I know him

I know him. I know how he walks. I know how he flips his hair. I know him from afar and I could measure the distance It takes to stand in front of him and confess-and the measurement isn’t worth the risk. I know how he laughs, or how his laugh sounds like. I know what makes him laugh like a retarded seal. I know his circle of friends. I know his favorite color. I know his name. I know his sister’s name. I know his mother’s occupation. I know his favorite sports. I know the brand of his bag.I know him so much, that sometimes I discover that I don’t know him enough.

That day, I knew he’d show up and pierce right through the room. I knew he would take a nap at his chair. I knew he would eat lunch with his friends. I knew he would talk to girls like it’s his favorite hobby. I knew he would appear in the hallway. I knew he would take a walk. I know him well, and that’s wrong.

We don’t talk. Unless something is very much needed. The problem is, observing him is as much interference as I allow myself. I want the sensational euphoria to lift me and that could only happen when I talk to him. Every time I talk to him, the place becomes an inconsequential blur, and that’s beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful. And I’ll look at him every day like it’s the first time.

Maaaring

Pitong bilyong tao sa mundong ito at isa duon ang nakalaan para sayo.

Maaring nahanap mo na ang taong ito. Maaring siya yung babaeng pinakawalan mo dahil hindi pa puwede maging kayo. Maaring siya yung nakasalumuha mo sa pamilihan na ngumiti sayo. Maaring siya yung matalik mong kaibigan na matagal mo nang gusto.

Maaring nakita mo na siya pero nahuli ka ng limang minuto sa terminal ng jeepney. Maaring nakatabi mo na siya sa eroplano pero dinalaw ka naman ng antok. Maaring nakuha mo ang atensiyon niya ngunit nagmamadali ka naman sa pagpasok sa klase.

Maaring nagkaroon kayo ng bawal na pag-iibigan. Propesor siya, at ikaw naman ay estudyante niya. Maaring nakakatanda siya ng ilang taon kaya’t hindi siya tanggap ng mga magulang mo. Maaring may karelasyon na ang taong ito, at takot kayong isugal ang lahat para sa isang bagay na wala namang katiyakan.

Nakakalungkot isipin na may mga pagkakataon sa buhay na pinagkaitan tayo ng pag-ibig. Pinagkaitian tayo na maging masaya sa piling nila. Na hindi man lang sila dumating sa dalampasigan ng buhay natin.

Nakakalungkot, dahil hanggang ngayon, ang taong mamahalin ko, ay isang malabong ideya lamang na maaring hindi ko makamit.

The Murdering Sea

The sea was my murderer. Contrary to popular belief, a murderer doesn’t always have to carry a knife. Sometimes it comes in forms of splashing waves with swaying boats. As a young boy, I used to dream bigger than the people who have something stored for me. I didn’t understand it at first but eventually, I realized that these thin bones of mine were meant to become an engineer someday. Days after days, I dreamt of building a city, a city so huge that I would be a speckle of dust. Finally, I spoke to my father, who was a fisherman, about my utmost desire but to my dismay, I was greeted by his calloused hand. He wanted me to become a reflection of himself, telling me that the sea was a gift worth using, something that was ours for the taking. Thereafter, I realized that the sea murdered my dreams and aspirations. She murdered me piece by piece with her waves. I was trapped in a life I did not choose. Certainly, I was born to be great but the sea held me, chained me here.

As I look towards the sea, I was constantly reminded of the person I was supposed to be. Maybe someday when I have built my courage, the sea wouldn’t bother me anymore.

Marian Abella

 

PS: I wrote this months ago for our English class. I wouldn’t consider it as the perfect piece but since it was my first time trying to write from a completely different angle, I decided to share it online. xoxo

You will always be the cliff

I always wondered what it would have been like to be yours.
I wondered what it would have been if I just man up and took the opportunity of knowing you. Would I be the thought that keeps you up at 4am? 

Would I be your favorite memory replayed a thousand times in your mind? 

Would my voice be the only harmony that you hear? 

Would my name sound the loveliest in your mouth? 

Would you look into my eyes like I’ve trapped a universe inside them? 

Would you be amused with me as I am with you? 

Would I be your ocean in this world full of puddles?

 Would I be your cup of coffee in this world full of nightowls?

Would I be that piece of clothing you’d gladly wear everyday because it smells of love? 

Would I be your pair of eyes when you can no longer see? 

Would you allow me to be your everything all at once?  

Would you have let me? 

Of course you would. But I was never that strong of a person. 

You will always be the cliff I wished I fell over. And I will always be the girl who hates to risk it all. 

But for once,
 I wish I tried. 

-mrn ablla

Used To

I used to write about you all the time. 

How your laugh reverberated your whole body and somehow affected mine,

How your eyes would hide those witty smiles as you tried to hold back a laugh and failed miserably in the process,

How alluring was your mouth as it formed the sound of my name,

How you made me smile effortlessly even during my weakest point,

How your tight embrace was all I could ever ask for in this world,

How your lips felt when they met mine,

And how your love completed and destroyed me when you never came back.

I used to write about you all the damn time. 
But now, My writings were as fleeting as your feelings for me were. 

I forgot the lines of your face and how I hated and loved them all the same.

I forgot what it felt like to write with bursting colors even in the darkest ink of my pen.

I forgot the tugging feeling at my heart when I steal glances at you.

I forgot what it

felt
like

I

forgot 

myself.

And now in an old house with the crooked window panes and filthy wooden floors, in my scrambled notes on top of the bedside table, you’ll find your name written in ink-the last words I’ll ever write  about us.

We Are Undone

 

A boy once told me, he wanted to fall in love with the right and perfect girl. The girl with a perfect smile, mind and heart. Not broken but complete. No strings of flaws. I told him, “The truth is, we all are undone and finding someone complete means finding the words inside a blank book. I believe that everyone wants to fall in love but more people are in love with the theory of love. They wanted a love so perfect it would bleed out jealousy in the world. They wanted a love so sweet it would make all the candies taste sour. But love, is just a metaphor. We don’t actually get the true essence of it unless you accept all of its misadventures. Just like people, love can also be misleading and imperfect. Here’s my concept of love: In a turbulent struggle where everything seems rough, a person comes into your life and engraft a piece of them to complete you. Now tell me, have we all come unfinished?”

 

The boy flinched sussing my deep eyes. Maybe the answer was perceptible but he could not even find a word to say. “We all are bound to be with someone whom we will love dearly. One must not be so lost in the ecstasy of love because a love without struggles is a river without water. You need not be so cautious in finding the right person because when love comes, there will be no question about it. We all are fixer uppers and we need to find the person willing to repair all our damages and flaws. You cannot and will not have a perfect relationship because just like a house, we are in need of constant repair. To alleviate all the bad in our lives and make it bearable, one must not give up on the other. So don’t be a fool to think that a person carries no flaws. You will meet a girl with a broken family, or meet a girl who loves to read because she hates the real world, or meet a short-tempered girl, or meet a girl who was crushed by her past lover. When you’ll love her, fix her. And then she’ll fix you, because the way I see it, you are also in need of reparations.” He smiled-the kind of smile that makes you think maybe, and just maybe, this boy would be a great fixer.

 

 

My short story! Have a good day xoxo

Mind of a Reader

“Fictional characters do exist, not in our world of course, we’d be screwed if that ever happened. But in the world of our minds, they are the main population there. They bring colour and life to it, they are the little voices in your head telling you not to do something because it’ll end up bad.
People who don’t read and scoff at people who like reading, they will never have that. Their minds will be grey and boring, they’ll never know the pleasure and pain that it is to love someone so much, even though you can’t physically touch them.
So if anyone ever laughs at you for reading and being imaginative, pity them. Because they will grow old and boring, their lives will be sad and plain while yours will be full of the adventures you shared with the fictional characters in the books you love.”

Paper Towns

Quentin Jacobsen has spent a lifetime loving the magnificently adventurous Margo Roth Spiegelman from afar. So when she cracks open a window and climbs back into his life – dressed like a ninja and summoning him for an ingenious campaign of revenge – he follows.

After their all-nighter ends and a new day breaks, Q arrives at school to discover that Margo, always an enigma, has now become a mystery. But Q soon learns that there are clues – and they’re for him. Urged down a disconnected path, the closer Q gets, the less Q sees the girl he thought he knew.

–

A well spent vacation, indeed! i have been indulging myself on books lately, almost everyday. I suddenly came across to this book. I was caught at the first swoon by the author, of course. The unpredictable, implausible, heart-tearing John Green. A vast collection of his books I so dearly love and cannot simply ignore. My love for his books is ineffable and how I am so frail when it comes to death of his characters. let me share you a piece of his writing.

 

“ There are so many people. It is easy to forget how full the world is of people, full to bursting, and each of them imaginable and consistently misimagined.” 

 

Have you ever felt like the people surrounding you carries their own world inside of them? And how scary to think that you can never be part of it. They are adventures to take, lessons to learn and creatures to understand. We are not merely human constructed, but humans that are created to burst all different kinds of images and characters–we are magical.

Tough as Cotton

 

I hated the idea of being weak. One does not simply acknowledge it, weakness I mean. Being limp on the floor crying yourself until the endurance of pain hits you and you feel entirely numb like a hundred shattered pieces won’t extract any emotions from you. I hate people who are soft. Superfluously soft. I hate people who are vulnerable. I hate people who cry without a highly accepted reason. I hate how my sister is composed of soft and fluffy atoms that could easily be broken down. I hate the fact that someone is capable of turning your solid heart into a flower. Bright and lovely as flowers could ever be. This happenstance, I could not bear to imagine. I hate how I am one of those people. I possess adequate emotions, balance perchance but I was always fragile. And I hated that.

 

I could have been given great temper and incongruous manners but I am left with a soft and easily broken heart. And I despise it. I cannot even disown my vulnerability for entangling myself from it, means no soul. I hate how I’m tough and strong outside but brittle and weak. How can someone be like that? Possessing great strength and great weakness.

 

Nothing can defile how I am as a person. I try to raise my weapons high, but my heart, my poor helpless heart, always gets in the way. I hate crying but sometimes that’s the only way out. The worst option is always hard to choose that’s why it is the worst but at the same time, best. I am not much of a storyteller regarding my life. I’ve always kept it to myself, pretending at my best. Pulverizing all the problems just to show that I am tough as a cotton and then I recalled why I hold on bravery. The last thing I would do is contribute sadness to this messed-up and hopeless world because everyone is fighting their battles and the least I could do is to show them that I can be tough for all of us.

 

So if you see me next time in a coffee shop or somewhere down the streets, I’ll be tough. Tough for the little girl who fights cancer. Tough for the boy who lost his dog. Tough for the woman who was cheated by the man he loved the most.Tough for everyone of us. I’ll be soft, soft to those who deserve my sympathy.

I guess weakness isn’t really that bad. Sometimes, your weakness can be your strength. Hold on, kid. We all are tough as cotton! 

The Art of Mosaic

I find the eyes of humans incredibly expressive. Eyes that resemble into mosaics. I can see more of the person through their eyes than of their physical appearance. I can hear more through their pupils than of their mouths can speak a language I cannot comprehend. I admit that I am a goner for people’s eyes. I get lost so easily inside their eyes that scrapes my soul and I cannot long to bear. It is the most amusing broken pieces I have ever discovered. Pupils are the compilation of every shattered pieces we are trying to assemble. It was sort of beautiful how we can see the flowers growing behind their long lashes and sparks beneath their irises. The inadequacy of words cannot compare how eyes shine like pendants and that this beauty is ephemeral……and poisonous. 

 

This goes to the boy with such gorgeous eyes that spoke great language to me. Looking straight through your wide eyes, I ask for deliverance but no one saved me. I am drowning for your eyes are my pool of weakness. I am in the great form of ecstasy whenever you look at me and it kills me. You are no poetry to be admired but, you are beautiful. A beautiful boy that captures everyone leaving them limp on the floor trying to remember their names after looking at you.

 

How do you do that? Tell me oh sweet William! If my eyes you want, take it! And never shall you bother me again with your glances and how quickly I melt for you. I disenchant myself from the thought of you. You are an art of Mosaic that I can never have. Poisonous. //