Tag Archives: Thoughts

I Just Feel like Saying it

No, I don’t say it often.

It’s too rare a case that I say it. I only say it when I feel like saying it. I don’t want to oblige my self the way most people do whenever they toe the mandate to say it. I don’t say it only because of the imperatives. And I don’t say it just because.

It is not that I have the most brilliant philosophy in the galaxy. Neither is it because I have the loftiest way of reasoning. Nor is it because I am prideful or haughty. It is not also that I am bright and wise. As a matter of fact, I have already experienced being in the stupidest of things. I know how it feels like to wrestle with the repercussions of my wrong decisions.

It is true, though that I often deviate from what is typical. For no reason, I tend to break what is conventional. It is my nature to oscillate about and go beyond the confines and commonness of generality. I seldom join the hype, and I rarely jump on the bandwagon. No, I’m not fond of Nutella. I don’t like Coke. And I don’t like Milo. BUT I love Lily’s. I like the look of Pepsi. And I drink Ovaltine.

So, whenever I hear the lines “Hey, you should always say it.” and “You must say it now!” or “We should say it every day,” part of me always wanted to resist. There’s nothing new in me resisting, anyway. I am a stubborn Taurean who vaporizes his own horn and assertively eyes for what he believes is beautiful regardless of the majority’s opinion and objection.

In addition to this attitude problem, I often ignore criticisms, and most of the time, I do not believe in praises.

Freely convinced that it is doubly interesting to patronize something that is not liked by the majority, I dwell on peculiar angles not usually seen by many. Or to rephrase it: what others see is ugly is beautiful to me. And what I see is trite is ideal to them.

I must confess, though, that there are also times when I am not being me. There are times when I ought to like things that I don’t like just to feel some sense of belongingness.

But not on the frequency and wavelength of saying it.

I am a moody introvert who catches the fancy of aloofness as I paddle my own canoe towards the catalog of my interests. I ache with loneliness as I build my own world. I mean my galaxy of interests. A place in the vastness of the universe where I can release all the pain in me. That very sense of being part of something larger than me can somehow bring unexpected peace and help repair my emotional wreck. Because I live in that atmosphere most of the time, I have often been misunderstood, if not criticized.

SOME GOOD PEOPLE would say that constructive criticisms are good for me. For us. But the way I see it, there is no such thing as constructive criticism. For me, a criticism is a criticism, and to classify one as constructive is a graceful exit to being blunt.

Of course, everybody will disagree with me.

It is at the cherry that the readers and even the lexicographers, together with the philosophers, will decry my logic and rationality if I aggress by saying that I see no valid way of branding a criticism as constructive or destructive. Either of which is a criticism, and my stand is that we cannot validly fix its classifications.

To read between the lines, that state of being constructive or destructive hinges not on the criticism itself but on the purpose or effect of the criticism. Neither does either state hinge on the manner of criticizing, but on the manner of taking the manner of criticizing and the very criticism.

Taking a criticism constructively does not posit that the criticism is constructive already. Neither does it posit that the criticism is destructive already if it is the other way around. A criticism branded as constructive by one may be taken destructively by another. And a criticism classified as destructive by some may be taken constructively by others.

To reconcile my way of thinking with those who negate, I could patronize theirs if I would be freely convinced by their definition that a constructive criticism is a kind of censure or disapproval whose purpose or effect is good and helpful. The reverse is increasingly true of destructive criticism.

But then again, and as insinuated earlier, the purpose and effect of criticisms vary, switch and intersect. How could we qualify the validity of classifying a thing if the bases of its classifications are varying, switching and intersecting?

Before the readers call me imbecile, let me tell you a secret: It is my intention to bait this not-so-mind-boggling-yet-appearing-labyrinthine subtopic on criticisms not merely because I have regard with the validity on how and why it is classified, but mainly because of what I will declare in the next two sentences. I just did that not because I deem I have a point, but because I want to multiply opposing responses from the audience. I just did that to trigger intense reactions from the readers, without them knowing that they are just being maneuvered to participate and rebut as they read.

Of course you wouldn’t laugh. It is because I am not good at joking.

prayer-1This piece of writing, anyway, is not about criticisms or jokes. This is about saying what has to be said and the ‘frequency’ of saying it. I just inserted a “discussion” on criticism because the last paragraph prior to the one beginning with “SOME GOOD PEOPLE…” is full of wounds.

And I don’t want yet the oyster to be mortally wounded and die and become a pearl.

An old adage goes like “Whenever two good people argue over principles, they are both right.” I don’t know who said this. Well, no one knows. To associate this adage with what has to be said and the frequency of saying it, to say it always and to say it seldom can be both right. One on the side of saying it always is equally righteous to the other on the side of saying it seldom. It is just that I don’t say it often, and I am not on the side of saying it always.


Do the why and the it still remain in a big red question mark? What is it? And why not say it often? I don’t know! Do we always know? Or maybe I knew it. I just didn’t know that I knew it already. Sometimes things like this happen. And sometimes things like this happen like this.

It so happened that I don’t say it often.

It’s too rare a case that I say it. I only say it when I feel like saying it. I don’t want to oblige my self the way most people do whenever they toe the mandate to say it. I don’t say it only because of the imperatives. And I don’t say it just because.

I rarely say it because I believe that it is PRECIOUS.

I only say it when I feel like saying it.
Sincerity is saying it when you feel like saying it. And saying it with sincerity is like having it conveyed even without you saying it.

Only then will my eyes sparkle for REAL.

On the other hand, saying it routinely will, in a way, make it a custom. A norm that has to be followed because everybody is saying it even without the feel to say it; but only because they are occasioned to say it. To many, too, saying it always has been the standard of expressing it even if it sounds HABITUAL rather than CORDIAL.

It is just that, like some, I deviate from the norms and customs of a preset way of expressing it. For me, the say-it-everyday-just-because-someone-might-be-dead-tomorrow is a diamond-hard imperative that has grown into a splendid culture or tradition. A convention designed and engineered through auto-mechanical performance.

Say it.
Is it possible to never lose the pleasantness of a repetitious song sung in its soullessness?

I don’t know.
Have we always known?

Part of this piece may sound selfish and impolite, but this is an honest-to-goodness lub-dub of my heart. 

© Juancho

By Every Leaf of It

Amidst the bustles of our own lives today, we often fail to realize that time indeed is fleeting very swiftly. And during these times passed, moments were slowly drifting away until they were gone and carried afar, leaving only the footprints of the good old past.

But did you ever realize that we could still go back to the moments we dream not to last?

I got three of them to date.  The first one I have appeared yet in a black-and-white tone inside out with every page seeming to be like a cumulo-nimbus cloud, just plain and very simple. Four years after, I’ve come to receive a new one: more improved than the first. Now wrapped with a colorful, silky print cover (though the insides still appear in shades of gray), I already loved flipping over its pages containing a lot of vivid graphics and photos that would content to amuse one who sees it at least. But here comes the beast of them all. Lately, I have claimed this 3-kilogram, huge book which now comes in volumes and hardbound covers, far from the one I used to have then. Marveled by its eye catching cover embossed with colorful themes and designs, I could say that this may already reveal how the world turns into a fast-pacing planet, how times bring us to the zenith of our dreams, and how memories are safely kept and sealed even after ages.

The Yearbook. It may come either in a portfolio-type design or housed in a box like a collector’s item novel series. It may be as small as the almanac or burden you by its humungous size like a centuries-old dictionary. It may shine as the rainbows or just gleam as simple as a pearl but more than how it looks aesthetically, this little thing is worth a lifetime of your existence.


Funny how this simple stuff captures our inner hearts and turns us into somebody as schmaltzy as those we only see in television soaps and dramas.

ImageWho could ever forget the ones who bullied you when you were a naughty kid? I bet you even tried to put some ‘X’ marks or evil horns to the Mojo Jojo’s of your class before.  As you browse along, you would even stop at some point, glare into a photo and smile your heart out when you will see your first crush during your primary years as if you’re feeling back again that puppy-love-feeling you get before. You even sort out your play friends from the losers you tagged. Flipping on, by every pic you pass through, you also remember a word or a thing that reminds you of them like the one who first said “I like you”, the one who stole a kiss from you on the cheek, the one who gave you roses picked from the school’s backyard up to remembering those who were hailed as cheaters, eaters, nerds, KJ’s (killjoys), and a lot more.  By scanning through the yearbook, we could always relive back the kid in us and remember how we once believed in ‘Ever Afters’ and ‘Neverlands’, in castles and wonderlands, in a life that is very fast and light where everything just pass by so smoothly. Yearbook served as the wishing wells of our miniature dreams like flying around the world and the moon, riding space shuttles and fun lands for a day, or just being stuck in a toy kingdom, all go while holding infinity in our very palms.

Unfolding the next chapter of our journey, it is the same yearbook as well that made each and every one of us see ourselves which we never knew existed.

Who could remember the first time he danced the girl he laid his eyes upon? Or who has ever obliviously left her glass slippers during the midnight ball while savoring the moment with her King of Hearts? You get to think a lot of memories again while you skim through every page of this yearbook.

ImageReminiscent, you journeyed back in time again and see yourself jamming with your buddies on one nook where you strum those strings and sing your dreams out together with the group. The bell rings for recess and you rush now to the cafeteria to grab a bite, stay then on the benches under the shades of the trees which have been your leaning refuge when you need somebody to listen to you. You started digging out what more can yourself do when you juggled your academics while being into sports try-outs, or glee clubs or into scholastic quiz bowls (whatta geek!). The quadrangle or the football grounds served as your asylum when you received an “F’, broke up with an ex or simply just had a fight with somebody. You break the rules, you fail, you once went astray, you stumble, you’re scolded, but then again remembering all these events, you remain happy as you see  your old pals’ pics as if flashing back such mementos.

As you step further on higher grounds and enter the portals of the university, everything went to a whole new world. There was a drastic change, a paradigm shift so to speak. You never sailed the seas anymore, now you surf with the ocean waves instead.

ImageImmersed into a more mature environment, you have learned to deal with things independently. Remember the times when library’s your favorite rendezvous? You learned to love spending time with it now which you seldom did before. By every word that comes out your mouth, by every step you’re gone, you are slowly becoming cautious. You started burning midnight candles as you drown yourself in pools of books, of theses, of researches. Did you remember those moments when you seemed to be on the verge of yielding? Hanging at the edge of the cliff? But you surpassed them all and never succumbed? All these were bits of the past which molded you to what you are now: a professional, a man/woman of valiance, of experience, of inspiration.

Inching my way to reading the epilogue and closing this book, I gradually felt the nostalgia again. The past has already been unraveled as if I went into the Neverland.  With these kinds of emotion that rewinded my voyage to becoming the person I am today, I realized a lot of things: from frowns and laughters to foibles and triumphs to scorns and love, all these helped in baking this special cookie almost into perfection.  Majestic, more than any tale foretold!

I never thought this simple little thing could touch my inner recesses. Memories indeed never go weary, never go into oblivion, as long as you have something that could strike a chord back to them. If only I could stay by every leaf of it, I would choose to. But hey, I just can’t. Time’s ephemeral and so does life.

Unearth back your stories too.

Just as what Coca-cola ad shouts out, open (Coke) your yearbook, open happiness.

 And make your stories live and bring magic to you once more.


Credits to Laila for the photos. Thanks for the favor!