For my students… This is always, always gonna be you.
Oh, how fascinating the view of the Garden of Eden! Screaming colors splattering in cue all of a sudden. Thou shall not fade thy radiant living color A moth to a candle: refrain from deep dolor.
Every time I feel like I ain’t really worthy Of thine adoration; like a bamboo in sturdy. Scriptures in synagogue foretell the otherwise But the mien of thine will hail in twice.
The moment I knew how lovely thou art to me. That’s the rhythm my heart sync in gloomy. The language of men turned wordlessly idle. Needle in the haystack became my scapegoat riddle.
Yet everything shall end in goodbyes A smile written in our faces will always be our vice Hold on to the learnings, hold on to the memories ’til we crossed paths again, then we’ll tell our stories.
As I looked back to the learned past, I’ve been through, I come to realize how thankful I am to the mixed emotions I’ve felt from my environment these days and nowadays. This somehow molds me in becoming a warrior to the battles I will continue to fight on and strive hard to achieve something impossible people do not want me to be, for I am a sort of a weakling for them. But I believe that it is the low that makes the high so sweet, so I am ready to cross paths with Goliath if that will be the case. And I am so damn ready for it.
Thinking through different lenses, I become eclectic in various types of phenomena life’s throwing at me. Thus, the 3 keys created by yours truly, as conundrums in this crazy beautiful life others might understand if they felt or feel the same way as I do. Life is truly a mystery to celebrate its existence with love, hope, peace and acceptance in our own lines.
I am so proud of my gifts God bestowed upon me. And I am solid through thick and thin.
Here’s “the 3 keys” for you to collect!
*First Key:
I am very much comfortable living in a bubble that I forgot that I am truly living on a swaying wrecking ball. So sad, I cannot fix what has been broken. The damage has been done, even the strongest bandage cannot mend it.
In a crowded room, where vultures start circling in the circumference, no one is here as a man or a woman: just a boy and a girl. You know what’s crazy? Sometimes, I also play grown up in this game called, “Who Will Last in the Play-Pretend Game”.
In this so-called house that the forefathers built, what a good foundation – everything, everyone gone plastic. The norms? Be mechanical. But here in this place, it’s quite different from that. In case you want to find out, go here. The place is cold but the people here, hmmm… HOT!
*Second Key:
And now here I am, in a place where I can be me, I feel like I can be anything, say anything, try anything or do anything. No witches and wizards to please, just me time doing the things that I really like in the first place – losing myself in a story.
I smell freedom and comfort here. But just when the bell rings, it becomes an alarm clock signal for me to wake up and go back to the real world.
You can find me here, ask the keeper, as my name engraved on the list.
*Third Key:
Finally, you are here. I’m getting used to people leaving me behind. Not literally leaving me behind let me tell you that, but as they have finally seen the greener pasture outside these walls.
I’m happy for them, truly am. However, as they told me that if their doors finally close – the end game of their chapters here, another one will open for sure to be here. And ta-da! Here you are, like a lighthouse; I am seeing the light of the day, again. Ha-ha!
Thank you for being a good mentor and now a friend to me. I did not see it coming, but I am forever grateful for this chance in knowing you more as a person. I am carrying your principle with me as before on becoming and now I am quite like you – a guide, an adviser, a teacher. Your heart, your personality and your passion to do good things and to inspire others are paving the way for me to absorb positive light and hope for tomorrow. And with that, I think, I am on the right track. So, thank you!
At the top of my lungs, I scream In my darkest hours, you are my sunbeam Into the River Lethe, you become my memory For you simply debunk that life is too short for a long story. Around the world in 80 days, seemed not enough to explore you, Against all odds, I swear it on the River Styx to stick with you in a shade of hue. Until the world ends, forever ain’t the word to immortalize you while we’re going down in history.
*Preposition Poem – The poem is a seven line poem, each line begins with a preposition. Authors write about themselves, their feelings and emotions.
We all have stories to tell. We can be bad or good in someone else’s stories. Yet, we are all stories in the end. Like burning pictures turned into ashes as the photographer grieving for his lost. Yes, we are all stories in the end.
And I’m dead. This is my eulogy to the old me.
Hearing dirty stories, hearing wildfire lies or hearing fragments from the fabricated printed receipts is something besieging on your party like a rain that is non-stop, malevolent, eerie and appalling. With their definitive faces and transitioning faces on how they connect with the absolute bubble bursting in the air encouraging you to join with the heist and be one of their culprits – nothing is ever undertaken in a pinky swear of an idyllic childhood. And then, they were like: upon getting a glimpse of your past transcending to your future, they turned to face you, eyes appraising, eyes assessing, eyes reading – running up and down and then up and down again with their usual tricks about dealing with cards or they’re like paparazzi binding stories with their binoculars all up in the headlines; and you’re in a hot water again. Truly, rumors fly.
I hate to say this, but this is why we can’t have nice things. And I’d rather go pshawed and fied on anyone who disagrees! This is how the world works. No more burying the hatchets from now on, for I will be going to rain on someone’s parade. Like burning witches on the witching hour, slaying dragons with their two-faced behind burqa, hunting vultures and lively kissing fish whisperers as the leaves telling the wind to contaminate the air, well, I am your nightmare and it’s time for me to say, “checkmate” as the time will be my ultimate truthteller while you are trying to recycle wasted time. And I cannot wait to see you manipulating your failing game bending and mending the brokenness of that fractured bone as if it heals in an instant antidote of articulation. Brace for the fall!
The old me has gone. Feel the heat of the brand new me. See the role you made me play! The “he said, she said” becomes an epitome of my venting computer-generated veracity. Mic dropping on the floor. Throwing stones on the pedestal. Washing the dishes made from stain. And I will never gonna bring a knife to a gun fight; for I will make sure that will you know that it was I who made this end. Et tu brute to the pretenders! Here comes the lightweight. Run!!!
“Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton”
Through this blog, I want to commemorate those moments, memories, opportunities, learning experiences and many many things I could not hope and imagine for that I considered a happenstance in my life. I will be forever grateful to the gifts God bestowed upon me and by that, I would like to share it with you through my art. May this art be an instrument of light, hope and love.
The Written Enochian Code of an Imperfect Angel 