On the couch, they sat close. The TV on. Feet comfortably on the coffee table. An electric fan softly humming nearby. Each listening to the other breath. Cold water on two glasses, condensed air caught by the cold like lucent pearls, slowly forming and falling. A smile softly crossing on moist lips.
...
I listen to you, and the world outside fades. Your voice is like a rhythm, in tune with the beating of my impetuous heart. You speak and a sound rolls up like a distant familiar song echoing again and again in the deepest part of my spirit. I listen to you and I have hope.
I see you and something inside me stirs. You are beautiful. I see you and it’s as if a spark ignited in the middle of a forest, and the fire that consumes everything starts to burn. I see you and I know it’s too late.
I listen to you speak of saying yes, of love rising from the impossible, of one endless kiss. I listen to you and it’s as if there was only you and me, and all your words are gifts lovingly made for no one else but me, each carefully laid before my feet.
I see you and I start to forget. I forget that there are reasons why they say that things are too good to be true. I forget about principles, and sensibility, and consequences. I forget about hurting and being hurt. I see only you, and that smile on your lips, and you drawing those lips to mine, ever closer.
...
Jae kissed Robin. Robin kissed back. And the lines that shouldn’t be crossed were like writings on the sand caressed by the inevitable wave.
They kissed, and everything faded away.
- - - - - - - -
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Rooster blues
Simbang gabi, day 3.
Running on two hours of sleep.
Only things I can remember: Making sign-of-the-cross, last part Gospel, first part homily, kneeling, standing, kneeling, holding hands with that 17-year-old girl beside me wearing a very short skirt (or was it a 70-year-old? Was it a girl at all? Wasn't really sure.), praying to Jesus to please let me not fall asleep while driving a motorcycle (again), the priest somehow doing another homily, and waking up at home at 10 AM.
Everything else was a blur.
Thank the stars I didn't wake up on a street somewhere. Or worse, on the bed of a seventeen-slash-seventy-year-old that may or may not be female. Hah!
- - - - - - - -ii
Running on two hours of sleep.
Only things I can remember: Making sign-of-the-cross, last part Gospel, first part homily, kneeling, standing, kneeling, holding hands with that 17-year-old girl beside me wearing a very short skirt (or was it a 70-year-old? Was it a girl at all? Wasn't really sure.), praying to Jesus to please let me not fall asleep while driving a motorcycle (again), the priest somehow doing another homily, and waking up at home at 10 AM.
Everything else was a blur.
Thank the stars I didn't wake up on a street somewhere. Or worse, on the bed of a seventeen-slash-seventy-year-old that may or may not be female. Hah!
- - - - - - - -ii
Sunday, December 18, 2011
four-nine-seven
“You're mad at me, aren't you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to see his face.
He could hear the distant whispers of acacia leaves rustling above them. It was such a quiet afternoon and it almost seemed like the two of them were the only people in the world. She was sitting beside him on the bench, her arms gently resting on the table in front of her. He was slacking, as per usual, with his back against the table’s side and his elbows resting on its top. She was so close. He could faintly smell her perfume. For some reason it reminded him of silk.
“No,” he answered.
“Oh…”
She was doubtful. From the corner of his eye, he could see the he-is-hiding-something-from-me look on her face. The one with her lips pursed as if holding back a leer. She always gives that look every time he said something she didn’t expect. He smiled softly. He knows that look too well.
She knows me too well.
“Well, if you are you should tell me,” she said offhandedly. “That way we could talk about it. It’s not right when you hold grudges at someone. If people find out that you’ve been hiding what you really feel towards them, you might hurt their feelings.”
“I told you I’m not,” he said, turning to look at her, trying to sound more reassuring this time.
She probably fears she might have gotten into his nerves the other day for being too pushy. He just couldn’t convince her enough that he enjoys being with her too much to be annoyed. She couldn’t make him angry, really, unless she’d intend to do so, unless that’s what she wants all along.
She held his stare for a moment. Her eyes were intent on his, as if waiting for him to say something deeper. He didn’t say anything. He stayed quiet, watching her thoughtfully watching him. Somehow he finds it amusing seeing her trying to figure him out.
She hadn’t tied her hair today, he noticed. He could see wisps of black and brown strayed on her ear and cheek. At a sudden compulsion, he slowly raised his hand, touched the side of her face, and gently pushed the runaway strands safely to the back of her ear. The gesture seemed to stir her from musing. He grinned, almost contritely, as he laid his elbow back on the table. She turned away, her cheeks beginning to flush. A smile was slowly spreading across her face.
“How is he?” he asked after a while. A soft breeze drifted between them. It was cold against his face. He turned to watch her. She was thoughtlessly running her thumb on the table’s side, her hair lightly gliding with the breeze. She’ll always have this power over him, and he just can’t do anything about it. She draws him closer, without her even knowing, without him even knowing – like moth to a flame.
“How’s who?” she asked, absentmindedly.
“The ex,” he replied, trying not to sound too curious. She raised a thoughtful eyebrow, ever so slightly.
She looked back at him, trying to find a catch somewhere. He quickly turned to look away, trying to look indifferent.
“Bugging me as usual,” she said finally, exasperation clear in her voice.
He felt that twinge again, that stabbing feeling he gets whenever he finds her in distress. He knows he wouldn’t do anything at all. He wouldn’t do anything because he’s too damn afraid that, instead of helping her, he’ll end up hurting her.
What bothers him more though was the fact that he also feels stabbed every time he sees her together with the Ex, happy. It’s funny how this particular stabbing resembles jealousy and resentment so much.
“How is she?”
He caught the sly smile on her lips. She was teasing him, reminding him of his fickle nature. He stared at the ground grinning widely. He could see the shadows of the leaves dancing on the pavement.
At that moment, he wanted to tell her that he had forgotten about that girl, that it was her that he wanted to be with more than anyone else in the world, that he’s ready to face the consequences with her.
He wanted to love her so much.
But there were times when the heart has a mind of its own, and he could never lie to her.
“Getting prettier by the day,” he told her as he reached out and lightly ran a finger through her cheek.
She smiled sadly. He smiled back. They understood each other better when they’re not talking.
“Did you talk to her yet?”
“No.”
“Coward.”
The wind was gathering somewhere like a child behind a tree. The world around them seemed to slow down and watch, but no one was there but them.
“How do you know you’re falling in love with someone?” he asked her, uncertain.
“Are you sure it’s love you are feeling?” she asked back.
He couldn’t answer.
Another breeze picked up. She gently pulled back her hair and closed her eyes. The soft wind nuzzled her neck and whispered sweet nothings to her ear. Her soft cheeks flushed. Her smile was as delightful as summer. Sometimes, she could be so beautiful.
“I love you,” he said without thinking.
He stared at the ground again. He felt partly mortified and partly amazed at how it nearly felt like the right thing to say. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She was staring at him intently, thoughtfully. He heard the leaves rustle again. He waited for an answer. He waited, wanting to know if she feels the same. If she would only tell him, he would have courage enough to fight all doubt, all fear. He needed to know he was not alone.
She kept silent and he turned to look away.
“You’re not sure of that,” she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice.
Without her, he could never be.
“Do you want me to love you?” he asked, not really sure why. It was a stupid question.
“Isn’t that kind of love conditional, loving someone only if you knew she’d love you back?”
He had no answer again. She was right and he could only go too far.
“We should be going,” she said, softly touching his arm. She stood up and waited for him.
He watched her as she left his side to stand up. All the wind was gone. There was only that hollow emptiness that hanged in the air like a tombstone.
“OK,” he said and stood up.
-Fin-
- - - - - - - -
He could hear the distant whispers of acacia leaves rustling above them. It was such a quiet afternoon and it almost seemed like the two of them were the only people in the world. She was sitting beside him on the bench, her arms gently resting on the table in front of her. He was slacking, as per usual, with his back against the table’s side and his elbows resting on its top. She was so close. He could faintly smell her perfume. For some reason it reminded him of silk.
“No,” he answered.
“Oh…”
She was doubtful. From the corner of his eye, he could see the he-is-hiding-something-from-me look on her face. The one with her lips pursed as if holding back a leer. She always gives that look every time he said something she didn’t expect. He smiled softly. He knows that look too well.
She knows me too well.
“Well, if you are you should tell me,” she said offhandedly. “That way we could talk about it. It’s not right when you hold grudges at someone. If people find out that you’ve been hiding what you really feel towards them, you might hurt their feelings.”
“I told you I’m not,” he said, turning to look at her, trying to sound more reassuring this time.
She probably fears she might have gotten into his nerves the other day for being too pushy. He just couldn’t convince her enough that he enjoys being with her too much to be annoyed. She couldn’t make him angry, really, unless she’d intend to do so, unless that’s what she wants all along.
She held his stare for a moment. Her eyes were intent on his, as if waiting for him to say something deeper. He didn’t say anything. He stayed quiet, watching her thoughtfully watching him. Somehow he finds it amusing seeing her trying to figure him out.
She hadn’t tied her hair today, he noticed. He could see wisps of black and brown strayed on her ear and cheek. At a sudden compulsion, he slowly raised his hand, touched the side of her face, and gently pushed the runaway strands safely to the back of her ear. The gesture seemed to stir her from musing. He grinned, almost contritely, as he laid his elbow back on the table. She turned away, her cheeks beginning to flush. A smile was slowly spreading across her face.
“How is he?” he asked after a while. A soft breeze drifted between them. It was cold against his face. He turned to watch her. She was thoughtlessly running her thumb on the table’s side, her hair lightly gliding with the breeze. She’ll always have this power over him, and he just can’t do anything about it. She draws him closer, without her even knowing, without him even knowing – like moth to a flame.
“How’s who?” she asked, absentmindedly.
“The ex,” he replied, trying not to sound too curious. She raised a thoughtful eyebrow, ever so slightly.
She looked back at him, trying to find a catch somewhere. He quickly turned to look away, trying to look indifferent.
“Bugging me as usual,” she said finally, exasperation clear in her voice.
He felt that twinge again, that stabbing feeling he gets whenever he finds her in distress. He knows he wouldn’t do anything at all. He wouldn’t do anything because he’s too damn afraid that, instead of helping her, he’ll end up hurting her.
What bothers him more though was the fact that he also feels stabbed every time he sees her together with the Ex, happy. It’s funny how this particular stabbing resembles jealousy and resentment so much.
“How is she?”
He caught the sly smile on her lips. She was teasing him, reminding him of his fickle nature. He stared at the ground grinning widely. He could see the shadows of the leaves dancing on the pavement.
At that moment, he wanted to tell her that he had forgotten about that girl, that it was her that he wanted to be with more than anyone else in the world, that he’s ready to face the consequences with her.
He wanted to love her so much.
But there were times when the heart has a mind of its own, and he could never lie to her.
“Getting prettier by the day,” he told her as he reached out and lightly ran a finger through her cheek.
She smiled sadly. He smiled back. They understood each other better when they’re not talking.
“Did you talk to her yet?”
“No.”
“Coward.”
The wind was gathering somewhere like a child behind a tree. The world around them seemed to slow down and watch, but no one was there but them.
“How do you know you’re falling in love with someone?” he asked her, uncertain.
“Are you sure it’s love you are feeling?” she asked back.
He couldn’t answer.
Another breeze picked up. She gently pulled back her hair and closed her eyes. The soft wind nuzzled her neck and whispered sweet nothings to her ear. Her soft cheeks flushed. Her smile was as delightful as summer. Sometimes, she could be so beautiful.
“I love you,” he said without thinking.
He stared at the ground again. He felt partly mortified and partly amazed at how it nearly felt like the right thing to say. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She was staring at him intently, thoughtfully. He heard the leaves rustle again. He waited for an answer. He waited, wanting to know if she feels the same. If she would only tell him, he would have courage enough to fight all doubt, all fear. He needed to know he was not alone.
She kept silent and he turned to look away.
“You’re not sure of that,” she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice.
Without her, he could never be.
“Do you want me to love you?” he asked, not really sure why. It was a stupid question.
“Isn’t that kind of love conditional, loving someone only if you knew she’d love you back?”
He had no answer again. She was right and he could only go too far.
“We should be going,” she said, softly touching his arm. She stood up and waited for him.
He watched her as she left his side to stand up. All the wind was gone. There was only that hollow emptiness that hanged in the air like a tombstone.
“OK,” he said and stood up.
-Fin-
- - - - - - - -
14th of August, 2005
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Can't sleep
Can’t sleep. Keeping awake the night before was probably a bad idea; and sleeping off most of the day didn’t help either. I like sleep. You’re not thinking when you’re asleep. But I can’t sleep.
Slept all day. Another day wasted. Nothing accomplished whatsoever.
What is that anyway? Accomplished? I ate lunched, brushed my teeth; watched some downloads. That’s still doing something, sort of.
No, not really. The judge of accomplishments is right here, at this time; that me in this brief moment just before sleeping, remembering the day that has ended. Is he satisfied? Did he feel he did something worthwhile today? Is he contented with just eating and brushing his teeth, and waiting for movies to downloads, filling voids with computer games all day?
No, he’s not. That’s why he can’t sleep.
Doing something that stays. Creating something that’s real, something that’ll grow, develop; that’s useful and profits. Something that changes you, makes things better; that matters. Something I can call my own, and be proud of. Something that, when the lights are out and I remember the day, will have me smiling without me knowing it, just before I finally close my eyes.
Now, that’s an accomplishment. Yeah. That will make you sleep.
- - - - - - - -
Slept all day. Another day wasted. Nothing accomplished whatsoever.
What is that anyway? Accomplished? I ate lunched, brushed my teeth; watched some downloads. That’s still doing something, sort of.
No, not really. The judge of accomplishments is right here, at this time; that me in this brief moment just before sleeping, remembering the day that has ended. Is he satisfied? Did he feel he did something worthwhile today? Is he contented with just eating and brushing his teeth, and waiting for movies to downloads, filling voids with computer games all day?
No, he’s not. That’s why he can’t sleep.
Doing something that stays. Creating something that’s real, something that’ll grow, develop; that’s useful and profits. Something that changes you, makes things better; that matters. Something I can call my own, and be proud of. Something that, when the lights are out and I remember the day, will have me smiling without me knowing it, just before I finally close my eyes.
Now, that’s an accomplishment. Yeah. That will make you sleep.
- - - - - - - -
Letter #1
My dearest Sophie,
I know, I know, I’m late—as per usual. Sorry, Chief.
Writing this letter, I can almost swear you’re right here behind me with your cute little face giving me that "I knew it." look; like when I used to play hide-and-seek with you back home, and you always catch me behind that old Spanish lamp post you were just counting from, remember? You always had that look – wrinkly nose, with dimples and all.
And I’m pretty sure you’re giving me one now.
Sorry, Sophie. You know how I am with doing things for myself. It takes time. Didn’t had enough practice, you know. Stick with me though; you know I’ll find my way through, for you — and, oh, for me too, of course. Man, this pick-me-up thing is tricky. But, seriously, I will really try my bestest, Chief, I promise.
Hey, the last communiqué was a blast! It just makes my heart all warm and fuzzy listening how you’re, how-you-say, “luvin’ it” there beyond the high grounds. And, that new house, wow, sounds like a dream. I’m proud of you, Sweetheart. I had, have, and will always have, complete faith that you’ll be just fine out there. S’yempre may pinagmanahan ‘yan. Oh, and don’t worry on exaggerating how great the house is; for me, just seeing you there (wrinkly nose, with dimples and all, hah!) will make it absolutely perfect. (Never mind all that “sleepy paint.") Just keep up at it, Fearless Leader!
Yes! We will be there! I can hardly wait too. Just let me OK things here, Chief. I know the calendars are all unclear yet, but it is getting there. Although I have to admit things are all quite bigger than they seemed, but, I’m on it every day. Just keep praying, Sophie. You know there’s always a plan and it’ll always work out; and I’ll sure be sticking it out ‘till it does. Hey, I’ll be seeing you before you know it, you’ll see.
Chief, can I tell you something? I’m having a bit of difficulty with her lately. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. All these stress, bound to hit somewhere. This may be just nothing though. But, right now, I have this feeling I’m getting myself in bad crossroads lately.
Wait. Before I start bleeding all over you, I’m laying this now: I love her like crazy. You know how I do, and that isn’t changing. No matter how crazy things get out there, definitely, this stubborn tin heart, it’ll love her, always; like crazy. Got it?
Promise me you won’t go all worrying, Sophie.
I just need to let out steam. Should be telling her, I know, just not yet though. You know how it is. I’m that one wall that keeps the monsters out— can’t appear to be breaking. I can’t also keep these things to myself. That’ll make me really break. So, if I need to, I’ll be telling you.
Just keep an ear out for me on this one, ‘k?
Thanks for the pick-me-up, Chief. That last one was probably more than the small fry cheering-up you expected to do when you said, and I quote, I hereby dubbed meself little miss personal cheerleader-slash-bartender! Unquote. But, tell you what, you were right, just writing already makes me feel better.
Take care, Sweetheart. Remember to be always better than your father. God bless.
Write to you soon.
Love,
Dad
- - - - - - - -
I know, I know, I’m late—as per usual. Sorry, Chief.
Writing this letter, I can almost swear you’re right here behind me with your cute little face giving me that "I knew it." look; like when I used to play hide-and-seek with you back home, and you always catch me behind that old Spanish lamp post you were just counting from, remember? You always had that look – wrinkly nose, with dimples and all.
And I’m pretty sure you’re giving me one now.
Sorry, Sophie. You know how I am with doing things for myself. It takes time. Didn’t had enough practice, you know. Stick with me though; you know I’ll find my way through, for you — and, oh, for me too, of course. Man, this pick-me-up thing is tricky. But, seriously, I will really try my bestest, Chief, I promise.
Hey, the last communiqué was a blast! It just makes my heart all warm and fuzzy listening how you’re, how-you-say, “luvin’ it” there beyond the high grounds. And, that new house, wow, sounds like a dream. I’m proud of you, Sweetheart. I had, have, and will always have, complete faith that you’ll be just fine out there. S’yempre may pinagmanahan ‘yan. Oh, and don’t worry on exaggerating how great the house is; for me, just seeing you there (wrinkly nose, with dimples and all, hah!) will make it absolutely perfect. (Never mind all that “sleepy paint.") Just keep up at it, Fearless Leader!
Yes! We will be there! I can hardly wait too. Just let me OK things here, Chief. I know the calendars are all unclear yet, but it is getting there. Although I have to admit things are all quite bigger than they seemed, but, I’m on it every day. Just keep praying, Sophie. You know there’s always a plan and it’ll always work out; and I’ll sure be sticking it out ‘till it does. Hey, I’ll be seeing you before you know it, you’ll see.
Chief, can I tell you something? I’m having a bit of difficulty with her lately. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. All these stress, bound to hit somewhere. This may be just nothing though. But, right now, I have this feeling I’m getting myself in bad crossroads lately.
Wait. Before I start bleeding all over you, I’m laying this now: I love her like crazy. You know how I do, and that isn’t changing. No matter how crazy things get out there, definitely, this stubborn tin heart, it’ll love her, always; like crazy. Got it?
Promise me you won’t go all worrying, Sophie.
I just need to let out steam. Should be telling her, I know, just not yet though. You know how it is. I’m that one wall that keeps the monsters out— can’t appear to be breaking. I can’t also keep these things to myself. That’ll make me really break. So, if I need to, I’ll be telling you.
Just keep an ear out for me on this one, ‘k?
Thanks for the pick-me-up, Chief. That last one was probably more than the small fry cheering-up you expected to do when you said, and I quote, I hereby dubbed meself little miss personal cheerleader-slash-bartender! Unquote. But, tell you what, you were right, just writing already makes me feel better.
Take care, Sweetheart. Remember to be always better than your father. God bless.
Write to you soon.
Love,
Dad
- - - - - - - -
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Baptism
Life is a struggle. Every push against the ground, every hard step forward, every grapple embraced, is victory. And I will, conquer you.
Happy 27th.
- - - - - - - -
Happy 27th.
- - - - - - - -
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Pencil
By noon, I felt a bit overwhelmed.
Isn’t this too much for me? Am I really ready for this? Can I make this work?
I walked at the university not really sure where to go. It felt like I wasn’t really all there. I smiled, talked and said hi, but everything felt distant; like I was on autopilot or something.
One thing I’m certain though: It’s time for lunch, and I’m getting hungry.
Then somehow I found myself walking pass the chapel, looking at the mass about to start inside. I felt this sudden longing to go inside and attend. But then I thought it would probably take too long and I’m simply in no mood to attend. Still, I felt deep inside, I need this.
But shouldn't I be going to lunch? Do I still have the time for this? Should I really do this now? I really should go eat and get to work.
I went inside the chapel anyway.
Thirty minutes later, as I walked out of the church starved and about to be late, I was happy. Somehow, I stopped feeling all fraught and anxious about the future ahead for me. I felt calm, and ready.
For somehow I knew, everything will be just fine.
Destiny is that something you never really thought of doing, but you’ll end up doing anyway. Then, at the end of the day, when you find yourself changing the world around you, you realize it was not really for you to do, but for the Great Master to do, through you.
- - - - - - - -ii
“I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.” -- Mother Teresa
Isn’t this too much for me? Am I really ready for this? Can I make this work?
I walked at the university not really sure where to go. It felt like I wasn’t really all there. I smiled, talked and said hi, but everything felt distant; like I was on autopilot or something.
One thing I’m certain though: It’s time for lunch, and I’m getting hungry.
Then somehow I found myself walking pass the chapel, looking at the mass about to start inside. I felt this sudden longing to go inside and attend. But then I thought it would probably take too long and I’m simply in no mood to attend. Still, I felt deep inside, I need this.
But shouldn't I be going to lunch? Do I still have the time for this? Should I really do this now? I really should go eat and get to work.
I went inside the chapel anyway.
Thirty minutes later, as I walked out of the church starved and about to be late, I was happy. Somehow, I stopped feeling all fraught and anxious about the future ahead for me. I felt calm, and ready.
For somehow I knew, everything will be just fine.
Destiny is that something you never really thought of doing, but you’ll end up doing anyway. Then, at the end of the day, when you find yourself changing the world around you, you realize it was not really for you to do, but for the Great Master to do, through you.
- - - - - - - -ii
“I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.” -- Mother Teresa
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