Leap through time

Dear time traveller,

Take me back to when I was born where I have made the
most profound cry to show the world that I have arrived.

If I had known the world would be so cruel, if I've had wished I had never been born, could you have granted this and maybe spared me from all the grief?

Take me back to when I was 1,

when everything in the world was

bigger than me, everything was a sight to behold. Oh how innocence enveloped me so warmly. The time of
simplicity then is a messy blur.

Take me back to when I was 3,

to my first day in school. To the moment I sat down and

made friends with kids who were just as scared as me.

Take me back to when I was 9,

the time I said, you're my new best friend.

Hail the new generation of awesome bonds of friendship that
lasted up until today!

Take me back to when I was 10,

the day we laid my great grandmother to rest.

The day I learned that adults hide their true feelings and are
therefore liars. In my head I shouted, just say it.

Just say you're not okay and don't lie about it.

Take me back to when I was 12,

when I refused to move and leave my friends.

The day my parents told me to stop acting like a child,

neglecting to see that I was a child and I was scared.

Take me back to when I was 14,

I had my first taste of alcohol, my first unsupervised night out.

I tasted cigarette before and now it felt even more right.

I let my emotions flow and disappear like the white screen of

smoke that surrounded the place where I was lost in.

The time of unreasonable display of emotions.

The birth of the rebel without so much as a cause.

The troublesome years of young confusion.

Take me back to when I was 16,

when I was not even spared from getting my heart broken

by a boy who I thought was my forever.

The time I learned that even the most celebrated form of emotion

known as love, can cut you even deeper into depression.
Take me back to when I was 18,
I was a legal adult, free to do as I pleased.
Yet I realized I will always want to be my parents' baby girl
even though I don't admit it.
Take me back to when I was 19,

to the day I noticed the boy singing beautiful girls oddly.

The surreal moment I thought would never happen to me,

I have found him. I have found love.
Take me back to when I was 20,
the word teen in my age is obviously gone.

Then I witnessed how teenagers after me think and act like how I used to.
I learned to smile and say, L'ho provato sulla mia pelle,
I know exactly what you are going through.

I am 21 now. I have caught up with myself in the here and now.
I take my beautiful memories and learned experiences.

I am happier. I am lucky. I am better off.

And so dear time traveller,

You won't be taking me anywhere after all.
I'm cancelling my appointment. 

~myeviltwin

Wonderland

I watch him on the ground, tossing and turning.

I watch him stare at something so vast, you'd think he was in the middle of the universe.

I watch him, closely, silently..
He smiles..

And then I get a strange epiphany. Insanity is beautiful.

To be insane is to not be of sound mind, that is one of its various definitions. But it only refers to the generalized norm wherein people are normal if they think and act accordingly. If you do the opposite, be a danger to yourself and to others, you are cursed as someone who is crazy. Beyond that critical definition, an insane individual is of sound mind, in his own mind, in his own world, and so that is how I choose to see it. There is no such thing as insanity. Only that which a person chooses to live in his own livable world. In these words I find a sense of understanding of those who are pointed out as mentally ill. 

Insanity is freedom from the harsh reality, a tiny whole in the barricade. Insanity is an escape, from the world and from oneself. Is it so wrong to wish for a life you've created in your own perspective, where you can be happy in ways you can only imagine in the real world? Where right can be wrong and wrong can be right, where things work in your own discretion? It sounds selfish, really. But when all the world just seem to conspire against you and saying, Fuck it! just isn't enough. It sounds like the perfect heaven.

And yet here comes the sad reality assumed by all. A prisoner is far better off than an insane man. At least in time, if not given a life sentence, a prisoner still has a shot at becoming a free man. On the other hand, an insane being is a prisoner for a lifetime with no chance of escaping once he has dove in too deep. Like putting on headphones and turning on the music far up, you can't even hear yourself breathing. You ignore the world, it's just you and your music. You are lost in your favorite song, lost in time. But somehow you know, you're still solidly standing on the ground but ready to take flight at any minute you choose. It's your discretion, your life, your choice to make. Like happiness, to be insane is an individual's choice. And ironically, these people chose the path to which they will find unrequited happiness, they chose the path of insanity with their God given free will. They may be rotting on the outside but they can be more than alive on the inside. We will never know for sure, unless in some way a contraption can be made so we can see what they see and feel what they feel. In the end, no one is to say that to be of sound of mind is the result of being normal. Normality is just as subjective as abnormality. And so the insane can be just as normal in their own unique way.

A word to the wise then, to be insane isn't all that bad. It is an endless dream. The world is yours and happiness stretches from here on out. You are safe in your own mind, your own world. Hush now, you are in your own personal wonderland.

Be free. Think insane, happy thoughts..

~myeviltwin

Emotion

I love you from the bottom of my hypothalamus!

The hypothalamus is located just below the thalamus. According to the American physiologist, Walter B. Canon, the hypothalamus is the seat of all human emotions. And of all emotions, it's love that strikes us most of all. Love comes with all sorts of definitions basing on how each individual has experienced it. But how does it begin? 

Scientifically, love comes alive through the sense of smell. We neglect to dig down deeper that this emotion happens to be produced by specific substances with effects that are the same as when one takes drugs. One substance is commonly known as pheromones, these triggers and affects our hormones. Hormones are chemical messengers inside the body that are released and basically creates our reactions. Dopamine is one of the hormones secreted by the body and it is addictive. It is associated with the reward system of the brain and so it is the reason why you want to see someone you really like badly. It gives off a feeling  of excitement, energy and motivation to do anything. The process can be so long but to summarize it, the caught smell is received by the hypothalamus, then comes the secretion of hormones, and thus creates a feeling of attraction between two people.

Although these are hard cold facts, some people would just prefer to believe that love is an emotion felt by the heart. I always have to argue that the heart is only a muscular organ that pumps blood all throughout our body. I don't belittle its significance by just defining it simply that way. After all, without it, I would most likely be dead. But it just somehow annoys me that others can easily define what love really is. It's either they're really lucky enough to have found its true meaning or I'm just a meticulous being. 

Tonight, however, I prefer to question my own belief. It's around 2am, the sky has just enough stars. The moon is blurry and hidden behind rain clouds. It's one of those cheesy nights where I just read for the nth time a novel written by Nicholas Sparks. True to his name, he sends sparks and makes me feel all giddy by the end of the story. He writes the most extraordinary and relatable plots about sadness, guilt, hope, happiness, and love. It is without a doubt, his way of writing about love and the way each character shows conviction of the emotion, that makes me think twice about my idea about it. When I start to formulate the what if's in my mind, my heart starts to race. It somehow shrinks as if someone's squeezing it dry. And maybe it's simply because, when I think about love, I have a specific person in my mind. I know there is a logical explanation to why this kind of reaction occurs. It's a another lecture of how the body works. But in this moment, I'd like to take a risk and forget about what knowledge I was educated with. 

And so I define love as an emotion that is truly felt by the heart with which only one person can make it beat faster and slower at the same time. Love is what I see when that person encourages me to become a better version of myself. Love is what I feel when I see that one person cross a room with other people to choose from but prefers to look only at me. However I define it, love will always be just love, an emotion that can break me but can never stop me from loving just the same. 

~myeviltwin

Bitter sweet

And we give you a grade of re-oral.

"Figures. The paper wasn't done. It lacked the necessary information to be proven worthy of a passing grade."

To create a thesis paper is one of the major highlights in college. It somehow represents how much knowledge you have gained in your 4 or more years in the course you have taken. An oral presentation of your thesis paper is the make it or break it moment wherein you will find out, given that you passed all your other subjects too, that you will join your ceremonial rites for graduation. And here I am, working my ass off to prove that I am worthy to be called a soon to be graduate.

The oral presentation did not go all too well. And yes, my partner in the process got all distraught and heart broken. I, for one, do not see it as something negative. It became an inspiration to push myself forward. The fight for me wasn't over yet. People expected me to be sad at that point. But seriously, how can you be sad when an opportunity was given to make better what you've made and of course, to make better your whole being?

I've recently accepted the fact that failure is indeed a part of life. The feeling, to put it in lay man's term, sucks. And there are times when you just want to give up and run for the hills. But then again, to fail is the most important aspect in learning. It teaches one a lot of values that include, maintaining the atmosphere of positivity, to understand that there is and will always be room for improvement. It teaches one to be humble, to be inspired, to be challenged. Most importantly, it teaches one that you are not perfect. There are some people though that you feel expect you to be perfect and believe me, these are the kind of people that are being bullied to be perfect too themselves. The trick is to hold true on what you can give, you may not be perfect but hell, it doesn't stop you to become the best that you can be.

Failure has a lot of definitions. It's either you see it as something negative or something positive. For others, it means: This is the end. Others say: I simply don't care anymore. For me, failure simply means: Get off your effin' ass, you are better than this and you know it. When it seems as though a situation is too hard to handle, I find it best to remember that everything has a meaning. And that in every sticky situation there is always a way out. 

Failure is not the result of the build up of mistakes you have done. Mistakes are as inevitable as change itself. And the mistakes you make in life are the foundations of the better person you are now and the better person you will become in the future. Failure then is the result of giving up without even trying, without risking to make a mistake.

If you are afraid to commit a mistake or to be imperfect, which you already are in the first place, I feel sorry for you my friend. The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all.

~myeviltwin

Love-ish letter

Dear you,

The pain is just plain unbearable, you see. I've always thought of us as an A couple, we may have been oddly inseparable in so many ways. But still, we were so attracted to each other because of our similarities which compensates for our differences.

I know I can live without you but it would just be as how Lord Voldemort lived a half life.

You know I'd kill a troll for you. I'd suck the life out of dementors with a vacuum. I'd have thestrals grow muscle and skin. I'd tame giants to feel as small as goblins and house elves. A boggart would instantly shape shift to my heart that only beats just for you. I know you're not much of a Harry Potter fan, screw you for that. 

In any case, you have been there for me all the way from hell to back. Did I ever tell you I often see you as that vampire named Edward from Twilight? You don't wear much make up and you're still a younger version of a virgin than him though. You make me feel all weak, you make my legs tremble, you make me feel like Bella. But then again, I have more brains than her. Why would I go off looking for a dead gay guy? And there's Jacob. Oh his muscles just explodes testosterone. You remind me of him in no way. I just wanted to emphasize your complete lack thereof of muscles.

In the end, here you are. You turn your back and you're ready to leave me. Romeo and Juliet could have not been as romantic as us. Niether can the witch of Portobello work her way in magic to conjure an everlasting love like ours. I hope ours was a walk you can remember forever. The alchemist cannot match the journey we have gone through. Now that you're gone, I'd like to decide to die but hell no. I would not do that for you. I just stated that to make this sound even cheesier. Then again, I wish you'd meet those 5 people in heaven after you lose yourself in depression.

And so love, as you jump of a bridge, crack your skull open, and die.
I wave both my middle fingers at you, goodbye. 

xoxo.

~myeviltwin

More than just that

The four goals of Psychology is to be able to define, explain, predict, and eventually control behavior.

In my years in college as a Psychology major, I have enclosed myself in a box. This box represents the foundations of Psychology. The theories, the coined terms, the famous people who contributed their brilliant ideas in the hope of further nourishing the knowledge that has already been born. Here is the box that is filled with the build up of purely facts.

Within the box is my layer of protective personal bubble. This serves as a solid barrier. The stand off point from where you and I stand. If I let you in then I'm giving you the power to either hurt me physically or emotionally.

Within that bubble is my exterior body, with which becomes an instrument of analysis because every move and reaction has a meaning. If you look to the left, you are lying. If you're pointing your feet to the door, you want to leave. If you forget a part of your past then possibly it was the time when your trauma began. 

All these attention to detail has become what I breathe and live for. But I knew there was something missing. I kept pondering on what it was and there, served on a silver platter came the answer to my curiosity. Expressive Arts Therapy. There's an art of healing you never get to hear of on a daily basis. At first, I could not let go of my inhibitions as I was deeply rooted to details and scientifically speaking, whatevers. As I gave my full attention to the possibility of it being an important factor to my growth, I felt that void in me fill up. And then I discovered something of great significance.

Now, within my exterior body is what scientists claim to be unreal and questionable, within me is my soul. You can define, explain, predict, and control behavior, yes. But you can never grab hold of what I have in my soul. It hides the real me. My emotions, my troubles, my happiness, my pain. No theories in Psychology can strip me of what I really am and what I really feel. 

Expressive Arts has become a safe haven for my soul and my whole being. There in that hall of four walls, it doesn't seem like an enclosed box, it's more like a piece of everyone's own idea of heaven. Expressive Arts teaches one to accept individuality, face adversity, and awaken one's sleeping inner child within. I realized then that in all of Psychology's completeness, it is after all incomplete. It lacks the ability to go beyond asking a patient, "and how do you feel about that?". This form of healing does not promise the resolution of problems or illnesses but it does in fact nourish a being and his or her soul through the most primitive emotion known to man that Psychology has forgotten. Love. 

Viktor Frankl once said, "Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the most innermost core of his personality.” And indeed, Expressive Arts has done that not only to me but for the rest of the members that comprise the organization who I now call my family. With the integration of concrete facts and the rebirth of humanistic transformation, I do believe that one can be  able to reach out and save more people.

This is more than just a testimony. This is a tribute to father Loreto Jaque, the backbone of this art of healing. Thank you for the opportunity, the all welcoming acceptance, and the unconditional love. You truly are an inspiration worth following. May you have more birthdays to come. Vive les arts! Long live the arts!

~myeviltwin

Alive

The termination of an activity or goal of an action. The end.

You race to go to work on time. You race to finish a work load of assignment. You race to get that good parking spot. You race to attain something of significance and sometimes of insignificance. Life is one hell of a race. As much as possible you have to be the first in everything because being left behind makes you feel like a total loser. Not only for one's own sake but other factors such as all these fast pace development around just makes you want to keep moving too. Remaining stagnant would seem like forever, we'd start to fidget and find something worthwhile to do. If boredom could kill then we'd be all swarmed with flies, dead, stiff, and cold. 

I went to another session of Expressive Arts Therapy, it's been awhile since I last attended. I've been busy with school work, on the job training, exams, and not to mention other stuff not related to school. Every morning became such a burden. I literally had to drag myself out of bed, forcing my brain to stop making excuses. There is no time to waste. I need to do this or that, need to finish this and that, my schedule's fully booked. I feel like a puppet and other people are holding on to the strings that allow me to move. I do their every command with no hesitation. Yes, my life sucks indeed.

The game during the session was racing. Here we go again, I thought. But then the rules changed. Instead of running fast, you needed to run slow. The slowest wins the race. What a peculiar turn of events. And so the game began, being one of the young people in the group, my friends and I decided to make it more interesting. To make ourselves run slower, we would do the robot moves. We were the last 3 people in the race, go effin' tripod! Then I started to get bored and so I ran fast to the finish line. I left my 2 friends behind and eventually they followed my lead. So much for wanting to take things slow.

Someday when I actually get my head on straight, I plan to drop everything and go somewhere. Leave everything behind, disappear, get lost and live. It's not that I'm running away from it all. It's more of like, I need a break from it all. I'm getting used to living with the fast growing lifestyle and that's a bad thing. I may be standing tall but I'm actually living the life everyone expects me to live. 

Living life to the fullest means not putting to waste each second that passes you by. It also entails that you actually live for you alone, live because you want to and not because you have to. If racing is a way of life then I wish to unlearn it. I won't be able to live by dashing off from here to there faster than the speed of light now, would I? It's not a race. It's just life.

And so for this moment, I close my eyes and take a breath. 

~myeviltwin