“If the only place where I could see and have you was in my dreams, I’d sleep forever.”
Once upon a time, there was a wild rose. It bloomed in the garden of Eden. It was as red as hot blood and as full as the noonday sun. When all the other roses had withered and fallen off, this rose remained. However there was a secret to why she continued to live beyond the others. She had more thorns than the others. She grew a thicker thatch of bush. And she produced venom in her leaves that hurt the smaller insects who bite into the flesh of her stem or nibble on the edges of her leaves. She was beautiful. And nobody could touch her. And she sought no master and asked for no special treatment. I need no caretaker, she said. I fair best as a lone wildflower, untouched and untainted.
And so one day, a passing gardener had caught a glimpse of this rose and decided to inspect this peculiar specimen. An entire large rosebush, but only one perpetually blossoming bud
Before he could even pass through, his ankles were caught a bit by the thorns of the rosebush. “Do you mind setting those aside?” He asked her. “That hurts.” “No,” she said definitively. “Please leave me alone.”
“Why /are/ you alone?” He asked as he attempted to hack through the bush. “Hey!” The rose shouted. “That hurts! Why are you doing that!”
“Because I wanna get close to you. I really wanna see you better.”
He proceeded to try to cut through a few branches of the thick bush. “Ow, stop it!” “Just let me through! You wouldn’t get hurt if you let me through.” “I wouldn’t be hurt if you just leave me alone!” She said as she retaliated with a thicker rush of thorns pulling out of the ground. The gardener took a step back.
“Hey hey” he said, his palms raised in surrender, the plant sheers and the hack were all laid on the ground. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Then what /are/ you here for?” she asked
“I’m just here to /witness/ you.” He put down his trowel. His rake. His shovel. “I promise. I just want to be near you because. Because . . . well, because you’re different.”
“Different?” “Nothing like I’ve ever seen before. One of a kind.” He was beaming. “Pretty in every sense of the word. Like I haven’t seen what beauty is before the moment I passed by this place.”
“But you–” the hesitation in the rose’s voice reverberated through the silence. It took her a while to say it, but when she did, she wasn’t certain if she could believe her words to be true. “You just want to hurt me.”
“Does it look like I want to hurt you?” He raised his arms, displaying all the empty holsters on his belt for the gardening materials that were no longer there.
“Don’t you?” The thorns slowly receded. She pulled them back slightly.
“Of course not.” And he took a step forward. It was a dance of push and pull. But neither knew who was truly taking the lead.
Slowly, certainly, she let parts of her down. Her thorns pulled back. Her bushes gave way. And right beside her, she swept it clean, and allowed him to sit next to her.
They ended up talking. For once, she quite liked it. The idea that there was this person who she let in, and didn’t try to eat her. Or pick her off her stems. They watched the sun set together, and they shared a laugh over the idea that she literally eats throughout the day. “Photosynthesis just seems a lot less gross than what you humans eat, yuck. What pigs.” // “Sure but we don’t spend all our time eating! Maybe you’re the pig!”
They talked every day. And on days he didn’t visit her garden, she felt a quiet sorrow that seemed to grow inside her.
The constant pulling away of her bushes has caused her to tear out certain parts of her stem.
Making room for him caused damage to her roots.
In the garden there was this clearly visible part of dead and barren land that held no life or purpose but to accommodate the gardener, his large footsteps, his personal seating ground.
Once the Gardener visited the Rose, and walked comfortably through his allotted path. “What’s up?” He said as he sat down next to her. He took out a sandwich from his bag and showed it to her. “Maybe I can eat with you today?” He joked. She laughed. She always laughed for him. She loved seeing him smile when she laughed. “Your laugh is electric,” he said once. “I love hearing it.” She’s always offered her joy freely to him without fail.
When he raised his arm to show the sandwich, she noticed the a small bleeding cut near his elbow. “Oh dear . . . ” She said sorrily “Hm? What is it?”
“My thorns,” she began. “I’m sorry.” “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s no big deal. Really.” He rubbed off the drops of red from his skin. But it continued slightly.
“No, I keep hurting you.” “Well. You /are/ a rose.” He said, standing up. It was as if he was searching for something, and he walked off.
He walked a bit to the edge of the garden, and then came back. In his hands he held a few things. Among them was a pair of trimming shears, and a small knife.
“It does get uncomfortable. This isn’t the first time. You’ve always left me with a few scars. It’s okay, I wont leave you. I promise.” He sat back down. “We can fix this.”
“Wh-what are you doing with those?” “We can trim off a few thorns from your stems.” He offered. “You know, like the other Commercial Roses?” “But–”
“Look,” he looked down at his elbow. “I need you. I need you to cooperate with me here. I want to stay with you. But you keep hurting me.” “But you said–” “I’ve never hurt you, have I?” It was more of a statement than a question. She wanted to grow more thorns. She wanted to wrap him in them so he wouldn’t be able to leave. But she felt that if she did, he’d just cut through her and leave her empty. He’d leave and never come back, because she hurt him.
She thought of the other roses. They looked much the same but to her they seemed happy. Maybe content. But they liked trying to look the way
they do for their Gardeners and Homeowners.
“Please?” He pleaded quietly. “I want to be with you.”
“I don’t know–” “I—I mean I understand it. Sort of. You’re a rose. But,” he looked at his knife. “I just don’t like how upset and panicked you get when you see me bleeding. I don’t want you to think you’re a bad person. I love you.” She let down her defense, and gave in. It has to be a give and take, she told herself. There’s this one person who would walk all the way to see her, who would bring her water when it didn’t rain that day. He graced her with his company. He gave her things to laugh at. And he gave her his laughter too.
He scraped off the thorns that were most protruding on the edges. And they took this bit by bit. And for the most part, they were happy together this way. On one visit as they sat down for sunlight and a sandwich, she asked him where he was last week, and what kept him too busy to visit.
“My friend, the Mailman,” he said as he chewed on his meal. “He wanted to show me his garden. He had some nicely hedged rosebushes, for sure. Clean yard. Lots of different flowers.”
She didn’t want to sound bothered by it. She didn’t know what it was like to be around a lot of different flowers. Maybe, she thought, I’m just . . . different. Like he said. “What kind of flowers?” She asked finally. “Oh, like. Mm, gladioluses. And lilies. And lots of orchids everywhere.” “Were they pretty?” “Hm?” He was focused on his sandwich. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. The mailman has a well-kept garden. It’s quite nice to visit sometimes.”
That night, and sometimes on others, without announcement or reason or trigger, she would lie awake imagining what the Mailman’s garden was like. “Definitely.” She would murmur to herself. “Definitely pretty.” She didn’t know what a gladiolus was like. And only had a faint idea what lilies and orchids looked. But sometimes she would torture herself for being red, and round, and fluffed up and open. Why can’t she be curled and flapping and vividly purple or blazing white? Orchids. Lilies. She kept thinking of them. She kept thinking of herself. A lonely, pathetic, unkempt wildflower, with messy, thorny, unshaped and un-hedged bushes that do nothing but make her Gardener bleed.
There was a time when the Gardener failed to visit. In his absence she cried in the day time and wailed to the stars at night. The best she could do was wait for him to come back home to her. And to prepare for his return she decided she could grow her bushes in hedges. To shape them in neat blocks, just like in Commercial Gardens. And maybe to grow out less of her thorns.
She just wanted him back. And the next time he visited, she wanted him to stay.
When he returned he was surprised by the new bush arrangements. “This is really nice,” he complimented. “Reminds me quite like the Mailman’s garden.” “Where have you been? It’s been a while. Busy visiting gardens?” “No, no,” he insisted. “It’s just that—it’s . . . I live kind of far from here. Residences are really quite a while away from where wildflowers grow.” “Oh,” she said. “Y-yeah, I know. But that’s never really stopped you before.” “I guess but I wasn’t so busy back then.” He reasoned with her. “I just got three different gardening jobs back in the commercial residences. I just lost the time to visit. And when I do get free time, I always feel too tired already. I just had to take some time for myself too.” The rose was saddened by this. “Aw, don’t be like that.” The Gardener pleaded. “Arent you happy for me? I got a lot of great jobs now.” “But you’re always away to take care of other flowers. You never talk to me anymore.”
“Hey listen, I have a great idea.” “What is it” “How about I harvest you.” She was dumbfounded by the suggestion. “Excuse me?” “Live with me.” He offered. “Please. Think about it. You can stay with me. At my place. You’ll always be home with me.” She said nothing. “Please, I feel empty when I don’t get to hear your laugh.” And she admitted. It felt empty when he wasn’t there to make her laugh. It felt empty when she didn’t hear him talk through his teeth while chewing on a sandwich. It felt empty when she looked at the barren ground beneath her, cleared away and thorn less, all her bushes neatly pulled back and all her thorns hidden. It looked empty for days when he was gone. It only felt like anything when he was there.
The Rose said yes, half afraid of leaving the field where she had been since she was a bud. But also in part excited to see what it would be like outside the field, and what it would be like to have her Gardener come home to her every day. The Gardener took his gloves and his knife. He removed a few more thorns. Then with one hand, he held her slender stem in his palm, promising it won’t hurt—or maybe it would, but just a little bit—and with his trimming shears he slid a blade under her diagonally, and severed her from her stem. At that moment she didn’t know who she was anymore, but a dead part of who she used to be and was removed. He put her in some water that he had. And they left for home. Before they walked away, she looked back at her bushes. Almost thorn less. Shaped like hedges. From way up here, looking over the shoulder of a human walking away, she could barely recognize the bushes. It didn’t feel like hers. The cutting didn’t hurt, she decided. But knowing that she gave so much of herself away—all her branches that were cut down, her thorns that were shaved off, the roots that were broken when she was pulled aside—to the point that she lost herself, that was the pain she felt. It only took two days
its been 2 years of non stop negotiation with you. I begged and begged for you to stop contacting us, to stop keeping him on your leash. You had your shot and now that its over its time to bid adieu. You kept whining about how your boyfriend has so much gal friends and how they make you feel uncomfortable and yet here you are doing the same thing. You must understand how it feels to be uncomfortable and queasy because you yourself have experienced it.
You stop for 3-6 months of communication with him but then you pop up just whenever you feel like it. He craves your attention and I know that, I feel it with every fiber of my being. I know and feel that he still has feelings for you and that hurts and he can’t move on.. not until you let him. not until you tell him point blank that you don’t have feelings for him.
You’ve done so much to damage this relationship and yet you have the audacity to get mad at me for asking help from your boyfriend because you’re getting out of hand? on those 2 years you didn’t hear anything remotely insulting or offending from me. Why do you like to lead people on? does it give you confidence? a sense of twisted delight? You’re hurting people and you don’t even have the decency to own up to it.
I just re-activated my phone.. and nothing.. still nothing.. of course no one cares.. of course I don’t matter.. I want to do it.. I can’t dot this thing they call life anymore.. of course no one cares.. I’m in a lot of pain.. and I have to remove it.. my cousin had this.. he lost his mind.. I won’t let myself be like that too.. there were many ways.. there’s another girl. there are many ways.. skype.. twitter.. steam.. email.. landline. there were manyw ays to reach me.. someone should’ve reached me.. someone should’ve cared.. you should’ve cared
Before I die bucket list
>taste turkish delights
> see milk way or aurora borealis
> be lifted by terry cruz
>eat at a diner
>catch a snowflake with my tounge
During my late night ramblings and staring on a blank computer screen. I just figured out why I haven’t really been feeling the school spirit lately.
DLSU used to be home, it used to be a marvel to look upon. I remember staying till 9pm on campus and enjoying every second of it. Now it just looks dead to me. The once colorful walls appears washed out and peeling. I’m not sure if its just me or it has always been like this. I try to remember the first day I set foot on the campus, freshman year everything seems great then. I didn’t really hit my stride since second year, its not the loser to popular kind of transformation you see in the movies but it sure is something. The once okay school became closer and closer to home. As I lay on my bed piecing up the whole montage of my college experience it hit me. It was never the buildings or the walls, it was the people.
I don’t want to go back not because I got tired of the routine, or the commute or even the same buildings over and over again. Its hard to go back because there’s no one to go back to. There was a time when walking through those corridors was something to look forward to everyday. There was a time when hanging out in the office was zen time. But now everything just seems empty and bleak. I think I’ve known it for awhile, all those times I look inside the office and there was no one there or those times I eat lunch alone, go to school and go home without talking to a single soul. This transition could be easier if all I have to do is graduate already unfortunately I still have units left.
The people that pushed me to go to school everyday are not the same people anymore. We’ve wander through different paths now and somehow I got stranded and left behind. While they were all moving on and adjusting to a new life I was there, frantically holding on to something that was long gone. And now I’m stuck in this hollowed halls, stranded, unable to move forward.
For the first time I will acknowledge the fact that I have depression. I have it, it sucks, I hate it. It feels like shit. EVERYDAY. ALL THE TIME.
Being sick isn’t new for me I’ve had 10 operations, I was a colostomy baby so sickness and the smell of death isn’t new for me. But depression is different, when you’re sick with something physical its easy, you know where it hurts, you know where to point at your doctor and say “Here, it hurts right here now give me a pill and make it go away”
I was watching fault in the stars and I suddenly figured out that each of us may have our own “cancer”, our own “sickness”, our own “fights” but not all of us have our Amsterdam. I don’t know if I’m still making sense. All I know is it hurts and I have no idea where its coming from.
You know what I hate the most? how this cuts you out of the world completely. How it makes you feel helpless and alone. It shows you that you don’t have a choice in anything, you can’t choose to be okay, you can only close your eyes and wait for the storm to pass. There are different scenarios how it makes itself felt, you may feel stranded and stuck unable to get out of bed because you know there’s nothing out there in the world who will cure a disease that cannot be seen. Or the drowning sensation, crying so hard, gasping for air and clutching the painful part in your chest but its not going away any sooner and you know it. Your biggest fear is if you’ll ever get better, will there ever be a time where you will be okay. Will the sun shine again?
The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.