11/1/24
gabriela-silang

Accidental Heroine

gabriela-silang

True story:

Eons ago, when I had become a very bad person in a very bad place, I was out to “outbad” the bad people.

In a twist of ironic fate, a frail old man who was being taken advantage of by the bad people I was trying to “outbad”, mistook my bad actions for an act of heroism.

Thinking I was a noble heroine, the old man gently cupped my face with both of his palms, looked me straight in the eyes and said, “You’re a beautiful creature, what are you doing in this place?” I was startled by the gesture. What an unusual thing to say!

Although I could not see directly for myself what he was seeing, his expression revealed the image. Then, as though hypnotized, I walked away from that place. Not because of a sudden wave of guilt, mind you—but because that “beautiful creature” he saw, told me “I’m better than you”. So I said, here, hold my beer.

I’ve been trying to “outbetter” that bitch since then.

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#DeiahEra #MyDeiahDays

08/16/24
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The Indomitable Spirit: A moment in November 1999

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The journey back to Manila from the province of Bicol stretched over nine grueling hours—a relentless road winding through endless darkness, carrying my weary body deeper into exhaustion. Every bump on the highway seemed to press the fatigue further into my bones. By the time I arrived, I was a vessel emptied of strength, but there was no respite waiting for me. Instead, a storm loomed on the horizon, its gathering winds and rain a vivid reflection of the turmoil within my soul—a tempest echoing my fractured thoughts in a chaotic world.

Still, I pushed forward. There was no choice. I scrubbed the dust of travel from my skin, painted on my makeup like armor, and slipped into the clothes of my trade. These clothes clung to me, not as mere fabric but as a stark confession, revealing all I had to give. They spoke silently, as if to say, This is what I am, and this is all I have left.

For eight unrelenting hours, I became one with the murky atmosphere of the beerhouse. The air was thick with the mingling odors of stale cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and cheap perfume. The drunken howls of karaoke singers blended into a discordant symphony, drowning the faint hum of my thoughts. The dim light came only from strings of tiny, blinking bulbs strung along the ceiling, their faint flickers casting fleeting shadows on faces, walls, and souls.

My body ached not just from the weariness of the journey but from the endless need to dodge and deflect—hands reaching out, uninvited, clawing for pieces of me they had no right to take. I wore a smile, but it was a brittle mask, cracking under the weight of pretense. In that dim, suffocating room, I learned how easy it was to bury emotions when the heart was too numb to feel. I wasn’t happy, nor was I sad. I was empty—a blank canvas left untouched by purpose, a silent plea for meaning.

When the dawn finally broke, the storm, like me, seemed to falter. Its furious winds quieted, and the rain softened into a gentle drizzle. But even in its retreat, it left me wondering: Where does a storm go to rest? When it has spent all its rage, does it find solace somewhere? Because I had no such refuge. I had no place to call my own, no sanctuary for my battered spirit.

In desperation, I turned to a coworker for help. She brought me to her home—a humble place nestled near Araneta Village, a flood-prone settlement by the river. This community, haphazardly assembled, wore its poverty like a tattered cloak.

Typical slum, squatters area in Metro Manila, Philippines

The air reeked of decay, an assault on the senses. Floodwaters pooled in stagnant puddles, their murky surfaces reflecting not hope, but despair—an ocean of broken dreams. The houses were fragile and improvised, patched together from scraps of wood, tin, and plastic, remnants of a world that had discarded them. These homes seemed less like dwellings and more like dens, barely shielding the lives within from the cruelty of their surroundings.

And yet, in this place, I saw something astonishing.

Through the acrid stench and the oppressive weight of poverty, my heart stood resolute, honed by years of hardship. My eyes, unflinching, sought meaning in the chaos. What I found was a miracle of endurance: homes that should have crumbled under the storm’s fury stood firm, defying nature itself. Built from discarded fragments of a failing society, they rose as monuments to human resilience.

I saw the remarkable strength of these cobbled-together homes built by the impoverished—rivaling in resilience the stone houses crafted by skilled engineers. Despite their humble origins, these dwellings withstood the unrelenting storm with a steadfastness that belied their fragile appearance. It was as if each rusted nail, each scrap of wood or tin, was imbued with the collective spirit of their builders—a determination that no storm or flood could wash away.

These patched-up homes were not merely shelters; they were living testaments to the unbreakable spirit of the downtrodden. They endured the storm’s wrath and remained steadfast—a quiet defiance against forces far greater than themselves. In their patched walls and rusted nails, I saw the essence of survival, a strength that no calamity could diminish.

As I stood before them, the houses seemed to watch me, their silent presence speaking volumes. Their battered structures whispered stories of perseverance, their scars etched with wisdom. In that moment, I felt like a student in the presence of an ancient teacher, humbled and awed.

Tears welled in my eyes, not from sorrow but from a profound sense of gratitude. In the midst of all this hardship, Beauty revealed herself—not in perfection, but in raw, unyielding strength. She smiled at me, and I felt her blessing.

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My coworker, oblivious to the revelation stirring within me, mistook my quietness for worry. She tapped my shoulder and said, “It’s going to be okay.” I nodded and smiled, her simple words an anchor in the sea of my thoughts.

Two months remained before the world would enter a new millennium. What lay ahead was unknown, but in that moment, amidst the patched walls and the enduring spirit of a struggling community, I felt certain of one truth: no matter how fierce the storm, everything would find its way to calm. Everything would be alright.

07/24/24
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Invincible

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Walls and tough shells are for the weak

When you can fall gracefully,
And shatter like dandelions in the autumn, Allowing the wind to carry you.

To welcome the winter,
Savoring darkness as connoisseurs do fine wine,
To rise up during the spring.

And bloom again in the summer,
Without fearing the coming of fall,
Only then, you’ve become invincible.

11/26/23
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Binary Tree Maze: Predetermined Paths

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Who am I?

I am the person traveling this path. The path was not set by me. My tools, attributes, were given to me, some I picked up along the way.

Our paths, it seems, are predetermined. Our choices, just a cascade from the primordial decision. Then the universe narrows down your choices to binary: Do or Don’t. And just when you think you’re at least in control of that — it rains. The universe conspires and freewill is an illusion. Our Life’s purpose is for us to walk the paths and experience it.

And now, I feel like I finally understood what Kahlil Gibran said, “You are the way and the wayfarer”.

11/26/23
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FWB

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written on Sept 13, 2023

The transience of things
And of looming ending
That can happen anytime
The unspoken agreement
Neither of us defined
But we adhere to
The murder of emotions
The lack of humanity

The walls around us
And the happy facade
What are we so afraid of?
What am I so afraid of?
Are we so traumatized,
That we all hide inside our shells?
Afraid of getting caught
For the crime of feeling or caring

The fear of rejection
And shame of being found wanting
So we hide behind the mask
Of never needing
And sit in the cold
With our only company
That we protect at all cost
Our pride and dignity

11/26/23
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Hues of Fond Recall

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Not in the present, but in their past’s embrace,
In their could-have-beens, I find my place.
A ghostly companion to remorseful minds,
In their regrets, a version of me unwinds.

In the reverie of hindsight, they romanticize,
Casting my presence with a saintly guise.
Tears and pleas, once dismissed, now adored,
As they weave a tale, where I’m saintly adored.

A figure of grace, in the retrospective light,
In the canvas of memory, I stand so bright.
A saintly mirage in the past’s rosy track,
Yearning whispers echo, “Bring the saintly back.”

But neither can I resurrect the saintly lore,
Nor would I feign to be anything more.
I’d rather linger unseen and drift away,
In the cold truth’s embrace, I’ll be okay.

08/24/22

Consciousness

As a programmer, I believe, an AI will never be self-aware.

An AI is nothing but a script that pulls from a database when certain conditions are met. No matter how big that database gets and no matter how complex the conditions were, the AI will not gain consciousness.

To believe otherwise is like making a handful of goo and thinking that if you make that same goo the size of our planet it will all of a sudden gain consciousness. You don’t have to be a programmer to know that’s illogical. If it didn’t work on a small scale, it will not work on a larger scale.

It’s like a piano, where each key corresponds to a specific note or sound. The difference with AI is that, for each key, there’s a set of possible notes. At first, the AI randomly selects from that set. Over time, based on user interactions or the model’s design, it learns to play the most popular or favored notes more often. This process is called machine learning. However, it doesn’t truly “think” for itself—it simply follows a model. Regardless of how large the piano gets or how many sounds it can produce, it remains, at its core, a piano. It won’t suddenly become a conscious being, because the issue isn’t the size or processing power—it’s the underlying design.

Continue reading

11/16/21

Society’s “Groundhog Day”

Once upon a time, Challenge gave rise to Cooperation and Competition.

Competition raped and killed Cooperation after giving birth to Slavery and Uneven Distribution.

Slavery and Uneven Distribution got married and gave rise to Felt Injustice and Felt Fear.

Felt Injustice and Felt Fear got married and had two children named Envy and Jealousy.

Envy takes more after Felt Injustice. And Jealousy takes more after Felt Fear. Both have the same parents so their other attributes overlap.

Envy and Jealousy got married and gave rise to a child called Rivalry.

Rivalry gave rise to Disconnection and Misconnection.

Disconnection and Misconnection got married and gave rise to Apathy and Sociopathy.

Apathy and Sociopathy gave rise to Discord.

Discord gave rise to Challenge.

Challenge gave rise to Cooperation and Competion…

And…

This story will keep repeating until Cooperation gain the skills and wisdom to beat Competition.

And therein lies the paradox.

And that’s Society’s riddle to solve.

05/15/21

The Twig and the Boy (Ang Suwi at ang Binatilyo)

I can’t sing
And even if I can, I don’t have the right words
And if I have the right words
Would you hear it?

I can’t paint
And even if I can, I don’t have the right colors
And if I have the right colors
Would you see it?

If I can express this emotion
That the person inside me feel for you
Would the person inside you feel it?

How can one put into words
Or find the right melody
Or even draw on a paper
The intricacies
Of a bitter-sweet, one sided memory?
Using statements that only serve to misrepresent
Adjectives at best only approximate
Of undying emotions, flavored by the present
From a time long gone

Like a tree telling a story
Of pains, secrets and splendor of what once was
And a man who only remembers the twig
And the tree who only remembers the boy

You, are not who you were
I, am not who I was
Yet who we were, once was
Now, live in solitude, locked up inside us
And though desperately trying to reach out for one another

They will never meet again

And for their story, let this be my final plea:

That though we remember separately
And hear but echoes of what used to be,
Together, the you and I of today…
Let’s honor in friendship’s new light
The beauty of all that once felt right

And when the time comes
With my last breath
I would have but one last prayer
That when we are both no more
That the universe remembers for us
And piece together, what we could not

The memory of the tree and the man
The twig and the boy
You and I, who were, once was

06/21/20

My Hidden Mother

Beneath the tough, thorny and cold facade, mired in chaotic, dark mess of regrets, traumas and unresolved issues… is my mother.

Broken as can be, still she tried, with all her might, she tried to be good. But reality can’t be denied, she can’t change her form. She’s beaten and molded to a certain shape, she can’t escape.

Inside her, is my mother, longing to hold me. Inside me is a daughter longing to hold her.

05/22/17
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Tower in the Sky

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It was but yesterday we met in a dream.
You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky.
But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer dawn.
The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must part.
If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.
And if our hands should meet in another dream we shall build another tower in the sky.
- Kahlil Gibran

05/18/17
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The Sea

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The Sea is calling for me again and the breeze is tempting me. My feet says stay here and grow your roots for once. My heart says, you do not belong here, don’t get stuck. My brain tells them — shut up, you two, and let me sleep.

10/19/13
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The Good that Can Be

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Once upon a time I felt lonely
With the unpredictable wind I gambled away certainty
For I greatly wondered all the things that could be
With hopes that I will get that one good thing that I might see

In my quest I found a box, worn and torn as could be
My friends told me, leave it be, it is where it should be
But I’m a dreamer and I imagined all the best it can be
I labored to dug it out and finally took it home with me Continue reading

07/16/13
faith and science

Science and Faith

faith and science

The big bang theory in essence assumes that in the beginning… a ball of energy existed and upon it’s explosion the universe as we know it was born. This scientific notion is as ridiculous as saying God existed in the beginning and caused the Universe. Both belief requires faith and acceptance of the premise that there was a primordial existence that caused everything.

07/16/13
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Reasons reason

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Reasons reason
But mind won’t mind
A million thoughts, a thousand plans
But you will, what you’re meant to do

Once I was a fool demanding a promise
Then I got a little bit smarter
Who needs empty promises? no one knows the future!
Then came assumptions — I realized, I’m still a fool

Promises are demanded
To have somebody to blame
Assumptions are assumed
So you can walk even though you are blind

I wish, I could
Walk in faith without assuming
Know my way without a promise
Enjoy the journey though the destination is unknown

07/15/13
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Sudden awareness to existence

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This sudden rush of awareness to my own existence happens to me from time to time and each episode last only for a few seconds to about 2 minutes. When this happens, it feels as though I was just born and awoke to realize I exist. And a billion questions that I can’t yet name just overwhelms my brain, and all I can really focus on is WHY?!!! Continue reading

09/14/12
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Unto eternity unmoulded…

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Unto eternity unmoulded I would give my hands,
And to untrodden fields assign my feet.
What joy is there in songs oft heard,
Whose tune the remembering ear arrests.
Ere the breath yields it to the wind?
My heart longs for what my heart conceives not,
And unto the unknown where memory dwells not,
I would command my spirit.
Oh, tempt me not with glory possessed,
And seek not to comfort me with your dream or mine,
For all that I am, and all that there is on earth,
And all that shall be, inviteth not my soul.

- The Earth Gods, 2nd Earth God – Kahlil Gibran