Cancer by My Chemical Romance

'Radiation' means food from the sun.
We dream of a place where 'terminal' is just a building where you take off and fly.
We long for a place where 'mass' is something
you hear on Sundays,
where 'cobalt' is just an ore of silver-gray,
and where 'ICU' really means we'll see
each other again.
We hope for a place where 'CT Scan' means
surveying the capital,
where the 'Big C' is just a great expanse of blue,
where 'Stage 4' is a place where you perform,
speaks from memory, and meet praise--
a place where 'remission' means absolutely,
positively, finally just that.
This is our dream. Help us fight for it.

Got this ad from a daily newspaper. Help fight the Big C.
Represent.

Miserable At Best by Mayday Parade

Four months ago. And not because I was bored.

Beautiful Mess by Mr. A-Z

Dear Grace,

I have always believed that love, in its purest form, is always a precious thing to have because it finds its way no matter what, despite the distance and doubts. But now, all I believe in is that love, in its purest form, is a mess. A disaster.

I choose not to recall what happened but it keeps coming back. The long talks over the phone. The sweet stuff. The i-almost-believed-you feeling. And you got me. Again. I don't know whether to suppress the feeling, or to cultivate it even more. I have always spared you my time, even if work has drained every ounce of energy that I usually have. But thanks to you, I always feel a whole lot better whenever we talk after work, or before going to sleep. And sleeping late never felt any better because of you, even if we both know we had to wake up early in the morning the next day. And waking up early had always put a smile on my face knowing that it's another day to "spend" with you-- at least through facebook, calls and messages.

But after a month of being happy, today, early in the morning, things changed. Like it was an overnight thing. You ended it because of him, even if that means pushing me aside, and making me lose again. For the nth time, it had always ended like this-- you not returning my calls, messages, and then you'd txt one day and tell me it's over. It had always been like this, and I thought that this time would be better, that you would not do it again-- but this time ain't any different than last time. And the many times before that.

I'm not angry. I'm not bitter. I was just planning on writing something light, and happy, and not knowing I'd end up writing something like this. Actually, I don't know what to really say. This has happened to me- a lot.

Love, in its purest form, really is a mess. A beautiful mess. A beautiful disaster, nevertheless.

maybe, next time.

Looking back at what have come to pass, I can't help wondering why a lot of people believe that things happen for a reason. Maybe, at some point, they are right. But these reasons aren't always to our advantage. Take for example, my first job. In a way, it's giving me a sense of security that I have one, but it also gives me reason to doubt what I can and cannot do. I have to go through every day mending things for my patients while I cannot mend things for myself. I have always given them the necessary medicines that they need while I can barely even support the weight that I carry deep down. I say life is unfair. That it teaches you something, but gets something from you in return. Everytime.

I have been pretty stupid with the decisions I made the past year, and the year before that. Hell, even early this year I have been made to believe into something that in the long run, I realized, never existed in the first place. So, enough already for things happening for a certain reason. Because they don't. The reasons exist because we push them to exist to compensate for the loss, or the defeat. We made these reasons up ourselves because they stand as pillars to the crumbling identities that we are. Reasons-- the very things that help us get through, yet they are also the very things that pull us down even more.

The more I think about getting back with someone, the more it evades me. And thinking about it today never gave me the sense of security that I have always felt. Maybe, it is life's way of saying that I have to believe in reasons. Reasons that I do not make myself, but what life gives. Something that exists, and gets you through. Something that can stand as a pillar rather than crumble down with you whenever you do.

On second thought, I'd like to believe what many of us do. That things happen for a reason. I'd like to think that I believe that. But I don't. Maybe when she and I gets back together, then maybe, at that time, I'd be happy to re write this post again. And prove myself wrong.