Photo by Gelo (@angelohilao on Instagram)
"We become so attached to a constant life that we sometimes fight against change even when it’s for the better." — Nicole Addison According to the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, the midsummer is —a feast celebrated on the day of your 26th birthday, which marks the point at which your youth finally expires as a valid excuse—when you must begin harvesting your crops, even if they’ve barely taken root—and the point at which the days will begin to feel shorter as they pass, until even the pollen in the air reminds you of the coming snow. It basically means I've exhausted the use of my youth as an excuse for all the shit I've gotten myself into and the lack of life experience I should already have at this point in my life. I only realised recently that I'm not someone who looks back on life moments fondly unless it's something really worth remembering. I can remember the strangest things and yet forget what matters most to me. There are moments I can never forget, though, like that brief period of time when I was in Poland and how I felt absolutely fragile and invincible under the mantle of Our Lady of Czestochowa, who was also Transfi's own mother— or that time I finally got the promotion I wanted after how many nights of contemplating on whether I would send an e-mail or not. There are days which I want to rip out its pages from the calendar of my life, but it won't make things whole. More than anything, trying to forget certain things will only make me remember them more, so may as well just leave them be. More than anything, it won't change anything. I feel like I just need to write this down. They say experience is the best teacher and what better way to teach something by writing it down so that people can read about it, yeah? I know that I've been writing so much about work lately and it's pretty unavoidable since it takes up most of my time. Whenever I write fanfiction after a very sad episode of anime, I call the piece "a place to put my sadness". I guess it's the same for this. Contrary to popular belief, I am a very talkative person, just not in the way people think. I feel like I have so much to say, but not really by talking. You'll find me talking about something on my mind perfectly fine in the pages of this blog and I apologise for nothing. Writing is catharsis for me, same as how dancing is for a dancer and playing games are for a little boy. While I wish I was a better talker, I'd like to think that maybe this is the gift I'm truly born with. Writing helps me make sense of what's happening to me. It helps me make sense of what I want to happen to me. And my God, what do I want to happen to me?
"You are not working from home; you are at your home during a crisis trying to work." I've heard this twice today. I think it's an important distinction worth emphasizing. — Neil Webb
I haven't been very good to myself. My second to the last post focused on the time I spent in hospital. I only developed a minor case of gastro but it felt like my whole world fell apart in a span of four days.
It's funny how I never expected it to give away when I'm always staying up late and skipping meals everyday. While I thought I was over hating myself, it doesn't seem like the case this time. There's still so much I wish I could change— the shape of my face, the chub under my boobs, my legs— Believe me, I could go on for hours. However, I came to realise that my body does way too much for me to just hate it for the way it is. It does too much for me to just self-destruct like this. Rather than disliking my own body, I want my bad habits to die instead. The bad eating and bad posture will come back to bite me in the future and in a way not everyone really expects to happen.
People say a woman's body is a delicate thing.
At times I think it's true. Women are often the ones being reminded to always be careful when heading outside. They're the ones often being reminded of what how much time can do to them. They're the ones given the unrealistic time frame when it comes to their own bodies.
I found an old journal entry back from October 28, 2014 and I thought I'd share it here since I'm about to weigh in on it anyway. —It was said that pregnancy will change a woman's entire appearance forever. Some people say that women who become mothers also become more beautiful than they were before, but I don't believe that one bit.
I don't want any children, and the thought of even bearing children makes me shudder. ◼ asked me if he would hate me if he insisted on having children. I said I'd probably hate him a bit. I don't think I'm built for childbearing. I don't think I'm built to be a mother either. My patience is incredibly short and my tolerance is even shorter.
My godson Chicco.
When I was 23, I once read that the "best baby" can be made at the age of 28, when a woman's body is at her prime and the conditions are perfect for childbearing. I thought to myself back then that I still had all the time in the world to be who I wanted to be before I can go get my "best baby". I'm turning 27 in a few hours and I'm still struggling with what exactly it is I want from myself. It's strange because while I'm having a hard time making sense of my future, there is one thing I am so positively sure of. I think I'm ready to give all of my love and devotion to something— to someone that I made— to someone I made with someone I love, to someone God entrusted to me. My heart is telling me I am ready to pour out my soul into loving a child I can call my own. And I can only hope and pray that they grow up to be the kind of person we can both agree on: strong without losing their gentleness, brave without compromising their own integrity, smart yet thoughtful and kindhearted without sacrificing their self-preservation. ...or this is probably just me acknowledging that my body is a ticking time bomb and my hormones are telling me I want children. God, what kind of mother would I be? Motherhood— what a thought. What I do know now is that it's something I definitely want, but not right now.
"Your parents’ disapproval doesn’t make you a bad person. I know that kind of rejection is incredibly painful, but it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. Just so you know." — captain-liddy Parents shouldn't be surprised if their children don't talk to them about what they're doing and the stuff that's going on in their lives. Chances are their children already tried to talk to them about something but they didn't hear the reaction that they thought they would, so they won't do it again. Don't get me wrong; a parent's honesty is precious, but sometimes kids need to be understood more. You call your daughter stupid even just once and she will remember it for the rest of her life. Sadly, she will remember it more than the times you were very proud of her. I’m fortunate that I won’t ever have to call my children idiots because their father is a smart person, not just book smart, but street-smart as well. You know what, I think I'm going nuts. This house cannot last a day without someone pointing out someone else's insecurities and it's annoying. I just want to be left alone.
I love my family, but probably not more than myself and my sanity.
"The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward." — Steve Maraboli Lately, I've been dreaming about the bridges I burned and the friendships I failed to sustain. From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely hope that they're all right. I guess I just want to tell them that I still think of them from time to time and how they're doing... —What would they tell me if they found out how messed up my headspace has been? Then again, the opinion of strangers doesn't really matter to me at all.
October 23, 2014— If you'd ask me what I want to do, it's really simple: Graduate from school, go out and do missionary work, return home every once in a while, build a Mariapolis. Simple, eh? I only have two more years to enjoy this freedom. Afterwards, it's out in the "real world" for me. But I'd rather face the hardships of becoming a servant of God than to wade in comfort and luxury and end up forgetting my reason for living. I don't have to be a saint. I don't have to be a hero. I just want to make a change. I want to inspire a change. I just want to bring heaven here on earth. I ran on a lot of pure idealism when I was much younger. However, I feel like my 20-year-old self would be disappointed with the choices I made and my state of being right now. (Of course there's no one else to blame but myself.) My current faith life is definitely a story for another day.
It's sad to think that I got used to convincing myself that displaced optimism won't get me to places like I thought it would. I thought I'd try it again when I applied for that promotion and I was quite surprised that I ended up getting the job.
There's still a lot more I want to talk about, though, but I'm not letting my lack of sleep kill me like this. I've yet to repent and come home, and my God, how I want to come home.
Dear self, happy 27th birthday. You are living and breathing— you are alive— please let that be enough to keep on fighting.
Love forever, Tony.