i am emo...

I am emo…
am Brent.

I am emo with a smile. Isn’t it funny why identified emos dress the way they dress, talk the way they talk; as if telling the world “hey I’m alone!” These people are not emos they are simply alone and are trying to tell the world they need affection. Emos are not them…

The truth is that; the world is flooded with many emos but they are not the ones that wear dark eyeliners, one sided bangs, or I love and long for death shirts. Emos don’t show to the world that they are emos, black is not their color, death is not their destination, seas of fear and oceans of misery is not their mantra. Emos, the genuine race of emos are the ones that in a crowd get noticed, in a group they seem happy, with friends they radiates joy but in the confinement of their hearts, are alone and bleeding. Emos has this innate ability to effectively hide the real feelings they have; emos are programmed to smile in the presence of other people and cry in the darkness of their rooms. Emos are trained to hang around with friends, know their lives, care and care too much that even beyond pain, there persists love. Emos want others happy, because it’s what they also desire; they don’t influence others to feel the pain. In the veins of an emo, there runs an innate pain killer, suppressing the pain, clogging the bleeds, hiding the tears and supporting the tired heart to beat
.
We Emos love happiness, what makes us unique is that we genuinely share love and joy but we are selfish of pain and sorrow. This is our way of life, the real emo, makes no heart bleed, it’s better for us to bleed alone unless offered a hand. If there is none, the silence becomes our friend, the music our confidant, and the self… our only best friend.

I am Brent; am emo. Are you?

ask for more...

I have many things in life; but why is it that I still feel empty?

I remember when I was still a kid; mama never did permit me to go out of our compound. I had toys in the house but I don’t have playmates. I was over protected, well that was reasonable since way back then I was way too sickly. Still, looking back, I feel that I missed many things because of that; but I don’t blame anyone, I am not am if not because of that.

Back then, I would go out every time mama is at work, I would sneak out of the house, then off to the gates to the world I always wanted to experience. But every time I do so, I always return home with a bleeding wound, a teary eye and a frustrated heart. That was my life then.

I never realized how loved I was until mama died after a comatose; I was then turning ten, her funeral, my birthday. It was a huge change in my life; have learned the value of the things I have since then. Life changed after that day.
I’m 18 now, a have almost all the things that I need and many of a few things I have wanted. I am sheltered by a humble home at an Ayala Land; am being nourished more than enough; am given the opportunity to be cloth with names, even gets my feet kissed with the lips of Brazil; am studying at a known Jesuit University; am affiliated with peers that are living quite a good life, good enough to afford a the lust of luxury. But given all these, I still feel empty.
I have humble money, but I can’t buy happiness; I have friends, but I can’t demand affection; I have a house, but I don’t have a home; I have loved, but why is it that I am not loved. I don’t own the world, but I own many of a few of its stones but why is it that I still feel empty?


I am thankful to the Lord that he gave me these things…
… would it be ingratitude if I ask for more than what I have?

we could have been...

Could have been…
…more than this

I have cared for one person so much but never took courage to tell her and now it hurts knowing she’s found someone.

Life at times could be very unfair; there are lovers that never made it into a relationship simply because no one knows how to start the flare. There could have been burning stories of love and romance but the stories were never given the chance to be born. The spark was there but no one knows how to start the fire, thus the spark for the last moment flared and eternally remained a spark. The love story was suppressed till the bodies turned to ash…

I wish you won’t add up to the pile of these ashes; if you feel towards someone; then shout unto the world. The language of love knows no color, no race, no status; no gender… love is simply love.

Just a year ago I came into possession of two letters posted in the internet about two lovers that never realized that there was a flame between them. Read below and join me in my grief for another love felt, suppressed, and left dying. Sparks left to die…

Sofia’s Letter:
Hey there, I just saw you this morning. You were passing by the cafeteria. You were wearing your black, Donald duck t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. You were walking with your friends, chatting happily, with that dazzling smile affixed on your face .You flipped your hair slowly with your left hand, and as you passed by, a couple of girls followed you with their eyes. Our eyes met for a second, and I didn’t know what to do. I completely froze on my seat. You suddenly smiled, making me see the braces on your teeth. I smiled back timidly. You then walked past me, not giving me a second look. When I turned around you were already gone. Four months and nothing has changed. You’re still the cool varsity player who is also an officer of the most distinguished organizations in the campus. And I’m still that ordinary girl who sits behind you every MWF in our one hour class together. I think you only talked to me twice. Once was when you asked me if someone is seated beside me on the first day of classes, and I said yes. The last was when you asked me if I was done with our term paper. I never got the courage to talk to you first. You were so cool and popular, and I always feel like a nobody when you are around. I guess we could never be friends. And I guess I better stop dreaming about you. It wouldn’t do me any good anyway.

Keeno’s Letter:
Hey there, I just saw you this morning. You were in the cafeteria when I passed by. You were wearing blue round-necked blouse and a pair of white Capri pants. You were with your usual companions; eating your usual order of Fritada .You carefully flipped the pages of your Psychology book as you sipped from your glass of iced tea. The guys around kept giving you quick glances but you never noticed. Our eyes met for a second, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought I’d freeze on the spot. I smiled, hoping that you would not notice that I am shaking. You smiled slightly, then turned to your book. As I passed you by, I turned around to give you a second look. But you weren’t looking. Four months and nothing has changed. You’re still the brilliant Dean’s Lister who is always a representative for school forums and conferences. And I’m still that ordinary guy in front of you every MWF in our one hour class together. I think you only talked to me twice. Once was when I asked you if someone was seated beside you on the first day of classes, and you said yes. I was hoping to sit beside you, since I’ve been eyeing you since our freshman year. The last was when I asked if you were done with our term paper. I was going to ask if you could help me with mine, and eat somewhere at the same time. But when you nodded, I completely lost my nerve. I never got the courage to talk to you again. You were so smart and popular, and I always feel like a nobody when you are around. I guess we could never be friends. And I guess I better stop dreaming about you. It wouldn’t do me any good anyway.

Most of the time; the one for us is just around the block. Open your eyes, sometimes love is just around the corner; waiting.

Don’t be like me, I left the spark burning, left it to die. Until one day; the spark turned into ashes; the very same day I realized I‘ve realized we could have been…
…more than this.

a thin line between...

In everything, there are limits, there are borders.
But like all fences, like all borders, in all thin lines between… breaches happen.

Between friends and lovers, there stands a very thin line of love, as a friend and a love more than the latter. It’s hard when this very thin, fragile fibber in between gets caught and messed up. What more if this line, at the same time separates fact and fantasy, if it separates possibility and probability?

Let me tell a story about a friend and someone; who broke this line and broke their hearts.

Jane and Mico through a friend, met in the cyber world; but sooner they met soul to soul. There was nothing special though; Jane has someone special and Mico is eyeing another. It was a friendly connection, at the start. But things changed when, through text Bubbles was born. Bubbles was the name, Jane used prior to their formal introduction. At that length, Mico was already feeling towards Bubbles; but Jane and Bubbles are two separate personas. Jane, the fact; Bubbles a character of fiction.
These get even more complicated when Bubbles admitted Mico to imply his emotions, not knowing in the context of Jane, Bubbles is nothing but a fabric of her persona, a fantasy. Bubbles and Mico made a love story. For Jane, Jane and Mico remained friends; but for Mico it was more than that.
It confused the guy. It fulfilled the lady. It t fulfilled the guy. It confused the lady.
How would then logic apply between two parties looking at something through two different perspectives? The heartaches begun, the misunderstandings numbered.
Jane wanted to let go of Bubbles and start anew but Mico permits not.
Jane is confused, desiring for closure. Mico is hurt, desiring for a start.

The line in between was broken, the contexts they had collided.
Was it Mico’s fault? He braved into a dessert unknown.
Was it Jane’s fault? She created a dessert unnamed.

In the end, the fine line between her fact and fantasy broke; the joy of the fantasy and the pain of the fact collided. In the collision she was left hurt. Then the question was asked, why did she created the fiction, was it because she was mere playful or mere in love and afraid. Was she afraid that in fact the love might not exist thus she gave birth to Bubbles? But why did Mico, permitted Jane to separate from Bubbles; is it because he is mere playful or mere in love and afraid? Was he afraid that his love in fact might not be taken seriously? Who was the coward? Who was merely playing? Who was merely loving? Above all, who broke the line? Was it the circumstance itself; or the personas themselves?

Limits, borders, lines, fences… once set in a weak foundation most often than not crumbles down. There are fences that are built in stone, some in paper, some on wood, and some in vows but when it’s made out to confine love, no matter what composes the fence… love will always break through. My friend’s fence was built in a weak soil and it confined love… I guess they should have known better before the line was set and erected; before the pain erupted.