urtopia:

The Mind is a Pond // themindthdimension

the-inspiring-quotes:

books-n-quotes:

Time takes it all. Whether you want it to or not. Time takes it all, time bares it away, and in the end, there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness. And sometimes we lose them there again. -Stephen King

thestarrystarrynights:

How can I let someone love me..when I don’t even love myself

Suprisingly, I feel the same way even after 2 years have passed.

In one of the stations where the train stopped, a bent old woman in black
boarded the train. As it moved away, the old woman went about the coach,
begging holding every prospective Samaritan by the arm, and stretching forth her gnarled hand in the familiar fashion so distasteful to me at that time. There is something in begging which destroys some fiber in most men. “Every time you drop a penny into a beggar’s palm you help degrade a man and make it more difficult for him to rise with dignity…”

There was something in his beggar’s eye which seemed to demand. “Now do
your duty.” And I did. Willy-nilly I dropped a coin and thereby filled my life with
repulsion. Is this Christianity? “Blessed are the poor …” But with what speed did that bent old woman cross the platform into the next coach!

While thus engaged in unwholesome thought, I felt myself jerked as the train
made a curve to the right. The toddler of the family of eight lost his balance and
caught the short but efficient father off-guard. In an instant all his efficiency was
employed in collecting the shrieking toddler from under his seat. The child had, in no time, developed two elongated bumps on the head, upon which was applied a moist piece of cloth. There were no reproaches, no words spoken. The discipline in the family was remarkable, or was it because they considered the head as a minor anatomical appendage and was therefore nor worth the fuss?

Occasionally, when the child’s crying rose above the din of the locomotive and
the clinkety-clank of the wheels on the rails, the father would jog about a bit without blushing, look at the bumps on his child’s head, shake his own, and move his lips saying, “Tsk, Tsk. And nothing more.

Fairly tired of assuming the minor responsibilities of my neighbors in this little
world in motion, I looked into the distant horizon where the blue Cordilleras merged into the blue of the sky. There I rested my thoughts upon the billowing silver and grey of the clouds, lightly remarking upon their being a trial to us, although they may not know it. We each would mind our own business and suffer in silence for the littlest mistakes of others; laughing at their ways if we happened to be in a position to suspend our emotion and view the whole scene as a god would; or, we could weep for other men if we are the mood to shed copious tears over the whole tragic aspect of a world
thrown out of joint.

It is strange how human sympathy operates. We assume an attitude of complete indifference to utter strangers whom we have seen but not met. We claim that they are the hardest to fall in love with in the normal exercise of Christian charity. Then a little child falls from a seat, or a beggar stretches forth a gnarled hand, or three husky men dust their seats; and we are, despite our pretensions, affected. Why not? If even a
sleeping man who does nothing touches our life!

by Francisco Icasiano

One Sunday I entrained for Baliwag, a town in Bulacan which can well afford to hold two fiestas a year without a qualm.

I took the train partly because I am prejudiced in favor of the governmentowned railroad, partly because I am allowed comparative comfort in a coach, and finally because trains sometimes leave and arrive according to schedule.

In the coach I found a little world, a section of the abstraction called humanity whom we are supposed to love and live for. I had previously arranged to divide the idle hour or so between cultivating my neglected Christianity and smoothing out the rough edges of my nature with the aid of grateful sights without – the rolling wheels, the flying huts and trees and light-green palay seedlings and carabaos along the way.

Inertia, I suppose, and the sort of reality we moderns know make falling in love with my immediate neighbors often a matter of severe strain and effort to me.

Let me give a sketchy picture of the little world whose company Mang Kiko shared in moments which soon passed away affecting most of us.

First, there came to my notice three husky individuals who dusted their seats furiously with their handkerchiefs without regard to hygiene or the brotherhood of men. It gave me no little annoyance that on such a quiet morning the unpleasant aspects in other people’s ways should claim my attention.

Then there was a harmless-looking middle-aged man in green camisa de chino with rolled sleeves who must have entered asleep. When I noticed him he was already snuggly entrenched in a corner seat, with his slippered feet comfortably planted on the opposite seat, all the while his head danced and dangled with the motion of the train. I could not, for the love of me, imagine how he would look if he were awake.

A child of six in the next seat must have shared with me in speculating about the dreams of this sleeping man in green. Was he dreaming of the Second World War or the price of eggs? Had he any worries about the permanent dominion status or the final outcome of the struggles of the masses, or was it merely the arrangement of the scales on a fighting roaster’s legs that brought that frown on his face?

But the party that most engaged my attention was a family of eight composed of a short but efficient father, four very young children, mother, grandmother, and another woman who must have been the efficient father’s sister. They distributed themselves on four benches – you know the kind of seats facing each other so that half the passengers travel backward. The more I looked at the short but young and efficient father the shorter his parts looked to me. His movements were fast and short, too. He removed his coat, folded it carefully and slung it on the back of his seat. Then he pulled out his wallet from the hip pocket and counted his money while his wife and the rest of his group watched the ritual without a word.

Then the short, young, and efficient father stood up and pulled out two banana leaf bundles from a bamboo basket and spread out both bundles on one bench and log luncheon was ready at ten o'clock. With the efficient father leading the charge, the children (except the baby in his grandmother’s arms) began to dig away with little encouragement and aid from the elders. In a short while the skirmish was over, the enemy – shrimps, omelet, rice and tomato sauce – were routed out, save for a few shrimps and some rice left for the grandmother to handle in her own style later.

Then came the water-fetching ritual. The father, with a glass in hand, led the march to the train faucet, followed by three children whose faces still showed the marks of a hard-fought-battle. In passing between me and a person, then engaged in a casual conversation with me, the short but efficient father made a courteous gesture which is still good to see in these democratic days; he bent from the hips and, dropping both hands, made an opening in the air between my collocutor and me – a gesture which in unspoiled places means “Excuse Me.”

2nd March ‘18

Oh, baby.

Everyone around you is feeling overly enthusiastic. So they shower you with much love even when you still haven’t felt the warmth of the light and the gentle stroke of the wind.


This short excerpt is for you, Beautiful Creature.

From the very beginning of your existence, to the first kick within your placenta, and to the first cry you let out; you might not be aware, but you are surrounded with so much love.

I hope that you are born with overflowing love in your heart.

Just like this photo, I hope that the people in it never forget the the feeling they have when they first knew you exist and may they remember the smiles you imprinted on their lips.

I hope their love for you flourish greater as you bloom into the person you are meant to be each day.

At early onset of life, you will feel all the love and support you can get. 

You’ll have a great thirst for what’s out there.

You’ll be bombarded with questions you’ll ask out of pure curiosity. 

You’ll find every piece of this world as a treasure, but everything can turn upside down as you grow old.

Meeting the world might not be as what you’re anticipating it to be; this world has been on for so long that a lot has changed.

The peaceful have become chaotic.

Humans have become a lot more materialistic and narcissistic than ever.

This world is not perfect. It’s very far from being perfect. It’s very flawed. 

Time will even come when you’ll feel and think this world is uninhabitable.
And when that time comes, I hope that you’ll be strong and fight even when it seems impossible to do so.

Just a little spoiler: life will batter you countless times. 

But don’t you fret. There will be people with you who will be with you every step of the way to guide and support you. These people are the ones you should treasure most.

I’m praying that this cruel world doesn’t shatter your soul just like it did to many.

ALWAYS REMEMBER.

Amidst struggles, I hope that you don’t forget to smile everyday. A smile is very powerful and can light up one’s drowning heart.

I hope that you don’t fail to see good in everything.

Even if the world hurts you, you shouldn’t hurt anyone back. 

Keep Palacio’s words in mind: “When given the chance to be right and kind, always choose kind.” Everyone is just like you trying to figure out how to survive in this world. So, be kind.

You’ll do good in this life. Don’t be afraid to fail.

You are loved. 

You are worth it. 

You are beautiful with your scars and flaws.

You are not here by mistake.

SMILE FOR THE CAMERA, BABY GIRL. YOU’LL BE MORE THAN OKAY IN THIS WORLD. SEE YOU SOON =)

— m.c.

vomitingwords:

“Why do you always look up?” he asked.

She doesn’t want to share her secret. She doesn’t want to tell anyone what the real reason is. Yet for him, she found herself honestly speaking. “I don’t always look up. I just stare at the sky, whenever I feel the need to breathe. I look up every time I wanted to tell the world that I survived another day. That I love how the stars shine as if they were smiling at me.” She glanced at him and said, “It’s stunning, you know. The sky. No matter what mood it shows me. No matter how imperfect it is. It’s wonderful. And it always reminds me that there’s something beautiful beyond everything.”

Infinite // ma.c.a