Welcome to Volume 6 of The Marocharim Experiment. This blog is authored and maintained by Marocharim, the self-professed antichrist of new media.
Marocharim is a 21-year-old college senior from the University of the Philippines Baguio, majoring in Social Anthropology and has a minor in Political Science. He lives with his parents, his brother and his sister in Baguio City - having been born and raised there all his life. He is the author of three book-versions of The Marocharim Experiment.
Most of his time is spent at school, where he can be found in the UP Baguio Library reading or scribbling notes, and sometimes hanging out with his friends or by himself in the kiosks, or the main lobby. During his spare time, he continues writing. When not in school he hangs out with his friends, or takes long walks around Baguio City to, as he puts it, "get lost."
The Marocharim Experiment Volume I: The Trial of Another Mind, Subject to Disclosure is Available Now
The Marocharim Experiment Volume II: The Nevermind Chronicles is Available Now
The Marocharim Experiment Volume III: The Sentence Construction of Reality is Available Now
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December 18, 2004
#007: When You Turn 17...
What do I know? In a few months time, I myself would be pushing 20. I should be trying to give advice to myself given the circumstances I have had (it has been the absolute worst month of my life, according to sources other than myself), but I doubt that the dozen people who actually read my blog would really care, given that I'm practically giving my "ex" some advice.
She's turning 17... on December 20. What the hell. I don't expect to be spending my December 20 in front of a monitor.
Which is even more ironic, considering that December 21 could have been our third month anniversary, but what the hell (I am starting to like that clause... yummy.).
Here goes nothing...
It's December 20, and today you are at the crossroads of your life. That time of life when you're, in a relatively Britney-ish fashion, not a girl, but not yet a woman. You grow older, but you're still not old enough. Nothing's enough for a 17 year old, and do tell... I've been there before.
I know that what happened between us wasn't supposed to happen. But it did, and unfortunately, we're not really sure whether or not it's right to hold on or let go. Sometimes the temptation to leave you there was there, but I couldn't. I may be angry, to a certain degree, but I can't bring myself to hurt anybody other than myself.
I don't come here as someone who wants to win you back, because heaven help me I want to but now is not the time to target wounds while they're still fresh. I know... for the past three weeks I've been doing exactly that, and I brought myself the kind of pain I shouldn't be enduring for anyone, especially people who hurt me.
What hurts me even more is the fact that people call you names and assume that you're a character you're not. If anyone knows you better than anyone else, aside from yourself, (well, aside from your parents), it's me. Having stood by you through thick and thin (and believe you me, this is as thick as it's going to get) I have a good idea of who you are.
You told me the night before (that was Pasiklaban), the day I gave you Alecxia, that you don't know who you are anymore, and you don't know what love is anymore, and you want to be naive from this point forward.
Let me remind you of who you are: you are the sweetest, kindest, nicest person I ever knew, the person I fell in love with. Let me remind you of what love is: love is an experience, it's not definable. And as far as being naive goes, naivete breeds hate. And when people hate, they hurt each other. And when you started to hate, I felt the pain... until I couldn't take it anymore and I just broke down. I couldn't take it anymore, but I held on.
Whatever happened is a thing of the past to me. In a Nietzschean sense, what does not kill you only makes you stronger. But then again, burning questions start to plague me from everywhere: do I deserve you? Can I look you at the eyes the same way again after what happened?
Probably, probably not. But could I still love you? That's the funny part: I can, I do, and I have. Love is unconditional. Even when the people around us told me that I was a pathetic idiot for having to remedy a situation I didn't have anything to do with, from those roses to that date, even when I was a victim, I was happy being that pathetic idiot. I loved: that's what's important. This is a test of the mettle of a person's character. And I like to think I passed. I didn't pass because of my strength, as you thought, but because I was. Just be, that's all.
The funny thing about love (as if it isn't funny in the first place) is that people hold on to the worst of reasons. Often, the worst of reasons are the best of reasons. I mean, I can only take so much, and I can only do so much, but what if I just did? Any other person would have just let you go. I didn't. I guess what they said says it all... that's love. That's all it is. No definition necessary.
My only wish for you is to be happy. Don't let these things wreck your 17th birthday. Just remember that when it seems that nobody's there there for you, I'm walking after you. I'm just behind you.
PS: Neverland never closes.