The Bum Life

bum1
bəm/
informal

noun

NORTH AMERICAN
noun: bum; plural noun: bums
  1. 1.
    a vagrant.

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Everyone has gone through this.  (Right?)

I’m really not sure.

As a 26-year old individual, I am in this point where everybody (or most people) is expecting that I should have known by now which paths to take, which decisions to make, and which kind of life I choose to live. I know I’m not alone in this and there are tons of younger and even older versions of me out there that are also stuck in this quicksand called life.

I’m not here to talk about our life struggles. I’m not here to give out life lessons and life quotes to somehow make us all feel better. Don’t get me wrong, I am a very optimistic person, but I’m not a professional adviser. I’m not in the right position to say that “things will get better”; “you just have to believe in yourself”; “you’re just tracking the longer road but you will get there eventually”; “don’t push yourself too hard”. Heck, I’m even a self-proclaimed bum.

As much as I wanted to believe in these words, I can’t. Simply because somehow I enjoy the mishaps presented to me. I mean, life is supposed to be filled with surprises, right? I don’t like living by the book. And I know people who also find happiness by being just the way they are.

Am I lazy? Yes.

Do I enjoy feeling lazy? Yes.

Do I like being lazy? I hate it.

Laziness has been my longest, most despised frienemy for years. It’s like my shadow. I’m practically wifed to Laziness. It’s like a drug, where you love the feeling of it that you just can’t stop craving and going for it, but you know that it will cause huge effects on you to the point where it will just basically ruin everything in your life. (Haha, that’s a bit exaggerated but) being in this situation for too long got me overthinking (in particular) about where do I end up in the future.

Some might actually think that laziness has something to do with failing in life. Sir, I very much agree to that statement. Sir, I am already walking towards you to join your circle.

I hate to say it, but yes it is. And I hate to also say this, but I think I’m at this verge of a black hole where one last push and I’ll be doomed for the rest of my life. And yes, I’m still talking about our friend Laziness.

So, how do I tackle Laziness out of my system? If I’m able to enjoy these couple of so-called “mishaps” in life then I should be fine, right? Wrong.

I have read plenty of pages online on how to help us “divorce” Laziness. Setting up goals, and practicing this word: motivation, and as far as to seeing psychiatrists.

You already know what I did.

Nothing.

I practically just read all of those, but did nothing.

Why? I’m just too lazy.

Like I said, I’m not here to help you overcome these kinds of things. (Too lazy for that haha.) But I’m here, same as you. And maybe once in a while our optimism will fail us and depression will set in, but I know one thing that no one else know besides you and me, we always try. And what we have will always be so much more than what meets the others’ eyes.

PS. If you are reading this, please consider listening to Mumford and Sons‘ song “After the Storm“, and let’s try to climb our hills together. 🙂

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Alter ego / This kind

She has the ability to love and the right to be happy. She likes seeing smiles. She likes warm and tight hugs and the idea of expressing love in every way.

Love is everything and nothing.
Love makes all worries and discomfort diminish. But love brings worries and lots of discomfort and uncertainty and sadness.

She encountered love but did not know how to handle this kind of love. This kind of love makes her happy and giddy and contented. This kind of love is genuine. This kind of love is real.

This kind of love is silly though. It’s shy and it’s sometimes unaccepted. It’s not perfect.

She wishes she has all the right words to say, to be able to express how much she cares, because she holds a love that is too strong, but is too weak to offer.

Love is not a game so she told herself “I can.” She was sure at one point but every time, uncertainty will come creeping in and all the confidence she built will crumble down. This kind of love is real and this kind of love will be wasted. It’s bad and it makes her sad.

She is writing a promise today that she will not give this kind of love to any other person. This is a promise only for her favorite person.

Her heart is in shards. It’s broken. It will not repair or rebuild or mend itself. Waiting is depressing. Crying is her new found best friend. She does not shed tears though. She weeps from the inside where the pieces of her heart are scattered.

Everything is gone. Her idea of love is shattered before her. She will not be able to sleep at night. She will begin to question every choice she made and every choice she has planned awaiting the right time to be executed. There will be no right time anymore. Ther will be no more planned choices. The table is empty and she’s stuck. Sigh. Back to weeping.

Her love is not a secret. But it’s likely that she can’t show it to the world. She can’t be proud but she was happy at those moments that she can present and prove her love. It might not be considered or returned the same way but it satisfies her that she can give genuine love without expectations.

It might only last until this day and she will have to force herself to move forward, but she embraces the moments they shared.

Love is everything. If she’s able to love, maybe she will be able to hope for better days to come. Hoping is a better alternative than weeping anyway.

So she will hope and she will wait and she will give her utmost ability to preserve the love and hold on to it until after the rain.

read() write()

I am undergoing a phase in my life when I think I’m addicted to reading. These past few days, because of the lack of things to keep me busy, I tried re-reading the materials available at my office desktop (yes, usually I go to work but majority of the time I spend there consists of reading non-work related books). I’ve been doing this for more than a month now, having finished two books and now on my third, not counting the one I read at home.

It feels so good, to stumble across some insights, relate it to yourself, to the world, and realized “Oo nga noh..” The fact that there are people (intellectual people) out there, who share your thoughts and were able to preserve them on paper or books, feels comfortable (with a little bit of excitement and happiness that I myself cannot even explain).

I remember once a quote (from Tado) from a book that says people who read books are intellectual people (or something like that). I totally feel this statement. Because every time I read, I gain something –bits of history; bits of reality; bits of truth; bits of information from other places/nature, without even going through Google. And then there’s topics that you don’t notice or are not important to you before, then suddenly you become interested with them, with their origin, with their tales. I feel a little more intelligent gaining something somehow, even though it was just a line, or a thought.

On the other hand, writing is as equally overwhelming as reading. It exercises your thoughts, to go deeper, to search for more articulate and brighter ideas in your mind, to help express yourself better; what you really feel and really want to convey.

Yesterday, while my mind was drifting far off, musing about this kind of stuff, I reminisce about the time in my youth where I write down stuff (the countless blogs, lyrics, poems, insights, life lessons..). I even checked a site of poems, where i have signed up for before, to see if my account still exists. Luckily, it’s still there. This site is still running, my account was preserved, and I was relieved. It’s good to see and re-read all those things that you created. I won”t even believe it myself as I scrolled after each poem and realized that they were written 7 years ago. Reading them now, I feel ashamed cos my words were really crappy then, but a little proud because I know that they sounded pretty cool from my perspective before. Haha!

Anyway, I just find it amusing how reading and writing can play a part in one’s happiness. Some do it for fun, some do it because it is necessary. For some, they do it to be inspired, or to experience or create the dream that they can’t have by means of being one of the characters. In my case, usually I do it to pass the time. However, I never expect to learn something from it, and I’m just really glad that I do get something out of it. 🙂

I love to do more of it from now on. I love the feeling of getting lost in the book from reading. I love the feeling of catching every word when I write because of the overflowing ideas/thoughts that I wanna say, scribbling excitedly and gaining callouses on my write (right) fingers –it’s like adrenaline rush for me.

Honestly though, I think it’s my frustration to be writer. I always wanted to write since I was a kid. I even had drafts of stories hidden somewhere in my treasure box. I spent my senior year in high school enjoying the benefit of having a journal and being able to share it with my classmates/friends. I spent my student allowance to buy notebooks (I used to save some coins from lunch money in order to buy notebooks) which soon became more like a written class forum (this time, my classmates tried to share the funding haha) than a personal journal. We even organized a poem contest, wherein willing students of my class will submit a poem of their own anonymously. And the rest of the class will determine the winner by voting for the poem of their choice. There are judges of course, one of them was our class moderator who wholeheartedly agreed to join in this event. What I’m trying to say is, this journal thing is somewhat public with the class but also private cos we write silly things about our teachers there. So basically, any involvement of any teacher would mean trouble. But since that was a poem-writing contest (a game of minds!), our moderator being involved was soon out of the issue. That part where I had/administered a journal/class forum, for the majority of my senior year, was one of the best years of my life. I was happy about the idea of it. The stage of adolescence was tough and somehow by writing through the tough times it became easier.

I don’t know why I never considered having a degree on journalism then. It was what I enjoyed. But thinking about it now, I think I became scared. Hell, even now I think I won’t sign up for it. I always thinks that being a journalist means you have to go out there, to interview certain people, to cover events, to face the camera and have your face known by the country. I wanted to write, but I’m afraid I might choose the path that will require me to do those kinds of scary things (sorry!). So I just resorted to apply for a computer course, and kept the writing thing to myself. It’s more reassuring and comfortable and I get to be closer with myself and get to know myself more. Additionally, it is also my means to express myself, when I cannot vocally/personally say it (because when I’m mad or sad or when I need someone to get my point but they won’t listen, I tear up easily, and who knows what will come out of my mouth).

Have I already said that I was thankful that I have the ability to read and write? Cos I know others can’t, yet I have this privilege. And if there will come a time where a part of my body will be removed/detached from me, under any circumstances, it should not be the eyes, or my right hand. It will be scary as hell.

Anyway, since this post has become so long, I will end this rambling.

So Close Together, So Far Apart

How would you feel when the most special person in your life is being dragged away from your grasp?
–when all you want to do is hold him but all they do is tear you two apart?
How would you feel when you’re just few inches away, yet there’s an invisible but strong barrier in the way?
–and snatching a mere look at him would mean sacrificing all that you’ve worked hard for in order to be where you currently are.
Do you remember the feeling when you once thought he is “your everything”?
Do you remember his scent, his warmth, the random conversations only the both of you understand?
Do you miss laughing to his silly jokes and wonder how his simple presence would complete your day?
Are you eager to stop the time so you could finally grab a hold of his hand?
Are you willing to be judged just so you can tell the world how this man really means to you?
If you have been forbidden to be with him, what would you do?
Is it necessary to follow the rules of the people around you, when you know who truly holds your heart?
–And what if he’s also asking the same question, but is also too afraid to give it a shot?
How would you feel when someone who once made you happy is now a stranger?
How would you pretend to be happy still now that there’s a rougher road to go through?
–when it is painful enough to see him laugh in the company of others.
–but what hurts the most is he also endures the pain of not being able to be with you.

Sometimes I don’t write but hey sometimes I do.

February, March, April, wut.du.ef.juz.hapend.

There are just some nights when a blogger would be so overwhelmed by certain stuffs (outdoor activities, social interactions, work, play, having fun, etc.) that he has his hands full and sitting in front of the keyboard and letting his thoughts flow would be some kind of a no-no; some nights when even though he tries his best to start with some ideas, the energy, the will and the idea itself won’t kick in, and he will just resort to watching the sunset, staring at the sky, staring at nowhere, staring at the walls of his room, staring at the ceiling, listening to birds, watching the traffic, watching the moon, watching movies and TV series, playing billiards, playing bowling, playing words with friends, playing royal revolt 2, playing clash of clans, uninstalling clash of clans, playing harvest moon, staying up late, staying up late with a friend online, staying up late with a friend who was staying the night, staying up late with some family members, and doing a couple of other activities that won’t require him to sit and open WordPress or pick up his notebook and pen. There are just some nights when this blogger, whether I like it or not, is me.

So where was I?

I was at an Avril Lavigne concert. I was out drinking. I was at Renn’s funeral. I was at a company outing. I was playing cards with friends. I was playing jenga with friends. I was at a fun run. I was playing Left 4 Dead with friends. I was lending cash to my uncle. I was lending a big amount of cash to my father. I was at Puerto Galera. I was drinking and getting all drunk and crazy at Puerto Galera. I was catching up and bonding with other friends. I was watching Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I was watching Rio 2. I was spending the Holy Week and long vacation at home. I was eating at least one egg a day during Holy Week. I was watching and playing numerous movies and games during Holy Week. Most of the time, I was just sitting my lazy arse at office, not working and getting paid.

And with these all kinds of stuffs, I never even pushed myself to write. Man, I’m a one lazy miserable bummed-ass blogger who just eats her way and continues getting a bulge of her tummy. So this night, though I have this zero percent of an idea to write about, I pushed my way to hit the chair and face the screen and start typing. That’s a one lazy miserable bummed-ass and a blogger for you.

A send-off note to a once awesome man.

Too young, too soon. We will all die, they say. Una una lang yan, they say. And the time for him has come.

First time I heard, I could hardly believe. A man so humble, so talented, so good looking, so sweet and so kind; a man of faith; a man of passion; a man of honor. Such great man will always be the one to be taken from Earth, to join the angels and claim place in heaven.

Renn – although he was not really a superduper close friend of mine, he was never ever a stranger to anyone. His was the very first hug from a man that I got during my teenage years. It was before I left high school on graduation day. Another thing, he never failed to greet me happy birthday every year with a wish of God’s blessings. To think that we were never really that close, I’d like to say that those were the gestures of a kind man, a pure man.

Though he doesn’t look like the same gwapo and fresh man now lying in his casket, he will still be the Renn the part of his circle once knew. Though he left the world too early, many live to acknowledge his greatness. A good friend, a good son, a good being.

Watch over us and regards to the beloved Mrs. Brown. We’ll see you off as the sun sets. Make sure you’ll see the sun rise in your favorite place. And rest in paradise, brother.

Kamen Juno.

There are times when people around you would just get on your nerves for some reason. Most of the time, it happens everytime you’re being wala sa hulog. In my case, so as not to be disrespectful, I would go and try to be nice and get along with that person. By doing this, I am allowing myself not only the chance of having a friendly relationship but also the chance of not heating up in the situation then bursting out with a rude tounge.

And yea let’s face it. Some people are just so pure annoying even though they do not do anything wrong. Like, e.g. the mere attitude, or some words being let out in a simple group conversation. Which was the exact situation that just happened hours back.

But hey, maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just so overly sensitive with this kind of drama, that the moment I heard those words, my insides kinda reacted in a certain way that would get me into losing my calm. But of course, within a blink-of-an-eye span of time, I managed to let it pass and carried on with my own discussion, blocking the annoying words of that person from my own (and the other’s) earshot, and letting those all fade.

Of course, I was active but I was calm until the conversation ended. Though I was feeling a little bit furious inside, I must not allow the heat to show. As usual, I was all smiles and all chatty, so as not to show my irritated self. Nobody would even care to notice anyway. At some point of my day, it would only be me and my shadow, who could understand me and how I feel, and who would pat me on the shoulder.

Oh well, life’s life. How I feel and how I contemplate on things by my own, only Science can explain. There will always be a next day anyway. There will always be another chance to wish for a better turn of that next day.