Hi

*Heavy breathing, it’s been way back since my last blog post that I actually forgot how blogs work anymore. Well, you post stuff, things you like and dislike, express yourself in any manner that involves words, pictures, sounds, etc.

I forgot how little is much and how much is little in the blogging world. I’ve been reading my past blogs lately and some of them aren’t that bad but most of them are selfish or triggered by my defense mechanism to deal with my insecurities. Now that I’ve settled my personal issues. Char. I’m gonna write about honest things, about how I really feel or think. No more pretentious crap about the universe or about romanticizing sadness and glorifying regret (I will be tempted though).

I’m looking forward to things that I’ll be learning while writing and open my soul for correction. Discovery isn’t a way street and even math has poetry (I like Algebra). I didn’t understand that either. I definitely want this blog to be nothing but honest. Maybe I’ll sensationalize things here and there but may it be a reflection of what is trying to be good.

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Credited Reality

We’ve always credited great stories to the imagination. Whimsical accounts of glorious feats and miraculous characters that sprang from the ink of writers. We have been enticed by their words and by their unnatural charm to bring summer into our hearts.

I’m a big fan of fairy-tales. Growing up I read them by the shelves before going to sleep. I applaud in the victory of my favorite heroes and I cry at the loss of their greatest defeat.

I got lost in those adventurous pages of someone’s thought. Someone’s thoughts, those pages were pieces and puzzles of someone’s thoughts. I guess sometimes, most times, the story has overshadowed the writer.

I watched Saving Mr. Banks just a while ago and its story just struck my heart. It’s about, P.L. Travers, the writer of Mary Poppins, how she conceived the heart of her story and how she let it go to forgive herself and save the ending.

The film was an enlightening account of how a wonderful story is conceived. At most times we give ode to the power of imagination to rid ourselves of an unwanted reality but after I watched the film I realized that we should credit the gift of imagination to the strength of our present tale outside the pages.

Dreams always have a tinge of reality. A sparkle that shines offset the glimmering words of hope and happiness. It is reality that gave us the venue to dream, to take flight. A writer’s reality is her joy and pain, her inspiration to go beyond the boundaries of great heights.

The heart of every story is always anchored to the realness of emotions, the plight of moments that have driven sweetest and bitterest heartbeats. Behind every good story is always a reality that hushes its way to the ending.

Misses

I once thought that when you miss someone too much you’ll eventually run out of “misses” to ever miss them again. How wrong was I? I’ve been listening to some nice sappy songs a while ago and I opened my old college journal.

Wrong move because I spent the next two hours reading broken sentences that made so much sense back then. I’ve spent a couple of pages dedicating my thoughts to love and it’s always amusing to read and re-read them all over again.

I came across a page where I listed things I missed about a certain boy and I suddenly miss him all over again. Funny, because we never ever held hands, watched a movie, spent the night alone with the stars or something like that, but he was awesome. He loved Star Wars like I did and he was totally addicted to books and random movies.

We were also different. I had my nose on my academics and he was at times the boy who had his head in the clouds. Nevertheless he was the culprit of my sweetest poetry.

He was the first boy I ever loved too much. I broke some of the rules for him. He made me realize that love is fun and not overly-dramatic. Our conversations were so random but I cherished them like my favorite book.

My favorite fairy-tale had always been “Princess and the Pea”. It’s a normal love story without towers or dragons to slay, the story’s about a prince looking for a princess. He eventually found this girl in the rain, they fell in-love and all the girl had to do was impress her new mother-in-law by sleeping in a pile of mattress with a pea under it. Makes sense doesn’t it?

Love never fails but I’m pretty sure I failed love a million times. I know what true love already is and I finally realize that no boy can ever give me that. Neither will I ever give the truest love to any boy I’ll meet.

But I’m certain that I know how to love someone. I know how to hold their hand and how to let it go. I’m a good listener now and my time management skills have been improving.

Now I fully understand that I’ll fall in-love only when I find it unnecessary. That out of the cataclysm of school and work, I’ll find someone that will never impose their existence but will just gradually make my heart better with or without them.

Love never did ask for anything in return and so did he.