The solution to make the marriage work is quite simple -”make it work”. A clever one may say it’s easier said than done, should the advised falls in your category of nonsense then you are not trying hard enough. Marriage is never perfect, how could something be perfect realistically if its components aren’t, so when you tied the knot then in my faith you agreed to make it work, though a high number of couples decided in the bliss of love and I bet such emotions may fade or become stronger variably.

So how can making something work resolve differences? Creativity in any level will show you the way, think about it, what can you do to make it work, not them but you, and yes we are talking about a committed two way relationship, so whining of how much you are sacrificing and everything and besides the other party being a complete jerk are you really trying that hard – enough.

Differences makes things challenging, thus working things out gives more emotional rewards. Should you be the rare few who truly is at the deep pit and want to get out, my regards to you and be strong - always.

I remember her running towards me, smiling, the look in her face , those pseudo-chinita eyes, the expressions which i remember truly, she was beautifully magnificent i could not forget. Though my feelings was not of lovers at the time, and recovering from recent wounds, made me happy.

We are friends, best friends so i say, i make sure to repeat it endlessly to remind her that she’s one. In truth i feel more than being such, never stop telling myself that we are only friends, should only be friends. Seeing her rarely, calling her a few times makes me want more, but no, barging in and exposing myself is not an option, it is simply plain wrong and the only thing preventing from possibly hurting her again. I held her in high regard, the outmost respect. I want to see her childish antics, the dance moves, and her most intimate affections, pure and innocent, budding and beautiful never for the taking.

i kept her notes, her letters, her joy, love, anger and sorrow, memorabilia’s to remind me that i have hurt a person who does not deserve to be hurt, i cannot bring myself to leave her completely. To see her heal, to see her again as I’ve seen her first, the responsibility to make sure she does not follow my path is strong, for her not to plunge in despair, to move on at least. “Go away, stay away from me, you monster” but i can’t i want to be sure that you are ok. You have done so much for me, even hurting you, you still cared for me, you have been my savior.

she forgave me or so she says? i stayed a short distance masking emotions of a friend, but its love i hide, true love, but not the love of lovers, it is beyond that yet simply love. It is not the flesh or any a gift in return, but for you at the best you can be.

Alas, cursed like the king with golden hands, everything to touch and hold dear go astray as if its destroyer, shocked seeing her cry, the confessions, why, lord, why her? those words she said i know them clear, i know them well, a long time ago.

I wanted you to become complete, for i have lost who/what made me complete, and the guilt i felt, my sin when you shattered. Let me stay this short step away from you, to see you as i had seen you first.

[Early June 2009 | Going back home with a heavy heart]

The once called information superhighway no longer serves a singular purpose of giving out only one-way information. Imagine a typewriter capable of transmitting your word throughout the world and what’s the beauty in it you don’t need to hook up your old TV’s to receive feedback’s or critiques but plain good old paper is enough (unfortunately images and video streaming is not yet supported although ASCII art is still under development).

Friendster is a popular social network here in the Philippines where a majority of computer users post pictures, send messages and catch-up with friends.

And this is not a proper blog post. I’ve been testing Windows Live Writer if it suits me, so far so good.

but since were talking about babies and who is the cutest baby living at the moment is no other than Gaebriele, my 1 month old son (this time of writing) who rarely smiles and with a strong glare looking at a person - and no it is not a subject of debate whether your baby is better than mine because she or he isn’t, and would never be, yours wouldn’t even light a candle against mine - Gaebriele is the best baby that ever graced the earth period.

How can a baby that rarely smiles be the best one around. for starters, he rarely smiles and when he do, he manages to brighten up your day, who wouldn’t after spending countless hours waiting for the first smile, after walking around the delivery rooms door expecting for the nurse or doctor if the delivery is over. second, he is strong, very strong that the is able to lift his head on the first 12 hours, third, he is endowed with a high tolerance for pain or should i say he cries less often, crying only when he need to drink milk and the usual aircon, oh unlike other babies that have temperature problems, this little fellow loves the ceiling fan and air conditioners, he hates heat and bright lights though.

he is already capable of crawling, he crawls from my belly, i mean my abs to my chest then to my neck only to be disappointed that my chin is blocking my way, but no worries since he frequently mistakes my adam’s apples as his mothers nipple.

and hear this, he cried dada first as his first word at his 2nd week, i wished i was there coz im not happy that other people heard it while i dind’t, and don’t get me started if that is just luck, it is not and not open for discussion.

i miss Gaebriele.

[May 27, 20009 | Contemplating of how cute Gaebriele is]

Simple and Short - Plain Basic Lack of Essential Nursing Services and Management. Why?

It’s one crowded place, two postpartum mothers sharing the same bed with only one sheet to use per patient (bed sheets may be released upon request but patients are not notified of such service) and this is a tertiary hospital.

This shadow consumes me. Daylight is a step back away, a single turn.

Release me, guide me, and show me as you have done before.

I need you, I desperately need you.

[Having problems | Searching for Money]

How hard to come to a decision, even as temptation is immense, but would not fall, not yet.

Unfaithful, is it faith, its antagonist, being faithful what does it mean? Is it a tag to those who have been challenged, who made nearly such but chose not to, or those who have blinded themselves to forcefully abstain from their carnal self. Is it pure, if such how can one know if the contrary is not known without taint.

Exhausting for the answers, it eludes, how can it feel so right yet crush with guilt. Falling without resolution, surging all out of me, filling my veins with pleasure, I do not know if right or wrong or is it pain.

The moment comes… still uncertain.

This somewhat of a sting I have not felt for a long time, my lungs near my throat , no more than once in innocence… no, only to a single person no other…

Why do I feel it now? Why you? Why?

[12:30 PM February 4, 2009 | In house riddling]

A little enumeration of what interests me are (which I do, really), drawing, drafting, designing, does this seem like they’re all the same, aha, I may have a single most favorite thing to do, I do love daydreaming which aside from thinking of anything not needed at the moment eats lots of my golden time, it’s a hobby to be idly standing or is it sitting on my chair figuring out what makes things work, but I’m no philosopher mind you. Yet I assess people on why they make decisions but the result of the why doesn’t necessarily interest me. And before I go into another word salad which I am infamously known let me continue my babbling of what do really attract my attention aside from drawing, bah — — —reading, writing, playing the guitar, composing riffs which sounds more of like, say noises, and singing which would be more fun if you know, if I am not out of tune.

Who do I identify myself with… it could be Stephen Hawkins but he’s so limp he couldn’t do ADL’s properly… or hmmm, how about the electrifying Albert Einstein (judging from his available photos) yet many say’s he flunk his grammar class which I didn’t and I don’t like gossiping although mixed in every Filipinos homogenous blood, rest aside lies dormant inside me. Well counting people who are in my categories of personal idols fall pretty much like zero. Doesn’t that make me the best, I really don’t know. Hey how about Bill Gates formerly the world richest man, well I don’t try to think too much of him, it’s not good for my self-esteem.

Who are my heroes? One thing for sure heroes die. Which dying is a very painful thing, heroes are a no-no like hell no, they’re praised of their actions but praises are nothing if you cannot savor it.

And damn this word count, 500 words to make a no good essay out of nothing and still not near the minimum, I even use a style writers doesn’t dare use, and that is word repetition.

Well, to tell the truth, I’m frustrated right now and these paper helped me pass time, 2009, new year is coming. What is the best thing to do at the moment and after that…? I honestly do not know.

Within a period of 6 years I saw a lady change into a woman, a boy’s emotion to a man, and see the man’s quest to understand such change not only of the lady but of those around him - in the eyes, you see both were young and free to make mistakes, started happy, at bliss and enjoyed exclusive time together, made an oath, forged promises and bound themselves in love, in its name.

Unfortunately change is inevitable; there was a fork on the road, three of them, the material tying them had wearied, she had affinity to the outdoors, to be sociable and had a growing shell around her. He cut the cord thinking love is enough for them to continue in different ways, ah young loves romantic ideation. Although aware of the shell, he disregarded it knowing there’s a weakness in it, a hole I would not dare tell. She had loved him and he loved her in return, yet equally restraining emotions, never willing which either is mistaken. Then this fork separated both individuals save for this path lead to the same end, a semi-transparent wall served its partition, both value self-control always appearing strong. He then bumped in to her, smiles… “Where are you going”… “That way”… together again.

You see, the shell had grown stronger and livelier, the boy still the same. He knew of the hole it was there, and behold, the lady is reaching maturity, the beauty revolving around the soft core guarded by her shell. You see, this story is not supposed to end well, so let me tell of the great divide, he was quite culturally idealistic and the beauty he had seen, he does not want to defile. As all boys growing with proximity to rebellion and poverty, he was violent, he sough to graduate, she was strong, autonomous, argued paper cannot be eaten, he knew (he thought) she was soft inside. He had to say farewell, she tried to stop him, she offered everything to him but he would not move, beauty was not for the taking, the future cannot be won then but tomorrow. Devastated she cried and cried and cried almost endlessly. Love now was put to the ultimate test, the breaking of the bond. The shell had now matured in time for the coming fork, the lady is changing more of what the boy less wanted.

You see, that makes me an evil man. I did mention of a third fork, but first let us see what the boy saw, the refined lady had grown different from what he expected at least from his point of view, she was more feminine, she truly was aware of what makes her a woman, this confuses her lover, “WHY and HOW” he asked, she gave him no answer other than “IM SORRY” at the revelation that they weren’t meant to be.

So comes the third fork his fair share of tears had already been shed, he loved her still, to his astonishment they’ve met again, he find her devastated, crying and the hole he knew all to well, it was there , and LO it’s not what he left it to be. And its dark, raining, in chaos “what have I done” he wrapped her in his arms hoping to calm the storm within her. He opened himself to her; he broke out of his ideations, he was no longer a cultural man instead he showered her with all of what makes him, him. She smiled at last and become vibrant again the shell mend, they weren’t meant to be, she bid her last farewell. And he cried his infinite tears.

He bathed in flesh; he tasted what living today tasted, he indulges in everything not him… So starts his quest to understand where’d all had gone wrong, in him.

[Portfolio | The Constant Gardener]