I don't know where I end and you begin, but I like the way it feels.

- evrythingmustgo by Larry Carlat tweet

scribbles

it's just one of those days when i feel very, very small in such a big, big world. not literally, of course, that's beside speaking the obvious. i feel small, like a grain in the sand-- unimportant, non-existent, invisible.

whenever i get this kind of feeling, i can't think of anywhere else to go but here. it's like talking to a wall, and it never talks back. it never tells me i'm over-emotional, i'm oversensitive, i'm immature, or anything that equates to nonsensical.

this is being redundant already. for some reason, i have managed to brush this feeling away over and over again. it has always been like that. then, as always, you would tell me i'm wrong, and all my defenses would just violently fall down like water bags falling down from the sky at maximum speeds. then i'm okey.

or so i think. then i begin wandering idly at the mall after work, just so i get home very very tired and go straight to sleep to save myself from all those thoughts in bed while trying to sleep.

maybe, i will get used to all these soon. there is always no getting away from the pain. it's just either pain or more pain. and always, i tell myself that it's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault. i should have been smarter at the start. freefalls are good, and it's always way too late before you realize you have nothing else to fall on but your shattered self.

someday, i will soon stop writing anything like this. but of course, someday seems very far away.

another year

i don't like celebrating birthdays even as a child. just like for any kid, my mother would prepare food and invite all other kids in the neighborhood with cakes and ice cream and what have you. as i grew older though, the parties stopped coming. honestly, i hated the attention. i don't like everyone kissing me in the cheek and smiling and getting pictures with them. i hate that.

later on, birthdays became all about who stands last on an alcohol spree with close friends. just recently, however, i started going away from people and just spending it with my mother. last year, we went to bantayan island in cebu. a year before that, we went to guimaras. then a year before that year, we went to baguio.

today, on my birthday, i was alone eating french fries.

earlier last night, we were asked what our greatest fear is in a leadership session held at work. i have always thought it's heights. so i said i am acrophobic. just today, i realized, my greater fear is being alone.

i guess it's hard because i have always been surrounded by friends, and by people who love me. halfway through eating the french fries, i felt like running home just to make sure they're all still there.

but of course, i can't spend the rest of my day just being melodramatic about the whole thing. this is just an ordinary day. just like any other days in the year. i just happen to be older today. just like most years, alone. just more alone this year. yawn. just another ordinary year.

so for now, the facebook greetings on my wall and the happy birthday text messages would suffice. i know i am loved, maybe not by the same people i love, but i could survive with what little love i get for giving out too much.

this is it. happy birthday to me.

sentimental heart by she and him

Cried all night 'til there was nothin' more
What use am I as a heap on the floor?
Heaving devotion but it's just no good
taking it hard just like you knew I would

people are disposable. the weak ones come in vendo machines for the convenience of the stronger ones.

the weather. it speaks for me

someone used to ask me if i am sad everytime it rains. heaven is crying, so i am probably sad, he said.

i started thinking that maybe, for some insane and wild reason, the weather does know me. it's not always sunny and bright when i am happy, but yes, it does rain when i am not happy. coincidence, you may think.

every time i take a cab going to work, i tend to reflect on things. i don't do this during bedtime, i do this when i see different faces passing before me through the glass windows, and how the sights change from huge buildings to slums to busy streets to whatever this city decides to show me.

it is during this time that i take realizations to heart:

1. people lie all the time. the sweetest words, are often the sweetest lies.
2. i love way more than i am supposed to.
3. i could cry to sleep all i want and people that have hurt me wouldn't care.
4. my coffee intake is 4 cups.
5. distance matters.

the list goes on. i could have 5 different lists that i take note of mentally each day, but one lesson is obvious- i still have a lot of growing up to do.

so with this, i concluded:

1. doubt everyone and everything until you are absolutely and definitely proven wrong.
2. do not let go of people who truly and sincerely love you, no matter what the consequences are. sometimes, a true and sincere love is the only thing that matters. everything else is temporary.
3. make sure the people who walk into your life are worth crying for. the people you choose will eventually hurt you. those who value your tears are the ones worth crying for.
4. my coffee intake is 4 cups. i will keep it at that.
5. you don't have to cross oceans to fulfill a promise. sometimes, fulfilling a promise involves somewhere nearer. most of the time, you have to stay home.

i own every heartache i have. i realized, i have let go and held on to the wrong people. i should have been wiser, but scars are beautiful.

so, with the last taxi ride, it was raining hard. having this mental list is easy, but how do you make a heart follow a list that the mind made?

maybe, the weather does know me.

the nice, real feelings could be nice, real lies, too.

or they could all just be lies.

maybe
if we learn to love a little less
care a little less
think a little less

maybe
we would all save ourselves from heartaches

but
why would we?

i bruise easily by natasha beddingfield

My skin is like a map, of where my heart has been
And I can't hide the marks, but it's not a negative thing
So I let down my guard, drop my defenses, down by my clothes
I'm learning to fall, with no safety net, to cushion the blow

figarro coffee

if you don't hear me with the things i don't say, how much more with the things i do?

blacksoup cafe and artspace kape

when i get a massive headache, advil is just the second thing that comes to mind. all i know is that i need to get coffee.

so, while nursing a headache, two of my friends and i went through the entire street looking for some freshly-brewed coffee. there we discovered, blacksoup cafe and artspace.

it wasn't out in the street. it was actually in an apartment building, and we found it through a sign out in the road that said such place existed.

the first person i met almost made me scream. it was kuya bojie, my childhood hero from batibot. i was tempted to ask, 'where is ate shenna?' but of course, he was quietly finishing his dinner of steak (not that i was prying on his plate).

i don't know where to start describing the place. it was full of vintage movie memorabilia, and the whole place itself was just art.

it had a grand piano in the corner and the whole place just seemed to take me in to some black and white movie.

the menu didn't have different variations of coffee. it simply said 'kape,' and when i called the waitress's attention, i told her i wanted a cup of brewed coffee, in which she promptly replied with, 'oh, you mean, kape.'

true enough, it wasn't just brewed coffee. it was kape. native, brewed, strong aroma. it was kape.

i don't really normally talk about places and food here. but, if you're smelling a cup of good kape with kuya bojie in the other table, how could i not?

if i fell by the beatles

if I trust in you, oh please
don't run and hide
if I love you too, oh please
don't hurt my pride like her
'cause I couldn't stand the pain
and I would be sad if our new love was in vain

fiorgellato coffee

‎"It's demeaning to love a man who thinks so little of you." -Grey's Anatomy quote

friuli trattoria coffee

i am gaining weight. i can feel i am. i don't hit the scales though. i never had, and i doubt if i ever would by choice. my only scale so far is how my jeans fit.

in our street alone, we have at least 500 restaurants. we have all sort; persian restaurants, italian restaurants, sisig houses, coffee shops, and what have you.

tonight, we went to friulu trattoria. while my friend commented that their pasta is disgusting, i had to argue that their tiramisu is outstanding. ha-ha

this is day 1 of letting go, and i am eating out. if this is my way to cope, i would be totally bloated like a hyena by the time it's over.

in the meantime, i am digging in.

red ribbon coffee

every cup of coffee has a story. it could be as sweet as a latte, but more often, i choose to resort to less dramatic options by putting my earphones on and go wild with zach de rocha or matt tuck. the noise distracts me. it keeps me sane; getting me away from thoughts that beat me up in slow motion.

i remember a phrase that was posted in facebook by a friend. it simply said, don't think he already let go, when he didn't really hold on in the first place.

i guess i'm just scared. always have been, in a way, that's why i needed to be dragged. i willingly let myself dragged, so here i am.

i always believe that things that end up wrong usually start with something that feels really right. but i know, for something that actually started feeling wrong and starting to feel right in the process would eventually end up wrong.

i have to let go. God knows i really do try. it's the reason i bite the nail of my thumb so i wouldn't make a lot of noise while i cry myself to sleep on some nights.

i go. and as always, i am chased around and i stay back, giving up all the strength to go i thought i first had. eventually, the chase gets tiring. it would soon get tiring, i hope.

I'd rather love someone I can't have than have someone I can't love.

- DamnItsTrue tweet

dunkin donuts

yesterday, i got a large coffee to go. the girls before me got a hot choco and a soda. the guys got donuts. finally, another customer also came in and ordered a large coffee to go. it was an old man. a very old man.

greatest view by silverchair

mistakes dont mean a thing
if you dont regret them
so pack your tactic toes for the winter
chain a waterfall to burned and withered skin
no one else will ever see

“We should not shed tears. That is a surrender of the body to the heart. It is only proof that we are beings that do not know what to do with our hearts.”

- Rukia Kuchiki

The Philippine Bus and Miss Universe

by daniel wagner, the huffington post



This week two noteworthy events involving the Philippines made headlines: the botched rescue of Chinese tourists taken hostage by a disgruntled former policeman, and a botched response to a question by Miss Philippines in the finals for the Miss Universe contest. You might ask, what do these two things have in common? Separately, not much, but taken together, they represent both the peril and promise of the Philippines today.

For many years pundits have commented that the Philippines appears to be heading backwards economically and politically, while many parts of Asia barrel toward middle income status and have maturing democracies. Yes, other countries have disputed elections, other countries' leaders do questionable things, and other developing countries struggle to achieve sustainable economic growth. And, yes, there are recent examples of fresh political turmoil and economic hardship not only in Asia, but throughout the world.

The difference here is, many of the countries experiencing political instability and economic dislocation don't have the things the Philippines has: agricultural self-sufficiency, a high literacy rate, and a largely homogeneous population. One Asian country that possesses these qualities - Indonesia - has managed to transcend monumental political turmoil, turn its situation around, get on the path to democracy, stay there, and become a darling of the international investment community. The Philippines had this in the 1960s. Why can't it have it now?

When I lived in the Philippines from 2003 to 2007, I was asked, what is the difference between the Philippines and Indonesia? My answer was, "In Indonesia, they have hope." I came to the conclusion that in spite of all the things the Philippines has going for it, its people didn't demand enough of themselves, or of their government. Political apathy and a willingness to accept a low common denominator of performance have taken their toll on the psyche of the Philippine people.

Filipinos should not therefore be surprised that the Philippine police tried to negotiate with the hijacker of the Chinese tourist bus well after a reasonable period of time had passed, negotiations had failed, and the lives of the tourists were clearly in jeopardy. Police from a variety of other nations would have simply killed him at the first opportunity, regardless of the fact that he was a former colleague. This SWAT team knew how to get the results that were required, but they failed to do so. Why? Their priorities were misaligned. The safety of the hostages should have been paramount - not the fanciful notion that a man who is desperate enough to take hostages would somehow come to his senses at the height of the crisis.

The result of actions like this are unfortunately consistent with the expectations many people have of performance in other areas. Politically, the Philippines has descended into an ongoing competition between political dynasties: Marcos, Arroyo, and yes, Aquino. What I don't understand is, why do Filipinos continue to vote them in, election after election? Is it because of a lack of viable alternatives? No. Is it because of political apathy? Possibly. Or is it because they have no expectations that anything will change, regardless of who is in power? Definitely. What does this say about the country's future? Nothing good.

Which brings me to the Miss Universe contest. Miss Philippines, Maria Venus Raj, is by anyone's definition fantastically beautiful, poised, and graceful. Many believe she should have won the competition, and she deserves a lot of credit for being the first Filipina since 1999 to make it to the finals. But her flubbed response to the question of what mistake she had made in her life and what would she have done differently apparently cost her the crown. How could this 22-year-old woman, who so diligently prepared herself for that moment -- at great personal sacrifice her whole life - not have come up with a better response?

She was nervous, she said. Well, who among the finalists wasn't? Other Filipinos have said English wasn't her first language so she had difficulty coming up with the right words. Really? How come no other Philippine contestant in the Miss Universe pageant ever had an interpreter? In preparation for this event it never occurred to her or anyone around her that such a question might be asked? Had she come up with a better response, it is likely the crown would have been hers, and the Philippines would be basking in her glow. Instead, it's just another instance of a missed opportunity, and Filipinos are making excuses.

If the Philippines wants to get its act together and live up to its potential, it needs to demand more of itself. It can achieve this by stopping making excuses for its failures and ending its acceptance of the lowest common denominator. President Aquino promised to put an end to nepotism and corruption in government. The people should make sure he does this. When the police screw up a hostage rescue, the people responsible should be fired. And when a beauty queen blows an attempt to become the glory of the Philippine people, it should be recognized as such.

nice, naive and beautiful by plumb

Well there's a life outside of this madness
And there's a face behind every scar
But there's a love overflowing with gladness
Get out of that place that's restraining your love
I said get out of that place
That's restraining your love

4 in the morning, after you said good night

i wanted to get you away from the things i was afraid of.

i feel
my fragile bones break with your softest whisper,
you called me yours with blindfolds on
and everything was fine.

what a beautiful, beautiful heartache you are going to make
so you watched
as i put my heart on the ground and step on it
with accuracy and great care.

ah, yes
i will let you take me away
peacefully, brutally and sacredly
together we will stay
and wait on who fades first.

i lied about my name when you first asked me,
but i didn't
when i said i love you.

i will regret all about this, but later.

Postcripts To A BloodBath

by Eric Po


Mr. Mendoza was already upset even before he saw on television what the policemen did to his brother. The other tourists who remained inside the bus were complaining. Wei Ji Jiang wanted to go to the bathroom. Dao Chi Yu was hungry and the rest were just groaning and whining like they have forgotten that our lives rest in Mr. Mendoza's hands. The hostage taker, as you know him was really nice. He treated us okay and even let the elders and the children leave the bus. He said your policemen treated him unfairly. He was a policeman too and was accused of doing something he had no knowledge of. But your government didn't listen so he used us to get everyone's attention. Things would have never turned for the worst if he didn't see how his family was dragged out of their house and taken into custody. He was watching the news all the time as we huddled around each other behind the bus. He shouted some words in your language then started shooting in the air. A girl about my age started screaming. Mr. Mendoza demanded her to stop but she didn't understand English. God, he had to slash her neck with a knife just to put her to rest. Her boyfriend who tried to hit him was shot in the head. Tension was rising. You can see in his face how scared and confused he was. The bus driver ran away leaving him alone with strangers from a distant land. I can see him walking across the aisle, sometimes pointing his machine gun to one of the tourists. But he tried his best not to hurt us, especially those who really cooperate. I guess its in your nature not to inflict pain on others unless it was necessary. I remember him saying that he will free us before sundown and implored us to forget everything when we return home. But his words don't matter now. The policemen were trying to force their way in, while we all lied down to shield ourselves from bullets. Mister Mendoza blindly shoots at his enemies which I think kept them from rescuing us. I hear sobs under the chairs. Some were even shouting the names of their loved ones even when the air merely eat their words. Kevin Tang tried to escape when the glass door was was shattered, but one shot and he slumped on the floor with blood gushing from his mouth. Heavy rain pitter-pattered on the rooftop. In old Chinese saying, it means an end to a struggle. Finally, somebody was able to open the escape hatch at the back of the bus. Freedom. But I knew Mister Mendoza was still alive. I knew he was just waiting for a chance to strike back at his enemies. So I told those around me not to escape. Let the authorities come for us instead. Then there was gunfire. He was firing at his enemies with a machine gun. Those who were at the escape hatch fled abandoning us once again. It's like a nightmare with no end and to wake up means a certain death. Then somebody from outside the bus threw a canister. It forced out a black smoke that is so painful to the eyes and putrid smelling to the nose. People started screaming. We cannot breathe. Some ran in front of the bus but Mister Mendoza warned them of stray bullets. It was too late. One was hit on the head, the other was hit on the shoulders. Bullets were now flying. Its like the authorities thought we were all dead. Mister Mendoza finally admits his mistake and said sorry to everyone, dead or alive. He then ran towards the front of the bus where he would meet his maker. As he passed by my chair with bullets whistling overhead, I clutched my hand on the velvet curtain and wrapped it around my face. All I could think of was to stay alive - for my child who is waiting for me back in Xinjang.
I know I will survive, I will come home.


Bang Lu Min Survivor, Quirino Bloodbath

it's okay by land of talk

i give you some thing that no one's gonna to give you
my sleepin' skin and my heart deep down in you
i'll never tell you, but you're my little scar
goodbyes are hard and they're hard and they're hard

luggage bag

i bought my luggage bag today. it's durable, pretty and flexible. it's huge, but not huge enough to fit my life in. i would have to leave a huge part of it home.

i was intending of buying my luggage bag the last minute. this mall, however, is having a huge sale and the stocks of that bag was fast running out. my mother sort of dragged me into buying it today.

while i held it on my lap on my way home in the cab, it all started to sink in. i really am going. i really am.

here is another series of me letting go. maybe, just maybe, when they all start coming in, i will find it easier to let go. i hope.

10 things in bacolod i wanna take with me to manila

1. my room. the mess, my collection of cd's, the very old huge cabinet and how things are arranged
2. the clean streets
3. sander's coffee and sausages and the early morning drunk talks
4. my internet connection
5. the music and the nonsensical conversations i share with friends
6. the food. God, i will miss the food here
7. lacson street, and the late afternoon walks on flip flops
8. the beach
9. my mother's sewing machine
10. my coffee maker

all good things come with a consequence.

anywhere but here by safety suit

imheremovie

well, here goes. i get varied reactions with this short film, which i won't elaborate on.

this film, if put in a nutshell, is all just about being here. i'm telling you just in case it isn't obvious enough. personally though, goodbyes for me are healthy. the more painful it gets, the stronger you become afterwards.

find it here: www.imheremovie.com

my funeral

a couple of days ago, it was our neighbor's funeral. it was raining quite badly, and my mother had woken me up at least 3 times already. truth be told, i felt lazy so i just pretended to be asleep. as simple as that, i missed the funeral.

ordinarily, my guilt should have already struck me dead. i never miss a neighbor's funeral. i came to think of it though, that dead neighbor and i were not really chummy. my memory of him that stood out the most is of him kicking my dog when it got in his way. i was a little kid back then. i cried.

now, when i think about it further, i start wondering what memories i'll leave to people when i die. will they be happy memories, biatchy, awesome? most of them would be happy memories, i think, since everyone knows i am usually happy whether forced or not. although, i won't be surprised if people would remember me for my sarcasm. ehm.

happy memories. nice. but exactly what do we know of what people say about us behind our backs, eh?

my teacher in college once gave this exercise- he told us to imagine ourselves attending our own funeral and what could people be saying as we are being lowered to the ground. whatever we want to hear them say about us at that time, we should live our lives working on that. my teacher wanted to be remembered as a good dancer. he is working on that his whole life, and i think he's doing pretty good at that.

i remember my friend marcy and i talk about this over coffee once. we talked about people that are likely to attend our funerals. aside from playing george harrison's all things must pass, i also want my funeral to be held at 4 in the morning. i want that day to be attended only by people who truly care about me. at 4 in the morning, i will know who would actually bother.

i would like to have an epitaph too. i don't care if no one has that here in the philippines anymore. i want i want an epitaph. and as my friend kalani would say, my epitaph should say 'in here lies a small body which is too huge for the world to contain.' or something like that.

death fascinates me. it does, really. dead people don't, though.

patience by velvet revolver (guns n'roses)

Said sugar take the time
'Cause the lights are shining bright
You and I've got what it takes to make it
We won't fake it, Oh never break it
'Cause I can't take it

my goldfish

a couple of weeks ago, i saw my goldfish floating in the fishbowl. it wasn't levitating or being scientific by going against the law of gravity.

it's dead.

all along, i knew the goldfish had some psychological disorder. it would wander around its bowl aimlessly and unidirectionally, looking helpless and nonsensical. a lonely childhood, perhaps, since the goldfish had lived all its life inside that bowl alone and unsocially.

my goldfish committed suicide. i knew it.

i flushed the goldfish in the toilet and as i went to return the bowl, i realized, i placed the fishbowl in the kitchen, facing the area where my mother would fry fish.

i am to be blamed, afterall.

janis, havs, and everything else in between

For the third time that night, I brushed my teeth. The past 2 or so hours have been devoted to removing the taste of beer from my mouth. It’s pathetic; the mouthwash bottle is almost empty, and I haven’t had any sleep. I can’t exactly remember the last time I had beer. I know it was in college, and I did the exact same thing -- throwing up almost every 30 minutes and brushing my teeth every time.

The morning that followed was hell. As usual, I was curled up in a seat at the smoking area of McDonald’s, letting the sun glare pleasantly at my sunglasses and the Ayn Rand book I was reading. It’s the same thing I do everyday, a routine, except for that pounding headache I had to deal with. How many times have I read that book? Three times? Five times? It’s pointless reading a book again when you know exactly how it’s going to end. I’m still finding out why I keep on doing that.

You were right; the character Kira in Ayn Rand’s book is so like me. The first time you emailed me about it, I had left my gold fish unfed in the office and went straight to Powerbooks to get myself a copy. Someday, I’ll reply to one of your emails.

In the meantime, I am discovering that Janis Joplin on my earphones is a pretty distraction from the headache; loud and powerful, I didn’t notice my partner arriving and talking to me.

I looked up, the sun directly in contact with my sunglasses and piercing my head like a tomato under a rake. “I said you’re early,” he smiled.

“Oh,” was all I managed to say, putting the paperback down. I smiled back. That big smile I am known for. I don’t just smile when I do. I smile my biggest and look happy each time. It’s sort of like a reflex reaction. It’s something that comes out involuntarily.

Of course, I was early. I rarely come on time since I usually wake up late. Today, I’m early because I didn’t have to wake up.

He got pancakes and coffee for us both. He knows I could pretty much live with pancakes for the rest of my life. I was concentrating on putting extra syrup on my pancakes when he asked if I wanna marry him. Taking my earphones off, I asked if he was saying something. Then, very slowly this time, he repeated the exact same thing he said earlier that I thought I was just imagining. He asked me to marry him. No kidding.

“Wait, wait,” I said, breathing deeply with my other hand finding his. “You’re asking me to marry you,” I repeated, slowly, and with emphasis on each word, quite dumbly for confirmation.

He nodded; relaxed, confident and pleasant.

It took me time to let it all sink in that I had to close my eyes. This isn’t hallucination because of too much alcohol, is it? Did he really just ask me to marry him? I waited for the chirping of the birds in the background, an old love song playing, or anything that came in slow motion.

Nothing.

All I got was the pounding in my temples, the feeling of wanting to throw up again and everything else started choking me up inside.

Suddenly, all the syrup on my pancakes didn’t matter. I did what I was best at- I walked away. Thank goodness he didn’t follow me out and started calling my name in public just like they always do in star cinema films. Lord, thank you.

What on earth was he thinking? Was that some kind of a practical joke I was not getting that he was expecting me to respond smartly at?

So. I walked. To where, I don’t know. I could walk until only God knows when. My havs survive me, and I love them.

It was a pretty dumb reaction. It’s not everyday that I get marriage proposals, you know. Isn’t there supposed to be a violin playing in the background, a moon and a red wine to go along with it? Mine was over pancakes- so very 21st century, so very fastfood, and urban. The spontaneity would have impressed me, except that the announcement arrived like a blank space, I had to decide for a reaction to fill it in given only a little time. And it came out badly.

I overreacted. That’s given.

We first talked 4 months ago when he saw this Pink Floyd shirt I was wearing. He asked if it’s my favorite perfume. I began to laugh; mainly to compensate for the awkward silence that was forming while I was deciding if he was serious or not. Later on, I found out that it was supposed to be a serious question, and I had to apologize at least 5 times during the whole conversation because of embarrassment that he had to stop me from saying sorry.

As you can see, it is part of my human nature to overdo everything; I overreact, I over apologize, I over analyze the situations given.

We had coffee the morning after the day of that awkward first conversation. No, I explained. Pink Floyd is not a name of a perfume. And so, I began telling him exactly what Pink Floyd is, eventually giving him his basic rock music education.

The coffee sessions before work had sort of become like an unwritten law. He is okey, really. I mean, he reads, which is nice. He actually reads an actual book and not just something out of the internet. That is something.

He likes his coffee just like yours; no sugar and he stirs it forever.

Finally, I stopped at a satellite airline ticket outlet. Several hours later, I was aboard a plane going to Bacolod.

My best friend used to tell me I’m an escapist. In more ways than one, I would have to agree. I walk and let my mind wander aimlessly when everything gets too much for me to handle, hoping in time I could arrive with something sensible as a decision. Most of the time though, I don’t go back.

How many months ago have I last seen you? Nine months? Was it nine months already?

Imagine now. Nine months. Nine whole months of running away from you.

Why did you let me leave just like that? Why wasn’t I even stopped?

Remember how you talked about Coheed and Cambria all day? Their music doesn’t seem to make sense at all. I just don’t get it. You hated new bands much more than I do. What’s with all the screaming when Bob Dylan could make way better rock music minus all the noise? And there you were, talking about them like they had been the only band in the last 10 years. You like them, and part of that is maybe because you know I hate them and you love arguing with me.

Sigh.

I thought I could survive. I almost did, you know. But just yesterday, when I was scanning through the racks of baby tees in Artwork, I heard Coheed and Cambria again. Like, suddenly, they’re there when absolutely not needed. I picked up a baby tee in random and rushed to the fitting room to cry.

Haven’t I cried enough already? It wasn’t fair. Like, what right were you given to come and intrude my loneliness just like that? I was close to doing fine, you know.

I felt like the world was closing in on me. It all came so abruptly that I was caught totally off-guard; the emotions I thought were long forgotten suddenly came pouring out in an avalanche. Things were haunting me in a way that’s starting to become scary, I find myself wanting to scream in random just to let it all out.

So, that night, I did my usual walking. I stopped at this lonely bar and drowned myself in beer. Hence, the hangover, and the lousy response of walking away when I could have acted more intelligently.

How could I possibly explain this to him? This is just way too childish. He waits for me after work and gets ahead at Mcdonald’s to get me pancakes every morning and this is what he gets in exchange? What has he ever done wrong except being too right in all the right places? Things just seem way too right, they all feel completely fake.

Still, it’s your memories that make me squeeze my eyes shut for hours in the darkness before I go to sleep. God, why can he not make me feel something like that? Why do I feel confused now when I was supposed to be happy?

Now, looking at the clouds outside the plane, I realized I’m running away just to run back to where the ugly part actually started.

When I was younger, I hated flying. I have been an acrophobic ever since the world began. I hated looking down from high buildings, and I limit the escalators that I take to those which only bridge 2 floors. Before air trips I had to drink some vodka so I’d sleep during the whole flight, which is a bit embarrassing since I had to be waken up each time the plane lands.

Then, when I started working, plane trips became a must. I realized there are things that I had to take not because I always want to but because I simply have to. The choices are not always fair.

Now. This.

So, to Bacolod I arrived. While everyone got their selves busy pulling and pushing their baggage, I picked my only one, the Ayn Rand book I was reading, and quietly headed towards the exit.

There I was- looking ahead at the busy street outside and for the first time, thought about where I was to go.

“Lost?” a voice asked. It belonged to a guy who is probably about my age. I am not sure. Guessing a person’s age has always been something I’m lousy at. He was wearing these really thick eyeglasses that covered half of his face.

Well what do you know, a concerned stranger. My partner started just like this guy, a stranger, asking me something nonsensical. Who knows, this could be someone I’d end up marrying instead. Ha-ha…

“Yes,” I answered, “have been for the last nine months.” I smiled. That big smile I am known for.

Confused, he offered a sheepish smile. He seemed proper enough to be entertained. He was wearing a shirt that suggested he just woke up, and a cap that was probably just a last minute, unsuccessful resort to hide the uncombed hair.

“What are you here in the airport for?” I asked.

He grinned. “I was sleeping when I happened to glance at the clock and saw it was 4pm. My parents’ flight is at 4:30 pm. When all the passengers from the last flight boarded out, I realized that today’s only Tuesday. Their flight is tomorrow.”

I laughed.

There I was, harmlessly laughing with a complete stranger, while I got someone back home wanting to marry me wondering where I probably was at that time.

“Do you need directions somewhere? You seem totally lost. Where are you staying?”

Now that he asked, I realized the vastness of the uncertainty I was facing. “I don’t know,” I finally replied.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Nah,” I replied. “I will be fine. Thank you.”

With that, I walked away. I myself wasn’t convinced with that last thing I said.

Where, exactly am I staying? I haven’t really stayed in one place, have I? In fact, I haven’t belonged anywhere all this time. But with all the freedom and the wandering and the getting lost, at the end of the day, you would want to stay. Like, owned or something. Kept.

Then again, I started walking. Anywhere and far, I don’t know. I realized I haven’t really finished my coffee when I went so I headed to my default place in Bacolod- that old coffee shop where we used to meet.

It was still there. Everything was comforting; the old chandelier that makes a sound when the wind blows, the creaky wooden floor, everything. Maybe there are just things that are not supposed to change even through time.

I took the table that used to be our favorite spot; the one just beside the window that faces the old ballet studio I used to go to when I was kid. I could not help but wonder if you still go here. Who do you share your coffee with now after I left?

Even the music was nostalgic. They still played Astrud Gilberto when everywhere else played trance. I remember your music- Jimi Hendrix, Cat Stevens, Bjork. I could marry you just for the kind of music that you listen to, you know.

You came just when my coffee arrived. You always seem to know when to catch me. Always unguarded and lost.

You took the seat in front of me, and all at once, visions of you came flooding- loud enough and stirring, the coffee cup I’m holding shook for a second.

I knew exactly what you were going to order. A macchiato. Without milk. Without sugar. Your strong, usual plain coffee. Yes, maybe there are just things that are not supposed to change even through time.

That big smile I’m known for. I gave you that when our eyes met. I smiled. You didn’t.

You know exactly how I smile when I’m about to lose control over something.

You held me with your eyes- certain and knowing they were. Like, all this time, you were somehow expecting me to be back there. You win. I came back.

Slowly, you sip on your coffee, your matrimonial ring mocking me as it glistened against the afternoon sunshine when you lifted your cup. You don’t like drinking your coffee fast. You said, coffee is meant to be enjoyed, just like everything else.

I remember that first day I walked into your classroom. I was late, and you asked me if I’m sure I entered the right classroom.

“Yes,” I replied, walking across the classroom to get to the vacant seat.

“But the class here started 30 minutes ago.”

“Then that means I have another 30 minutes left.”

Months after that, we were stuck in that café. It was overwhelming. I was the silent spectator of the life you live with passion. I was your disciple, and I have let all my guards down and loved you.

Earlier on, I have always known that I had to get away from you while I still could. All of my attempts to run away were lame, because all walls just come tumbling down everytime you come knocking by my kitchen door at 3am and tell me you miss me. Blindly, I succumb to you like a huge shadow at nighttime with absolutely no defense.

Then I would be back. Like nothing happened. To that café, watching you sip on your coffee. I was yours for the longest time, and I didn’t mind. It was pleasant being yours, really.

Kira in that Ayn Rand book escaped too, didn’t she? Did that make you think that I’m her? Her escaping and all? I did too, right? I did escape, just like her. And I did so successfully for 9 months.

Now, I left and escaped everything again. Leaving and escaping everything just so I could sit again in that old café to have coffee with you.

I am just starting to realize how big of a hole I was trying to fill in. My god, how could anyone stay this close to you and not be totally drawn to you? Where do I even start asking you all these things?

I miss you.

There’s just no escaping you, is there? You wouldn’t let me. Kira and I may have the same fate. When she escaped at the latter part of the book, she got killed. I know I would be too. Eventually.

In the meantime, I sit there, sipping on my coffee silently, breaking slowly into a thousand different pieces, when all I really want in the world, is for you to ask me to stay this time.




TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2009

Tears in my eyes, you on my mind, love in my heart, oceans in-between... I love you.

-Sticker via ihatequotes

all things must pass by george harrison

Sunrise doesn't last all morning,
a cloudburst doesn't last all day.
Seems my love is up
and has left you with no warning.
It's not always going to be this grey.

All things must pass,
all things must pass away.

therese

i like the sound of the name therese. it's simple. very lady-like and timeless.

i was reading it off from a magazine with my father listening, when i paused and said the name out loud again. therese. i liked the sound of it and mentioned to my father that he could have named me therese instead of the one i have now. he said, "i would have, except that your mother wanted something else for you."

"so you really would have chosen the name therese, too?"

"yes. ask your mother what your name should have been."

i did. she said my father would have given me the name therese.

hmm..

it actually means the one who reaps according to wikipedia. quite interesting, actually.

come to think of it, my father and i would have chosen the same name for me. out of a hundred million different names in the world. we couldn't have only agreed to one name. we both chose it.

philip j. fry

slowly, i drag deeply into my cigarette and blow smoke randomly into the air. i watch as it floats around you, lingering for a while and disappears. like a happy thought that doesn't stay long.

like most of the time, you would concentrate on your iced tea/pepsi maxx/cold water. you would let your finger play with the ice cubes and let them tinkle against the glass. as always, you would ignore me.

and so, i would start ranting about how my day has been. just lately, i have always been ranting with a beer in one hand. patiently, you would sit there, occasionally responding with 'uhuh,' or 'right,' in all the right places, and wait for me until i get drunk so you could safely take me home.

how many times, exactly, have you sat there, fry? how can you possibly come back and sit at the exact same table every night when i always become worse than i was the night before?

but then again, these questions were never asked out loud. all conversations just seem to fail everytime you hold my hand and just go crazy. until last night, you asked me what exactly we were doing.

lamely, i answered i don't know. truth is, i don't want to know.

maybe, if i start wanting to know, it would take me time that you're already gone when i get back. what then, is the use of all those answers, when the reason i am finding them out for has already left?

for now, you have stayed. but that is only in the meantime. i amuse you, don't i?

that's probably the reason i have kept you from leaving until now. and then, the question i have kept from asking you for the longest time now: how long can i amuse you, fry?

it scares me when you start talking about forever. the last time i was promised forever only lasted around 3 months. i have not been a big fan of forever since then.

i need a keeper, fry. and it hurts how you slowly become just that everytime we count up to all the days that we have been like this.
and so, while the questions are unanswered, we stay this way. me, with a bottle of beer, sitting across you, staying sober and humming with whatever song the bar decides to play.

what if i fall for you, fry? what are you going to do?

MONDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2009

i am having my second cup of coffee.

i should eat. i really should.

6 annoying people you find in facebook

okey, i am totally making this up. if i am wrong, please come up with a painless way of telling me i am, but i am not taking this back. you may have to fit into one of these, but hey. i may have, too.

1. the concessionaire
this is the group of people who lets you know what they had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. they usually start with, "had bread and butter for breakfast! yum yum," or something cute to that effect. but wait, there's more. they haven't told you the rest of the meals that they will have for the rest of the day yet. i mean, it's cool that you are letting me know that you are eating, but please, unless i take note of your calorie intake, spare me the information of each and every meal that you are having.

2. the drama queen
while we usually hide in the toilet to cry, these people like hanging their heartache out in public. their status would say something like, "heartbroken. huhuhu.." i mean, it's human nature to try getting other people's sympathy, but please, those 500 or something friends in your facebook are not really friends you would cry with in real life. some of them may just have been your classmate from second grade that you wouldn't even say hi to when you meet in the mall.

3. the photo freak
now these are the people who flood your walls with pictures of them with everyone they are with in every single angle they could think of. they go to lunch with person x and upload 30 photos after lunch. come dinner with person y and they add 50 something more photos. i mean, okey. we get the proof that you saw each other today. sometimes, they give me the impression that they live their lives so they could put something interesting in their facebook page.

4. the dj
i don't have to elaborate on this, do i? this is me. i put all the things i listen to online and i flood your walls with it whether you like it or not. evil laugh.

5. the ebayer
they basically use facebook to sell. whether you use whatever they sell or not, you are still going to get tagged. no excuses. they tag you from lip balms to summer dresses. who cares if you're a guy?

6. the happy gamer/quiz addict
i can't remember the exact date i blocked the farmville application from my facebook page. everyone was giving me trees, plants and what have you. also, "look! xyz just saw a lost cow." aww.. then comes the mafia wars, and everyone was asking help for whatever job they had to do. i guess this is just normal, to let everyone know you are 65% evil in the "how much evil are you?" or that you could have been a lawyer according to this quiz you just took. but please, believe it or not, some of the people here actually have more interesting things to read about than just knowing in which level you already are in this current game you are playing every other 5 minutes. take it easy.

i guess this what makes facebook fun. just remember though, overdoing it is evil. pure evil.

Don't threaten me with love, baby. Let's just go walking in the rain.

- Billie Holiday

kiss the rain by billie myers

Do you miss me?
I hear you say you do
But not the way I'm missing you
What's new?
How's the weather?
Is it stormy where you are?
You sound so close but it feels
like you're so far

late lunch

yesterday, i met with a friend for a late lunch. remembering that i did not have a decent breakfast earlier, i went.

then i had, a lemonade.

no, i am not on a diet. i have not been skipping meals intentionally either. i just don't feel like eating. most of the time, i have missed meals, simply because i forget.

a friend of mine suggested that i should take marijuana so i could keep up with my eating. being a nurse, he also said that this also causes my insomnia. in order to sleep better, i should eat better.

i remembered how you would always remind me to eat, like every 4 hours. and i did eat, without further complaints.

funny i guess, but yeah. i was healthier when you were still here.

just today, i was told i am smart.
so he asked, "when can i see you again?"
i said, "i don't know. see? i am not as smart as you think i am. there are a lot of things i don't know about." i said this laughing.
then he asked what i know about love.
i said i know none.
suddenly, we were both serious.
and i went on explaining. "everything you know about love, you unlearn when you start falling. you unlearn everything until you are left with absolutely nothing."
then silently, he added, "yes. so why don't we reeducate ourselves together?"


MONDAY, JANUARY 4, 2010

nothing much said

when i don't ask, it's not always because i don't care
most of the time,
i don't ask because it's better to leave things as confusing as they are.
i have learned,
that the answers that you get from confusing situations often hurt,
so it's better pretending as long as we can.

so, go on
let us go deceive each other while we can.
we lie our way to the truth because it's the only way we know how.

until then, we are okey.
we will be fine.
in the meantime.

swing life away by rise against

We live on front porches and swing life away,
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand

at the hospital

three days ago i was visiting a friend in the hospital. i saw an old man, around 70, attending to an equally old woman. he was gently feeding her, talking to the nurses, and he slept on a chair beside the old woman's bed.

the woman has a heart disease. the man took him there.

they're not married or related. when asked, he just said, 'we were lovers in high school. i don't know why she left me.'

and the old woman innocently slept, with him occasionally feeling her forehead to make sure her fever has subsided.

contact lenses

i wish i could write all my heartaches down and sit with you at the end of the day with this list.

when i first mentioned i was going to get myself contact lenses, you told me to never get anything that looks artificial. of course i said no, i was going to get the black ones. like my eyes. by default, i feel more comfortable wearing glasses, but you know how clumsy i am. i misplace them. i had bought me 2 sets of eyeglasses in 3 months. so, when i was finally about to get those lenses, you sent me a text message that simply said, "are you sure your eyes are black?"

now, as i put those contacts everyday and look at my eyes closely in the mirror, i realized you're right. my eyes aren't black.

but that isn't the only thing i have come to realize lately. everything sinks in slowly. slowly and painfully, that i wish everything will just come all at once and hurt me in one blow so i could move the hell on. but life is not that fair. the rest have to come piece by piece, and drag you hurting as you move along. ah, life.

but the things that hurt the most are not always said. it's those little things. how you would suddenly withdraw your gaze when i catch you staring at me longer than usual. or how you send me those nonsensical text messages at 3 in the morning.

these are the little heartaches i wish i could tell you. the silence over coffee has become longer. and i have been wishing harder you would stay every time you decide to leave.

i pray i'll stop wishing i could say these things to you. hopefully, you'll finally find the words to fill in those silent spaces. then, just maybe, i would find myself saying yes, i feel exactly the same way, and what took you so long to say that, silly.

one time, you asked me if i have a problem you know nothing about. as always, i say no. no, doesn't mean i don't have a problem. it is no, because i don't have a problem you know nothing about. how long can we possibly pretend it's not there? if you can't see it, then i don't know how else i can make you. sooner or later you are going to leave me, that's why i am holding on to you as much as i can.

i guess what i am trying to say is, you are my own version of contact lens. i want you to stay within my sight.

i don't want to misplace you.

i speak the loudest when i am silent. i have stopped speaking for quite some time now. i just hope you hear me correctly. more closely than just my eyes, i wish you are noticing me more.

september 29, 2009