Attended mass at the Edsa Shrine this early morning. I really have turned into a morning person.

Inside the church, I have replayed my history with my faith. It's quite a wrestle after coming head to head with other brilliant minds and charismatic zealots in a pandemonium battle as who's right and who's wrong. There's even a fight as to who's MORE right.

But in the end, I ended up more confused about my own spirituality. Who do I listen to? You? Maybe. Myself? Now that's even more dangerous. Why? Because a gun bullet that thinks only of itself more often than not, cannot hit its mark. Have faith in the gun, so they say. A bullet cannot aim itself because the only thing it can see is the air in front of it, and not its target.

And so here is where I find it common among the prominent religions -- pride has never helped me or anyone. Nor has it in the entire history of man. It is the act of selflessness that frees man from his attachment to the world. All mortal desires will, one way or the other eat you up and leave nothing for your spirit. Spirituality is not really based on the religion you're in. It's what sustains you from the inside when everything else falls apart.

Why would God hear my prayers when in the first place, I don't even listen to Him?

I guess this was the line that started my self-imposed exile those years ago. Why would my prayers be even worthy to be heard if I myself were just giving in to my whims and capricious nature? Faith is an all or nothing affair. Black and white. It is silly to put in your own compromises. So yeah, back then, I chose nothing. And I chose black. Then after a few more years, I am gradually turning in to the opposite side. I have learned so much.

So far the only thing I'm doing about it all is to be humble and listen to everyone and myself and not just one without the other. Listening always but not getting swayed blindly. My exile is not yet over. But at least, I am holding my soul by its hand.


Still in church, I've presented myself and all my troubles. Compared to others, it may be small and insignificant.

But I am still in pain.

Zee messaged me yesterday that I could talk to her if needed be. I wished she was there the day before. I only got two hours sleep in the ten hours I was lying in bed. I needed to get it off my mind and stop the involuntary melodrama. I was thinking of getting a drink or two with some friends but ... buko juice was on my mind. I was supposed to get wasted not ... become healthy =_=

Anyway, I so love that spunky lass. She should quit smoking though.

I've once told someone that I have a different way of praying than most. I never asked God to take away my pain. Instead, I thanked Him. Because it reminds me that I am alive still and I have something I can fight.

But you know, fighters can get weary. Their sword arms will taste fatigue, and you just want to rest those tired bones.

And sometimes, I forget to think that way. In all the limited capabilities of my brain, yeah I do become too weak to think. But that's not to be condemnable. How can we know how to be strong when we have not known weakness?


Yeah. Still in pain.

But not complaining. I have a heart like Frankenstein. A masterpiece of scars and stitches.