World War 3...

Fighting.

Fighting.

Fighting.


The word seems to send sporadic twinges in my system. My head is aching. The beating of my heart is accelerating. My temper is seething. My fist are clenching. My teeth are gritting. And I'm starting to have the burning urge to shout "SHUT UP!"

This is how I feel when I hear people fighting. I find it strange too. But my entire system seems to be aggravated when people are quarrelling in front of me. I'm not talking here about small arguments. Arguments for me are mere debates; an activity for people to exercise their reasoning. It is huge fights that involve physical pain and curses that pisses me off.

Fighting is inevitable, of course. Writing this article will not make people stop fighting but I would just like to express some of my thoughts at this moment because I had just witnessed one of the worst World War 3s in my life. As usual, I served as the mediator, a role which I've always hated playing in my life especially when people I love most are on each sides. But I'm afraid I'm starting to get used to it. I have a stupid (if not noble) habit of not choosing sides (in terms of fights) even if my views match one side.

As a college student studying communication, I think the reason they are fighting is miscommunication (No, I guess even if I'm not a Communication Arts' student I would have concluded the same). They recklessly throw words at each other without thinking! And I hate it when they seem to be insensitive of each other's feelings. How I wish they use their control! I wish they could see us trying so hard not to listen to their harsh accusations and senseless reasons! I wish I could cover my little sister's ears so I don't have to see that sad eyes staring blankly at her plate. I wish they would think first. Most of all, I wish they would stop.

Sometimes I have this wild dream to bring Ma'am Lizelle, Sir James and Ma'am Jen home so they could educate them. So they could teach them how to lower their pride. So they could learn how to communicate well without shouting. So they would know how difficult it is for us love them without hating them at times. Or maybe simply because I just want them to know.

Detaching Myself from the Pain...

Some people hurt us for no reason.

Sometimes I merely want to reckon,

That they are not aware of the pains

They brought in my life's unlocking chains.


Somebody broke my wavering hope

To grip on to another good rope.

A rope to lift me up from love's thorns

and its lashing promises of scorn.


These two stanzas suck. I haven't written good rhymes since that last poem I wrote about my unexpected encounter with an X. Hmm... That was 5 months ago... Anyway, I have no plans of continuing this poem because I don't feel like reminiscing the enormous pain I've felt. Instead, I'm writing in this blog to detach myself from the emotion. Now breathe... There you go.. Let it out... Say it out loud... %#@*&@#%$%#@&%$#@!!! Hahaha just kidding!

I got hurt again while in the process of reviving the once blooming and sparkling area of my least priority in life, my lovelife. Yes, it is my least priority believe it or not. I once mentioned in my Autobiographical Essay that I felt like I'm prone to pain. Pain, generally speaking as of physically and emotionally. One of my best friends asked me in puzzlement,
" 'Ayan ka na naman, hindi ka ba nagsasawa?"
I gave out a short chuckle and replied, "Obvious ba, hinde? Tsaka hindi naman talaga ako agad masasaktan dito. Hindi ako ganun ka-involve sa kanya. Ligaw lang naman." The day these words came out from my lips was one of the most unbelievable and remarkable days of my life.

Unfortunately, January 12, 2006 had to come, one SMS from him brought me the familiar sense of dejavu. My circulatory organ that regulates the blood through my veins was beginning to feel heavy again as if a hundred cc of blood had just pour forth it. He left as quick as he had come. Explained his reason to let go as briefly as he had pleaded me for the chance to hold on. Before all of this happened, he was a friend. Now, I have no idea how we would treat each other the next time we meet in Adamson.

Heartache has always been welcome in my life as a writer. I must say it is taking my generosity for granted. I'm not complaining. I know I need these. I write better when I'm hurt. I become more determined and focused when someone makes me cry. Not that I cry easily (in movies, yes) but in real life I make it certain that I cry less in front of people and cry more inside my room or in my writings. It's strange but I just can't seem to thoroughly open myself vocally. I admit I'm not a very vocal person. But I'm not the kind of person who always keep things to myself. Well if not everything, most of the things I have in mind are written in various types of papers, journals and of course the internet. I'm just waiting for somebody who will not just read it but will understand it as well.

Most important of all, I know God is reading my thoughts even before I write it so I don't get much too emotional about things. I know all along that He will wash away the pain that the wounds had brought.

Teddy Bear's Poem...

Teddy, I've been bad again,
My Mommy told me so;
I'm not quite sure what I did wrong,
But I thought that you might know.

When I woke up this morning,
I knew that she was mad;
Cause she was crying awful hard,
And yelling at my dad.

I tried my best to be real good,
And do just what she said;
I cleaned my room all by myself,
I even made my bed.

But I spilled milk on my good shirt,
When she yelled at me to hurry;
And I guess she didn't hear me,
When I told her I was sorry.

Cause she hit me awful hard, you see,
And called me funny names;
And told me I was really bad,
And I should be ashamed!

When I said, "I love you, Mommy,
"I guess she didn't understand;
Cause she yelled at me to shut my mouth.
Or I'd get smacked again.

So I came up here to talk to you,
Please tell me what to do;
Cause I really love my Mommy,
And I know she loves me, too.

And I don't think my Mommy means,
To hit me quite so hard;
I guess sometimes, grown ups forget.
How really big they are!

So Teddy, I wish you were real,
And you weren't just a bear;
Then you could help me find a way.
To tell Mommies every where.

To please try hard to understand.
How sad it makes us feel;
Cause the outside pain soon goes a way,
But the inside never heals!

And if we could make them listen,
Maybe then they'd understand;
So other children just like me,
Wouldn't have to hurt again.

But for now, I guess I'll hold you tight,
And pretend the pain's not there;
I know you'd never hurt me,
So Goodnight, Teddy Bear!

--Author unknown


No, I didn't write this poem... But do you agree with me, it's sad? I came across this poem when I was researching for my article "Multiple Personality Disorder" (Dissociative Identity Disorder). MPD/DID is a psychiatric disorder which has always tickled my curiosity and interest. Not that I have one! Though, some of my close friends keep insisting I do have MPD/DID. But come on, I may show a variety of personalities in front of different people but that's my point, they're "different people" and so, I'm trying to fit in their "different" preferences. Well, sometimes I can't see the real me too. But that's not MPD! My gosh!

Enough about my own disorder. Let's talk about the real disorder. Multiple Pesonality Disorder or now changed by DSM-IV as Dissociative Identity Disorder is a psychiatric disorder characterized by having at least one "alter" personality that controls behavior. [Fine, I took that line from an MPD site.]

Anyway, I'm not really posting this to discuss MPD/DID. I've had so much of that last semester on one of my subjects. I just like to post this poem because it really struck me hard. I mean, come on, many can relate to "teddy bear's" poem right? I guess, what my real point is, I'd like to open every parents' mind and let them be aware of their children's sensitivity. 'Coz most mental disorders today are caused by childhood abuse and violence...

Mon Dieu, can somebody vote me for president?!