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Wednesday, April 8, 2009

eLevEn miNuTeS

"Today, while we were walking around the lake, along that strange road to Santiago, the man who was with me - a painter, with a life entirely different from mine - threw a pebble into the water. Small circles appeared where the pebble fell, which grew and grew until they touched a duck that happened to be passing and which had nothing to do with the pebble. Instead of being afraid of that unexpected wave, he decided to play with it."

I wish I were like that duck too - unafraid of unexpected ripples in my life caused by others with me nothing to do with. I don't seem to understand the world's uncertainty though. The issue of trust, again, sinks it. As I grow older, my realizations about life become deeper, problems get bigger, situations become more complicated and things really get messed up. Sometimes, I wish I could go back - back to the time when the only man in my life was my dad, my only bestfriend is my mom and any pain could be healed by just a band aid and a chocolate.

"Some hours before that scene, I went into a cafe, heard a voice, and it was as if God had thrown a pebble into that place. The waves of energy touched both me anda man sitting in a corner painting a portrait. He felt the vibrations of that pebble, and so did I. So what now?"

"The painter knows when he has found a model. The musician knows when his instrument is well tuned. Here, in my diary, I am aware that there are certain phrases which are not written by me, but by a woman full of "light"; I am not that woman though I refuse to accept it."

"I could carry on like this, but I could also, like the duck on the lake, have fun and take pleasure in that sudden ripple that set the water rocking."

We used to think that life is a fairytale - full of magic, exciting, vivid! But we fail to see that that was a long time ago. Now we know that there's more to life than just "Happily ever after..." We have learned that we get wiser each day and that NO fairy can lead us to a happy ending. We decide. We struggle. And somehow, we begin to understand that we have the power to make each day better than yesterday.

"There is a name for that pebble: PASSION. It can be used to describe the beauty of an earth-shaking meeting between two people, but it isn't just that. It's there in the excitement of the unexpected, in the desire to do something with real fervor, in the certainty that one is going to realize a dream. Passion sends us signals that guide us through our lives, and it's up to me to interpret those signs."

"I would like to believe that I'm in love. With someone I don't know and who didn't figure in my plans at all. All these months of self-control, of denying love, have had exactly the opposite result: I have let myself be swept away by the first person to treat me a little differently."

It's always a risk to love someone. It involves time, patience and understanding to get someone's heart to open up. At times, it will work; other times it won't. But I guess that's why you call it a RISK - you invest on something and there's a possibility you WON'T win. However, you still get something in return - the strength of heart and mind and the assurance that you won't have any regret from NOT trying.

"It's just as well I don't have his phone number, that I don't know where he lives: that way I can lose him without having to blame myself for another missed opportunity."

Do you know what we are really afraid of? We are not afraid of the dark but we are scared of what's in it. We are not afraid of heights, instead we are afraid of falling. We are not afraid of the people around us, we are afraid of rejection. We are not afraid to love, we are, I for one, afraid of not being loved back. We are neither afraid to try again, we are jsut afraid of getting hurt for the same reason.

"And if that is what happens, if I have already lost him, I will at least have gained one very happy day in my life. Considering the way the world is, one happy day is almost a miracle."

-Excerpt from Maria's Diary
(pgs. 111-113)
Eleven Minutes
by Paulo Coelho

Monday, April 6, 2009

LiFe is a sEriEs of uNPubLiShEd pOsTs

Isn't it?

Not everyone gets to know what actually happens to everyone everywhere anytime of the day. And that, for me, is one sad thought.

It makes me feel I am voiceless - my song and my cries - unheard.

I feel like an insignificant pebble being stepped on - ignored, spat on. A question runs in my mind, "Who would care for a pebble anyway?"

Life outside the blogosphere is totally different. Most of the times, you just can't undo what was done nor even predict what should and must be done. The blogosphere is a place where you can make mistakes but gives you the room to correct them. This place makes me human - humane.

There's a big difference with the real world. The real word?! Nah. It does nothing. It's just good about one thing - KILLING you. People are so fond of criticizing people - who's better than who. There are lots of people out there - silent yet stereotypically "air-headed." I know a lot. They even consider me one.

I have been through a lot and that I have seen things that aren't supposed to be seen by anyone else. I have even heard stories - of hate, of evil thoughts that could ruin lives - and yet I chose to be blind, I chose to be silent. I consider these things as a few of the many "unpublished" posts the world should know and hear.

Confidentiality. What a stupid thing to say. Something THEY just love to emphasize and yet THEY fail on it. TRUST?! If it were a person, it could have long been dead - dead since time immemorial. Everyone else does it. Who doesn't? You are one hypocrite if you would disagree with me. LIAR!

Who would even care even with a slightest feeling of all the things that I have been posting in here? I wouldn't even know. Who would care? Not even mom I guess. My rantings have been prevalent since I have returned. I have been too blinded by my bitterness and hatred - hatred for those people who I thought were my friends but eventually the same OLD DEMONS walking in the demented face of the Earth.

Now you know why our lives are a series of unpublished posts?


Neither do I.