Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

for a friend


^supposedly a letter. recovered from a note written last October 22. still in hope that the person is getting better.

***

This would be an attempt of writing a letter for you. With this letter kept hidden, it would be impossible for you to read any of these words; it would be impossible for you to hear my side. I do hope that one day, you'll be able to listen to my side.

I know that these past few days became too hard for you, that you are indeed in a state when everything seem hopeless. Certainly, I am aware of it; it is only that I am afraid of telling these words; it is only that I might not take it to see you in that condition. Yes, in this situation I am a coward.

I do hope that you will just have a faith despite of everything happening in your life. I do not care if it is big or small, at least you have one. At least you have the guts that will drive you to push further until you have spent all of your strength. Bear in mind that God has His grace that is always there, that this grace is made perfect in weakness. Continue to have that attitude of faith.

Please do not give up, for the people around you are not giving up. When you are weak, it does not mean that you already gave up. And even if you become weak, there will people around you who will support you in every possible way that they can. And even if these people around you will be gone, God will still be there for you. He will never leave you, whatever happens.

Get well soon. You still need to pursue that dream that I dreamed before.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

The Little Prince and I (a short story)


Those days will soon remain as memories: just plain memories. If rewinding a part of my past and playing it in loop are possible, I could have done it in order to cherish those memories. Even if it means upon reaching a certain season of adulthood I will become a child again, and even if those scenes would be repeating in cycles, I would rather have them than seeing my fate happening.
           My days are counted. Soon, I’m going to be married to a man. I will become a wife of someone after a week. My last few weeks have been so busy preparing for my wedding. Not just I, but all the people around me were busy. Being a bride-to-be is not like a princess waiting for that special day of happy ever after with the prince; a bride-to-be must iron out everything before the wedding comes: from venue, gowns, sponsors, up to reception area and honeymoon. And life does not end in marriage, so as long as I live, I cannot say that it will be a happy ever after.
            To isolate myself from the busyness of my marriage preparation, I went to a library to read. Reading novels allows me to forget reality for some hours. As that day comes near, my desire to forget reality becomes greater. I never really wanted that marriage in the first place; I never really loved him either. I am forced to marry someone whom I lately knew in order to strengthen my family’s business connections. I love someone else, but my parents did not (and will not ever) permit me. If my family is not powerful enough to make the life of the one I love miserable in the eyes of the society, I could have left them and fearlessly decide to leave that engagement.
               The smell of old books attracts me so much. I scanned from one shelf to another until I spotted the thin white book of The Little Prince. It was my favorite childhood story; and also his favorite novella.  How come that some things like this reminds me of him, I thought. We used to talk about it when we were young, believing that if the Little Prince did not allow the snake to bite him, he could have been alive until now.
            I grabbed the book, sat on the floor and leaned on a tall shelf filled with lots of other books. I opened the white book and scanned through its pages. The illustrations remain beautiful in the eyes of a grown-up like me, since it became a part of my childhood. These illustrations widened my developing imagination when I was young.
               “Hello there!” I suddenly heard a small, childlike voice. I stood up and walked across the room, looking on the each horizontal shelf that separate the room into sections. I was the only person in the room. I returned to the place where I sat and continued reading the book.
                “Hey miss! I’m here!” This time, that same small voice disturbed me.
                “Me?” I replied.
                Yes, the only person holding my book.”
             I looked at my side and saw a tiny young man standing beside me. He was a yellow haired and dressed in royal clothes. His eyes looked innocent, and he was smiling at me.
               I checked the book I was holding and saw the illustration of the Little Prince. Although the drawing is not as detailed as the little man I was seeing at that time, it confirmed that what I saw right before my eyes is the Little Prince.
                “You are… the prince here?” I, still surprised by what I saw, said these words to him as I pointed the illustration at the front cover. He nodded.
                The place was cold because the AC was on. The fact that I felt that coldness and the dusty books around me made me realize that I was not dreaming and what I was seeing is true.
                “Why did you call me?”
               “Because you are the only person in this room, and you are the only person who opened that book of mine after five years.”
                I felt sad upon hearing that, because I am also guilty of leaving his story behind. I grew up without thinking of the Little Prince until that moment of our encounter. I belonged to those grown-ups who left children’s stories to our childhood years.
                “I thought you were dead,” I said to him.
                “And according to what you are seeing now, I am not,” he responded. “I was able to return to my planet and saw my rose again.”
                “How is she now?”
               “She is too old to bloom as beautiful as the first time I saw her, yet she is still that same rose whom I love so dearly.”
                There was a dead silence between us. I knew that the reminiscence of his old rose made him feel sad at that time.
                “Why did you return to Earth?” I asked.
                “Because I thought I would still be able to see the pilot I met when I first arrived here. I want to tell him that my rose is still alive. After few weeks of my search for him, I heard that he was dead already. At first I thought that it was untrue, but when I went to this library and saw his biography and his book telling our story, it validated the words I heard from the people. I am really missing him.”
                I was not able to say anything for a moment. He was so sad and I do not know how to comfort him, to at least alleviate that sadness in his heart.
                 At last, I was able to say a sentence. “What can I do for you?”
              He looked at me, and his eyes suddenly enlightened with hope. “Please go with me. We will go back to the planet where I live.”
                “How can we travel from here to your planet?”
               He walked away towards a box. “You see this box? There is a cobra inside it. For five years I was able to go back and forth from asteroid B-612 to Earth using this cobra. Maybe you can help me bring back the beauty of my rose. I think she needs company other than me. We can then leave Earth and live there forever.”
                  I saw the box. It was not huge enough for a cobra in it. “There is a cobra in it?”
    “Yes.”
    “But Little Prince, I am going to be married next week. Actually, I’ll be marrying a person whom I never loved.”
               “Marrying him? Is it possible that a woman will marry a man whom she never loved?”
                With a faltering voice, I replied to him, “In this world, it is possible. In this world full of grown-ups, it is possible.” I felt the tears flowing from my eyes.
               “Ssshh… Don’t cry, miss. I’m sorry if I made you feel sad. If you want, you can run away from this mess. But once you decide to run, it will be very hard to come back. Would you like to go with me?”
                I stopped crying and thought for a moment. I can either leave this world or stay until that dreadful day comes. And how about the person I really loved? Even here or in B-612, I will not be able to see him. Since that day my parents knew that I loved him, he never appeared to me again. They have the powers to make him disappear. When I say powers, it means financial powers that enlarge their sphere of influence. They can do anything they want except one: they cannot go to B-612.
                I decided to retrieve my childhood days. At least I can have him in those days.
                “Do you trust me, my lady?”
                “Okay. I will go with you.”

***
Note: This is a story written for PI100. Believe it or not, this is an assignment in PI100, although this activity is not connected to Jose Rizal. But I really enjoyed writing short stories like these. It revived the dying writer inside me (or if there was no real writer inside me, it allowed to give birth to a new one. :D ). We were given a situation, and then we will write a story about it. In this case, the situation happened in the library, a week before my wedding, where I met the Little Prince and invited me to go to his planet. Forgive me if this story is weird. :)))

Thursday, November 18, 2010

11182010

2nd year, 2nd sem. New life... and hopefully, a better class standing.
I can't believe that I am still alive for more than a year since I entered college. Miracles happen.

So why did I end up posting a blog again in this site (after a long time)? Hhmm... I simply miss posting anything here. Since no one reads this (and I do hope that someone will do, someday), I think I should post more blogs here. >:)

...

I love writing. My campus journalism experience molded this interest of mine since when I was in elementary. In fact, I was a news editor before. It is hard to believe that this blogger, who seemed nothing in the real world, was an editor of her school paper.

What I love the most in writing is poetry. Unlike news articles, essays and commentaries, it is in poetry where I can fully express myself. I write poems way back when I was in high school. They may be not as great as the ones written by famous poets, but I can assure that my poems are expressive. However, none of those poems were existing. You might probably find me crazy, but I burned all of them, deleted in my previous blogs; thus making them all extinct. I made them for certain reasons; and I have no regrets in doing that. It sets me free.

Last month, I made a promise with myself that I will make poems again. I have been busy in the last several months (for more than a year, in fact) doing academic stuffs. College made me a boring person. I simply want to revive this dying passion of mine. This is my way to tell the world that I already moved on from the darkness of the past and constantly changing... No one can put boundaries around and keep me from expressing myself through and between the lines.