Raped, by the Silences…

We are raped, by the silences, because, we’re, afraid to tell anybody what had, happened to us, because, if we tell our truths, the outside world will only, ostracize us more, saying, that it’s our fault, that we shouldn’t have, behaved too provocatively in front of that man, that we were, just, asking for it, therefore, we’d, kept our silences.

what we were…picture found online…

Raped, by the silences, we were, because, we’re, too afraid to talk, too afraid for our lives, as well as the lives of, those we loved and cared about, and, can’t even begin to imagine the shame they will feel, if our stories, busted out into the open!

Raped, by the silences, there’s, no way this will, ever come to an end, because, those predators are still, lurking, waiting, for their chances to, attack, and even though, we only come out, during the daytime, sometimes, it feels, like nights…

Raped, by the silences, we were, we were all, victims before, but, I’d, managed to, turn myself, into a god DAMN survivor here, I will, NEVER be quieted, be silenced again!!! what we are now…

what we have the potentials of becoming…picture found online

Raped, by the silences, there’s, nothing we can do, to change the past, change what’s already been done to us (and no, we NEVER enjoyed it!!!).  Raped, by the silences, no we don’t, keep our lips sealed, because what was shameful, wasn’t US, it was, what was, done to us!

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What if, the Legalities of Your Marriages, Rests on Someone Like Me?

Uh, this is, what’s, up for “grabs” in the election coming up this weekend!

What if, the legalities of your marriages, rests on someone like me, and I just happen, to be a HOMOPHOBE (not that I am or anything like that!!!), and, what IF, the rest of the majority of the population in this country, ARE just like me, haters of homosexuals?  Then, you, who’s a homosexual, would be, totally, SCREWED!!!

What if, the legalities of your marriages, rests on someone else, other than the two of you, huh?  If you were, born a certain way, you should NOT be made, to PAY for it, that is, how you were born, it wasn’t, your fault, and yet, this voting session is, penalizing those who are, DIFFERENT, with an alternative, SEXUAL orientation, so, how’s that fair, huh?

I mean, I would HATE it, if someone tells ME who I can, or can not love, or marry!  After all, it’s, MY life, my choice, and NOBODY ELSE should have a say in it.

What if, the legalities of your marriages, rests on someone else?  Is that even fair?  And no, I’m still, NOT begging all of you, to vote for or against GAY rights, I’m merely, presenting a “case” here, think about it, if it were you, how would you feel, if someone tells you, who you can or can not fall in love with, huh???

But, I’m still, voting this Saturday, and guess which way I’m voting?  FOR HUMAN rights!  That’s, how I shall, always BE voting!!!

The Sensible & Rational Sides of a Marathon

A more “scientific approach” to running a marathon here, translated…

I can’t really run, but due to chance, I’d had a ton of friends who are, marathoners.

In order to experience this, I’d, entered into my very first, smaller scale, but beautiful marathon around the Sun Moon Lagoon, and I’d, signed up for the shortest distance, the “Fun Run”.  The group of us used brisk walking to replace the jogging; but I’d, still needed to train for it.like this???  Photo from online

On that day, I’d gone to train with a group of visually impaired runners to the riverside.  They’d used a rope, with knots tied on both ends, one end on the visually impaired runner, the other on the seeing volunteers, like the three-legged race, they’d moved forward together.  I’d, followed them closely behind, not long thereafter, there’s, this huge distance between me and them, and, before I knew it, they’d, vanished, into the distances.

I’d continued holding my own tempo, with the cold wind blowing across my forehead, sweating down, it’d felt, really, awkward.  There’s, almost no one else by the riverside pass, most of the times, it was, just me, and every now and then, a cyclist would, speed by me, and then, I was left, all alone.  Most of the time, what accompanied me was, this strong sense of, solitude.

And yet, for the visually impaired to run the marathons, wouldn’t it be……I’d, blurted out, “BORING to even think on it!”

“how can you be bored, by ‘thinking’ about it?” in a gathering, the topic of marathon, it’d, sparked up this debate for the two individuals on each end, they’d told me, a ton of imaginations they had of, marathons.

One of the accompanying runners started as an “intern”.  He’d followed a more experienced guide runner to run with the visually impaired.  On the way there, he was, led by the experienced guide, and on the way back, he’d, led.  He’d spoken, with that disbelief in his voice, “The experienced guide told me twenty kilometers’ worth of stories, and the whole path was only, twenty-one kilometers long, oh mine!”  Whatever she’d thought up of, she’d, told me, to her grandmother, to her childhood, to the flowers by the road, the weather, her job………and a turn, before us, there was, this pass, paved with the shades of the trees, and, she’d started, talking about, Mother Nature, what’s meant by “blue skies”, what’s a “green pasture”, what’s a “never-ending ocean”……she was able to, pull out that horizontal pass, and, through it, led the visually impaired runners onto a journey, like the runners aren’t there to run, but instead, to listen to a tale.

I was curious, why did she talk, incessantly?  Turns out, as the visually impaired runner started running, he’d started cramping, and the volunteer chose to tell the tales, to distract him from his own physical discomfort.  If he’d only told of what they’d encountered on the way, it would be, too boring, after all, ordinary people don’t run too fast, and the scenes, are almost, at a standstill; and this experienced accompanying runner, thought of how to get the visually impaired runner, to enjoy the run as he ran blind………so, this, is how fun running a marathon can be!

And yet, not all the visually impaired runners are, blessed enough, to have a companion runner who’s so full of facts to tell.  I’d recalled that many years ago, I’d, gone to chat with a visually impaired runner of an international marathon on this subject, he was very rational, so was his companion runner, he’d, described the marathons he ran as a “battery cell”.

He’d told me, that running a marathon, it’s, a test of how long the battery on you will last, and, you’d needed to, assigned the energies spent on the way effectively.  He’d made the examples, “If your battery is fully charged, the best case scenario is, you’re able to use it, to finish an entire marathon.  Like how it takes a hundred minutes to run a marathon, then, it would be best, if you’d, used one-percent energy per minute that you run!”  You can estimate conservatively, that you’d only needed fifty percent energy to get to the finishing lines; nor can you, overspent, like as you’re half way through, you’d, used up all your energies.  If you’d run faster, how much energy will be spent, if you run slower, how much energy it will, cost you, you’d needed to, recalculate the time needed constantly, add in your physical strengths, and combine it with the speed to which you’re, running with, and use the exact amount of time, to drain up all the energies you may have in you, to just make it, past the finishing lines………

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!  How much, this, represented life itself!

And so, from this, you can see, that running, is no longer just about exercising the body, you need to make the precise calculations, of how much energy it takes you, and, calculate, and factor in all the possible things that can happen on the roads, which is why running a marathon, is sort of an art, and a science!

Cruel & Unusual…

What, constitute, as cruel and unusual?  Does the DEATH penalty count?  How ‘bout the measures of someone, torturing someone else, then, brutally, murdering the victim, huh?

Cruel and unusual, is from the standpoint of humanity, but, what if, the murder lost, ALL of her/his humanity, while, murdering someone else in brutality?  Then, does the perpetrator, DESERVE an inkling of leniency?

like, this???  Sketch found online…

Cruel and unusual, yeah, I can be cruel, and yes, I can also, be UNUSUAL, in my ways of MAKING you pay, for what you did to me, and it’ll still be, within, the REALMS of the written laws of M-A-N!

Cruel and unusual, you’ve, GOT to be shitting me here!  Why the HELL do the world need to, show you, an INKLING of MERCY, if you’d, shown, NONE to your victims, huh???

Forgiveness Found, with an “I Love You”…

It’s, just too easy, to forgive, when someone says, “I love you”, isn’t it?  But, wouldn’t that be, the other person’s excuse of getting her/himself out of the troubles s/he got in?

Forgiveness found, with an “I love you”, it’s, unreal, as you can be more than one-HUNDRED percent certain, that whatever bad deed the individual is apologizing for, will reoccur, because that, is how it goes!

Forgiveness found, with an “I love you”, yeah, I used to fall for that too (not really, I’d just, allowed people to apologize to me, and just, let them SLIDE, how young I’d been from before, right???), but not anymore, NOT since my DEATH, circa late September to early October of 2008…

So, unless you want to still get STUCK in the vicious cycles of your abuse, yeah, sure, why not, forgive that certain someone for all the done you wrongs, with their poisonous “I love you”!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Succulents

Lessons of life, these small plants have to, offer to us, and, it’s, an important one too!  Translated…

Don’t know when, raising the succulent plants became, a trend.

One afternoon, I was strolling down the underground shopping strip, and, stopped in front of a small plant, and, I’d, suddenly understood, where that sense of healing that people talked about came from.  Those chubby leaves, resembled the paws of the bear, with the lighting, the soft and thin fuzz, made me feel, extremely, calm and collected.

On the succulent plants, as I thought, the images of those potted cute things came.  The healing sensation culture, made the succulent potted plants became a total trend, turning it, into a brand new sort of merchandise, they’d gotten, posted on the websites.  These plants are regulars at the cafés all around, an assortments of handicraft designs of them too, the potteries.  Real and fake, the fake looked, so very, real, and, how easily, human were, saved, in this mixture of what’s real and what’s fake, and, doesn’t this symbolize how we’re, squeezed too hard daily, that we needed to, look toward this small plant, to find our renewed energies?

At this moment, I stood, before the glass window, looking at the bear paw, in the temperature and humidity controlled room, hearing the salesperson tell of how to care for the succulent plants.  Thinking, that, they’re, both succulent plants, and, could it be, that the ghost plant?

wonders of nature here…photo from online…

In my childhood memories, the succulent plants weren’t as precious as these.  It’s a sort of a food, instead of a decorating plant.  This began, with my eldest uncle who’d loved his plants as if, they were, his own children.  Way before the trendy gardening came, my eldest uncle and aunt already, decorated their yard and rooftop, into small gardens.  In my impressions, he was always, living in dirt.  From when I was younger, I’d, watched him digging into the dirt, in the front yard, he’d told me that he was, loosening the soil by the seasons, so the flowers and trees can, grow better.  He’s the kind of man that would, pluck a flower as he trekked up the mountains for you, to taste the nectars.  Once, he’d had me select my favorite flower by his racks of plants, that I can take one with me.  I’d only recalled that I got very excited, and ran toward that patch of flowers, but felt panic all of a sudden.  Having the conditions of selective difficulty, I’d felt, anxious, of the sudden influx of the choices presented to me.  In this heat, I’d, pointed toward that patch of gray off to the corners.  As I walked near, the greenish purple color of the plant, made it look mysterious, the leaves were criss-crossed, like a dream catcher.

My eldest uncle laughed, “You sure do know how to pick them, this is for eating!”, he’d quickly plucked a few leaves off, ran into the house to wash them up, not long thereafter, I’d, stared at the fatty leaf, hesitant, as I, took a bite, that crisp sound, with the sour and stale juice that came onto my tongue, and, as I chewed it more, the taste turned, sweeter, perhaps, it’d, tasted like the unsweetened bell fruit, with that taste of herb to it.  This discord of the appearance and taste, was impacting to me, “It’d, tasted like the bell fruit!”, my uncle’s smile became a squint in his eyes, nodded toward me satisfactorily, “This small leaf, will grow into many flowers, you got the pick!”  He’d placed the leaf into the palm of my hand.  Looking at the fatty leaf, I’d thought, “nice to meet your acquaintance!”, and that was when I recalled, that my very first cultivated plant, was also a succulent.

It’s, quite amazing, the parent plant stayed in a huge garden with the enriched soil, and the high humidity, did it ever imagine, that its leaves were going to, move into the lanai of a building in the city?  But, it’d, lived up to the expectations, the leaves multiplied.  In a couple of years, the small finger-sized leaves, became this, bush of leaves, a small garden.

Weird, how as we aged, we’d gone from a leaf from the ghost flower, into a bear claw crassula?  From when I was younger, I’d believed, that life will be like a ghost plant, with the goal, worked hard, under the sun, and, get enough water, I will be able to, bloom, grow, leaf after leaf, after leaf, and successfully, bloom.  But, the reality was like the wind, slapping you across the face.  And after awhile, we’d, slowly, grown, into a viewing plant that’s, fearful, of getting hurt, used to, hiding ourselves, inside that transparent glass container, trading in our protective colorations, for cuteness, sitting in our, isolated, universes, preserved ourselves.

very different in appearances, but, same in “nature”, with the strong will to survive, in the harshest of all conditions!  Photo found online…

Sometimes, life is like a cruel desert, turning us, into, a cactus.

I’d often forgotten, that beneath that healing image, the cacti, with the needles, are a member of the succulent plants.  From succulent, into prickly, that soft fuzz no longer in existence, replacing them, the prickly needles.  The flesh, through the grinds of the days, became calluses, but, the calluses, the thorns, used their stubbornness, wrapped up your heart that’s, softest and most fragile, most, easily hurt.

Hey, did you ever see a flower of a cactus?  Oh yeah, it blooms too.

I’d once, owned a round and stout, cactus with the shorter thorns.  Days into years, its plain looks made people think it’s, nothing more than a décor. Yet, one spring, it’d, started, budding around, with a small light hidden within.  I will, never forget that morn, as the sunlight shone slanted onto the lanai, and, there appeared, a palm-sized flower out of the cactus.  Bright yellow like a fire burning, but, thin as the wings of a butterfly.  The petals soaked up the sun, golden, in full bloom, shown its deepest, gentleness.

At that very moment, all the memories of pain, walking through all those summers, became, light as a grain of sand.

And so, this, is the lesson that people can learn, from these plants, surely, they’re, not easy to care for, but, if you look after them well, they will, show you a side of life that’s, quite inspiring, and teach you, that weathering through the seasons of life, is something as plain as living from day to day.

Please Let Go, and Trust in Me, Having an Overbearing Mother

The problem here, is still NOT with the daughter, but with the mother, but, does she realize it???  Of course N-O-T, translated…

From awhile ago, on the news, a certain organization had been losing money by the year, the second-generation owner decided to sell of the office building, for cash, the founder, as he was, interviewed, stated, “My heart ached as my son did it, but now, I’d, trusted in his decisions entirely!”

This pair of father and son made me so envious, and at the same time, I’d, felt heartache for them both, because how I’d, wished that my own mother, can trust me like this father had his own son too.

From the views of the world, I guess, I’m, the pride of my parents: made high grades, gone to an all-star institution, and, managed to pass the exams for a public office on my very first try, I’d never needed my parents to worry over my school performances or my work.

Although my mother stated verbally, that I’d, done well for myself, but she’d, never had faith, that I can, handle things on my own, whether it be how I’d spent my money, how to treat others I meet, whether to have children after I married, who should care for my child if s/he was born…………my mother’s criticisms came at me, never-ending, “it’s for your sake”, was her most widely used phrase, and her weapon.

She’d never understood, that what she’d believed to be a show of care and concern, her nagging, was interpreted as how she didn’t trust me enough, I’d tried to tell her, but her response was always, “Those with your last names, can’t take any criticisms from others!”

When I was interning, I’d, lived at home, I’d had a crash on a rainy day, and, as I’d, bent my knees, my injuries started bleeding, but I’d not let my mother know, I’d, bent down, holding the pains in, as I’d helped clean up the house, until my mother rode out to get the groceries, and found the head of the motorcycle dented, that, was when she’d, found out.  I’d gotten into another, serious crash after I was married, and, it’d been years to this very day, I’d still, not told my parents what had happened to me.

Of the two wrecks I got in, I was, very scared, but I knew, that other than feeling anxious over me, and nagging me, my parents couldn’t do anything for me, and they’d, surely, blamed me, for being, too careless too.  And so, no matter how painful, I’d much rather, hide the truth from them.

I’d never doubted the love my mother had for me, but every time, as I’d, wanted to show affection towards her, she’d started, lecturing me, and in the end, she’d added, “Nobody else is going to tell you this, I’m your mother, that was why, for your sake, I’m, telling, you the truth!”  in my mother’s mind, I’ll never be, enough, there are, always things, I can, improve, and, all of my good performances are, matter-of-fact, and yet, the imperfections, are what pricked at her, and she’d needed to, get rid of them.

But, my dearest mother, you know what?  Your daughter may not be perfect, but, she’d always tried very hard, worked hard, can you just, let go, and trust in me?

And, hopefully, this woman’s mother can see this article, and change the way she interacts with her daughter, but, I’m still, NOT holding MY breath, because parents like these, they think what they’re doing, IS for the good of their young, and they just keep on, doing whatever the F*** (maxed out???) they’re doing, using their same old ways, probably because they were, treated as such by their own parents (‘cuz these sorts of SHITS still gets passed down, from one generation to the next, like D.N.A.???) and this daughter is going to, have a very difficult time, getting closer to her mother that’s for sure…