Love hurts: I feel betrayed and so old believing in the words that are all lies

As for me, to forget is to do away with it. What about if I resort to drinking? Is it the outlet? Drinking is one way of freeing me from it, but it only lasts for a few hours. When the liquor is gone from my head, my heart starts to throb painfully anew. I am left with no choice but to encounter the pain again. To experience it again, most of the times I savor the moment as pain stays in my heart. I feel butterflies in my stomach and there is also a constant nagging feeling of loneliness, as well as bitterness in my heart. All of these things are sudden reactions, thus paving the way for my impulsive behaviors to manifest deep down in my inner self.

Literature is the window for life and it bridges the readers from all walks of life to the works of creative imagination. It is a soul-replica that helps strengthen the readers' commitment to develop themselves by embracing international ideals of value system, sociocultural awareness, as well as the other aspects of universal heritage. Most of us have different views, definitions and uses of it, still we come up with a unified "implied meaning" that literature is something that reflects society, makes us think about ourselves and our society and allows us to enjoy language and beauty. The three stories have different genres used, including the technical analysis of each account. Assess its content with your internal and external demarcations of literary tastes with diverse levels of points of view!

"I feel that my soul has also begun to shrivel and pass away. I feel something different inside and outside of my egoistic shadow! This strange emotion sets out to go away from my temporal life. There is an emptiness inevitably felt within me--even my spirit as my protector won't dwell on me anymore. There are a lot of factors why my soul seems to crawl suddenly away from me. Life really seems enigmatic and odd--and it lost its sanity! As I sat there staring without a focus, I excogitate and see the other side of me, and it's the truth that I don't want to believe. They say that the truth shall set you free. Yes, it's true; yet, this truth that I have just learned has not set me free at all. It has severely connected from my heart and soul down to the hottest corners of outer darkness." Here is my story:

How could I control my emotions if the emotions within me can't be controlled? What is the panacea for this "love-hate thing" that can be expressed in a literary piece of work? There is no precise and vivid way to expound on this absurd feeling and identify the nature and essential qualities of being me as a child of God. I have to accept the fact that I should state and set for the meaning of self-worth-identity, thus gauging what I really feel inside. It predicts an individual's ability to successfully solve problems that involve both the initial identity search phase and the restructuring acceptance phase. However, individual differences in ability to control emotions and attention do not predict success on problems about love that isolate the whole restructuring phase.

These "love-outcomes" are interpreted as supporting automatic-feeling-redistribution of acceptance-account-love-restructuring. I could not put into words the things I wanted to utter to let go of this emotion and to unravel the core of my ill-feelings. I should be oblivious of this pain, you know -- and the only way to do it is to let it all out. However, the problem is, I cannot let it out because memories are still there. Maybe, later on, memories will fade but the scars inside me will linger deep in my thoughts till I pass away. I find it so difficult to let out without a certain justification and a valid accentuation to blow the gaff of my emotions without paving the way by asking these questions: Why did you hit me without a cause? Why did you abandon me in times of financial troubles, miseries, and indignation from my family? Why did you not defend me? Why did you go with another woman working as hospitality girl in a bar? Why did you leave me without saying goodbye for the last time? I don't care what would be the consequences of my actions to emerge from this mess, but I still love you. If you don't love me anymore, I need only an explanation why you leave me without a note to read. Life is unfair, isn't it? So, damn this feeling that is difficult to let out despite your irresponsible behaviors!

As for me, to forget is to do away with it. What about if I resort to drinking? Is it the outlet? Drinking is one way of freeing me from it, but it only lasts for a few hours. When the liquor is gone from my head, my heart starts to throb painfully anew. I am left with no choice but to encounter the pain again. To experience it again, most of the times I savor the moment as pain stays in my heart. I feel butterflies in my stomach and there is also a constant nagging feeling of loneliness, as well as bitterness in my heart. All of these things are sudden reactions, thus paving the way for my impulsive behaviors to manifest deep down in my inner self.

I feel that my soul has also begun to shrivel and pass away. I feel it sets out to go away from my temporal life. There is an emptiness felt within me--even my spirit as my protector won't dwell on me anymore. There are a lot of factors why my soul seems to crawl away from me. Life really feels lost its sanity! As I sat there staring without a focus, I excogitate and see the other side of me, and it's the truth that I don't want to believe. They say that the truth shall set you free. Yes, it's true; yet, this truth that I have just learned has not set me free at all. It has severely connected to my heart and soul down in the hottest corners of outer darkness.

I feel so empty, deprived of my rights and privileges, castigated with thorny punishments, so old, so alone and so darn-stupid for believing in every word he said to me. I feel betrayed and so old believing in the words that are all lies. These are the outputs of all fabricated stories hurled against me. And so I wonder if everything we have shared together intimately is true. Now I am confused and so damn hurt because of my weakness, nonchalance and ignorance about my feelings towards him, the feelings that can't be controlled because of love. I easily succumb to the temptation because of love. I hope that the girls out there won't resort to this kind of impulsive behavior, "the love-feeling thing" without proper place to set out with temporal and spiritual benedictions.

Now or shall I say, at this moment in time, to make my final paragraph longer, I just want the pain to go away but I don't know how. I want it to be fully deserted, vanished into thin air or gone without skepticism. I don't know what to do. I am still here wallowing in deep sorrow for having loved several times and lost again and heartbroken several times. I have once again made a fool out of myself. It hurts like hell and the pain has consumed my mind, even in my nocturnal activities. I hope and pray that God will help me become oblivious to these heart aches of mine. This "feeling heartbroken" thing towards my afflatus in life will end soon before it starts to devour my sanity. Please help me God!

"Just call him Gio -- and this is his story about solitary self-seclusion for locking himself up the whole night in the room. He wants to share with us his personal account about nocturnal activities with a ring phone." Here it goes:

For many nights, I have been staring at the blank ceiling. Locked up in my isolated room, I was entertaining myself with the thoughts that came to my mind. Perhaps it was just me, or my being the only son, that instilled my introversion. That was the reason why I never let anyone enter my four-walled haven.

As I was about to sleep late that night, I heard something amidst the silence. There it was, that gadget, ringing and shaking vigorously. Just another forwarded message, I thought. And I was right; it was indeed another trash sent by a friend.

Usually, I'd delete those kinds of stuff. But that night was different. Something ran up into my mind, telling me to send a reply. And so I did, replying with a message typical of me--void of emotion, purely academic--something like "What's our assignment for tomorrow?" After sending it, I went back to bed, not expecting another thing out of it.

But it rang again. I hurried to get it, excited of what it might be. And before I knew it, I was already pressing the keys, making another message. I sent it, received a reply, and wrote another message again.

And so, the mere exchange of texts became a conversation that lasted throughout the night. I was surprised on what I did. It was a new, radical change in me. The messages that I was sending also stunned me. At first, I was void of any emotion, sending dry, somewhat mechanical thoughts. But through the conversation, I unknowingly uttered words like "How are you," "I hope you're fine," and "I miss you."

I was, after all, capable of feeling, of caring, and of loving. Then, the gadget rang. In its screen was printed series of words, "Open up." I stopped. I said to myself, Shall I do this? Shall I finally open up this small world where I had been for 15 years?

After much thought, I stood up, reached for the knob, and opened the door.

And I saw light. My eyes, used to the darkness I was living before, were almost blinded by the new scenery that I saw. For the first time, I had seen the bright yellow sun shining on me. I realized that the night was gone, and it was a whole new morning.

I saw the flowers, the birds, the trees, and other people living in harmony and joy. And over there, on the green grassy fields, was that person who led me away from my solitary darkness, into the bright new life.

I was thankful, very thankful. Because of that, I was able to see the beauty of life outside my cell, which I had ignored because of my egocentric attitude. Never had I experienced something as life changing as this. Just because of all of these unexpected nocturnal events, thanks to the messages sent during that night.

"Most of her friends called her "femmerose" as her sobriquet. She's a practical woman of the 90's and beyond. She can do what she wants to protect herself from harm and defamation. Her secret weapon is a prayer and only God can help her in times of dreadful needs and can be her "Master" no matter what it costs." Here is her diary:

"Someday you'll find yourself when you read back your diary." This was once said from my mother about having my own life adventures written on a diary. I didn't get what she meant but I found it satisfying and worthwhile because I could express all that is in me. The means of showing the real self which can be beyond what others might see. My diary was made of recycled bond papers covered with old white folder. It looked odd, so I decorated it with colorful stickers.

I started writing it on May 1, 1998 at exactly 10 pm. I could remember the first thing I wrote was about my anger towards my father. It showed the thoughts, ideas and felicitous sentiments of a high school girl for someone only God knows. There were times that I could not put exactly what I had in mind that made me stop and thought back again. It was almost four years since I stopped writing it. Now, I barely laid a hand on it or skimming its pages again.

However, my capacity to detach from my slumbering past wasn't enough to resist the forces to scan again its pages. The difficulty to return again to the world was already seen before the very eyes of others. Surprised to my realization, each page contained only the expression of who I was before. There were happy gestures and incidents that brought delightful impression in my heart and there were moments that brought pain and terror and devoured the solemnity of my reading soul. Pages revealed an ideal expectation beyond the touch of reality. Stories made romanticize to the things that were never happened.

But there was one page that caught me into silence. It was on October 1 on the same year written only in two sentences. It left me hanging asking to myself ''When..." "What happened?" I ceased from a moment, it was a planned date for barkada's trip adventure to a different route in northern part of Cebu. That day gave me too much excitement, for I missed them so much. On the said trip, the beauty was drawn on the faces of my friends plus the different places I've seen. 

The sunshine, the freedom, the cool and serene blue colors of various beaches; the rosy colors of flowers intertwined over the green grasses, and everything that natures bring had turned into dark, pale and harsh day for all of us. The warmness of their presence found me on a chilled place but a little bit restless. I talked with the wind. I played alone to what my eyes had seen. No one heard the trembling commotions. And no one dared to notice it. No one understood the murmur behind my unsolicited smile. With the gnash of the wind, I was lost to the place where nobody knew. Everyone was a stranger. And no one, not even a single soul who tried to lift a hand kept me from the river of oblivion.

Seemingly alive, yet half dead inside, the thing that I thought was always good -- and it was unmistakably wrong. I was hoping and wanting to be part of them. I never expected that for the years we've been together, there was something missing in me: popularity in wealth or in beauty. I didn't have those things. It was natural for one to dream of something because of its reverse beauty and intimacy for someone amiable. There were times, one left oneself solely to the acceptance of other people's life, searching for something ideal was not always ideal for everybody. A food of the one might be bitter or a poison to the other. One's happiness can only be at hand if one's satisfaction or contentment is greatly achieved. I might not have all the beauty and wealth but I had my wit to surpass the vanities of the world.

These written words of nuances and remorsefulness were mere facade of being me as "femmerose." Being hypocrite would greatly acclaim to someone who also claimed sexually to be someone--who was not and never will. I ceased for a moment regrouping the unwritten memories that lay behind each page. It was a calm recompilation of the regaining soul--searching for a place where one certainly belongs. Towards the deepening twilight of the horizon remembering what was before and what is today, I realized what my mother meant and now I'm living a part of the lost pages of my soul.

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