Before I became a freelance writer and editor who ventured into making the job of tweaking words and creating articles, I started out from scratch--as a literary editor of the university paper eight years ago.
Yep. While I enjoyed tweaking (that's one wonderful word I enjoy using lately) words, correcting errors and doing spot checks on punctuation marks in my articles and that of others in the magazine, I started and once spent my life brainstorming and composing stories, poems and all fiction-related stuff.
Nights ago, since I was having a hard time catching up on sleep, I decided to pull out my compositions just so to read them. Searching for the files, one of them, a sheet that's yellowed after being kept for a long time, fell on the floor. It contained the following lines:
And how could you bear to hear such words
When the feeling fades yet no one knows
Could you still reply at three in the morning?
Entitled I Love You at 3 AM, it was one of the 117 poems that I wrote three years ago--marked with the date April 19, 2006. It brought me back to the day that I'd spent my wee hours writing the words and pent up emotions running in my head.
While it brought me the kilig feeling again, unfortunately though, I no longer write poetry. I once reasoned out, poems won't satisfy my hungry tummy if ever. And because of my writing stint in the corporate world, I realized such [poems] are only to cure the lovesick emotion locked in me. Simply being on the practical side, If I'd want to know how it feels to fall in love, I just read. Through writing, in some way, I make a dream come true. But then, with what happened to me months ago, seeing my co-teacher and when he asked me about who the author of some famous poems are, I felt that maybe I should start reading and maybe writing poems again.
And it's actually one great kind of journey. By writing, I am able to express the thoughts of the Silent Warrior that I am and get to experience and give a story a happy ending. Something to which I am also hopeful--that will happen to me-- eventually.
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Yep. While I enjoyed tweaking (that's one wonderful word I enjoy using lately) words, correcting errors and doing spot checks on punctuation marks in my articles and that of others in the magazine, I started and once spent my life brainstorming and composing stories, poems and all fiction-related stuff.
Nights ago, since I was having a hard time catching up on sleep, I decided to pull out my compositions just so to read them. Searching for the files, one of them, a sheet that's yellowed after being kept for a long time, fell on the floor. It contained the following lines:
To say I love you at three in the morning
Could be a such different thing
While there are no sounds of nightly snoring
And all that's left are stars steadily shining.
Could be a such different thing
While there are no sounds of nightly snoring
And all that's left are stars steadily shining.
To hear those words at three in the morning
Is much softer that the pillows I am hugging.
That eventhough this mind of mine descends
I love you is like a music that never ends.
Is much softer that the pillows I am hugging.
That eventhough this mind of mine descends
I love you is like a music that never ends.
But then to hear that happens often
I know, I notice though I don't ask when
The last I love you I still do know
I think it happened a long time ago.
I know, I notice though I don't ask when
The last I love you I still do know
I think it happened a long time ago.
And how could you bear to hear such words
When the feeling fades yet no one knows
Could you still reply at three in the morning?
With the same intense wonderful feeling.
If you would hear I love you at three in the morning
Would you just close your eyes and sleep?
Or would you say I love you too
Then drift away and weep?
Would you just close your eyes and sleep?
Or would you say I love you too
Then drift away and weep?
While it brought me the kilig feeling again, unfortunately though, I no longer write poetry. I once reasoned out, poems won't satisfy my hungry tummy if ever. And because of my writing stint in the corporate world, I realized such [poems] are only to cure the lovesick emotion locked in me. Simply being on the practical side, If I'd want to know how it feels to fall in love, I just read. Through writing, in some way, I make a dream come true. But then, with what happened to me months ago, seeing my co-teacher and when he asked me about who the author of some famous poems are, I felt that maybe I should start reading and maybe writing poems again.
And it's actually one great kind of journey. By writing, I am able to express the thoughts of the Silent Warrior that I am and get to experience and give a story a happy ending. Something to which I am also hopeful--that will happen to me-- eventually.
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