That day, when you kissed me, you had both eyes open. Then I realized, I had mine too. Love has gone to a trough.

(November 7, 2011)

Falling in Love

"That is not flying. It's falling - with style." - Woody, Toy Story

We all have felt falling, sinking helplessly to gravity. We have felt the rush of adrenaline through our veins, and in some sadistic little way, have liked every bit of it. And we all have had scars that we still can remember today, phantom hurts and bandages.

We are Dionysian in nature. We have destructive tendencies of liking the hurt in some way or another. We cannot deny this fact that we get drawn to heavy conflicts of life, regardless of what it is. Watching the scariest and goriest bits in a movie though we ourselves know that it is bound to happen and the scene will haunt us before we go to sleep or enter the bathroom. We tend to miss the feeling of pain in any form, that we say "I forgot how it felt like to..". And at times, we tend to repeat these things too much, that without them, there is nothing to base some things from, like fights in relationships that we see as the pillars of being together. But this insanity of self-destruction is not completely ugly, and at times would seem beautiful in itself.

We are happily in doom. It is inevitable that without these phenomena to spice up your life, it would just be some repetitive motion of happiness and surrealism. We tend to feel more human with each imperfection and this is how we see the light at the end of every tunnel. We find the things that make us happy even if it kills us, to stand on our perceptions and beliefs that is unwise, unsavory, unlikely, un-[any negative adjective] to others but we see as the truth of ourselves and point of our existence.

This is why I think we use the term of "falling in love".

We fall in love because of the seemingly never ending feeling of sinking, something that we do not choose ourselves, hence others saying "I don't know why, I just do." But why should mere man choose to fall for something called love? Is it merely because of the helplessness and the inability to overcome this feeling once it has started? Then why not "Being dragged by two muscular bouncers into love"? And here I try to justify with our nature. To like the feeling, even though there is no possible force for us to stop it. To accept the fate of endless freefall because of tripping in some way into a bottomless pit. This debauchery of intensity of helplessness is not mere negativity because for one thing, we like the feeling of being in love.

We have liked this epic feeling for too long that nearly the economy has revolved around this trait of the human character. We see lots and other products being sold by strengthening beliefs of a complete familial love, incorporating families to introduce unconsciously the feeling that by buying these items, we gain the perfect relationship. Even the music, literature and film industries have made a point of using the terms of love to hook their consumers of this feeling that people desire in different forms around the same subject. For C.S. Lewis in "The Screwtape Letters" have said that we are men who strive for something new every time, but we tend to long of the feeling of repetition. The never ending cycle of different things, the Seasons, the months, and now Chick flicks, Romance novels and Heartbreak songs (since even the lack of love pertains to love itself).

Even in my Dionysian nature, I have felt like falling is itself flying. No bird nor squirrel has ever tried to glide through the air without opening its wings (or skin flaps, whatever) and jumping off that branch without fear of hitting the ground below. To fear for something we can overcome is a nuisance to what we can do to become better and feel better about ourselves. Falling is by no means a bad thing (except if used in the sense of suicide). Falling is a learning process, to embrace what we are and what we feel to overcome fear and fault to be happy for once even if the process hurts us the most. So even falling can be mistaken for flying - and even flying for falling. Falling in love.

And here I wish to fly.

A Song for You

A Song for You

Herbie Hancock ft. Christina Aguilera

Possibilities

You can't have a heartbreak without a heart.

You can't feel the pain if you can't relate, if you do not have a heart in you yourself.

An About Me Poem (for my HUM I class)

All that is pure is white.

All that is not is black.

I see shades; Shades in sight

Of gray that others lack.

is there anybody here who would listen to me?.. (from my stories circa 2010)

a lot of people get upset. they handle it in different ways. some people talk to other people about it. others eat their feelings out. others do both simultaneously. while some, run to a special place and sulk and cry. the bathroom, the bedroom, the garden. i wish i could run to those places when i'm upset, but i couldn't there are no rooms in my place. everyone must do it in front of everybody. so when i cry, the whole nation here sees it, but they don't care. they always don't. they're busy. so busy to see me. busy of what you may ask? busy of their own problems. it's so mean that they can't actually feel my feelings mutually but hey, the things they go through are bigger distractions. so i cry. warm tears in my eyes. holding a teddy bear who i wish feels sympathy for me.

i'm six, you know. my age, that is. sheila's my real name, but people call me det. or is it spelled with a 'b'? i dunno. i forgot. but it sounds the same.. i usually wear white here. too much bleach i guess, or is it because we live so high up that the sun seems so reachable? i dunno. i guess people never bothered dyeing their clothes here. it may seem to everyone that i'm happy up here but i'm not.i stay with my grandpa and grandma. nice old people, but i'm still not happy. they are kinda rich. they give me whatever i want. but it makes me feel so lonely at times. all those stuff they give you. i never bothered making friends here. but i do see a nice guy there nearby. he's sweet and cute. i kinda like him. he's about my age. but even with friends around i'm still lonely.

why am i lonely, you ask? the fact is, i really don't know. it seems like i have it all here. but something is amiss. solidity? humaniity? color?

you ask me about my parents? oh, they're down there, working to earn a living. 

i wish i was living.


Note: By that time, I liked not caring about capital letters. Enjoy!

Erasers.

Bought in packs of three.

None come back.

We Found Love (An Appreciation)

We Found Love

Rihanna feat. Calvin Harris

It's amazing how love can be based on even the most destructive of things. This is the beauty of the music video presented for We Found Love, Rihanna's lates single.

It is most unlike what is mainstream today: color splashed and brainless. It's naked quality to show the roller coaster of love and drugs have given a real and human feel. It has successfully portrayed (though in a very over-executed version) how people lose their minds and a little bit of themselves in love. Furthermore, symbolism in the montages or insert elements in the music video are pinpoint. From eye dilation, to falling buildings, to puking different colored ribbons, it has painted pictures of abstractions when placed together but would have been insignificant if were to stand alone.

The music video has also deviated from the typical crisp color of normal videos and opted for the cinematic feel and perfect dullness. And to add, I love working with the projector emoting and lip syncing. Kudos to that!

I guess Love is not enough nowadays. And Purist Lovers would hate the day they wake up to smell those flowers.

One day, I found a girl. She made my heart pump; felt the blood through my veins. Then I realized: I wasn't a vampire anymore.

In light of the still-existent Vampire Craze. And here's hoping that they return to horror and not proceed further to romance and tragedies.

The Heart

(c) Chezka Sunit
An Interpretation of The Only Exception by Paramore

In a world where names meant no meaning, I'd like to think of a house that Love built. A house of blood, sweat and tears. A house of his own.

It was a dream house. A place that would put you in a state of trance and plan what lies ahead in your life. A white house with picket fences with blue doors and window panes and, most especially, a porch. Everything there was rested on a green meadow where gentle winds will blow.

As Love sat on a chair in his porch one Sunday morning, he felt as if something was missing and gazed into the vastness beyond the field with lips partly parted and gentle eyes both longing for nothing that he knew of. And when he has come back from his thoughts, he reached for his cup of coffee, sweet but with no creamer, he extended his strong yet careful arm to the table beside him and calmly neared his cup to his mouth.

That night, he tossed and turned in his own bed, thinking of nothing but what was missing. He was self-sufficient, he believed, so the house must be lacking. Not him, but the house. And all that he thought of the rest of the night was a garden.

He dreaded that a garden was amiss but he did not have the talent to have one, for you see, that field of keeping things alive was not his forte, but he was one who was willing to try, and so asked a woman to help him filling up the cavities of his beliefs.

She was Fear. She shyly walked up to the land behind the house and closed her eyes to hear the grass grow. After she was done, she went back to Love, who was waiting by the back door, and accepted the offer. For days she tended the grounds like it was her own - seeding, watering, shoveling. And every single day of her job, Love was watching her. He noticed her uncanny demise, for she always dreaded about everything. which made her perfect for the job. Because of this, she was always prepared for the worst. She was careful and diligent because she wouldn't want to harm the plants. And then he saw her eyes.

There was something frightening about those green eyes which matched her pink-pale skin perfectly. They showed such remorse (though for no reason), hurt, pain, depth, mystery. Things men were afraid to grasp, she shown through her eyes. There was an endless void in them; It's as if if you came any closer, you'd fall endlessly with nothing to catch you - not even a bottom. There were faintly dark furrows beneath her eyes that strengthened the power of what they possessed. And yet, he understood.

Like most stories, they fell in love sooner than later. For you see, he knew something others couldn't about her: that out of the hurt and disturbances of her soul, she exudes care and carefulness. This, he believed, was his choice for a woman who'd be his wife. And out of this dogma, they had twin boys: Apathy and Jealousy. Apathy was never receptive to any emotion. He would not care, nor flinch, nor worry, nor feel. His parents have given him everything, yet he would still not respond. Jealousy was the spotlight person. He'd always asked for attention. Much to his dismay, given his brother's condition, he lacked of it and the deficiency would tear him down every night but would make him still thirsty and greedy for his parent's affection (though they have given him plenty).

The brothers had separate Identities. It were as if Apathy had the fear of love while Jealousy had the fear of love lost.

The parents however would bicker and shout because Fear could not accept that she was failing as a mother, failing to provide and failing to care. She could not cope though she was always calmed by looking at him. His stern hazel eyes that would watch her with no anger, no hate, no fire. A look that would make her melt and complete, masking all that has been in her past unfolded by her eyes. But no. She wouldn't give in. Not this time, the nth of times that could have ended in a bed wearing next to nothing. Her psyche was taking control and she's breaking down and running away. For good? We won't know. He tried to stop her, you know. He held her in his arms, tried to wrap himself and give his all in just a hug and buried his face in her brown hair, hot tears down his face.

The next thing we knew, she's on a train leading to nowhere, speaking to someone inside of her, crying and calling her "Hope".

Hope is the only good thing out of fear and love.

It's My First Post!

the (Not-So) Blanc Room with me in it!

Hi!

I have always wanted to delve into the human being. Its hopes and dreams, its past demons, its forever occurring present. Everything about what we do, what we are, revolve around the three elements of Past Present and Future. Everything is not preset - or it is preset - but nonetheless, we do not know. We can never see what lies ahead and what we have been through are only seen as memories that are subject to bias and change. But this sort of helplessness makes us who we are.

With this, I present The Blanc Room. A sanctuary of works and a little bit more of everything in life, make believe or not. They exist because we exist. And we tend to be pulled closer to what we are like the most, maybe for change or  for companionship, so that we'll know that someone out there is just like us. Striving.

Thank you! And more to come!