on the coffin rock

pre-halloween scare

2009-11-09T01:46:00.000-08:00

THIS IS LUCAS finally having the time to resuscitate this blog. I haven’t been able to update because I voluntarily gave away my laptop in exchange for a portable media player. Well, my Tita needed it more than I do. It’s just frustrating not being able to vomit words straight into a computer. And thoughts easily dissolve into thin air when I attempt to put them into writing using pen and paper. Luckily, I’ll get my laptop back after two months. Besides I have all the time in the world. Oh wait. Time doesn’t exist in my world, does it?

Halloween was still Halloween. I mean it’s always fun to have a family gathering in a cemetery, meet up with friends, and scare people with hideous masks. But ‘fun’ was not the right word to describe what happened the day before Halloween. It was ‘terrifying’. My father was caught up in a bad car accident. He was traversing the length of SLEX, when one of his tires exploded and a bus crashed against his car straight into the driver side. I was at my grandmother’s house when my sister told me the terrible news and added that my father refuses to get medical help insisting just to stay at home. I was suddenly reminded of those exaggerated dramatic scenes in telenovelas where in a protagonist dies in someone’s arms, bleeding, saying his last words. In a flash, I filled a bag with medical supplies I could use and went home.

My mind was racing, moving on a flash-forward, with images so revolting that I felt nauseated. It was one of those moments when I could actually say that I am scared. I couldn’t deny it because I could see it on my own eyes when I looked at the rear view mirror. And once again questions attacked the last remaining part in my head that could make sense of what’s happening. I tried to block them away. I saw years of regret in front of me and billowing unspoken words that had made a gap between me and my father. That was when I said to my self—He can’t die.

I saw the wrecked car as we got near to our destination—severely damaged with an enormous dent that practically bent the car from the middle. A total wreck. No one could’ve survived this. The car finally stopped. Breathe Ron. Clear your head. Don’t panic. As a nurse, trying to save someone’s life is challenging but when someone important is involved, it’s a whole different story. It’s very hard to compartmentalize the personal from the professional stuff. But as a medical practitioner, you’re not allowed to panic or make mistake because whoever needs your help, a life is at stake. No room for mistakes. And the more reason I got scared. I broke into a run, my heart hammering my throat, and my lungs mimicking a brown bag being used by someone suffering from acute hypercapnia. And then it hit me. How did he manage to go home. Refusing medical help?—that is so stupid?!!!

I arrived at the threshold frustration and fear churning in my gut.

“Ano, Conicks?” I heard my father say my weirdest nick name, with a crooked smile that practically said ‘Whew! That was close.’

Relief rushed over me like cold water in a very hot summer day.

“Akala ko mamatay ka na eh!” I exclaimed feigning the urge to bang my head on a wall. My father survived a car crash with just a few shallow scratches, cuts, and a sprained wrist. I insisted that he get himself checked by a physician. He still refuses till now.

Stupid. We both are.

the wrong choice

2009-10-29T01:47:00.000-07:00

''If you could be anywhere? Where would you be? Answer: It doesn’t matter, because wherever you go, you’re still falling.''

-- Paul Harris, The Rule of Four

HE WAS SITTING ON A BENCH by the bus stop. He wore his faith, faded like the rugged jeans on him while waiting for a bus to arrive. Behind him was a vast open space of golden fields of barley. Facing him was a dark patch of concrete highway stretching to the both ends of the earth. And beyond it was another bare and wide space of uncertainties extending towards a horizon that married the endless ocean of the azure blue skies over his head. He felt like he was in the middle of nowhere; almost insignificant against the billowing possibilities surrounding him, taunting him. But in that moment he couldn’t do anything but feel small and wait. The bus wouldn’t arrive fast enough.

For a moment he watched his hands, and traced the lines that ran across his palms. Fate was written all over their skins, ready to be realized. He closed his hands tight and it felt good. For a fleeting moment he was in control of his destiny and the person he wanted to be was in his grasp, etched deep and unfading. Cotton clouds occasionally stained the sky above sometimes forming into familiar faces he knew—his face included. And he watched them all traverse the wide spread of the air eventually disintegrating into wisps until he couldn’t recognize them anymore. The wind had swept away his face.

Very slowly, he opened his closed fists in way like there were fragile-winged butterflies in them he wanted to set free. And then a muted noise reached his ears. It grew louder and louder. He could hear the crunch of loose asphalt against rubber. There was a hiss of an opening door and a booming sound of a horn that shattered the calm silence. The bus had arrived. But he didn’t expect that climbing aboard was far more difficult than waiting for it. He stood by the bus door—ajar and inviting, his hands on the frame, and unable to find the courage to lift himself up. Seconds flew, awkward and pressure-filled. His eyes brimming with confusion met the bus driver’s.

Are you coming, son?

With head on a bow, he filled his lungs with air and let go of the frame. He stepped back and gazed back into the driver’s fatherly eyes, ever wondering if he would regret the next words from his mouth.

No. I think I will take the next bus.

The door closed with another hiss. The large tires started to move. And he watched the bus vanish into the horizon. He looked up to the heavens and look for familiar faces. There weren’t any. He imagined himself sitting on the bus, watching hills roll, grass-scented air caressing his weary face. Could he have risked everything and rode the bus till the end? He looked up again and there it was—the face he longed to see, smiling at him.

And then he ran as fast as he could, his shoes biting good on the rough surface of the road with the wind crashing brutally against his face. He closed his eyes as he sprinted towards the horizon, praying the opposing air could blow away the ghosts in his head and the cramps in his legs. But it was too late. Because like a snail in a race against all the fastest creatures of the world—he just couldn’t outrun himself. He couldn’t outrun gravity. And in that moment he realized that horizontal motion is an illusion—that he needed to move just to convince himself he’s not on a free fall.

what i should have said...

2009-10-25T00:19:00.000-07:00

"I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. It will sharpen it. It will give it spice. I will be the only angel you need. You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you and say: Only one thing can make a soul complete. And that thing is love."

--Michael, The Reader

I LIKE YOU. And more than that, I feel like I'm stepping beyond the lines of just liking someone. I maybe be too young to understand what love really means, but I think this is it. If this is not love then I don't know anymore. But I will never think. There's already too many questions in my head. I'm just gonna say it and let it hang. But I will never spend the rest of my life thinking and not be with you.

I'm going to jump, and scream I love you as I fall.

the hermit came out of his shell

2009-10-19T23:45:00.000-07:00

AND AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE A GAZILLION YEARS, I finally had an opportunity to actually have a social life. I attend to my sick grandmother (A nurse is required to take care of her since she breathes through a tube in her throat and she eats through a tube in her stomach-- tubes everywhere) for 12 straight hours without sleep starting from 6 PM to 6 AM and I usually spend the rest of the day usually by sleeping or watching TV series on my laptop. My life has been pretty boring and monotonous that I sometimes feel miserable. Wait, I am always miserable!

So yesterday morning, just to save myself from depression due to lack of human contact, I went out despite of the fact that I am restless and bags burdened my eyes. I decided to watch the movie Fame. As I wait for a jeepney to take me to my destination, there was this strange feeling of bliss. I got to experience once again the chaos in the streets--people scouring, the annoying traffic, the open air and skies. Yeah. it's that bad. I am a hermit. For months my world revolved in a small room that smelled of urine and disinfectant.

10:30 AM-- I arrived at the movie house and I got very disappointed. The mall will not feature Fame. Alone and feeling pathetic (I mean who would go to the cinemas at 10-ish in the morning?), I reached for my cell and texted PJ and Ego almost pleading for us to meet up. And I was glad that I did because we had a blast. I missed hanging out with them. It's always nice to chill out with crazy people!

We ended up window shopping for cool clothes. Shopping for clothes is not my thing but if you're friends with vain people, I think it'll rub on you somehow. We ate at McDonald's--my treat (See? SEE!?)

After 4 hours of catching up, we said goodbye and I went back to my world of monotony.

6 PM-- My shift started and I felt so tired and sleepy. Sometimes, I wish I could fast-forward my life to 5 years from now. Because sometimes, I feel like I wouldn't miss anything even if I could.

twist and turn

2009-10-16T01:39:00.000-07:00

Questions twist

And turn

In my head—

Unsolved riddles

Hungry

Angry

Weary

For answers

Hiding in shadows

I couldn’t follow

Questions turn

And churn

In my gut,

Burns the edge of my heart—

A sick carrousel ride

Of fate unkind

That binds

My will to walk

And talk

And think

And love.

Questions echo

And say hello

Then bellow

My name—

You coward!

Feet moving backwards

Toward a past

That will not last

And to lust

Eating your face so fast.

Answers twist

And turn

And churn

And burn

In shadows

I couldn’t follow

Because myself is my foe

And its feet take me

To rivers where truths don’t flow.

if you exist in this lifetime, then this is for you

2009-10-01T00:48:00.000-07:00

Peyton,

I have taken the most dangerous step and it was worth every risk for it had led me to the lost piece to finally decode the never-ending riddle in my head. You are the comet that I once saw and now that you have found a way to light up my sky again, this time, I will never let go. Everything had fallen into place and I could no longer ask for more. I will no longer move for there is no better place; for the broken road had finally ended with you.

Shine your light to the heavens; paint it with stars from the palette of your hands. You are the artist and I am your art. With your brush strokes, I was brought to life in vibrant swirls and dynamic hues. I was alive. Not blank nor empty. I am filled, mouth brimming with love and colors your heart created and mine beat for, plunging my system into an overload; an intoxicating bliss that I wish not to end like an ever sweet reverie.

You make me exist and I love you.

Thank you for giving me a piece of your heart.

Without wax,

Lucas

the bench

2009-09-25T03:07:00.000-07:00

IT'S TIRING. And no matter how hard you try, you still fail. But failing in love is a different kind of failure. Then you realize that love is simply not enough.

And to save what's left, sometimes, you just have to hand over a flower and...

walk away.

forgotten

2009-09-18T03:37:00.001-07:00

I HAD FORGOTTEN THE SCENT OF LOVE and its bittersweet taste on my tongue; the fluttering wings in my gut and the calming warmth I used to feel from an embrace or a kiss. I had cast away the elusive emotion in the deepest trenches of thought, oblivious of remembrance. Nothing remained but the faint traces it had left on my memory; embedded, echoing like a lost whisper in the air I wanted to inhale and exhale at the same time.

Once upon a time, I was struggling to forget but my heart just won’t let me. There are some things that are best left forgotten but the heart remembers things that the mind easily fails to remember. It was impervious to my will of purging my consciousness off of the repugnant memories, but most of all, the beautiful ones; that were reeling in my head on an endless loop, blinding and causing me unyielding pain. Beautifully painful—it was irony in its cruelest form.

I couldn’t choose what my heart wanted to remember that is why I wanted to forget. Because whichever memory it had decided to keep in its beating chambers, the feeling had always been the same. Those fragments of fading thoughts became a part of my identity. I couldn’t deny nor lie about them. They constantly reminded me of what I had become and who I was. No wonder I wanted to lose myself. I was desperate to shake them away from me; those parts that were hurting so much. Before I knew it, the hurts had already transformed my face—severely scarred and wrinkled to the point that I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.

But time happened and I had succeeded. I had forgotten. Nothing was left except for the fading shadow of a love that used to light up my grey skies; forged by my imagination in an attempt to bring back the sensation to love and feel love. I guess I was just starting to learn that it’s better to hurt than not to feel at all. But now as I lay in silence, witnessing the creeping daylight wash over the absolute shade of the night, and with my hand upon my heart, I am once again reminded and I remembered. I braced myself but surprisingly enough, there is no pain. Wide eyed, I have come to learn—it doesn’t hurt anymore. It feels like letting go. But how I wish there’s a way to know for sure.

conflicted steps

2009-09-07T01:37:00.001-07:00

Step one, two

Spell love

With your kiss

That I miss

And then release

My lips goodbye

Then say hi

To the end

Knees bent

On the ground

Feet bound

To last forever

But never

Forget my scent,

Nor lament

The fading shadow

That is I.

Till death not part

From my heart—

A secret place

To find and chase

Your voice

That sings songs

And prolongs

My breaths,

And breaks the line

Of decaying time.

Swift as air

My pulse beats

In the heat

Of your skin

I inhale

In reverse—

A curse

I will embrace

And trace

Back to this night

And your light

Tearing my mind

Rewind!

Step one, two

Say I love you

Then free me from you—

That I will miss

And I will kiss

Only in dreams

After this fleeting bliss.

one hundred and one

2009-08-25T23:18:00.000-07:00

I WAS NEVER THIS INTIMATE WITH WORDS until I decided to make this online diary. I knew I could write but not like this—wherein I can express myself, in a very subtle way and with virtually no known limits. I realized I could write anything that whirls inside my head as long as there’s a spark of inspiration. No piece of paper will remain blank with a free mind and an ounce of inspiration.

I have a personal connection with this blog. Sometimes, I feel like I am actually more honest with what I write here than what I share with my friends. There’s a different kind of satisfaction in expressing your thoughts, feelings through written words than those that are spoken, or perhaps it’s just the introverted me taking over. Well, this is my other side and I’m kindling it.

Usually when I’m inspired to write something, I would just sit by our couch, turn on some music, and start scribbling words, having no idea where they came from nor what they really stood for. It’s amazing how words find you and not the other way around. That is why I get so excited when readers psychoanalyze me through my works. Whenever I write, it’s almost always an opportunity to dwell on my thoughts, becoming fully aware of what I think and feel. I get to reflect and to learn about myself. And it’s really surprising how my words sometimes connect to those who read them. And it’s pretty flattering that certain people here really do care of what goes on inside my convoluted brain. Writing brings about surprises even to the author and I think that is one factor why I am drawn to this. I am a lover of surprises.

A year has passed and the Coffin Rock has finally reached a milestone. I am really proud of what I have accomplished here. (Yes. It’s an accomplishment, keeping this blog afloat despite all the chaotic stuff happening.) Sometimes, I’d browse through my archives and I couldn’t help but feel strangely happy, remembering the times I have spent to write each post (mostly on editing and re-editing), the inspirations and stories behind them and that familiar feeling of satisfaction I get from finishing one. You will not believe me if I tell you how long it usually takes me to write a decent entry. :P

I can say I have somehow improved on my writing skills. I sometimes compare my older posts to my recent ones. But there are still a lot rooms for improvement of course. I’m still struggling with my sentence constructions and tenses and I can go on and on). Anyway, that is one reason why I decided to blog—to enhance my creative writing skills. Good thing there are loads of brilliant writers here I am learning from. I get to broaden my horizon on different writing styles and they are gazillions of them here. It’s nice to have a glimpse of how the minds of other people work through their words, how they choose to express them in so many artistic ways, and relates to the circumstances happening in your my life. Indeed, a story doesn’t exist in itself. My story might be your story too.

To you readers who gave me words of encouragements, shared their views, and gave pieces of yourselves; to Haley and Steph, who supported me with this endeavor, and finally to Ton, who introduced me to this virtual sphere—Thank you.

So what’s next for the Coffin Rock? I guess I’m just going to keep writing in an attempt to deconstruct the reality of things. Life. Love. Myself. I will continue scribbling these chronicles in the hope that someone would get lost in here and find himself.

This is Lucas and you’re reading my 100^th post.

pheo

2009-08-11T01:51:00.000-07:00

THE LAST TWO MONTHS have been probably the most trying times of my life so far. I have been testing my physical limits while witnessing my emotions fester. Placing sadness and despair into hidden compartments within me while brawling with physical exhaustion was indeed hard. But surprisingly enough, I have seen myself rising up to the challenge settled on my shoulders. I haven’t cried a single tear which could only mean two things—that I’m strong and maturing or that I am emotionally sick, stepping beyond the lines into a state of frigidity.

When your plate is filled even with stale food, it’s very easy to forget everything else. Time. Friends. Yourself. You live by the moment, with no thoughts for the future because if you think about what’s ahead and not see an end, the ounce of drive that keeps you going will just vanish. And whatever that is, you have to kindle it like an invisible flame illuminating the darkness in your heart.

I have been struggling to understand the proverb—Everything happens for a reason. And I think God wanted me to fully fathom this in a way I am hesitant to accept. Soon after my Lolo Philip recovered from his respiratory ailment, a series of unfortunate events unfolded. It was then that My Lola Nelia suffered from a cerebral infarct—stroke. And since then I have been seeing death eye-to-eye and neither of us wanted to blink. But he knows I am growing weary, and tired, and I sometimes feel that my heart is going to give in to the pressure, to the lack of sleep, to everything. His stench never left my nostrils and how I wish I could sneeze him out of my system.

My world has been in chaos and the circumstances are taking their toll on our family but I can’t afford to break down and give up. I am clinging to the hope that there is still so much to live for in spite of everything. After a month and a week (and counting), after two cardiac standstills, two surgeries, being tended by twelve doctors, a gazillion medications, a thousand needle injections (and counting) and she’s still here. We’re still here inside this hospital room, breathing the same sterile and forbidding air. But the fact that we are still able to breath in air into our lungs is a realization that we’re still alive.

There is very long road ahead and I have to muster all my strength to wade it even though I am not sure if there’s a good ending to it. Fear licks my heart and the feeling of inadequacy is always on my doorstep. But I think the lesson here is to learn how to keep those things at bay. There are so many ways to endure in the middle of an ill-fated reality, and sometimes it just includes closing a door to everything that will feed the gathering clouds of despair and hopelessness.

I think God wants me to appreciate all the good things when the world seems to crumble down before my eyes. He wants to teach me that hope can be found even in the smallest of things; that it can be in a form of a good urine output, or well coughed-out sputum; a spontaneous eye-opening, a contorted smile or simply a beating heart. God is training me, and disciplining me, because he loves me. He is bigger than I am and I couldn’t help but wonder what plans He had set for me. And I think, to see the end, I have to brave the troubled waters and traverse the ominous paths. I have to walk on, in the hope that a beautiful journey awaits…

a waste of words

2009-08-03T07:52:00.000-07:00

SOMETIMES AT NIGHT, while waiting for that weight on my eyes that usually tells me that I need to sleep or cry, I try to deconstruct and make sense of the complicated emotions I feel. And in every attempt to find answers, I always end up disappointing myself, for the answers I come up with don’t satisfy me. I came to a conclusion that there is a flaw in the way I do it, resulting to my futile attempts—I tend to reason out using solely my intellect and forgetting to reason out with my heart. I also think I knew why this is so. I don’t trust my heart anymore.

She and I, after all that had happened between us, were able to keep our friendship. I think it is safe to assume that we’re friends right now. I am so grateful for it but it’s not as easy as I have expected. It’s quite hard actually. I wish for us to be friends but I am not sure if I could act like one or be one.

For the past few days, we were exchanging messages; casual talks, which in my part, I find painfully platonic. I woke up this morning, with a smile upon reading her message that simply said “Good morning, Ron”. My mind tells me it’s just the kind of message a friend would give to another but my heart forces me to find meaning beyond its simplicity. Whenever I send her a message I make sure that each is free from anything that could indicate that I am crossing the line. Reason tells me that it is just fair for her part. But my heart silently hopes that by some miracle, my true feelings, whatever they maybe would come across and kindle her heart. The ironic part is…it feels unfair. Not fair for her.

People should be friends first before becoming lovers. But sadly for most people, it’s the other way around, which is why when the relationship breaks, it’s almost impossible to keep the friendship. In my mind there is this intimidating and beautiful image of her. We never committed ourselves into a formal relationship but in the strangest way, it feels like I had broken up with someone. I am struggling to move on in a way that’s quite frightening. She has stolen my heart many years ago, and I refuse to get it back. I am lacking the courage to let go for she will always have that secret place in me, so familiar and comforting, that I’d want to let it linger for as long as I can.

It was one sunny afternoon. A day when all the paths we took together led to two more.

“Why give them back?” I asked. I made it sound so casual, carefully concealing the pain eager to break my voice.

“I have to.” She whispered with her head on a bow. “Because every time I see them and look at you, I see the person who wrote them. I want that someday, I would look at you and see a friend. Nothing more.”

“But why? Don’t you believe that what we had was real? They were real. My feelings for you were real.” I pleaded. In the back of my head I was praying that she would have a change of heart and decide to carry them back home with her.

“Returning these letters and books to you, doesn’t mean I don’t. Because I do.” She firmly said with conviction in her eyes. She handed them all to me, imagining it was her heart in my hands.

I couldn’t quit her. I need her or at least that version of her in my head or in my heart or wherever. It may sound weird, but the thought of her stirs me to the right path. And her memory encourages me to have faith in my heart and to find the right place to where it should be.

It was one sunny afternoon. A day when all the paths we took together led to two more. And we took them separately, wondering if there’s another crossroad ahead.

. . .

This entry was written barely a year ago and I never had the chance or should I say, I never had the heart to post this until now. A lot of things have changed in such measure of time, including the feelings used to forge these words. We saw each other before a crossroads once again, seeing for the first time how time changed us, puzzled faces reflected in each other’s eyes.

praise for the 'prince'

2009-07-27T04:12:00.000-07:00

I SHOULD'VE WRITTEN THIS POST AGES AGO, but given the crisis (I’ll probably talk about this one on my next post which will be posted only God knows when) my family and I are going through, I wasn’t able to do so. This blog is very lucky to be alive. If it weren’t for my drafts saved on my hard drive, which once included the last three entries you see here, this blog would’ve been rotting at this very moment—dead without any guarantee of immediate resuscitation.

If you’re a Harry Potter fan or just simply a curious fellow updated with the most recent flicks and blockbusters, you probably have already seen the Half-Blood Prince. You may have already written your own review of the movie but thought writing one would only be a waste of time because you found it ‘depressing’ and ‘sleep-inducer’. Well here is mine. I just can’t watch it and set my opinions aside. But I have to warn you that this post maybe a little biased, and way different from most movie reviews floating around. I’m a fan of the books (no longer a purist! Hurray!) and the movies, and thus, I just couldn’t get myself to hate this one. Or perhaps the long waiting and fanaticism for the ‘Prince’ somehow clouded my objective sense. But whatever! I like the Half-Blood Prince. Watched it twice in Promenade Greenhills and once in IMAX-SM North Edsa.

Here’s some ideas which I think would’ve made the movie better:

They should’ve made the ending a little less ‘hanging’. It’s just a little disappointing to not see the wizard fight between the death eaters and Dumbledore’s Army.

They should’ve explained why Snape became the Half-Blood Prince; I will not be surprised if non-readers would think of Snape as some sort of a wizarding royalty. Producers probably wanted them to think that Snape just took the title for personal use.

They should’ve extended the cave scene, where Dumbledore conjures a firestorm to fight off the Inferis. I was just about to open my mouth to say “WOW” when the scene suddenly ended.

They deleted the other Horcrux memories (i.e. the one concerning Ravenclaw’s cup.) I just wish they’d have a clever way to insert the missing pieces in the last two movies.

They should've distributed the 30-minute (or less) 3D scenes all through the movie. I would've liked to see the Quidditch match and the "Firestorm" in 3D.

Here are the positive points of the movie:

The dark tone of the movie reflected the ominous plot. The tone is somewhat reminiscent of Azkaban. I think it’s very artistic and dynamic. Harry Potter is no longer a kiddie movie.

The visual effects were brilliant! The cave and Quidditch scenes were stunning especially the opening were where death eaters flew over the London streets and Apparated in Diagon Alley. I felt a little queasy watching this on IMAX which is probably the point. Bloody cool!

The movie is teeming with hilarious romantic and comical sub-plots. I love the Luna-Lavender tandem. They somehow made the movie multi-layered. The train scene with Lavender was my favorite. Won-Won! :P

Nicholas Hooper did a fantastic job with the musical score. Select tracks were very dark, but less dark than the Lord of the Rings’. But I somehow miss John Williams’ style.

I applaud Helen Carter’s (Bella) nasty hag performance and Alan Rickman’s (Snape) ‘snake-acting’. Maggie Smith (McGonagall) and Michael Gambon (Dumbledore) were just stellar with their craft. The young Tom Riddle was really creepy. And how fitting that the child actor was Ralph Fiennes’ (Voldemort) nephew.

The Half-Blood Prince, I think, is the best Harry Potter movie yet, just next to the Prisoner of Azkaban. My brother and I share the same sentiment. :P

I opened a new poll by the way. Which Potter movie do you think is the best so far? Kindly check the sidebar. See you later! :P

forward to the edge

2009-07-20T03:03:00.000-07:00

OLD GROWS THE NIGHT that I am trying to kill, but keeps on slipping away from my grasp like a fearful foe. The bottomless silence is an irony of what flourishes inside me—doubtful thoughts, masked questions, and meaningless noises; almost anything that speaks of unrest and of truths barren of peace.

I stand awake at the edge of the velvet black, trying to see beyond the lack of light, groping, silently screaming my prayers into hovering invisible dusts. The eerie calm teased my senses of every sound, of every moving shadow, of every sensation perceived by my brain that tells me that I need to sleep. But how can I? I can no longer blame the large doses of caffeine that runs through me. If I didn’t know better, I would think it’s caffeine that really lulls me to sleep. How I wish it didn’t fail me tonight. I just want to go into a deep slumber and drown myself with sweet dreams and nightmares. I do not know the difference between them anymore. It doesn’t really matter because in the end, when I wake up, they’re still dreams—mere figments of fantasy and imagination formed by a twisted mind. And because no matter how good or bad they are; I will still wake up to find myself dreaming. This is the reality I’m trying to endure.

The clock continues to sing its usual tick-tock song—a loop of sounds playing in the most boring beat. Every move of an arm across its face is a push closer to the edge of insanity. The edge is somewhere I don’t want to find myself standing but the cruelty of the night brings out old haunting ghosts, terrifying but real, each driving me an inch closer towards a unyielding darkness. I lay here completely naked to every stimulus, eyes wide shut, trying to taste the void into which I am succumbing myself.

A personal struggle is once again amplified; raging, like water and oil in a constant brawl. The heart fights for happiness while the mind stands firm for what it thinks is just. My beliefs are put to test but the bewildering emotion that challenges these beliefs remains as strong. No side is ready to give up. Each side is waiting for the other to waver. And this war is destroying me, tearing me apart from both ends. A decision on to which side I should kindle is inescapable. The torments of indecision, fear, guilt, and loneliness have proven themselves stronger than I am and every way out seemed closed shut. Deciding to which path I should wade is like barging against locked doors. The thought of escape though cowardly, is very seductive. This is a silly thought of course. How can a person escape himself? I am trapped.

The arms continue to move clock-wise as the earth turns westward. Sunlight will soon pour from the east and the night will burn into day. Shadows will retreat against the twilight but the dawn will never heal the lasting scars forged in the dark. My heart longs for the warm light of a new day, but time crawls when you want it to fly. I only need to suffer a few more hours before sunrise. I hope it comes soon before I run out of solid ground and fall completely. I’m nearing the tipping point. The edge is close… very close…

half-moon

2009-07-13T07:02:00.000-07:00

HALF OF THE MOON HANGS LOW ON THE HORIZON; it’s golden light waging war against the deep purple and black colors of the evening sky. The great slab of rock floats in space as it sends ripples of mystique and melancholy unto anything its borrowed light touches. You can sense the nameless mood stirring, and churning, and spreading like a disease in the cold calm air, moving in stealth without a cure into unguarded and broken citadels of hearts.

Shadow come out to play hide-and-seek, gathering on the empty street’s stretch of concrete, occasionally retreating away from passing vehicles’ headlights that slices the dark. The haunting majesty of the moment is adorned by a faint smell of fresh flowers hovering in the soft wind. The tranquil silence is sporadically broken by the sounds of cats moaning like infants deprived of milk, provoking angry barks from dogs denied of sleep. Lizards with their feet on the ceilings performed their throaty songs in an attempt to outstand the crickets’ monotonous version of Ave Maria. It is a serene night.

Somewhere along the sidewalk, a boy sits alone with his guitar, beholding the beauty and sadness perfectly painted before his eyes which reflected the misty glow of the moon and the stars peeking through the clouds. Skilled fingers start to pluck the strings of the instrument he is hugging like an old friend or perhaps a lost lover found. Each vibrating string sends out a note. The notes finally choose to freely fly from his pockets, to his guitar, and towards the invisible musical measures stretching out into the dark, amplifying the magnificence of the night that it already has.

Sounds escaped the boy’s lips, unintelligible and trembling at first, but slowly transforms into melodic words. He begins to sing the song he wrote on a piece of tissue paper five days ago over a mug of creamed coffee. He speaks the lyrics with care and gentleness as if reading a firsthand poetry to the girl of his dreams. It is a happy song that defies the miserable mood; a bright light in a world of eternal shade, sending blissful and lonely entities into collision; crashing into each other and plunging the night into a chaotic symphony—strange but nonetheless a beautiful blend.

Tonight, half of the moon smiles to the world in a deep slumber as the boy bathed in its light, uttering the verses of a prayer written on a tissue paper crumpled somewhere in his side pocket. With eyes to the star-spangled heavens, he strikes every chord, ever wondering where in the world the other half of his heart might be. It’s there somewhere, lost but finding its way back. Like the dark side of the moon, the answer still masks itself, mysterious until fate decides to unveil itself to him—the other side where the vital piece lies; the chorus of his song; the missing half that would finally make his heart complete and his existence whole.

resting place

2009-07-07T09:38:00.000-07:00

IT IS WHEN I SEE YOU that I can freely breathe, inhaling gusts of wind that replenishes whatever part of me that decays. But it is when you’re away from my sight that the same wind is sucked away from my struggling lungs. Just like tonight, and what it will be like tomorrow, and the night after this. I have to gasp because I want to know how this ordeal will end. I know when the end comes; you’ll not be here with me holding my hand. I can’t fully fathom the thought but it’s a truth that I’m trying to learn and to accept. I want to know the greater purpose for this loss; the grand plan behind your permanent absence, from me and from this world.

What measure of time will it take to escape the agony brought by grief and sadness? Will absolute healing come hand-in-hand with acceptance? These questions reels in my head in every moment I succumb into that pure solitude, looking deep into the sharp eyes of melancholy, trying not to flinch against the pain nor blink in the overwhelming darkness in front of me. Stifling a moan and faking a smile are some of the skills that I have yet to master. But what’s the point of doing so? I can be calm as the deepest ocean on the outside, but my insides is harboring a gathering storm, so destructive that I am surprised that my heart can still have the strength to beat, expelling blood through veins. And because I thought it had already shut down, the same moment yours had stopped, never to beat again.

I’m here, standing once again on the ground of your final resting place—that will become mine too when my life finally ends one day. I can’t wait for that day to come, not because I want to die, but the thought of embracing death is very seductive thinking it’s the only way to linger in your presence once more. I know you’d want me to walk the face of this earth for as long as I can, and to find my purpose besides the purpose of loving you for the rest of my life. For this, I’ll continue to walk for you, and breathe for you, and live—looking upon those memories; vivid images that inspires and crushes me at the same time.

The drizzle softened the grassy earth beneath me, falling and gliding like stardust in the yielding evening air. I am holding a bouquet of white calla lilies you loved so much, scalding my hand in a desperate hoping that it is your hand in mine instead. My eyes burn in my losing fight against the inevitable stream of tears. I called out your name in the wind, breathing it in; breathing what was left of your existence lost in the even flow of soft moist air. My eyes gaze upon the blurring lights of the stars and to the wet granite carved with your beautiful name. I whispered the name as my voice trembled, broken and stained with longing and powerlessness. The resonance of the words felt painful on my throat and tasted bitter on my tongue. My body shook and my knees buckled, landing on the moist ground. I let the tears fall—crystal droplets silently hidden in the darkness, drunk by the ground that covered your bones, and obscured by towering tombstones of the dead. You are now one of them, hence, these death-scented lilies. I will receive this kind of flowers someday when I become the ash that will hover above you-- my true resting place.

I will be forever thankful for the love that had awakened my heart but unfortunately, had stopped yours.

in dark and in light

2009-06-25T23:11:00.000-07:00

WOULD A LOVE SURVIVE IN HIDING? Like everything else that has life and that breathes, will it suffocate in the torment of rules and ill fate?

They say love can see in the dark, but for how long? Our feet stand in the same ominous place now and I am grieving. For when love has finally found us, it is when we decided to take flight, away from the eyes of those who would take you away for me.

And for this I have to stay away. And you can’t be too close. And it pains me. Even God knows how I crave for your presence—so intoxicating to my soul that I would lock you in an embrace and not let go, if I could. I’d rather chew on these fleeting moments rather than walk alone in this dark path. My love is strong, but I am afraid my heart would crumble to pieces on the ground without knowing that you’ll be with me till the end.

The day dissolves into night, so fast that frustration is eating me up from inside because I am once again reminded of how powerless we are against the arms of time that strangles us. When this stolen moment ends and when we finally walk away from the shelter of our sanctuary built in stealth and endless longing, I will once again miss you, from the moment I turn my back till I take the last step to see you again. It’s strange because even at this moment with your back against me, my arms around you and my hands intertwined with yours, I still miss you terribly. I believe that the only times I forget to miss you is when I’m sporadically thrown into a stupor where my daydreams plunge me to a place where you do not exist, leaving me standing alone before a dead end. My nightmares are the only entities that kept you away from me, but they are still unable to purge you from my thoughts. You are everywhere, even in dreams.

When you love in the dark, nothing will seem to be enough. You can’t kiss enough. You can’t hug enough. You can’t love enough. You can’t be happy enough. Everything seems to lack because in the back of your mind, something is screaming that loving is an act that you should be proud of, and to show the world how blessed you are for being a keeper of the heart of the most amazing person; the one soul out of the billion that beats in time with yours. You shouldn’t need to steal a glimpse behind your back before you kiss or hold someone’s hand. One should love freely like breathing air in and out of your lungs, without consent, without restrictions—free. But this world will always choose to tell us who to love and what things we should be afraid of. And for this, I am sad. I have yet to love freely and fearlessly.

I am scared and torn, thinking the darkness might find away to finally eat our hearts and that I might lose you if we step out into the light. For now, we had to be this way, keeping the distance, chasing time, and struggling to force our hearts closer to bridge the distance. I’m all wrong for you and I know it but I have fallen in love without taking a step. I have to stay away but I do not have that kind of heart that could bear that thought anymore. All I want is to be here with you, and to love you, one way or another, both in darkness and in light.

. . .

For Richard, RN. I do hope I had given your love story justice with this. I wish you well and the girl who captured your heart...

the fallen star

2009-06-11T01:57:00.000-07:00

WHEN MY EYES OPENED, I couldn’t see anything but stars—jewels craftily scattered on the dark canvas of the evening sky. To the common eye, they would appear to have arranged themselves in random, but to the faithful it is the ultimate form of artistry—perfect and divine. The more I gazed upon them, hanging on that black ceiling above me, the more it became hard to fathom the fact that they are actually lifetimes away, barely sitting at the edge of the universe. When I was a kid, I actually thought I could reach them by hand—a belief that was almost taken away from me by time. God had indeed stretched out the heavens.

For a moment, I forgot where I was. I could hear myself silently breathing the cool air that teased the locks of my hair. Every blade of grass underneath me sent tickles of sensation on my skin. Lying on that open field made me wonder how I must have looked like from above. I felt insignificant compared to the beauty that surrounded me. I felt so small. But everything was designed flawlessly. I have a theory that God made us small for us to appreciate and acknowledge the things bigger ourselves especially those beyond our fallible minds alone could never understand.

I then heard the crisp sound of breaking grass beside me. I suddenly remembered that I was not alone. We lazed under the majesty of the night dissimilated against the green grass and shadows of trees.

“You fell asleep.” She teased.

“Did I?” I said trying to sound ignorant.

“Yes, you did. Actually I was torn between laughing and waking you up when the snoring began.” She laughed.

“I don’t snore!” And I reached out to ruffle her hair. It is one those rare moments when happiness overflows that you just have to laugh it out.

A sporadic silence rang out, and we sighed at the same time, chuckled, sighed again, and then silence once more. The next moment settled and then lingered for more than a moment.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She said. There was always something in her voice that was just anesthetizing to the soul. I always felt like I had to stay close or else I would forget how to breathe.

“I snore. Oh wait. You already know that.” I teased back.

“I’m trying to be serious.” And I could tell she was by the way her eyes rolled on their sockets and the crinkle on her nose.

I sat up and wore my shoes off. The grass felt good against the soles of my tired feet. I surprised myself when I inched closer and lied down beside her. I took her hand in mine. And with heads conjoined, we pointed to the spectacle above us.

“That star, the blue one—that’s Rigel. That’s one of the youngest stars. And that one diagonally opposite it, the red one—it’s Betelgeuse, and unlike Rigel, it’s dying. These three stars, here, that’s the three kings. And if you connect them to this, this, and this, it will form the Hunter constellation, most commonly known as Orion.” I explained, my hand slightly trembling on hers. We were so close that my heart soared and pounded against my chest. But I knew I had to inch away and let go of her hand. And I did. I can point to a billion stars forever with her, I thought.

“Woah. You really paid attention to your Astronomy class, didn’t you? Impressive.” She mused, a shy smile etched on her ever beautiful face.

“When I was kid I used to lie on our rooftop at night and find stars and constellations I’ve read from books. Geeky perhaps, but yes. I wanted to be an astronomer. Back then I actually thought stars were within my reach.” My eyes once again grazed the heavens. “But time changes things, including dreams. And because in truth, we change too.”

“So what have become of that dream?” She asked, her eyes squinting towards the skies, as if reading illegible letters she alone could see.

“Do you believe in fate? I have so many dreams. And I have come to understand that I can’t fulfill them all. But sometimes, destiny would just knock on your door and give you a gift; the one you once dreamed of having and you thought was lost forever.” I looked in her eyes ever wanting to get lost in the heaven behind them.

“Yes. I think I do.” She raised her hand, moving a finger in the air as if writing a name. “Life is a big box of surprises.”

Quiescence crawled away with time, and clouds eventually covered the twinkling celestial bodies that adorned the black sky. Thunder and lightning flaunted their power against the thick downpour of rain. Strangely, we still chose stay there, as the earth beneath the bed of grass where we laid turned into mud, silently enjoying the rain on our faces and basking in the moment like little rascals. She suddenly stood up, her eyes flinching to the water spattering on her face.

“Let’s dance.” She bellowed against the noise, beaming.

I stood up facing her, bowed in courtesy and offered a hand, never looking away from her gaze. And the moment her hand landed on mine, we began waltzing under the rain, endlessly laughing at our own folly. We knew it didn’t make sense, but we didn’t care. We twisted and turned, disturbing the puddles of mud that stained our feet and clothes. It was the first time in ages that I enjoyed the rain. I felt like I had gone back in time to the young days when I used to live a carefree-life. I was a kid once more and old dreams just came flooding back.

I once dreamed of reaching for the stars. But the innocence of my youth failed me to understand that you should not reach for them, not that it’s impossible, but because sometimes, when destiny calls, one of those billion stars will just fall from the heavens and land straight to your hand.

pillow talks

2009-06-04T02:45:00.000-07:00

Fake a smile

Swallow the moans

Seal your mouth with memories

And shared vows known.

Dance if you can

But dry first the floor

Slippery with tears—

Knocks of goodbye on your door.

Change the sheets

Wash away my smell

But keep me as your pillow

Where your head goes I will follow.

Turn your gaze up

And catch a falling star

Close the hand, open the heart

Wish for it to never smart.

Whisper my name

Wish for time’s demise

In its ashes I’ll come back

To you where bliss does not lack.

Catch your breath

And bury deep your roots

Stand firm on the ground

Yet as free as the wind—

A speeding sound.

Drink down a purple pill

To stay asleep if you must

Through a song take flight

Towards me and away from the night.

Let me dwell in your dreams

Soft and sweet—a happy taste

Candy clouds on sticks we’ll chew

Then I will be just a breath away

Far but closer to you.

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

2009-05-30T03:30:00.000-07:00

SUMMER 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 that 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 was 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

lost and found

2009-05-26T04:10:00.000-07:00

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.”

for my darling

2009-05-23T03:18:00.000-07:00

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.

angels, demons, and pizza

2009-05-20T07:16:00.000-07:00

[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 was 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

truth or consequence

2009-05-15T02:48:00.000-07:00

“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.

. . .
Cheesy mode si Lucas.

Sino ba sina Bok-bok at Poknat?

phlegm

2009-05-12T00:54:00.000-07:00

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.