others may be better

i hate it when people think too highly of themselves because they think they are smarter than other people. when they overstep their "authority" and do not put limitations to their boundaries.

they think they are untouchables when the truth is, they are the most insecure people around.

philippians 2:3 - "do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others."

to love something more

"Alam mo,” someone told me sometime ago. “You’ve got to learn to love something more. And I love photography.”

quite frankly, he has never struck me as a sensible man, for I never found it good practice to trust a man who trusts his camera more than his own eyes. but then again, on evenings of morose conversation, he always made more sense than I would ever hope to.

something more – he had said. and he kept it at that, because I knew what he had meant, and apparently, that was all I needed to know.

and sometimes I envy his eye for detail, the way he understands color and light, shadow and texture. and how I – trapped to the confines of my semantics and syntax – can only hope to grapple with my love for words and phrases. then, for a brief yet singular moment, I understood his romance with photography.

“You’ve got to learn to love something more,” he had said. “For that something will never leave you.”

to love something more – a phrase that would, quite simply, cut deep into the lot of us. and maybe, if I had heeded that line earlier, I would’ve never have had to pick the pieces of myself along the trashbins and garbage bags of what used to be. i've loved until my soul tore, and if I could stitch the ether back together, I would’ve loved differently. differently, in a sense that I wouldn’t love less. never less. just differently.

to love something more – more than your friends, or your family. to love something more, because you cannot love in any other way. because you love this something or someone with every single nerve in your body, with every shred of your finite existence. with the absolute everything of your entire self.

to love something in that way is nothing short of spectacular, I would like myself to believe – though I admit that it may just be my romantic self getting into the way of my writing.

“Love isn’t messed” someone said, “It’s just the absence of it that is.” and at a time when my friends and I were talking about how the trick to a successful relationship is giving less, sometimes the world jades you enough to forget that it isn’t --

-- because there isn’t any trick to a successful relationship.

in looking around us, one can’t help but realize that the world is a lonely place: filled with people who need people who need people. and with six billion people in the world, it’s an almost unnerving oddity to realize how so many people can be lonely. to be without love. and yet, to need it so badly.

perhaps, we are all looking in the wrong places. looking back at all this, one realizes that to love is indeed human, though it need not always be towards another human in return. to love something more – is a concept that borders on passion. the passion to love something utterly, sincerely, unceasingly in knowing that given the time, the effort and the care… that something will love you back.

and so as one sits behind his keyboard and talks about love, one cannot help but admit that, yes--

i love to write… and honestly, I hope it loves me back.