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


30.5.09

love potions, eargasms, freud, and suddenly i miss everyone


S
UMMER IS COMING TO AN END and everyone is bracing themselves for the rainy days ahead. I love the rainy days primarily because of the promise of a cooler weather. The summer heat was almost unbearable these past days. The other day, when the atmospheric temperature soared a couple of degrees over, I thought I was going to have a heat stroke. My brain was pounding inside my skull. End of summer also means the start of classes. I realized how much I miss school, not the toxic days nor waking up early in the morning, but my friends. After college, it’s very hard to find time to hang out with them given tha
t we’re now busy finally living our individual lives.

This is the group I spent most of my college days with. We were stuck with each other during our affiliations in different hospitals and everything academic-related.

[Retreat 2008]

I was the leader of the pack and handling such wacky group imposed a great challenge to me. It was always full of never-ending drama. But I have learned loads from them. I had the opportunity to hone my leadership skills and to see my capabilities for myself.

[Community Outreach 2008]

As the college years rolled over, we ended up being great friends. They were the ones who really helped me picked up the pieces when I had my first heartbreak. Enough said. :P

[Community Outreach 2008]

I just miss them. By the way, to Richard and other nurse aspirants who would take the National Licensure Examinations this June, I wish you well.

I’m so hooked downloading torrent audio files! The past two weeks, my flash drive was teeming with soundtracks and albums. I now have the full discographies of Gavin Degraw, James Morrison, James Blunt, John Mayer and The Frey. I’m really fascinated by musical scores. So I also downloaded soundtracks from movies August Rush, The Lady in the Water, Atonement, and Angels and Demons. I had to transfer my files to our PC but the hard drive is literally running out of available disk space. I guess I had to transfer some files into data disks. It’s really nice to do a sound tripping over coffee, late in the afternoon or past midnight. I hope it rains tonight.

Have you read my previous post, lost and found? The story of a guy who vandalized a bus and met a girl who was soaking wet and was missing a shoe? Well I asked Angelo, a doctor: If he were to psychoanalyze me, what would that post say about me? And this was his reply:

hahahaha, dude, don't get me started! Psychoanalysis will probably lead to the revelation of some repressed sexual tension as it usually does.... I mean c'mon you find a wet girl with a missing shoe?... let's break it down:

"wet girl" - nuff said...

"a shoe" - may be construed as a sheath of some form meant to ensheath another object vis-à-vis a foot. In Latin, the root word for sheath is "VAGIN", hence the word "vagina" = a sheath for a phallus. A cellphone may be construed as phallic... not only did she ring your cell, you proceeded to give her the white handkerchief from your cell....

dude, you need to find the shoe!

Sorry if that w
as too Freudian for you hehehe....

I was laughing out loud when I read it. It was very interesting, wasn’t it? :P It makes me wonder what my other posts would mean. He probably got it right. I really need to get laid find the missing shoe. Hahaha!

It’s now less than two months until The Half-Blood Prince. Time runs really fast! I saw this clip from the upcoming movie.



This first aired in The Ellen Degeneres Show. Luckily, I found an extended version in YouTube. Ron was hilarious in here! Hehe! Peace out! :P







26.5.09

lost and found


IMAGINE ME INSIDE A BUS. Imagine me leaning forward, vandalizing the back of the seat in front of me with a marker pen. I was on my way home that day. I thought the air-conditioning could save me from the scorching heat of the afternoon sun. It couldn’t. The bus was almost full. I felt suffocated by the disgusting smell of undeodorized underarms and vomit that churned inside the airtight environment. I wanted to get off but I was too lazy to move, pinned to that bug-infested seat. I just wanted to go home and enjoy a sanctuary only my room could give. But a two-hour-long journey still loomed ahead.

I continued to write onto the bare steel in front of me, scribbling words I copied from the rusting floor and murky glass windows that blurred the speeding images outside. I was struggling to keep my hand steady, eager to make every letter legible despite the sudden stops and bumps along the way. It was a rough ride. The words finally converged into a nine-line poetry, which ended with a sign and an eleven-digit number. I was hoping that someone would care to read it, unveil the message beneath the lines, and find me. I was going home and yet I felt lost, ever wondering if I took the right bus.

I spent the rest of the ride looking outside occasionally lip-synching conversations between people. I watched as the yellowish tone of the world succumbed under the grey shade of the sky, once blue and now swallowed whole by wrathful dark clouds. Soon, bullets of water streaked down, firing at will against everything, pounding on the bus’ roof and windows. My head ached in the swift drop of temperature. It didn’t take long before the flood water rose and for the children of the streets to play in celebration. I envied them, those little vagabonds. I was dry and warm and yet I couldn’t smile remembering how I used to enjoy the rain once upon a time.

The traffic ominously twisted. The sounds of angry horns became a chatter, pointless amidst the stagnant traffic flow. The two-hour journey stretched to three, to four and then five. I was stranded, trapped in a gas chamber thinking that fates were mocking me once again. And then, the hissing sound of an opening bus door broke the monotony of the moment. Every one looked up. Someone got on board. I watched as the new passenger walked gracefully along the aisle. I was torn into thinking which was more curious about her: the fact that she’s dripping wet or that she was missing a shoe. She traversed the length of the aisle leaving wet footprints and blots on the cold steel floor, bowed head moving left and right searching for a seat. And she found one—the one next to me.

I became so aware of her presence and the minute space between us. It made me feel uncomfortable and yet there was this urge to have a glimpse of her face concealed under her long black hair. She felt terribly cold. I could sense her trembling in her seat. If I could at least make her feel warm. But I couldn’t do anything. The ugly feeling of powerlessness compelled me to just sigh—a subtle way to scream out bottled frustration that burdened my chest. I looked once again to the cold, wet, world behind the glass, desperately trying to swim away towards a reverie I so longed for, separated from me by a curtain of an unrelenting summer rain.

And then between a heartbeat and a groan, my cellular silently rang. Someone had sent me a message. I reached for it in my pocket, wrapped in a white handkerchief. After my eyes grazed the three lines of the message, it struck me. Fate indeed mocked me the day.


"You should vandalize buses more often, sir.
I think I found you.
And I hope you can find me too."


I looked incredulously at the person next to me, a cellular held in her trembling hand. I offered my hand where the piece of cloth from my pocket lies.

“Thank you.” She slowly reached for it in my hand. She looked up and bestowed me a shy smile. It was then that I saw her beautiful face, embellished with water droplets glinting like misplaced diamonds.

“No, miss. Thank you.” For the first time in ages I smiled. It’s indeed easy to find someone, especially when the person you’re looking for is sitting just a couple of inches from you.

“I think I found you too.”






23.5.09

for my darling







Shed those tears on the ground or

Eat the same dust from your mouth

Sing me a sad song—

The lyrics on your ashes I spoke.


Tremble for me, my darling

Like I am your greatest fear

In your bed, a mortal foe

Stay awake or sleep forevermore.


A bouquet of flowers I give to you

Scarlet like a dying sun, as dead as your love

Fall hard on the earth where I stood

Like a rootless tree barren of fruits.


Run for me in haste for your life

Drink sweat if you thirst

From the bottle filled with yourself—

A lost taste lasting on my tongue.


Write me a thousand letters

That I promise to never read

Let an unkindness send them not a murder

For good fortune to me they will bring.


Then kill yourself as if you’re alive

But stab my heart first as if I have not died

Dig our holes, with your hands as spades

Bury me with you, my darling

And this anger as lights from our eyes fade.



20.5.09

angels, demons, and pizza

[WARNING: SPOILER AHEAD]

AT LAST, I was able to watch Angels and Demons on the big screen—twice in one sitting. Hales was not with me though. It’s been awhile since the last time I enjoyed a blockbuster in a movie house alone. She already watched it and blatantly gave a warning, telling me not to waste time watching it (which I think could be categorized as a mild form of a spoiler). But how could I not? I’ve anticipated for it for so long. I’ll not get disappointed till I see it for myself.

After more than four hours on my favorite seat along the aisle, occasionally taking a bite of a regular asado siopao (the only decent snack I could afford due to my dire financial status) without taking my eyes off the screen, I can say that it was a good watch, at
least way better than its predecessor—The Da Vinci Code. It even toppled Star Trek in the box-office. While watching, I was trying desperately to detach the book purist in me so as to keep myself from whining about:

1. Leonardo Vetra becoming the Silvano guy.

2. Maximillian Kohler being erased from the script.
3. Trashing the legend of the Illuminati Diamond.


Aside from these, I consider the changes forgivable and woven in a way that even non-readers could connect to. I like how they twisted the story by sparing Cardinal Baggia, one of the preferiti. It gave an element of surprise to the readers and non-readers alike.


I think the movie did well on the technical aspect. I love the visual effects and cinematography. The St. Peter’s Square shots were amazing especially when the antimatter finally annihilated at the climax of the film. The musical scoring was superb. It’s obvious that they adapted it from the Da Vinci Code soundtrack but it still set the mystical and ominous tone of film. The movie w
as fast paced and exhilarating—the way it should be. The cast did their part very well. Ewan McGreggor who played the role of the Camerlengo was superb. The woman who played Vittoria was gorgeous even though her performance lacked a little personality. Tom Hanks played it cool this time adding the right amount of humor to the chaotic plot.

When the movie ended, I observed the crowd’s reactions. They don’t look satisfied. It made me wonder if I liked the movie just because of my insatiable fanaticism for the book. But anyway, I went home with a smile thinking I didn’t waste a hundred pesos. I concluded the night watching a Korean comedy flick, 100 days with Mr. Arrogant, while binging on tons of pizza left-overs from the fridge. It was a fun-fun-fun day!
Peace out! :D







15.5.09

truth or consequence


“Ano, Bok? Truth or consequence?”

Nawala sa sarili si Bok. Nakatulala sa kawalan habang nangungutyang nakaturo sa kanya ang bote ng sakto sa malamig na sahig na kanilang kinauupuan. Hindi pa rin siya makapaniwalang limang taon na ang lumipas mula ng huli silang nagkita ni Poknat. At ngayon ay magkasama silang muli; isang gabing hinahagupit ng bagyo. Dinig nilang dalawa ang malakas na ulan at hanging kumakatok sa mga bubong at bintana. Isang kandila ang nagbibigay ng kakarampot na liwanag. Buti na lang walang kuryente.

“Hoy! Bok! Ano na?”

“Ay, sorry, Nat.”

“Lumilipad na naman ang utak mo eh.” Parusa kay Bok ang ganda ng ngiti niyang hinahaplos ng liwanag. “Hindi ka pa rin nagbabago.”

“Senya naman. Pwedeng mag-sorry?” Sabay tawa ng dalawa.

“Ayaw mo yata nitong game na to eh. Gusto mo ibang laro na lang?” wika ni Poknat habang binabasa ang mukha ng kaibigan.

Napalunok si Bok habang pinipigilang tumawa sa mga alaala ng bahay-bahayan na dati nilang nilalaro.

“Hindi. Gusto ko. Ito na lang.” Sa totoo’y pinaka-ayaw ni Bok ang Truth or Consequence lalo na kapag si Poknat ang kalaro. Masyado nilang kilala ang isa’t isa para sa larong ito. Totoo kayang may mga bagay na hindi talaga nagbabago?

“Okay. So, ano na nga? Truth or consequence?” Tanong muli ni Poknat. Nakakatunaw ang pananabik na malayang nakaguhit sa kanyang mukha.

“Truth.” Bulong ni Bok. Dama niya ang butil ng pawis na gumuhit sa kanyang pisngi dulot ng init na nagmumula sa liwanag ng kandila.

“Okay. Hmmm.” Nag-isip ang dalawa ng mga tanong habang mga mata’y nakatingin sa mga nagsasayaw na anino sa kisame. Mahabang panahon ang apat na taon. Maraming nagbago. Maraming pwedeng itanong. Ngunit higit sa lahat ay marami ring mga sagot. Ang tanong ay kung seseryosohin ba nila ang laro at kung pipiliin nilang magsabi ng totoo. Nakakatakot isipin kung anong katotohanan ang pwede nilang malaman sa bawat pag-ikot ng bote.

“Okay eto… uhmm… After High School, nagka-girlfriend ka ba?” Bakas sa mukha ni Bok ang pagkagulat sa tanong.

“Oo. Si Elisa.” Sa puntong nabigkas ang mga salita’y kaagad niya namang pinagsisihan ang pagsasabi ng totoo. Sa loob-loob ni Bok, mali ang tanong ng kaibigan. Hindi iyon ang hinihintay niyang katanungan. Hindi rin iyon ang gusto niyang malaman ni Poknat.

“Oh. Okay.” Aninag pa rin ang ngiting ngayo’y naging maingat at kalkulado habang inaabot ang bote na kanyang pinaikot. Umikot ang bote. At si Poknat naman ang kailangang pumili.

“Truth or consequence?” Alanganing tanong ni Bok, pinipilit basahin ang mukha ng kaibigan sa ilaw na pakurap-kurap sa dilim.

“Truth.” Nakatingin siyang muli sa kisame.

“Ikaw? Nagkaroon ka ba ng boyfriend after High School?” Sigurado siya na kailangan niya itong itanong.

“Wala.” Bulong ni Poknat sa hangin. Hindi alam ni Bok kung anong dapat isipin ngunit palaisipan sa kanya ang pagkakasabi ng salita. Wala siyang ibang magawa kundi ilabas ang buntong hiningang nagkukubli ng pagkalito. Ang sagot ni Poknat ay tumawag ng marami pang katanungan; nagsisisksikan sa isip ni Bok. Bakit wala? Hanggang ngayon?

Walang nagsalita. Lumipas ang mga segundong lumutang sa hangin na tila humahatak sa kanila papalapit sa isa’t isa. Upang mabasag ang katahimikan ay kailangang magpatuloy ang laro. Hindi sinasadyang nagdampi ang mga kamay na parehong inabot ang bote sa sahig. Nagtagpo ang mga paningin sabay sa saliw ng mabilis na pagtibok ng mga puso. Kinuha ni Bok ang bote sa kamay ng kaibigan at isinantabi. Wala na ang bote sa pagitan nila. Hindi na niya kayang panoorin pag-ikot at hintayin ang pagtigil nito.

“Ikaw lang naman talaga, Nat. Ikaw lang.” wika ni Bok habang pinapanuod ang nauubos na kandila.

“Anong ako lang?” Pakunwaring walang alam na sabi ni Poknat.

“Ang minahal ko. Hanggang ngayon…” Hinayaan ni Bok na lumutang ang mga salita. “…ikaw pa din.”

Kinuha ni Poknat ang bote at pinaikot sa huling pagkakataon. Muli’y tumigil itong nakaturo sa kanya. Ano ang pipiliin niya? Walang abog na hinawi ni Bok ang bote na naglaho sa dilim. Tuluyan nang nawala ang pagitan sa kanilang dalawa.

“Truth or consequence?” tanong ni Bok habang nilulunod ang sarili sa mga mata ng kaibigan.

“Consequence.” Tila musika ang tunog ng ulan sa latang bubong. Sobrang lapit na ni Bok. Kaya nang bilangin ni Poknat ang mga namumuong luha sa kanyang mga mata.

Kinain ng dilim ang lahat at sa wakas ay naubos na din ang liwanag ng kandila.





12.5.09

phlegm


WHY DO PEOPLE FIND IT SO EASY TO STRAY and to get lost than to find their way back?

The version of you that I’ve learned to love still sticks to my throat—stubborn phlegm that lately pushes me to the verge of breathlessness; an amalgam of blissful memories, perfect, pristine, and relentless, defying the continuous downpour of rain spattering against the roof and windows of this lonely house. And now that I have the chance to finally unveil who you really are, far away from the ghosts of our past, I suddenly found myself scared. I am not ready to let go of such beauty.

I tried to find the answers as I stared lazily unto the wet night. A cup of coffee was my company and some alternative music to color the monotonous crackling sounds of water against everything. The truth slowly revealed itself: I am terrified to know you because you might not be the person I’ve always imagined you to be. I am selfish for what my mind thinks but that picture of you is all I’ve got—my only hope to find a way back. Your willingness to reach out awakened a hope, once in a deep slumber; a hope to pick up the threads of an old life that I am longing for so much that it feels almost an ache. And now as I stroll on this new path for us I am afraid that the thread would grow thin still and eventually break.

People say that sometimes, one needs to fool himself into believing things that aren’t real, especially when those things are his only means to be saved. I am not sure what complicated emotion lurks inside my diseased heart. I do not know if it’s love or a twisted form of fanaticism. But love usually thrives in the unknown and in the uncertain. I guess I’ll just have to believe that it is real—my sole anchor and means of salvation to escape away from a fate I do not wish to suffer. I need to believe that it can save me from myself, which is slowly turning into something far away from the person that I’ve always wanted to be. These are those moments where decisions are proven insufficient. It takes a mind to decide but it requires a heart to choose. Unfortunately, I have a weak one.

The rain slowly hushed eventually muting the noises it was making against tin roofs. And when it finally ended in silence, I was still there, elbows on my knees, hands under my face. On my side was a cup that now laid empty, hollow, waiting to be filled. Strangely, it felt like sitting with myself. The perfect marriage of the lack of light and the cold hums of the evening air was strangely elating despite of my melancholic thoughts and Switchfoot’s nostalgic lullabies. The emotion invoked words from nowhere, suddenly arranging themselves on a blank piece of paper. Half-way through it, a sad thought walked past like a rude passerby:

When we finally meet, I might not recognize her anymore. To finally look at her as friend will take some time. The phlegm must be coughed out—which I have proven is as stubborn as myself.






3.5.09

on your doorstep: epilogue


A SHADOW MOVED concealed in the night’s seas of black. I heard its faint footsteps as I sat on the same doorstep bathed with the bright light from a lamp post across the street. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I just stayed with my back against your door, head down, and arms wrapped around my knees. I didn’t dare move a muscle because I was afraid it would not be you that was making those sounds against the path of cobblestones that led to your door; to the arms where you belong.

The footsteps grew louder, moving in haste and in synchrony with the thundering beat of a heart that had been missing you for so long. And then I felt the shadow cover me, blocking the light that divided the night. Then, came heaving breaths—the same sounds that emanated from your
mouth that compelled me to remember the night when bodies and souls wed, leading us to the stars.

Suddenly, I heard my name. It sounded like a plea. That was when I started breathing again but every ounce of air entering my lungs was a drive to cry the tears out. I heard my name again. Your voice trembled as a whimper escaped my lips, and then came sobs, followed by tears leaving wet blots on the letters that littered at my feet. I heard sounds of crying. But they were not mine. They were from you. I slowly lifted my head up and there, bold against the light, was a silhouette. My blurred vision cleared and as it adjusted to the lack of light I finally saw your face again; ever beautiful and impervious against the passing of times.

Helpless against the torrent of a nameless bliss, I sprang to my feet and locked you in an embrace—a gesture of a promise to not let go of you again. With eyes tight shut, I savored the feel of your body against mine; thinking that the warmth and scent of your presence would sink the truth in—that you finally came back and that the long wait had finally ended.

“What took you so long?” I said with a broken voice; a letter and a flower crushed tight in my hands.

“I am so sorry.” You said in an echoing whisper that shook the tears from our eyes.

The simple and sincere words were enough to heal the hurts and to sever the time that seemed to collapse on itself, swallowing the years past and taking us back to were we had left things; the exact point in time where we would again begin. I offered my hand where a letter and a rose lie. And we just stood there as time slithered underneath us in silence and in dark; where it had all began, surrounded by dying petals and unopened letters that sealed a thousand words which true meaning lies into just three.

That night still grows fresh in my memory for it was the night when the meaning I was desperately searching for came back. It is where the fates had failed themselves and made the greatest accident. It was by your doorstep where you found me and where I first started the search, and had succeeded.








. . .


Conclusion to the monologue, on your doorstep
.