Mr. Insignificant

A Man,

He is a man alone.

A Man

He is a Man,

Sometimes funny, yet sometimes

Annoying.

He is a Preacher,

Yes He is A Teacher,

Wise with his thoughts

His thoughts are wise

Simple yet logically correct.

He is funny.

Truly funny, in very simple.

Simple ways

But sometimes,

There are times.

I hated him

I hate him

Because his words

His words hurts a lot

I don't know

It is said with a concern heart

But spoken with miserability.

Sometimes I know you

I knew your ways

The reason why you shout

The reason behind why.

You wanted to make people cry.

But sometimes

There are times

You sound so crazy-insane

Insignificant; hard to understand

Always mean something,

and that is him

Mr. Insignificant

Simple man, man alone

Sometimes funny yet annoying

But always a great person

I ought to know.

Confessions Of A Child

I am a Child, A child Alone,

A child who is weak, cannot stand alone.

A child that can never last a day without a frown

A child in vain, A child in need of a caring heart.

I cannot always stand for what I believed  in

But rather kept my head down, lying in

I cannot always speak for what I desired

That the pain I always feel become a burning fire.

I am a child so weak

I am just a child who's too young enough

Young enough to understand things on perspective

Can never decide for what is right on my own

But I'm just a child who own a dream

A dream that thy heart keeps on telling

A dream that the mind screams

That's why I keep on trying  though a lot of times 

I fall by the way.

I'm just a child who follows what they want

Who follows what good they desired

Not knowing that sometimes it kills so much

I don't  know why but it feels that way.

I'm just a child who follows what they want

Who follows what good they desired 

Not knowing that sometimes it hurt's so much

I'm just a child, as what they treat me

A child protected, and taken care of

But a child with a desire that is unspoken

Cause' they thought that what I THOUGHT was just nothing.

Katalinhagaan ng isang Guro

 Hindi lubos mawari ng isipan ang mabilis na pagtakbo ng panahon, hindi 


namalayang ang bawat segundo ay naging minutong nagdaan, naging oras na lumipas na binawi ng mga araw at dinatnan ng buwan.

  Hindi namalayang ang mga masasayang araw ay magiging bahagi na lamang ng alaala, isang kwentong kapupulutan ng kariktan ng isang makulay na buhay.

  Nagsisimula ang lahat ng taong matatayog na ang lipad ngayon sa pagiging tulad ng isang inakay, na tila kailangang alagaan, gabayan at turuang lumipad, mga inakay na nangangailangan din ng mga mapagkalingang kamay na handang umalalay sa pagkadapa at pagkasadlak sa lupa gayun din sa kasagsagan ng paglinang ng kakayahan at pagtuklas sa magulo ngunit makulay na mundong sa kanila’y sumasaklaw.

 Tulad ng inakay; mumunting ibon ay waring mga  estudyante na sa kamusmusan ay namulat, estudyanteng nagsisismula pa lamang sa pagkilala ng sarili, nagahahanap ng kasagutan sa mga katanungang nag-uugat sa masidhing nais na matugunan ang kauhawan sa kaalaman; tulad ng isang inakay ding kailangang pangalagaan, bigyan ng di lamang kaalamang tutugon sa mental na kaisipan kundi pati na rin pag-aarugang magiging gabay sa unti-unting pagtayo sa pagkakadapa, sa pagkakamali at higit sa lahat upang matutong lumipad at maglayag sa mundo na may pangarap at kagandahang asal.

   Sa murang kaisipan, sa batang isipan; maraming tanong ang nababalot at nawawari kapag naririnig ang salitang “Guro”. Sa batang kaisipan, ang salitang iyon ay talinhaga, magulo; hindi lubos mawari kung ano ang tiyak na deskripsyon.

 Sa pagkakaalam noong mga unang araw ay kapag nasabing “Guro” ay isa lamang ang katumbas na salitang maidurugtong ito ay “Teacher” sa wikang Ingles, simple at napakahulugan ang salitang iyon ng isa pang salita ngunit  sa murag isipan din wari pang naguguluhan, sa pagbibigay-kahulugan sa talinhangang salita sa pamammagitan ng isa pang salitang waring wala namang katiyakan ang kahulugan.

  Hindi ba magulo? Oo magulo, tulad ng buhay sapgkat maraming tanong ang tao, kapag binigyan mo naman ng kasagutan ay hindi pa rin tuwirang makukuntento sa halip ay mas lalo pang magtatanong, maghahangad ng ksagutang ika-nga sa matematika ay may “Proof”, o yaon bang mga bagay na saka lamang tuwirang mapakakahuluganan kapag  naranasan o nadama, sa madaling sabi’y naging bahagi na ng buhay  at nag-iwan ng marka: aral at kabuluhan.

 Marahil ang yaring pagpapahayag ay tila nagiging talinhagang tunay na rin na ang tanging layunin lamang ay magpahayag ng isang magandang kwento sa pamamagitan ng pagsulat ng isang Akda.

 Nais din sanang inyong unawain ang mga palsipikadong linyang katatagpuan sa  akdang nailimbag, iyon ay sinadyang lubos sapagkat ang akdang naisulat ay ang unang kathang binigyang buhay sa pag-susulat ng isang maikling kwento.

 Ang Hubad na pagkakasalaysay ng akdang iyon din ay larawan ng pagsisimulang tuklasin ang kakayahan at kalinangan sa pagsulat.

 Ang nakakatuwang mga palsipikadong linyang matatagpuan sa akda ay simbolo ng makulay na karanasan na sa masining na paraa’y niliwanagan ng imahinasyon na siya namang tuwirang nagsasalaysay ng ideya ng buhay.

Si MRS. SMITh               

  Sa pagbibihis ng panahon ay unti-unti na rin yatang nagbibihis ang mundo. Habang ang mundo’y nagbibihis ay unti-unti na ring nagbabago ang paligid, gayon din ang ugali ng bawat isa, gayundin ang pananaw sa mundo ngunit bawat pagbabago ay maari din namang magdulot ng maganda sa bawat buhay ngunit madalas ay nagiging masama pa rin ito ngunit ito’y may maganda pa ring dulot.

   Masungit at mukang mataray, iyan ang deskripsyon sa isang gurong nagngangalang Mrs. Smith kapag una pa lamang siyang nasilayan  ng mga estudyante, ngunit kabaligtaran ng gayong deskripsyon ang pagkakakilanlan sa kanya ng mga kapwa guro;

 Palangiti, mabait at masayahin ang kanilang pagkakakilanlan sa kanya.

  Unang araw noon ng pasukan sa paaralang Ashford Academy at ikalawang taon na sa highschool ng isang mag-aaral na nagngangalang Maria. Naninibago pa’t tila napadpad sa isang lugar na di niya kilala, ang bata, Siya pala’y nagmula sa U.S.A. sa malayong lugar. Dahan-dahan niyang tinungo ang matarik na hagdan tungo sa kanyang klase, ng marating ang kanyang silid-aralan; ito ay malawak at tila munting palaruan at naroon ang kanyang magiging mga kamag-aral, marahan siyang umupo sa unahan, tahimik na mga nagsi-siusap ang lahat ng naroon sa silid maliban sa kanyang tahimik na nagmamasid sa buong silid hanggang sa marinig ang mahina ngunit tila malakas na yabag ng mga paa na tila paakyat sa hagdan, hanggang sa dumating ang isang babaeng may mukhang lagi ng nakangiti at yaon pala ang kanilang magiging tagapayo.

  Tumungo siya sa harapan at masayang nakipag-usap sa mga estudyante na tila halos kilala na niya ang lahat maliban sa mga bagong mukhang di pa niya nasisilayan kaya’t inatasan niya ang mga iyon na magsalaysay ng kaunti ukol sa kanilang sarili.

  Isa sa mga iyon ay si Maria, Nagpakilala siya sa harap at sandaling nagsalaysay ng bahagya ukol sa kanyang sarili na tila puno ng kaba at matapos ang ilang saglit ay natapos na ang unang araw ng klase ng gayon kabilis at lahat na ay nagsiuwi maliban kay Maria na dahan-dahang lumabas ng paaralan at tila di alam kung saan tutungo hanggang sa may pamilyar na mukhang nagturo sa kanya ng daan papalabas at yaon pala ang kanyang tagapayo. Sa kalagitnaan ng daan ay nais niya sanang tanungin ang kanyang pangalan ngunit huli na ng malaman niya, naroon na siya sa kanyang patutunguhan at doon na nagkahiwalay  ang kanilang landas.

 Kinabukasan ay tila naging maayos na ang kanyang pakiramdam sapagkat hindi na siya nakadadama ng kaba at nakikipagkilala na sa mga kamag-aral at noong araw ding iyon ay naitanong niya sa kapwa mag-aaral ang ngalan ng kanilang tagapayo at yaon pala’y si Mrs. Smith na guro nila sa Edukasyon sa Pagpapahalaga  at  Filipino.

 Lumipas ang mga araw ng di niya namamalayan at naging mas palakaibigan siya at aktibo sa klase, lalo na sa kanyang mga paboritong asignatura hanggang sa dumating ang araw ng eleksiyon at siya’y nailuklok na pinuno ng klase na hindi niya inaasahan.

  Sa una’y naging madali sa kanya ang pamumuno na parang isang simpleng laro lamang ngunit habang lumilipas ang panahon ay naging mahirap  sa kanya ang tungkuling naiatas, masyado niya itong sineryoso kaya’t dumating na siya sa panahong sukdlan na ang hirap na kanyang nararanasan sa pamumuno ng klaseng napakahirap pamumuan at pati na ang kanyang pag-aaral sa mga pagsusuit ay kanya ng nalilimutan at napababayaan hanggang sa dumating na nag resuta ng kanyang mga pagsusulit ; hindi kagandahan ang resulta ng mga iyon.

 Ng malaman  niyon ni Mrs. Smith ay agad niya itong kinausap sapagkat lubos siyang di makapaniwala sa resulta ng mga iyon sapagkat alam niyang siya ay matalino’t masipag na mag-aaral.

  Marahan niyang kinausap ang bata ngunit wala siyang maisagot kundi ang tangis ng kanyang luhang mayabong na lumagaslas sa kanyang mga mata’t sa mukhang di makitaan ng ngiti, hindi man niya sabihin ang problema’y tila alam na ni Mrs. Smith ang solusyong dapat niyang gawin, kaya’t marahan niyang pinawi ang mg aluha sa mga mata ng isang lumuluhang anghel at nagwikang “wag ka ng umiyak” marahang hinagod ang likod ng bata habang paakyat ng hagdan patugo sa klase.

  Nadatnan ni Mrs. Smith na magulo at maingay ang klase na tila nagde-debate sa hindi malamang bagay.

  Sa sandaling narinig ng mga iyon ang yabag ng mga paa ng kanilang guro ay nagmamadaling nag-siupo ang mga iyon sa kani-kanilang mga upuan habang minamasdan ang dumarating na guro na tila may mukhang galit kasunod naman ang tila lumuluhang bata na dahan-dahang naupo habang si Mrs. Smith ay tumungo sa harap at tila galit na nagwika ngunit walang maisagot ang mga estudyante at noong mga sandaling iyon ang buong silid ay napuno ng katahimikan, walang madinig na kahit ano kundi ang malakas na boses niyang tila nangangalit na nangngaral sa sa kanyang nga estudyante kaya’t natapos ang halos isang oras na dapat sana’y oras ng klase at hanggang sa huling sandali’y hindi nila nasilayan ang ngiti sa kanyang mukha.

  Matapos ang kanilang klase’y muli na namang nag-ingay ang buong klase na tila hindi napangaralan ng kanilang guro, habang si Mrs. Smith naman a y tila nagsisimula na yatang mamroblema sa kanyang mga estudyante habang si Maria ang sinisisi ng mga kamag-aral sa pagkakasermon ni Mrs. Smith.

 Isang araw ay napagisip-isip niyang parang may mali sa kanyang pamumuno at yaon ang pagsaway niya sa maling gawa ng kanyang mga mag-aaral hanggang sa dumating sa puntong hindi na niya ginampanan ang tungkulin.

 Lumipas ang mga araw ngunit hindi pa rin iyon napapansin ng butihing guro at halos araw-araw na papasok siya sa kanyang klase ay puro ingay ang kanyang dinadatnan at habang siya’y nagtuturo ay tila wala namang nakikinig at sa kanyang mga mata ay mababakas ang mga luhang pigil sa pagtulo.

  Kahit na nasasaktan na, tanging nais ni Mrs. Smith ay magturo lamang at matuto ang kanyang mga estudyante at tanging bagay na nagpapalakas ng kanyang loob ay ang estudyanteng lagi ng nakikinig sa kanyang itinuturo kahit na halos lahat sa silid na iyon  ay di nakikinig; ngunit ang tanging estudyanteng iyon ay tuluyan na yatang nawala at naging isa sa mga  iyonna hindi nakikinig sa kanyang klase na lubos ng nakasakit sa knayang damdamin at hindi  na niya napigilan ang luha na lumagaslas sa mga matang nakitaan ng puno ng pagdaramdam.

 Ng naga oras na iyon ay wala man lang pumawi sa kanyang mga luha kahit na ang batang minsang pinawi niya ang luha.

  Lumipas ang mga araw  na ganoon lagi ang senaryong makikita sa mukha ng gurong si Mrs. Smith, minsan ay nakita niyang muling nag-iisa si Maria na tila nalulungkot at umiiyak, muli ay kanya itong nilapitan at nagwikang “May problema ba?”  tumango ang bata’t  ipinakitang muli ang mababang marka sa pagsusulit.

  “Huwag mong damdamin ang mga iyon, ikaw lamang ang maapektuhan” Nagwika ang guro, muling lumagaslas ang luha sa mukha ng bata at nagwikang “Patawad po Mam” At marahang niyakaop ng guro angumiiyakna bataat nagwikang

   “Alam ko na ikaw pa rin ang batang una kong nasilayang lumuluha, tanging nais ko lamang ay maging gabay , magturo. Magbigay kaalaman, kahit nalalaman kong ang propesyong ito’y mahirap, basta’t masilayan ko lamang na sa simpleng kaparaana’y naging bahagi ako ng buhay ng isang estudyanteng hinuhubog upang magtagumpay”. At ang luha sa kanyang mga mata ay napalitan na ng ngiti, ang ngiting nasilayan ng unang siya’y makilala ni Maria at sa mga sandaling iyo’y nabago ang tingin niya sa gurong tagapayo.

  Ang kwentong iyon ni Maria, ay kwento ng kanyang naging Guro.

  Ang guro na salitang sa mga unang araw ay sa kanya’y talinhaga, ang gurong iyon ang nagbigay sa kanya ng tiyak na kahulugan sa salitang marahil ay madalas naman niyang nakasasalamuha at naririnig ngunit tila ang kahalagaha’y tila hindi nadarama.

  Sa mga panahong iyon ng paglagi niya sa isang simpleng lugar, simpleng lugar na kung iisipi’y sa simula’y di niya napapansin ay siyang sa kanya’y naging lugar ng mahalaga; nag-iwan sa kanyang puso ng kulay, nagmarka at sa twina’y sa mga darating na panahon pa’y magiging bakas ng alaala.

  Alaalang, tulad ng isang larawan, lipasan man ng panahon ay siyang di-kukupas.

  Maglaho man ang kulay, magbago man ang mundo, ang paligid, ang kasaysayan niyon ay mananatiling wagas sa akda ng buhay na naisulat.

 Ang buhay; isang akdang hindi mawari ang katapusan, may mga tagpong hindi inaasahan, may mga karakter na hindi inaasahang may malaking gagampanan sa paghubog ng sarili at sa twina’y nagbigay kariktan at kahalagahan.

 Sa gayong pagtatapos ng isang bahagi ng akda ng kanyang buhay, magbubukas ang panibagong yugto, panibagong mga mukha ang sa kanya’y sisilay, mga bagong karakter at pakikipagsapalaran upang makamit ang tagumpay na ninanais ng puso ngunit hindi kailanman iwawaksi ang nakaraang kwentong kinapulutan niya ng aral.

  Ang Guro; ang salitang talinhangang iyon, sa paglipas ng mga araw, buwan marahil, panahon ay nabigyan niya ng panibagong kahulugan.

  Kahulugang sa twina’y hindi na hahanapan pa ng mas malawak na paliwanag kundi isang simpleng salita lamang na tutugon.

 Si Mrs. Smith, larawan ng isang mapagkalingang kamay, tagapanday ng isang mumunting mga inakay.

  Si Mrs. Smith, larawan ng salitang mapagpasensiya, mapagtimpi.

  Si Mrs. Smith din ay tinig na nakakatuwang pakinggan, pinagmumulan ng makukulay na kwento ng buhay, mga aral at minsan pa’y mga birong di lamang nakapagpapangiti ngunit nakakapagpatawa kung minsang nalulumbay.

  Si Mrs. Smith ay tinig na nakakatakot kapag nagagalit, nakapagpapatahimik sa kahit anong ingay, sa kanyang bawat pagkagalit ay katumbas ang pag-aalala sa kanyang mga estudynte, hindi man ninais, kung minsa’y matalim ang bawat niyang salitang nakapagpapaiyak, hindi iyon kanyang intension ngunit kinakailangan upang imulat ang kanilang mga mata sa kung ano ang kamalian.

 Si Mrs. Smith, may panyong laging nakaalay kung luha’y tumulo ng dahil sa pagkabigo, dulot niyang magagandang salita; naghihimok na sa bawat tahakin ay matutong ngumiti at isiping bawat maraanang problema, maliit man o malaki’y laging masusolusyonan kung matututong sa sarili’y magtiwala.

  Si Mrs. Smith na nagturong dapat ay maging mapagkumbaba, at laging pasasalamat ang sambitin sa maykapal.

  Iyan siya. Ang kinikilalang Mrs. Smith ng batang si Maria,

  Si Mrs. Smith, kung tatanungin kung siya’y sino.

 Isang salita lamang ang sagot;

   GURO, siya’y isang guro.

Guro; ang salitang iyon, ang talinhagang salitang iyon na pilit hinahanapan ng kahulugan.

 Ang salitang iyon, na sa mga unang araw ay pilit hindi mapakahuluganan, ngunit sa ngayong panaho’y siya ng naintindihan.

 Sa panahong ngayon, sa simpleng salita nalaman ang tiyak na kahulugan niyon.

 Sagot sa katanungan ng talinhangang salita’y hindi na naghahangad pa ng malawak na paliwanag, sapagkat sapat na ang panahong nilagi sa paaralan uapang matutunan ang kahulugan ng salitang iyon, Sa kwentong iyon ni Mrs. Smith na siyang kwento ni Maria,  nalaman ang kahulugan.

 Sa tunay na buhay, si Mrs. Smith, isang simpleng simbolo ng mga guro.

  Mga simpleng guro sa paarlan, na siyang may busilak na puso, may pagmamahal na tapat sa karunungan na siyang nais niyang ibahagi.

 Iba-iba man sila, ang kanilang ugali, kanilang pamamaraan sa iisang layunin sila’y nagkakaisa.

Pinagbubuklod ng isang tanging layunin.

 Guro; naging bahagi na ng buhay ng bawat isa.

  Ang Guro;

Isang salitang sa mga unang araw ay talinhaga ngunit sa panahong ngayo’y nabigyan ng isang simpleng kahulugan.

 Tunay na kahulugan sapagkat ito’y naging bahagi na ng buhay.

 Kahulugang ika nga sa Matematika’y may “Proof” na.

 Sa pilit na pagulit-ulit ng mga palsipikadong linya sa prosang ito katatagpuan ang lihim na kahulugan ng salitang iyon

 Salitang marapat na itambal sa salitang iyon.

KAIBIGAN.

Sa pagsasara ng Aklat na ito at pagwawakas ng isang akda, sana’y may magandang alaalang sa inyo’y maibahagi.

Guro; ang salitang iyon na sa twint’y nabigyang kahulugan.

Guro; kundi marahil sa iyong pagtuturo ay sa twina’y hindi malilinang ang kakayahan at talento hindi rin maisusulat ang akdang ito.

Sa muling pagulit-ulit ng mga palsipikadong linya sa aking panulat,

 Sa ngayo’y ang talinhangang salitang iyon na dati’y hindi napakuhulugan ay sa ngayong panahon di’y napahahalagahan.

 Sa mga huling salita’y nais na tuluyang wakasan ang kwentong ito sa isang tuldok;

SALAMAT PO =)

=> SA PANULAT NI; ALYSSa MariE OTEYZA MALOLOT 

                                               "'Maria'

The Significance of a Written Prose

We all have a voice to be outspoken,

But to talk is too much that words are unspoken.

Feelings had been kept without an action.

While silence covers how someone felt.

I may shout out loud, to create noise.

I may sing a soft tune that touches.

I may either talk too much that I maybe heard,

But truly, no one will hear thy hidden thoughts.

I maybe silent at all times,

I may not speak truly what thy heart felt.

I am with an unspoken language.

Unexpressed emotions with thoughts about the world kept hidden,

Inside thy mind process by heart.

Those thoughts were no longer hidden, those were never had been kept,

For only thy self should understand

But merely shall be express in a manner that

Pleases the world to understand,

To be able to share such ideas

That I found in an enormous world, we live in.

With the use of a pen,

Words are tools written,

Carefully arranged in a narrative,

Defines a series of thoughts,

Played by the rhythm of imagination.

It speaks who you are,

It tells who I am,

And hammered as a creation

 That defines life itself.

Defines our inmost thoughts,

Here written behind the significance of a written prose.

The Insignificance OF a Student’s Teacher (literary fiction)

PROLOGUE

      Fiction, stories consist of words, made up of phrases formed by sentences that leads to every page-turning paragraphs, it touches the heart while teases the mind.

      Fiction, has been said a Fantasy, a product of an author’s great mind but do you know where it came from? Do you know how it was written perfectly, bonded with the use of a pen into papers compiled all together?

       I’ll tell you, one thing it was never a fantasy, fictions, and stories was never unrealistic because each stories, means something, each words provokes what every heart felt; what every man is suffering.

**********

      I don’t know why but it just happened, it just happened like a coincidence, by chances maybe and this story is her world, this was not just her story but rather the story about me, about The Insignificance of a Student’s Teacher.

      We are all living in the same world; and this world is a small world, we always meet at the center.

We are all united in one plot, Taking, heading to the same pathway.

      We are all searching for something: each one of us is vanishing in emptiness, something that we cannot find in this world.

       We are living in the present world but chained inside, locked inside reality that always brought by destiny, no matter how you try to hide, it just finds your way back home.

       As I can see it someone is searching for her own identity while someone is trying to be back in her world and I am trying to make her realize everything.

       I know everything, I am the key and there is a door unlocked, a passageway to the light, an escape from this maze: I created it and I am locked with it.

      We are all in this garden maze, looking for our way out but every step we take, we fall behind the footsteps that our barefoot creates.

      I know how it started; where it started and I know how it would be ended.

      INSIGNIFICANCE, as people tries to define their world, as she calls her teacher because she never really understood why He is in that way, why he acted that way;

   “Everything has a reason and that reason is for you to find out DEAREST MARIA”.

*********

   

 First day of the class, summer had just begun as I watch the early light loom over my face. I can’t help but tell myself, a question: Am I dreaming? I told myself I was dreaming.

    It was just then when I felt the midnight breeze, the cold nights where there was darkness I always see, those winter chills that terrifies but made me strong; changed.

    I am here in a new world out of it, out of that…. Then suddenly reality comes to life, probably it was time, yes it was time.

   It passes by too fast but like a man he walks through life and left his footmarks in the sand.

   I can still remember, back then, it was not too long ago, it belongs to my past, her past; she was no longer what I used to know, she had changed, I knew she had been changed. I can see it through her eyes when back then was tears but now I found there was enlightenment to her world: life.

   She is Maria the girl I used to know, the child I used to remember but now she is Ms. Maria as what I heard the young ones called her, it still doesn’t change the fact that I knew her, I knew where she had been, I knew Maria behind those walls, behind that profession. Like what I heard, she was a teacher now, no wonder, maybe she’s Insignificant too but I knew she would never be in the way that she hated me to be------INSIGNIFICANT.

  Let me begin with a short story. Let me tell you this simple story, a story of a search, of hatred of a misunderstood world and this is her story.

   She was a girl, a plain young one, she was one of those students’s I handle but she was different, she was with something that at first I never understood but as time goes by I realize. I knew her. I knew her already, where she came and where she was going.

   Memories, memories, memories just memories, they are the old photographs of every man, once gained back: retrieved, it brings as much as a realization.

   I always wake up at night, looking through an open window pane and outside, far apart from where I am, I can see her, inside that house; that house that sheltered her, chained her and kept her away from the unchanging world.

   There was always a girl, staring at a starry night, looking way up high at the blue corned moon with little light that shatters whenever she looked up at the stars.

    I always find her smiling and it was the sadness that is written all over her face.

      Then there are times that I’ll find her looking at me over the window pane while she screams out a goodnight greeting calling me “Mr. Nice”.

       She was a precious child, a precious gift abandoned, and that is her. She was cared and adopted by a Nun, named Sister Therese and that child was knowledgeable about that reality but the truth is she was living in lies, all that a child should know is that Her mother was already dead, She lied to her. 

“Even ANGEL’S has a drastic past”

       I used to walk around, walk my way to the village, I see a lot of people, different faces, I hear different voices, each time but the only ones that captures thy eyes is that girl with the Nun: MARIA, that’s what I used to see every morning after dawn. Maria, she always greets me whenever I pass by saying a warm morning greeting calling me “Mr. Nice”. She was just a child then, a child who doesn’t know much about this world, if only she knew the truth, if only… she’ll never call me nice because I was never that person she thought about. She was just a child who never knew how to speak her name well.

       It was her childhood when she was still innocent, wherein she doesn’t know anything about this world; she never knew how it feels like to live in this insignificant world.

     She was an angel in her youngest years, she was plain and she was nice that how I wish people could be like her, she never judge a stranger, she never asked me who I am, she treated me as a family, as a friend as a teacher indeed, but it was too long ago, too far that my mind cannot comprehend because she had been changed.

      She was a strong one, whenever Sister Therese clears her wounds, there were no sounds, no crying at all no matter how painful those scars that she got from running, endless running in this place she called her playground. She always smiles at the pain, I don’t know how she does that, and I see myself in her.

      Strong. She was, that was Maria because a strong one knows how to play with pain.

      She was a strong one, whenever I asked her if she’s hurt, she’ll just tell me that she can take a lot of wounds, a lot of pain the only thing that only matters is that she learned how to step up whenever she falls. That was the best thing about her but it’s no longer here, vanished: gone.

      That young girl always makes me smile, and I have spent the rest of those days playing with her, teaching her lessons and so she does talked a lot questioning why, what and who.

     The most memorable thing that child had ever asked me is just a plain question that until now was fresh in my mind;

      “Why were you alone, don’t you have any family?”

Family, yes a family, but how could a lonely man define that single word, how could a man in misery be with a family if he never really knew what that word means, she asked me if I have a family like her, she told me that the Nun was her family, it teases my mind, how could possibly anyone treat a stranger as somebody like a family, that was the worst words I fear the most, I am a senseless man. I got no family, I told her then she told me that she could be my family.

         At that moment she smiled at me, it felt like I was not talking to a stranger, not talking to a child but an adult who knew everything.

         I told myself she was just a child, a child who knew nothing, unlike an adult who knew about the ups and downs in this crazy world.

           I never answered her question, nobody knew about my life, my past, myself that I keep hidden. The next thing was silence, no words, no comments until the child hugged me, it was in that moment when I felt that there was sadness in my heart, but still I smiled at her, she made me happy even just for a while , the child made me realize something that I had lost, something that I cannot find from those simple things that I do.

     Someday she’ll realize everything, I know one day, everything will change, she is still young…

     And I just woke up in the reality that they were gone already, they left me before I knew it, and I missed that young girl who taught me a lesson... But then I realize she was wrong with that, I learned to hate the world because nobody cared, Forgotten.

     Year’s had passed since those days, everything’s changing, people’s changing, memories vanishing, fading away. But still her memory was there, it never fade away, those words, was still left. And I am still that insignificant man the world knew.

    I knew that someday somehow, we’ll meet again,  our paths may crossed because in this world that where we live in, there were no corners, we will always meet at the center bounded by destiny that brought as where we supposed to be;

“Way Back Home.”

    She was looking for something, searching for herself, the life she had lost. All that she knows is that she was the new her, created and molded by changes, abandoned by the truth.  She was a young one living in lies at the expense of the unchanging world. She was suffering from fear, hating the world because of its insignificance.

She was a student, and her world is her teacher.

     I am the reason why she discovered the truth; she thought that I lied to her but reality: she was the one who assumed, the one who hated before knowing the truth, before understanding everything.

     She was never a stranger but always a family. I never learned about that, that’s the hardest lesson the child taught me but I refused to take. I am the root of all this! Was it my fault? Am I the reason behind the chaos, was this a whirlwind of a situation? Was it a coincidence that our pathway had crossed in our present world? Or it was just destined for us to find our place back each other’s hands. I don’t know but I know only just one thing, I left her alone, I’m the one who made her life insignificant, its not HIM that made her life in misery, MISERABLE!.

      I learned the most important lesson:

I can never escape past; you can never walk away from reality.

 I am looking forward, for the ending of this story: her story, my story.

  Could it be a happy ending for her?  Could it be for me?

An answer is what you are searching for, Dear reader.

But I am looking forward for realization.

     As the light slowly sets down, the night conquers beyond, moonlight rises atop while time passes by as seconds fades into minutes until it will went as hours that sooner be days vanished into weeks, years.

     “You can’t go back to start again, you can’t go back to create a new beginning, all you have to do is fixed what was broken”

      It was already midnight, he was still awake, a man in his mid-twenty’s, a long haired guy, he was a blonde, a bit of a simple guy from head to toe. He looks as much as a stranger you can never trust but inside him was a pure man, pure intelligence with a great mind that knows how to be logically correct and reasonable as always.

       He was lying in his couch, a velvet sofa, free from dust and dirt while in front of the couch was a square-shape glass table.

       A black lop-top rest aside, blinking on the screen was written notes, sentences, paragraph maybe; it is unfinished with a dot.

       “The ending I am looking forward to the ending, looking forward for her ending, the most important part”. He was talking to himself; he was alone inside that house where he stays, where he lives, inside his home: embraced with pure silence.

   Outside the house was a raging wind swaying in a winter breeze of a cold summer night. Everybody is already sleeping, all of the lights inside the houses were already out, all was close but oddly there is one standing still in the darkness, fading – his house, what was his name? I bet you thought it’s confusing, you want to know? Well he is someone with a dual identity, duality like character and attitude, his character differs from his attitude.

    First day of the class, he begun typing again, “what about the first day of the class?” he spoke again, questioning no one but himself then back at the empty screen he wrote:

     YES it was the first day of the class, I met her, she met me “no it’s not me, not myself! Off course but a man named ROBERT WELINGTON”. 

       She was a plain child silent as an angel.

     While he was a nice looking person, with an infectious smile, and those eyes with fierce and power, the way he speaks was plain with silence but his voice goes loud like thunder.

      “May I know your name?” very first words that came out on his mouth, he sounded like a clown speaking, the scary type that you can see in the movies, sounded funny maybe but totally terrifying, then she wanted to smile but she’s frightened.

    “Ma...” he cut off her words, completing the missing syllables “Ria… Maria, Maria, Maria, you ARE Maria? Oh you are Maria…”

      He sure looked and sounded crazy as he keeps on repeating those words, sounded a fool to ask someone’s name even though he knew it already.

      IT WAS MEMORIES, MEMORIES, MEMORIES NOTHING BUT MEMORIES.

      “Yes Maria.  Maria Anderson, Maria Clarisse from West coast Ohio sir,” while those was her first words, I heard those with a trembling voice in such nervousness, I sought the fear, it was in her eyes, I sense her intelligence  as I glared at her  without a blinking eye.

      “You graduated at Westside Dalton Academy in Ohio don’t you Ms. Maria? He said with a silly smile.

       “Yes sir, yes… education... Graduated there now I’ll be your co-teacher Mr..? May I know your name, the faculty haven’t mention anything about you”

        “My name, you don’t know my name? Have you forgotten me already…?”

         “I’m sorry sir but I can’t remember any coincidental situation in my life that I have met someone like you. Sir I bet you’re a total stranger”

“Forgive me for acting strange, impolitely insane; in a layman’s term…oh forget that …..Robert Wellington is my name, the one who handle the philosophy class and you?”

 “I’ll be handling the literature class, according to the Dean, Mr. Robert...”

   “Before I forget, take this book and discuss it to the class, or if you want read it first…READ IT FIRST, IT’S ABOUT YOU… no more questions just do what I say, maybe you’ll understand everything lateR

  The dawn is breaking; he’s still searching for the perfect ending of his story.

     That would be too fast to start it that way but too good to tell you why it happened like that,, just go with the flow… you’ll never understand things easily why don’t you try to look at it in a different way.

      “No that is wrong totally wrong! Delete.delete.delete” the writer spoke to himself again, it should be this way:

Then he began typing again.

      “Maria is your name young girl? You are Maria” I was staring at her from head to toe then suddenly I glared at each faces inside the class, all were clean looking, plain. Simple yet appealing but when turned to her what I sought was those black pale eyes, eye shadows darkened with black, the way she dress totally different, she got those piercings on her nose on her lips.

     “Its Clarisse not that stupid name, Mr. Know it all” she acted like a rebel and I never allowed students in my class to act in such manner.

      “But in this card that I have, it says here your name is MARIA CLARISSE! You know what you shouldn’t hate that name that was the nicest name I know!”

  I am considered the terror teacher in the school, everyone is afraid of me because they always think that I love to make their lives in misery: Miserable but truly they don’t know anything about me, about my intentions, they don’t know what’s the reason behind those actions that I do, they never understand the way I AM, the way I SHOULD BE.

   “Do you know what I do in my student’s who doesn’t know how to follow rules? How to act decently, how to respect someone who is called an authority? Anyone! Now get out of my class, I never want to see your face in this class again, understand!” 

    Silence entered the picture, silently she walked away, she went outside the class while the insignificant man tried to smile even though inside him he felt sorry for that girl, but he need to do that its according to what he believe is right.

   AND HE IS RIGTH with that.

     Then he began his lecture at the class while the poor child went to the school library alone, you can never see her cry, she was with that strong personality but somebody saw there were tears in her eyes.

     “What’s with that crying, look at yourself, you’re wearing that rock like black style then you are crying, oh what a poor sense of style you have little girl”

    Someone came, and comforted her.

     “I thought you hated me, why were you here, you should be in that class anyway, you just need to leave the hell out of this room, and let me be alone!”

    “You know what let me tell you something you don’t know, there’s nothing wrong with you, why were you punishing yourself in that way, you were just a young one, you need to enjoy life itself and stop acting that way!”

    He shouted at her with a soft voice of guidance, and then he sat by her side.

    “Who the hell are you anyway to tell me what should I do? You’re just one of them who’s trying to change me and tell me that everything’s going to be okay after everything that happened”

  She tried to go away but she can’t her stopped her.

   “I know nothing about you, why don’t you try to say something so that I can understand what’s going on with you”

   “Reasons, so you’re asking for reasons, there are no reasons; I’m just created to end up this way”

“No. people always have reasons; I DO THINGS FOR A REASON. People cant be happy for no reason, neither cry for no reason, and so does the world has full of reasons, so I therefore tell you that you are with something, you’re living with pain, consider that hatred!”

“But what about insanity, craziness, crazy people cry and laugh for such unreasonable reason”

 “But there are still reasons... with that even in that situation reasons exist; there is a damage in their brains that’s the reason. And another thing to tell you is that He has a reason why you were suffering like that”

“What is His reasons, to punish me for my sins,, hell!”

“NO. You don’t know a thing. It’s because HE wanted you to realize how complicated this life is, challenges, its how you define the state of life’s complexity when we go to struggles causing us pain like what you are feeling right now”

“Well I can say that is too much for me to take, doesn’t He understand that.”

“He UNDERSTANDS. You are the one who don’t understand a thing, you don’t know a thing at all MARIA”

“OKAY you win; I’ll tell you what happened”

“I’ll be listening dear child.”

 I was an orphan, and I knew that ever since I was born, grew and learned how to speak, there was a nun who took cared of me, and treated me as if I was her own child.

I hated to be in the orphanage where my true parent’s left me, it’s overcrowded there and some of those people there never knew how to treat a child well but that nun was different.

One day we decided to move away, from that orphanage and there we started a new life in a well established village, she became my teacher and I learned about so many things.

I learned and realize that life was so much easy, no complexity.

She taught me to believe in God and let Him to be in the center of my life, the reason why I’m alive and living in this big wide world, I thanked Him for everything that I had and for giving me that nun to guide me and helped me to live in this Insignificant world.

Maria was never my real name she is the one who gave me that name and my true identity was still left unknown

“Now why you hated that name?”

“No forget that, you’ll never understand anyway Mr. insignificant”

“Mr. Insignificant? What did you just called me?”

“Insignificant, meaningless, simple as senseless like all of those things that you are trying to explain to me, furthermore reasons I don’t understand you!”

“It doesn’t mean that once you don’t understand something: it is meaningless. You need to open up your mind; you just need to be open-minded to understand things that you call insignificant”

INSIGNIFICANCE; AS PEOPLE TRIES TO DEFINE THEIR WORLD, YOU KNOW WHY? IT’S BECAUSE PEOPLE CONSIDERS LIFE AS THEIR WORLD.

“Its in the way that people describes it UNFAIR but to tell you nothing has been created unfair, not in balance, either imperfect”

“How come you say such words?”

“If you tend to look at things in a different outlook you’ll find a thousand reasons to consider it perfect, days that turned into nights, crying and pain that turned to hatred that sooner vanishes away into memories”

“Memories, Just memories like the past?”

“Yes. The past, you cannot deal living in the present world while not considering your past”

“past is past, it can never gained back what lies in there is just something that you cannot change, that’s why we don’t need to looked at it or either remember such a thing about it”

“But the past can change you, the past can change a person no matter how lonely, drastic it is, it can just do something to a person: its either he will learn from it or either be drowned from the mistakes that just belongs  there”

“I’ll tell you what had just happened to Maria, to me...”

 She had spent the rest of her childhood with Sister Therese, together they became happy and contented in their plain simple lives, but suddenly, everything had changed.

Like a blink of an eye, changes went by and just happened.

I brought her down to the nearest hospital but it was too late, it was too much late to save her life and I went back home all alone, feeling sad lonely and pity for that young child, that little girl she had left behind, I sat beside her, that little angel but I cannot look at her, I cannot take care of her anymore, everything just ended and I ended everything.

That woman became no longer a nun, a mother she became, to a child who was never her own.

 She decided to live at the Lincoln homes at Ohio where I used to live and for years they had become my neighbors, for such lonely years but lately I haven’t seen them, I don’t know what happened to her what happened to that child.

“if only she knew who  I am, who the real me is, I Know truly that she will never call me nice but rather mad man, because who I am belongs to her life, I am not just someone but somebody in her past”

“Why do you need to do this.., are you pretending that you know nothing about HER even though you know more a lot about her more than she knows about herself, I am lying to her I told her such lies that you were already dead so that she would not look for you but someday somehow she will discover the truth behind those lies, maybe I should tell her before it would be too late, so that she could understand and not merely hatred enter thy picture”

“NO. It would not make any sense, No. Sister, you should keep it a secret, let Margaret…”

It was at that night, I was wide awake and I heard her talking to someone over the phone, Sister Therese was talking to someone over the phone, though I never knew who it was, who is over that phone that she is talking to I realize that she was talking about me, I heard that she was talking to my real parent, she knew it all along but she had choose to lie to me and made believe that I was just an orphan she never knew that I was longing to know about who I am, who my parents are…

“But MR. V…”

Those was the last words I heard from the nun, since that night, days went by and I have forgotten those memories that happened but I don’t know why It just happened.

It just happened like a coincidence, why? I am asking myself, why? I’m bringing back the dreads of vain of a winter’s tragic moment when there was a decision, a wrong decision that made one’s life miserable. 

“Margaret? Who is Margaret? Is Margaret your real identity dear child?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Wellington there are words left unsaid, and death ended up thy hope of knowing the truth”

“Death. Death? What happened?”

“She had kept a secret to me. A secret about her condition. She is dying, she is suffering from a life-threatening illness and it was already too late for me to discover, she had died. She died that same night.”

  I had been change, once in my life and that changes everything in her life, after hearing those words, those words that truly broke my heart into pieces, it crushes into my mind until now, it is pain. It is hatred, it was my life broken.

  “I’m sorry but she’s dead, she’s dead Mr. Wellington, we could do nothing about it”

  Death. Why her? Why does tragedy happens in a man’s life, why does it happened so fast… why do we need to meet someone in our lives if by then she will just stay in a short matter of time, you would be given a life to use but in the end would be taken away from you, and what is such sense.. Taking a pathway to fix you after it rained, trying to face the sunlight again and start a new beginning?

  INSIGNIFICANCE:  it doesn’t make any sense at all, because that is what life is all about.

  INSIGNIFICANCE; it is like a whirlwind,  just a maze where you face a thousand troubles before you’ll find your way out, realizing what you need to know, what life has meant to you.

Insignificance: its not what you think is right, its your thoughts about the world, you made it yourself, you’re the one making it by every step you take that alters, defines who you are. 

 “What a sad story, dear child. So tragic, so painful,,, I can feel your pain Maria, my dear student,,, I understand where it came from because that’s what exactly I am with, pain. Hatred, it just does something to a person”

  “Mr. Insignificant, now tell me your life you already know mine”

  “My LIFE. Very poor choice of thinking Maria, very poor choice of words,,, I don’t tell about me,,, what you see in me is already enough to describe who I am  what my life is,,, my words define how I feel how I find my life as itself, INSIGNIFICANT.” 

“Okay. If that’s what you want Mr. Wellington, you have said so much already and I already learned so much from you today,,, you weren’t bad and mean at all, unlike what they said about you.. Mr. Nice, yes, Mr. Nice you’re such a nice person”

“That’s what you think, like what I have told you… you don’t know a thing; you don’t know a thing at all MARIA”. 

 INSIGNIFICANCE: I made it myself, it is not what I think is right. I made a wrong decision; I have done something that I can never change, no matter how I tried to escape from that mess-I just can’t.

“I created it and I am locked inside it”

MARIA: She became my TEACHER.

               My STUDENT became my teacher.

I LEARNED something from what she had said.

I learned about her pain, I found out the reason behind her misery. She was abandoned, she was just a poor child who thought that she founded hope in an INSIGNIFICANT world but suddenly it was just a stream of light, it vanished because HE took it away from her.

   HER LIFE. Her life is not exactly what the way she had hoped for but rather it was taken to a path where it was planned to be.

   “We’re heading to the same pathway. I’m trying to go back to her life where I truly belong”

HEADING TO THE SAME PATHWAY called realization.

“The past, like what I had said: matters”

He spoke again, it had been a sleepless night that had gone into day; the bright moon faded away from darkness and there’s a bright ray of sun that went by.

“The plot is still incomplete… where are those missing words? I need those to complete this story, this fiction but every word I wrote defines a lot of meaning: it resembles the past, who I am, Mr. Wellington behind this written prose”

 He stop for a while and left… he went out of his house, it was the first time that he sought the life after all that happened: he never left his house not even once. He had locked himself in that house the day that he suffered from insanity: PAIN, DEPRESSIONcaused by a sudden death.

                                       ******

“I am living in my fantasies, I just found myself as a coward… I cannot accept that what’s done is done, that once broken cannot be fixed again perfectly and what’s gone can never be gained back again.

  REALITY is reality and this fiction is a part of those fantasies, my fantasy, it cannot fix my life, the life that I had lost, it is just memories and realization brought by regrets.

 I should have done those things like what ROBERT did but VINCENT was never ‘ROBERT’ he was just a part of VINCENT WELLINGTON”

   He told those words to nobody but himself.

He went back again and started finishing the plot;

  

     That girl never knew anything about her past.

He knew Maria since the day she was born and raised as a child. HE WAS NEVER A STRANGER BUT ALWAYS A FAMILY. 

 Maria was never an orphan but just a child who had been left alone.

“Let Margaret”

“But Mr. Wellington… Margaret is already dead, your wife is dead!”

“NO! Shut up… shut up…! Margaret is not dead… she was never dead… don’t ever tell me those words again! You don’t know a thing at all”

                                    *****

Margaret was her wife, she died upon giving birth to an innocent child.

  Margaret was everything to her, the reason why she wanted to live, the only reason why he exist in this world.

  I gave her to that Nun ten years ago; I gave her away and named her Clarisse while the nun called her Maria, yes MARIA, she looked like Margaret.

Every time I see HER; I am dying, knowing that she’s just a memory of Margaret… she’s killing me deep inside. 

I told the nun to take care of that poor child.         SHE NEED NOT TO KNOW ABOUT ME.Therefore she lied to her the way I did.

“She called me Mr. Nice”

She was that child?

She was the same girl.

I had forgotten her memory for years, I am the reason why they left, and I told her to go;

“You better go away, I don’t want to see her again, she only reminds me of a big mistake I had done”

    I thought that decision had made things clearer for me; I thought that it is the right thing to do.

“Everything has a reason”

 I am vanishing in emptiness, something that I cannot find in this lonely world—called life, so I ended up in that profession because Maria left me an important lesson to learn:

I thought it was right, telling myself that it’s for a child’s own good

But every time I face those children, it feels like they only remind me of Maria, the child that I am searching for.

“I had been changed for good”

I tend to be mean, because those children need to learn something they really need:

To understand the complexity of life itself—full of reasons.

They need to know that everything I do is for their own good, to fixed them and not let them astray.

“There’s always a reason why I hated all of you, there’s a reason why I hated Maria”

 I had been a coward, for those lonely years now that what I was looking for….

   I should have told her the truth... she need to know who I am

      But I refused to…

I JUST LET HER LEARN AND LIVE THE LIFE THAT SHE WNTED.

At some point in my life I knew I had fixed what was broken, I had fixed her.

*****

She knew me a s a TEACHER But still I’m the INSIGNIFICANT man she knew….

She grew up and learned to live the life that she had.

Those struggles, defines her; Defines my storY.

 And this fiction is about Maria…and Maria was not just the student, the girl I used to know…

BUT

THE CHILD I LEFT, WHO GREW UP AS AN ADULT AND BECAME NO LONGER MARIA BUT MS. MARIA AS WHAT I HEARD THE YOUNG ONE’S CALLED HER.

      “THE WORLD HAS NO CORNERS THERE ARE NO CORNERS, WE ALWAYS MEET AT THE CENTER BOUNDED BY DESTINY THAT HOLDS US BACK WHERE WE SUPPOSED TO BE---WAY BACK HOME”

---ROBERT VINCENT WELLINGTON

“Fiction: stories consist of words; it is the voice in an author’s mind that provokes what he felt in his heart, what a man is suffering”

Fiction has been said a fantasy, a product of an author’s great mind but do you know where it came from?

Do you know how it is written perfectly? Bounded by the use of pen into papers compiled all together.

Answers: is what you are looking for DEAR READER.

To tell you, it is all my fantasies, a part of my past.

Maria: she is never a student and Robert: is just VINCENT.

He was never teacher…

BUT Maria is just the child I had lost, the family that left me standing here…

I am VINCENT WELLINGTON.

I am ROBERT WELLINGTON

I’m trying to fix a broken life from this fiction but in the end it is still FICTION.

It can never become REALITY.

“I CAN’T GO BACK TO THE PAST AND CHANGE WHAT WAS BROKEN RATHER GAINED BACK WHAT WAS LOST THE ONLY THING CONSTANT IS THAT I CAN START A NEW BEGINNING NOW”

And that is how I wanted to end my story.

THE END