a kamikaze's letter

“As I write this letter, the ocean breeze feels cool on my skin; the very ocean is soon to be my grave. They tell me I will die a hero; that the safety and honor of my country will be the reward for my sacrifice. I pray they are right. My only regret in life is never telling you how I feel. I wish I were back home. I wish I were holding your hand. I wish I were telling you that I have loved you and only you since I was a boy. But I am not. I see now that death is easy. It is love that is hard. As my plane dives, I will not see the face of my enemies. I will only, instead, see your eyes, like black rocks frozen in rain water. They tell us that we must scream, “Banzai” as we plunge into our target. I will instead whisper your name and in death, as in life, I will remain forever yours."


- Hiroshi, Restless (2011)

dante once wrote...

"Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always. A promise. Like a reward for persisting through life so long alone. A belief in each other and the possibility of love. A decision to ignore, simply rise above the pain of the past. A covenant, which at once binds two souls and yet severs prior ties. A celebration of the chance taken and the challenge that lies ahead. For two will always be stronger than one, like a team braced against the tempest civil world. And love will always be the guiding force in our lives. For tonight is mere formality; only an announcement to the world of feelings long held. Promises made long ago in the sacred spaces of our hearts..."

clear eyes. full hearts. can't lose.

"We will all at some time in our lives, fall. Life is so very fragile, we are all vulnerable, and we will all at some point in our lives, fall, we will all fall. We must carry this in our hearts, that what we have is special, that it can be taken from us, and that when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls."

-Eric Taylor

Friday Night Lights is an American TV series, developed from the book of the same name authored by H.G. Bissinger, which tells the detailed events surrounding the Dillon Panthers, a high school football team based on Dillon Texas, and addresses the issues facing contemporary Middle America.

I've only watched a couple of episodes from the first season and I knew I would love it for a very, very long time. I remembered watching One Tree Hill for the first time, and yesterday, while watching the pilot of Friday Night Lights, I was brought back to that same place 5 years ago. It was quite nostalgic, really. In some ways, there a lot of similarities between the two, but the treatment of the material is quite different. FNL flows with this brooding, almost melancholic mood. And you could tell the story is weaved to satisfy in an emotional level.

There are three things that make a television series click. First, it should be founded on a unique. well-written storyline (It could be a little twisted but nonetheless outstanding). Second- There should be a diversified but clearly distinct characters (To whom the target audience can relate to). And finally, a good soundtrack and musical scoring. And FNL satisfied all these criteria, especially the third one. The series is filled with haunting music from Explosions in the Sky, an instrumental post-rock band that gained popularity through their cinematic and elaborately developed guitar work, narratively styled instrumentals, what they refer to as "cathartic mini-symphonies." I am also quite particular with the camera shots, and I'm digging the shaky camera! Needless to say, I highly recommend this series.

I think I should be going now. Live UAAP Women's Volleyball is up in minutes! Just always remember guys:

Clear eyes.

Full Hearts.

Can't Lose.

samskeyti

"I wish there was some way for us to go back and undo the past. But there wasn't. There was nothing we could do. So I just stayed silent and trying to telepathically communicate how sorry I was about what had happened. And I thought of all the grief and sadness and fucked up suffering in the world, and it made me want to escape. I wished with all my heart that we could just leave this world behind. Rise like two angels in the night and magically... disappear."

Mysterious Skin (2004) by Greg Araki

Rotten Tomatoes Rating: 84%

Synopsis: "The summer I was eight years old, five hours disappeared from my life. Five hours, lost, gone without a trace..." These are the words of Brian Lackey, a troubled 18-year-old, growing up in the stiflingly small town of Hutchinson, KS. Plagued by nightmares, Brian believes that he may have been the victim of an alien abduction. Local Neil McCormick however, is the ultimate beautiful outsider. With a loving but promiscuous mother, Neil is wise beyond his years and curious about his developing sexuality, having found what he perceives to be love from his Little League baseball coach at a very early age. Now, 10 years later, Neil is a teenage hustler, nonchalant about the dangerous path his life is taking. Neil's pursuit of love leads him to New York City, while Brian's voyage of self discovery leads him to Neil -- who helps him to unlock the dark secrets of their past.

-
Quite disturbing, but art is art. That's all I needed to say I think. Moreover, this film is not recommended for very young kids (let's preserve their innocence for as long as we can shall we?) and closed-minded people. Moving performance by (500) Days of Summer guy- I think the best I've seen from him.


Untitled 3 (Samskeyti) - Sigur Ros

My favorite part in the movie was the coda- great narrative, made powerful with the tune of Sigur Ros' Untitled 3 (Samskeyti or Attachment) from their Untitled Album. Samskeyti still remains as my favorite instrumental piece from the Icelandic band. Dynamic, ever haunting, and melancholic auditory experience...

love: a rocket science

"Eventually, all of this would pass and the memory of it would give way to embellishment, and fantasy, and outright distortion until it was hard for Hal Hefner to remember what he was really like back then-when he still carried in his head the sound of a made up perfect voice, the voice that could speak its heart, the voice he used to wish he had, until the day he stopped wishing he sounded like anyone else and just started talking as he was..."


Rocket Science (2007) by Jeff Blitz
Rotten Tomatoes Rating: 84%

Synopsis: Hal Hefner is an average sophomore at Plainsboro High School in New Jersey. He stutters and suffers the daily indignities of a typical teenager. With only a little encouragement, Hal falls in love with the star of the debate team, Ginny Ryerson, and finds himself suddenly immersed in her ultra competitive world of high-school debating, with its players, its politics and its own set of rules.





Hal Hefner is an average sophomore at Plainsboro High School in New Jersey. He stutters and suffers the daily indignities of a typical teenager. With...

nameless

"It must be a wonderful thing to be so sure that you love somebody."

–Toru, from Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

I WISH IT HAS A NAME, or at least I hope there are words to exactly define it—this encrypted feeling locked within an undecipherable riddle. It doesn’t feel like there are bugs inside my gut, no fluttering wings whatsoever. It’s confusing but elating at the same time. But I am sure of one thing: This is dangerous. My mind is 100 percent certain of this. But as it usually does, my heart begs to differ.

There is a calming sense of comfort that came with it, clawing down my walls. A creeping warm came over me like someone invisible is embracing me. I could feel my heart beat in an odd way; strings vibrating with every breath that cast haunting melodies in the dark. I stare into the blank ceiling in a reverie, silently praying to never come out of it. As I struggle to fan the flame from its dying embers, I feel like a man trying with all his might to kindle a candle light in the middle of a raging storm. The wind is just too strong.

I couldn’t help it. I want to be tempted by this happiness. I don’t want to think. It’s fascinating how it is capable of causing beautiful chaos in the austere monotony of my world. Suddenly, I see faded photographs of the past in a whole new light—vibrant and filled with colors. I just want to look at them and trip and fall completely but I am so cautious of my steps. I walk head down watching my feet. Someone had tipped the scales underneath me and I am anxious to know what will happen next. But I know that a choice has still to be made to make something actually happen. To make the choice is easy but sticking to the choice is hard.

Everything is so much simpler without this—simpler and cold. I am not sure if it’s a good thing. In some ways it is. But for someone who had lost hope, and then gained an ounce of it back without any warning out of thin air, it becomes a very scary thing to have. It means there is now something to lose. I am terrified because I know it will just lead me nowhere. But that is how it works. The inspiration will push me to tread its winding path despite the ominous consequences—an endless journey reeking with broken expectations. It feels like I am about to walk the thin line that separates the act of hoping from expecting-- a burdensome feat reminiscent of giving love without expecting anything in return. That’s the way it’s always going to be, isn’t it?

But there will be no such journey. I know myself this much. This maybe perhaps one of my greatest flaws, but it’s something that makes me who I am. Or maybe… just maybe—I don’t know myself as much I’d like to believe that I do. But ‘maybe’ is better than ‘no’ at this point. If that’s the case, then there may still be a sliver of chance for redemption…

closed doors and undecided hearts

“There are things that are known and things that are unknown and in between there are doors.”

–William Blake

IF THERE'S ANYONE OUT THERE who could hear my thoughts, I urge you to come forth. Read them to me for I have lost the ability to make sense of the things bouncing within the walls of my skull. What torment is worse than the struggle with your own mind? What’s more wretched than to fall victim to your own thoughts? The more I think, the farther I pull away from the answers and pushed nearer towards the inevitable loss. Is there greater tragedy than to be eaten by reason in trying to win a war in the battlefield of the heart? But I know risking an open war is the only good choice I have and evasion will just send me directly into the pit of defeat.

Fear is scouting by my doorstep, knocking on my door like a friendly neighbor, with a knife at the ready. A step outside these walls would be a stab to the heart or a slit to my throat. Should I risk it? Should I let it in and lock it in my arms like a long lost friend, when in fact it is no more than a stranger; nameless, dark, and mischievous as the night?

Snapshots flash before my eyes. As fast as lightning they came and left like thunder, sending rumbling echoes into the still air—ghosts in my head, hungry zombies drooling at my feet. It is strange to find comfort in the chaos of it all; in the randomness of things and in the disorientation to what was, what is, and what will be. This limbo is a fortress and a prison at the same time. In here time has no wings. This is a place where all streets that leads to nowhere end. This was a sanctuary for me once but the pleasure of floating into nothingness had faded like ecstasy swimming in drugged veins. And what was left was the urge to feel warmth, to scour the ever shaded world for a hint of light, and to find anything that could fracture the absolute silence buzzing its usual boring melody.

As I say this, my hand grasps the latch. On the other side of the door is the love of my life and my greatest fear. Should I open the door? It’s interesting how indecision could turn someone into an empty shell—hollow, brittle, fragile. My brain is cramping with too many thoughts and yet there is only one choice to make: either to lock the door or turn the knob I am grasping with my clammy hand. But whatever I choose to do, one thing is certain—I will break…

…exactly how I broke your heart…

george bernard shaw once wrote...

"There are two tragedies in life:

One is to lose your heart's desire.

The other is to gain it."

Yes, losing your heart's desire is tragic. But gaining your heart's desire, it's all you can hope for. This year I wished for love. To immerse myself in someone else and to wake a heart, long, afraid to feel. My wish was granted. If having that is tragic, then give me tragedy.

-- Peyton Sawyer

---

This new year, I hope for a courageous heart; a heart that can master all fears; a heart that beats with faith despite of all of the confusion and indecision where it has long been immersed. I hope for a heart that will persevere in search for answers, for freedom, for love. I have lost my heart's desire. It's time to get it back.

kahlil gibran once wrote...

"Your reason and your passion are the rudder and sails of your seafaring soul. If either be broken, you can but toss and drift or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone is a force confining. And passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction..."

the wrong choice

''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...

"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 bridge

I WATCHED IT AGAIN, this time the version i have not yet seen until tonight. but every time i dwell on every scene and every word spoken, the emotion after seeing it never left me. my heart wonders what makes it feel this way: is it the story or the person who shared the story with me? but for someone who had crossed the line between a romantic fantasy and delusion, i somehow wish our story would end like theirs.

i remembered when she shared me this story about love letters buried under a tree to which dreams were made, about how love unites two different souls, and how we could mold destiny to seek the love of our lives. it was three years ago and i could still remember the way she smiled-one of the most beautiful things i had ever witnessed in this lifetime.

there was this guy carrying a single red rose, slowly going down the stairs. eyes were upon him and yet he didn’t care. everything was a blur except for the face of the girl sitting by the piano, playing pachelbel. it is true that a girl is most beautiful when she plays with the keys of the piano. i would sometimes imagine being that guy, carrying a pink rose instead of red. i would give it to her after striking the last note of her piece. and then i would imagine her smile, and freeze the frame in my head; the same smile she wore the day she shared me this love story.

i miss writing love letters. i miss writing corny poems. i miss painting. i miss being with someone and yet feel completely free; free to love and express love the way i know how and in the way wanted it to be expressed. i am missing a lot of things when i am brought to the emotion of being in-love when i can’t be in-love. i am not sure how my heart reasons out, but before i finally give that rose to someone, i’d want to make sure i have already cut away its thorns… write a love story, live in it, hopefully with a beautiful end i would wish to see…

. . .

"Destiny is making a bridge of chance for your love..."

the comet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

– lucas scott, one tree hill

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

the secret place

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tagu-taguan maliwanag ang buwan.

pagkabilang kong tatlo nakatago na kayo.

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

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

tatlo… what would she say?

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

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

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

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

boom. taya ka na, lily.

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

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

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


. . .

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

the dream

YOU ARE A DREAM. how did i know? i know because every time i touch you i couldn’t feel a thing. that white skin sure looks so soft. how unfortunate i couldn’t feel it. you are a dream because everytime my lips touch that curve on your neck, i couldn’t feel any sensation. everytime i lean on your breasts, i couldn’t hear a heartbeat. but you’re not dead because i could hear your slow breathing. because i hear your soft voice. because i feel your presence. but not you.

perhaps you’re a ghost? that’s not likely either. you’re not a ghost because you’re beautiful and ghosts are scary. i am afraid of ghosts but i am not afraid of you. i am drawn to you, actually. well, if you’re a beautiful ghost, could you haunt me forever? but you’re not a ghost. ghosts glide and you walk with your feet touching the ground. you just walk so slow. and that’s one thing i like about you. when i walk with you in such slow pace, the world seems to slow down too. i see everything. every blink, every step. i feel everything thing, your presence, but not you.

if you’re not dead, and you’re not a ghost then what are you? perhaps you’re an angel. but i thought angels have wings and have that circular thing hovering on their heads. angel or not, but being here with you…i am definitely in heaven right now. i could kiss those lips a thousand times. i mean what kind of being own that kind of lips? they’re so perfect. if i could only kiss and actually feel them. but i can’t. i can’t do anything but just look, bite my own lips instead… and sigh.

so what are you? who are you? you are dream. that’s the only explanation. you’re here in the sense that i can feel you’re presence, but in reality you’re just so far from me. you’re a dream because i am unbelievably happy. crazy happy. like i-could-die-right-now happy. and in the real world no such thing exists. no such feeling could survive in a world full of misery, and of hopelessness, and hate. true love is a hoax, the same goes with true happiness. people only pretend to be in love. people pretend to be happy but in the back of their heads, the same question troubles their soul. they’re not happy. i feel happy and make you make me happy. but happiness doesn’t exist in my world that’s why you’re a dream. you are dream and this is your world. this place is much better than anywhere else. i don’t want to wake up anymore… don’t pinch me okay? i want to stay here.

i love your world. because here, i am able to love and be loved back in return. you love me, right? i want to live here with you. i don’t want to go back because here, i have someone to write me poems, love letters, and someone who sings me cheesy love songs. who watches me sleep and who hugs me from the back. someone who laughs at my corny jokes and cooks me my favorite spaghetti for dinner. who waits for me when i work late, and doesn’t sleep till i get home. who writes me books and give them as presents for my birthday. who whispers my name in the winds and prays that i would be always safe. no one in the real world does these things to me. i want to live in your world because you live in it. i want this world to be my world too.

you’re not a ghost. you’re not dead either. you’re just not real. and in spite of the i-could-die-right-now happiness, i feel terribly sad because any moment now i’ll wake up from all of this. i will wake up on my bed hugging my pillow pretending it’s you. i’ll wake up with a heavy heart and the sun will lick my face and my bug-infested bed will stop me from moving a muscle.

you’re a dream. that’s why i can’t be with you as much as i want to. as much as i wanted to be in wonderland, i couldn’t beat the fact that i have to live in this freaking reality. this is my world not yours. and as much as you want to live here, you just can’t. fantasies do not survive here. sad but soon i will wake up. and as i close my eyes from your dream, i’ll open my eyes to my nightmare. i’ll open my eyes as i lie in my bed, nothing to do but hug my pillow, close my eyes so hard, whisper your one-syllable name, in the hope that i’ll dream of you again…

...

"Have you ever had a dream that seemed so real, when you woke up you didn't know what to believe? What would you do if what you thought was true wasn't? And what you thought wasn't true was? Would you retreat into your dreams with the hope of finding a more perfect reality? Sometimes life is stranger than a dream. And the only way to wake up is to face what lies hidden in your soul. And you can only hope that in those moments of dark reflection, that you are not alone..."

--Lucas Scott, One Tree Hill