Frustration

I know that people are entitled to their own emotions.

When one has been wronged, one can feel sad. When luck turns in a good direction, one can be ecstatic. When trivial things are opposing but unique to individuals, one will be confused.

When there are repetitive requests to consider a few things, people may be frustrated - sometimes easily.

Life has been a roller coaster of emotions - but on a lot of days, these are just frustrations. Especially in the times of COVID-19 where a lot of things cannot be certain after a few short days. Outside the walls of this home I've lived at since 2009, a lot seems to be more than what can be simply handled. There are days, I just want to take a break from the world and sleep for a good part of the day. I can't perform my go-to stress relief exercises because it is encouraged to stay at home. I need an outlet, but it is difficult without risking your personal safety and exposure to this pandemic.

There is a topic in particular that's really frustrating. I've already said too much - it's time to reflect upon it and rest a weary mind and heart.

Still the Same

I remember during my days in Ateneo, writing, poetry, these were avenues of expression. Those which I use in order to keep my secrets, or tell them; up to you however you want to read it.

Recently, I attempted to actually pick up a blank notebook and begin to write again. So, I made two important ones:

1. Still the Same

2. Eleven*

Both works were nods to two important things in my life.

"Still the Same" is just a depiction of how my return to actually writing feels to me.

In the same way, this blog (or journal.. I can't really say since there are barely any followers), still feels the same way as I'm looking onto the words spilling onto the white blank canvas with the blinking cursor.

In the same way as poetry and writing, keeping this blog/journal alive in my college days actually kept me sane. And again, I could tell you my secrets, whoever you are that's reading this today. I don't have as much of the same secrets these days, but I think my life has been more of one in the years in between my previous post and today. So, still appropriately, I am keeping this 'latibule' as it is.

"Eleven" is a dedication piece. When I started writing seriously, I had a partner, a buddy: one who also wrote, though in different styles, and with differing themes. We had always shared our works with one another, and we had always tried to analyze the symbolism in the content and form of our pieces.

"Eleven" is dedicated to the year 2009. The year we met. The year we became friends. The year we made a pact to eat at every restaurant along Katipunan avenue before we parted ways at graduation. During that time, almost every other piece was dedicated to her, was about her, was for her, or was written with her. And I know what you're thinking, it's both a yes and a no. I did actually, at some point (I'll just admit it now because it's become pretty much general knowledge), confessed how I felt about her (I recall that it was more than once. I know... you don't have to say it, I was a little bit crazy). But no, because she didn't feel exactly the same way.

Those two works actually go hand in hand in my story.

I wrote 'Still the Same' on May 4, 2020 at around 2330, and 'Eleven' was completed a few hours later on May 5, 2020 at little past 0100. So, the avenues for me are still quite the same to begin. 'Still the Same' illustrating how much has changed that a work was about her (practically no change regarding that). And 'Eleven' a nod to all the friendship, the happiness, the sadness, the anger, the good times, the bad times (even our break-up in Sisig Hooray *inside joke*) that has caused me to love this best friend of mine so much more than I ever thought I could.

So, J, cheers to Eleven years of being Still the Same.

PS. If you're able to read this, I miss you and love you lots. I hope to see you soon.