Posted in SteelRazor

63: I Shall Return and Stuff

A chilly evening, guys. I was bored of doing nothing and decided to write a blog post. Oh, and by the way, my section made it to the finals of the Carol Fest. Cheers, hurrah, yay and all that. I wasn’t that shocked to learn that we got in, since I already knew that from the start. I trust my section, after all.

Let’s steer away from singing and get to the real topic.

“I shall return.” If my memory serves me well, those words were uttered by General Douglas McArthur before leaving the Philippines during the Second World War. He promised the Filipinos that he will come back and liberate the archipelago from the grasp of Japanese troops. True to his word, he landed on Samar in 1944 and almost immediately began the reclamation of the country. And after almost a year or bitter fighting, the Philippines was completely liberated from hostile forces. The Unites States initiated the Manhattan Project to produce the very first atomic bomb which was dropped on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, effectively ending the Second World War.

Mmm, my history skills haven’t waned yet. But more importantly, I have made my point clear: General McArthur kept his promise and returned to the Philippines with a load of troops more than enough to oust the Japanese troops. And I believe it’s about time I kept my own promise to return.

I know, I know. “But you don’t make promises anymore, bleh bleh bleh.” Yes, I don’t make promises… anymore. So there was a time when I still promised stuff. That was during elementary, four years ago.

On graduation day, I made a promise to myself that I was going to visit my old friends in PNU. As the honorary and highly respected president of Grade 6 – Marangal(ugh, what a load of crap), I was expected by my former classmates to plan our reunion. And in order to do that, I need to talk to them.

Basically this whole post can be shortened into one sentence: I’m visiting PNU on their Christmas Party. I just, you know, expounded on the idea.

And… yeah, that’s about it.

Yeah.

Um… yeah.

This is your EnglishRazor, who shall return and stuff. Argh, you get the point!

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62: Till Death Do Us Part

“You have been slain.”

“Wasted!”

“Game over.”

These phrases are usually associated with death in certain video games. When your character’s health drops to 0 HP or if your team takes too long to respond, you “die”. Then you’ll have to start over again or wait for several seconds before you respawn.

Now, if only the same could be applied to real life, then life would be so much easier. If there’s something you messed up with, you can easily start over again. Stuff like that.

But then again, that’s only wishful thinking. You can’t jump off a building and wake up in your bed as if nothing happened. You can’t start over if you did something regretful. Life doesn’t have a save state, load state. It has no return, back, retreat. This big, painful, annoying, challenging vestibule called Life only has one bloody gear: forward.

So if you die, game over. The end. Finish. Wasted. Slain. Whetever damn word you can associate with being gone forever. But at least in death… there is bliss. Nothingness. Emptiness. No pain, no suffering, no annoying 8th grade asking you for your debt, no teacher for you to hide from, no Mondays for you to wake up to, no bastard friend slapping you around like a rag doll, no bloody classmates to put up with, no goddamn requirements to make, no braces that prick your cheeks, no little sister bugging you while you eat dinner, no fed enemies dragging you down to Bronze V, no Mathematics to deal with, no practices to attend to, no damn people that spreads stuff about you, no parents to tell you what to do, no friends to criticize you and judge you, no rallies for you to get annoyed at, no relationships to think about, no students to laugh at you if your dress like Ash or run like a ninja, no nothing. Just… oblivion. Peace. An eternity of it.

So young, yet I’m already beyond fed up with life. I used to think that it takes a lot to make me give up. Well, either I was faking it, or life already threw a hell lot at me. Right now… there is literally nothing for me to hang on to. Everything that I cared for, hung on to just… slipped away. Disappeared. Crumbled to dust. The only thing that keeps me on my feet… actually, there’s nothing. I can just give up any time I want. No more regrets that might hold me back like last time.

Sure, people will grieve. They might cry. Croc tears, from a lot. Miss me, maybe a few months. A year if I’m lucky. People will be sad and stuff. They might remember their memories with me. They might say sorry to a coffin for stuff they did.

But after that… forgotten. A memory, carelessly tossed aside. You can always find a new best friend. There’s a lot of better men out there for you to love. You still have two more children. Zandr’s gonna become B7 just like that. There’s like, three hundred more students that will graduate. No sweat from losing a single, useless student. Then… boom.

“Joshua? Oh… he died a year ago. Anyway, remember that thing I told you…”

“Uh… Inopiquez? Ah, right. He used to be my classmate. Oh, speaking of classmates, isn’t this girl…”

I wonder how many other conversations like this will spawn if I pushed through with this.

And don’t get me started with that “people still love you, you still have a bright future, blah blah blah”. Bright future? Where? I don’t see it. And even if there was, so what? Will my death signal the end of human race? No, it’s just one less meteorologist in the world. And love? *scoffs* I can’t even put into words what I’m feeling right now, even with my expansive vocabulary. Rage? Frustration? Pain? Those are the closest I can describe them.

Here’s a parting message: if I do depart from this hellhole, do me a favor and don’t cry for me. I’m not someone worth crying to. You should have done that while I was still alive. And it’s already far too late. Your tears don’t have the breath of life.

This is your EnglishRazor, biding his time… or what’s left of it.

Posted in SteelRazor

61: Poison

A not-so pleasant day, people. Lately, my days have become increasingly dull and… deathly. I wouldn’t know the reason behind this. All I know is that… it isn’t right.

There is poison coursing through my body. Not real poison, mind you. That would have killed me right away, though I wish that was the case here. Anyway, there is something in me that has gone terribly wrong and is taking over me. It’s like cancer cells taking over healthy cells, except that cancer cells can be destroyed. I don’t know about this poison inside me.

But ah… life goes on. Though if my life must go downhill, then it goes downhill. No sense in struggling if it will only prolong the inevitable.

Aight, enough of my ranting. This is your poisoned EnglishRazor, hoping for eternal peace.

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60: Skyline

Sweat dripping, arms heaving as he makes his way into the smaller unit. Around him, the objects he was used to seeing in the previous house was now stashed haphazardly, bags on top of bags on top of bags. His stunted eyesight was still unaided, his broken glasses lying somewhere upstairs, but he didn’t need spectacles to see the outline of the buildings.

It was arguably the most prosperous city in the entire metro, at least according to his parents. And there was also good reason to believe that. Across the wide expanse of cities, that one stretch of horizon was jam-packed with sky-high towers, each one owned by a wealthy businessman, or probably a foreign investor. He didn’t care much about economical stuff.

But that city also held something else… something dear to him. Suddenly, a flood of memories ambushed him, paralyzing him on the spot and drowning him with images and scenes from a recent past. With both mental hands, he waved the turbulence aside and focused on his work. They had barely three days left to move all their things. And he himself, curse him, wasn’t cooperating.

BR: You can’t blame me. Blame these stupid memories.

ER: Hmph. I told you to clear your mind off that place. But did you listen? Of course not! You’re the most stubborn person I have ever come across in my 16 years on this planet!

BR: Excuse me? We are the same person, nitwit. Stop insulting yourself. Maybe if you’d come and help me fight off this stupid maelstrom of emotions, maybe we’d get this job done at a much faster rate!

ER: Are you telling me that I’m useless?

BR: Well, aren’t you? You couldn’t even make yourself-

ER: Shut up! Shut up! I will not listen to your nonsense again!

BR: Tsk… stupid, annoying, worthless, good for nothing, useless, stubborn… love. Hah! As if love would take away your thirst and hunger.

ER: You say all that, but you immerse yourself in memories. What a hypocrite.

At that moment, he decided that that was enough argument for one day. He began to neatly arrange his things in his new closet, all the while trying to ignore a growing, chewing pain in his chest.

From the EnglishRazor to you, reader. Over and out.

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59: Blinding Carnage

Order from Chaos. Creation from destruction. Life from death.

But pain… breeds nothing but more pain. It gnaws through the threads of emotions pulled taut around the heart. It closes around my chest, with its iron fingers, and slowly crushes the poor little being that is me.

They call out to me, asking what is wrong. Are you okay? Do you have a problem? Oh, yes I do. And it’s impossible to escape. if you want to help, well… it’s far too late. My soul has fallen into disrepair, the pain and lies gnashing at it every second. At times, they let up on me, when I’m busy. But when I’m beside her, the monstrosity rears back and slashes across me with such force that it shatters my soul.

My body disconnects from my emotions. I become two separate beings – one that is fighting the relentless creature within me, and the other trying hard to veil the pain that is in me.

I cannot see the light anymore. This endless carnage has blinded me. And my last hope for resurrection has been extinguished, leaving behind the tattered remains of my final ray of light. My hope, ripped to shreds and discarded.

This is the ravaged EnglishRazor, leaving for hell.

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58: Resumed Pain

Once again, it is night. The time I dread the most, for the most fearsome beast I have encountered will awaken again and threaten to consume me.

As my head rests on my pillow, I prepare my arsenal for battle. An armload of songs that will bring on the hurt. The beast lumbers closer. I must act fast. My fingers fly across the screen, selecting a new weapon for tonight’s battle. These… are the same songs that roused the beast from its sleep several hours ago. But to release it then in front of four people would be catastrophic, so using my powerful will, I reined in the beast.

But now, it will not rest. The earphones are plugged. The songs are playing. And I lie and wait as the beast turns. It is confused at the new weapon firing at it. But seconds later, the song makes its impact. I flinch, mimicking the beast’s moves. It strains against the pain and fights back, crushing my chest in a painful hug. But I do not waver. The beast is too strong… I unleash a new weapon – a memory. A new but lethal one that strikes deep into the beast. As it howls, a tear escapes from my eye.

The pain is unbearable, but I throw more memories – digging deep into the beast while the songs pummel it. And I can’t take the crushing pain anymore. I cry. A river of tears flow down the side of my face, like the waterfall of hurtful memories crashing down on the beast.

Finally, it calms down. The monster shrinks, and I pick it up. My raging emotions are now calm, quiet. I caress the thing, peacefully resting. My eyes fall on my phone and end the playlist. It will be a while before my self-torture will begin again.

This is the EnglishRazor, who has painfully endured another night of suffering.

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56: Claustrophobia

I’m home everyone, after a very tiresome day with my annoying little sister (no, not my biological sister). She dragged me around with her friends, made me carry the take-out bag from some restaurant, I forgot which one, and otherwise made me feel left out. But… it’s meh. Like my motto goes, “no hard feelings.” Hard feelings will make it difficult to communicate with the person you cherish.

Right! Enough chessy stuff. (Get it? Because Cheska, cheesy… Chessy? Ugh… that was bad even for my standards.) When I got home, I charged my phone right away (I ran out of battery in Rockwell) and checked my Messenger and WordPress. In Messenger, three messages: one from Cheska, one from Ella, and another from How Dip Is Ur Luv (groupchat name; long story). Anyway, I noticed that nii-chan had posted a new blog post about himself again, which was quite intriguing. After a few minutes, I was delving into his latest post about claustrophilia – the opposite of my claustrophobia.

So? What if I already have hemophobia? There’s no rule against having multiple phobias, is there?!

If claustrophilia is the attraction to closed spaces, then claustrophobia is the fear of closed spaces. I have a bit of that, though I can ride elevators well (as long as it ain’t full). To be honest, I have no idea where my claustrophobia originated, must be from a bad event during my childhood that I can’t remember anymore.

What does it feel like to be claustrophobic? I’ll explain it in a given situation. For example, you and your friends are going to La Salle for CS training, and you’re seated in the back row, and you’re so cramped there you can’t even move your legs, your claustro-fear will kick in. (See what I did there? Legs? Kick in?) To me, it feels as if my lungs are filling with something solid and I can’t breathe properly, and I have an almost irresistible urge to thrash around to make more space. As I grew older, I managed to control this thrashing, but the urge is still there whenever I’m in a cramped space. In an attempt to make more space, I push against the car windows and lean back in my seat to make the illusion of a wider area in front. Or I can just close my eyes and focus on my breathing. The latter usually does the trick.

So there you go, nii-chan. What a claustrophobic person has in mind. Sometimes, it’s cool to have a best friend who’s your polar opposite, because you get to see things from a completely different perspective. Well, this is your claustrophobic EnglishRazor, closing in. (Bad pun.)

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55: A Suicide Note

A cheerful day, my loyal subordinates. Yes, anyone who reads this is now under the domain of my powerful empire, etc. All that gibberish that I would have said… if I was sane.

Truth to be told, my sanity is long gone. I began losing it when my life began going downhill. That would be… Grade 8, yes. It continued to slope down, pulling me with it. But sometime during Grade 9, the fall stopped, and I found myself on level ground again… but not for long. And since then, the slope has become steeper and even more treacherous. Whenever I look down, I see the gaping maw of pure darkness that will soon swallow me.

In a nutshell: I am suffering from depression.

Alright, stop smirking and saying “Tss, he thinks he’s the only one. I’ve suffered worse.” I wasn’t saying any of that. And my depression is different. Somehow.

I control my depression, forcing it to make me suffer more than I should. Even greater suffering and pain that I find comfort in. To be honest, I would rather get hurt than to be happy. Happiness never lasts long, and when it ends, there is a void that fills its absence. But in pain, well… it’s always there. It doesn’t go away. All things yield pain.

Instant death or clinical death is not the only form of suicide, I say. The death of one’s soul, leaving behind an empty human shell, is suicide.

Picking off the hurtful words thrown at me by people, stabbing it a bit deeper into my soul. Replaying all the memories that I cherished so much, leaving me with a painful crushing sensation in my chest. Standing in the shadow of my friends, slowly getting eaten by the darkness below me.

Ah, that’s enough crap for today, I guess. This is your pain-loving SteelRazor, taking a short rest.

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54: Shake

It’s a calm midnight here, everyone. Like what you might expect, yours truly is having trouble sleeping again. I kept turning in my bed, trying to find a comfortable position in vain. After an hour, I gave up and listened to music.

My mind drifted quite far, my mixed feelings acting as a sort of beacon for my thoughts to home in to. When mind and heart are one, well… I’d say there’s no escaping the turmoil released. As the heart lets the churning emotions lash out, the mind burrows deep into the recesses of the brain, hooking up old, rusty memories, polished to painful vividness. For another hour, I lay in bed, helplessly replaying the hurt-filled memories I had worked so hard to bury under piles and piles of lies.

It shook me bad, and a very recent memory surfaced-the movie San Andreas. It was about how the San Andreas Fault in California generated an earthquake with a 9.6 on the Richter Scale and spawning a massive tsunami that devastated the already-devastated city. As an aspiring geologist, I took it upon myself to learn much about earthquakes as early as Grade 6.

The planet’s crust is a thin layer of rock floating on a sea of magma known as the mantle. But the crust is not one mega-sized shell covering the mantle. It is divided into several partitions, known as tectonic plates. Our country is situated at the boundary of two such plates, the Pacific plate and the Philippine plate. When two plates slide past each other, they don’t always go smooth. The mega rock gets stuck, but the plate has to keep moving, so pressure builds up at the stuck point.

When the rock decides that it had enough, it suddenly slips, creating underground shock waves that travel to the surface. These waves are what causes the ground to shake. The point underground where the stress was released is called the focus, while the point directly above it at sea level is the epicenter.

Earthquakes are scary, but they fascinate me. The destruction it can wreak is massive, sure, but the pure energy of it is overwhelmingly amazing. But that doesn’t mean I want it to happen here. (Well… yeah, no.) I still value my friends.

I wonder how long my soul can hold out until it releases all this pressure in me. Hopefully, I won’t have to. This is your quake-loving future geologist, SteelRazor, rocking away.

*Also, there’s a proper term for people who study earthquakes-they’re called seismologists.

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53: You’re Welcome

Why is it so hard for some people to express their gratitude? Is it really that hard to utter two words of thankfulness, or at least a simple “t.y.”? I mean, someone asks you for a piece of paper. You hand it to them and they strut away as if no one gave them that paper.

Stupid little ungrateful bastards. At least the guys know how to say “thank you”. Rex, bless him, even throws in more than just a simple thank you. You must be asking, then why doesn’t he just stop being selfless?

Yeah… good point. Why don’t we do that?

You selfish retard. You cannot fight your nature. Don’t you always feel obliged to help anyone in need.

Fine. I get your point.

Gratitude is something I do not take lightly. If I give you something, as long as you say thank you, I’ll be content with that. I know you only see me when you need me, but at leaat let me feel as if you’re treating me like a human being that deserves a token of gratitude.

This is your grateful SteelRazor, over and out.