Some six months ago I wrote a story about a man on death row, on what it feels like to wait for your fucking death. On how it is the anticipating that is the hardest, that death is just a sneeze compared to the flu that is the waiting.

I think, just by writing that, I kind of given up on life. At the time I thought it was a perfect analogy on waiting to get fired from your work, but it became seemingly deeper, and now, as I write this, I realized it was a reflection of my entire look on life.

Since I wrote that, looking back, I think a part of me was just thinking about it, and waiting for it, the end of everything. I became gloomy, I lost my edge, my fire, my gusto, my drive, my motivation. A year before, I thought I was invincible, that I can control what will happen next, that even though it seemed impossible, I can do something good about any situation, I was Optimist Prime. Then, some real life problems thumped me in the head, and look what I became.

It was the first time in my life that I became really depressed. It was hard to admit, especially to yourself. Why? Because it is a weakness, it something hard to ignore, something really fucking hard to fight. How can you fight an intangible thing? How can you solve a stupid problem that hasn’t happened yet? How do you prove to yourself that you are ready for something when it is not there yet?

All those questions, they took a toll on me. I tried to hide it when speaking to people I love, those I know who will worry if they knew something was going on (if I cannot say that I had been weak to myself, how can I say it to others?). I tried to live as normally as possible. I tried to suppress everything.

But slowly, it creeps out. That negative feeling that something might go wrong, or that something wrong is taking over in your life. First it takes over the simple things you do, like you slam doors more, you stomp when walking, or you want to kick the cat that is in your way (promise, even though I wanted to do it, I didn’t).

Then, it takes over your attitude. You lose confidence in yourself, you lose trust, you think everyone is thinking about how unlucky you are. You get agitated by every little thing, by every fucking little word, you see things with a little bit distortion, you connect things that are not really fit, and you cannot see the connections between things that are meant to be together.

Then you shut the world out, only coming out when it is necessary. You’ve been blinded by your own demons that you don’t see all the hands trying to help you defeat them. You are thinking that everything will go wrong, so why care and do anything about it? You just do enough so people won’t worry, so people won’t think less of you.

Of course, you cannot expect people to sink with you, so they don’t approach much. Even those who deeply cared for you. You’re gloomy attitude and the resentment in your voice when they reach out to you will make them think that you are only angry, and not carrying a burden that goes deeper beyond rage.

Finally, the hammer fell.

Everything went black, every insecurity you have, every weakness that you think is slowing you down, every demon in every fockin Bible, all of them. All of them, they bring down on you everything they can muster. If you’re a Pothead, think of it as a Dementor’s Kiss.

With everything in disarray, you try to grasp at any straw of hope, but none of them is strong enough to carry you. None of them will stop you from falling with the demons.

So you fall. Everything flashes in your mind, every mistake, every regret, every sad memory, all of them multiply your weight and keep you from trying to stop the fall. Then you just stop trying. You lose hope, you lose yourself (in the music the moment hihihih). Every good thing in your life, you think it will be wasted because of the state you are in.

But then, after every horrible thought has passed through, some of the good ones come into your mind. Your parents, your three sisters, your twin, your titos and titas, your cousins, your nieces and nephews, your super cute friends, your guitars, your dreams, your music, your writing, your aspirations, yourself (damn, sometimes I really look like a poor man’s Coco Martin 🙂 ).

Oh.

Life.

Then you ask yourself, should I throw it all away, should I give up on life? Well, my answer is not.

I owe it to my parents, especially my mom and dad (LOL). To my sisters, my brother, to everyone who supported me.

And I owe it to myself.

BLAM!!!!!!!! I wish I could have surprised you with a sound effect, but I hope the blam sufficed.

I finally fell down. It hurt like fuckin hell. Every inch of my body hurt, and I thought my bones were broken.

Then I realized I was alive, not dead, and not even flattened by the weight of everything that pulled me down. My body got bumped and bruised by the fall, but the crushing burden I brought down while I was falling, many of them were imaginary, and some of them have been vaporized while I was falling down.

Good thing I hit rock bottom, finally some solid ground I can stand upon.

While at the bottom, I rested and tried to mend my hurts, but I knew then that I had to get back up, I had to scale the wall that surrounded me. It was slippery, and the parts that I can use as steps and handles are few and far away from each other. But I did not want to let that stop me. Why should I fear falling while trying to get back up? I survived a fall from above the ground, why can’t I survive another fall from the wall? Why should I let fear drive me down again?

I understand now, things don’t always go the way they should (taken right out of John Mayer’s handbook), and your regrets will haunt you from time to time, but I must learn to live with it and face tomorrow feeling like the man I used to be, courageous and optimistic (remember I had the gall to call myself dictator LOLOLOL).

I also understand now, sometimes, changes aren’t bad, and maybe they are for the better.

If my life was a puzzle, I think the pieces on the corner are almost complete, with half the middle slowly taking shape.

I now know I am not Roberto Duran, I am not Bugbog, I am not Kidlat, or any of the henchmen in my story.

I am Roland Lesty C. Quilente.

The dark (handsome, please agree) guy with the big, loud, and sometimes raspy voice, and a pronounced ‘R’ deficiency. The guy with many thoughts, great and small, the guy who perseveres in times of need, and the guy that can take care of himself, while also helping his family, his friends, and keep working on his dreams.

Damn.

I missed me. I missed myself.

But I am back.

I am Roland “Diktador” Quilente, the guy who wants to solve the problems of this stupidass country (yeah I is studip too for being duterted).

I am Roland “Kambal” Quilente, who wants to lead the kids of this barangay so we can make improvements on the image of the Tatalonian. #tatalonianpride #pilit

I am Roland “Sportswriter” Quilente, a man who claims he can analyze most sports, especially if given enough time to digest its intricacies.

I am Roland “Aspiring Author” Quilente, a man who can whip up good rhymes when in the mood, and a man who continues to write novels despite his disastrous “you new year celebrator you” LOLOLOL.

I am Roland “Bedroom Guitarist and Shower Singer” Quilente, a man who can at least tune a guitar and play at least five songs, and sing like a 20-something Yael, at least my friends told me I can do it.

I am Roland “Good Friend” Quilente, a man who will make fun of you, but will listen when you’re down and reply with mostly jokes ( and sometimes unsolicited advice), and will tell you when I think you are going down a troubled path.

I am Roland “Good Son and Brother” Quilente, a man who knows his duties, a man who trusts his family.

I am Roland “Learned and Learning” Quilente, a man who is now more open to new experiences, more challenges, a man who has learned from his mistakes, his regrets, a man who will try to think both inside and outside the box.

Why did I write all this shit?

Because it makes me feel better, it lightened my heart, it lightened my soul. It felt good to write my identity, especially after I lost it all to depression and to my mistakes and miscalculations.

And maybe because I’ve been a Spongecola fanboy since I was 11 and I sang “All We Need” in a battle of the bands when I was in high school, almost nine years ago:

Tonight I light the fire

For those of us who wept

For all the heartache that we felt

This is all we need, this is all I need

 

I wrote this song for each and everyone

Beneath the sorrow lies someone

Who’s reaching out

For a hand that’s reaching too

 

I just want to tell you that even after all that bad shit I went through (both real and imaginary), I came out all right, I came out better. I wish everyone would too. 🙂

If you are having a bad time, or have lost confidence in yourself, or are drowned in fear, or are looking for something to get you out of a rut, I hope this piece helps you, and I think if you write your feelings as well, you’ll get something rewarding from it too.

Love you guys 🙂

P.S.

Another one from Mayer but something that I haven’t fully grasped:

“Fear is a friend who’s misunderstood, but I know the heart of life is good”.