Through the Glass

While doing Friday night shopping with a friend, I chanced upon an old flame of mine.  Seeing the person go inside one of the stores in Glorietta, without sight after almost three years, I was quite petrified.  I was glaring at the store’s window as I passed, straining to see that old love.

We were at the foodcourt with my friend when under my breath I muttered, Balance.  Perhaps all the bad things the Universe had hurled my way over the passed few days gave way to this one great thing.  I had no other choice but to hurry back to that store, only to find that the chance had gone.  Nevertheless, it gives me hope that there are good things on my road ahead.

The Dream Is Still Alive by Wilson Phillips

Not so long ago we were so in phase
You and I could never forget the days
But then the fire seemed to flicker
Cold wind came and it carried us away
But we’ll get back someday, baby

The dream is still alive
Look here in my eyes
Can you see what I’m feeling?
The dream is still alive
The one of you and I
And my heartache is healing
I couldn’t let it die
No I knew it would survive
The dream is still alive

Not so long ago in a purple haze
People dreamed out loud they were not afraid
They stopped the war but not the dying
Some got a little bit lost along the way
But somehow we’re here today (And we say..)

The dream is still alive
After all this time
The flame keeps on burning
The dream is still alive
The one of you and I
And my heart keeps returning
I couldn’t let it die
No I knew it would survive
The dream is, the dream is still alive

Still, there’s a certain regret that I let the chance pass me by.  Maybe it’s not yet the right time.

Lament of the Innocent

The Lamb (Songs of Innocence)

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!

The Tyger (Songs of Experience)

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

- Poems by William Blake (1757-1827)

I wrote this once before…

Beware the good but deadly heart
For he can wield the might
that will smite all his oppressors.

Through the years, I have become both the Lamb and the Tiger.  People who know me would attest to how emotional I was.  A few of them would tell you what happened when all that changed.  They would tell you when I became an emotional assassin myself.  My friend Jeff told me that this “talent” of mine stems from my emotional past.  Since I knew of hurt, then I also know where people could be beaten down, he reasoned.

I forgot all of these things when I became more of my rational, intellectual self.  In my recent quest to attract love, I have been foolish enough to regress to that of the meek lamb.  I almost got slaughtered in the process.  

Now, I would like to meld those personas again… the facade of the Lamb, and the heart of the Tiger.

A Pledge to Feel

I hereby pledge to accept the feelings of love and its consequences.  If it’s hurt, so be it.  So shall it be from this time forward.

God knows that I have protected my heart for the longest time.  I have become a mongrel of my original self, because of all the walls that I have built around my heart.  At some point in my life distancing myself from my feelings has been crucial for my survival.

But now the walls are crumbling, and I accept this fact.  Perhaps I am skilled enough now, not in barricading these forces, but rather channelling them for my own well-being.

The Old Me: Rediscovered

Experts say that people shed their skin constantly since birth that from childhood to adulthood, we could have completely replaced our original skin. We are practically different versions of ourselves skin-deep.

I came accross a collection of notes I had from some 5 years ago. This was the time when I decided to chronicle my experiences in paper, after my Dad died. As I started to flip through some pages, I felt like I was reading another writer’s work. He seemed very different, yet familiar. The writer was like me, but more dependent on friends, vurnerable, and weaker in spirit. For a moment there I wanted to reach out to this person, whose wounds were so fresh from the loss of a loved one. But he is me, only I am independent, stronger, and formidable.

It’s surprising to see how much someone can change in such a short span of time. Especially for someone who has gone through hell and back, not once but thrice, the change can be astounding.

I think this is the right time for me to finally show these notes in public.