The present is all i've got. The past is just a memory; the future is just a hazy dream. As much as i would like to set my sights on the joy of tomorrow, the practical side of myself suggests that i focus on today and make the most of it. Though i'm still on my diet, my life is the way it has always been--no radical or amusing events or changes or whatsoever. As always, most of my days are spent at work. These days, after taking on additional writing and illustrating workloads from sideline jobs at the publishing house and my bro's studio, even my weekends are crammed with deadlines. It would be hypocrisy to say that working during rest days does not stress me out. It does--but not in a negative way.

For starters, the additional income would really be a great help to my deplorable financial state. Setting aside money matters, the distraction keeps my mind off my loneliness and disappointments. Besides, having lived like this for as long as i could recall, i cannot think of any other way to make my days worthwhile. It is a great thing that at least, the kinds of work i do for a living are directly aligned with my passions. I know there are other opportunities out there for me that are more financially lucrative. But if they are in no way related to my passions, then i have no choice but to overlook them deliberately.

I may not know myself as well as i ought to, but i do know myself enough to know what works for me and what doesn't. Being a quick learner, i can easily grasp instructions and learn new tasks, even those totally unrelated to my passions. However, the creative drive fueling my inborn artistry is way more powerful than reality, meaning that pragmatism is not a question where my passions are at stake.

The need to write and paint burns so strongly within me that i often find myself at its mercy. I can easily put up with any task without so much as the slightest complaint or grumble, but after some time, i begin to itch.  When this happens, i know  i have to do something creative. If i don't, then i become an easy prey for depression. Whether i write or paint or do both, the important thing is to set my restless creative spirit free. I write and paint for the love of it. Getting paid is just an added bonus. Either i get paid for my efforts or otherwise, i still forge on and relish the distinguished high i obtain from exercising my crafts.

My passions is my present. Since time immemorial, they have constituted a great part of me. They have been my ever-faithful and constant companions from the moment i began to fully acknowledge my existence--my life.

I do not want to think about tomorrow anymore. I can't go on living on tenterhooks every single day, worrying myself to death about what could and could not be. Neither do i want to oppugn the awful reality i was unfortunately exposed to in the past. If i had not gone through whatever experience i have had, then i would not be the woman i am today. And the woman i am today is the kind of woman i have always wanted myself to be--at peace with herself and the rest of the world.

Funny Dreams

I dreamt that i resigned from my day job.

In my dream i handed a resignation letter to my boss and told him that i have decided to focus my attention on publishing instead of copywriting and editing. The dream was cut short when i awoke suddenly. But as soon as i fell back to sleep, to my surprise and amusement, it was continued.

Again i saw myself seated right next to my boss handing him my resignation. This time, however, i told him that i would be moving to England to work as a renowned illustrator and writer. In both dreams, my boss remained totally oblivious to my resignation. He regarded me with a smile as he spoke, "Let's work on a project. We'll start out with this, and later on you can begin writing that part."

When i awoke once more, it was dawn. I got up and immediately started to ready myself for the work day ahead, pushing aside the memory of my dream. Now, as i sit here conditioning myself to do a few more illustrations prior to hitting the sack by blogging, i can't help but smile upon remembering that dream.

Funny. Very funny. I have to admit that at some point, the thought of resigning crossed my mind. Particularly from the start of this year, the thought has become more prevailing. I could be exasperated, exhausted, or just downright bored--i thought to myself. But "no. " Deep down inside, i am well aware of the truth that i have come to love my responsibilities and the people i work with to a degree far greater than those which i have developed in my previous jobs.

Just thinking of "actually resigning" makes me sad. I don't want to dig further into it. All i know is that at present, i choose to stay put and continue dedicating my efforts to my job and the company i work for.

My job has turned into another passion. A passion? Of what kind? The whole thing is so ludicrous and insane. Although totally nonsensical, there is no denying it: this is reality--and it is the present, my present. Bright as the early morning sunshine, my position and my work defines my present, my here and now.

There is no easy way to face heartbreak. Painful as it is, i guess none of us has any other choice save to lick our wounds, get on with life, and never look back. In time, what was once a badly wounded heart would eventually heal. The process, as proven time and time again, has never been too easy to take on, however.

But like i've said, "The world offers us limited, if not, no choice at all but to cope with the pain and live with it as well as we can."

And that is what i am trying to do now.

Fervent prayer and burying my head in several tasks at once work to keep me from getting depressed. I can say that i am doing quite well. The distraction suffices to prevent me from slipping and losing my mind. Come night time, however, there is no blocking the loneliness that accompanies the automatic replay of these blasted memories. Try as i might to stop the images from coming, they just play out in my head on their own accord--oblivious to my pain, indifferent to my will.

I could have given him the world if he wanted. But what is not meant for me is not meant for me. Of what use is it to force the issue, anyway? I doubt it that he has any idea about how much i've cherished him, what more expect him to love me back! As much as i hate to grieve over having been denied what i wanted so badly, i can do nothing to keep these tears from coming. Like my thick, wavy hair, they seem to have a life of their own.

I should be grateful nonetheless. I have outlets that let me use my pain for something productive. I may not have been as lucky in love, but at least i got these God-given talents that keep me preoccupied while distracting me from the harsh reality of my lovelorn existence.

To ward off the painful memories, i did several concrete, albeit unusual(some of them ), steps to occupy the time until the sleeping pill kicks in:

• I slathered a milk and lemon concoction on my face and body and let it stay on my skin for a full 15 minutes. Then i rinsed it off. After which, i scrubbed my whole body and face with a homemade lemon and sugar body scrub. Only afterward did i perform the actual bathing process--washing my hair and cleaning myself with soap and water.
• I blogged--nothing really unusual about this if you ask me.
• I listened to Coldplay's "Yellow" over and over again--more than 5 times i suppose--as i was blogging.
• I know this is icky, but oh, well...So i picked on my scalp every once so often--a nasty habit i am compelled to do subconsciously whenever i am stressed out, which i am trying desperately to rid myself of.

As the sandman comes to weigh down my lids with sand, prompting my consciousness to wander in dreamland, i would still squeeze in a few more significant tasks:

• I would read the bible and reflect on God's words.
• After praying and reflecting, i would stare at the ceiling and count imaginary bubbles while saying, "He loves me not; He loves me. I do hope so," until my eyelids drop from overwhelming sleepiness.

Finally, i would embrace sleep and dream about being loved in return by the man of my dreams--so much for my "valiant" efforts to heal this badly broken heart of mine he he he...