Skip to main content



So the walls crumbled again. Why am I so weak? Why can't this decision hold the fort or stay its ground?--or just protect me, this king in the kingdom of woes, and make me sane finally.

Because decisions to hold yourself back are counterintuitive. Love cannot be held back. That's asking too much from yourself. Like wanting to look without wanting to see.

Yes, that's it then. It's because I see her. Very well. Let's not see her!

Double trouble: in hiding, in stealing away from her, you only fan the flames instead of extinguishing it. Because that's when they become perfect: idealized far beyond the necessary flaws which you conveniently miss in daydreams. Is not love more fantastic when she's ideal and perfect? That is, when she is the perfect idol?

How to shatter this beautiful idol? What hammer can I use when I verily cannot even touch her and break my distance? What tuning fork could sound out the hollowness of her silence? Of course I can just ruin her image in my mind, like smudging the dark colors of a painting, and magnify her imperfections. (There are many dark tones, I won't have any difficulty.) Then those around me will agree: yes, she's bad news; no, she's not the one; maybe you're still hurting. Such great friends. They make me smile.

My problem is my heart's honest. Never mind the mind; it's crafty and wicked. But there's no fooling the heart like there's no fooling the eyes. The mind interprets what it sees by what it wants to (or should) see. The eyes just see. The heart just knows what it sees without the medium of comfortable interpretations.

So what do I see and know? I see someone beautiful. I know that I am attracted to her. But I think this will not go anywhere.

Is this last knowledge, the knowledge of the mind, this thought however important? Most of the time, no.

The other, last important knowledge: her admission, her consent, her allowance.

She didn't even give me a chance.



  1. felise7/22/2008

    Who's this about? *Raises an eyebrow*

  2. it's for me to know and for you to find out. *wink*


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Fields of Amorsolo

The first National Artist in Philippine history, referred to warmly as the “Grand Old Man of Philippine Art,” Fernando Amorsolo (1892–1972) still stands today as a looming figure in Philippine art responsible for being one of the artists who helped define what we up to now visually imagine as essentially Filipino. The images of rural life, of golden fields below clear blue, blue skies; the smiles of farmers which diminish their weariness as they plant, harvest, and winnow rice;most especially the iconic figure of the Filipina maiden working in the fields—the beloved dalagang bukid--; these, I believe, even after generations of Filipino painters since Amorsolo, have remained in our hearts and memory. Amorsolo did what great masters do for their country: bestow upon it its own icons, represent its native beauty, that is, to give its people and lands an identity and a face. There are, however, as many intentions for art as there are works of art. And these intentions will always remain in…

[Payapang Daigdig]

Written by Pat Nogoy, S.J.

Payapang Daigdig Felipe de Leon, Sr. 
Ang gabi'y payapa Lahat ay tahimik  Pati mga tala      Sa bughaw na langit 

Kay hinhin ng hangin Waring umiibig          Sa kapayapaan          Ng buong daigdig     
Payapang panahon    Ay diwa ng buhay Biyaya ng Diyos       Sa sangkatauhan
Ang gabi'y payapa Lahat ay tahimik Pati mga tala Sa bughaw na langit  
Pati mga tala           Sa bughaw na langit

The gift delivers Being/being Jean Luc Marion

There is something about the night.
The blanket of darkness hovering the other half of the day sparks ambivalence. Everything is the same in darkness—fear, joy, pain, triumph, doubt, glory, sorrow. Identities recede unto the vast anonymity. There is a pervading anxiety where existence slips into nothingness. One is never certain what to make out of darkness; maybe that is why the night shakes us because we never know. One cannot avoid imagining a something that is greater, higher, mightier, (even sinister) that lurks (hence the power of ghos…

Without Why (The Rose) II

Lifetime is a child at play; moving pieces in a game.
Kingship belongs to the child.

Heraclitus, Fragment 52

The child at play never asks itself why it plays. The child just plays; and if it could, it will play as long as possible, it will play throughout its life. See its delight and witness its smile.

If it would never go hungry or if the sun would never set it too will never leave its playmates and playthings. Time flies at play because it stops or suspends time. Time -- as we grownups only know too well -- is the culprit for order, schedules and priorities; yet for the child, there is no time, there is only bottomless play. It is we who impose that this or that should be done at this or that time. We stop the absurd and supposedly endless play ("He does nothing but play") because we insist that discipline, order and priorities be instilled in the child at an early age ("He needs to learn other things beside playing"). So that the child will become like us one da…