You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman



SHE WAS WALKING ALONE and trying desperately to keep her mind blank of any thoughts. but she was unsuccessful. the face of the woman behind the glass was etched in her mind like a distant nightmare. she shouldn’t have peeked into the coffin.

a friend of hers died two days ago. suicide. she wondered how she committed her suicide. the dead woman looked peaceful lying there in the soft insides of the white coffin, a twisted smile etched in her face. how could someone kill oneself and die smiling? the image still burned in her head. there were flowers that cast smell of death in the evening air and candle lights were the only sources of light. black outs are just normal in the province. and it’s just normal to find the streets void of people as soon as the dusk sets in. it was already 8 o’clock in the evening and she wished the road she was taking be flooded by light. she wished that people still stayed outside. the next house was still a long walk away, standing nearby a river. she was afraid.

she continued to walk. anxiety took over and made her apprehensive of everything that surrounded her. the cold air; the trees that lined the street, swaying and whispering; the silence broken only by the sound of insects; the light coming from the misty glow of the moon and from the candle she was holding in her right hand to light her way. the road was soft and muddy and it looked like the rain would pour soon. unfortunately for her, she forgot to bring one. she walked on trying to calm herself by breathing slow deep breaths. but somehow there was an eerie feeling that someone or something was breathing with her. she could feel it blowing at the back of her neck but she shook the thought off. the next house would be only 60 meters away. she just needed to cross the bridge and soon she’d be home.

she walked on until suddenly, there was an absolute silence. the insects couldn’t be heard anymore, same goes with the swaying trees and the wind. the silence was only disturbed by the sounds made by her feet against puddles of water, her fast breathing, and her heart beating up her throat. the breathing at the back of her neck remained slow but this time accompanied by soft footsteps. she never dared to look sideways nor look at her back. she was determined to look ahead and go home. she walked a little faster. and with a heartbeat she heard something, right at her left ear. she didn’t understand it. it was a whisper. an unintelligible hush of words that made her skin crawl. she broke into a run…

she ran with eyes closed trying to block anything but even if she did so, the image of a wake was still seared hot on her mind. she tried not to hear anything nor feel. it was all in the mind, she thought. she ran the length of the road, her skirts and hair swaying violently against the air and her legs were stained with mud. she stopped. every breath stabbed her sides and her heart was trying to break out from her chest. she opened her eyes slowly… very slowly… she waited for her eyes to adjust to available light. there was no light. the light from her candle was gone. the only light was from a faint glow of the moon that had successfully penetrated the clouds. it started to rain. she looked ahead and found herself before the bridge; black angry water churned beneath it.

she hated crossing the bridge. it was only made using bamboos weaved together but still proven safe as time went by. what she didn’t like about the bridge was that it’s narrow. very narrow. only two people could fit in its cramping width. if two people crossed the bridge towards opposite directions, it was impossible for them not to brush shoulders. boats were unavailable due to big waves caused by the rain earlier that evening. there was a house nearby but it seemed deserted. she had no choice.

it was quite a long bridge. she crossed it very slowly. the bamboos were slippery due to the pouring rain. her gait was a series of calculated fall. her hands were struggling on the slippery bamboo bars on the sides for support. she couldn’t see clearly due to the scarcity of light and the thin sheet of visionary wall made by the rain. still breathing heavily and heart pounding, she was glad the sound of breathing and footsteps had gone, drowned away by the angry waters below her and the rain pounding on her ears. she looked and continued to walk across. half-way, she saw a silhouette far ahead. it was a woman. she was excited to see a living soul at last.

the excitement and relief died in instant. something was wrong and strangely weird about the woman in front of her. she was not moving. she just stood there in the middle of the bridge, head bowed, and waiting. her long tangled hair covered her face, dripping wet. she was wearing a tattered daster printed with little pink flowers. she was barefoot. she didn’t know what’s more eerily weird about the woman: the fact that she’s standing in the middle of the bridge looking like a lunatic or that she’s slowly running her fingers on the hair of porcelain doll, eyes missing from their sockets. the doll had no arms too. the woman’s pale white skin glistened in rain water… and blood?

the woman before her scared the hell out of her. but she had no choice but to move forward. she couldn’t go back. the nearest village was very far away and transportation was hard at that hour of the night. she heaved a very deep breath, sighed and slowly moved forward. her eyes never left the woman in front of her and closer and closer she went. her heart is beating frantically when she came in level and brushed shoulders with the woman. and in that instant she felt an unexplainable chill that ran from her neck down to her body. it was neither the air nor the rain. it was caused by something she couldn’t explain or rather something her mind won’t entertain. she mustered every ounce of courage she had left and moved forward and past the woman. she was just five steps away when she heard it. it was the whisper she had heard earlier. it was an unintelligible whisper, followed by a girlish laugh like a giggle; a mirthless laugh that made her skin crawl once again.


the woman was calling her.


it was a soft and prolonged but very audible sound.


she wanted not to look back but her neck was somehow forced to. very slowly she turned her head and the image she saw brought her to the edge of sanity. she was looking into the eyes of a woman without a soul. her eyes were empty. but what really petrified her to the spot was her sinister smile. and then, the woman suddenly leaned backward against one side of the bridge and went overboard. she had a last hint of a smile on her face as she got swallowed by darkness and the churning waters below.

her thoughts were numb. she ran as fast as she could, even slipped a couple of times but she didn’t care. and suddenly she was home. she was safe at last. she was crying. it took her some moments before she noticed that her house was in total darkness. the darkness scared her. she decided to light the candle she was still holding with a lighter from her purse. and when the light slowly flooded the room she saw it again. right in front of her were empty eyes and a twisted smile she knew so well…

"tumalon ako sa tulay…"

she wondered how she committed her suicide. she got her answer.

. . .
this is my post for the halloween season. this was the story i was very scared to write. just like i had said, my imagination scares me a lot. i usually write at night but i wrote this entry this morning starting at 7 am. but still i had goose bumps while writing the draft. i am just relieved that i was able to let it out of my head at last.

there’s this superstition (pamahiin) that when you attend a wake (burol) and went straight home, the soul of the deceased would follow you. creepy eh? awoooooo! happy halloween guys!


questions and answers

PEOPLE LIKE TO ASK QUESTIONS. it’s in our nature. it goes back from our childhood. from the time we first gain consciousness of the world down to the moment we breathe our last breath. we ask from simple questions like how we were created down to the complicated ones like what’s the pathophysiology of tetralogy of fallot? we ask questions because by asking we learn things. when we learn things, we become knowledgeable, and the knowledge we acquire gives us wisdom to make wise decisions. a person who asks a lot of questions, to some eyes is smart but to others, just plain stupid. questions and answers—one of the most infamous dualities.

questions require answers. somehow, life is a continuous quest for answers but at some point in our lives we find ourselves before a large question mark that hinders us to move forward. but no matter how hard we try to look for answers and how patiently try to wait, some answers are just so elusive. they are not just there; absent when you need them the most. they tend to run away from us. the worst thing that could happen is if the questions we’re asking don’t have any answers. then, we ask more questions. are all questions have answers? we have to ask this because the idea that unanswerable questions exist is just unacceptable especially if the questions are the most crucial ones and yield answers that could define ourselves or lead us to the person that we want to be.

we need answers especially when we are lost. we need directions. we need lamps to light our paths. we need breadcrumbs to find our way back home. we need maps where we could point our fingers and trace our steps. we need compasses to show us the true north whenever we’re lost at sea. we need lighthouses to navigate our ships to safe shores. we need a coin we could flip or a twig or a bottle we could turn when we find ourselves before a fork on the road. we need these things. we need answers especially to questions that could define the rest of our lives. the problem is where to get them?

the most complicated questions sometimes yield very simple answers. and somehow, very simple questions have the most complicated answers. every question is difficult unless you already know the answer or you have at least an idea of how to come up with the answer. it all goes down to how bad we want the answers. if we want the answers badly, we search for it. we search for answers and when we fail, we invent things to get them. in mathematics, it maybe in the form of scientific equations or algebraic formula. same goes with questions in our lives. we invent our own equations and formulas to get the answers. life is a twisted arithmetic. unfortunately for me, i suck at mathematics.

some people ask questions uncertain if they want to know the answers. people like comfort. people like sticking to their comfort zones and if they ask questions, a part of them generate a standard of the answers. they expect the answers are those they want to hear. wanting sometimes overcomes necessity. sometimes answers based on truths are just so painful that people run away from them. people are running scared. in hiding. afraid of the unknown. this is most common cause of anxiety in dying patients or those prepped for very delicate surgeries. they prefer being lost and hovering into nothingness than to suffer the pain from knowing the truth. up until now people fail to understand that pain is a part of life. that pain makes us learn. that pain makes us grow.

truly, unlucky are those hearts that can bend. they may not feel the pain but they will never learn. i call them stupid hearts. their owners are those that look for truths half-heartedly. they are the ones that tend to look for answers in the wrong places. they tend to look, well aware they’re wearing blindfolds and conveniently forgetting to turn the lights on. no wonder they end up groping in the dark. but who could blame them? people lie. they’re afraid they’ve been lied to. they’re afraid that answers may not be true and they are frustrated because there’s no way to prove the credibility and validity of the answers thrown in front of their faces. they have lost something that couldn’t be found anywhere or something you can buy in a nearby convenience store--trust. while paranoia still remains as the ugliest feeling ever.

however, blessed is the man whose heart could break. only few people know this for only few accepted the possibility that the answers could be found underneath the broken pieces. broken hearts yields better people, knowledgeable people, and hopeful people. they may have suffered pain but they are the ones that easily find the northern stars easily, to help them find their way. they are the master mathematicians of love and of life. most especially they are ones that ask and find answers; not necessarily answers that they want but most especially those that they need to move forward and grow…


the comet

THE LITTLE BOY SAW A COMET…and suddenly his life was whole.

when a night deepens, the boy would lie on an open field, his skin naked and cold against the blades of green grass, dancing with the soft gush of wind. he liked the way how he’s drenched in pitch black darkness and yet showered by every light the came from the stars and the moon high above him. the darkness emphasized every light like how the silence amplified every sound made by crickets and flowing water from a cascading river nearby.

as he laid there under the heavens, the sky seemed to draw closer to him. he would raise his hands and extend his arms to the air pretending to hold the stars, catch shooting stars, and play with the full moon. he would pinpoint to every star like how he points to letters of the alphabet he knew so well. he named each one his dark brown eyes could see and sometimes, he would make imaginary lines to connect them. he remembered the ‘connect-the-dots’ assignment her teacher gave him. he didn’t know he’s making his own version of the constellations. he had no idea that he was making his own version of the universe. he was full of hope and his mind was teeming with imaginative thoughts that he believed that he could change the world…

one night, he decided to lie on their house’s roof instead. he thought it made him closer to the heavens he had been dreaming to reach. he couldn’t explain how he felt every time he lays himself down and admire the expanse of space above him. you could say he’s happy by the width of his smile and his eyes sprinkled with stars. a moment hovered and it appeared. the most amazing heavenly body he had ever seen. the air seemed to leave his lungs as he slowly started to stand up, taking every moment in.

he didn’t know it was called a comet. years later, he would learn that it’s just a large piece of rock and ice, lost in space and burning against sunlight. but for now, it’s something greater than a piece of rock. he savored its every detail. it was like someone had turned on a flashlight high above the sky. it somehow looked like a light coming from a lighthouse, fixed at only one direction. he remembered her teacher talking about lighthouses that help those boats lost at sea to find their way to safe shores. to a safe haven. he wondered if someone is lost at sea that night. he wondered how many people were looking at the comet at the same time as he is. the thought excited him.

he stretched his arm once again and pointed at the patch of sky where the comet hovered. he traced its length starting from the head down to the tail. he then closed his eyes, and with the majestic image seared in his mind, he moved his fingers to feel it. the little boy tried to feel the comet that flew thousands miles from him... and he did feel it. he opened his eyes and lingered on the moment. he was being filled with hope and dreams and love. in that instant, his path was clear before him; the path towards the person he wanted to be. he jumped for joy that made banging sounds against the tin roof. for the first time, he knew he could reach the stars… that he was on the moon.

fifteen years had passed. he was still in the dark gazing at the darkness hovering above him. but there were no stars anymore. no moon. no comets. he didn’t even dare to stretch an arm nor reach. there’s nothing except for a darkened ceiling and cold walls pressing in on him, eager to leave him breathless. there were no stars reflected on his eyes, just salty tears he was trying to hold back but to no avail. as a tear fell and left a track on his face he remembered the comet and the track it had left against the sky that night, when his dreams were revealed to him. he remembered the tracks it had left in his life and how it gave him so much hope. he realized that they were now broken. swallowed by darkness, killed by misery, buried by regrets. he had lost all the hope. the dream. the love. he is lost. he is lost at sea with nothing to guide him in the dark. nothing to save him in the storm. he needed a solid ground. if he could only see a light from a lighthouse to lead him towards his safe haven. if he could only see the comet just one more time and find his way back…

he laid there drenched in darkness and absolute silence. waiting...

the little boy saw a comet…and suddenly his life was whole. and when the comet went away, he waited all his life for it to come back.

. . .

finding one’s purpose is an achievement of a lifetime. it’s a journey that one usually takes to find true happiness in this world of misery. a purpose makes up a fulfilled life. it’s a beacon towards something great; towards that something that could fill that empty void that lingers in one’s heart, which brings hope and happiness almost near to a happily-ever-after. but where to find it? it could be anywhere. we just have to look in the right places. some say, one could find it in the love of his life. and i believe them. i saw a comet once and to see one again would be truly the greatest miracle on earth…

"the boy saw a comet & suddenly his life had meaning. and when it went away he waited his entire life for it to come back to him. it was more than just a comet because of what it brought into his life. direction, beauty, meaning. there were many who couldn't understand, & sometimes he walked among them, but even in his darkest hours he knew in his heart that someday it would return to him & his world would be whole again, & his belief in god, & love, & art would be reawakened in his heart…"

– lucas scott, one tree hill

* the comet, original artwork created using pen and ink, dated 24 october, 2008.


on sex addiction

MY THUMBS WERE THROBBING last night, playing harry potter and the goblet of fire for 5 straight hours on my psp. i thought i’d give them a little rest, so i decided to do my late night channel hopping on our television set (my right thumb didn’t have much rest after all, since the remote couldn’t change the channels on its own). i usually start with channel 8 and up till i stumbled upon channel 76. it was the etc channel airing the tyra banks show.

i watch the show sometimes because it’s really informative. they had that golden emmy trophy to prove it. i just wish the writers would refrain from writi
ng too much fashion, modeling, make-overs, and vanity stuff. last night however, they featured a very engaging episode about sex addiction. yippee! haha! sex addiction. sounds like a joke, right? just the word ‘sex’ could tickle that muscle to paint a smirk on your face and a red glow to your eyes. however, this is no laughing matter especially now that i have had an in depth look to the personal struggles of those suffering from this problem relatively comparable to a disease.

a bachelor confessed he had 75 sexual encounters with women for just a short span of 6 years. at first he thought he was just a normal bachelor guy enjoying his sex life. but eventually it occurred to him that he has problem. he then decided to come forward and face the issue. he admitted that he was having sex 2 to 3 times a day and never used any protection until 6 months ago when he got himself tested for venereal disease. he was lucky. the results came out negative. he added that the sexual encounters were alcohol induced. what’s remarkable about his story was that he confessed that it was not merely about having sex but search for intimacy and something long lasting. unfortunately, it always ends up
in sex. it turned out he had a bad history with his mother and the reason he became a sex addict was that he used to see men coming and going in her mother’s life. at times, he could see her having sex or hear them from inside a locked. at the end of the interview he said he loves her mother but the bitterness came haunting him till now.

a woman got married with the man of her dreams. three days after their wedding, she caught her husband sexually gratifying himself over some pornography. the husband admitted that he’s a sex addict and that he was ashamed about it. he was hoping that marriage could end his addiction. he was wrong. he’d rather jack himself off than have sex with her wife. he confessed that almost everything triggers a certain chemical reaction to his body, a sexual urge. he couldn’t watch the television without premeditating sexual gratification because of sexy commercials. he couldn’t walk in the streets without noticing women showing too much skin. when his urge is triggere
d he immediately wants to be alone with himself and do his thing. her wife was worried this could ruin their marriage considering the fact that she wanted to have kids and have a family it turned out the husband had virtually no romantic relationships during his high school years. he also confessed that he was exposed to pornography in the early age of 8 and started his chronic masturbation since then.

a black
man told his wife on television that he was a sex addict. he confessed that he doesn’t have sex with his wife but does it with other women. he reasoned that he was thinking his wife was not prepared for the ‘type of sex’ he wanted to have. hmmm… i have a hunch it involves stilettos, handcuffs, ropes, and a freakin’ whip! wapak! he should’ve married cat-woman instead.

an 18 year-old girl had sex with 55 different guys. she started having the addiction since she the age of 13. she told her best friend about her sex problem and submitted herself to therapy. she lost her virginity before she even had her first kiss. a sex without even a single kiss? how’s that? talking about pure lust. her friends, according to her, started having sex as early as 11 years old. on the bright side, she’s now a self-confessed born again virgin.

sex addiction is primarily caused by lack of intimacy. people search for intimacy to fill the voids within their hearts, bu
t unfortunately, they get lost along the way. sex addiction is caused by low self-esteem. those people who thirst of appreciation and attention end up letting people in their lives while their reasoning is compromised. hence, they were not able to sift out the enemies and have a high affinity to those who will only cause harm instead.

these four sex addicts have one thing in common. each had experienced a dark past. something wicked seared hot on their brains and hearts; their youth was forced to understand. most sex addicts had failed to realize that sex is not only physical thing. they were not able to understand that such amazing experience should be done within an emotional bond. they had failed, because all they can see are genitals, orgasms, and pleasure. they missed the big picture. but who to blame? they were supposed to be innocent.

our pa
st have a clever way on catching up on us. sometimes, we dwell on it too much we forget about the present and stop looking forward towards the future. but the past should stay in the past. it’s where it belongs. people sometimes forget the importance of choice but unfortunately most people deny that they have one. we always have a choice and that includes the choice to leave the past and the ability to write a new story. it is the right choice. it is true that the past makes who we are, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that the past makes the person we want to be.

each of these four sex addicts had a choice and each made one. it may sound easy; choosing the right from wrong. but it’s really hard, especially if you’re on the other side of the fence.


'tin can' bags bronze

EI, GUYS! this is tin can speaking. i just wanted to thank everyone who supported my pathetic love story with that young lady on stilettos. because of you, my story became a legend. haha! did i mention it placed 3rd out of 15 sad stories? great huh? by the way, the lady on heels never made it to her destination. i was informed that she slipped on a puddle of mud; fell facedown, hard on the highway and got ran down by a 10-wheeler truck. i was devastated of course but i’m still grateful, because without her my story would not win a bronze medal (invisible bronze medal. joke!).

i would like to personally thank dabo, joms, kris jasper, salingpusa, myk2ts, kuya roland, kuya loven, kuya onat, st. charles, redlan, lloyd, tinay, odin, alex, ice, denis, gwen, josh marie, aethen, eli, may, bryan, the source, yods, japol, ner, chico, chigo, and ronturon J my deepest gratitude goes to you guys for believing in my story and ron’s writing. you truly made blogging so much fun.

i wanted to thank haley, ron’s bestfriend (ever!) for conducting that text brigade, even only two responded (hehe!). she’s always been there to support him down to the weirdest things that comes into his crooked mind. you still think he’s sexy with that haircut, right?

to steph, who cried those three tears for me. take a bath. ron told me you smell like powdered milk lately. you don’t think he’s sexy in that haircut, do you?

thanks to caryl, who’s always been there for me. i really do hope you gained weight already. please always take care of yourself. you still owe me a date J

also, to crysh and clyde, ron’s high school friends. i never expected them to vote but still they took time to support me. life is just full of surprises i guess.

to ms. karmi and sir arvin, the couple who organized the contest. it was really great of you to come up with such brilliant idea that brought together emo bloggers out there. no prize for 3rd place, right? i kinda need some money right now. haha! kidding!)

and of course to the one who turned my crappy existence into a gripping story of hope and heartache---ron. i have never felt this humane before. hehe! i think you’re still sexy with or without that haircut! i suggest a really cool wig to hide the receding hairlines. you need to sleep, man. your eyebags are huge!

thanks to everyone, for believing that a withering tin can could be something that has value and that i could be anything but trash.

this achievement is dedicated to all the tin cans out there. we may be sometimes hollow, but i do hope that won’t keep us fr
om running that extra mile to find the love of our lives…


lament for 'lamentions'?

miss karmi, the organizer of the e[kwento]mo: emo writing contest left a message in my tagboard asking for my e-mail address. she also left her messager id for me to be able to talk with her, obviously about the said writing competition. the voting will conclude tonight and i'm not sure if 'lamentations' is still qualified... Karmi had send an e-mail just now.

Hi Ron,

Nakuha namin ung entry mo para sa E[kwento]MO. Maganda ung kwento. :) Kaya lang, isang requirement namin sa contest namin eh dapat personal experience ung isusulat. Eh ung entry mo, based sa pulubi saka maganda babae diba, hindi sya talaga nangyari sa iyo? Di namin napansin kaagad, kitams, last na nga ng botohan diba? Dahil dito, hindi tuloy namin malaman kung tuluyan ka na naming hindi isasali pa sa contest o ano. Pwede ka kasing madisqualify dahil nga sa entry mo pa lang mismo. Pero dahil halos patapos na nga ang botohan bago namin ito napansin, pinagiisipan pa namin.

Sana ay makasagot ka kaagad dito sa email para mapagusapan natin. O kaya'y imessage mo lang kami ni arvin sa YM. cutecarme, onebigearth.

Salamat at pasensya na.

-- E[kwento]Mo

I replied on her YM:

lukas_03: ahh... i see...

lukas_03: well...technically its fiction...

lukas_03: because none of it really happened... i was inspired by a certain event...

lukas_03: but in the point of view of a writer, i was able to conceal something personal...

lukas_03: i was able to camouflage personal things that happened to me, delivering it to the readers not directly but by representing myself as the 'tin can'...

lukas_03: as dabo had said, you'll only get the meaning of it all if you psychoanalize me, the writer...

lukas_03: "isang requirement namin sa contest namin eh dapat personal experience ung isusulat"---this was something personal, i tell you... i just decided to articulate it in a different writing style... a different medium, considering writing aesthetics to tell a story that may appear a fantasy but relatively close to real life...

lukas_03: this said, i may have misunderstood the instructions but i'd rather say i was able to undertand in a different way but still towards the qualified end

lukas_03: but, since i'm going crazy due to my allergies, i can't trust my judgment at this point. hehehe!

lukas_03: i'll just leave it to you guys and do what you think would speak of justice.

lukas_03: peace out! :)

and now i wait if i'll end up on the same fate as that of the 'tin can'. trash. ahehehe!

. . .

UPDATE: i was able to clarify things last night with ms. karmi and explained my stand on the matter. she sort of interviewed me and asked me to tell her how my entry was categorized as 'personal'. well, i use a lot of symbologies in my writing. i just pointed them out and explained what they really mean for me since the entry could be interpreted in so many ways depending on the person who reads it. she had to consult arvin, her partner and co-organizer of the contest...

i'm still in guys :) wheeew! hehehe! the winners will be announced this coming sunday. i'm so psyched :) thanks a lot guys for the support:)


the violin

I HELD YOUR HAND, firm but gentle
like how i h
old this violin.
i lean on its body to secure it in place,

remembering how you used to lean on my shoulders

while we
watch blurred images pass by.
it was the best bus ride ever.

i move the bow back and forth;

the bow made from a long lock of your hair,

smooth against my heart strings.

every gliding move of my arms and wrist

makes the most beautiful sounds

songs that were used to be mine,

so haunting they make me awake at night.

their whispers vibrate on my ear.

calling my name as if from a distance.

s fingers press against tight strings
and a graceful arm dictates a slow tempo

mimicking the beats of a heart in pain,

i remember you as my music.

as i play hovering notes of melancholy

before the stars and autumn leaves;

as i wait for sunrise and the absolution of my sins,

i remember you and your broken violin;

denying the truth that you were so out of tune

and you’re name synonymous with noise.

. . .

i have always wanted to play the violin probably because of my fascination with the classicals, musical scores, and new age music. there’s something haunting about the
sound it produces, same goes with the cello. i’ll dig any music played with these instruments. they give a very unique twist when fused with different music genres. rock musically arranged with an orchestra, for example. i was blown away when rihanna sang umbrella, live, backed with a full orchestra :)

i tried to learn how to play the violin, but i find i
t really hard. eun-a, a korean friend friend to teach me the basics unfortunately, i wasn’t able to play even a decent do-re-mi. in korea, the curriculum requires each student to learn at least one musical instrument. eun-a knew how to play the piano too. her brother, eun-jo, play the cello. a very cool combination eh?

learning how to play the piano and guitar is so much easier. don’t be fooled by the violin’s small size and four strings. it has no frets like the guitar, so your fingers must be dead precise along its head or else, nothing will come out of it but a vibrating noise. i had so much fun with the bow. who would have thought that what runs along its length is actually a lock of hair from a horse’s mane? how could a lock of hair produce a sound? The hair glides against the strings to produce a sound. You also need to mov
e the bow at certain angles to strike notes. crap.

another thing that i love about violin is how it is played with such elegance and grace. i know it’s quite hard to play with your chin anchoring the instrument all the time (and probably suffer from stiff necks), but if someone could pull it off, it’s definitely a turn on. hehehe! definitely requires superb skill and talent.

i first saw lucia micarelli in josh groban’s concert at the greek theater and she blew me away in a heartbeat. besides the fact the she could rock any musical event with her astounding talent, she’s also really pretty. somehow, she reminds me of kristin kreuk. (i’d die if kristin plays the violin:p). one cool thing about lucia is that she plays with bare feet! bloody cool eh? hehe! you could see the emotion etched on her face while she plays and even hear the intermittent deep breaths she takes. i just love her. hays. watch her as she rock the house down, playing bohemian rhapsody :)

by the way, the allergies came back. my sleeping pattern is severely impaired as of the moment (coffee aside). i am now bombarding myself with anti-histamines, hoping they could lull me to sleep. once again, my hands seemed to have lives of their own, scratching every itch of my body and eager to peel my body off its skin, already raw and red, screaming in pruritic agony.


flash forward

IT WAS 1:35 PM. they stood there under a withering waiting shed, no idea that it will be the last time they’d look in each other’s eyes. they stood there waiting for a bus uncertain they’d want to board together. waiting for something they’re uncertain would come. waiting for something that would bring them back home. and deep inside, something told them it was not a bus they were waiting for…

as they wait, nothing became clearer except for each other’s faces. birds stayed perching on electric wires that vandalized the clear blue sky. the train high above them stopped, as well as the speeding vehicles that scarred the city roads. people that use to scurry around like busy ants seemed frozen under the scorching afternoon sun. the world seemed to have stopped around them. but this was not the first time this happened.

for a moment, they we’re once again sitting on a rock beside a river, as moonlight glowed mistily against a black night, disturbed by a monsoon rain. it was the first time his lips touched hers; the first time their souls intertwined in a melody of droplets of water against cascading waves of emotions, adorned by lightning, unthreatened by thunder. that was not an ordinary day. almost magical. and as they stood there under the shed, lucas knew this day is everything but ordinary.

lucas was looking at the same face made more beautiful by time, emphasized by black hair dancing on waves of polluted gush of smoky air. but he couldn’t see the smile anymore. all he could see was a pair of lips trembling in a desperate attempt to muffle the sound of a spirit in pain. that was the one thing time had successfully taken way from lily, conveniently replaced by tears. lucas could see them flowing before him and could swear hearing the silent cries that goes with it. they were not just salty water that her eyes ejaculated. lucas knew better. those were bottled misery and frustration, unspoken words and anesthetized agony. he blamed himself for it. for the second time in his life he felt scared as long shadows of trees came back to haunt him. for the second time, he became powerless. for the second time, the earth stood frozen underneath him. he wished the ground would swallow him this time and vanish into oblivion. unfortunately for him, the ground was indifferent.

lily looked at the face of the only man she loved. the man that carved her name on a tree. the one who used to give him bouquets of
gumamela. the man that she used to play hide-and-seek with under the moonlight. the man that bellowed his love for her in the cold winds. the one that had sung her songs, struggling to strike the right notes with his voice as deep as the sea. the man that had broken windows when she had closed the door in front of his face. time had made her love him more and more as each day pass. but the more he loved him, the more she felt the blade inching down deep within her. as she looked at her lover’s face, she had a hunch that he somehow reflected her face: trembling lips, tears flowing from his eyes, a look of longing with a dark twist of pain that made him wear an expression close to a grimace. she had no idea he was also reflecting her feelings. she had no idea and she would never now. this would be the last time they would see each other. she had no idea that it was the last time she would see that face she never failed to admire…

it was 1:35 pm and they stood there under the waiting shed waiting for something that wouldn’t come. lily was waiting for lucas’s arms to wrap around her. then everything would be fine. lucas on the other hand was waiting for lily to take a step closer. just one small step. just one move of her foot would be enough to make him leap, lunge toward her, and lock her in an embrace that would say he won’t let go, no matter what, even if staying means death. the world stood frozen watching in anticipation of what would happen next. senses were exponentiated to every movement. one was waiting for swinging arms the other for a step. but nothing came. nothing moved except for trembling lips, flowing tears, and resisting hearts...

the sun shone with rage, eager to dry everything up. even the shed couldn’t protect them from the heat, eager to peel everything away like the paint of the wall beside them. if the wall could only talk it would’ve said “cut the crap already!” but like everything else, nothing seemed to care about the couple standing face-to-face. to the couple however, nothing mattered except the person they’re standing opposite to, not knowing that the next move they would make would define the rest of their lives… their next move would define who they are…

it was still 1:35 pm. and they still stood there under the useless shade. but the world needed to move on and time was desperate to fly. suddenly the birds were able spread their wings again, the train accelerated and headed its way to the next station, traffic lights changed colors as vehicles speeded up, making images of blurred colors, and people started walking like zombies hungry for human flesh. in that hovering moment, they were each other’s worlds and now they’re back to reality.

a bus stopped in front them. they were waiting for something but a bus was not what they’re waiting for. a hug and a step—those were what they were waiting for. simple movements of limbs that would carry them home. simple gestures that would bring hope for another chance for their love. the bus conductor screamed his lungs out as people started heading for the doors. however, the couple didn’t move. alone with each other. but not for long.

lily took a step closer. lucas’ heart leapt. he was about to wrap her arms around her but she took another step. and another one. and another after that. he could’ve sworn he felt a shudder from her shoulder as it brushed his. head on a bow, she walked passed him, and then he understood. wide-eyed with tears still welling, lucas was rooted on the spot arms stretched as if to hug somebody that wasn’t there. lily walked away, hastily by the sound of her heels against concrete and whimpered sobs. these were the last sounds lucas had heard from her. he wiped the tears, heaved the deepest breath, and sighed. slowly, he walked towards the bus’ open doors, resisting the urge to look back.

the next move they would make would define the rest of their lives. as for lucas, the remaining 60 seconds of his life. what would’ve happened if he decided to hug lily instead of waiting for her to make a step? he had no idea that it was his last bus ride. he sat opposite to an old couple. the old man wraps the old woman in a hug, as she smells a bouquet of gumamela. a heartbeat passed, and suddenly he wanted to go. he wanted to run after lily. And he walked towards the door.

the next move they would make would define the rest of their lives. what would’ve happened if lily decided to hug lucas instead of waiting for him to hug her first? she had no idea she would be asking this question for the rest of her life.

however, lily had a glimpse of the life she would be living when she gave in to the urge to look back. it didn’t take long before she realized that she wouldn’t be hearing any out-of-tune love songs for a while… she would miss the deep voice as deep as the sea, as deep as the love, and as deep as the blade now cutting pass her heart. the love of her life was on his last bus ride, she thought, as flames and black smoke danced, reflected on her glassy eyes…

since flash-forwards are becoming rampant in tv series (i.e. lost, one tree hill and desperate housewives), i decided to continue the love story of lucas and lily, 5 years after they last met. yeah. very tragic. and i love tragedies.


my wall of weird

THE WORD WEIRD, as defined by Oxford, means uncanny or supernatural. weird as i understand it, describes something that’s unconventional or different from popular sets of ideals or beliefs. but almost everything in the world is subjective. we see things in our own eyes. we sense and perceive things as we see ourselves. our individuality differs from each other because of numerous factors; hence, we tend to have different perception on things. what i consider normal for me maybe peculiar to others and what i consider weird maybe normal for others? so what’s weird for you? here are some facts about myself i categorized as weird. fifteen out of gazillion weird facts! hehe!

  1. i usually drink a large mug of creamed coffee at night and complain of having insomnia the next day. crazy is more appropriate word for this, not weird.

  1. i eat with one on foot on my chair. it feels like my intestines are much more aligned when i eat in this position. but i only do this at home of course. hehe!

  1. the first thing i’d do upon entering a bathroom would be to pour water on my feet. i don’t know why exactly, but i have a theory that it helps my body adjust to cold water before taking a bath.

  1. i couldn’t defecate with a shirt on. i am sort of cautious that i might stain my shirt with my poop, so i go topless. hehe!

  1. when i feel like singing, i lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the faucet and sing my lungs out in front of the mirror (that’s after pouring my feet with a dipper of water), and get out after 10 minutes of singing my favorite last-song-syndrome songs.

  1. i think i’m suffering from short-term memory loss. one time, i was looking for my id comfortably hanging around my neck. ice said it’s a symptom of being corrupted by perverted anger. i wish not.

  1. when i eat fried foods like hot dogs or scrambled eggs, ketchup is a necessity. but if i am so angry and there’s no ketchup around. i pour three tablespoons of soy sauce on my rice and sprinkle a couple pinches of salt.

  1. i read the harry potter series with background music---soundtrack inspired by the movie adaptations. reading novels with sound effects is like watching movies. i have a pretty good imagination.

  1. i watched harry potter and prisoner of azkaban at a movie house six times. i watched the first one with friends, and the rest with just myself. i usually go solo when watching movies i highly anticipate.

  1. my imagination scares me sometimes. i was planning to write a horror story for a time now but the images were so vivid i couldn’t translate them into words plus the fact that i usually write late at night. i guess i have to detach myself. i find the kitchen and mirrors creepy especially at night when our cat meows like a weeping child.

  1. i am not really a fan of shopping or doing grocery stuff. i easily get bored. when i am with my friends or my family, and they decide to shop, i either go to a bookstore, an audio store or a video store.

  1. i cut apples horizontally in halves. i find it easier to eat apples this way. did you know apple seeds contain cyanide? i love apples. perhaps i’m a death god like ryuk! hehe! death gods or shinigamis do hand stands when they don’t eat apples for a long time.

  1. when i’m doing something important or savoring a major daydream, bellowing my name won’t work. you should consider shaking me or say the word ‘glad’.

  1. i am very particular with details. i actually consider myself obsessive-compulsive perfectionist especially with stuff i’m interested in like in visual arts, academic reports, power point presentations, written articles, music that should be on my mp3 player, etc…

  2. i am a conspiracy buff. i love conspiracy theories and mysteries. i have to give dan brown (currently rereading angels and demons) and national geographic channel (my day is not complete without natgeo) credit for this. these are some of my favorite conspiracy theories and mysteries: (1) the 911 myth by zeitgeist, (2) did man really landed on the moon? (3), secret brotherhoods i.e. illuminati, priory of sion, masons (4) the gnostic gospels, (5) mystic places and structures i.e. bermuda triangle, atlantis, the nazca lines, the stongehenge, the pyramids.

. . .

rule: each player of this game starts off with 15 weird things / habits / little known facts about yourself. people who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 15 weird habits / things / little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. at the end, you need to choose 10 people to be tagged and list their names.
no tag backs!

. . .

off the record, the voting is now open for the e[kwento]mo: emo writing contest. i almost forgot that i passed an entry—lamentations of a withered tin can. if you liked it, don’t hesitate to drop by this site and vote. voting will proceed until october 17 (friday). there are 15 entries from 15 aspiring emo bloggers. so if you have time, it would be nice if you check us out :)


the painting on the wall


the one above the azure blue sky,

hovering over the world you created;

beneath vast expanse of water

and rocks you painted with your small hands.

you were that bird.

the one on the sandy shore

watching waves of true love,

drinking water of unkept promises,

living this perfect world created by brush strokes.

i was that bird.

the one high above the clouds

that doesn’t look down nor dare to close its wings

afraid that he might fall;

scared he’s flying his last flight.

you were that bird.

the one that waits for the other to come down.

drinking the colors that flooded your palette

eating dreams you thought were real.

you should’ve eaten bird seeds.

i was that bird

savoring the air beneath those wings;

addicted to the air you breathed

lost in the overwhelming dream

and a slave to the truth that broke our hearts.

we were those birds

who lived in the perfect world of rocks and seas,

made colorful by lies, fear, uncertainties

immortalized by time, frozen by words

locked away with keys of nostalgia and regret.

we were those birds.

souls drawn from reality

into a world where time doesn’t exist.

painted into a canvas of ‘what could’ve been’s

and protected by a thick glass of ‘what if’s.

we were those birds

and now were nothing close to flying,

wings broken in an attempt to fly against the winds

trying to find our safe haven

towards the shore we never reached.

we were those birds,

and now we crawl as time flies high above us

and as the world decay beneath our feet.

memories hidden within the barriers of a heart

well kept, silently humming, covered in dust.

. . .

original artwork by len len, watercolor on canvas, 10” x 15”, dated december 1, 2003.

. . .

how this tag works:

1. Write a poem or an inspiring line based on a photo of your choice. This photo can be your own, or someone else’s. (If the picture is not yours, please ask permission from the owner when you post it, or better yet, provide only the link to the picture that inspired you, without posting it.)

2. Your poem or inspiring line may be of any length, and any genre. It can be humorous, sentimental, heart-warming, whatever. You may write in Ilokano, English or Filipino.

3. Post your inspiring line in your blog and in the comment section of this page (or just a link to your post so we could go and check it there). For poetry submissions, please indicate if you wish your piece to be posted in Bilingual Pen as an article submission.

4. The goal of this game is to get us to write, and express our thoughts and emotions.

i'm tagging tinay, salingpusa, and green mangoes :)

thanks ice and ely for the tag :)


the secret place

IT WAS MIDNIGHT and lucas was excited. he knew he was, because he couldn’t sleep, but stared blankly on the dark ceiling of his room instead, as he lay there on his four-poster bed, smiling. he felt stupid but he didn’t care. tonight, he would be the happiest boy on earth again…

he didn’t waste time. he got out of bed and put on his slippers. he didn’t bother to change his pajamas. there was no time to waste. she could be there, already waiting for him. he took the gasera and lit it with his trembling hands. he must be crazy for feeling nervous and excited at the same time. the warm glow of yellow light was welcoming, comforting against the darkness. this light will guide me to you…

he left the kubo and went to his destination, to their meeting place. he knew the path very well like how he remembered every inch of her face. it was not so long ago when he and lily discovered the place somewhere in the forest. as he walked on, he could feel the excitement tickle his insides. he could imagine his stupid smile illuminated by the lamp he held on his right hand. his left hand however was filled with freshly picked gumamela from his mother’s garden. he imagined her smile. the thought made him laugh and brought spring to his gait. he was nearly there. he could tell by the fireflies along the path… these lights will guide me to you…

he arrived at last. he walked straight to the acacia tree in the middle of the clearing. she hadn’t arrived yet. he decided to sit down under the tree. she would be here any minute now. he would be the happiest boy on earth again. how could he not be? he’s in love. he was just 10 but he knew in his heart that he is. no reason could explain it. he just knew. and tonight he would tell her the reason why he gives her a bouquet of flowers every time they meet there… at their meeting place… at their secret place…

lily and lucas were best friends ever since they gained awareness of the world. they did almost everything together, got into the same trouble together, and played every game together. their favorite game however was hide-and-seek. and tonight was perfect to play the game as he looked up to the cloudless night sky, spattered with stars and a full moon smiling down at him…

suddenly, he saw it. an orange glow from a distance. the light grew brighter and nearer. as she walked towards him, lucas’s world flashed before his eyes. she was her world. she was his future. he knew this as he felt the calm he was in. the galloping heartbeat was gone replaced by slow beating of hearts. he didn’t know what he was doing. he just stood up and walked towards her. she was so beautiful. her beauty was magnified by the light she was holding and the dark surroundings dotted with dancing fireflies. they were now face to face. he looked down at her with eyes of longing and innocence. he could clearly see the shy smile reflecting his own as he gave her the flowers… he was on the moon if not in heaven…

laughter broke the humming silence of the night. at that moment, lucas knew he was the happiest person on earth. he couldn’t ask for more. just being there with her as they walk across the clearing, towards the tree, his hand and soul intertwined with hers, gumamela petals in the air and lights swing back and forth in their hands…

they reached the tree at last and he positioned himself against the trunk, eyes closed, hands covering his eyes. he was laughing as he chanted the lines he could say forever as long as he’s there with her, within the refuge of their hiding place…

tagu-taguan maliwanag ang buwan.

pagkabilang kong tatlo nakatago na kayo.

isa… he could hear her laughing as she tried to hide. he was glad she’s happy.

dalawa… he would tell lily his feelings when he finds her…

tatlo… what would she say?

he turned around and let his eyes adjust to the scarce sources of light. he was so excited to find her. he was so excited to tell her. he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face when he started to search, carrying a lamp with him, casting long shadows of trees. he imagined her long wavy hair and jet black eyes somewhere behind the trees… come out, come out wherever you are…

an hour past. but he couldn’t find her. it appeared to lucas that lily was taking this game seriously. two hours passed. No lily. he was getting frustrated. sweat was salty on his skin. he was now having doubts. the smile flew away from his mouth, replaced by heavy breathing and tachycardia. another hour passed. he was losing hope and was getting anxious. for the first time in his life he felt scared. and morbid thoughts poisoned his mind like demons. ano na nangyari sa’yo? nasaan ka na? mahal kita… the dawn was coming. the first light of the sun painted the black sky with a violet hue. the air was filled with lily’s name. labas na, lily! panalo ka na! suko na ako! panic overcame him. he couldn’t find her. he was afraid. the shadows cast by the lamp he was holding became terrifying and the glow of fireflies appeared as nothing but mockery. he went back to the tree where came from. and as he sat on its roots, it hit him. she was gone. and using the last ounce of strength he could muster he bellowed to the winds the feelings he should’ve said when she was still there by his side… hoping the wind could find and whisper her his love…

it’s midnight again and still he couldn’t sleep. he got out of bed, lit the gasera, picked some gumamela, and strolled towards the place he knew so well. it’s been 10 years since lily left but still he never failed to come by the place. it was his hiding place. it was where he built his dreams with lily. their secret place. he finally arrived. nothing had changed except for piles of dead flowers that littered the ground and their names on the tree’s bark he carved 10 years ago. but tonight was somehow different…

before his eyes was a lady. he walked slowly towards the tree and touched the bark where he once hid his face, eyes closed.

boom. taya ka na, lily.

lily walked towards him and looked at him with eyes as black as the sky, tears flowing like diamonds against the light. she wrapped her arms around him, tight, like she wouldn’t let go. calm was upon him again with slow beating of his heart. he wanted to open his mouth to speak. His lips trembled. he wanted to tell her the words that should’ve been said years ago. his hand slackened as flowers fell to the ground just like the tears now on his eyes flowing down his cheeks..

the tears blurred his vision but he could still see the fireflies still mocking him.

pikit na, lily. ako naman, ang magtatago...

. . .

"And Hansel said to Gretel, 'Let us drop these breadcrumbs... so that together we find our way home. Because losing our way would be the most cruel of things.'