If I Were A Sentence Written In The English Language

My Symphony: Luxury Of Loneliness by Her Space Holiday


If I were a sentence written in the English language, I would be compound-complex with lots of nouns and even more verbs. I would have five dependent clauses speaking slightly about my schooling, my job, my salary, my possessions and my wants. Only two of my clauses would speak of love, romance, beauty, poetry, chaos and adventure. But these are the independent clauses, and they’d speak with clarity, certainty and passion.

My structure wouldn’t always be considered conventional as my commas sometimes induce confusion. Even my appositives could be quite misleading. I would often end up being laughed at by people who judge me as ungrammatical without even giving me a second read. They would grab the upper right corner of the page I’m written on and turn it over, unsympathetically missing the meaning behind my gerund phrases masquerading as little juvenile outputs of  irrationality behind my overtly reticent figures of speech.

I would have infinitives that I truly hold close to my heart and a couple of onomatopoeic mixtures of syllables that give music to my life. I would often be misunderstood, but I’d never be boring.

Intellectuals and achievers would dislike me, though, because they’d be disappointed to learn that I am full of simple words – words they’d never have to refer to a dictionary to check the meaning of. They’d even go as far as telling me I am a waste of ink and, more especially, a waste of space. They’d critically ridicule me for not being popular, successful or bankable. They would cringe at the mere thought of my existence not contributing anything to the modern day society. I am never quoted in any book, magazine or newspaper. My strokes and my edges have never been seen in university halls and on office walls; no one finds me significant enough to be framed or published. Basically, most people think I am simply silly. Childish, lazy, rebellious.

But that’s just the majority.

On the brighter side, I would occasionally have readers who are more emotionally inclined. Now I don’t mean emotional alcoholics who regularly walk around with their broken hearts’ blood on their sleeves, or people who cry over everything about their lives 24/7. What I’m referring to are the people who treat it as a priority to read between the lines; people who know how to look at one’s conjunctions and transitional adverbs not as a convolution but as an opportunity – an opportunity to ask more, to know more, to understand more. And these are the people that I would be holding on to. There wouldn’t be many of them, but they’d be more than enough to bring my syntax to life.

So every now and then, I would be lucky enough to be situated right in front of kind and compassionate eyes. These eyes wouldn’t necessarily have to be that educated in Semantics, Psychology or Literature. These are simply eyes that have seen sentences like me in a less blinding light. These are eyes that know I’m not childish, but childlike; not lazy, but idyllic; not rebellious, but alive (and kicking).  These are eyes that have the ability to read a compound-complex thing like me and see the simplicity in an instant.

And if I were a sentence written in the English language, I’d be translated to all the other languages there are in the world. Nope, not because I am so great and influential, but simply because just like all the other sentences out there, my only goal in life is to be written and read

…and maybe even loved.

The Ice Cream Diary

My Symphony: I Fell In Love Without You (acoustic version) by Motion City Soundtrack

If last time I’ve been wondering whether or not I am a cactus, today I found myself drowned by seven pillows ‘til two in the afternoon and by seven cups of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate chip cookies since the minute I woke up. Now I start to wonder… Has my irresistible childhood addiction to sweets returned after many years of exile, or is it just my heart carrying a load of depression seeking refuge in carbohydrates?

I often see in soap operas that when a person gets extremely cheerless and gloomy, he finds escape in indulging himself in life’s simple pleasures. I don’t know what kind of pleasure you have in mind, but I’m pretty sure ice cream and cookies count.

Today, my time has come. It is my turn to drown myself in ordinary fancies which bring out extraordinary relief from life’s inevitable bitterness. I can just smile even by the mere thought of gliding that silver spoon filled with 100% pure frozen vanilla cream along my lips. I reach out for a couple of delightful cookies smothered with cream as my eyes grow daintily bigger and brighter before such scene of delicate beauty juxtaposed by both bliss and passion. With the cream-filled cookies carefully approaching my half-opened mouth, my cheek bones begin to appear momentarily higher than they used to be in the absence of the luscious treats which are at the moment finding their way right into my system and into paradise. Every ticking of the clock signifies a second closer to the bottom of the whipped transparent cup in which I contained all the milky goodness of what I have been devouring. As I reach the last lump, I close my eyes, hold the spoon near and smell it, and then I swallow every existing molecule which comes with such wonderful treasure. The next second, I open my eyes… and I am back to reality— the reality that I may escape from a tragic turn of events for a little while, but I will have to face it now, or never.

Holy moly. I just came to see that I have so many methods of getting away from my problems. Well, an ex-friend-turned-mortal-enemy once told me that I am such a weak piece of creation. I always run away when everything turns dark and ugly, just the way some people insist I ran away and moved to Iloilo last June. At least that’s what a couple or three people told me. Well, I am not here to judge what other people think of me and my decisions anymore. I think I’ve outgrown that already. What I am here for is basically just the relief blogging gives me especially now that I have “social issues” and just recently, a little love life complication. Argh. Since when have I become such a romantic? I don’t know. Since last Saturday? Ugh. I hate to admit it but yes, I have been head over hills over someone who may not even be worth it.

So now I am left at home alone with my lonely heart… and a not-so-lonely cup filled with vanilla ice cream topped with cookies.

Awwwwwwh. Yeah right.

A Dose of Literature

My Tune: Please Don’t Stop the Rain by James Morrison

Lately, I have this strange feeling of wanting to devote my life to literature. But what’s weird is that I know that I don’t really aspire a career involving literature alone. I mean, yes, I love literary pieces and endeavors but I don’t really think devoting my life to such concept is one of my plans in life. But you see, sometimes, people don’t change things. Things change people. And for the five previous days of my life, I have encountered things which made me realize that indeed, fiction is sometimes even more real than reality itself.

So as a literary treat, I would like to share with you the poem I wrote for our English task about a couple of months ago…



Beware, O bark, the waves that wish to tear thee from these shores;

And bravely seek the harbor, for thy sides are reft of oars;

See how thy broken mast and yards are groaning in the gale!

Unsound, alas! Thy ropeless hull! Unsafe thy shredded sail!

Thou hast no gods to call upon when Sable Care is thine;

The sailor trusts no showy sterns, though built of Pontic pine.

O ship that wert my woe, that art my love, avoid the seas

And shun the treacherous waters of the shining Cyclades.



My dearest land, whose grounds have been squashy through the decades,

Hear me now as I give reprimand to thee and to thy nonchalant dwellers.

Look out! Corruption had already made thy walls so weak,

Thy roof so fragile and thy foundations so feeble.

No particular hero is of the capacity to eradicate this inhibiting regression,

Nor is there a miracle that will cure this dreadful degeneration.

For the only hero one can possibly see

Is the one that will make a change for the betterment of thee.

So strengthen thy weakening feet, my land.

Rise from the ashes, erect from thy ruins.

For with thy dwellers’ devotion and aid,

Thy will once again see the light that was then laid.

There goes your dose of literature. Watch out for countless more to be published. But as of now, I still have to make myself another cup of milk tea. *British mode (haha).