the luckiest of them all
Nov. 30th, 2007 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
levityI don't know what I'm supposed to write here.
Because, unlike some lucky people, I cannot write.
I should make that a constant. Write= stringing words together in a way that won't make people want to kill you.
Then again, I won't be able to complain about my penmanship.
---
Some can tell the story of a major English project, of the hours spent into work on an exhibit that would only last 120 minutes, of finger-painting since there were no more paintbrushes, of friendships made and burned out of desperation or frustration or gratitude or just plain chance. Some can find words to describe the laughter in the air when paintbrush, paint, and even the water to dip the paintbrush in were borrowed from other groups, the relief of knowing that finally, finally, the roof of the "house" in your exhibit was done, the amused irritation the next day upon discovering the bird excreta on that roof. Some have words for realisation that you really are lucky after all, to some extent, for wondering if anything being fought for really is worth what it cost, for the simultaneous exhaustion and happiness when your work is finished and there is really nothing you can do about it.
---
Some can narrate a crazy day spent with five more classmates, can talk about amusement at signs bearing assasination tips and at iced-tea drinking contests and at pretend-emo moments and at all the mishaps dance can bring. Some can paint in mere letters the scene of 29 students, exchanging laughter and gifts and- real or mocking- Christmas greetings, and the apprehension they had for presentations where one wrong step could, literally, ruin everything they had practiced for, and the accomplishment they all felt once their presentations were over and done with and never had to be repeated for the rest of their lives. Some can describe the bond that classmates have that can go back on them at any moment (that reminds me of Chem.), that bond that can be so much more and so much less than friendship, that bond that is the most similar to that of soldiers fighting the same battles and dodging the same bullets and living on the same terrible food for months on end. Because you and your classmates have lived though the same experiences, the same terror teachers and infinite requirements and careless mistakes, and only they can understand you when those experiences come up.
---
Some can, without making any effort at all, describe endless conversations under catwalks and around the oval and sitiing in the field and in the school corridors, can bring out the emotions of euphoria and despair and frustration and anger and whatever other emotions are brought up that exist in the almost-human frame of mind. Some can recreate scenes so clearly they are almost visible, pictures of pounding rain and raised voices and cold air and peace. Some can give enough flesh and blood and breath and life to words that even those who have never lived their lives can live through these words.
---
They are the luckiest of all. And the rest of us are just stuck trying to give justice to what we experienced, and end up, eventually, giving up. Because what should never be destroyed is better left forgotten in some unknown corner of the mind than preserved in words that will make the rest of the world wish that it never existed to begin with.
---
Halata bang tinatamad lang akong magsulat tungkol sa lahat na iyon? =>
Because, unlike some lucky people, I cannot write.
I should make that a constant. Write= stringing words together in a way that won't make people want to kill you.
Then again, I won't be able to complain about my penmanship.
---
Some can tell the story of a major English project, of the hours spent into work on an exhibit that would only last 120 minutes, of finger-painting since there were no more paintbrushes, of friendships made and burned out of desperation or frustration or gratitude or just plain chance. Some can find words to describe the laughter in the air when paintbrush, paint, and even the water to dip the paintbrush in were borrowed from other groups, the relief of knowing that finally, finally, the roof of the "house" in your exhibit was done, the amused irritation the next day upon discovering the bird excreta on that roof. Some have words for realisation that you really are lucky after all, to some extent, for wondering if anything being fought for really is worth what it cost, for the simultaneous exhaustion and happiness when your work is finished and there is really nothing you can do about it.
---
Some can narrate a crazy day spent with five more classmates, can talk about amusement at signs bearing assasination tips and at iced-tea drinking contests and at pretend-emo moments and at all the mishaps dance can bring. Some can paint in mere letters the scene of 29 students, exchanging laughter and gifts and- real or mocking- Christmas greetings, and the apprehension they had for presentations where one wrong step could, literally, ruin everything they had practiced for, and the accomplishment they all felt once their presentations were over and done with and never had to be repeated for the rest of their lives. Some can describe the bond that classmates have that can go back on them at any moment (that reminds me of Chem.), that bond that can be so much more and so much less than friendship, that bond that is the most similar to that of soldiers fighting the same battles and dodging the same bullets and living on the same terrible food for months on end. Because you and your classmates have lived though the same experiences, the same terror teachers and infinite requirements and careless mistakes, and only they can understand you when those experiences come up.
---
Some can, without making any effort at all, describe endless conversations under catwalks and around the oval and sitiing in the field and in the school corridors, can bring out the emotions of euphoria and despair and frustration and anger and whatever other emotions are brought up that exist in the almost-human frame of mind. Some can recreate scenes so clearly they are almost visible, pictures of pounding rain and raised voices and cold air and peace. Some can give enough flesh and blood and breath and life to words that even those who have never lived their lives can live through these words.
---
They are the luckiest of all. And the rest of us are just stuck trying to give justice to what we experienced, and end up, eventually, giving up. Because what should never be destroyed is better left forgotten in some unknown corner of the mind than preserved in words that will make the rest of the world wish that it never existed to begin with.
---
Halata bang tinatamad lang akong magsulat tungkol sa lahat na iyon? =>
