Freedom

There is freedom in knowing the truth.

The Blue Wilderness

With a new identity, the midnight wolf entered the blue wilderness filled with figures bound to satisfy his wants. As a wolf roaming the thick foliage blanketed by the darkness of midnight, he only desired for his very own pack in which he can truly say he belonged. As the weeks turned into months, one thing became apparent: the blue wilderness was nothing more but a field full of prey, all begging to be taken down with a vicious, rabid bite. The barter to happiness was a perfectly chiseled body. Arms with thick guns bursting from the sleeves, a chest and body that can launch a thousand ships, and a virile manhood brimming with testosterone were all that mattered.

The blue wilderness was nothing more but a repeating lie. Like clockwork, the midnight wolf entered the hunting grounds hungry but left far more famished. Each and every silent step made a question bury itself deeper inside his core. After almost two years of searching and looking at the dark midnight sky, his tired eyes have seen the answer that was patiently waiting to be found in the present.

Mustering a final howl that echoed throughout the blue wilderness like a knell, the midnight wolf silently wandered off. With his vision straight and true, he headed atop a quaint knoll. The air was saturated with uncertainty and fear for the future, but carried in it a great relief from all the pretensions happening below. He made one last glance of his grim surroundings; the same scenery that broke his heart and shattered his trust over and over again. Without regrets holding him back, the midnight wolf braved forward to the outside world, his tracks and shadows never to be seen in the blue wilderness again.

But his tale continues, as he lives through the sweet sorrows of pain -- subtle reminders that he is alive, yearning for a separate peace and happiness in the ironies of life.

Similarly

...and after all that thought, if given the chance to start all over again, I would rather do things similarly. Covered in a deep sense of regret, I feel nothing would change even if things did change.

This is the end of the line. This is my sanity.


I feel I've been ripped out of my life...
And put somewhere else.
We're facing a long, hard journey
Maybe even harder than I can imagine...
I guess I'm losing hope.
But like I said,
It's all about slim chances now,
And a slim chance is better than none.
One thing I know with certainty:
We're moving on.
We can't give up.

Differently

Moments like this rarely happen, but when they do, I stop to pause and think. Walking homeward bound, something came across my mind. The thought wasn't a stranger to me; it was just that tonight, I paid extra attention to it. A lot of things have happened over the past few years, and these things had changed me in ways more than one. But tonight, I doubtfully asked myself the question:

What if I did things differently?

Would things stay the same, or would they be better? Would I be still insecure, or strong enough to stand on my own, not needing a surrogate sense of security? The truth seems to be too twisted that it already feels too uncomfortable. Meanings no longer hold their worth, since they are made up to patch up eyes that yearn for freedom.

I am a strong believer of the power of choice. But tonight, time slowed down and made me think if I had relied on choosing my own path far too much.

Unstill

Peace in seclusion
Solace in silence
Rest in isolation

I've lost my way
Happiness always
A day away.


I give up.

Ennui

I do find a sense of security in repetition, however, there are times when I feel listless and dissatisfied. I feel I have lost the adventurous side of myself: always looking for something new, and always learning things while admiring the magnificent view.

It's a struggle to stay interested, but am I the one to blame when things are just dull and lifeless?

Alone Under a Starless Sky

So many things are happening. Things I thought were slowly healing and moving on were actually lies. I find myself once again walking on the boulevard of broken dreams, alone.

As I walked home at three in the morning, I saw a streak of light shoot in the night sky. Out of impulse, I wished for something, only to realize that it was something that will never come true.

I may be sad, but I am not weak.

Last Known Good Configuration

The "Last Known Good Configuration" option was first introduced in Microsoft 2000 and is available in all later versions of Windows, including Windows XP. This feature enables the user to revert back to the last working version of Microsoft Windows. This is a great setup when trying to fix issues with a computer not being able to load into Windows.

To load the last known good configuration in these versions of Windows, reboot the computer. As it is booting, repeatedly press the F8 key, which should bring up the "Windows Advanced Options Menu". Use the arrow keys to navigate to "Last Known Good Configuration", then press Enter.

End of the Road

Some things are better off ended.

It makes life much more easier to handle. Ending things is painful, however with that pain, one starts a renewal. Once the wounds have healed, a person is reborn. Stronger or weaker: it depends on the choices one will make.

In that pain lies sweet sorrow, a reminder that one is alive, yearning for solace in the ironies of life.

The Blind (Leading the Blind)

It was almost half past five, but luckily, I still managed to catch the bus that would bring me back to the bustling station in Ayala. As soon as my back laid rest on my seat at the very rear of the vehicle, I succumbed to the sandman's hands and drifted to sleep, even if my lower back complained because of the cold air bearing down on my upper back.

I was abruptly awakened by the noisy steps of the other passengers wanting to go home. My eyes could not bear the brightness of the light. I could feel the creases on my forehead furrowing even deeper, like the wrinkles on cheap velvet. I tightly shut my eyes to keep out the glare. But after a few minutes, my eyes regained composure. My face slowly straightened out to its normal, expressionless look. All the emotions of my face seemed to have been sapped by the tired appearance of my eyes. I could barely open my eyes to see if the train was packed with people or not. After squinting for the tenth time, it dawned in me that I was already inside the train, standing under another blast of air-conditioning comparable to that of the arctic cold.

As soon as the doors of the train opened in Cubao, the masses poured out like a tidal wave breaking the most impenetrable door. The people flushed themselves out from the chaos inside to the chaos outside. The smell of sweat saturated the six-thirty air as people drenched in their own and someone else's perspiration wiped their faces with whatever they had handy. I slowly treaded the stairs and avoided the weird heat emanating from the people clogging the way.

For the very first time, my eyes embraced the darkness with relief as the stairs were dark and gloomy. Apparently, the fluorescent lamp died out.

I climbed down and waited for a bus to take me home while keeping the darkness from that flight of stairs with me. I am tired of seeing the same things over and over and over again. I am worn out, seeing what other people don't see and from seeing things that I do not want to see.

Sometimes, I just want to go blind and live in the darkness of the night. Sometimes, I want to see nothing else but an infinite ebony sky; without stars, without hopes. Sometimes, I yearn to go back in time and remain under a starless night, forever wishing that my dreams would be carried across the sky.

It was just a short time until I found myself standing to alight the bus. However, the man in front of me was slowly walking his way towards the exit. He didn't look old or lame, but the conductor and the other passengers on board kept assisting him.

He was blind.

I helped him alight the bus since he was in front of me. It was then that he asked me with an unsure voice if I would be willing to be his eyes until he catches a tricycle home.

"Opo naman, kuya."

He placed his hands on my tired shoulders. His hand felt distracting, but at the same time relieving. Each and every step of his was a small victory in my sight. Each obstacle we overcame was a deep relief on my part. I held his hand on my shoulder and told him that we were almost there. I did not let go of his calloused hand until he was carefully climbing the tricycle to bring him home.

As I walked another distance, my shoulder felt light. The blind man was no longer holding it. Each and every step I took meant nothing, and each obstacle I avoided gave me no relief. I placed my hand on my shoulder and felt an emptiness: nothing was there but the strap of my bag.

It was about that time that everything became clear.

Or did it?


From the Tenacity of the Edge of Zweihander
May 12, 2009

Never Look Back

Sometimes, I wish I can just keep looking and moving forward, and leave everything behind. Things get so messed up that I want to turn back time and undo mistakes of the past, but all I could do is just stop the tears that have welled up in my eyes.

I hate the awkward feeling of being unable to say anything. I dislike the momentary muteness because I don't exactly know what to say. Things sometimes get so taken for granted that it becomes out of hand: a salve to ease the pain being impossible to find; the wounds slowly getting deeper and deeper, prisoner to the shackles that bond freedom into sorrow.

How can people be so blind, mute, and deaf all at the same time? How can they manage to be so selfish, keeping their thoughts to themselves and leaving the people who love them bitterly cold under a rain of misunderstanding?

I have tried to hold on to the fragments that were left behind. It appears I'm just foolishly wounding myself. I was the one who wanted this in the first place, so how come I'm whining now? Deep down inside, I still yearn to make the erroneous past the living present. However, with sadness in my heart, I must learn to face the truth that I cannot do anything more in my capacity to help. Some things need to be realized and faced alone.

If you insist in keeping your eyes tightly shut and cupping your hands over your ears, why don't you try closing the doors to your heart?

I hate doing this. I hate this feeling. I feel so fcuking selfish, even if I know I shouldn't.


Please. Trust me.