Falling In-Love Is Easy -- It's Staying In Love That's Hard

I’ve fallen in love trice and stayed in love once.

When it happened the first and second time, I was naïve, emotional and idealistic, but was left extremely broken and unaware.

I spent a lot of time thinking about why things didn’t work out how we had intended. It was easy until it wasn’t.

The third time I fell in love was quite the opposite experience.

I was cautious, skeptical and built an emotional fortress for protection.

But eventually, it all came crumbling down, brick by brick, until I was back in that familiar place. All that mattered was that she and I were happy and that everything felt good.

And, that’s what falling in love is. It’s a natural high, a rush of intense emotions — anticipation, warmth, euphoria and fear — that takes you by force.

You never really see it coming, and then unexpectedly, it all catches up and you eventually realize there’s no turning back.

When you find yourself at that sweet spot, you think, “This is where I want to be. I want to stay right here, forever.”

As we fall in love, our affections effortlessly motivate us.

These feelings propel us to make some of the most irrational decisions or perform unexpected, romantic tasks, like staying up all night, talking on the phone until your UnliAllText load expires or even on a graveyard shift later in the evening, making breakfast just because or driving from Quezon City to Lipa to spend a day with him or her.

Emotions, especially love, passion and happiness; are our strongest motivators because we will do anything to maintain them.

However, we often fail to realize that it never lasts. What goes up, must come down and sometimes, the high lasts for a couple of months and sometimes, it can last for a couple of years.

We are often blinded by the illusion that everything good is infinite and invincible. Once you come down and reality sinks, it gets a little tricky.

When the feelings subside, we must work twice as hard to maintain and deepen the relationships.

The emotions become less intense until they stabilize into something that is just a part of your everyday life. Without the intensity, the motivation eventually fades, and that’s when things get comfortable.

Once you’re in the comfort zone, the relationship either becomes stale and unappealing (this is when things don’t work out) or it evolves into a two-player team (this is when you stay in love), depending on what you do next.

If you truly want to stay in love, you must always choose love — a choice built on the foundations of communication, acceptance and selflessness.

It means being honest with your significant other while being true to yourself and understanding that compromises are the key to all healthy relationships.

It means connecting and sometimes disconnecting, but always discussing your feelings without blame, assumption and insults so that you never go to bed angry.

It means knowing that your partner will make mistakes, but always speaking before reacting so that the two of you can learn and grow from the experience.

It means that even when you don’t feel love in any given moment, you do not give in to the short-term emotions and will instead behave and communicate with tenderness and patience, share your vulnerabilities and consciously decide to forgive and move forward.

In the end, the effort is in the decisions you make.

Making a decision on anything isn’t easy because it requires consciousness and careful thought, whereas emotions can master you without your consent.

Choosing love is choosing selflessness and taking a much higher road — a task that is not easily done, as we are all inherently in it for ourselves.

However, if we realize that temporary is easy, but forever is hard, we’ll consistently work for the things and the people who are worth fighting for while enjoying the magic and enchantment of all that is finite.

letter to my son Victor Paulo on his 14th birthday

I miss you. You are a young man now and I know that this is the time where you are looking at to explore what life has in store for you. So there isn’t much time for dad or parents anymore. But still I miss you. I’m so proud of you. I’m excited about what God has in store for your life. I see so much richness and future success for you. There is nothing you can’t do. The world is your oyster

Setting aside the multiplicity of talent that God has blessed you with (which is quite substantial), it is who you are that I love. You’re sensitive, honest and a deep, independent thinker. You love God with all your heart and enjoy praising him. Try to never lose that because it will be your light at times of darkness. Try to remember to pray daily. Those prayers will be fuel for your life and give you on going communion with Him. Most importantly; when you make mistakes, never be afraid to admit them, apologize and make amends to people who you have wronged.

It has been an honor to be your Dad. I will always be here for you no matter what. Everything that I have is yours. You don’t owe me anything. It is I who owe you the best start in life that I can give to you, then God will make up the difference. I have many successes in raising you and many failures.
Over the time I haven’t seen you; I have a lot of time to think about my failures. Most of them are pretty common and forgettable. But there is one I need to confess. I hope that you can forgive me. And I pray to God that none of it finds any negative residual effect in you.

A friend of mine had a baby son recently. I called to congratulate him. When the conversation had ended, he asked me for any advice that I could offer him as a Dad. This is what I told him:

“Be sure to love his mom to the best of your ability, honor her with all your heart and in full view of your son. Loving his mom is the best gift that you can give your son. Do that and everything will be well concerning him.”

It would be easy to rationalize the high separation rate here in our country by saying:

“People get separated all the time.”

Or

“You shouldn’t stay together for the sake of you kids. Your own happiness is more important.”

HAPPINESS is a choice. People don’t make you happy, you must already be happy when you seek happiness in others, you’ll spiral from one relationship to relationship, friendship to friendship and never finding the happiness that is “real and true.”

Secondly, marriage and parenting is a sacrifice for the greater good and legacy/annuity of your family. When children see you fighting for the greater good (then overcome), they learn humility, courage and mature well. Commitment to family is more important than anything because it pleases God.

I’AM SO INTENSELY SORRY that I failed in this important area. I did the best that I could at the time, but it wasn’t good enough. Because I did not follow the advice I gave to my friend, I failed you and your brother Juan Miguel. I hope that you and your brother can find in your heart to forgive me and continue to love as your father. I love you both and I want only the best for you.

And lastly, as you move forward in your life, work hard in every area. Don’t be anxious for tomorrow – hit the ball that is front of you, work through the areas that are most difficult because it is here in these places that God is looking to grow and stretch you into who He is desirous of you becoming in Him.

I love you endlessly,Happy 14th Birthday Son :)

Dad

House Of Pain

Coming to terms with pain takes a long time and is hard. Letting it out takes longer and is harder.

This is my experience on the 3 stages of pain.

ON RECOGNIZING PAIN:

I was diagnosed with clinical depression. Since then, I’ve been seeing 2 therapists on a regular basis, and take 5 different types of medication to get me through the day and night. This has been going on for almost 2 months and it’s only now that my depression has taken another turn. For me, theraphy is like waking up in bed and what’s happening now is like taking a step out of bed; which is a good thing, but it’s f**k*ng cold.

There’s a realisation; a stinging, an unrelenting sadness that follows you around. It feels like you’re in a House of Mirrors (which is horrifying anyway, without the whole depression thing) but there’s no exit, there’s no Meagan Fox; so you’re forced to stare at awful visions; not of yourself, but of the pain that’s in you.

Then the pain begins its transformation. It starts off as a tiny ember of coal. It burns for a short time then explodes, once the explosion goes off it never ends. It’s like trying to put a jack in a box back it its f**k*ng box but it just keeps jumping out. So now you’re sat in your room, surrounded by pain and you have nowhere to put it. You could call a counselor or a friend (normal and recommended) or you could down a bunch of pills and not have to deal with anything (not normal and definitely not recommended).

ON DIGESTING PAIN:

Digesting pain and sadness is much like eating a bag of jelly beans all to yourself (awesome) then eating another one (not so awesome) then sitting in a scalding hot bath while being watched by your co-workers. It’s overwhelming, uncomfortable and a little bit weird. Depression can stew in your stomach and then seep into your other internal organs. It’s a dark matter that can both fill you up and eat you alive at the same time.

Now, as depressing and awkward as that sounds; it doesn’t stop you from doing anything. You can still walk around your work place using your face hole to say sh*t like "what’s our wildly important goal?' and "can we circle back on this?’ Hell, it doesn’t even stop you from attending pre-work peps talks -- what is does stop you from doing is feeling. I was blocked from feeling empathy, sympathy any-athy and once you stop feeling; well, then you can start doing some really hurtful sh*t.

There are various parts to depression that manifest differently. The main one with me is suicide. I have attempted suicide three times now. The first time landed me in therapy; loved ones stopped the second and I called someone after my third attempt(which was about a week ago now) When gripped by depression, I don’t "contemplate" suicide --  I find this term rather funny. I imagine a contemporary of Shakespeare, narrowing his eyes as he looks out the window and twiddles his quill (not a euphemism) while "contemplating" the notion of suicide. Unfortunately, I don’t got that kind of time. Suicide envelops me, fast. I’m impelled by it, it consumes my mind and I react to it much like how a runner reacts to a starting gun.

It’s important to note here that "I did not want to die." (I still don’t) I just don’t want to feel my feelings anymore and the only way my mind knew how to deal with that was suicide. "This is not the right answer to any problem" -- EVER. However, that’s the hard thing about having depression live in you, it can often fog your judgment or sometimes, just black you out altogether. Not having control of your mind is terrifying, especially when it comes to matters of self-harm.

It’s around this point where I’d write about what the correct thing to do would be; but to be honest, I still don’t have a clue. All I know is that I wouldn’t wish this pain on anybody. If I did take my own life I would in fact, be leaving all that pain with somebody else, probably several people, people who love me. That pain wouldn’t simply go away; but would instead, infect others and live on for many years. That is not a legacy I would like to leave.

ON LETTING PAIN GO:

My current status is crying. Everyone cries for all sorts of reasons or for no reason at all. I am currently spending my days expelling pain from my body through crying. It feels like it’s coming out of all orifices. The tears may be coming out of my eyes but I can also feel a steam of emotion rising from my skin. Sometimes it hurts so much I vomit. I don’t feel sorry for myself and I have no reason to. I did this to me, not you. Even though these tears are filled with pain, they’re coming out and making room for joy, happiness, and empathy.

Right now I’m just a bit dazed. I’m not who I should be, which is unsettling at best. I like to think of this part as a mini transformation where the crying is a sort of skin-shedding (*fights urge to write an onion analogy*) and that, in a matter of time, I’ll be in a new level of depression. Until then, I think not wanting to die and crying is a good start, and that my depression will disappear into the sunset. Either that or it will release itself from my body like the chest burster in that Sigourny Weaver movie Alien.

“Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out -- but to see who cares enough to break them down.”

BREAKING SAD

Disclaimer:

Depression has been written about and discussed for hundreds of years. Despite advances in understanding its complexities, depression remains one of the most controversial issues today. I recognize the differing, often polarizing, viewpoints regarding mental illness. Furthermore, I do not claim to be an oracle of all things depression. This is simply an account of how I am experiencing my version of this affliction.

I suffer from clinical depression. Whilst I’m not proud of it, I’m not ashamed of it either. Why am I telling you this now? Well, because I was just diagnosed with it a few weeks ago. People may think depression hits you overnight (and in some cases it does) but, whilst depression can be obvious, often it’s a sneaky bugger.

You might seem happy on the outside. Smiling, talking to people at parties, saying things like where did you get this terrific bottle of red wine? It’s excellent; my face is having such a great time! But you and others around you may not realize how deeply the depression runs. You just keep going, congratulating yourself on being the “normal” human you are.

Over the past few years the facade began to crumble. It became increasingly difficult for me to make decisions. I had no empathy for anyone, and I started to crave solitude. The worst part was that it became harder to face people, even those I loved. It felt much better to be holed up in my room for unhealthy periods of time, which was odd as only a few years ago I was a high-functioning humanoid. Look around you… you’re probably surrounded by other high-functionaries. When I say “high-functioning” I mean, people who are doing stuff. They are doing well in their jobs, making decisions (both important and basic), and organizing murder mystery dinners on weeknights (weeknights for crying out loud!)

A common misconception about depressed people is that we’re easy to spot — flailing around, zombie-esque in Dawn of the Depression. Nope, most of us like to keep that shit at home.

However, when it comes to being in the ‘outside world’ with ‘the people’ and the ‘stuff’ it’s possible to trick yourself into being a superhuman/athlete/actor. If you were running track, you’d probably be high-fiving yourself as you lap people.

Then one day you hear the starter pistol go off, but you don’t run. You just stay in the blocks staring down at the asphalt, mesmerized, thinking I feel nothing for this asphalt; I’ll just wait here till I feel something. Everything you thought you were interested in (or thought you should be interested in) goes straight out the window. You liked hanging out with friends? Nope, not anymore you don’t. You liked playing airsoft war games on weekends? Nope thanks. You liked hanging out or drinking with a buddy? Well, no-one really does but screw it, you’re not going to do that ever again. Why? Uh, because that would involve doing something and then there’s all the people… oh the people! And the things and the noises, and the fact that it means leaving the house. I’d rather repeatedly receive a Google Play account issue dialogue box.

You would think this would all be somewhat terrifying, but for me, it wasn't. It was actually very comfortable. I’d revel in not having to feel feelings. Being numb meant I could just ‘be’ without ‘being’. Turns out this made me a ticking time bomb. See, when you extreme hoard all the feelings (like finding-a-dead-pet-under-the-refrigerator kind of hoarding), you end up with none at all. I let myself feel nothing, all the while a toxic swirl bubbled up inside me and time quickly began to run out.

Now, here’s the really terrifying bit — detonation. I didn't know when it was coming or how it would happen but I sure as shite was not prepared for it. Detonation of depression and feelings was very clear and simple for me. I can’t remember what, but something was said and instantly my brain snapped from my heart and my body filled with hot, black sludge

Darkness surged through my veins and permeated my eyeballs. All the feelings I’d hoarded over the years were now rushing through me in one go and all I wanted was a one-way ticket back to numbsville. I’d been ensconced in my tiny, numb mind for two decades, and now something was ripping it and me to shreds. Of course I reacted because I was helplessly trying to piece back the ruins of the only mind I had ever known.

There are many reasons as to why this happened. I attribute the guilty feeling’s share to my silence. I had an inkling I ignored, an extreme sadness that surfaced twenty years later to teach me various painful yet valuable lessons. I only wish that I had talked to someone about it earlier; that would've at least let some air out of the over-inflated shit balloon I was holding onto.

Thing is, it’s hard to suddenly sidle up to someone and be all “Hey, I think I’m really sad for no reason, any guesses as to why that might be?” Even your best friends might be like “What? But you were really into that red wine at Jojo’s little house party”. They may take you outmore as some sort of exposure therapy. They may even take you away on holiday so you can “relax and heal.” Now, all these things are lovely, and I appreciate having such thoughtful friends, but they may not necessarily understand that, whilst in depression, going on holiday is a fate worse than having to read your text messages.

As I grew up, repression became so much easier, and much more crucial, like breathing or grossing people out by telling them what a Mooncup is. It was yet another one of my dysfunctional lifelines — like a Slanket of thorns (omg…new band name).

Now, as I’m going through self-treatment, I’m seeing and feeling the repressions of Christmas pasts, scooping out the entire trauma which leads me to this point. I watch, anesthetized, as the pain passes in front of me while in my car cruising J.P. Laurel Hi-Way on my way to work. All of the passing vehicles are mine and I’m forced to watch them circulate, then remove them, and then empty their contents.

The positive in all of this is that I’m not doing it alone. As I mentioned earlier, I’m in treatment and have been for 6 weeks. Reaching out for help is the single best and bravest decision I have ever made.

Depression is like being in an anaconda-esque bind and releasing yourself from it is a process — A process I’m still trying to understand. I mean shit, even some of the sentences you’re reading now were written during deep depression and mania (can you guess which ones? Answer: rhetorical). Look, I’m not writing this to you from a place of recovery (far from it!), I’m writing as I go. As I said at the start, I do not claim to be an expert on this but I do know that, when it comes to depression, you should not suffer in silence. Talk to someone, anyone. I know there are many reasons not to — it hurts, it’s hard, it’s embarrassing, and it’s not the right time. Well, it will never be the right time to talk about depression, but it will always be the right decision to talk about it.

When Something Someone Thinks It's Funny is not Funny Anymore

Been wanting to do this for the longest time, this blog entry does not represent my dislike with Vice Ganda, its just that what he did recently, for me, I think is way above his pay grade. Vice Ganda is a star. He has television shows, which he claims have rated on top consistently. He has endorsements, the standard of success for most Philippine celebrities, and asks the public to subscribe to Globe telecom and eat Funtastyk Young Pork Tocino. I got family, friends and relatives who file leaves on the days his movies light up the screen, holding up hand-drawn posters, in the hope that their hero will turn his head and wink on the red carpet..
His celebrity is such that his opinions on a wide variety of issues make newspaper headlines and run as sound bites in the evening news. Senatorial candidates express their gratitude over his endorsement. He says elected candidates should have more legislative experience. His support for family planning was lauded as a brave, progressive move among the purple-clad crowd. He does not refuse interviews, he answers all questions, saying he supports sex change operations and believes sexuality should be irrelevant in the military. He is sharp, witty, irreverent, and straddles both politics and entertainment.

“We need to see people according to their capacities,” he said in an interview in 2011 after the premiere of his film Praybeyt Benjamin. “We will understand people more if we look beyond their appearance.”

Jose Marie Borja Viceral; born March 31, 1976, called Vice Ganda by all and sundry -- is aware there are responsibilities that come with rising high.

“I’m enjoying what I am now, and at the same time aware of my responsibility.”

*** oh well, really??

Jessica Soho is a journalist. She rose in the ranks at a time when it was difficult to be a woman; especially when that woman is not typical of the rest of the camera-ready long-legged darlings of prime time. She covered war, flood, and political intrigue, she fielded hundreds of reporters and made decisions that changed the face of Philippine media. In the last 30 years she proved herself, again and again, providing women across the country with the possibility that a woman can fight and win.

In the span of two minutes and 31 seconds, a comedian named Vice Ganda decided that all this was not enough; that it was funny, oh so funny -- to bring down this public figure to a crass cartoon of all that makes it terrible to be a woman : helpless, hapless, judged and found wanting by her weight instead of her mind.

And so this man reduced this woman to the unforgettable picture of a fat snorting pig on a shiny platter -- all skin and blubber and grease, naked legs akimbo, demanding to be fucked and taken for as long as she had an apple in her mouth.

This is what rape is. It is the use of power over a helpless individual; often a woman, who is forced against her own will to be physically violated in the closest and most personal of ways.

In the last few years, the definition has changed. It includes shards of wood shoved up vagina's, as a number of gentlemen did with activist Sherlyn Cadapan when she was abducted by the men of the still-at-large Jovito Palparan.

It also includes; although the Supreme Court may disagree, the sexual abuse of a young woman named Nicole in the back of a van behind Neptune Club in Subic Bay, although we are told it is her fault because she was drunk and flirtatious. It includes; for example, the rape by 6 men -- mostly teenagers, of a 20-year-old girl on the way home from watching fireworks at one in the morning of January 2012. That was gang rape, and her father wants them all buried behind bars.

In the imagined world created by Vice Ganda, Jessica Soho too was gang raped; only this time -- the woman is so desperate that she welcomes the assault.

***

It was a joke, he said. Just a joke. He apologized, he said sorry because “he may have offended Ms Jessica Soho.”

He does not understand why so many made this an issue – it was, after all -- just for laughs. He forgets that he held the megaphone and stood on the platform, that it was his choice and his pre-produced, pre-rehearsed script that put Jessica Soho on a weighing scale and seared that image into the national imagination.

This is what is funny, this is the joke he delivered: "this angry woman is fat, boys and girls, so fat she will break a scale, so fat her panties are the size of comforters, so fat she can be mistaken for a roast pig." Ding goes the bell, there go the laughs.

This is not just about a rape joke, or about a crass joke, or about Jessica Soho. This is about how this man looks at women, and what he finds funny — so funny that he can barely deliver his lines — and it is a judgment on him as well. He chose to do this, as many men and women have chosen and still choose to do, all the more potent because it was an intelligent, progressive, much adored comedian with followers in the millions who chose to do it; in public, before thousands.

This is correct -- he means, this is okay. Laugh, because I am laughing with you.

“Let us stop this,” he said in the monologue he gave as apology over noontime show Showtime. “Let us stop giving opinions especially if you don’t know what happened and if you never watched it, because the world will be more chaotic.”

It is an odd apology, filled with perhapses. Perhaps people were offended. Perhaps they were angry. He promises never to speak of Jessica Soho again, as if the issue were Jessica Soho, and not this brutal attack on the female image. Had it not been Jessica Soho, it would have been the same, only less powerful, less public, less the fall from grace.

You don't get the joke, say his supporters. It’s his right, it’s funny and brilliant and exactly what comedy allows.

This is not about censorship. It is about freedom. Vice Ganda can say what he wants to say, offend whomever he chooses to offend, and if he is excoriated for it, if he is attacked and questioned and called a bully and a bitch, that’s freedom too?

The Emperor is naked -- and it's not Jessica Soho