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


28.4.09

a night on scraps


WHILE READING THIS, imagine me sitting by a bed, breathing the stench of disease inside forbidding white walls of a typical hospital ward. I am looking over my hyperglycemic grandmother that is trying to convince herself that she’s already well and fit to go home. But not yet. Her glucose level just sky-rocketed from 344 to a staggering 419. But besides that and a snag to expel the mucus from her throat, she’s stable. And now I’m treading the line of time that silently stretches itself in front of us while waiting for the results of her laboratory examinations.

Earlier this afternoon, Lola Cornelia experienced breathing difficulties preceded by an unproductive cough and a sore throat; apparently a respiratory ailment that unfortunately exacerbated her fight against a silent assailant—diabetes. I volunteered to watch over her. But I needed something to carry me through the long night so I asked Nanay, my Lola’s daughter, for a pen and paper before she left. I thought I’d write an update for my blog. I told her that I forgot to bring my phone, MP3 player, and the The Rosary Girls novel I’m currently reading. She just stared at me with a puzzled look before giving me a pen and scraps of paper she got me from the nurses’ station. I can understand if she thinks I’m going nuts. She doesn’t know I’m into blogging :P

Let’s talk American Idol if you don’t mind. :P Anyway, I was literally punching the air last Thursday when America decided to give Matt one more week in the competition. Do I think he’ll sail through the finals? I guess that depends on how well he’ll perform in the following weeks. The same goes for the rest of the remaining contenders, which are very musically talented. I think Gokey is somewhat losing his touch and I can now sense an Allen-Lambert finale. But my fingers are still crossed for my dawg, Matt. :P And I think Allison is going home.

I am really psyched that the latest Gavin Degraw album—Free, is finally out! Thanks to my twilight TV surfing and The Today Show. I fell in love with Gavin’s music ever since I heard it on the One Tree Hill Soundtrack years ago. He’s one primary reason why I like Matt’s music so much. In some ways, I find resemblance in the music that they make—blues-y and alternative. And they’re both piano players! Here are sample tracks from the album.



Gavin Degraw

As my pen moves across paper, I can see Lola is still wide awake, anxious eyes at the ceiling. She can’t sleep and I clearly understand why. For a medical practitioner, the hospital is place to heal the sick, but to most of those on the other side of the fence, it’s a place where people die—the main reason why people dislike hospitals and the like. I can sense her anxiety as she lies on this bed, surrounded by sick people, punctured with intravenous lines, and desperately trying to sleep against guttural snores and the air conditioning’s endless buzz—a sick lullaby.




. . .

This is one of the two entries I was able to write when I was in the hospital to watch over my Lola last Sunday. I was half-way through the second when my pen ran out of ink. I was really frustrated and it was only 1:49 in the morning. My grandmother finally fell asleep and I was wide awake. My body clock remained reversed and without anyone to talk to and without anything to do, I was so bored out of skull and writing was my sole hope to kill time. Here are the original drafts.

On the next bed lied an old woman. Sitting on a chair beside her was a girl enjoying an OTH marathon on a laptop. It was a total mockery! I would’ve watched from a distance but I didn’t want to be rude either. She looked really smart but definitely a snob! I didn’t want to risk it. :P Peace out!



20.4.09

blah


I
WAS LITERALLY BITING MY NAILS as the American Idol results show was transpiring last week and I was so relieved that Matt got saved by the judges in the end despite of his not-so-brilliant performance. I think they have decided to use the ‘judges’ save’ because apparently, America knows how to vote—so far. Considering the pros and cons in saving Matt, it was still a gamble. Imagine if Danny or
Adam would get the lowest votes this week. It’s very unlikely but still possible. I think Adam, Danny, and Kris will win the top three spots. Lil or Matt has the highest probability to get voted out. But I still think Matt is a very talented guy. The poll on my side bar corroborates this. The poll is still open by the way :D

The first official full theatrical trailer of the ‘Prince’ is finally out. I’m just out of words for this one. My brother downloaded a copy in HD last night and I can’t help but play it on a loop on our DVD player. There are a lot of new footages on this one. Click here for the video.



A clear look of the Inferis was finally revealed. I love the scene where Katie Bell plummets into the air screaming in agony as she suffers a deadly curse—really creepy. I like the tone in this one—dark and mystifying. The ‘Prince’ is my favorite installment in the 7-part series and to watch it this July 15 would be a great cinematic experience definitely worth the wait.

My mother finally went through with her first (hopefully the last) Electronic Shockwave Lithotripsy (ESWL) Treatment. It was the recommended treatment since she was advised that there is no longer need for an invasive surgery. Apparently, the ‘stones’ had already shrunk and non-invasive laser treatment should be sufficient enough to break the liths that blocks her ureters—less invasive, with less complications, and only done in an OPD basis. Some diet changes, lifestyle modifications, and strict drug regimen should completely restore the patency of her urinary tract.

I’ve been doing some blog-hopping lately and have stumbled upon very interesting sites that I would like to follow. It’s just really frustrating because for reasons unknown, I can’t leave comments on some of them (You know who you are :D). I can’t leave messages on those sites with this type of message box:

I am not sure why and I think the only solution is to change the layout. But the question is, will you change your layout for me? Hehe :D Just use a layout that do not utilize such comment box or change it if it’s possible. Please T_T

The sound device of the PC in my room got fried; hence, I can no longer play my music or watch movies in it. I can still watch movies but I am really not good at reading lips. I’m no computer expert either so I consulted my brother about the problem. He told me that its sound device is embedded in the motherboard and to fix it is to replace the motherboard itself. How he figured that out, I have no idea. And in an act of desperation I burned all my music files on data disks so that I could play them on the DVD player. I wish it could still be fixed without costing so much. Not being able to enjoy music and movies in the privates of my own room is unacceptable!

It rained so hard earlier this afternoon. Advantage—cooler weather. Disadvantage—we were flooded. T_T

14.4.09

frozen in time


TIME IS A BIRD once caged flying in haste towards the horizon it will never reach. It runs so fast that to its eyes, everything moves so slowly. Most people try to chase it. Those persistent enough are successful to catch it. Some fail, but try again. But there are those who get tired and decide to walk, who eventually sit down and just let time pass them by. Today, I am one of them.

To most people, time is the one that wades through us. Only few believe that it is us that walk through time. If this is true then time shouldn’t be a problem. There would be no such thing as too late or lost time. If time stretches in front of us, then we just have to choose the way how to walk through it. One could choose to walk, run, or crawl. If we’re the ones that wade through time, then we are ones in control of it, not the other way around. But still, we tend to blame time for everything that we miss because we find it inconvenient to blame ourselves.

I sometimes imagine that time is a line or a path that we all take, extending from both ends, front and back, stretching endlessly. But when dealing with time, there is no such thing as return or reverse—a one way street. The points in the line we have already traversed just become part of our personal histories which eventually turn into just mere memories—silent photographs, faded and old. There is no stepping back, just moving forward, but only limited to the present, which we have to take one step at a time before we could get to the future. The past is once a present, which is a future to the past. But the present is past to the future—the only space in time were we could make a difference for what’s to come.

Everything ends, like time, at least here in the physical world. The lines will end. We will soon run out of solid ground to walk on to because life is bound to end like lines differing in lengths. They may run in parallels but they are not always congruent. But what really matters is what we do to those lines that overlap with ours and those who walk through them…before lines run out; before our time run out.

This day I choose to kill time. There are lots of ways to do this. My way is probably the lamest but it doesn’t matter. This day I choose to stop. No running. No walking. No Crawling. You can imagine me laying my back on a withered bench along an empty street; ears plugged with music—an attempt to shut everything out, which is successful, I think, for I can no longer hear the rustling of leaves and the knocks of anger waiting at my heart’s doorstep. The sky hangs above me carrying a promise of rain, murky and gray. I watch as the clouds churn, moving swiftly to where the wind rules them. Moist air cools my spirit; a balm to my troubled soul. May it carry my prayers to the high places where it could finally be heard and bear answers.

An unkindness of ravens fly by. Pairs of wings stretched, struggling against the wailing winds. And once again, I am reminded of how time flies, wondering what else I am missing. As I fail to shut out the truth that there is no turning back, I gaze upon the vast expanse of heaven while waiting for the first drops of cold rain on my face. This is the way I choose to kill time. But it can’t be killed. It just lay there instead, frozen beside me and along everything else that wishes the world to stop.

My time has run out…






7.4.09

blots


Mind scrambles air

As soft as nothing

Stifling eager joints of fingers

Leaving wasted ink on blank paper

Empty but desperately longs to be filled.







Periods turned into questions

Resounding noises in my head

That turned into blots

That turned into myself—

An insignificant stain.







3.4.09

before sunrise









Tongues moved in haste

Devouring skins and souls drenched in sweat

Lips collided concealed in the glittering dark

Their sole sanctuary


Love forbidden kindled

Restless in the sounds of blankets

Rustling among whimpers and moans

Torn, undecided, but happy


Whispers in the shadows talked

Divulging stories of lust and love combined

Clammy hands intertwined like snakes

Burning, leaving marks of the night


Fast went the pulses—an attempt to fracture time

Surging blood to veins untangling to the beat of hearts

A remedy worse than the disease

Fatal, deadly, yet gives length to life


The night hid in its shadows

Awaking a chill silence that heeded

The screams of heated bodies crashing in delight

And painful truths written in the lights of dawn


They flew to the heavens towards the stars

Then fell and burned like cigarettes

In their mouths breathing white smoke

Drinking glasses of alcoholic amber-colored lies


Tired salted bodies cuddled on battered bed

Wrapped in white sheets and sex’s fetid smell

Lingering, hovering, smiling in mock indifference

Against the ascending sun—another end


Lips and hands parted unwillingly

Leaving shattered hearts on the crimson-tiled floor

Tears moved in tracks of never-ending grief

From eyes beholding a sunrise they hoped was a sunset