Non-linear Thoughts

I am starting to believe my brain is a briefcase of graphic organizers.

How I wish I could sort my thoughts in compartments and mentally label them, each time I have to challenge my own reasons behind decisions that I make by every turn of the clock.

 How I wish I could trace back the dots I connect in my mind in a trail of wise guesses and second guesses just the same, each time I demand from myself the validation of my own principles. 

How I wish I could cross over timelines in my brain and relearn or unlearn the tricks and trades of banal existence, each time I look for better options than the ones that I thought were already the best.

How I wish I knew how to declutter my brain, because I am beginning to feel that this mind map I carry with me is not only divine but also deadly. 


An Afterthought: “Loqui Tui Veritati”


The thing is, no matter how true or fake words are, only you have the power to sift through the half-lies. 

I am never a fan of truth. But I am confident in its power to change one’s perspective of truth as truth should be. I mean, whose truth are we really looking into as valid, your truth or his truth? This life is a big mystery, and only your truth will ever clear that cloud of doubt that keeps you from giving your trust and taking a risk.

Most of my truths are denials. Most truths I hide behind denials are accurate. They are so accurate that I cannot afford to let vulnerability to destroy my faith in my truths. I am capable of lying just as I am capable of telling the truth. Most of the time I am capable of hurting other people whenever I do both, but it will never be for the intention of hurting them but for making them wounded enough to realize their own truths—their truths that would either make mine a lie yet the kind that sets them free.

So call me a liar, a big fat liar. Well whose lie is true anyway? I think it is a matter of perspective that we see through what people say to us. We can never take credits for what people say that have gotten us fixed. The thing is, what other people say to us must allow us to evaluate our own judgments and principles, and not make us realize they are right, but more like make us realize what we have been believing in all along, but we have just failed to connect the chains.

Perhaps the most accurate thing to say here is I do speak my truth. It is mine. It is up to you if you believe in it. If you do, then you have been enlightened by my truth. If you don’t, then your truth might be a stronger version of mine. It might turn my truth into a lie for you, but still that does not make my truth any less real. Your truth might enlighten me, too, but still that does not make my truth any less real.

Through all these struggles with the truth and lies, the power to subdue the confusions lies not int THE truth but in MY truth, YOUR truth.

So tell me, what is your truth?

Scary Fairytales

Is a fairy tale a dangerous place to be?

I have seen a lot of these mushy love stories already, interesting, light and amusing plots written by teens whose illusion of falling in love is quite too far from being realistic. They have this illusion that fairy tales do exist. That a handsome, rich guy can actually fall in love with a poor, ugly girl. That a guy with an ugly personality can actually change for a random stranger who speaks wisdom to his ears. That a super star can actually have an ever after with a fan. That a long-time crush can actually feel something for someone hopelessly in love with him because of what has been written in a diary or a love letter. That a bet or a wish can actually lead to true love to be discovered. That love seems to be transitory. conditional. petty. meant to expire.

I could not blame them.

In a world where you need to network in order to establish connections, where you need to rely on filters in order to get noticed, where you look up to celebrities for standards of your own existence, where your affection comes with the approval of the universe as you publicly display it, where you get frustrated with having to make realities make sense because they tend to be more complicated…well, these apprehensions make fairy tales a more pleasurable route to take as a a short cut to pure bliss.

Now this alarms me.

If most of young people nowadays are blinded by these illusions of love, then how will they handle being disillusioned by harsh realities that falling in love is not as fancy as the fantasies in paper backs? That falling in love is rough as the pages of these paper backs? That the reality is, falling in love is serious business and the very complicated route they for long avoid?

This alarms me because while I am fascinated by these shallow plots, the rest of the population of young people actually consider them seriously.

Like seriously?

If this persists, whatever will happen to real courtship? true commitment? sense of sacrifice? “death do us part”? What will happen if they seriously hang on their hopes to the odds that their one true love is behind a mask in a ball, or the kiss under the moonlit sky, or the icy embrace in a snow-capped wonderland, or if the shoe fits?

Not like I have anything against these ideal romantic set ups.

My concern is, they are too blinded by fantasies that they shut their eyes to see the realities, that the best love story is not found on paperbacks. The best love story is the true love they themselves write. The best love story begins just as it is felt, and it will never have to end. No background. No fireworks. No moon. Just plain true love.

I can’t help but be scared, because true love is supposed to be real not fancy.

True love is supposed to know no end.