Thursday, March 20, 2014

Art '13

An entry post about art made during the year 2013.











Friday, January 31, 2014

When It Was Supposed To Be The Four Best Years in Life




High school stinks. And yes, it literally stinks. With the flying aroma of body sweat, semi-edible lunch food and everything else; I don’t even know where to begin. I’m pretty sure most of us high schoolers have thought about how much school sucks ass at some point in our lives, desperately wanting to escape six (or more) hours of this modern form of inevitable torture five days a week. There are sad days and there are the happy days and then there are those days where we feel like soulless children of the undead lurking on the grounds of earth waiting to be slain (but mostly sad days).

Hating school is normal. Youth being youth, we dislike rules. We hate being told what to do and we most definitely hate putting up with the school administration’s bullcrap.

Often times, I’ve heard that high school is supposed to be the best four (in my case, six because I shifted from Philippine curriculum to standard American high school) years of your life. At least, that’s what other people say. But unfortunately, it’s not. Sure, maybe for some people it was the superlative highlight of their lives. Prom wasn’t awkward, fitting in and making friends wasn’t a challenge, their grades were probably ranging from average to outstanding, and their high school photos were perfect.

Not for me, though. Proms and high school dances are awkward, fitting in and making friends is as hard as running ten laps during P.E. class(or harder), my academic grades are fluctuating and my previous high school photos are hidden at the very back of my bookshelf. Most of my teachers are mean, supervisors won’t get off your back, there is no sense of teamwork or empowerment and I’m taking lessons in classes that are as irrational as using a fork to drink soup.

During the near end of my fourth year in high school, I decided to shift to standard American high school curriculum. That meant that after I graduate in my old school, I’d study in an international school still within the country for two more years.

After I graduated, I told myself that I would make those upcoming years memorable and different from my previous high school years. Unfortunately, that isn’t what happened. The upcoming years weren't as how I thought they would be. Instead, they were messy and confusing. I was lost and I felt like I was back to where I used to be.

However, I did make some memories. I met some awesome people that made an impact in my life and I would most definitely never forget them. I’m in my final (YESSSS!) year of high school and in a few months from now, I will be graduating.

I can’t really say that being in a different high school was any better than being in my previous one. But I can say that it was a challenge and maybe high school really isn’t for me. Oh well, the memories are great. At least I still have art uni to look forward to. 

Monday, June 24, 2013

You Are What You Love, Not Who Loves You

via weheartit
There's this line that has lingered from the back of my mind ever since I heard it... It goes like, "You are what you love, not who loves you."

I'm not exactly sure what it means. But does it  mean that who I am, as a person, is not defined by who or what loves me, no matter how profound or immense?

There are a variety of love's meanings. But generally... the definition of love relates to fondness, passion, affection and admiration.

So if someone says they love cooking, does that make them a good cook? What if they say they love cats or dogs? Does that make them an animal-lover? Would saying that you love your parents very much make you a family-oriented person? If I say I love crap, does that make me... a crappy person? And what about the little things? Do they count?

If that's the case, then I love art.
I love making art and I love looking at art.
I love painting and sketching.
The fact that you can put life in a piece of canvas through pencils, paintbrushes and colours is wonderful.

I also love to write.
I write as my fingers tap through each letter on the keyboard and I write through the right hand that is able to convey the words in my heart with the use of pen and paper.
Poems, fiction, shorts, spoken-word, articles, blog entries...
I write.

I love the way these things help me create, help me express...
Helps me let other people see something, read something, feel something...
Even though it may not be the same as the way I do.
It doesn't cease me from existing because it makes me leave a mark in this world.
My body shall wither but my identity lasts for as long as it can.

I love music as much as the next man... plus more.
I enjoy listening to the beat of the drum,
the amazing guitar solo, bass drops, acoustic sessions, instrumentals and voices and screaming and singing along...

Music in concerts, jamming in the garage, sound trip during road trips inside the poorly air-conditioned car...
I love the way it brings people together and becomes the international language.

I love singing and playing my ukulele and my guitar even though my voice brings rain and thunderstorm as if the gods in the heavens find it unpleasing.

I love books.
I love reading them because it takes me to another place different, away from this world.
The way they look, feel and smell.

I love hot tea and coffee because they're like warm hugs given in a beautiful cup, especially during cold or rainy days.

I love cotton candy because they're fluffy but taste sweet and feel different in your mouth.

I love the smell of vanilla and something sweet.

I love autumn and the word, "Autumn". I love the unnecessary "n" at the end.
Autumn...
How can I love something I've never seen before?

I love making lists of everything... except for to-do ones.

I love keeping things I don't need... like miniature bird-cages, unused pretty notebooks and glass jars...

I love gore and horrific things because I love the feeling of being scared.

I love films because it's like living a different life for a few hours.

I love small sweet surprises because it makes me feel special in a really sentimental way.

I love anything beautifully weird and different...
And turning anything to something beautifully weird and different.

I love it when I conquer the fears that haunt me.

I love it when people talk about their passion.
The way their eyes light when they talk about something I love...
Just like the way I do as I write this entry.

I love rainy days.
The way rain falls and patters when they hit the pavements and windows.
They express the sadness that can't be let out and the tears that won't fall.
The way lightning appears in the sky.
The way thunders make loud noises that may scare people but give me a sense of comfort.

I love old places and old things and the nostalgic feeling they bring.

I love really early mornings and late nights.
The only time I get to enjoy the silence and solitude.

I love being alone...
I love eating, reading, walking, doing anything alone...
But not being lonely.

I love late-night conversations.
It's true what they say, the later the night goes on, the deeper the conversation.

I love the places I've never been to, people I've never even met and wonderful things I never even knew.

I love Tumblr and the interwebs.
They have helped me through a lot...

I love my family...
Even during the times when they don't understand me.

I love true friends...
The ones who know you better than you do and still accept you despite how intolerable and flawed you are.

I love that special someone...
I love people...
Not all the time but the small parts of them that makes them whole.
People who do small things that make a big difference,
Who are not afraid to be who they are and fight for what they believe in,
Who are different and aren't ashamed of it,
Who refuse to give in and be a product of brainwashed society.
Things that make them human...
Things that make them alive.

I love appreciating the unappreciated.

I love the loved and the unloved...
Even if they don't love me back...

So tell me, what does that make me?


Art Collage is Magic

A compilation of Polyvore art collages.



Finding Myself in The World I used to Live In

Late Night Paradise
Go Back
Falling In Sane

If The Skies Were The Sea And The Seas Were The Sky
Sail In The Sky

Wishes and Butterflies
A Blow of Spring
The Key To Stop Time
Flying With Different Wings







Thursday, June 20, 2013

I Looked At You

To the beautiful, lonely, sad and broken.

I looked at you and wondered,
  How can someone carry the world around his shoulders
      To run so fast from rocks and boulders
      To scrape his knees, crying please...
      To the pain of consequences
For falling way too many times
That no matter how hard he tries,
There could never seem to be
Enough bandages for wounds that never heal.

I looked at you and saw you laughing,
But knew that on the inside,
You were hurting.
You smiled but it didn't reach your eyes.
I asked you but you said,
"I'm fine."
Darling, don't lie...
I can read between the lines.

I looked at you...
To see you looking at me...
You knew that I could see
The truth behind the mask of faux
     happiness
     joy
     and laughter
Was a child painted with sadness, pain and anger.

For the last time, I looked at you....
This time with nothing to hide,
No pretenses to abide.
You threw your mask into the dirt,
Folded the sleeves on your shirt.
Threw your arms into the sky,
Raising those battle scars up high...
Uncovered arms, chipped paint,
No longer afraid when the world looks at you.

The child that was once carrying the world around his shoulders,
Painted with sadness, pain and anger...
He has earned his stripes and became superior
To the summoned ghosts and demons of the exterior...

And this time, he looked at me...
Not unintentionally nor coincidentally.
In a room of crowded people,
It felt like we were the only two...
Like the looking glass I saw him through.
He smiled back, now better
And I couldn't have felt any prouder...