Culmination

16 June 2013

What am I to do with my life? This valid question looms large above my head. There are greater chances for me to get axed in my current, much loved, but ultimate struggle of a job.

What difference would it make? My every waking workday feels like I was going through a beheading sentence. The pun rings undeniably true. Beheading in a sense that I had to hold on everything I think of inside my head because nobody listens and by doing so I lose heart and my capacity to think. If they do, it’s for nothing but show. It became so repetitive and continuous I had developed mental quietness. I no longer think about what we were discussing. I was simply there to sit and agree with what they say though I really disagreed and at most times, especially now, I no longer feel anything; I have lost my power to decide and to judge. Whatever I say was used to my detriment and I, the poor flopping fish was caught by the mouth with a hook. I have been stumped by being cut short even as I was only about to say something. It was no empowering experience but a life sentence of ironic silence. The weak-hearted falters. By that, I am weak-hearted.

Mulling over the truth that I am about to be jobless surprisingly was liberating. My sense of self was soldered together again and I am excited. I still stand by the truth that I love the team – all of them whom I worked with. I hold all of them in high esteem – they are professionals of an extensively magnanimous quality. It was I who was not ready for them. I found the environment oppressive and smothering. I remember again the convenor’s words, “You are holding back.” So you’ve noticed. Ever wondered why?  I can’t keep up with them, it’s too confusing already. How much more when I have to keep up with them, it’s too confusing already. See how confused I am? How much more when I have to keep on repressing myself to fit in when I still do not fit in even if I tried to? That made me doubt myself, as if I was always in the wrong. I know clearly well that I cannot change any of them, it is better if I change myself. Then my self goes on strike, waging sullenly before my face the ‘I quit!’ placard. If my occupation were very mechanical, I wouldn’t find that much of a problem. Well, it might still be but a troubled and deranged mind was not something I want to live with every day. It was difficult to be an HSP who cringes at conflict, is over-respectful and considerate of other people at one’s own expense. 

Season's end

15 June 2013

Most times, my mind is buzzing and hazy.  Unhappiness changes people. My downgrade from cloud 9 was unprecedented. I have gone unannounced and to unknown depths is where I am now.

At most times I am impatient with myself for having to zonk out.  My brain must be super tired. It refuses to think, to analyze, to listen. What it wanted was to be by itself, placidly entering the plaza of nothing, being attended to and demanding gratification. It was on a shut-down day off for system maintenance against my will. Was that physiological or psychological? I was actively thinking, I would do this and I would go there. The muted brain countered: “Do so at your own risk. You know very well that I am running on minimal power, you’ll end up messing things up and tiring me more from your anxiety, incapacity and feelings of assimilated rejection.  I will shut you down so you wouldn’t resist.” It invariably puts itself, and me to sleep. I end up dozing off in the most unexpected moments in the office and at home. My mind was saying, “Please let me off from thinking that matter, I’d rather sleep.” And so it happens, beyond my assent and contrary to my will.

It can’t recuperate quickly with real life changes that were happening. For example, Sam has to repeat statements about twice before I get to answer her. Or, I forget something I just said or something I just did. It is frustrating especially when I’m in my competitive mode and the rest of me do not cooperate. These self-glitches heap up on each other; I was almost always expecting myself to be wrong regardless of what I did.

That hazy time-out mindset came upon me while I was typing this, I had to sleep. Only got back now to completing this entry.

Baclaran is a spiritual fortress. The traffic-extended jeepney commute, the lengthy discussion where I poured out all that I had to say that was bothering me for five months now, the amusement in the driver’s eyes as he was overhearing our conversation though he misdirected us by sentencing us to walk on the one pm sun-scorched path to Baclaran church while he knew very well that he was leading his jeepney to where a shaded path to the church, the magnificent calming presence in Baclaran church, the lit candles on the praying section; I would go on and on in enumerating. A hand was leading me I felt what I was going through was orchestrated by someone more powerful than all that there is, not an accident I had to pass through in drudgery where the days piled on each other unremarkably next to the overwhelming pain of self-annihilation and crushing alienation.

My mood dipped down after I thought I was cheated. I perceived that everyone was intending to cheat on me after Sam and I purchased her two pairs of black school slacks and the lie only a fool would fall for about the selling price of the mold spiced sapsap tuyo. My extreme supposition then: it really was tiring to live; people have the intention of cheating each other.

I was on my fastidious bacteria mood as Micai called it. I wouldn’t grow in environments that were unresponsive to my needs. I was refusing to adapt. It was tiring to live without understanding anything and where trying to understand meant sorrow.

God was letting me be cheated or feel cheated to test my faith. I lacked faith. I no longer believed in anything other than the truth that God exists though to me, all light was extinguished. Living was tedium because it was hard for me to believe in myself and others other than my direct workplace superiors.

They somehow had a terrorizing effect on me. I am but a civilian, a casualty was what I became. I am conscious I am on the brink of being insane if I push on with being my beloved and much admired convenor’s research assistant. I placed myself too much under their authority, all of me was stifled and my poor soul bore the brunt of crushing castigation and self-reproach. The insides of me were being demolished, much to my dismay and to my disservice to self, with the legal arrangements signed, consented and led by me.

It was to my relief that my heart has opened up. I will not rush myself to get better again. Instead, I will surround myself with people whom I love and care for most. I will discover things that I might love and put my focus on. Mom said I should leave work because I am overworked. I say not, I am not overworked, I am overstressed and it’s keeping me from working well.

Deposition

15 June 2013

One of the most rejuvenating days breaking my depression streak is this day. Actual strife has reached me and buoyed me out from the quicksand of the victim mindset.

Waking up twice in a morning and not staring at the wall before eight, the call hour for work, is progress. Struggle against self was not absent but I was deviating from the path of apathy and self-induced craziness. It was something.

Other than that, I was to read slides today. I was actually energetic and excited to go to work and discuss the NTD Forum with Dr. Mimi. She arrived but she was toned down. The truth on her impending defection is a surprise I didn’t want to experience.

It would all be too much harder for the team if I were to stay. I was not providing them with invaluable support. I was an annoying redundancy and we were all better off if I were gone. I was taking work on an insane level it was getting difficult for me to not think of it. My desire for excellence and growth has gone to unhealthy depths I cannot deliver at all. Consternation was making me fidgety and prone to errors. Here in the workplace, mistakes were extravagant commodities paid dearly with the chilling mix of shame, guilt, self-pity and self- doubt. This is getting unhealthy for all the parties involved, my direct salary provider - ACT, the convenor, June, Paul and our research associates. I was a difficult person because I was not being myself around them. I can’t act myself with any of them around. The response they illicit from me is shrinking and avoiding. My best was not at all deemed acceptable. My eyes have seen and I have proven that I am not yet ready for this job no matter how much I desire to do well in it.

Kuya Garell was a comforting companion. His humble wisdom debunked what I supposed he was. This was the type of mistakes I was free to take, the ones I’m glad I was wrong about. We were packing stool collection sets for the parasitological monitoring in Cavite. As a break from reading slides, I came into the CPH office to help him. When we had nothing more to do, I followed up on the NTD Forum invitees. Ms. Anne, the CPH AO, was no help. Ma’am Ellen confirmed Dr. Claveria as the PSP president and CM AO’s comrade, who she was having a lively discussion with, advised me to contact PMA. Then I was back to RFR where LH and I had a very open and free chat. After talking to LH, the TRB staff who recently transferred to RFR, I was enlightened on what I should do next. LH gave me insight I never was sure I could come up with. She was able to surmise that I wanted my efforts to translate to immediate outputs like homework or school projects. Also was introduced to Ms. Vien, knew Sir Manuel, got Sir Mike’s number, as well as knew Ms. Sharie.

There were too much slides for me to read and they would not give in to being convinced about cooperating. The stool samples on the Kato-Katz preparations were either caked and cracked or swathed in mold.

My mind was again reeling, I had to leave though I was shaken that I seem to have lost the access card. My mind’s no longer cooperating I know I need a break, even from thinking why I was so out of my league that I forget something as trivial but important as the access card. I went home though my sense of responsibility calls to me to not stop unless I was finished. These five months were enough to teach me not to subject my mind to drudging labor.

By asking Sam to go to Robinson’s to search for Ate Grace’s wedding gift, I was seeing new light on what’s happening to me. If not for the very commendable salesman at Rob’s on the aromatherapy candle section who was not intrusive but providing helpful assistance; the shock on the accumulated electric bill amounting to a whooping PhP 14,000 and its consequential stress-relief walk with Sam in Baywalk where we encountered a man  who though he was so hungry as he says and his looks confirm, still managed to advise us about the safety in our roving despite rebuffing his pleas to purchase a rose for PhP 20; and our hand in hand prayer in the living room couch and before the closed wood doors of Malate church, I wouldn’t sleep a peacefully contented sleep, a breather from my escapist death to the world .

God has claimed me back. He found me once more. I hear Him now.

Independence Day

12 June 2013

The rain has stopped shortly after I have arrived home yesterday. Sam has gone lengths to bring me home – scraped right knee, walking through ankle deep manila street waters barefoot and enduring humiliation for slipping on a stretch of P. Gil St. across Pilar Hidalgo Lim street. How much she loved me but it didn’t matter, for a breach on my numbness does not exist.

I have heard how the convenor was dismayed with my performance. He is an inspiring, passionate, dedicated, generous, brilliant man. I do not want to disappoint him. I wanted to be affected. Turns out I cannot be more disappointed with myself; I am way deep into self-disappointment, I trust everybody other than myself.

In an attempt to earn experience and to earn money, I lost myself. All of it. It is difficult to command a stranger day by day, having to live with it. Most of the people I get to talk to directly about what bothers me tell me that I have to let go. Why can’t I? My mother pleads with me to stop, she’s afraid I am to go crazy. Micai advised me yesterday during cheesy time with cheese ice cream and cheese chips that I should stop, putting it this way: You may bolt through this high hurdle before you but your landing on the other side might be so disastrous you break every bone in your body. Would it be worth it? That’s what my mind is subconsciously mulling through when I get into the staring trance – convincing myself to go on though there’s nothing left of me, because of the promise of growth. If all that I am is lost, what is there to grow – weeds? Weeds of discontent and emptiness and endless questioning?

My desire for life is squished and my dreams are antiquated. I am but a breathing solid existence.

Sam was trying to bring color to my life, pranking and joking. My response: just let me be.

Endure

9 June 2013

I will falter. I will fall. Life is akin to boxing matches: you can’t just take all the blows, you have to punch back. If you land on your face, stand up!

I will not write..when the time comes, my writing wouldn’t reflect the trebles of pain and the stockades of self-conflict. If I had learned one thing, that is I am a formidable enemy (to myself). There are other things I have to consider. This is not the end of me. Make me excited about things.

Droning

9 June 2013

Robert is right. There’s something about him that makes him easy to open up to. It was a relief to be with him. The three of us – John Paul, Robert and I hired a cab. All the way there, we had a peaceful, chatty, good-natured time. The cabbie driver was an honest man who was dignified with what he was doing. Cabbies weren’t always sly, as he informed us of the perils he had to protect himself from especially during his night time shifts. The three of us waited for the others by the gas station. Soon, June and our male research associate arrived. They decided to order Sicilian pizza. The car would be full if I didn’t move in to the other car and so I did, sitting beside June’s pink strawberry shortcake.

It’s June’s birthday. We had a party at our convenor’s house at LGV. Arrived there with Paul and our female research associate. Why are most of the streets here named Soliven? Kept seeing street names Chile, Spain then Peru and while we were lost, Guatemala.

I was looking at all of them from the glass wall by the dining area as seen from the living room. It was picturesque, like a shot from a soda commercial about Christmas or an animated postcard depicting the holiday season. I was staring at their togetherness with contentment – everybody’s working together, helping one another. Unlike before, the consciousness that I do not know where I would place myself or how I would make myself useful wasn’t much of a competition. The view gave me a sense of peace and a snap of warmth.

Being there with all these accomplished and amazing people was not part of my plan. I never even dreamt of being there. It was a privilege. It was far-fetched, not something I would have imagined. The Pinot Noir was strong. It is warmer than the usual red wine. It must be as much more intoxicating.

POP! Came the question. It was exasperatingly recurring every time: What should I do?

Sitting there mum is the most rational, safest thing to do. Whenever I try to risk, it ends up worse. Sit upright and stay quiet. Speak only when you are spoken to and for a while keep your thoughts to yourself.

Pinot Noir wasn’t as potent as thinking. My head is hurting again as if it would explode anytime. I hope June was enjoying her time; she deserves all the joy there is in the world.

I would never do good in answering on the spot questions. I get blank-minded especially when the convenor gets to ask me a question. I remember hearing him say that they were thought to not set themselves up to be humiliated. Who wants to be humiliated anyway? I was rethinking this instance while I was lost in thought, only seeing but not getting carried completely by the ethereal bath of light on the P.Gil end of Pilar Hidalgo Lim street. At first I was afraid, I was petrified came Gloria Gaynor’s melodic commentary. I never reckon these singers when I think but they come up intrusively anyway.

Am I not in a most wonderful position - with opportunities for growth - to be trained and to work with very admirable people, both in intellect, virtue and character? They are exemplary! So the stench festers malodorously than before: Something’s wrong with you. I’m all too aware of that. How am I going to fix myself?

Martini, shaken, not stirred. Has Bond ever considered if the Martini preferred to be stirred than shaken? If God were Bond, He would’ve considered how His martini wanted to be treated. He remained gentle, stern and considerate even when I was being difficult. I am already filled with shame for harming any person, how much more acting troublesome though I didn’t intend to? And towards who, Him, the only one I want to please?

Catherine Marshall’s To Live Again speaks of how she was during her recovery period from her husband’s death. Surprisingly, as I read through her experiences then it was as if someone close to me died as well. Something’s stagnating and another’s emerging. The self versus self battle wages on. I am impatient for the battle to end; having to live day by day struggling against yourself for everything, even as simple as getting out of bed, is definitely not something I will tolerate. Living became a chore, an unwieldy burden.

Sam woke up earlier this morning from a bad dream. She dreamt that I died. I hugged her in consolation. My face was perched on her left shoulder, “Everybody will eventually die.” A serene smile erupted from me as I said that while chanting, please make mine come sooner. I will not let Sam know about it. She would just be so disappointed. Rationally, I remembered Jigsaw and all the others who were fighting to live. Why couldn’t I be like them? The more I was dissatisfied with myself. Is this self worth fighting for? Is this self all that I’ve got?

Though I am guilty for feeling this way, I can’t deny that I am generally dismayed and ruefully disappointed with the world. Either it changes itself or I get out of it. I can’t stand seeing people settling for what there is, having to stand subhuman conditions to remain alive. Everywhere I look, I am discontented and angry. Why does it have to be this way? You promised You will fill in what we lack, that You will provide for us. We both love all these people, why let them live like this? You are still God. You know very well what You are doing.

How long would I have to wait? I am in no position to make demands but waiting on everyone and everything else while I wait to be revealed to me what I really am for is no walk in the park. I no longer know myself. I became not a whole being but partitions and factions always after each other’s throats. With this much discord, how would I be able to contribute to my nation? My nation needs saving and it’s undeniable that I need saving from myself. What is the best way to wait? I do not want to waste whatever you’ve already given me but I end up doing that anyway. Thwart me from frustrating myself more. Don’t make me a difficult child. I am clay; break my legs if You have to so I won’t stray from Your path. The certainty that this mawkish phase would end is established. I look forward to that day.

Spontaneity

9 June 2013

Am I still holding back? What am I holding back? I have given myself up already that I’m lost. Lead me. I do not doubt You; I doubt myself. How will I be sure that I’ve surrendered everything - the pain would disappear? But I have to live with it. I don’t know anymore. I know nothing. I am so empty and blank and numb and plagued. Do You want me to fight it all alone with whatever I have? Do You want me to sit still and wait for You to rescue me? I am already tired of nothingness. Wouldn’t You fill me before I become one with it? You are never late. I am out of timing. A stopped clock is right at least twice a day. Thank You that the clock is right even if I want to ridicule myself that the clock does better than I do.

It is exceedingly unpleasant to be aware that other people are having a hard time for your sake and you cannot make yourself useful to them in anyway. Let me, even in pain, focus not on what is happening to me, how much worse matters could get or that my efforts are cancelled out when it comes to dealing with myself. Even if I cannot fix myself, to You I am no enigma; I am no unbreakable code or hopeless situation and You can make me well. Am I in for an upgrade? Let me praise You! You have never failed to provide for me and bless me with circumstances, people and odds and ends to make me happy, to make me learn, to make me alive. I have paid dearly for my naïveté but You, not once and not ever, lost Your love for me. I am terribly sorry I cannot measure up just yet. It pains me that I cannot give You anything of worth. What am I to give You, self-dejection? Piling frustration? Discontent bordering misery? Blind wishes for death for there pain does not exist? Deranged emotions? Who would want to take all this? These offerings are not fit for You but they are all I have. I do not lack in things to be thankful for but mentioning them makes me feel more non-existent. You want me to be grateful not in words; of all things You deserve my honesty. I will end up giving scornful and forced utterance of thanks.  Let my heart flow with pure thanks – the world shelters me as I play over in my mind what I abhor about it. I have the core people I love here, may be not physically with me but they still exist and their love for me did not wane by any standards; I hope I can give them anything better – their troubles cannot be paid for by a penny. The people whom I interact with are driven and energetic, I have no intentions of slowing them down. Thank You for making our roads meet. Never wanted to meet them while I am in this state of disarray but that’s what You planned, blessed be Your name still. I am of deep regret that this was how our paths crossed. Still it’s a cross, bearing Your mark so I guess it’s beyond any reasoning from my part. I’ll let things be, unfolding as You will.

You brought me in the dark so I would be forced to shine, not simply bask on other people’s light. You find me ready. Why am I resisting? Give me peace. Make me surrender to your plans. I am tired of resisting too.

After lunch with June

7 June 2013

I went to the bank to encash my April paycheck. Upon arrival, it was hard to not notice the smell of chocolate perfume. It’s Axe chocolate. Then Paul tells me I should make a written document of what I have done for the past month. What will I come up with? Have I actually learned anything from the wealth of experience available for me?

Physical exhaustion is easy. With whatever little sleep you get you’ll be okay. But emotional exhaustion? I’ve never been through it before and I find it more than exhausting, even utterly draining. Is there anyway by which I could replenish or recharge myself from this downward spiral?

Woke up today at 4am to stare at the ceiling again. Thinking and thinking; not remembering what I thought. I was staring as the second hand moves round, it’s past eight and I had no inclination at all to move where I was. If not for June’s SMS, I wouldn’t have shown up today. It’s June’s birthday. She deserves all the respect that there actually is.

We’re having a party this night. I just don’t know what’s going to happen. I might get bombed and die suddenly. I feel like canned goods past its expiry date – totally useless and worth throwing out with trash. I’m actually writing this out and it’s totally okay with me if everybody reads this. Why?

Jasmine says: A whole new world

6 June 2013

If I write all that my mind and heart keep droning on would the darkness leave me? Would a stream of light knife through and pierce through this black shroud? It is not finished. The lives of people who are without control over themselves are under the same spell as mine. I am made to feel disgustingly inadequate and emotionally unstable, the first being a self-deprecating assessment, the second a more logical point.

How long do people have to go through this phase? Let people experience life out of this net with triumphant laughter. A howl of survival and conquest as opposed to letting people have rest out of it through death’s lullaby should ensue. Who am I to dictate? All I say are appeals. Can I tell the Lord how he should run the world when I’ve been living as if it’s only now that I’ve known that the world is round and that I’ve lived my earlier years under the precept that the world is flat?

Off-key. Wrong timing. Out of tune. Mismatched. Put-offing style.

Let me love life and living. Let me breathe the air and not be trapped. Let me see not the suffering that I abhor on the faces of my people.  I will come out of this belittling brainwashing. I will come out of this and I will be able to write that others could do as well. I have done it, you can too! There’s still hope. I’m sure there is but what should I do? Is there anyway by which I could speed this up to alleviate my suffering? Can ore bid on the time it spends as it is purified in the furnace?

Tappy tappy tip tap. Type type type on. Sense or senseless. Readable or incomprehensible. Tippy tappy tap tap. I will find something fun and pleasurable and worth living for. I will. I have to stay alive for the sake of finding what that is. If there’s any consolation for self-alienation to the path of change, that is the truth that everything’s possible.  I am a builder, not a destroyer. I will struggle on building myself over and over again even if I am demolished by the simplest move day by day. Ain’t we not, all of us, informal settlers?

The disparity between what’s inside me and what I show outside increases. The other can’t keep up since it is controlled by something else. Are these hormones? I’ve tried talking to myself many times – in my head, in the mirror, through an imagined projection. All of me’s deranged and it doesn’t show.

Recuperating to be minced once more

6 June 2013

Nothing matters anymore. I get it right. I get it wrong. Nothing matters.

After a lot of months, I am starting to emerge. Then I am being drowned. Small things turned into big things then passed off as nothing. I am tired of hiding. How many times more do I have to hide? I have people to protect. Protecting people meant destroying oneself even if there’s nothing much left; crying alone became necessary and having to keep to myself my pain is compulsory.

A dragon is inside, munching on me. When will it be through of devouring everything? Does this mean I have something more to give? I’m tired of being my present self but I do not know how else I could live with my goal of being honest. I only wanted honesty but society shuts me up. By being honest, I become a prey to abuse. Why is it difficult being me? I only want to be myself and I end up being miserable for doing so. I cannot understand anything including myself. People laugh when they mean they are mad and then they expect me to sulk when I’m looking at the irony of my stupidity to cheer me up from the degeneration of all of me. The song says, where do you run to escape from yourself? Where will I go? Is there a place for me where I can rest from myself too?

I thought 21 years was enough to know someone. It’s not. And I still have to tolerate her day by day. Hirap na rin akong pakisamahan ang sarili ko. Saan na ba talaga ako lulugar? Those who love me keep on telling me to give up but I don’t want to quit. I need closure.

 The days since January 8 have pounded me to pieces, dictating everything on me day and night. It has transformed me into someone born yesterday everyday and that becomes a total pain in the ass for everyone. The circumstances have teamed up to make me revolve around them, always submissive and agreeable and nothing but responsive to everyone else’s call. I have no control and am left powerless but demanded to exert power. I have to be powerful and powerless all at once.

 Among my limitations is that I get upset easily. If not for my belief in grace I would inconsolably weep since I was made to feel (no matter how much I resist it) that I do not deserve or am not entitled to anything. I’m no good at power play where they make you fell helpless and then send you off to murder. It’s tiring to be tossed like a volley ball from being worthless to being offered potentials to grow. The prospect of me being in that situation exhausts me. There’s nothing left for me to do but to keep on and move forward. I do not trust myself but my life verse stuck to me tenaciously as the tar held on to Briar Rabbit– Jeremiah 29:11.

I can’t decipher myself too. When I still was in control of who I am, I vowed I would change the world; today, I can’t even change myself. Look how society has curtailed people into subservience and hushed ingenuity (I admit to being one of such product). The egoistic me was ranting, “This world isn’t conducive for me to live in, find some other place.” The hopeful me was whispering, “You are placed in this situation for a purpose. Until the purpose has been fulfilled, don’t come out of this prematurely.” Is this my season? Is this my period of deliverance? It’s too selfish of me to think only of myself. I have to. I can’t let go of my case until I have figured out how I could make myself come out of this stupor.

Everything that has befallen me, I attribute to myself, as my own fault. I bear them with quiet acceptance, willing to face the consequences as they come, regardless of how badly I deal with them.

I will smile. I will live with whatever’s left of me. The fact that I am in the realm of perceived oppression and being distraught like never before meant there still is something. Oppression is only in the mind. I will come out of this. Though I pace restlessly in anticipation of when it’s going to be, I will be more than before I had undergone this crucible of innumerable tears and nothingness. The tunnel would end. My sensitivity would be upgraded to adapt to a wider range of people. This will work out. I am not at work. The Holy Spirit is. He has his time that’s different from mine. It’s salve to ascribe all good happenings to an entity higher than everyone else. I’m glad for Charlotte. Charlotte acts according to my ideals – everyone stands at the same level as equals.

Everything has an end; Let this one end sooner

2 June 2013

Finally back from Dipolog city and I still do not know what’s happening. Day by day changes as monotonously as a calendar day being torn out; that’s all. I have to wake up every day without knowing what I am doing it for or where I am heading. During my adolescent years, I needn’t think of all this. Though I wasn’t sure where I was heading to, where all my effort was for, I was filled with energy. Sam is right. It was worry that feeds on whatever energy I have. Somehow I am convinced that my adolescent development stage is only starting now or that I am experiencing my twilight years. I have denied myself the uneasy and self-searching stage of adolescence wherein I am to determine for myself the difference between being a child and an adult and it called me to a hearing now, passing the verdict of not experiencing it altogether and being detained in the existential crisis phase.

What do you do when you see clearly that the problem is yourself? It is not easy to wrestle with someone you do not know especially when it is yourself.

I am sure that I could not die yet. I still want to see my country re-energized, where people have a sense of dignity and hope instead of being trapped in the circumstances they are currently in. I want to see my people empowered each day to do better, always working for the best and giving to themselves the best that there is.

Traveling through the serpentine mud roads to Marupay, Roxas, Zamboanga del Norte made me ask why people would want to live in a place like it. I only have more questions and more unresolved thoughts.

When I was asking for advice from Grace, she told me that everything has a season. This is no accident. There is a lesson behind all this and all my mind could do was stare in silence and nothingness where nothing really mattered, everything was bitterly laughable and all would fade away. There is futility in everything and no amount of introspection talks me out of it. Then the words of Paul echo in my mind: And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us (Heb 12:1) and, But when I grew up, I put away childish things (1 Cor 13:11).

At times I feel like Gideon, being encouraged to go with all the strength I have. Kim speaks of the mountain of Moriah, where Abraham was willing to offer Isaac on the altar. Is this my Mt. Moriah? Where is Spongebob when I need him most? I am one of those cold virus laden slugs and I want him to siphon out of me everything that weighs me down. Lifehouse’s Breathing plays as if on cue. I am surrounded by very exceptional people in all terms - intellect and character. I am giving them a hard time and I am impatient with myself as well. I want to grow. 

This season

24 May 2013

Dearest Lord, I know I am doing You a great disservice by praying to You to take my life away. But that is how I feel. Now, more than ever, do I feel that I am composed of opposites. The discord within me is too great for me to bear. Do You really trust me this much?

Why am I always tired for nothing? Why am I always hungry? Why do I often forget? Why am I blank-minded? I have the impression that I am getting lazy. My current day to day action is lazy because I easily get tired, I sleep at 10pm and wake up at 5am to stare for an hour or until there’s enough time for me to prepare so I won’t be late. All for what?

Why do you have to show me this world? And this part of me where everything is in topsy-turvy? My world before wasn’t perfect but I saw everything under a magnificent light. I scrimp too much that I did not have the kind of fun that comes with socialization because I knew it would cost me but I was okay. Even if I was tired of attending classes and I had to sleep little to study, I wasn’t this exhausted. I had enough energy to be clear-headed and gay and to actually appreciate more the good that there was.

You have taken that out of me drastically. I easily get tired. I cannot sustain thinking clear throughout the day. Everything I saw was either depressing or downgrading or injustice or oppression or power at play. How long would you leave me in this state where I cannot be joyful even if with all my strength I tried to? You allowed me to experience how it was to act mechanically, that even I wonder how I was able to push through with what I should have done though deep inside a counteracting force was on. You also gave me chances where my mind ruled and it deterred me from doing what I knew I was supposed to do or when my body, who I thought was my ally, sabotaged me to stop though I willed for what I had in mind. There were times too that both mind and body were waiting on my will which was at that time a disaparisado. Why do these instances occur often? Why am I all of a sudden contradicting myself? My persona is in civil war. My Yin and Yang and all other poles in me have blown out of proportion.

I should be very thankful of how supportive Sam is. Instead of being the elder sister who took care of her, she was catering to me and adjusting to my every need.

Please let me snap out of this. Make me stop. Was this how You wanted me to show You my love? Is this Your way to convince me to grow faith, out of necessity? Was this Your idea of growth for me? Why do they have to come to me all at the same time?

My current occupation is driving me depressed already because of its high demands and the truth that I do not know what to do still in the workplace, after four months of being there. Also, the people inspire me, intrigue me, annoy me, neglect me, oppress me, give me a hard time, rescue me, and all other things that make them a mix of my pain and pleasure but I do not need any of either without my peace.

Then come all these phenomenon that eventually points out the urgency of having a check-up because I am either of the following: have deranged hormones, overstressed, or am actually, as the recurring and alarming symptoms point out no matter how much I try to downplay – mentally ill.

To add to that is the chatty, charming, easy to sympathize but cool martyr mother; the apathetic, lazy but soft-hearted father; and the selfish, gluttonous, wasteful, unhygienic but smart and pretty child, not to mention the puppy who’s afraid of the dark, (hence the increased electric consumption and the equally swelled-up bill charges). As a family, they are active and lively, and spontaneous but they have a tendency to be too familiar, thinking everything’s communal that they override my usual limits for decency and shame and surprisingly, guilt. It is not bad for a family to have a good time but doing so at the expense of others, inconveniencing them without any sense of shame, using and consuming other people’s stuff without asking for their permission first gives Sam and I a difficult time. The good and the bad in most of the people around me are underlined at the same time I cannot decide where I would place myself in that situation. I do not even know myself nowadays.