I saw her blooming, broken, and dead. I can’t not write about her.
I’ll walk on in peace, because I gave my all. Please do the same.
You said you won’t abandon me like they did, and you’d just pinch my ears instead. But now is the time to let every ounce of hope go, so we can be happy in our own universe. Because the planet you’ve gone to, there is no ride home.
You’re not coming back.
I drown every waking moment into slumber. But in slumber, you’re all I see. I wake up only to the most striking pain in the chest. Do you also think of me?
I get up and tell myself, you’re never coming back.
At my lowest, I wish I can just hold your hand. Wherever I walk, I see you walking with me, towards me, around me. I hear the music of your keys bouncing with every step. Your face gets clearer as you come near.
Your eyes of infinite depth and future; high-bridged nose and dry lips as I last saw them; your hair of exquisite mess; The shirt fitted well on your chest; low-rise jeans and the hole on your pocket, and the bottom one-and-a-half inch fold.
No matter how I conjure your image,
You’re still never coming back.
I remember every single thing that made us amazing.
I remember every single promise that we made.
I will always remember the battle we’ve never won.
Why did you leave without a word?
I know now that you are never ever coming back.
A couple of days ago, I had a familiar visitor (again) at the boarding house, and it was starting to manifest as fever and UTI attack. The smarter person in me texted my dad to cook some nice food, sinigang na hipon (how do you translate that? Maybe shrimp soup lol). His reply was “ok,” as usual.
Right when I got home, the fever was gone, together with all the bad feelings. The next day, he dyed my hair (because my mom and sisters can’t), offered to teach me how to drive (this time, a car and not a motorbike; oh and I suddenly remember that he also taught me how to ride a bike), and then got into a muddy fight with this huge crab that he had been feeding the past weeks.
Do you remember my post, “There’s a place for healing?” Yes, I confirm that there is such a place. If we can just treat our psychological challenges as simple as physical illnesses or allergies, survival and happiness may be closer at hand. Just like there are kinds of weather and substances that trigger allergies, or food that heightens cardiovascular diseases, there are also music and sky colors that make you crawl on the bed and hurt yourself a little bit. And just like there are foods that could prevent cancer, there are also dogs and sounds of birds and the wind that relax your soul.
What essentially makes you stronger is the knowledge of your weaknesses and limitations. Always remember the components of your healing process.
Prinzel said as I left, “There’s no perfect place.” But sure there is a place where you can be with the people who lift you up in mornings you are knocked down. There is a place where you must teach yourself to hold the tears because sometimes they just want to fall in the middle of breakfast. There is a place where there are rabbit holes to hide yourself in when tears are too heavy to hold.
This is the place. Where I commute and don’t cover my nose. Where the people are not always in a rush and don’t shout out “hurry up!” Where the sky is a palette. Where I can bike downtown to the market with papa, or to my relatives with mama. Where I can murmur the words “Why, help me, I can’t go on any farther, I messed up, help me… God,” and the answers are in the waters, the sky it reflects and the wind, and all that separates this moment from the dreadful past I have run away from, and the future I have not the slightest idea of.
And what have made this transition kinder are the little things that I have found – the dance machine in the mall where I and Prinzel would meet after work, a waxing salon, a nearby day spa, and a party beach!
Here I am rebuilding my life, and hoping to remember these moments and the lessons that the Universe has been repeating, which I am slow to learn. I guess in this long life, there are just lessons that cannot be mastered in one take, so we need to repeat them. I know that no matter how I rebuild myself and emerge feeling that I’ve mastered the art of life once again, I know, for sure, one day I will break down again. But I will look back to these dreadful months and know with confidence that I will get by.
To those broken, go find a place to heal.
We hallowed the Earth that day when you came sending my heart to a race. You came as a surprise, that being a surprise, I demanded. Still I was surprised, and was happy that there were surprises.
I met you for dinner, straight from the Earth Dance, and found you by the foot of the staircase, holding the four bags that contain all that belong to you. Like we had always imagined, I would go running, jumping onto you when we would finally meet. I did, but a little more cautiously. That feeling of seeing you again for the first time, like it still does sometimes, brought my knees to slow-motion. My friend said it was a good thing, to see the person you love as if seeing him for the first time. Foreign.
But in all foreign-ness, this thing of growing more foreign each day, hit us. It hit us quite too young, too early – it hits most old married couple right? Well most things about us came too early — like the courtship, sleeping together, thoughts of kids and forever, investments, minimizing nights out and alcohol intake to save, call conferences with the family; then feeling trapped and bored, rather too early still; and then the frustrations about the distance, we used to countdown the days, remember?; then too much alcohol, too many tears, too little time.. to console. Consolation, maybe that’s all that I wanted this whole time, and your recognition that all the tears are not completely baseless after all. Because to think that they’re baseless is a poison, a dead-end to understanding, and keeps us farther from meeting halfway.
The narrative of all the days and long weeks that led to this prison cell of mine (what does Rhea call it? Borderline personality disorder) was not meant to hold you to blame. I meant no “Sorry, I love you” will do the trick. I don’t need the old days back, I just need some strength to start again, and that’s where I can use some of your help. Because I don’t want to do it by myself, or through the help of friends, because when I free myself, without you, I will have to free myself not only from the prison cell, but also from you. And I don’t want to be free from you.
When I ask, “Beer or McDo?”
She would answer, “Depends on what you need: Beer or McDo?”
In Centrale, we get booze and entertainment. At Beer Belly, we take on brokenness.
In McDo, we assemble for trips or get ice cream and fries.
The mountains and rivers and wilderness, we cross.
To have someone to slide down the “mud” with, though it might not be all too conventional,
To break some sweat with, in public, where embarrassments are thrown behind,
To discover and appreciate the unknown with…
Is a great gift.
She’s not my bestfriend, there’s a lot of pressure in that.
Three years ago, I met a boy who was then my “one great love.” He taught me about focusing on self-improvement, progress, and believing that I was precious, ergo I deserve only the best.
As I was passing time, I read thru my old secret files. I’m glad I wrote down every memory I could. I knew that my internal memory would eventually fail me.
To crystalized moments! And knowing where to find the things we must go back to especially in times we forget who we are.
My boyfriend is busy and last night we talked about wives of military men failing to understand the nature of their work. I’m careful not to be the clingy, dependent demanding girlfriend. But on this day when the rain hasn’t stopped for more than a week now and work has been suspended because streets are flooded, I feel especially lonely.
I’ve been sitting for hours on the makeshift bed on the floor, saving my single-served breakfast to last for dinner, and thinking if I could pull off a quick exercise. Just glad that I have hot water, tea and crackers. When I ran out of drinking water, the delivery man came instantly, soaked in the rain.
Early this morning, Winnie Cordero had some tips on TV on what to bring in times like this to avoid trauma – a magazine… to keep one busy and free from appreciating the gravity of the situation. Why do we run away from the “void” and train ourselves to be shallow. I’d still prefer the sound of the rain over MTV.
There was a boy who met a girl…
… so that’s how Den wanted me to start telling this story, if indeed this is already a story.
We met on the 16th of May after a peacebuilding mission on a mountain (to gloss things up a bit), while looking at this view, posted immediately on Facebook with the following caption:
A stranger… That stranger came to Manila 15 days after having dinner and 4 bottles of beer with me. A stranger who claimed to have fallen in love. Who in her right mind would buy that?
He had a plan, and a number of backup plans. He said he was sure, I believed despite my doubts, but my doubts were apparently right (men!).
Four bottles of beer and he wanted to marry me. We met again a few days later, him in his mask of certainty. At the back of his mind, “10 days might just be too much.”
Then 10 days stretched into what seemed like forever. Both anticipating the worst, the best was yet to come.
Yes we started off quite foolishly, but maybe gratitude brews foolishness into grace. Maybe he was sure after all. While I thank the mask of certainty.
I found a scratch paper inserted in my notebook, think I wrote it while leaving on a plane. Kash told me I haven’t updated the blog for a while, that’s because the Chickenshit Lover that I was is no longer. Thanks Dennis, please don’t find this poem sick, I like it for its literary value, if any at all.
This is not a 10-things-I-hate-about-you sort of thing
But I’ll start with hating you
Because I hate it when you saw me off the airport and disappeared after 3 seconds
Then you did the same when you saw me off before another flight, last night.
I hate that every time we’d meet, I was always full of expectations
But that simply means time together and knowing each other
Wasn’t that why we would meet?
But all you ever gave me was 3 seconds.
I hate how you put me at the backseat
And you’re surprised that I’m suddenly upset
But the backseat was probably where I fell,
I fell off at the backseat.
Love, lust, or the in-between
I hate that I was in-between
And made you say ‘sorry’ so many times
For making me upset.
I honestly don’t know why you still came by last night
3 seconds, hello-bye.