Wednesday, December 10, 2014


Words

When I was in sixth grade, my father once chided me into submitting an article for the neighborhood paper. I was young and absolutely eager back then, so I thought that I would give it a try. The editor was a middle-aged man who I didn't even bother remembering, and he gave me a scolding that I would remember for the rest of my life. Apparently, professional writers don't submit manuscripts, but rather, a finely typewritten article.

My article made it on the paper, but it wasn't what I wrote. The editor butchered my manuscript, wrote something and passed it off with my name.

The same thing happened again when I was in my first college. I passed the article, typewritten, printed in such a way that it wouldn't be stamped with rejection.

Perhaps the only rejection I got was when they butchered my article again, and passed it off with my name, again.

Maybe reality wasn't my forte. I was so good with fantasy, after all, so maybe I should've stuck to writing stories than being told underhandedly that my articles weren't compelling enough.

When I started studying at La Salle, I never signed up for the school paper.


Art

They say artists are emotional creatures. That's what I was before I got here, and though I'm less of an artist now and more of a communicator, I'm still no less emotional.

When I first got together with Vincent, he was all skin and bone and he breathed art like he couldn't live without it... And I was envious of his relationship with art.

Art never smiled back at me, she never gave me a hand, she never looked back, even though I loved her so much... Art gave my Vincent his flesh, so I thought that it would make sense that he loved art more than me.

Back then, during one of my advertising classes, I was told by my professor that I had a natural flare for words.

Words. Vincent always told me that I was good with words, but that's probably because I wasn't good at art, or anything else at all. He said that the way I worked with words was something he could never achieve, which explains why until now, he's still in possession of our journal.

I told him that anyone can work with words and I'm no different from everyone else. He said, "No, your way is different. You work so well because you love writing."

And perhaps the reason why art never loved me back is because I loved someone more than her.

Words.



Vanities

A closet actress is all I'll ever be.

I thought that acting was the perfect mixture of art and words, where the actress would be both the paint and the canvass, both the pen and the paper.

Truth: I'm a frustrated performer. I've always wanted to model. Though people often tell me to go for it, going for it won't be enough. People who were built to model are tall and fair, and I'm neither of the two. I've come to a conclusion that God has built me for something else, and he will place me somewhere where I could meld in perfectly in the background.

When our Theology professor asked in our quiz what was stopping us from picking up, going out and becoming a Christian Disciple, this is what I answered.

Vanities.

Perhaps if I stopped caring about what other people think, if I stopped entertaining and lusting after these fine things on earth and started looking forward to the better things that only God can offer, then maybe... Maybe I would have left this place earlier.

I once said that maybe if I finally get everything that I want, I will learn to let them go, but that's not the case. People will lust after things and more and more things. It's human nature: we can never be satisfied.

No, not with things here on earth.

I've accepted the fact that I am no good as I am right now, and I've made peace with the fact that I will never stop wanting things while I am here on earth.

But I will never resign myself to this sort of fate. I'm no good as I am right now, but I will be in the future. After all, I've managed to tame my want for wild things, so how can I even think that I'll never stop these vanities from taking over my life?

There are greater and finer things waiting for me, things beyond my comprehension, things beyond this earthly realm-- maybe not a crown of gold and jewels, but that would pale in comparison to the crown of His eternal love and mercy, which are far more precious than elements that melt and shatter. (This is an all-too familiar story, isn't it?) 

I try my best, but there are times when I fall short. No, I'm not there yet, but I'm trying, and I'm definitely not stopping. 


Vincent Vega: And how long do you intend to walk the earth? 
Jules Winnfield: Until God puts me where He wants be to be. 

(Yeah, I watched Pulp Fiction. I thought that it was an awesome film.)

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