papa, don't preach... but can you?


i was casually perusing through the broadsheet when i encountered this article generically entitled "the art of letting go". i've encountered that phrase so many times that i could have created a new snazzy term---last cliche syndrome. could someone be more original?

i read it and it had some thought-provoking quotes from the priest-healer father corsie legaspi. oh, i'm so sure my old-time friends would be cackling to themselves, being sure that i would probably be the last person they would expect to seed out words from one of the clergy. religious markie is a oxymoron to them and i don't exactly raise my hand for a rebuttal. i'm guilty as charged. nevertheless, what he said made the wheels in my head turn philosophical---just enough to make a blog post about it.

"people who are unhappy have killed themselves by loving others and forgetting that they have their own life to live and love."
-- father corsie legaspi
i know this isn't a breakthrough advice but seeing it explained plainly and simply in one line makes it almost factual, like on the verge of being scientific.

when i begin loving someone who doesn't and will never love me back, amidst the turmoil that i choose to label as love, pain coincides with pride. i bleed yet like a soldier submerged in a losing battle, i hold my head up high and bathe in the nobility of it all.

but is it really about me giving away too much? is that the source of this morbid and perverted sense of achievement? i tell myself that everything is worth the sacifice because i've become a generous donor of unwanted affection at the surplus shop of the cosmos. i pimp myself to a lot of self-serving ideologies but in doing so, i overlook the little boy who i've deprived and abandoned in moments when he longed for me the most.

this isn't a case of me being overpowered with love for another that the world dissolves in a crazy swirl. this isn't about me being selfless and chivalrous. this is me not giving too much of a damn about myself.

funny that something i knew all along would have to be put in together in a sentence by someone else.

arrows which never hit the mark

i was texting with one of my bestfriends when we arrived at the topic of dateless valentine's days gone past and the one at present that casts a looming gray cloud on some people.

my friend was losing faith that he'd ever find that someone for him amidst the workplace that he despises. it was a cruel play for him that his loathing for a job which only satisfies the cravings of the bills at home ran parallel to his feeling that single-blessedness wasn't so blessed after all.

it comes with the territory. it apathetic to valentine's day. it's just one of those occasions fabricated by man. two kinds of people are pulled in the scene, one type more giddy than the other: there are the couples who always want the adjective "happy" used on them, the ones who rub to other people's faces that bliss is theirs with every intimate lustful caress. then the other one consist of the bulk of the unattached, some wallowing in despair and envy while some going to the extremes of heaven and hell just to discredit cupid's busiest day.

i told my friend that today is just one day of commercial crap and made this sunny blog. i don't need to say which group i belong to, do i?