one of those rare moments where being an INFJ really, really bites.

i think the greatest toll on any INFJ is what happens when they fall in love. and i think for any INFJ, falling in love and falling out of love may deliver the same kind of destruction.

call me strange, but if you find an INFJ and actually ask them what happens when they fall in love, you'll be amazed to discover that the struggle is indeed very, very real--and it's not a matter worth laughing at either. sometimes falling in love makes me feel terribly lonely; it's just never easy for me to talk about it. i guess in this case, what makes everything turn against me in this cyclical chain of things is the fact that this love i have found its way to someone whose surface traits are by no means in sync with mine.

he's far too old, and far too sharp with his words and far too abrasive in his thinking and far too distant in moral philosophies and principles for me to even consider liking.

but unfortunately, he's an INFJ too.

and considering how rare it is for two INFJs to cross paths, i cannot dub this possibility as safe by any means. no means at all. even with all the love that may come round, or the "could be"s and "maybe"s that would come my way.

it's just not going to happen.

the November pattern.

NaNoWriMo is killing me. i swear. it's already day 10 and i'm only at 8,769 words--how am i ever going to reach 50,000 with all plates, projects and exams considered?

this may or may not eventually develop into the most stressful month of my life. it's been a while since i've had so much on my plate

• decorations for Annabel & Mariann's debut
• Fashion Editorial video for VC 120
• Viral Video for VC 100
• "How To" video for VC 130
• documentary for Anthro 10
• STS group project
• STS reaction paper
• TFA exams (two left)
• STS final exam
• final plate for VC 130
• design and layout for CM Curriculum booklet
• NaNoWriMo

and i'm far from done (and in some cases begun) for any part of it.

such is life.

the more you [lots of] love someone.

i don't think i can take it anymore.

maybe this heart that refuses to beat with absolution has tried so hard to resist what it wants to say, and by so doing has hurt itself in the process. but this is a heartbreak that knows no guilt, or knows no sadness--the truth is, this is a kind of heartbreak that doesn't recognize tears as its resolution.

i say it breaks my heart because it can never happen. and this, i'm sure of. it's not meant to be. fate, the universe, and the stars simply wouldn't allow it (as if they ever did allow any kind of love to come my way, to be true). but even so, i'm finding myself soaring through alternate dimensions and travelling through spaces tight & tighter still--all because someone i love loves me. 

and even if nothing can ever happen, i'm just grateful i didn't go through a lifetime without this love that loves me. i'm not hoping for things to happen though. time will tell how this love continues to take its hold.

drugstore perfume.

this song is imprinted in my brain. well, after listening to it over and over almost every single day ever since "Hesitant Alien" came out, and singing to it while waiting on jeeps or looking out windows, it would be no wonder why this song resonates so well with me.

but then again, it's more than that. this song speaks to me because i feel that this song is about me. i mean yes, it could possibly be a song about a prostitute or a club-hopper, but it says what i've always wanted to say.

that she can change for love

and she explains how long she's waited for

she wanted more

in recent days, i've come to the conclusion that yes, i am suffering from depression. but i know that depression is a mindset--not an illness. and even if it really were an illness, it can be countered--not through drugs or through straitjackets, but through love.

and that song is just with me wherever i go. i can't shut it off or shoo it away. somehow the song has said everything i've ever wanted to say, and anyone who would really want to know who i am could just listen to this song, and hopefully go, "so that's who she is."

and maybe someday, someone would say, "i get it now."

--

i'm now writing a story based off this song, and under the same name. it's about a postal worker named Dave who meets a city girl named Meg. i just started last night, and i'm already at 842 words.

also it may or may not have an atomic bomb in it.

maybe.

to be true, i don't know if anything will really happen for me and somebody else.

i don't know if anyone will ever really like me or what i like because i just feel so different. i look at my Facebook page, my tweets, my notebooks, my drawings and everything else... and i just feel abnormal. not that what i like is bad--it just seems impossible that anyone would fancy someone like me.

but i mean... why can't i be liked by someone wonderful? why can't i for once be desired by someone talented and creative and handsome? or someone wise, brave and humble? why does it seem as though he doesn't even exist? if he does, why is it so hard to find him? and if he doesn't? why is it so hard for me to accept that?

absolutely positively wonderfully fantastically stupendously out of ideas.

so.

for the first time in quite a while, i am out of ideas.

i'm stuck on this twelve-page photography book on "Hope," and i can't come up with a single plot or a central idea for it.

i've been jotting down ideas every night, thinking about possible plots when at the mall or walking to school or staring at the ceiling, but nothing seems to be working. nothing at all. and even with that mind map you see above, i still have nothing to work with.

you bet it's one of the most terrible things in the universe... it's also an Aman plate, for goodness sakes... even when i dare sleep it off to think of something new, nothing comes up for it. it's terrible--'specially when this subject happens to be your favorite subject as well.

i'm really hoping the deadline for this won't be next week... i've just got nothing on me yet.

wait lang

okay

remind me never to search through upperclassman tumblrs/behance accounts from this point on

suddenly i'm scared for my life

why Aman why

we've got work to do!

so far:

• STS Reaction Paper (due Wednesday)
• VC 100 Research Paper (due Thursday)
• VC 120 Editorial Outfit Pitch (due Thursday)
• VC 100 Advertising Outfit (due Friday next week)

not quite overworked just yet, but getting there.

i think the four-month summer rewired my brain into a more wordy thinker. with all those books i've read and the posts i've made, it's become way easier for me to translate my thoughts into words instead of pictures--which isn't such a good thing, especially being an art student.

so far though, the schoolyear's been fantastic. i extremely adore my Advertising prof, Sir Conrad. on our first day of classes, he blew everyone away with his stories and engaging monologues. it's his second year teaching at CFA, yet he talks as though he's been here forever. 

Viel, Toto, Aya and i got Aman again for this year (as if last year wasn't enough) for Editorial Design, and we have to say, nothing much has really changed. at least his comments and deliberations last year were far harsher than this year however, his pride still appears to get ahead of him ever so often. classic Aman.

not much i can say about Sir Joey though. we've only had one meeting with him, with no syllabus or organized course outline, and dismissed 30 minutes into the class discussion. not all too fun, really... i'm not quite excited about what we'll accomplish in this class; it's too early to say so though, isn't it? time will tell.

well i'll be honest, i got into this year with no expectations and a pestering spirit of fear--but i guess everyone needs that when they start anew with the same old things. i feel somehow that my world's gotten bigger and time's run faster. that's hard to keep up with when you're overly introspective. but then again i wouldn't have it any other way.

vigil.

it's difficult for the soul to belong in a body that betrays its own mind.

it's on nights like these--nights that i'll really miss--that i just want to create and craft letters and thoughts and dreams and plays and stories, however my body desires nothing else but rest. (yet what can you do--desire is restless, as it is breathless)

i'm 19 now. and i'm glad to be alive. sleepy, but alive.

vouch.

it's 2:51 in the morning, and i cannot sleep. i feel as though there's so much that's on my mind, even more that's in my heart... so much that i want to write, to say, to remember... but no pen or key could seem to support the weight of what i wish to say.

this morning, our church will be giving a freewill offering for the disciples in Ukraine. ever since i heard of the crisis in Ukraine over Facebook, every mention of the crisis sent me to a falling devastation in my thoughts. a few times, i prayed for peace and rest to be restored where they were... but i wish my heart had been disturbed even more to pray further for this country and its aching people.

i wrote a letter meant for the church in Ukraine at around 1 AM. it disturbs my heart though that this seems to be the most that i can give... i wish i had more than words or money to offer. my selfish fear is how they may not even matter to them... or how insignificant whatever i may give may be in comparison. but i'm praying that my pride doesn't befall me. it's not my word that should encourage them--it's God.

i just pray that they feel my heart is with them. i pray that all the more, God would vouch for them in their time of need. i look out my window and find a peaceful land without smoke in the air or the stench of tear gas and burning buildings. and all i hope is that this kind of night comes for Ukraine once again. i know God will do it. God will overcome it all because He loves--and He loves valiantly.

vows.

another one for the books! and another item to check off the V for Vacation list, just as well!

last night was the wedding of our gorgeous friends, Ken and Mau--who tied the knot roughly three years after even meeting one another. isn't that pleasantly strange? wonderful romances and stories thought to have been found in books coming true in such a short amount of time--all because of divine planning.

i've discovered in recent years that true love cannot be stopped--or slowed down. i guess when two people are really made for each other, things somehow escalate so quickly and everything suddenly falls into place.

and i guess in this realization, i've somehow been both nervous and excited for that one person with whom everything will fall into place. i have no idea what his name is, what he looks like, where he goes to school, what his tastes are, what music he listens to--all i know is, if he's meant for me, he'd be wise, brave, humble, and most of all, a true disciple.

of all the disciple couples i've ever known who've gone through the entire marriage counseling process, i've witnessed Ken and Mau's the longest and the most thoroughly. perhaps to shed better light on this dramatis personae:

• Ken, the American chiropractor from St. Louis, Missouri, transferred to the Philippines in following the path of his career. his discipleship led him to attend Sunday services in the Quezon City sector of the Metro Manila Christian Church, where he eventually met...

• Mau, our Filipina female protagonist who for quite a while remained in the Singles' Ministry, as thus far no brother had asked her for her hand in marriage. however upon meeting Ken, she discovered that perhaps the man God chose for her was not one among those she could see in this present world--but one from far, far away.

Ken and Mau would often visit our house on several occasions to receive counseling from my parents. every night with them would be a special night, as dad and i would make mushroom soup and chicken would be baked, along with many different fantastical dishes for dinner. what i always loved best in those evenings were Ken's stories of St. Louis--such as the origin of that "Meet Me In St. Louis, Louis" ditty, the sights of St. Louis during certain seasons, and many other funny endeavors.

and as Ken would talk about how he'd love to take Mau to several different places in St. Louis and how he couldn't imagine going off to these places any longer without her, i started to think, "i wonder... will anyone ever become so truly in love with me that he would think this way too? to trust me to be with him wherever he goes? to think with detail and precision each way he would go to encourage me or to prove his love for me? goodness. does he even exist?"

i guess that's the one question that remains in my mind every time i think about the One. does he even exist?

but yesterday, after Ken & Mau's wedding... some strange wind of inspiration and gladness swept me off my one-inch heels and made me somehow believe, "yeah... i think he does."

i started to think also: what were the chances that Ken and Mau would ever meet without God? what if Ken wasn't a disciple and stayed in the US to become filthy rich while Mau would be left alone here in the Philippines? what if Ken remained married to his previous spouse, whom he would fight with everyday, and eventually relocated here to see Mau, and think "man... i missed out big time." what if Mau never became a disciple and remained hurt by the anger that filled her home while growing up, never to know true love from a sensitive, gentle man? what if Mau remained single for the rest of her life, and was slowly feeling bitter each day, waiting for someone who would never come?

all these "what if"s that could have so easily become true, but never did. and all because of God.

finally understanding this flushed out of me a very hopeful prayer last night: to meet the One who would reach the stars. i don't know what he looks like, what he will do, what he's doing now, where he is, how old he is, what his name is, what he likes, what he sings in the shower or watches on TV or reads or where he goes.

but he would be the one to reach for the stars--and be just like the stars are.

i've realized somehow that stars are very much like disciples. they shine at their brightest light because of the God that made them, and even being perfectly still, God creates beautiful pictures and images out of them. God allows them to light up that cape of blackness called space, and uses them to give hope to the faint at heart.

i think of all creation, stars show God's glory in the most excellent ways--and it makes me glad to discover how they do so brilliantly.

and i hope to find someone exactly like that--someone just like the stars. really, it's not impossible. Mau found her star. Ken found his. and with patience, i'll find mine eventually.

vibrance.

this blog could use a little more sunshine. it's bad enough that present-day weather brings about so much rain--need this site too?

and so a happy post--finally, after many weeks of dreadful, dramatic ones.

enter, David Tennant. a man too beautiful for my soul, and too wonderful for anyone to remain perfectly sane within two feet of his presence. 

also, the love of my life.

unlike most admirers of his however, i never watched a full Doctor Who Season 10 episode--no, not even the special with both Tennant and Matt Smith. i'm not exactly proud of myself for this fact, since Doctor Who was perhaps his greatest television achievement ever (as it made him so popular after all).

i got to adore Tennant after my English 11 professor showed to us a clip of him as Hamlet reciting the famous "To Be or Not to Be" soliloquy. prior to watching it, i analyzed the soliloquy and wrote small notes on my interpretations on it within its margins. without any context of Hamlet, i thought that "To Be or Not to Be" was a question of excellence and greatness. with Tennant's delivery however, it became clear to me how it was in fact a question of his fate and inner grieving--no such greatness at all.

and last night, i finished watching Tennant's complete performance of Hamlet whilst also reading the script. and indeed, he breathes such life into Hamlet's words and builds such character to an already iconic idea--the Tragic Prince of Denmark truly made complete, in every mannerism, twitch, and slip of the foot.

i once said to my best friend, Sab, that Tennant is such a work of art, as though he were the idea that Michelangelo and Bernini tried to capture within stone but never could. his features, you could find in dreams, but never on paper or on marble--and grateful I am that God chose him to be flesh indeed.

...even in moments when he looks like this

or this

...and sometimes (but very rarely) like this

and until i can stand it no longer, i'll go after all Tennant's other brilliant films (and readings!) before i actually get to watching Doctor Who. 'tis a journey worth trainhopping for, and you bet i'm excited.

(the Tennant list)

vision.

i've always dreamt of ending up with somebody. especially after becoming a disciple, i've wished more than ever for someone who would prove me wrong for every time i've said, "i'll never end up with anybody."

for my first spiritual birthday, Ate Rhea gave me a small pink notebook--all blank pages, smaller than a regular pocketbook, perfect paper. i felt it too precious and too wonderful to go to waste by merely doodling anything in it, so i decided to use it to write my prayers for my future husband as well as my letters to him.

i've been at it for months now (ever since December, really), and in all honesty it does me so much good to write in it. i put quotes from Hamlet and Cyrano de Bergerac in there and song lyrics i absolutely love (like Here, There and Everywhere) meant for him, whoever he must be.

i get excited at the thought that someone truly deserving of this notebook will one day receive it. it will be his reward and his proof of my love for him, whoever he must be. and though i can't see him in this present world, i fall in love with him more and more as i write for him. i will love him forever.

valor.

i think that's my favorite word now. valor.

it has a wonderful ring to it. and it speaks for so much--for bravery, for freedom, for honor, for nobility, for everything worth standing for. and to me, it says everything and now means everything in the whole entire world. it is a treasure i have gained, as though i've searched for it without end.

today is the day my mom can be declared a survivor of Stage 4 Cancer. she's had it for three years, and for three years almost everyone i know has been praying for her, crying for her, and fasting for her. however though she is alive today instead being spoken of to die two and a half years ago, she still remains ill.

i don't think anything else has plagued my heart as deeply as the fear of losing her. every morning, though i wake from a dream, i see my mom wake to her nightmare. she sleeps in pain and rises in pain, and nothing seems to overcome it.

and so, i cry for her life. i wonder some nights what it was that i did, or that any one of us did to cause my mom this kind of pain. i wonder why God does this to us--is it even to teach us? i wonder what there even is to gain from all this when everything appears to be at a loss. i get angry at what God has been doing, and i get even angrier at myself for not doing anything. because for three years, a doctor has been by our side, more than a thousand disciples have had my mom in their hearts, and we've been given everything,

and things have only gotten worse.


but i've realized that sometimes, the creations and crafts that surround--whether in music or on paper--find ways to show that beautiful things can emerge from one's pain. reading the book of Job, Hamlet and Cyrano de Bergerac and listening to old Beatles songs helped in knowing that in both fiction and fact, suffering is what it is to everyone--trembling tears and sweeping sadness, only to be lifted away by a gracious God.

and yes, i've also realized how terrible i've been to God, angrily grumbling instead of understanding how He hurts as we do and even worse.

for if there was anything all these works have shown me, it's the desire to understand--understand life, death, sex, fame, sadness, even love. and by understanding, one can only hope to create more and dare to dream of greater things.

velocity.

today was a strangely happy day after a long lapse of rather unpleasant ones. it was the first day wherein i made lunch, baked a cake, and painted my bedroom shelves altogether and at every turn became wonderfully successful. my dad taught me how to cook Laksa soup for lunch, and our maids at home (Rose & Anne) taught me how to bake banana cakes with chocolate chips in them.

it feels incredible to do things you've been so afraid to try out before--and in my case, cooking is no exception. i've been scared to death all my life not knowing how to cook, but finally i'm getting the hang of it quite wonderfully.

i may have found my outlet to help me forget all these depressions and keep moving forward. and wonderfully so--knowing how to cook and handling cooking equipment has allowed me to make my mom's food for her meals. in the end, i feel as if i've grown up in one day. and it's fantastic.

on Sunday, my dear friend Aubrey will be sleeping over! i feel as though i've got this v for vacation checklist in perfect procession.

vindication.

i wonder why things have to be this way sometimes. in a second all this could end, all that is ever dreamed of or hoped for could finally be answered. but everyday, the questions hang. the wishes fail. and i don't understand sometimes why God has to be this way--to anyone, most especially my mom.

it's another night here on the third floor where my parents sleep. on such nights when i stay here with my parents, i sleep on a rattan cot that can be inclined (kind of like a beach/poolside chair), and though i remain cozy here most nights,

most nights, the person who sleeps a mere few feet away from me wakes up in a nightmare.

it's been this way for almost three years now, for my mom. and since the day we learned she has nasopharyngeal cancer came, i feel as though my already burdened heart has grown heavier and heavier with each passing day. and it's become so grave that my insides can hardly lift the grief that overwhelms my soul.

and honestly, i'm running out of things to say when people ask me how my mom is doing. i feel like a broken record saying the same things over & over. "it's stage four now," i say. "she's only getting worse. she can't even sleep well. she can't breathe properly, or even eat. she needs to be 100 pounds by the end of the month--she's only 78 now. she can't see clearly because her eyes blur and she sees double. she can't walk. she can't talk. she can't stand up much. she can't even hear all too well. but we're still praying for her."

at which point i want to gag myself and say "you mean what you've been doing these past three years and with things only getting worse?"

if there's anything in my life that has challenged my faith, it's this. times when i think about my mom being sick--times like these--make me realize how much i don't understand God at all. sometimes we feel we do, because we know all good things come from Him. when suffering comes along however, you start to stop and think,

"God, i seriously don't get You."

some nights i wish i wouldn't have to see anyone suffer or allow for myself to suffer by watching my mom suffer--and when i do, i think about how much easier it would really be for me to die rather than to live. i wouldn't want to kill myself by any means, but some nights i wish i could just sleep and never have to wake up. honestly, that's how i feel--i'd rather die than see my mom getting sicker and never getting better every single day.

i sometimes wish i knew what exactly God is thinking putting me in a life like this--where by mistake, my inexperienced heart is too vulnerable to understand anything, especially life, death, and suffering. i don't know anymore if things ever get better or they just seem like they do. i don't even want to desire anything or anyone anymore except that my mom gets well. but sometimes i feel as though even asking for that is too big of a thing to ask God.

videos.

i spent the last hours of today (spilling into the early morning) watching old videos of Lizzie McGuire. i kind of miss watching old shows and the old values they behold... shows that knew themselves long before the internet, before pop culture was all that mattered, and before people put behind their values to bring humor in focus. i saw about four or five different episodes tonight ("The Greatest Crush of All," "Dear Lizzie," "My Fair Larry," "First Kiss," and "The Rise and Fall of the Kate Empire"), and among them, around three stood out the most for me.

"The Greatest Crush of All" was about how Lizzie's English teacher was substituted by a handsome Scottish bloke named Ewan Keith (though he didn't sound Scottish by any means), and everyone instantly had crushes on him. well, last night before i slept, i remembered my former Music teacher and club adviser, whom i had painfully fallen for in secret during my last year of highschool. i used to be the president of our Readers & Writers club, and having him as my club adviser launched me into tons of auspicious moments with him. i looked back into our club's old Facebook group, and read through our old posts and comments.

well looking at all these, i just thought, "you know, there is the absolute possibility that he might have liked me..." and them compared to Lizzie and her conversations with Mr. Keith, i remembered all those golden moments with my teacher that lasted far longer and were far deeper than what they had talked about.

and last night, right before i shut off the lights, i looked into my highschool yearbook-sketchbook and reread the letter i had my teacher write to me.

It has been a delight to have you as a student. I'm sure it will be a sweeter treat, being your friend. College will frustrate you. Reality will bang doors in your face. However, remember that you are made of grit, wit and talent. You know how to reach me.

and honestly, reading that again made me remember how much i really liked him. i remember thinking over and over, "how could it be possible that someone who says something like that and so much more to me not even think about liking me? not even just a little?"

well once, i truly thought i'd never get over someone that special, who sang Broadway songs while walking down the halls, wrote immaculate poetry (in both English and Filipino) and adored every stroke of genius he could see. well, to me, he was really something else.


"First Kiss" managed to squeeze out a few tears in me. it was that episode where Lizzie got her first boyfriend, a paperboy named Ronnie. i thought of two different people from this particular episode--let's just conceal them under names K and M.

K was someone i shared my faith to on the 3rd floor of Bahay ng Alumni once, and for a while i became quite close to him because i wanted to bring him to church. eventually however, it developed into something far more than that, and everything fell into rather scary pretenses.

M, on the other hand, is the only person i ever [romantically] loved--the only person i prayed to be with someday, the only person whom i ever was convinced would be the very one for me. after spending my day reading through my old Quiet Time notebooks, his name (his true name, at least) if mentioned in prayers would not go by without tears following after.

honestly, if things went as they would have, K might have been my first boyfriend. the last time i saw him, i was walking toward the parking lot of FA with Jam, Aya and Viel, about to get snacks at the cafeteria. K was also there, and saw me--glanced for quite a number of seconds, then quickly looked away. he had a friend with him, jerked his head back as if to point to me, then glanced at me again.

without a doubt, M gave me my first episode of soul-crushing heartbreak. i suppose it was from him that all this depression stuff began. that was almost a year ago since he gave his heart to someone else, and left mine helplessly maimed by misery.

the end of "First Kiss," however, relieved my spirits quite a lot. Lizzie was in a library ripping her notes about Ronnie while Gordo walked in and gave her a wonderful slice of advice cake.

and just like with how i felt after K and M went through and went away--in all those times, i had Kim and Viel, RJ and Jem, mom, dad and my brother all to help me. i'll always cherish my guy friends this way, i believe. nothing ever works better.


lastly, "Dear Lizzie" tickled my INFJ nerve the most. well, blame my friend Jam, who's obsessed with those MBTI tests--in recent years, i've found out i'm an INFJ, described as "the counselors" and "writers." INFJs are known for their quiet spirits, yet each have a deep desire to help others and make a great influence in the world we live in. all my life, i've had friends who have asked me for advice, and whom i've helped because of my advice to them--but not once has a friend of mine failed miserably because of the advice i had given.

and after the "Dear Lizzie" episode, that kind of started to be my fear. Lizzie became the advice columnist for their school's newspaper, and helped hundreds of students with her encouragements and help. however, her advice backfired when one girl who was getting bullied ended up in a trash can to hide from her tormentors.

i thought about how this would reflect on me as a discipler, and eventually (hopefully) as a leader. all my life, i've followed the advice my parents gave me, and passed on the wisdom they gave to me unto other people. i thought about how someday, i'll have to walk this world without their advice or their words--will i be wise enough to help others on my own by then?


i'll let these thoughts swim in my head for tonight. good evening, universe. day 3 of v for vacation ends here.

verisimilitude.

isn't he just gorgeous?

well, he's quite handsome, i'm sure. after five (bloody rocker, five) years of hero worship and unending adoration for the comic book, the movie, the message, and crazed fanart, i finally gained the face of the masked man i've dreamed of all these years.

a few days back, mom wanted to encourage me after seeing my face grow more and more depressed each day. she saw me watching V for Vendetta again, for the report i had yesterday, and long story short, her desire to cheer me up led her to buying a Guy Fawkes mask for me over eBay, which dad and i picked up today.

most will say you can never trust these online people--especially when it comes to meet-ups. however we've been on a rather good roll of decent sellers of great stuff, among these include the previous owners of 90% of Ei's Transformers collection, as well as previous owners of my Rorschach toy, Abe toy, V toy (yes, V toy--that also talks!), my black & white Neopan 400s (gruelling stuff to search for--don't ask) and now this mask.

and the guy we met up with was rather nice, actually. young guy, kind of seemed to know what he was doing, and surely as the stars above, seemed to like comic books a lot. name's Dan, and after dad and i met with him in TriNoma, we got to chat for a couple of minutes. fascinating how he was also into graphic design and comic books! the illusion of coincidence rings truer than true.

it made me rather happy to receive this mask, indeed. it won for me a new friend, and became more than simply a centerpiece in my room.

i look at that face, and i remember how that's the top-selling mask on Amazon, how that face became the symbol for freedom in numerous demonstrations and social protests, how underneath that face belonged the husk of a man who dared to be an idea. and by doing so, became even bigger than himself.

well in all honesty, it just felt grand--truly grand--to share in the ownership of this face. i did try the ever-so obvious, million-dollar Guy Fawkes mask selfie featuring the V toy...

then again, maybe it's far creepier than i'd hoped for...

but somehow, in all that possession and impenetrable joy, you just feel greater than who you really are, simply hiding behind a mask. you feel powerful, almost--as though you can do anything.

only downside to this product is when you face reality without the mask to fight with you. and sometimes that's how i feel each day, simply living in this world, in this room.

and all the world and its unbearable, bedraggling sentences of suffering spiral down 'til my soul aches for fear to abandon me...

and while i see my own face beset in the terror that consumes all the while,

the frozen mask stares back and smiles.

v for vacation!

at last! vacation with absolution has attained comeuppance! reports are over! plates are nonexistent! unwanted-interaction-with-people-i-don't-even-like has kicked the bucket! 

this is v for vacation.

28 days of it, too. after today's Philo 1 report on V for Vendetta & how its readers desire freedom (which ended with me leaping with joy down the stairs of FC and my prof full of praises), all i've got before me are 28 days of vacation with nothing school-related to do.

you know what this means, don't you?

goals! yes, goals! (not the kind made during the World Cup)

i've made a page for the things i want to achieve within these 28 days. honestly, i don't think i'll be able to get freedom like this in a while--next schoolyear will be mini-thesis year, the summer after will be my OJT (rainy summer too, mind you), and the schoolyear after will be for the main thesis. afterward, my CW dreams will hopefully come true... and after that, destiny in New York? one could dream. (a fleeting dream, however)

let's just see how, for now, all this freedom starts to roll. and you'll know every bit of it, because everyday's bound to be a new post coming from me.

"the 28-day v for vacation list" 

God is in the rain.

a windy night on Daniel Street. also, rather dark, as no moon seems to be out. then all of a sudden, the clouds crack and burst and the wind suddenly turns into water.

such are these nights... really, i've never known peace such as these nights.

i'm sitting here, in front of my laptop working on a Philosophy 1 report. reclined, listening to a thousand joyous raindrops falling from the sky. "i'm free!" they yell. "i'm free! i'm finally free!"

i like to believe God is in the rain. and i know He is. the rain heals, soothes, and cleans the earth as well as crumbles it, decimates it, crushes it. but with every rainfall, you can't help but to fall in love with the sound that the rain brings--as though it calls out to you. says it wants to speak to you.

says it loves you.

and everytime it rains, i always think it's God saying He loves me. that's why i love rainy evenings best.

freedom.

a few days ago, i realized something is terribly wrong with me.

well, i couldn't understand--everything just felt really sad. in recent days, i've been waking up feeling unreasonably sad, and i did not know why at all. most mornings, my blankets feel too heavy for me to push off, or my head feels too sunken into my pillow for me to get up. even when i know i've slept for a good six hours (at least), i still feel incredibly tired.

i find it hard to read books sometimes because i can't get past the first few words without feeling incredibly heavy inside. the other day, i was having my Quiet Time, and i came across this verse:

"In my anguish, I cried to the Lord, and He answered by setting me free."
- Psalm 118:5, NIV 

but instead of rejoicing for this freedom, i crumbled inside instead.

and in recent years, this has been happening a lot. this is not the first time that instead of being grateful and glad that i as a disciple may celebrate this freedom, i expel tears and bitterness from a heart that feels life--a truly happy life--will never come.

what exactly am i saying?

i've found out i'm depressed.

yes, i know everyone feels depressed sometimes. it's no big deal, really. people feel sad, people cry--it's not the worst thing in the world. so what if you just don't feel happy? that can change, can't it?

well dear reader, if that's what you're thinking, then perhaps you simply don't understand.

have you ever commuted on your way to school or to work and just cried in front of strangers? have you ever went shopping or did groceries and found yourself crying as you walk past aisles and items? have you ever cried while packing up clothes, walking around your school, in bathrooms at church, while studying, while writing, while trying to even sleep, while listening to songs, after sleepovers with close friends, after spending time with churchmates, after class, going home, mornings, evenings, all because for some reason
you just can't be happy?

well that's what's wrong with me. all that stuff and even more has happened; and not just once. it feels like forever.

i'm not angry at you if you don't understand, dear reader. if anything, i'm always angry at myself. why do i do this to myself? i always ask. why do i have to be so sad and angry all the time? sometimes things just don't make sense for me anymore, really. i always felt there was something wrong with me, but i never knew it was something like this. plain and simple. complete and utter depression.

so, i've considered i need professional help for this. things like this simply cannot go on forever. and i hate feeling this way too--feeling like my heart has turned to black, that storm clouds will always fill my eyes, and that tears, like rain, will cost me the happiness i should have. especially because i'm a disciple.

in the scripture above, David says he called to God in his anguish. and God answered by setting him free.

for now, that's really all i'm waiting for. to be set free.

and while i'm on my way in doing so, the parts of my life that i'm willing to share will always be here to show
just how God is once again going to set me free.