Connection

If plagiarism is to be defined as basically the failure to recognize someone for his or her original idea, then perhaps, the whole of life is an act of plagiarism.

Whatever you’ve said, somebody had most probably thought of that too. Maybe that person existed a decade or a century ago. Maybe that person lived in Los Angeles or in France or in Central Africa.  Maybe that somebody expressed the same idea in a different language, in a different tone, and in a different context. But really. Whatever you’ve said, somebody, somewhere had most probably said that too.

I mean, Shakespeare is not the only one who can think of the concept that heart  and  mind are not in the business of being friends. He is not the only person capable of understanding that love is blind. But he’s written about it many times over. And we credit him for that.

Emotions are universal. Nobody owns it. We all know of happiness and grief and love. And we all have reactions towards them. And there are how many billions of people are in the world? It is very much possible in the realm of reality that at two of them have the same perception of one thing.

And it’s just so unfair that you can’t write what you think about and claim it as your own just because another person have already written about it and had it published. Somehow the words become their possession. And now nothing is ever original.  NOTHING.

Whatever you are writing, or saying, or simply thinking about, it’s just a product of all that you’ve encountered. It’s not solely yours.

But come to think of it, it's not really bad  after all. In fact it’s pretty nice to think that we are all connected. It’s kind of amazing to realize that we think alike cause our emotions become bridges to different minds. It's beautiful to arrive at a conclusion that though time and distance separate us, we have a common ground. Somehow in the grand scheme of things, different circles overlap.

You Know How to Shut Me Up

photo from  http://s2.favim.com/orig/35/books-heart-love-photography-pink-Favim.com-282215.jpg

You know how to shut me up.
And because of that,
I want to master the art
Of shutting you up as well.

As much as you cringe
At my futile attempts
to crack a joke
(that wouldn't even pass as a joke),
I wanna rub in your face
the fact that you also sound stupid
whenever you share something
you think is funny.
But I can't.
I'd laugh anyway.

You know how to shut me up.
And because of that,
I want to master the art
Of shutting you up as well.

Every time I talk about
a new guy I'm eyeing on,
you never fail to tell me
how amazed you are
that though I am such a skeptic
in terms of love and romance,
I kinda know attraction and "flirtationship" after all.
And though the words may sound
like clanging cymbals
when they come from other people,
it's music in my ears
when they come from you.

And I hope you know
that every time you tell me
about your new eye candy,
and how you think that the someone you like
is liking you back,
at the back of my mind I'm thinking:
My friend here has a very, very
severe case of erotomania.
I want to tell you  that you have
excessive self-esteem.
But I don't. And I won't.
I'll always prefer saying
"YES, he/she definitely likes you back!"
Cause in the first place,
it's hard not to love you anyway.

You know how to shut me up.
And because of that,
I want to master the art
Of shutting you up as well.

I've always had a knack for denying.
I've got used to people
taking my "No" as a "No."
But then there was you.
And  I hate you. I really do.
I hate it when you sit beside me
and tell me about things I would not admit.
And then I end up blabbing and spazzing,
as if under the influence of alcohol.

You frustrate me.
Oftentimes, I want to tell you to shut up
And just let me be.
But I can't. I feel like I shouldn't
For what are the chances of finding
other kindred souls
who probably know me a lot better
than I could ever know myself?

And even if there are gazillions
who can do the things you do--
from dinosaur times,
to the imagined robot times,
and countless lifetimes in between,
know that you are still one of a kind.

You know how to shut me up,
turning my pursed or puckered lips into a grin.
You know how to shut me up,
And for that reason,
I love you most.

The Man Who Has Loved

photo from http://cdnimg.visualizeus.com

The Man Who Has Loved

by Christine Magpayo

This is a poem--
A poem without a rhyme--
A poem about a man--
About a man who has loved--
Who has loved with all his heart.

This is a story.
Yes, a story never told--
A story never known--
Never known  even to them--
Even to  them who shared the love.

And so once upon a time...
Yes, something happened once upon a time--
Something that ended so quick--
'Twas so quick that it didn't seem real.
It didn't seem real but it was.

Now you ask what happened--
What happened to  the man?
Well all I know of is...
He is still that man--
That man who has loved--
Who has loved with all his heart.

---

The poem represents LOVE.

NATURE OF THE POEM

It had  no rhyme;

It had no measure.

Lines do not match but they do connect.

The poem tells us that there is a story but tells us nothing about the story.

Its brevity immortalizes its existence.

The endless questions stretch out and explore on different possibilities

even when the story itself deals with oblivion.

NATURE OF LOVE

Love does not require a certain degree of similarity and compatibility.

Love isn’t a science; it is immeasurable.

People do not necessarily have to be a perfect match;
what matters is they make both ends  meet.

Love tells us of stories but the profundity is exclusive to the two who are part of the stories.

There’s a kind of love that ends but lasts.

As long as there are what if’s and could have been’s lurking  in the mind,

A love that’s over… isn’t really over yet.

Twenty Days (The Wedding)

            White orchids crowned the golden flower stands poised on each side of the aisle. Music filled the small dome illuminated by natural sunlight passing through the stained glass windows. The people wearing satin dresses and suits started walking on the red carpet leading to the altar where vows were to be made

Marianne, the bride, was fidgeting at the back of the line. She was playing with the silver heart-shaped pendant of her favorite necklace and was slightly but constantly stomping her feet.  Beside her stood her escort, Ryan, a good friend since college. He noticed that she was so restless. He placed his hands on his pockets and motioned his head towards hers.

“You have a very beautiful necklace.” He whispered and stood upright, smirking.
A grin formed in her face. “You mean your birthday gift? Self-righteous.” She chuckled.
Marianne beamed as she fixed her eyes on her groom.
He nudged her elbow with his.  “It could have been me.” He joked.
She looked up and faced him.  “It could have been anyone else.”
He raised his left brow and tilted his head on the side.
She pinched his nose. “Well, it could have been you.”
He forced a smile.
“I could make a scene and stop the wedding.”  He playfully said.
“You won’t.” She sneered. 
“Why not? You know I love you.” Both of them were looking at the altar.
“Exactly the reason I know you won’t.”

To that, he had no response.
She put her hand on his arm and they started walking down the aisle.

Of Wanting and Waiting and Winning

video clip  from HIMYM S04E23

Song by  Michelle  Featherstone  (Careful)

Love is a cliche we never get tired of. Maybe that's because we never really understand it. Or maybe it's ourselves that we don't understand after all. Maybe we are constantly in search of what kind of love we want, of how we plan to get it, and why we plan to keep it. Perhaps some have found the answers through the act of loving or maybe they're like me and a million others: simply hypothesizing. 

Love always deals with well-deserved happily ever afters. Maybe that's where it all gets confusing. Cause love starts not with a couple finding each other, but with an individual finding himself. Love is a good story. And just like every story, it has a prologue-- something that explains and causes the main events. And these two, for me, are of equal importance.

Wanting.

To want something is to realize that you don't have it but you would like to have it. Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but surely one day you would like to take a hold of it and own it. 

To acknowledge that you want something is to be brave enough to accept the fact that you feel  incomplete, that something is missing. And you feel it day after day til a simple want becomes  a necessity. Constantly wanting something leads to needing it. And to need something is to understand that though you might never have it, you still want it.

You can go your whole life convincing yourself you don't want or need love. Or you can risk getting hurt and be open to the idea that maybe, just maybe, love (no matter  how insignificant you think it is), is the missing piece of  jigsaw puzzle that would  complete your life.

Waiting.

To wait is to believe that not everyone is worth the risk. It means being patient for the arrival of someone you deserve. Sure there are a lot of fish in the sea.  But you can't catch them all just because they're there. When you keep on filling your boat, there might be no more room for the right fish when it arrives. I'm not saying believe in the whole "The One" thing.  Some people get it right the first time  around. Maybe you're one of the lucky "some." But if you're not, nothing's bad with the classic trial and error. Just make sure that the wrong ones, though they are not IT, they are a lot like it. 

Secondly, to wait does not only mean to wait for the "right person" but to wait for the "right time" as well. So many people get this concept wrong. By right time, I do not mean wait til you finish college, find a work, invest on some properties (though that would be ideal). What I mean is that before you go and search for your person, make sure you, yourself, is a person worth searching for. Make sure that the person you think you deserve.. deserves you as well.

Winning.

To win is to work hard. And hard work entails sacrifices which adds more value to the thing being desired. The more you work hard for something, the higher your degree of satisfaction is when the thing desired is already at hand.

Nonetheless, it is important to note that to win is not simply to have what you've wanted and waited for. Sure, we all deserve what we've worked hard for,  but the thing is, what we've worked hard for should be worth all our time, efforts, and sacrifices. It should make us happy in the end. 

Love is about wanting it, waiting for it, and winning it. You go from there.

Cheers!

photo from http://1ms.net/change-colors-artistic-posted-120379.html | text by tine magpayo

Cheers

by Christine Magpayo

Cheers for yesterday!
Be happy for all things gone
that somehow stayed
through photographs, or notes,
or occasional trips
down the memory lane.
Good or bad, they had been
and will always be yours.

Cheers for now--
The most overlooked and forgotten
element of time
you use to recall and plan.
Wasted or worthwhile, it is
and will always be part of your destiny.

Cheers for tomorrow--
The place where where good old dreams
have the chance to turn into realities
And where broken promises
would probably come to fulfilment
in another form or so.
Be it grand or not,
It has always been up to you.

Past, Present and Future
Are gifts men often do not know how to handle.
People usually forget
That Past must not only be accepted,
but also respected;
That Present is not only
a bridge between Past and Future,
but also a moment that deserves
to be payed attention to and to be cherished.
May we never forget
That future must not be feared,
Instead, looked forward to.

To what was,what is, and what will be,
Cheers!

Let "child I" live

photo from  http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/may/04/le-petit-prince-pages-auction

I have arrived at a frightening conclusion that I just might be a murderer, and that each person around me or even someone far away from me is one, too. Even you.

Don’t get me wrong. One does not need knives, guns, or nuclear bombs to be a murderer. Sometimes, without one knowing it, one has already killed. Sure, we don’t stab people or shoot them, or make their bodies explode. Maybe we are not physically hurting anyone. But we kill hopes and dreams, even our own. Is that so much of a difference?

This realization came to me when, in our creative writing class, we were told to recall our favorite story as a child and try to change its ending. I picked Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s “The Little Prince.” I chose to disregard the 27th chapter, the last one, and to replace it with an epilogue.

This is what I wrote:

“I have a confession to make. There was no desert; there was no other planet that was the home of a talking rose; there was no little prince. Better put, I was the little prince.

“Everything existed in my mind. The ‘child I’ was the little prince talking to the lost navigator that is the ‘I now.’ If the theory of the multiverse is indeed true, and if the ‘child I’ would be able to meet the ‘I now,’ he would be disappointed. He would remind me of things I was sure of—things I believed in and things I loved. Faith and feelings are nothing but empty words now. Certainly, I am not what he envisioned himself to be.

“There were times when I let the little prince lead me. It is funny how he seems to know where to go and how to go about things more than I could. Only the children know what they are looking for, right? Somehow, it reassures me to say that I was once a kid. We all were. But growing up is inevitable and in the process, most of us have lost our identities. We let ourselves be defined by people who don’t really matter. We allow ourselves to be consumed by the world that is only concerned with wealth, fame and power. The world is a big poisonous snake—when it bites you, you’re dead. I let the little prince die in the same way you killed the happy child in you. We murder dreams and later on complain about dissatisfaction. Then we blame everything and everyone but ourselves without realizing that this is a choice we’ve made. This is our sad reality and this will be the reality of all people if we let it be this way.

“Do me a favor. Tell and retell this story to every child you know. Tell them to look at themselves carefully so that they will be sure to recognize it even after many years. It might be too late for us but not for them. I am writing this note under the laughing stars and I know somewhere, my star is shining bright. The little prince, the ‘child I,’ is proud of me.”

What made me want to change the ending this way is the symbolism I found in the story. Take, for example, the character of the little prince. He embodies every child—he loves adventures, tries to make sense of everything, and believes that one can find a true friend in a flower or a wild animal, then allows himself to get attached to them. These are obviously non-adult things. A grownup is too busy worrying, is hopelessly agreeing to what others tell him to do, and is pitifully detaching himself from matters of real importance. Such is the attitude of the lost and stranded navigator.

Life’s like a plane; adults are like careless pilots. The pilot takes control and becomes more and more confident as the plane gets higher and higher. He tries to maintain a specific height from the ground. Then he realizes he forgot the map and now he doesn’t know his destination and then he starts to panic. It turns out that the good takeoff was just part of the whole projectile motion. If he’s lucky enough, he’d be alive somewhere he never wanted to be at, with his plane that’s too damaged to be fixed.

Life’s like that. It turns out to be a piece of junk when it crashes. As far as reaching one’s dream is concerned, skill and direction should go together. It is not enough that one knows what one should be doing; it is also important that one knows where one is going. Although here’s the thing: Skill and direction don’t usually come in a complete package. The first is a grownup’s possession, the latter is a kid’s. For this reason, it is highly significant that you let the child in you live.

But why do you choose to leave that dreaming child behind? Why do you prefer to let him die? Maybe it’s this: We don’t want to be reminded of the things we’ve come to believe that we can’t have. Some say dreams are for carefree children who don’t have to pay the monthly bills; they are for people who don’t have many responsibilities. Maybe the truth is, it really hurts us inside to realize that what seemed to be so real and close when we were young are too distant now. Our dreamt realities from yesterday have become the impossibilities of today and tomorrow. We silently mourn the loss, and consciously or unconsciously encourage others to do likewise. We kill dreams; we murder what could have become real.

If you happen to meet the younger you, what can possibly happen? Two things I can think of: He/she will tell you how proud he/she is for you, or he/she will give you a warm, comforting hug and whisper, “Go on. Fix your plane. It’s never too late.”

Are you still preparing for takeoff? Make sure to bring everything that you truly need. Did your plane already crash right before your eyes? Get up and don’t lose hope. If you don’t want to stay where you landed, start figuring out where you’d rather be. If you’re finally sure of where that place is, make a move. Do it now.

article originally published in 

http://opinion.inquirer.net/40680/let-child-i-live