alexwreakinghavoc

[alexwreakinghavoc]

[alexwreakinghavoc]

none of the colors ever light up anymore in this hole

[alexwreakinghavoc]

As the only girl, the second child of three from her parents, I would describe my mom as a fighter. She was treated the same as her brothers (I would argue and say that she was treated worse). My grandparents owned a junk shop back in the day and she would work there, pushing a kariton for scraps. She said that despite being embarrassed in doing it, her friends and classmates could see her, she still did it, determined to graduate. She was the first person to graduate college in her barangay. The first person to hold an office job, and she was very proud of it. She also said that with her state, she found real friends. Friends who my siblings call ninang and ninong, continuing to be in our lives after so many years.

My mom is the definition of beautiful. Fair skin, sharp nose, straight hair. She likes dying it light brown; said she hates having dark hair. She shows us old pictures of her and keeps telling us she was pretty back when she was young. That she fell off now because she was old. But what I see when I look at her, the things I wish I could tell her. That the whites in her hair are there because she endured and survived the harshness of her life. Her wrinkles are there for having the reason to laugh and be happy. The marks of her stress are proof of the hard work she’s done to keep us alive and cared for and loved. She’s right that she was pretty then, but I think she’s prettier now.

Sometimes, I think about all the things she could be. She tells us that her only pangarap sa buhay is having a proper, happy family; but I know she could have achieved so much more if she didn’t have us. She loves us, that’s for sure. But my mom is smart (though she keeps telling us that she was just masipag) and even if she gets scared of getting promoted, I know that with her having kids, she sets limitations on what she could and couldn’t do. She is happy and content (although sometimes a little stressed) as far as I can see. And I hope she stays that way.

[alexwreakinghavoc]

From You, The Flowers Grow

Losing someone, a person you have loved so deeply, is painful. No. I feel like that word is not enough, no. Losing someone is like losing a part of yourself. It is the urge to tell them how your day went but they are not there to listen. It is looking for advice and they could not offer anything anymore. It is looking in their house and finding it empty. It is petting their dogs and knowing that they don’t understand how their beloved owner is gone. It is reminiscing all the good times with them and realizing you can’t make any memories ever again. It is going home, his ashes on a table with his prized possessions, not giving us a last glance at his face because they burned him. It is looking at his children and all that he left behind. It is reading his name, etched on a tombstone surrounded by flowers.

Growing up, I prided myself on being my grandfather’s favorite. I am his second child’s second child. I have many cousins but for some reason, I am always confident that I’m his favorite (or maybe I’m just delusional), I just know it. He wasn’t like those hard-ass grandfathers who were stern and doesn’t really laugh like how my friends describe their grandfathers. No, my Papa was a jokester (though his jokes don't land too often, especially with my dad). He minds his business and only butts in when necessary. He likes his job a lot. He's been a jeepney driver before I was even born for 37 years, until the day he died.  

During the pandemic, I missed him like usual. We were separated for so long (he lives in GMA, we live in Carmona), that I feel like it didn’t make a difference. Of course there is that fear that he will catch the virus, especially since he’s in his 70s. An article I read written by Professor Vally in 2020 said that the elderly are more susceptible to diseases because in their old age, their immune system weakens. But with blind hope, I’ve always believed that he won’t catch it. In all the years we lived with him, he never got sick, so I thought ‘this wouldn't be any different’. But seeing the deaths on TV, hearing the lived experience of other people, it made me anxious

When the pandemic gradually subsided just for a small amount of time, , instead of an ECQ (enhanced community quarantine), it was loosened to a simple quarantine only. There were no more guards in the checkpoints so we were able to visit our family in GMA. I should have known something was wrong when Papa said he wouldn’t be able to join us when we had lunch. Said he was coming down with a cough. We were worried but he said it was nothing. I went down to his house to talk to him for a while. I didn’t know that that was the last time I’ll ever be able to talk to him. His last words to me were “Buti na lang binisita mo ako ngayon”.

His symptoms got worse. It wasn’t just a cough. My parents rushed to go to him when my uncle said he was asking for my mom. Hospitals near his house wouldn’t accept him. My parents kept calling and the only hospital to accept was the University of Perpetual. But as soon as they were in the emergency driveway, my grandfather wasn’t breathing in the car. My mom, and my uncle couldn’t move. My father (who always said Papa made fun of him often) was the one who carried him inside the hospital. But it was too late. It was late at night when we found out. We were in our room, supposed to be sleeping. My mom called my ate and she didn’t tell me; but I knew. She cried so hard that I just knew. I passed out from crying.

He was cremated. During that time, the authorities required everyone who died from the virus to be cremated. We never got Papa’s result; whether he was infected or not. But they had him cremated. It was too fast for me. He lived long enough for us to remember and love him; but too short that he won’t ever see our success, our achievements. He won’t be in our future. In our lives. All those spiritual sayings that ‘he will always be here’, ‘he is looking after us from above’ are crap. I know that he’s gone; that he will stay gone. Sure, he will forever be in our hearts. But his presence, his very being won’t be.

It was a tough time for us. He died on April 29, cremated on April 30, the wake was prepared on May 1, and dad left us on May 2. Just as we lost our grandfather, our father left to go abroad for work. It was hard. Although not permanently, I also lost my father just when I needed him; but we needed the money more. So he left. And we were left grieving for two. If it was tough on me, it was tougher on my mom. She lost her father and her husband (temporarily, but at that time, it was a loss). We went to the wake, and there he was. It was ironic. Such a somber atmosphere, the jar of his ashes surrounded by the brightest flowers I’ve ever seen.

I didn’t cry at the wake. I didn’t cry at the burial. I didn’t know what I felt during that time. Maybe sad, maybe empty. I never knew. Did I even feel something? Sure, I’m not an emotional person, but not crying at his wake and burial? Maybe something is wrong with me. I guess the random crying every time I remember him makes up for it. My cousins, I would say, aren't as close with Papa as we were. They tried hard to cheer us up, even went home with us to keep us from being lonely despite their home being far away. I had school at that time and I just abandoned it for a week. My mom tried to be strong, I could see it. And it was a support me and my siblings needed.

I wonder, after all that happened; after my mind cleared; after I ‘moved on’. I wonder if there was anything that could’ve been done to prevent it. His death. Maybe my dad’s departure? But mostly his death. Maybe if he stopped driving, doing his job, a lot earlier maybe he wouldn’t acquire the virus. We aren’t even entirely sure that he caught it. But he’s got symptoms. But maybe it was just a cold, and he got worked up, and his heart just gave in. Lots of speculations (but nothing could change it).

During that year (rather, the school year after his death), our research paper for grade 11 was about the lived experiences of nurses during the pandemic. It opened my eyes to a lot of things. One of my what ifs was if Papa was admitted earlier in a hospital, he would have lived. But so many hospitals rejected him. Only one accepted and even then, they were too late. I hated hospitals at that time. Thinking it was their fault; they could’ve done anything to help him. But they didn’t. I was the one that interviewed one of the nurses for our research. Their answers, as well as our entire paper, helped me realize a lot of things.

The hospital couldn’t accept any more patients. They were full. If they weren’t full, they were understaffed. The reason they are understaffed is because the nurses are overworked and underpaid. There was even a ban on them leaving the country to get better paid abroad. I’ve always thought about it, but the government’s reaction to the pandemic was poor. They had time to close the borders. To employ the travel ban. But they didn’t. And the result of that was the virus spreading rapidly and vastly, causing too many deaths. Including my grandfather.

Few months after Papa passed away, my mom got the virus. We were shaken. Would our mom succumb to the same fate as her father? It was a strenuous few weeks. She did get better. And I thank every deity listening for that. There is always that little fear though. It never goes away. Especially since our mom goes out everyday for work. 

I feel like lots of this suffering would have been avoided if the people responsible acted accordingly. Maybe then, there won’t be an uneasiness in my chest whenever a loved one coughs. Maybe my mom wouldn’t get so choked up when she hears the word ‘ulila’. Maybe I wouldn’t have broken down, seeing my school IDs on Papa’s cabinet door (my siblings were there too but my pictures were a lot more than them which of course makes me the favorite).

[alexwreakinghavoc]

my love for u was bulletproof but you're the one who shot me

[alexwreakinghavoc]

Rudderless Spoken Word Poetry

Life is being in the front seat of a car

One hand on the steering wheel

The other on the shift stick

Both feet on the pedals

Sometimes, I know exactly where I’m going

I feel satisfied with the road i took

As i stare happily at myself in the mirror

I put on the song that i've always known

A person, holding up a thumb

I let him in cause he makes me feel like never before

I laughed as he utter words that goes straight to my heart (or my head)

He gave me new songs I know i'll treasure forever

But the next moment, before i know it

The navi interrupts, disrupting my melody, the harmony

“Turn left,” it said as i was about turn the right way

Surely, it knows best, right? Of course she does

He got off

I went on my way

I'm the one moving forward

But he left me behind

But it's okay

What's a ride without a few hitches

Im fine on my own

As i've always been

The navi keeps telling the direction

I keep listening

It's supposed to get me to my destination

But why do I feel so lost?

The music died down

There's nothing left to hear

They said there's violence in silence

I wonder if they're pertaining to my thoughts

I feel cold

I feel suffocated

I feel numb

I feel nothing

The cliff on the left looks nice

Kamikazee was right to wonder

As my thoughts wander

How do you overcome an obstacle you can’t see?

Do you just spiral down and fall and break just like that?

Do I man up and do what's expected?

Rise up and go my own way?

Will I truly be happy if I made my own path? Will they?

At this time of my life

I still don’t know

Maybe I shouldn’t focus too much on the destination

And just enjoy the journey

[alexwreakinghavoc]

i wanna hold your hand so tight

im gonna break my wrist

[alexwreakinghavoc]

Misty-eyed Confessions:

A Reflective Paper on the Anthology, “Lockdown Litanies: Countless Untold Stories”

Lockdown Litanies: Countless Untold Stories is an anthology of poems full of woe and and loss. It is composed of 9 poems, each telling different stories and having their own style. The poems are written like it was in a dim room, underneath the covers, with only a flashlight as its source of illumination. It is greatly written as I think I can feel what the author is feeling as she was writing it, the emotions she would want us to experience as we were reading it.  These are poems of experience. The hurt, the loss, the pain one experiences in life as they stumble through it. Feelings realized and written in time of chaos.

As I was reading “Dear Diary”, I was under the impression that it was written for someone, despite it already having addressed the diary in the title. I was only half-right I think, as the poem really is written for someone, and that someone is the author herself. It talks about the problems she faced, the burden she carries, and the way she coped. I related a lot of what is said in the poem. My mother was also hospitalized during the lockdown, I lost a lot of people. “It felt different. I, too, became different—” was a line I related to the most. I feel differently to who I was then. I grew, but I also became lonelier? Sadder? Just somehow not who I’m supposed to be. The poem reminded me of Unwell by Matchbox Twenty. The line “My head created more voices to fill the void” from the poem was like “All day starin' at the ceilin' makin' friends with shadows on my wall”. Both lines are about loneliness, and how loneliness can turn into something bad. The end of the poem is giving out a hopeful feeling though, reminding us that we aren’t crazy, just a little bit unwell.

The second poem, “The Tale of a Modern Sisyphus” is very interesting. Just by the title, I was already intrigued. It was subtle but at the same time, obvious. It was about the presidential elections that happened just this May 2022. It was creatively written, relevant, and such a shame that it had to be written. Instead of celebrating a success, a loss was written. Instead of getting competence, we got ineptitude. Truly a waste, our country has. Now, we are left to wonder what could’ve been. The line “Holy! Haven’t seen a woman who’s clearly a ten— // Let alone the judges; they chose a far less seven.” from the poem reminded me of the line “The game was rigged, the ref got tricked // The wrong ones think they're right // You were outnumbered, this time” from Only The Young by Taylor Swift.

To continue, the third poem O’Yayi is written in prose structure. It made me feel emotional as I felt the unrequited love from the author. It told the story of a woman settling down with someone else as she lost her ‘true love’ from war. How the author is worried about who she will choose in the afterlife, if they ever meet again. It gave Lips of an Angel by Hinder vibes. As both song and poem uses voice/melody as a way to be reminded by past love. “With a soft, almost romantic lullaby playing and a small figure of a couple twirling, music and magic would soon fill up the entire space, and my ears would be welcomed by a familiar sound. Dante?” from the poem and “It's really good to hear your voice saying my name // It sounds so sweet // Coming from the lips of an angel // Hearing those words, it makes me weak”

Next, we have Two Red Laces on the Wonderwall. I felt that it was about loving someone who doesn’t feel the same way the author did. The author gave her all her affections, only for him to give only a fraction of his. I do relate to this as sometimes I feel that there are people who are only after some parts of me, like how the subject in the poem is after her body only. The “maybe you should get tested” made me think it is about an STD test, thus having the conclusion that they have a ‘friends-with-benefits’ relationship rather than being proper lovers. The whole poem reminded me of I Need to Know by Sleeping with Sirens. “You are my universe, I was your falling star” and “Two starlit lovers, we were destined to be torn apart” lines from the songs that I feel supported my statement.

Another poem in the anthology is Umbilical. It is a poem about loss. Losing a mother has got to be the hardest thing to get through. I had the same fear as my mother was diagnosed with COVID last year. I kept praying, begging to anyone who’s listening to save her. She wasn’t with us as the government took her to a facility. All four of my siblings and I were left at home, not knowing what was going on with her. I would probably never get over losing her and I thanked everyone who was there for her and ensured her safety. Fearing for her life is one thing but actually losing her? It would have been the end of me. “You have made your purpose, I guarantee. // Hush, sleep tight. Everything will be alright. // Lilom, Lilom, I beg. Spare her for me.” is a line from the poem that reminded me of “Tonight I've fallen and I can't get up //I need your loving hands to come and pick me up // And every night I miss you // I can just look up // And know the stars are // Holdin' you, tonight” from the song Tonight by FM Static.

The fifth poem in the anthology is RE: Paper (I’m Red, IMRaD)*. I would say that the poem is all about the social issues our country is currently facing amidst the new people on the seat of power. It is mostly about the educational issues that give troubles to both students and teachers alike. The song War by Sleeping with Sirens is most applicable with poems. It was opened with “this house of lies is stained with blood”. Another line from the song “when will we know our wrong from right? // to me it seemed that we have lost our sight //  we were blinded by our right”.

3 A.M Awakening is another poem in the anthology. From what I understand, it is about someone exhausted from life. Someone who thinks happiness will come in the form of rest, permanently. It would be a bit silly to hear especially if said to grown ups but the poem is very relatable. The first line, “Breathe gently ten times and let anger go” is something always said to me when someone wronged me. I am always supposed to take the high road and forgive someone, even if they aren’t even sorry. “Breathe as if it’s easy to do today” is also true. Some people wake up and thank God they’re still alive. But sometimes, living is exhausting. Bit ungrateful but it’s how I feel. “I've been up for days // I can't tell the difference from sleeping away // I'm losing my patience // I can't feel my faith” is a line from the song Sarcoma by Killstation.

Like the previous poem, My Frail Lady is a poem about hurt. It’s an idyllic poem with dark lines. The poem, I think, is about suicide. Falling to the ground at such a high place. The line “Soon she will be found— Dancing on her own” meant that she will be all alone but happy when she dies. The song Bullet by Hollywood Undead is a song most applicable here. “I've been trying too long with too dull of a knife // But tonight, I made sure that I sharpened it twice” is a line from the song that also implies suicide but presented with a fun upbeat tone.

To sum it all up, all the poems from this anthology showed the different sides of the author. All her pain, her opinions. So many of her lines I related to. These series of poems gave her a medium, an outlet to let out all her untold stories in this time of hardship. Braving the world of pain, not letting it get to her. These are the tears she refused to let fall. She wrote her confessions with misty eyes.

[alexwreakinghavoc]

superfluous since the first day