The Beauty of an Unwholesome Past

I’ve done a lot of crazy, hateful, stupid things when I was a lot younger. Seriously. I’m not talking about mischief, I’m talking about pure insanity and hate-driven deeds. I used to be a very self-righteous, judgmental hypocrite who went to church but dabbled in the occult at the same time. And everyone knows I’m a Pastor’s kid. Everyone knows my parents are honorable people–whose only child is a dime-a-dozen punk.

Of course I got all the Karma I deserved for all the hateful things I did.
Public humiliation? Losing 90% of my friends?
Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.

One important thing I learned from all this, though, is that fear, pain, and shame are our friends because they let us know that something’s wrong. If we pay attention, we can fix ourselves or go to a doctor. But if we keep making excuses for ourselves we will die: If we don’t like the taste of medicine or the pain and scars of surgery, if we just keep on denying, our bodies will eventually give up all of a sudden and then we die.

If we want to mature as people, we mustn’t run away from the consequences of our stupidity.

That one thing I can’t Forgive

“An open rebuke is better than hidden love.”
I don’t mind correction, even from people younger than me because I used to do that when I was a kid.
I can forgive insults because I’m straightforward; I’m aware that I can be very critical.
I can forgive hostility because when I don’t like someone, I let them know.
I don’t give a damn about backstabbers because I don’t stab people behind their backs.
I don’t really care what people tell me as long as they’re being honest with me, the truth will always hurt, and if I am offended I will have to move on and learn.

But treachery…   that’s one thing I do not do. And I don’t know how to deal with that.
I live by an honor code. I believe in atonement. Anyone who’s unwilling to face the consequences of their actions or admit to their mistakes is a coward in my eyes.
I want my friends to be honest and loyal to me so I start by being honest and loyal to them.

But treachery…
A betrayal of my trust… that is the gravest offense anyone could ever hope to commit against me.
And that I cannot easily forgive, because I do not do that.

Not only is my trust lost, but also my respect.

Today I realized on a more deeper level just how misunderstood I am

And it’s primarily because my words are not taken objectively and in good faith.
It’s frustrating how people filter my message through their own judgments of me,only taking in the things that validate that judgment, or take what I say the wrong way (Yes, I realize that karma has confronted me at last. Now I know how Junatan felt. xD).
It’s often said that malisya is in the eyes of the beholder; how people react reveals a lot. And sometimes it’s sad to catch a glimpse of people’s judgments that are based on a misunderstanding. Of course I’ve had my fair share of these misunderstandings as well, I’m not immune, no one is.
But on the bright side I also see God’s hand in this. I realize that he is bringing down my perception of some people on a more human and down-to-earth level.
I tend to think too highly of people, so high that it’s bordering on idolatry, they could do no wrong in my eyes. And sometimes they push their ideas on me that I don’t really agree with, but am forced to do so because I think too highly of them and look down on myself and forget my own wisdom. The respect is so high that at times I trust their judgments and biases more than my own. And now is the time to get rid of this mentality because it’s not healthy anymore. And maybe I’ve matured enough to deal with it.

On the other hand I’m thankful for the very few people who DO understand me, who are able to see things the way I see it, and listen to me with an open mind and heart. I don’t feel so alienated.

Monopoly of the truth?

A lot of Christians tend to assume that just because a certain religion isn’t worshiping Jesus, that everything they believe in is immediately wrong. I don’t think that’s the case, because God created them. Sure, the enemy’s made some distortions, but he’s not all powerful like God, he cannot completely imitate, distort, or destroy. We can learn something about God from the Buddhists, the Muslims, the Hindus; also in other denominations of Christianity. I believe that no matter how deceived the followers of a certain religion are, there will always be something in their belief system that will connect with the Gospel, even if it’s something as small and seemingly insignificant as a mustard seed– history tells us that sometimes that’s all it takes for them to come to an encounter with The Living God. There are truths to be learned about God everywhere, in all faiths and cultures, because he is the creator of all things. An artist leaves signatures in his works, or anything that will tell that this work of art is His design, that he intended for it to be this way; sometimes those signatures are quite subtle, but they’re present in his creations. Sometimes we need to remove personal biases and look at things in other people’s point of view to get a better idea of things. It’s like seeing a large sculpture in a museum: you go around it and you find that it’s actually beautiful no matter what angle you’re looking at it from.

I find it a bit off when Christians behave like Christianity holds the monopoly of the truth.

Don’t tell me to go to Jesus

“You should talk to Jesus about this, Khuks.”
“Be strong, Khuks!”

No thanks.

I’m sick and tired of hearing those words. Jesus and I already talked about all my troubles, and I’m already strong. But just like everyone else my strength has its limits. Just like everyone else, I need to talk to another human being to keep my sanity!

I am in no way saying that Jesus isn’t good enough, Jesus is more than perfectly perfect–
but am only human. I have human needs, human limitations, and human imperfections.
God created humans to be social. We were created for relationships.
It’s bad enough already that I’m the misunderstood weirdo. And now whenever I do try to make myself understood to another human being they turn me away and tell me to talk to Jesus or a psychiatrist.I think it’s only normal for any confused soul to feel rejected in that kind of situation.

Am I that unwanted? Am I that unworthy of human understanding? Am I really that insane that only Jesus can understand me?

I don’t know if it’s just me, but it seems like most of the people around me are using Jesus as an excuse to get rid of me. I feel like they don’t want to hear my troubles, so they tell me to go to Jesus. It’s as if Jesus is this instant problem-eraser thing that makes all your troubles go away at the push of a button, as if  that’s all I need to do. Not saying that Jesus is ineffective, Jesus is not the problem here.Yes, Jesus heals, but I don’t think healing is meant to be a self-help kind of experience; I think our healing becomes complete with others through Jesus.

“Be strong!”

I have a problem with advises of this nature because every single time I feel down they tell me to be strong. But I am only human! I am limited and imperfect!

It’s the same thing, I feel dismissed and rejected when people tell me to be strong. It’s as if I’m not loved or important enough to be comforted or defended.

All my life I’ve been told to be strong and defend myself, even as a child. And I know that’s caused some form of psychological harm.
Can I be weak for a change? Can I have my limits? Can I be human, for once?
I am exhausted of being strong.

Magtatanim ‘yan ng Galit Sa’yo

It was 2:30am when I woke up with this memory in my head. I don’t remember much about it anymore, only that I  was 6 years old, played too much video games,  and my Father had snapped my Brave Fencer Musashi CD.
My mom reprimanded him and said, “Hindi mo dapat ginawa yun. Magtatanim ‘yan ng galit sa’yo”.
I overheard that part of their exchange while I was hidden in a corner and crying.
I was very hurt and angry, and I agreed to what my mom said.

I already know why this memory came back to me in the middle of the night. I know what I have to do.

What About Me?

No one understands me because no one is interested to hear my side of things because I’m so insane only God can understand me.

It’s always MY problem, MY fault because I’m special and it’s easier to blame it all on the one person who’s different.

When I come for advice, I’m only human and it’s okay to be angry and make mistakes, when I’m not asking for advice perfection is demanded of me.

“Why are you angry, Khukei? You are a strong person! Be strong!
Do the right thing!”

I always have to do the right thing because I’m special while it’s okay for everyone else to make bad choices because they’re only human.

What about me?

Rugby-Boy Rantings

A rugby boy touched my side through the bars at the canteen last year.
Yesterday another rugby boy tugged at Gwen’s pants with a metal wire. And he had the audacity to try again, he slipped his arm two more times so I decided to put and end to it and jumped and slammed my foot against his hand. Only managed to hit him during that first time. Then he spat through the bars twice; the first time through the lower half and the second time he climbed the wall just to spit overhead. We got hit. Never eating there again.

Now I find myself agreeing with that girl who ranted about how the street kids should be kept out. They need to be placed in some correctional facility and be rehabilitated.

Gipasagdan nalang unta? Gipasagdan ra baya jud at first. Unya kay ni utro man. So pasagdan nalang nga naay mag bira-bira or manghikap sa imo through the bars while you’re eating your lunch in peace? No way. Sayon ra magpaka as-if buutan kay dili man kamo ang naka experience. Kamo kahay ma ingun ato and mag epal and pakitang-tao dayun ko about morals and maturity?

The silent treatment or “pasagdi nalang” method only works when the other person is in the right mind and isn’t drugged. Let’s say your father is high on something and decided to butcher your family, pasagdan nalang nimo kay mature ka? Mu undang kaha na siya ana imong kalaki?

Kamo ra’y pagpaka-matryr diha.


My choices are not predestined, but the consequences of my choices are already known to me. There is no easy way out. I am going to get bruised wherever I go; I will just have to decide which bruises are worth suffering for.

For every wound they’ve inflicted upon my heart, I laid down a brick. I grew up too quickly and too soon. Several years later, I found myself inside a fortress. The perfect defense. No one could get close enough to hurt me– but no one could get close enough to love me, either. I am all alone in my towers. Safe in loneliness.

At the end of the day, I realized that my fortress is not a display of my strength, but the epitome of my inner turmoil: every single brick representing a wound. All things considered, it seems clear to me now that I had spent many years constructing my fortress only to be destroyed at the right moment.

What do I make of this revelation now?

“Sleep Paralysis”


I became aware that I was asleep and about to be attacked. I turned my head to the left and mumbled, “God… God.. help me”. And then it happened. Suddenly I hear high-pitched laughter and a weight on my stomach. I couldn’t breathe.
It felt like I was at the brink of death, about to breathe my last breath– only this went on for an eternity, like I was dying forever. I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my rib. I don’t know what’s so special about the left side of my rib but they always seem to stab me there. This time I could see that I was being stabbed by a great old spearhead, brown all over with rust. It looked ancient, brittle, and had cracks, but still dealt a lot of damage. This went on for some time.

For a few heartbeats it stopped. I was catching my breath. I noticed that the moon was beaming light directly at me through the window. My bed is directly facing the window. It’s bad luck, according to the Chinese. I looked at the light and was once again plunged back into my torment. I couldn’t breathe again. My mind at this time was focused only on what was being done to me. I couldn’t think of anything other than the pain being inflicted on me. The spearhead was driven at my left rib again, only this time with greater force. I screamed.
Snap. I heard my physical body mumbling for Jesus. I was tossing in my bed. They weren’t there, but at the same time they were and I was still being stabbed with that spearhead repeatedly. I was in two realities at once.

Jesus. My mind and spirit called for Jesus. “Jesus. Where’s Jesus?”, I thought. And suddenly I could think more clearly now. “Jesus! Help me! Where are you?” and in that instant I saw Jesus  to my left, he gave me an it’s-gonna-be-okay smile, and then POW! A huge angel about 8 feet tall came and swung a massive mace at that thing that was sitting on my stomach. There was no struggle, the Angel just came and swung at it casually as if it were just an insect.
And everything was back to normal.  I looked out the window and the moon was nowhere to be found.