Tones in G Major

Posted in diary files by cruela de vil on November 3, 2011

I realize it now. And I understand.

Letting go is something I have never been so good at. My exboyfriends can attest to that. I have never been good at handling goodbyes or see ya laters. What I do know is keep. Try and try until I die. Make things work even for the impossible. But sometimes, it just takes several scars and bruises for me to understand: It’s not going to work out.

I have ranted about this over and over. And I bet my friends are already getting sick and tired of hearing same ole shit from me. But this time, I believe I’ve reached my end point.. The phase where I’ve accepted the cold heart truth. The phase when I grew numb of it all. The phase when I no longer cry about it.

Time to face the music, Miss. 

I realized that the more I feed my heart with hope, the more I make a fool of myself. The more I reject the truth, the more I grow desperate. And desperation was the last straw. Still, I took it. Tried. And failed. Over and over again.

I drew inspiration from any thing. From anywhere. But what made my fire burning still was a song sang by my favorite band, Fireflight. The title of this song is For those who wait. I’m never a fan of waiting. But I waited. And waited. And waited. I was knocking at every door that I could see but it seemed like there’s no one there to answer. I thought, “Hey, there’s always something for those who wait. If I wait a little longer, if I knock a little harder, then, perhaps, there will be something there for me too!”

I guess, I didn’t wait longer. I COULDN’T WAIT ANY LONGER. I lost patience. I became vain. Jealous. I was selfish. I’ve looked at it on a “me” perspective. And I have forgotten the reason why I loved this craft so much.

When I was a little kid, my mom pushed me to join contests. I never really wanted to. And I never really did. Why? It was not what I wanted. Fame is something I don’t want to be a part of. I do it because I want to do it. I don’t want to make a living out of it. I don’t want to be popular because of it.

Everything changed when I met them. Thus, it started this mess of a life that I have.

Fame is like opium. It’s like crack. And the withdrawal syndrome kicked in hard.

I went through withdrawal. And withdrawal is still where I am today. Yes, I am not yet done feeling this pain. But what I’m done with is feeling sorry for myself. I’ve had it with feeling jealous. I’ve had it with self pity. I’ve had it with getting depressed. I’ve had enough of fooling myself. Of feeding myself false truths. I’ve had enough of these. It’s time to grow up. And move on.

I realized it just now. It wasn’t about the claps or the flattering handshakes after you step off that platform. It was about the message I want to get across. It was about sharing my life story and hope people would relate to me too. As an only child with conservative parents, sharing feelings is a stranger to me. And this has been my only way to express what I feel. My anger, my sadness, my love, my faith in God.. My everything.

So here’s a sweet good night..

Not to the craft, But to my addiction. You were there when I was lost. You gave me hope, when I was desperate. You gave me a voice. You helped me stand up for my right. Stand up to my parents and their “misconception” about who I really am. About what I can do.

But I guess for now, It’s time to take a bow.

If heavens allow, I’ll see you soon. And hopefully, by that time, no more parting please.

Tagged with:

He Who Got Away

Posted in diary files by cruela de vil on June 2, 2011

For the life of me I cannot remember

What made us think that we were wise and we’d never compromise?

For the life of me I cannot believe we’d ever die for these sins

We were merely freshmen.


Do you still remember the “one that got away”? Do you still remember him or her who you’ve loved and cared so much?

I remember a couple of guys I’ve dated back in the day who I certainly consider as my great loves. These men, who were boys back then, have deeply influenced me in different ways and molded me to who I am today.

Great love, does a teenager really know that? Does a teen truly understand what these two words meant?

Thanks to Facebook and other social network sites, I’ve been able to track down each and every one of my exes. It’s funny how they’ve changed. They look very different compared to how I last saw them. While some of them stayed the same (in terms of kakulitan and trip), others ventured the maturity road. And as I browse through their photographs, including those with their new found loves, a smirk marks my face. And a song by Ms. Lea Salonga starts playing at the back of my head: “I remember the boy, but I don’t remember the feeling anymore..”

It’s a little weird to see photographs of them or read their Facebook statuses and feel nothing. It is if they’re just an acquaintance I’ve met at some gig. But back then, I’ve fought with my heart and soul for these guys. I’ve literally broke my parents’ hearts just to be with them. Look at us now; strangers again.



Posted in diary files by cruela de vil on January 17, 2011


Kamusta Ka na!

Kung makabati naman ako, kala mo naman tagal na nating di nagkita. Hahaha!

Malamang nagtatanong kana: “Anong trip mo?” Wala naman. Ganun talaga when you date a writer. She’ll write about you all the time. As much as I would sing your name every time.

Di ko na hahabaan tong sulat na ‘to. Wala nanaman akong dapat ipaliwanag sa’yo o sabihin. Siguro naman nakita mo na kung gaano kapunit ang mga pisngi ko kagabi habang nakapulupot ang malalambot mong bisig sa macellulites kong katawan. Halos isang oras din tayong nagtunawan. Naramdaman natin malusaw sa kinauupuan parang ice cream na bilad sa ilalim ng araw due to the intensity of our stares [pota iningles!]. Ang mga mata’y nagkikislapan. Ang mga labi’y nananabik. At tila walang pakielam sa oras.


Tagged with:

Dahil mahal na mahal kita.

Posted in diary files by cruela de vil on January 14, 2011

What would you say

If I ask you not to go?

Forget everyone

Forget everything

And start over with me?

Isang bote ng Red Horse. Isang bowl ng Tokwa’t Baboy. Isang grupo ng kalalakihan. Pag-ibig talks nanaman.

Relasyon. Aminin man natin sa hindi, rakers ka mang gaya ko o hiphop gaya nya, ang pag-ibig ay mistulang baterya nating lahat. Sabi nga ng Beatles, All you need is love; at ng Powerpuff Girls, Love makes the world go around. Masakit sya sa ulo. Nakakasikip ng tyan. Ngunit kahit anong hapdi nito, we just can’t get enough.


Chuck Taylor

Posted in diary files by cruela de vil on January 7, 2011

Bokalista Siya ng Banda Nila

May Boses na Mapapaibig ka

Halina Tayo’t Pumila

Nagigitara na

Kumakanta Pa Siya

Parang Si Ely Buendia

Mapagbiro ang kapalaran ika nga nila. Ngunit hindi ko akalain ganitong klaseng laro pala ang trip nya. Katuwa-tuwa lamang isipin na ako’y naging biktima niyang muli sa panahong ako’y nananabik sa pag-ibig (oo, seryoso ang blog post na ito).

Mahal ko pa rin siya noong Disyembre. Mahal ko siya, kailangan ko siya, kailangan niya ko. Pero mas kailangan niya ko. Nagkikita pa rin kami. Masaya. Kahit walang tali. Masaya…Ako. Siya, nagdudusa. Nagmamakaawa.