blueprix18

Beyond Verona (An Empty Balcony Part Three)

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 09:39:52 GMT

I stood facing the deserted pathway, gleaming in the aftermath of the onslaught of rain, the cracks and depressions in the cement filled with rainwater, rippling after every drip from the tired sky. The grey clouds rolled still like a blanket over the azure sky, rain still sailed past, fine as dust, as the place began to be filled with silence but the sound of whispering leaves.

The branches of the trees that stood beside the path dipped low on the ground like tired arms. Like a man defeated in a battle, I turned around and made a last long look to the hovel where I stayed for the four years of my high school life and also to the place where my love story had all started and ended. The big imposing New Building still spoke a million words no one could ever give to me. I turned around and walked away. The two old, gaunt buildings that stood like walls on both sides of the pathway pressed in as I walked in the wet cement, absentmindedly slopping water in a muddy puddle.

“Hey! Kevin!” I turned quite abruptly, almost bumping with the person who called me. “Oops. Sorry. How’s it with her?”

The natural question again. “It’s ok.” I answered readily.

“What’s with Ok? I mean, it’s more OK now, isn’t it? You know, you’ve been talking to each other like you’ve never did for almost three—I mean two—years! That couldn’t just be an ‘OK’! I know it isn’t!”

I could not blame her for that. That was the best state of our friendship ever since that fiasco in our second year. Damn it. If I only knew better that time, I wouldn’t have been feeling like this in this minute. I would be thinking of getting her to a cinema or something else like we are just normal friends. But still, nothing could be done about it. The die is cast.

“So, what are your plans for her? I mean, what are you planning to do? You just can’t walk away without saying or doing anything for her.”

I gulped and tried to recount everything that I ever did for her. Weren’t those things enough? Almost sinisterly, a nagging voice came into my head. Of course you did everything for her. She was just blind to notice. She doesn’t want you! Period! Wiping the thought away, I answered. “I’m not doing anything. I am done with being desperate already. And I don’t fancy being like one again.” I smiled vaguely and continued to walk.

“Its graduation day tomorrow. Are you sure you’re not going to tell her anything?”

“I’m not telling her anything unnecessary. She’s at peace now without me. And I am contented with what our relationship is now. Friends—that’s it. I’m already happy with that. It’s more than what I could ask for—at least for now.”

“You know that she is with someone?”

“Of course, I already know. And it would be rude of me to wish they would soon break up. You know I’m her friend now. And what kind of friend should not want that? She’s happy—I’m happy.”

“Aren’t you tired of being such a martyr? I never knew someone sticking up with a girl like you do.”

“You already asked me a hundred times and my answer didn’t change, did it?”

“So, just to see if it changed, I’ll ask you for the one hundred and first time. Do you still love her?”

“More than how much you think I already have.”

She was silent for a moment, thinking deeply. I continued to walk.

She struggled to keep up, trying to avoid the puddles. “I know what she wrote on that scrapbook. I know what you said to her.” When I was about to retort, she didn’t gave me the chance and said, “Don’t try to lie to me. Just like I said, I know. Are you doing that for sure?”

“That was supposed to be a joke, really.” I quite remembered the words very clearly since the first time I read them on the scrapbook in her little penmanship: Ang promise mo huh? Hambal mo ligawan mo ko liwat kung payat ka na. Hulaton ko gid ang adlaw nga na. I would be waiting for it too, I thought after reading.

I didn’t know what to feel at the moment I finished reading the lines. I didn’t know what reaction would be fitting to it. Am I to laugh or cry?

Honestly, I almost ran from the room at that time and shout at the top of my lungs. After all those drama and everything, I didn’t expect it to be that way. I almost cried—seriously.

“You lied. I thought you aren’t going to be desperate again.”

“Well, let’s put it this way. I’m more desperate. It’s different for now.”

Forever, I would cherish everything that she gave to me: all the love, even the hurt to top that.

I recounted the four years that passed. The four-year love story of mine with too many trials for the character prince. There had been too many witches, fairy-godmothers and many supporters for the character. And at this moment, I would be most happy to enumerate all of them and thank them for the help that they lent to the prince (me, haha), which values more than what a shining armor and a sword of Valor can but if I would ever do that, I might forget someone in the process and that would only culminate to hard feelings which I am afraid to happen. So, to all of the characters in the story, you know yourselves, thank you.

And most especially, to the princess, Bubbles, or Juliet Capulet, my thanks go also to you. At the moment you read this story, I may not be even sure if you are with Paris or still in the clutches of single-life, swooning in your balcony (which I would be very happy to know). You are the most colorful part of my life, you made me feel how to love, how to feel hurt and become a more mature person. I knew how to weigh things in life. I knew how to value friendship and to put limits to it. Thank you.

Zapping back to reality, my friend nudged me on the ribs. “Are you going to court her? If that time comes?” I smiled and looked at myself, wondering how many more pounds I should lose to achieve that goal.

“If that time comes,” I took a lungful of air, “maybe I should start writing down the happy ending for this love story.”

"And the prince, after his years of battle in the dangerous battlefields, climbing towers and killing off witches, finally held the princess’ hand. The thorn and thistles gone, the hundred-year slumber ended, the glass slippers on, and tall tower conquered, the princess finally broke from the spell. Along with the monarchs of the many kingdoms and the lords of the land across the seas, the bells rang in celebration."

"And they lived happily ever after."

I would be more than happy to write that kind of ending.

Just another piece of the Jigsaw

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 01:42:37 GMT

I am but a small part of a world broken into complex different facets. I am but one of the tiny smithereens of people scattered across the globe. A piece of a puzzle still in the stages of being brought together to form a picture of the Unity we have been for so many years very vain of having.

This world had been for ages, even in the greatest efforts of each nation and its people, had been too divided. Nations had been locked up in meetings pushing edicts to bring union to people at war and would only culminate to fruitless outcomes. What do they call it again? United N-What? Although how we have been in ties with countries that are strong enough to carry the weak ones, it has always been a paradox that mocked our principles that this world is not getting any nearer to the very aspect of this established unions and ties: Unity.

This world, save for a few, had been fragmented ever since man had been too absorbed with himself. The union between the people had been severed the very moment each one of us had crossed the threshold of having the power to commend our mind to believe on things we find suit to believe in.

Beliefs as they say demand people of loyalty. For many years, to whom have we been truly loyal to? To the president that leads the nation? To the uncanny wise men who decide the fate of the country under them? In truth, we people had been loyal to any leader but to ourselves. Who in the world could say without a flaw that he would not fail to submit to another person’s commands? No one. It is always the set of our beliefs that draws a line where we daresay we don’t often cross. People always knew Unity would require them the change of loyalty or putting down one’s pride. That is the sole reason why we have seen very troubled times. People fail to unite. We are divided in different goals.

We, the youth, inheritor of this world, entrusted by a common burden of building the foundations of a future generation, are the ones who could alleviate this madness. We could bring people back together in a simple way. The failure of unity is the very root of the evil which lash lives of the innocent. Failure of unity gives birth to war. War culminates to destruction and will soon induce death. Just a simple thing that we considered all along, unity is. We even sang to songs like, “For together, we stand. Divided, we fall. Together we climb to the top of the world,” without so much ado. But now, why do we fail to internalize the very song which we so heartily sang when we were just kids?

And now, where are we heading? We had mocked people behind their backs who shamelessly shout for justice in front of magnanimous government palaces for their recklessness. But these people are better than we are. From what thing do they get the strength to hold hands and maintain resistance when the police push them out? From where do they get the strength to ratify and criticize the lavish spending of a government crumbling under the weight of denial and corruption? Unity. We failed to notice this five-lettered word behind all of it. We fail to see this five-letter word written behind the lines of each banner. We fail to see this five letter-word tying together those strong resistant arms. We have been blinded by our beliefs. Our own selfish, little beliefs.

Even inside the walls of schools and universities, students engage in a secret warfare against each other. Students tend to fancy who among them are the greatest, they compete in order to attain glory and prove to everyone else that they are superior. These little competitions, even the frequent whispering and catfights between rival students prove the lack of unity between us. Intramurals, we could say, had dug a deep rift between the students. We can’t see unity in there. Students do not feel the essence that it teaches us. Teamwork or whatever you might call it. Each department works hard to topple over the other one. We believe only that Intramurals sets a battlefield to prove who the strongest one is. We don’t bother for unity anymore, we are all too busy trying to make each other fall.

Though we could say that this problem could still be small in scale, we couldn’t say it can’t affect our society and ultimately, our future. The consequences and effects of what we do and choose today is so complex and perplexing that we could not predict our future entirely. Even though we only consider this Intramurals as childish catfight, we can’t guarantee the fact that it is a factor placed in a significant part of our life of education.

Even though we students are as complex and diverse as we are innumerable, achieving one common goal could be easy for us if we are united. Let us leave the trophy to where it is. Let us not try to think of what glory we might obtain from these competitions. What we should put ourselves on is the sense of brotherhood between us.

We could make this unity thrive from within us. We couldn’t make something big happen if we don’t start it with ourselves. We should not deny the fact that even a single person could turn the world upside-down. Now who could possibly escape the truth that we could change the world if the number of people that would unite increase exponentially.

Let us all abandon our individual doubts, our selfish desires, our pride and fears. Listen to our world. Listen to the world, pulsing with life. Think of it as a sole being. The differences of the tongues we speak, the color of our skin, the different cultures we have are nothing when we listen to that slow heartbeat of a one world. If our hearts would beat in rhythm with the world, when we are all fixed to one point as our goal, only then, that we could be united.

For I am a CET student

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 09:07:32 GMT

In the advent of modern technology in our world, man’s mindset had already soared beyond the borders of the established ideologies mankind had ever believed on. Many developments and breakthroughs appear out of thin air faster than we could even notice them. Man is already out of control, the world is slowly shrinking into a Global Village, connected no more by the dependence to bridges, trains, ships or airplanes but by the merest modicum of fiber optics, invisible cellphone signals, and the perplexing plethora of the World Wide Web.

As a student of this school, a student of the College of Engineering and Technology, only one of the many rally points of technology in which this world is already filled, I have a responsibility that takes hold of the very strings that control the imaginary marionette we now call our Global Village. Every after the duration of 365 and ¼ days, a brilliant mind is born from this school. A mind cooking up the very figment of a new invention, a mind taking the stages of brainstorming when Charles Babbage himself conceived the very foundation of Computer.

As a student of this institution, I could take control of the very wheel that which affects the course of the world. As a student of this College, one could be at the very point of precipice that leads our world to successive revolutions. In this manner, we students, young minds of this modern time, are the very same minds that will lead this world to changes as the Analytical Engine evolved to ENIAC and the Desktop computer to the very sophisticated Touch-Screens. Who knows that I could be one of the pioneers to conceive the foundation of a Hologram-computer? As a CET student, that possibility could just be as easy as plucking a fruit.

In this multi-faceted technological world of ours, it is inevitable to have the latest technology be kept from going to the wrong hands. This technological advancement opened more avenues for underground doings. For now, terrorists could even talk and discuss about plots on terrorism without the fear of being overheard or listened at. All of the security that this technology promises us could have a backdoor. It doesn’t have a fail safe assurance.

Although we could only be lowly students, barely even a noticeable aspect of a world peopled by a vast multitude of six-billion people, this backdoor can be sealed, this technology could still have a hope to be kept from being handled by vile hands. As CET students, it is our choices that set us apart from others. In this kind of individuality, we could start this change. Draw a blueprint. Device a program. Dream. We’ll make it happen, for I am a CET student.

Ink

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 09:26:12 GMT

Have you ever tried painting something, or anything, with just plain ink? Have you ever tried painting something more vividly with no more that an inkwell full of black liquid? The drawing might be very bland, judging by the monotony of the color which you will use. But deeper into it, speaking figuratively, the best picture could be painted in ink. With one drop of ink from the tip of the pen, everything could just spring into life from that single stain on paper.

At the very moment the tip of the writer’s pen touches paper with his black ink, he could paint a landscape vividly with the richest shades of scarlet, ultramarine, emerald, yellow and purple. With a drop of ink, a field of daffodils could unfold on a barren land. With a stroke of a pen, a sky full of broiling clouds and purple thunderheads could be painted in a brilliant azure and blue. With a written allegory, leprechauns, princes, princesses, castles, kings, queens, ladies, paladins, witches, wizards, bards and minstrels could crawl and be brought to life on the very pages of a book. In no more than a few words woven together by ink and pen, a story could come to life and could bring out emotions from inside the depths of a memoir much better than a century-old painting of an ill-fated king could bring his kingdom to tears.

More than the power of bringing life and color to things imagined and plucked form our minds, the tip of a pen laden with ink could cut the deepest, incurable wounds. There might be words coated and gilded with merriment and comfort, but there could be some wrought and hammered with malice and anger like cold silver. Words forged by ink are sharper than a two-edged sword, more potent to break a heart than a sharp dagger. With a drop of ink and the stroke of a pen, a pain long-forgotten in a scar could be torn open again. With a drop of an ink, yesterday’s painful memories could go back.

Ink could be the strongest weapon and it could also be the most potent poison. A pen could weave whole line of sweet words that could melt anyone’s heart. But underneath all of the sweetness, hiding under the veil of deception is the word’s sweetness like that of poisoned honey. Words could be soothing, like the liquor of golden berries; it could also be deadly, like a vile, noxious acid. With a drop of ink, one could concoct the most potent poison. With a stroke of a pen, one could stir the very rudiments of a malicious notion.

Ink. Although quite a simple material could be so powerful. With the use of ink, one could write freely, one could pluck the stars from the sky; one could dry up and wave back the tides. Ink, like a dangerous weapon should be handled with utmost care. Ink could kill, ink could thrill. Ink could charm and allure you, it could do as good to soothe and fool you.

With ink and pen, one could turn the world upside down. With the stroke of a pen and a drop of an ink, one could make the world sit on his very own fingertips.

If I could write the world again

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 09:24:17 GMT

The world around me played in a dull monotony of sad colors. Gray, brown, black and white swirled everywhere to coat everything in a quaint sepia illusion. It was like watching a black and white movie playing lazily. All of the things around me were very bland.

I sighed, hardly able to find anything to put into an allegory. If I would put the scene around me into words, it would taste bitter and foul.

Like a hazy backdrop, the smog loomed over the city which stretched up to the blurred horizon before me. The skyscrapers and pavements radiated mirages, rippling and contorting the images around me.

I sat under a tree outside my house, its leaves slowly drying up and falling off the branches. The lawn was baked into a crisp brown and the wind blew with dirt and smoke. The notebook lay empty in my lap, waiting to be filled with words rich with colors and life. But with the scene before me, I couldn’t find anything lovely to write.

No sooner did I notice that my hand started to scribble on my notebook. I formed the words tentatively, some even quite reluctant to come out of the tip of my pen.

I suddenly felt the irony of trying to write a lovely, colourful piece of writing out of a monochromatic world. Although how much I made the words flow through my pen, curing them with honey, they all remained as grey and tasteless as they are. All that came out was all bitter and bland lines. The more I tried to make it beautiful, the more senseless it gets.

Right then I realized how each of the words I wrote reflected the irony of the world. Each unfurling in a frightening truth, I saw how we people lived in ignorance; mindless of what we do could send our world into destruction.

We are frantic about how h\we could quench the heat of the sun everyday but the ways we find to do so seem to worsen everything. We are head-over –heels frantic about air conditioners to cool our daily, mind-paralyzing hot days; but we may not know it’s the root of all evil! Air conditioners release noxious CFCs which contribute to the widening of the Ozone layer hole, making the days hotter and making us use air conditioners the more. See the ignorance there? People continue to grimace helplessly under the simmering sun complaining about the heat but still they don’t make a move to stop the deadly dilemma we are facing.

It’s quite a funny notion that as we deprive ourselves from the heat of the sun with unknown poison-exhaling machines, we make our world hotter than ever. All of the things that we do are distilled in one cycle of endless ignorance.

We don’t look into the other face of the world, the one which slowly dies away into non-existence because of us. We continue to burn plastics to clean our surroundings but end up making our world a big spherical oven, cooking everything inside in sky-rocketing temperatures and melting down our polar icecaps. Apart from our plastic-burning habits which we never fail to do everyday, we destroy our forests, which is one of the vital things which nurture mankind. We leave our forests a barren wasteland.

It saddens me that people let all this mayhem happen right under their noses and become victims of their own ignorance, the very ignorance that will plunge them into their deaths.

As I wrote the last bits of my work in my notebook, I took a long look at the desolate view before me. I hope that the words written now on my notebook would change how things would work. I still hope that in the future, after everyone will read the truth in my words, I would paint this place rich with life and color.

From the tip of my pen, I will make this world change. I will write this world again in the future, free of smoke and fume, more colourful than it is today. I imagine myself, staring at an azure sky, free of the smog which I see today. I will erase all of this dirt, and with a fresh page on my notebook, I would write the world again.