Thursday, December 23, 2010

Pandora's Box

Something I wrote last February in Facebook, in an attempt to channel my disapproval of one of my college blockmate's constant display of arrogance and cockiness and an elitist behavior towards our other classmates. Said classmate is known for his constant attempts to look, sound, and seem better: speak fluently and sound great and expect to see him mimicking you; do things in your signature style and expect him to copy you: see :sentence and paragraph structure, word preference, and over-all style in writing, among other things - common signs of insecurity and lack of creative individuality. I guess what spurred me to write this was his attitude towards our other classmates, more than my annoyance at his constant attempts to mimic my writing style, an acquaintance's accent, and just about every respectable superior/friend's view in life. He tries to make it look like the job's not done well if he doesn't do it. Sure, I can live with that. What I won't let slip is his constant degrading remarks and statements towards our classmates. See? I'm infuriated to the point of writing in circles. Bah. Anyway, I guess he's improved the past few months. I guess I just have to see if the change is lasting. 


It's unedited.

There is a difference between actually fitting in and trying hard and in vain to fit in. A fine line between genuinely disliking people for who they are and disliking people because you can't be who they are. There is a subtle difference between spite and envy; jealousy and greed; and between trying and becoming. More oft than not, we mix these things up and the fine gray area in between only becomes wider and we end up mistaking more things for what they are not. It's true that some people may seem so great, so charismatic, so compelling that we wish to be like them - and sometimes, when they prove themselves so...good, we wallow in self-pity, and wish to be them. To have their life. To have the soles of our feet cushioned in their shoes. No one is ever immune from having these thoughts. It's a sign of our being normal. It's a sign of our constant and unconscious desire for better things. This is, of course, a good thing, but when we start to lose sight of our selves; when we begin to dwell in our dreams; when we begin to forget of what's important, it's time to snap out of it. To snap out of our illusions and delusions. Nothing will ever happen if we keep dreaming. Nothing good will ever come out from just thinking of things. If we forget to act in the pursuit of these dreams, then we might as well abandon our individual desire to live better lives.

We might as well lie in bed all day dreaming we're somewhere else, living someone else's life. Why bother leaving the confines of our room if our mind keeps wandering elsewhere? If we wish ourselves to be the best we can be, then we should be the best we can be. What else is there to do? We can't be the best of ourselves if we only think we're the best. It's something we only achieve once we actively strive for it. However, no matter how fanciful our desires become, no matter how perfect them seem, there is no excuse that exists in the world that will allow us to transgress other people. We can't just shove them away if they stand in the way of our dreams. Sometimes, it is best and prudent to go around obstacles. No one has the right to belittle others regardless of one's standing in life. Sure, we can think of ourselves better than others, but that's no reason to be thinking they aren't capable of things on their own. Sure, we can think of ourselves as the most responsible person in existence, but that doesn't mean other people don't have a sense of responsibility. Sure, we can think that we've given the most of what there is to give, but that's no reason to think that other people are incapable of giving things from their person. Sure, we can think that we've sacrificed chances we can never take back, but that's no reason to think others haven't sacrificed something, too. The list of things can go on, but it all boils down to keeping in mind that we're not an island of our own. We're not a treasure trove of goodness. We are our own pandora's box - each with our own share of faults, but beneath the seemingly innumerable negativities, lies something good in each one. Something worth treasuring. Something worth celebrating the mystery of life we're all paragons of.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010


We all tire in the end,
patience is finite,
waiting can kill,
endurance is the rock,
weathered standing,
to dust returning.

We all tire in the end,
backs can bend,
minds can snap,
wills may break,
vigilance is the vine,
withered in the ascent,
to dust, sent.

We all tire in the end,
dreams make,
dreams break,
dreams make you,
your dreams break,
dreams make you bitter,
dreams break your heart.

We all tire in the end,
life is,
life was,
life shall,
life is chaotic,
life was simple,
life shall end.

We all tire in the end,
joy is fleeting,
resolves dissolve,
perseverance is missing,
verve is a memory.

We all tire in the end,
the end,
            the end,
                        the end is yet to be.

Hark the soul of laughter.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Christmas: I

My shadow's only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Til then I walk alone

Free MP3 Downloads at

Friday, December 10, 2010


If I found myself in that situation, I'd have done worse. My father's suspected concubine would have found surgery futile to repair her  twice ugly bashed-in face. I may maintain a calm, happy-go-lucky exterior, but the rage and the hate is buried deep. If I were to let this much emotion drive my actions, then I'd have slain someone without remorse, most likely the concubine in question.

Sometimes I think I have the potential of becoming a murderer. In fact, I feel like a psycho now to have put this out in the open, but it helps me exhaust my immediate anger.


Another incoherent post, and it was supposed to be the Christmas season.

Fox: I

"Why are you here?"

The words were barely out of her mouth when a blow struck the side of my face. Why am I here? I wasn't here to be beaten up, that's for sure. Why the fuck am I -

Another blow.

My erratic coughing was the dirge of the tooth that loosed itself then, unable to withstand punishment. I'm sorry.That was the best I could do. I said in my mind while I looked at the lone tooth before me, willing it to understand as it lay in a pool of blood and mucus. My blood and mucus.

"Why are you here?"

 My gaze was jerked upward to meet hers. Piercing. Sensual. Cold. Warm.

"I -"

Another blow. God.I was practically bathing in my blood then. One glance at my torso was enough to tell me how sorry my state was. I wasn't expecting this.

Another blow. I was already numb to the pain. It will all haunt me later. I didn't care.

"Why are you here?"

She had a point. Why am I here? I mused as blow after blow hit me. This wasn't a dream. I wasn't making things up, that much I knew.

Another blow. Stronger. It was strong enough to almost shake me out of my thoughts. Why am I here?

A kick. I toppled over, my head hitting the stone floor. Where was the pain? It felt as if I was viewing my fallen, crumpled form from afar.  Why...

...are you here?"

I realized then I had been grabbed by the collar. Why am I here? I mused as I looked her in the eye, willing myself to fall into their depths.

Why do we smile when we find the answers to our most urgent questions?

She wiped the beginnings of a smirk off my face with a blow. A kick sent me across the floor. Crumpled. Fetal. 

Another kick.

"I want to know who I am." 

 I sounded feeble. Defeated. The dirt, dust, grime, blood, sweat, tears, and mucus only made it all worse. Man it was so simple. I was a fool to have thought of it only now.

"What did you say?"

The coldness was gone, replaced by probing curiosity. Her brows were arched, but they weren't there to mock me. They were real. If only they made up for the lost tooth that lay at her feet.

"I want to know who I am." 

A smile. There was nothing to smile about my state. My bonds found themselves severed and a hand presented itself before me. It helped me get up. I needed help to get up. Pain flowered across my form as my bruises and cuts found the barriers of indifference thrown down. They embraced me. I was utterly ravished. They fed on my mortal pain and did so until they were sated. Until I was a husk.

I fell down on the first attempt. She didn't laugh. The same hand presented itself before me.

"Up you get."

I obliged in silence.

"Follow me."

She was already a few paces ahead before I realized it. I looked at her tall and lithe form as she made her way.

A deep sigh.

I might as well see things through.I told myself as I followed her.

Sometimes we have to jump over alien hurdles and impossible maws.

Sometimes we need to take leaps of faith.

Faith despite the hurts.

Faith despite the pain.


Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Lusternia Artisanals: November success and December WIP

I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when Lusternia's Artisanal and Bardic results for November came out. I wasn't expecting my entry to be ranked as a runner-up! I was thinking of it receiving a merit award(especially since I didn't realize it looked very awkward because I forgot to at least show the silhouette of the other leg), but things turned out great and I'm happy fort it!

Frost cold be failing heart; and frail be fading life; wan warm be trickling blood, wet slick be redcap blade; brass loud be redcap rave; and sated be bloody thirst; wane now shall Blood Hunt be.
This is my take on the infamous redcap, a type of fae which my character, Siam Star-eyes is able to summon in-game. Okay I'm sounding like a geek now. Anyway, I'll be sharing my current work-in-progress, which is my take on the slaugh.

By the way, this is how a Lusternian slaugh looks like:
Clad in flowing violet robes, this slaugh has an aura of arrogance so strong that it is almost palpable, her nose turned high into the air and her derisive gaze sweeping the area. She has a willowy form, and is starkly beautiful, her smooth nose and sparkling lavender eyes contrasting sharply with her callously curved mouth and contemptuous stance. Glittering rings and bracelets adorn her hands and arms, and the cut of her garments and quality of the materials, as well as her rather conceited demeanour, make it readily apparent that this fae is of noble origins. Noble lineage notwithstanding, however, she does not appear virtuous or true in any way, her cruel smile ever present and the slight impression of vindictiveness obvious around her.
A slaugh seems to be unafraid.
She weighs about 130 pounds.
She is loyal to Siam Star-eyes.
A slaugh is holding:
This is how a Lusternian redcap looks like:
Short and stocky, this redcap is immediately recognisable due to its namesake red hat, which upon closer inspection can be seen to be dyed its scarlet colour by constantly flowing blood, kept fresh and liquid by the magic of the creature. Its arms taper down into hands bearing three long fingers, tipped with the long, wicked claws that are its primary weapons. There is none of the usual mischief evident in Fae in this redcap, simply malicious intent shining through his crimson eyes. A constant low sniggering accompanies the clunk of its iron boots, their thickness and apparent solidity seeming incongruous on such a small creature. Nevertheless its movements are unbelievably swift, the heavy boots somehow no obstacle to this strange Fae.
A redcap seems to be unafraid.
He weighs about 100 pounds.
He is loyal to Siam Star-eyes.
A redcap is holding:


Line art:

I still need to fix her face - her lips and nose are off!

I intend to colour it using gradients and airbrushing.

Here's a sample of my noob airbrushing, with a mouse as usual:  

God, those lips are off. I really have to practice a lot.

All of these drawings were done in Paint tool SAI, a program I'm new to. That's one more program to practice using. I hope I finish this before the year ends!


Here's one drawing that's almost two years overdue:

One of the reasons I haven't finished this yet is because I'm afraid. I want this one to look good and I haven't found enough time to work on this. I'm someone who pays too much attention to detail on some days, and I want it to look just right, but doing that with a mouse can be very frustrating. Oh well, maybe I'll do this during the summer.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010


"You have beautiful eyes."

The familiar words waft up to your ears again. A different face. A different place. A different time. A different smile.

"Thank you."

You glance towards the large mirror to the left. You've always loved mirrors, even before people branded you vain. In a time long gone, one where you were ignorant of your strengths, you would place your forehead and your palms spread out on the large mirror on your mother's closet and just embrace the cold. You would get told off for wanting to do that during stormy days. Those were days when large wool towels would be hung in front of the mirror. To ward off the lightning, your relatives used to say. You shrug before heading back down to the living room and curl up on your favorite chair by your favorite spot. In later years, your waking ones, you would realize how you loved the rain and the cold and the symphony of the leaves and raindrops and the crescendo of thunder heralded by lightning. In later years you would learn to embrace the lightning and anticipate the rumble that came soon after it. You vaguely recall how you would clap your hands over your ears and close your eyes and tense up until the thunder came. Fear was weak then, like all other negativities you possess now. Passing. You would resume watching the world through the jalousies, head resting on your folded arms.

A warm touch brings you back to the present, the vision of the young boy shimmering away in your mind's eye. An embrace comes with the final ripple before it all fades. A kiss reminds you of your worth. Your nape a lynch pin saying you are alive. What comes next is an erratic series not unlike the churning storm, and the gentle breeze. Here walled by four planes is the rise and fall of many spectra; the shifting of paradigms, personas, personalities; realities are created, merged, and subsequently destroyed, or made to evolve; the rhythm of the world takes a primal turn in the symphony of surrender and release; all the world fades and the mirror is the only witness. The mirror which you chanced upon in an unguarded moment.

You have beautiful eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes. You take after me."

"Really, mom?"

"Of course, you are my son."

That was a time when smiles where given more freely and more innocently. Nothing was forced. You smiled widely at the woman most familiar to you in the world before glancing back at the mirror.  I have beautiful eyes. The concept was new - you never considered your eyes attractive. They are much too deep. You never understood why two curving lines trailed  from near the bridge of your nose. They were, in your opinion, to blame why your eyes to you seemed baggy.

"Why are you making faces?"

"I'm not making faces, mom. I'm trying to get rid of these lines."


"I dislike them."

"But everybody has them, son."

You glanced at the face of your mother and see, as if for the first time, that her face had lines, too. You smiled. Maybe it wasn't so bad. You stopped wishing them away. You accepted them. Still, you thought it would be better if they were less prominent. Soft fingers brush your face just below your eyes. You have deep-set eyes, just like your father. A light forefinger traces the bridge of your nose. And you got your nose from him, too. You never really understood what those words meant. So what if your eyes were deep-set? You wished those lines away deep down, still.  Nay, you were ignorant of yourself then, just as you are lost in yourself now.

"Now, now, smile!"

You smiled warmly at your mother again. Everything was alright. Everything can wait.

Years weathered the world for five years and a decade or so before you had an inkling of what those things meant. Deep-set, you found out, meant it drew people in. It's like...curving inward. I don't know. Basta. It's deep. Kinda like shielded by your brows? i'm not even sure if I'm describing it correctly. It's deep-set. That's that. Your close friend would tell you. Playing around with classmates and a pair of shades introduced the concept of having a high nose bridge. What did it matter? To you, it seemed only to allow you to wear eyepieces with ease and without having them fall off at the slightest movement. What did it matter then? Why does it matter now?

"I like the contours of your nose."

The familiar words waft up to your ears again. A different face. A different place. A different time. A different smile.

"Thank you."

A finger, showing faintest signs of being careworn, traces familiar routes across your face. The soft and gentle roughness of the back of a palm speaking things, inciting emotions and breathing life into your wishes. You feel the rush of life. You find meaning once more, if only for a brief moment in time. In the space of a heartbeat when two eyes meet and a connection is formed, you find beauty and meaning in the tangled and incoherent mess you have made of the present. Pearls glimmer at the precipice of existence and on the edges of your eyes. Why won't this clarity last? A wan smile unfurls from your chapped lips. The same soft and gentle and rough hands cup your chin, tugging your glance upwards.

"You have  a beautiful smile."

The familiar words waft up to your ears again. A different face. A different place. A different time. A different smile.

"But it seems sad."

"No. Sorrowful."

"Why are you sad?"


Alien words found themselves fit for your sorrow, your insecurities, your thirst. The love that was never there always found reasons to mock you. It found ways to revive your need just when you believed it has shriveled up beyond help. Beyond hope. Beyond love. Funny how life finds ways to catch us unawares. The thought plays itself across your mind.

"Why are you sad?"

Probing curiosity alone could have empowered a repeat of the question. That was your belief. You were beyond compassion. You thought it gave up on you a long time ago. You never gave up on it, and that was the irony. The bluntness and the demand for the naked truth pierced your being. You were never one to think that truth could present itself before you, or that the present could demand the truth out of you. You were guarded. I musn't stand out. That was the dogma you lived by. In the effort to not be an open book, you learned to read people. You saw patterns and they guided you in the same way your premonitions, and your coloured dreams helped you.

Two eyes regarded you closely. Are they genuine? So goes the constant refrain of doubt within you, and yet you feel you must grab this chance. Hope might not present another skein for you. Every chance had to be appraised, the extremes, means, benefits, and hindrances weighed. This was learned the hard way, and you weren't one to set this belief aside now. No. Even when the stakes are this high. Even when the stakes mean that much to you. No. Now more than ever are you called to be critical.


This was the point of no return. You marshalled your entire being and braced yourself.

A deep sigh.

There are times when we find ourselves unable to bind our dearest and sincerest dreams, no matter how hard we try.

"Someone once told me my smile..."


Without warning you began saying things you swore you wouldn't share, surprising even you.





Que sera sera.

You took a deep breath.

"Someone once told me my smile would be a good thing to dream of but..."

And so flowed your confession. Your naked soul. Your very being.

And that was release.


Fiction-truth. Go figure.