Words are potent weapons

What is said is said. When a word comes out of one’s mouth, I CONSIDER IT DONE.

I never say anything half-meant. If it is, then I’d rather not say it. My emotions at a certain moment do not necessarily have anything to do with what I say. Which means, you can never hear me tell you, “I only said that out of anger, but forget it, it wasn’t true after all.” NO. Whatever comes out of my mouth, IT’S FINAL.

I may choose to hold it, yes. I may have chosen not to let you hear it because I did not want to hurt you. I may have waited for an agitating moment or a bad fight to finally say it, but I WOULD NEVER TELL YOU THAT if it weren’t TRUE or MEANT FOR YOU.

I’ve been gullible since birth, and this has always been an issue in my interactions with people — whether family, lovers, friends, or colleagues. Whatever these people would say, whether in anger or in joy, I’d believe it 100% because I myself never let out anything that is not valid. So in turn, I treat every word I hear VALID.

I’d hear the usual rebuttals, and the worst that I’ve ever heard was “You hurt me, so I hurt you back.”

This came from my ex-lover when I had a chance to discuss with him point by point everything he blurted out on me during one big fight. I told him that, as for me, I STAND FIRM ON WHATEVER I SAID DURING THAT FIGHT. After all, they were just questions that needed clear answers. They were not insults. However, when asked where all he said came from, he only answered that “EVERYTHING WAS SAID OUT OF ANGER AND WERE NOT NECESSARILY TRUE”; he did not anymore think before opening his mouth because he needed to GET EVEN at that very moment. I ended up questioning this because everything I heard was so detailed and was enough to make me realize what concept he had of me from the very start.

Add to my ex, I’ve been hearing the same “I only said it out of anger” argument from my father all the time. And I hear this from so many other people, especially those who get so obvious when saying just anything to hurt you back, even to the level of nonsense.

Why say false things in order to hurt a person or just to get even? I may have let out SO MANY PAINFUL THINGS during a fight, but I’m 100% sure THESE WERE ALL TRUE and were just waiting for the right time to be said. And believe me, no matter how situations or relationships would get better, I would never take anything back. That works the same way with telling me something false that happened to hurt. No matter how one takes it back, THE DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE.

“Jokes with a yoke” fall in the list, too, because I believe nothing would ever come out of one’s mouth without any basis – without prior thought, prior idea, or prior knowledge. So the popular answer, “no, that was nothing, forget it…,” is never welcome to me. It tics me off to the highest level. You said it, so (1) you complete it; (2) you tell me why; or (3) tell me what made you say that, tell me where that came from. No matter how it hurts, I need to hear it in full. I’d rather have it hurting me than have it left unsaid. Whatever it is, if it has concrete basis, if it is true, I’ll accept it.

Words are not born out of nowhere. Words are weapons, POTENT WEAPONS, and speech is power. It’s good to think a hundred times before saying anything.

Remember, it is always a shame to take it back.

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The joy of independence

This year marks my 10th year as a totally independent guy. Quite late, I know. I only got out of my comfort zone, which was my parents’ home back in the province, at age 26. This I did after a long day-to-day contemplation regarding the struggles I had in such a conventional, narrow-minded community and, worse, in an old-school home environment run by no less than my father.

I finished school at the age of 19 and started working plainly a month after graduation. Unfortunate as it was, my first employment was in that state university where my parents were key people. So instead of employment liberating me, it even required me to readjust to an environment where I had to see my Dad’s face everyday (I used to be half-independent during college; I was away from home).

The 6 years of stay in my parents’ home, I can say, was really more of pain than glory. I was with a father who thought he could control everything, even my thinking, and with a mother who was luckily in my line of thinking and in the same boat with me but, unfortunately, could not do anything, and who just gave her support (emotional, financial, etc) to me UNDER THE TABLE (literally).

But the fighter that I was, I still managed to survive in that house. Within those years, I let my Dad realize that having me at home as a “grown-up working professional” and having me before “as a kid” were two entirely different things. There was constant action and drama, PLUS ENDLESS ACCUSATIONS OF DISRESPECT, but I didn’t damn care, and at the time I left, I could say I had taught him half the lesson.

Still I left, because I got fed up trying to plant in an old-school mind even just the smallest seeds of RESPECT – for one’s existence, for one’s space, and worse, for letting live. Worst reason — the house all of us were staying in was actually company property; anybody who worked there was entitled to rent it. Simply put, the three of us had EQUAL RIGHTS to live in that house because we were all employed there. So what made my dad think it was HIS home? And what made him behave as if he was “KING” and my mom and I were his “SUBJECTS,” when all three of us were equally contributing to the household expenses and, left alone by himself, he could not even afford to sustain us? Just what gave him that stupid sense of ENTITLEMENT?

The ultimate solution: LEAVE! And so I did.

Going back, honestly, this thing about old-school mentality is very difficult to explain. Although it may be known to anybody, I am not also sure if everybody hates it. Oh well, I’m quite sure I hate it, and I curse it on top of my lungs. Yes, I am willing to shout out all curses I know when this topic comes up, as I really DESPISE such way of thinking.

In as much as I hated my dad for it, the same was also true with my aunt in the USA who considers me no less than her own child (that’s according to her). She is somebody who thinks even WORSE, and this is because of her fanaticism of that rotten catholic religion. She would impose a regimented life on anybody who stays in her house — fixed time for six meals a day, definite days and time for those stupid mass services, and worst of all, going to CONFESSION – WTF, DO NOT IMPOSE THAT ON ME OR HELL WILL BREAK LOOSE, idiot!. Call me names — evil, disrespectful, impolite, liberated, whore, bitch — the hell I care.

Where do these people get the nerve TO CONTROL MY LIFE WHENEVER I AM IN THEIR HOMES? Don’t they realize that it only pisses me off all the more and everything IS TO THEIR DISADVANTAGE? Is it really too difficult to realize (moreso, RESPECT) that this certain person is OLD ENOUGH, is LEADING A GOOD LIFE, has PROVEN HIS WORTH, and has FULL CAPACITY TO BE SUSTAINING HIMSELF? After all, I never lacked in concern for these people and in extending necessary help, need be! Why treat a grown-up professional, who has his own thinking, as a STUPID OR DUMB KID? Do THESE PEOPLE really ITCH TO EXERCISE FALSE AUTHORITY, and virtually DIE if they cannot? Is it really very difficult to differentiate between when you can be in control and when you should respect that this person HAS A LIFE?

Difficult as it is to burn ass everyday to sustain your daily needs and your “decent” lifestyle, the joy comes with seeing yourself NOT DEPENDING ON ANYBODY. Now that was why I chose to be independent and to live in the metropolis. The fulfillment is there; it is living my life without nobody watching — if i feel like going out, staying home, eating only twice a day, not having dinner, not having breakfast, eating six times a day, working graveyard shift today, working day shift tomorrow, going home in the morning today, going home in the evening the next day, not sleeping today, sleeping off my whole free day, sleeping at daytime, sleeping in someone else’s house, drinking at a friend’s house, fucking my guy in my house, or fucking anyone anywhere, I CAN DO IT.

After all (thanks to Mom), I am educated (and oh, thanks to that 6-year work experience back home, no matter how full of shit) and experienced enough to EARN MY OWN BREAD and to LIVE MY OWN LIFE. So why fuck’n subject myself to some OLD-SCHOOL WAY OF LIFE and to some FALSE AUTHORITY?

I HATE AUTHORITY. Especially FALSE AUTHORITY. I don’t need it, and I’m too SMART for it. The approach NEVER WORKS FOR ME, ANYTIME, ANYWHERE. I can be completely independent and a nonconformist to EVERYTHING — religion, familism, politics, value systems, cultures, etc. Hence, I will do what i want to do, according to what I BELIEVE is right (i mean, it may not be right for those conventional, old-school, dumb and stupid fanatics and/or idiots, but who fuck’n cares?). I’m old enough to know what is right, and I believe I’m learned, exposed, and SMART enough to practice it and to manage my life to my comfort and taste. Lest I forget, I’m GAY and proud of it, so I always say, IF OLD-SCHOOL THINKING SPELLS MASCULINITY, then by all means, LET ME BE GAY!

I DON’T NEED ANYBODY TO FINANCE ME TO LIVE and, thus, be held in the neck and pulled by the tail. I can do it myself. I can pay for my own home, food, and luxury. Should I get in DEEP SHIT, these people DO NOT NEED TO KNOW. I can get out of that SHIT myself. I CAN LIVE. My life can be simple, but happy and FREE.

So JUST LEAVE ME ALONE WITH MY BIG FAT ASS AND LET ME GET A LIFE!!!

I WILL NOT ALLOW ANYBODY NOR ANYTHING TO TAKE MY INDEPENDENCE AWAY FROM ME. I’LL WORK FOR IT, FIGHT FOR IT, and KILL FOR IT!

FUCK ’em ALL. FUCK THE BIBLE, FUCK OLD SCHOOL!

HAIL SATAN!!!

Gay, Satanist, and PROUD

Just 5 years ago, I got so stressed out as my parents, after 31 years of marriage, made the decision to (finally) part ways. This was not easy in the eyes of a 31-year-old only child, but I let it be as I’d be too old to be taking sides. I maintained a neutral stand on the matter but promised my Mom that I’d support whatever decision she would make TO THE LAST LETTER.

Moving back, Friday before this incident happened, I had my usual Skype chat with my niece, who happens to be my only 101% confidant. I don’t know what grimness wrapped us both that day and I cannot anymore remember why, of all topics, we discussed my father’s physical abuse on me when I was a kid.

I was teary-eyed while chatting, as I related to my niece my most unforgettable beat-up day:

It was a rainy afternoon. Snacks were ready — hotdogs, bread, and butter. That was summer after finishing 3rd grade (I was 9). That afternoon, no water was running from the faucet so we were skimping on what was left for handwash purposes. That too, ran out. So I had to go out and fetch water from the rain so we would have something to clean up with after snack time. I went out through the dirty back door, which had a screen door with a spring, which would close by itself.

After filling half the pail with water from the rain, I requested my Mom to open the door for me as I did not anymore want my hands to be soiled (the door was dirty and food was waiting). My Mom stood up to willingly open the door.

To my surprise, Dad stopped her. He told her I should open the door. Mom insisted on walking to the door but Dad grabbed her. Then he blabbered that the door was not dirty enough and that I should not be TOO sanitary and I should “act like a MAN”.

For almost 10 minutes, I stood by the door and begged them to open it, but in vain. Dad said I won’t eat if I don’t open the door and get inside. In the end, I GOT PISSED (who wouldn’t?). I opened the door, angrily returned the pail where it was and told them my hands had been soiled, there was very little water, and I had lost my appetite.

Before I could even blink, Dad stood up and punched me on the head twice. Something that darkened out my senses. I started to cry and Mom started to nag him. As I was crying, he went to the room, grabbed his belt and started beating me up all he could. I kept on wailing, asking him why and insisting I should not be beaten up just for that. The beat-up lasted for 2 hours. The finale — Dad lifted me, threw me to the bed. Mom tried to defend me but she was taken aback when Dad threatened to punch her. When I landed on the bed, Dad slapped my face, full force, left and right, no end, until I could hardly breathe. He stopped when finally, HE HIT MY EYE.

Mom was CRYING as she was helpless. She prepared hot water and face towel for the compress. My right eye was blue, and I was bleeding. Even if I was profusely bleeding, DAD DID NOT LET ME EAT SUPPER THAT NIGHT.

All for being a kid who was bound to be GAY. All for reasoning out. All for a questioning mind. All for STANDING UP AND FIGHTING FOR WHAT I KNEW WAS RIGHT.

Five years ago, Mom finally had COURAGE to leave my Dad, and she is happily with me to this day.

Five years ago, Dad FINALLY GOT HIS DOSE.

Today, I’m 36. I’ve come out. I’ve succeeded and become independent. I’ve established myself –  my home, my dwelling, my career, my life.

Today, though still alive, Dad is reduced to a bad memory.

Today, all remains to be a bitter trace of the past.

Today, I’m finally a BUTTERFLY – Colorful and FREE.

Today, I’m a SATANIST – enlightened, awakened, and STRONG. Nobody can HURT ME anymore unlike before.

Today, I’m GAY, and I’M PROUD OF IT! 🙂

HAIL SATAN!