefit from what I am about to offer if I’m able to accomplish a task. I find it much easier that way. And it is the same flame that keeps my desire to create alive. In fact, as much as I find myself stuck and uncertain about where I should be heading, there are so many stepping stones I want to leap onto. Here they are to name a few:

1. Conduct a 15-minute journaling session in the morning and at night.

2. Finish one watercolor painting and one digital artwork a week until December.

3. Write at least 2 reviews of a movie/documentary a month.

4. Read one book a month.

5. Exercise at least 4 times a week including cardio, yoga, strength training, and HIIT

As you can see, all of them revolve around self-improvement through creating something - and I am looking forward to where this feat will take me. I am not entirely sure if I can pursue this but I badly want a difference in my life and this time, I promise to commit to it. At least, I will try.

As I end, here’s to the first entry of many.

*pats self on the back for finishing this*

[in-hindsite-blog]

On patience

I used to think I was the embodiment of patience - slow to anger, keen on listening, beaming with understanding. 

Now I realized, I am anything but patient, especially towards myself. Every day I get discouraged as I am not able to speed up as quickly as I push myself to. But if I do think about it, every time I am unsure, or every time I am given orders, it takes a good two minutes for me to summon up the courage to ask or suggest something. Some weeks are good, some weeks I just want to forget about. This week is one of those.

A bit over fifty days in our space-themed has lured me into a blackhole of frustration, uncertainty and self-doubt. At times I feel like my officemates dislike me, at times I feel like my boss thinks I am incompetent, at times I feel like people at the office just don’t care about you - except their work. It’s harsh but that’s the impression I get. 

It brings me back to the sleepless nights I’d go through just by thinking about getting into this agency. I didn’t even know which department I was going to be placed in. At first, I thought accounts would be a comfort zone and that creatives would really push me beyond my limits. Looking back, I realized that I am spreading myself too thin with accounts knowing that there is not a single fiber of my being that is naturally inclined to the skills a good account manager needs: organization, people skills, attention to detail. I am anything but those. 

On the other hand, if I put myself in creatives, I would just be doing photoshop all day. I figured it would just be as robotic. I want to think. I want to do something meaningful, something that gives me fulfillment even if it means having to wake up at 7 am to catch the train and go home tired at 10. That’s the kind of fatigue that I would want - one that is out of doing something you love and something that’s good for you.

Maybe I just need a little more patience. Pretentious. Maybe that’s what I am as of now. It has only been over fifty days and I’m already taken aback by the little comets that come crashing through my spaceship. I want to go back to the comforts of earth, it’s only dark in here. Deafening. Lonely. 

I am in dire need of a release -- to get something out of my chest. Yet I can’t seize hold of what it is that I’m trying to escape from. Perhaps I am just fed up with having to sit at my desk for ten hours a day struggling to keep a tone that would mask my distaste towards the monotony that submission to capitalism entails. There is no meaning to what I am doing and that pains me. 

If a few months ago I had set myself into thinking that I usually make good decisions, ones made solely by my brain and without any stain of fleeting emotions. I was wrong. I realized that this innate craving for struggle and hardship for breakfast is only making me more hungry.

Could I be moving to fast? What about what really gives me joy, or the late nights doing work that I love? What pain will I prefer to sustain? That is the question I am asking. Maybe I’ve known the struggle I’m willing to carry out, but I was too much inside my head to listen to the burning desire of every heartbeat that calls out my passion.

[in-hindsite-blog]

On silence

I often find myself basking in silence -- draping my self with my thoughts of existence and the world. Recently my friend told me she despised silence. It’s a freeway for grief and disappointment. What comes after one’s profession of love isn’t reciprocated? Silence. What arises out of the reveal of a lie? Silence. When someone leaves for good, what do you hear? Silence.

All these seem lock up silence in a dungeon - never to be heard, never to be revisited. But I have a different view. Because silence is beautiful and out of it spring the most beautiful of moments - when you’re in awe, when you receive something you never thought would come, when you realize you love someone. It’s the cord that strings two familiar hearts together. It’s the feeling you get when you relish in your existence. It’s what envelopes you in prayer.

Often times, I think silence speaks volumes more than you’re able to hear.

[in-hindsite-blog]

For once, I just want to be the only one you’re looking at. 

[in-hindsite-blog]

I hope you know

A few months back, when I assumed you didn’t like me (anymore), I felt content, relieved that I get to have a soul to share my life with, without any restraints. Today, I woke up with a heavy heart - with that same thought in mind.

Because yesterday, yesterday will be the last time I will initiate. Yesterday was the last time you’d walk me to the station. Yesterday was the last time I’ll attend your gig. Yesterday was the last time we sit for hours in a coffee shop. Yesterday was the last time I’ll accompany you to shoe stores. Yesterday was the last time we make puns and laugh at each other for the several mishaps the universe puts us through. Because yesterday, there was no spark in your eyes any longer, yet mine were twinkling like the stars that wrapped us that one evening of May. And it’s hurting me, so I will leave everything to yesterday - bittersweet, and beautiful yesterday.

Someone else is making you happy. And I will accept that - I will accept that my role in your life is probably over. But I will let you go because that is what love is, not possessive, not controlling - but freeing. And I will let you slip from my hands as freely as you’d want even if it leaves me feeling emptier than usual - because that is what love is.

To whoever will capture your heart next,

I hope she’s fond of music, and of good content, because you would often share insights and ideas about what went right, what went wrong, and what could have been done better. And these will serve as the springboard to the deep conversations in which you like to dwell in.

I hope she’s patient enough to wait for you while deciding on which restaurant you want to eat in, because you often can’t decide what your tastebuds are craving for. I hope she’s used to walking as well, because you will walk back and forth looking for a place to eat, only to end up in your first choice. Or in a burger place - I hope she can enjoy burgers with you. And once you get there, I hope she still patiently waits for you to consume your food because you tend to relish in every bite.

I hope she has good memory, and would not forget to invite you to outings or what not. I hope she reminds you of the things you have yet to accomplish and the responsibilities you’ve yet to face. More importantly, I hope she remembers events well - because you tend to forget - so she can remind you of all the wonderful things that happen between the two of you.

I hope she likes the night, because there would times when you’d end up talking until the sun rises. But I hope she’s concerned enough to let you sleep when you have to, because you tend to fall asleep even if tell yourself that you’re not, just to convince her that you still want to talk. I hope you reassure him that you have the rest of the days, months, years, to follow to have more meaningful conversations.

I hope she’s strong - physically and mentally - because you often have a lot to carry - literally and emotionally. And I hope she willingly offers a hand, every single time and not only when the weight is too much for you to handle. 

I hope she’s positive and kind enough to serve as a buffer to your hilarious negativity towards life (sometimes). I hope she’s objective as well, because you like talking about people - a lot. May her optimism seep into your senses and let you see the good that remains in this world.

I hope she commends you for your little achievements because I know how much you like to take pride in these baby steps, and although you will never admit it, you feel a sense of fulfillment when someone else aside from yourself recognizes that.

May she be mature enough to be able to keep up with your self-proclaimed emotional instability, because there will be times her phone will ring at odd hours, there will be countless times when all she’d hear would be complains and rants about how unfair life is, there will be moments when she’d have to muster the strength to lift the both of you especially if she’s feeling down herself, just to make you feel more safe and secure. I hope she knows that whenever you feel down, at times, all you’d want is a listening ear. And I hope that’s what she’s used to - listening - because you have great and wonderful stories to tell and it would be a waste if the words just get thrown into the air.

And I hope she listens to every song you sing because personally, I think it’s one of the most soothing sounds in the world, next to the sound of you breathing, or the sound of your laughter - even more than ocean waves.

I hope she accepts you for your past and makes it a point to help you become a better person, every single waking moment. I hope she knows how to call you out for your mistakes - not by telling you that you are wrong, but by telling you that it is not in vain as long as you learned something, and that there is always, always hope.

I hope she loves herself, because that’s the only way she could love you without letting herself be consumed. I hope she respects herself enough to remain modest and loyal to you because you tend to see people you admire as they are, without any pretense. And that’s the only way she can assure you that she’s complete and whole, but still would be willing to accept you as a worthwhile addition to her life. 

I hope she prays. And I really do hope she prays a lot. Because there will be times when she’d feel helpless and hopeless, when she’d feel unworthy of your kindness and selflessness, when she’d feel that she’s not strong enough to let you feel the slightest hint of relief and comfort, when she herself could not help you with your issues. I hope she prays - about your strifes, your worries, but most of all - about you - everyday. That you may grow to be more independent and capable of dealing with things on your own, that you get that kick of motivation to help you actualize your great potential, that you learn to be more charitable towards those who are unkind to you, that you forgive yourself for all your flaws and mistakes, that you finally get to appreciate yourself and be able to take credit for your winnings, that you also run to Him in times of need, that you may be touched by the Holy Spirit, that you become the person He has molded you to be. 

And I hope she’s not afraid of trusting, of allowing you to be generous, of opening up, of sharing her colorful inner world with you, of making you feel wanted, of making you feel loved -- because that’s where I faltered, and I only realized it in hindsight.

I hope she never gives up on you, because even if we are apart and we’re not like before there’s one thing I’ll never give up on - and that is praying for you. And finally, I hope she loves you more than I ever could.

[in-hindsite-blog]

My brother doesn’t realize how good he is. He doesn’t see that he has it. But the thing I admire about my brother is that he just keeps on going even without the assurance that he will win. He jumps into things, scared, uncertain, insecure -- and yet, he just does it.

And because of that, he always wins.

But he would never take pride in it, nor bring it back to himself. 

Today, he told me he won. That doesn’t happen. 

Today, I told him how proud I was. That doesn’t happen either.

[in-hindsite-blog]

All these conversations. Great. Mindblowing. Intellectually stimulating. But not a single one compares to the ones I have with you.

[in-hindsite-blog]

You hurt me multiple times and yet I stayed, because I thought that even though I did not need you, you needed me -- until you took advantage of my kindness and my sensitivities; until it all turned into a wayward display of emotional manipulation; until you found someone else to serve as your emotional punching bag.

Funny how I can see clearly now why things didn’t work out with you and her. You want everything to go your way, you forget things without even trying, which is why I think you never learn because you don’t want to.

Maybe that’s where you’re good at -- keeping people hanging, making sure they always held on to you, letting people chase you. Congratulations, you are magnetic - but I am charged differently.

We were both afraid but you can’t say I didn’t try. I tried so hard but you forget so easily and you quit so quickly, just as I admitted that perhaps I might want you too.

But if we all put the teared up pages away and string them back together, I don’t think you ever liked me in the first place. It is quite a sad thought to think that our friendship only blossomed for as long as it was convenient, for as long as liked me because you needed me. 

Well, c’est la vie.

I guess this is see you around, I hope you do well because I still believe in you like I always have and I always will -- I just wasn’t the one to help you change. 

Thank you, for everything.

[in-hindsite-blog]

My head’s pounding. I breathe heavy. But I have to get these thoughts out of my chest.

I wanted you to fight - just a little bit more. There and then, however, when I was accelerating my pace at life, you just. . . stopped catching up. I had to slow down. I don’t like slowing down.

We have reached that pinnacle when we’ve been so engrossed in each other’s lives that it’s hard to imagine it without the other’s involvement. I guess this is another phase wherein you could easily shrug at my disappearance rendering everything prior, null and void. I fear we might get stuck in this phase.

It’s difficult when you see things coming. 

But then, some triggers transpire - you staying up for someone else way past your usual bedtime, you being unusually nice and happy the next day, you replying for the sake of it. I wonder where I went wrong. I wonder if I am jealous that I am no longer your solace. I wonder if I have turned into the cause of your distress.

Perhaps you had fought long enough while I was oblivious to everything. Perhaps you also got tired. I don’t blame you. It just confirmed a fragment of my judgment on who you are and how you behave. Maybe if you held on a little bit longer, I could have let my guard down (again), even if you are also the very person who reminded me why I had those walls up in the first place.

But I don’t want someone who gives up easily. I want someone who will fight. There is an ongoing war inside me that is too volatile for a home to be built upon. What’s sad is, you were at the gates -- the farthest anyone has ever reached. If only you stuck around, and fought harder. But darling, this is an internal war we are talking about, hiding beneath this cheery disposition. That’s the answer you are looking for -- why I am so afraid to be vulnerable. It’s a war that will leave you burning with hurt if you come in too quickly, unarmed, unprepared. It’s a war that will leave the both of us to perish if it’s unlocked.

I want someone who is not only willing to face that crusade with me, but is spirited enough to help me overcome it. As much as I convince myself I’m strong, that very doing of daily playact is proof of my weakness.

But I tell you, once you have managed to break the lava that has been cooled down that confines my heart, I would have nothing but love to give. 

Darling, I wanted you to fight.

[in-hindsite-blog]

At times you convince yourself otherwise. Sometimes you are proven wrong. Most of the time, it's true what they say.

M.T.

[in-hindsite-blog]

On vulnerability

I’ve always believed that I could survive alone. Sixteen years young, I took the train from the playful grasslands called home and into the congested urban scene. Three and a half years into this urban jungle, I figured, I will never feel as warm as I did back home.

I tried it once - being an open book. At the onset, resting in someone’s heedfulness wrapped me in an embrace of security and consolation. I decided to bury myself deep behind hideous laughter and nonsensical jokes, drowning and drowning with every layer stripped off. I’ve decided to become so impenetrable that no one can see me. I refuse to take that first degree burn to a higher degree.

Until you came.

It was that moment, that night when we shivered at the eeriness of the waves crashing in the darkness but lay in comfort with fingers buried in the cold sand, resting in each other’s existence. My soul was as full as starry heavens that enveloped you and me. For the first time, someone felt like home. 

Though there are times we feel like running away from home. There are times when home isn’t the safest we could take repose in. We burst out of the door, run out so fast that the wind could dry the tears on our cheeks. I never thought I had to run away from home. Everything we built, came burning down to the ground until what was left were ashes.

But you, my friend, you showed me your true colors. Regardless, you are still a work of art - the kind I will just look at and appreciate from a distance. As much as I’d want to, there is a great price to pay if I hang you on my wall. Because I realized, no matter how much I fixate my eyes on you, no matter how much I make sense of your strokes, no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to repaint you. 

Right now, I’m building another home where I can lock myself up in high-rise concrete, maybe surrounded by a moat. For now, I think I’ll be fine. But they said, people don’t have to climb, they just have to go around and look for a door. And one day, someone may find the door. It could be anyone. It could be you. But for now, I’ll be holding the keys.

(Perhaps I am just a little scared)

(Perhaps I am more terrified)

Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence… —  Antoine de Saint Exupéry, The Little Prince