Reading through the few literary materials (as I like to believe those have literary value) that I’ve written in this blog, I noticed something amazing.

Last December, I posted ‘A Simple Prose for a Faceless Dream‘. I read it again just now and I realized that although I wrote it for someone I knew since I was six years old, it can also apply to someone else. It’s weird. Digging into it… it’s as if I wrote it for an entirely different person.

Then again, thinking about it it could also be applied to a period of time with my ex. So… is it safe to assume that I have the same pattern? Okay, any of you guys watched the ‘Wedding Date’? The guys said there that…

“Every woman’s lovelife is exactly the way she wants it to be.”

If you read the prose and actually give it an interpretation, you’ll know that it’s really very sad. And it means that all the three instances that I can relate it to are all very sad. Yet for some reason, I’m fine with it. As a matter of fact, I find the whole thing so… tragic. And for some weird reason, I believe that the most romantic thing that could happen to anybody would involve tragedy of some sort.

Aaaah! Although I know I should find all of these to be very disturbing (since my bestfriends also thinks so and they make it a point that I hear this from them), somehow… I see this as a very natural thing. Probably I’m taking drama way too seriously.

Gawd! One of these days I’ll try to be normal. Maybe it’ll be fun. Haha!

After writing the supposedly heartfelt love letter, (which I think is a complete failure) I wrote this sort of essay about not feeling. Funny how this turned out when in the first place, I was trying to write about love.

Anyway, here it is. » Read The Rest

Once, I had this conversation with someone. We were having coffee at Starbucks when he pointed out to me a painting that for some reason looks like a sperm. He said they shouldn’t be hanging such lascivious kind of material. (He was joking of course)

So I told him that it can not be called lascivious because it’s art. And then we went on to the whole debate of what can be considered art, and what is not. For him, art are those that are recognized by the art critiques. Like you know, Monalisa, the Cistine Chapel, Eiffel Tower and the likes. And the people who can create art are either geniuses or those who are privileged enough to go to an Art School.

I so do not believe this. I don’t believe in a structured grading process on art. Because Art is supposed to be free, and unrestricted. It is an expression of the soul, that transcends into the physical. » Read The Rest

I just finished reading a love letter, which I felt is so nicely written that I felt compelled to outshine it. Cathy also helped because she challenged me that if I’m really a writer, I can write anything regardless if I feel it or not.

Here’s my attempt. » Read The Rest

I’m sure most of you guys know Nicholas Sparks. He’s also the author or The Notebook.

He has a new book titled: The Choice

Not really my idea to dig out this newest release from Nicholas Sparks. My friend Ian asked me to buy it for him which I did. I’ll give you the summary of what it’s all about:

Travis Parker has everything a man could want: a good job, loyal friends, even a waterfront home in a small-town North Carolina. In full pursuit of the good life - boating, swimming, and barbecues with his close buddies- he holds the vague conviction that a serious relationship with a woman would only cramp his style. That is until Gabby Holland moves in next door.

Despite his attempts to be neighborly, the attractive redhead seems to have a grudge against him. Still, Travis can’t stop trying to ingratiate himself with his new neighbor, and his persistent efforts lead them both to the doorstep of a journey that neither could have foreseen. Spanning the eventful years of young love, marriage and family, THE CHOICE ultimately confronts us with the most heart-wrenching question of all: How far would you go to keep the hope of love alive?

Sounds interesting? The summary might not give you an idea of what you can expect from him. And I haven’t read it so I can’t really tell you if it’s good or not. But based from experience, it might very well be.

The only book he authored that I was able to read is The Notebook. But now, I’m reading the ‘Nicholas and Micah Sparks. Three Weeks With My Brother’ (Christmas gift from Bubbles) . He has a peculiar way of storytelling.

He doesn’t only brings you to imagine, it also encourages you to feel.

Anybody else who loves this book as much as I do?

When I was 13 years old I was so bored that I decided to raid the bookcase of my English teacher. I stumbled upon this cute little book with the title ‘The Little Prince’.

I had no idea it would be a very important book in my life. It is up there with ‘The Prince’ by Niccolò Machiavelli, ‘Wealth of Nations’ by Adam Smith and ‘Art of War’ by Sun Tzu.

These books are on the top of my list. Of course there’s a lot more, but I don’t think I have the privilege of time to list down everything.

What I can do though is put in here some excerpts from ‘The Little Prince’.

These are just a few lines there that I particularly like. Actually, this is also part of the chapter that I memorized during Secondary school to recite in front of the class. That was a very long time ago. haha!

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near–

“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”

“It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . .”

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“But now you are going to cry!” said the little prince.

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“Then it has done you no good at all!”

“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.” And then he added:

“Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.”

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

“You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

And the roses were very much embarassed.

“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you–the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

“It is the time I have wasted for my rose–” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . .”

“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

So… there. I hope you guys enjoyed it. If you’re able to read the whole book it would be better. There’s a lot of lessons inside and although the book is so simple when you look at it, it is actually very profound.

I sooo love this book!

Please indulge me again. I would like to share with you all another product of the times when I was feeling sad. I can’t seem to write another one of these things nowadays.

I should probably be glad though. Because that means I’m happy. Although I wouldn’t mind too if I’m able to write again the way I used to.

Anyway, highway (hehe). This is an essay I wrote about a year ago. Can’t remember the exact date now. But it doesn’t really matter. I hope you guys enjoy it, and let me know what you think of it.

A Simple Prose for a Faceless Dream

It is never easy to admit that you can’t have everything…

To admit that although you have just survived what you thought was your greatest loss, now you realize that the greatest loss is that one you can never have.

The one thing that you can never lose but neither can it be truly yours.

It is also this impending doom that gives you the urge to treat every moment as your last… to give your all and be always at your best. Everything that is given to you is all taken with great pleasure and sincere gratitude and humility.

Every shared conversation, every moment, even petty quarrels are all committed to memory. Stored in the special room in your consciousness where no one else will be able to reach, where only you have the possibility of opening.

So that in nights of solitude, as you sit and contemplate on your life you are able to go back to that special place. Even just inside your head, you relieve the experience.

Suddenly you’re in a place where you felt unimaginable happiness. You are home.

To remember the laughter, the joy, the frustration, the fleeting glimpse of something wonderful which all the more makes the memories more enigmatic.

For what is more beautiful than the unknown?

What is more beautiful than to feel so strongly about an idea, and look into another soul’s eye and dream of the realization of that idea.

It is such a bitter sweet feeling to want something so bad, and at the same time do everything in your will power not to let yourself have even a part of what you truly desire.

An act of sacrifice and self incrimination for every action taken that will confirm your love. Every assurance must be taken with doubt.

It is one of the hardest things in the world. And nobody should be able to take part on this seemingly masochistic endeavor.

Then why partake, one might ask?

For although fate is something that is hard to believe, it might actually be the only reason for loving someone even before you have the consciousness to recognize it in its true form. And let it haunt you for the rest of you life.

There is no conclusion…not even a thesis.

You are left to where you started. Comparable to that of a new born child, pure and simple.

But then you stop thinking, and finally you understand. There is nothing to comprehend.

There lies the possibility of harboring an unknown, and finding out about it after decades of not knowing.

Decades of only feeling something to be there, something beautiful you’re not sure if you have the right to grasp. The sad part is, you still understand nothing.

You are still lost.

Unsure.

Still enveloped by darkness.

And you refuse to falter, you decide to take it as a miracle of finding something that might not even be there.

But you believe to be….

Well, that’s about it. When Pablo Neruda wrote ‘Toight I can write‘, I guess this is the last sad line for me.

Because life is great!

Yup! Truly happy.

(Just a little something that made me dig out this prose.)

I just want to clear this out. I am soooo over the ex. It’s just that this is one of the few works that I was able to salvage. The rest were all lost. And I want to share this with all of you. I can’t relate to it now, but probably you will.

How should I put this? Well… I guess the only romantic streak in me comes out when I’m writing poems and proses. Unless you read one of my creations, you will NEVER expect that I have the capacity to be romantic at all.

Reckoning

Why are all the good things in life so fleeting? The sweetness of chocolate in your tongue, tastes heavenly. But at some point, you have to swallow it. And then suddenly… the experience is over.

The same thing with the company of friends; an exciting and event full day; an encounter with your crushes… Everything has an end. What’s left is a throbbing emptiness that can only be filled by something more..

Something more delicious, more exciting, more fun, more meaningful. Just MORE!

Everything has to be topped, otherwise it will merely be a shadow of what you really wanted… what you really crave for…

Same thing with your partner in life…

You fall in love,

a most delectable experience…..

You want to prolong it——————————you want it never to end—————–

But as you add days to it, it becomes bitter and sour.. (Not a very good combination.)

How do you top it? » Read The Rest

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Have I ever told you that I love poems? I have always been a fan of literary poems, even when I was very young. I have developed a certain fondness to them.

I used to write a lot of free verse poems, and proses. This has been one of my passion for a very long time. Way up there with Business, Finance and Economics as well as General Science.

Please allow me to share with you one of my favorite poems. The saddest that I can ever think of. You might actually enjoy it.

This is a poem by Pablo Neruda, translated by W.S. Merwin:

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.