confrontation with a masked metaphor

DO NOT FORCE THOSE WORDS into my mouth and those thoughts into my head. I fear not the face you wear but the monsters that lurks behind your teeth. I can smell the stench whenever you exhale. They are stuck on your gums, rotten and scabbed like the secret I have long kept. Reminding me is pointless so I pray you—stop telling me things that I should be afraid of for I have long memorized the list. I could recite them to you even in dreams—the places where they usually stay and breed like flies; haunting me in my own subconscious awareness and the fear they inflict carried on till I open my eyes. But I know this attempt is futile. You will not give up that easily. I can feel you breathing on my neck, crawling underneath my feet. You dig the ground deep and eagerly with your fingernails to make me a hole where I would surely trip and fall. It will be a long way down; an endless free fall worse than the bone-crushing impact against the bottom. But I still have to try. You can stop strangling me for I grew numb to physical pain. You can let go because it’s only a matter of time before I amass the sufficient courage to voluntarily jump into the void myself. I fear the uncertainties lurking in its depths, but the darkness has also been a great ally, motivating me to see myself from a distance. In its eerie presence, I do not a have face or imperfections. I could only see is a heart, beating the questions to find the answers it seeks. In the end, everything will be revealed: truth, lies and everything that blurs those two, clear as illuminated by a thousand burning suns. Once again I am asking you; shut that word whole in your face and dance your way into the masquerade. Do not remove that mask as will I; for we both know that a secret is made by hiding something… and people are revealed by hiding themselves…

when the open closes...

AFTER WATCHING LIVE week-long tennis and hearing men and women grunt and moan while whacking balls with their rackets, the Australian Open 2010 had finally crowned its new victors—the Master, (1) Roger Federer and (1) Serena Williams.



It’s been a great tournament this year. Lots of drama, starting with Rafael Nadal who had to retire from his Quarterfinal Match; the US Open Champions, Juan Martin del Potro and Kim Clijsters, ousted in the earlier rounds; Maria Sharapova who played stellar tennis against Dementieva in the 1st Round (but lost to Kirilenko); the two Chinese players dominating the semifinals, Na Li and Zheng Jie, and of course the return of the former number 1, Justine Henin, who really gave Serena a run for her money in the Women’s Final. I was really rooting for her. I believe she remains to be the female tennis player with the deadliest backhand. But she really needs to work those services out. But that’s okay. There are still three majors to go: The French Open, Wimbledon, and the US Open. I feel sorry for Murray though. I really thought this would be his year. But Roger really demolished his plays to win his 16th major singles title and first as a father. He really deserved it. I admire Roger as a sportsman, but I admire him more for his social responsibility. He initiated a charity for the victims of Haiti, which mustered an amount up to 650,000 dollars.

One tournament down, one to go (the UAAP of course!), and one more coming up—Vancouver 2010! Thank goodness for Cable TV! Hehe!

stranger than fiction

HE SAT THERE CROSS-LEGGED, eyes squinting on a page of a frayed book he held in his hand. Beside him was a wide window that filled the cabin with pale yellow light. A cup of creamed coffee sat on the table in front of him, its mere aroma waking his senses and sharpening the edges of the words unraveling before his eyes. He would take a sip after a page or two while adoring the places that whipped by as the train he’s on traversed a green countryside. As he read along, his lips slowly curved into a smile: a definite sign that the proceeding hours would turn into a gripping literary adventure.

The man loved reading, fiction in particular. In some ways, he needed it more than wanting it. For him, it was a form of coping rather than a hobby or an indulgence for aesthetic pleasure. He had always seen fiction as a sweet form of escape; that if life would suck, he’d only need a good book to get past a bad day; that he could pretend to live in a world far from reality and to be someone else, at least until he reaches the last word of it. The best part of it was being able to do all these things without anything, except for an open mind and a willing heart to get lost, of course—the only two things he had left to lose.

He flipped a page and started on another, unconsciously and silently mouthing the words. In the page, the author decided to describe a girl. She was beautiful, the book said. She had melancholic eyes that anyone who fell on her gaze would feel an urge to be hopeful to see even a hint of happiness in them.

The man through the years had developed a strange way of picturing characters in the stories he read. He would usually do this, by imagining faceless heads, then one by one, he would think of people’s faces that would fit the author’s description (usually actors or actresses he saw in movies). Having read how the author portrayed the mysterious girl, he took a sip of coffee and momentarily closed his eyes. The gears turned as he tried to imagine the girl’s face; sad but painfully beautiful. However, only one kept on flashing in his mind’s eye. Crystal clear, it arouse from oblivion, crashing hard on his imagination, and burning like a beacon in a moonless night. She was someone of real significance to him. And something that should’ve been buried long ago was unearthed in a heartbeat. She saw her staring at him with those lonely eyes, and moving and speaking in the way the author wanted her to. And with that, the story turned into something more; something beyond fiction. He actually wanted to make the girl happy.

The girl was sitting on a bench, eyes to the heavens as she waited for the rain to fall. From a distance was guy gawking at the girl, captivated by the beauty and sadness she emanated. The man immediately tried to give a face to the guy but ended up giving his face instead without any regards to what the author had said of how the guy looked like. And with that, the story grew a life of its own. Strange, but to the reader, it felt good to meet the love of your life for the second time and see it from a distance. He gave up that love many moons ago, but fiction revived it, stronger than ever before. In the pit of his

stomach, he was wishing for the story not to end. But like all books, he knew it had to conclude happily or tragically. A happy ending was all he could hope for.

Page by page, the man continued to read. The yellow light from the window darkened into an orange shade. Sunset is imminent. The love story would soon end. And it’s only a matter of time before he would celebrate a “happily ever after” or be left empty just like the piece of china in front of him. He paused for a moment and let himself revel in the majesty of the retiring sun, the compartment filled with its light.

He had to intentionally rub his eyes before he could believe what’s in front of him. Sitting on the other side of the table was a woman. He looked into the eyes he knew so well but at that moment, he swore he saw a glint of bliss in them, a little faded but still pleasant to behold. He stole a glance at the open book in his hand and back to her, incredulous expression swallowing his face, mouth hanged half-open unable to speak.

“Hi.” She said; a shy smile amplified the unassuming beauty. “It’s me.”

“It’s you.” His face grew blank. He slowly bowed his head, swiftly browsed the remaining

pages of the book, and looked back. “It’s really you.”

“You’re still into that fiction thing, aren’t you?” She asked.

“Not anymore.” He reached for her hand and closed the book. He knew in his heart how the story would end this time.

Meanwhile in an alternate universe, a boy was sitting in his study. A smile was evidently illuminated by the table lamp. The boy was about to finish the last page of his book; about the story of man on a train reading his way to the love of his life. And soon, it ended, happily as the boy had hoped.

somethings to look forward to...

O-NINE HAD PASSED AWAY and here comes the fresh New Year. And like everything that ends and has to begin again, this year brings a new perspective of things to come. That’s the beauty of endings and beginnings. They give people the feeling of having a clean slate. No wonder New Year’s resolution has become a viral ideology. The ironic part is, most people fall short of them. (Even Oprah!) I wonder why.I gave up on making New Year’s resolutions due to the fact that

I lost my belief in them or rather on my belief in myself to carry out the deeds I promised to do.I think it all boils down to what your heart really wants plus a proper mind set. Thousand New Years will come and go, but unless you grow a willing heart to change, you’ll end up failing yourself. Enough of this New Year’s resolution crap. I say there’s a lot to look forward to especially on television. Since I started taking care of my Lola, I have grown to love th etelevision again. And even morning and primetime news suddenly became a part of my everyday routine. Before then, I was contented to watch series and movies on DVD’s to the point that I even started to miss those long annoying commercial breaks between shows.

Australian Open

The firstgrandslam tournament to start the year is here. If you’re a tennis fanatic, you know what I’m talking about. It’s time for another week-long tennis action from the best players in the world. My bet is still on Roger. I wonder if he could beat the defending champion, Rafael Nadal, this year. However, exciting parts of these events includes the upsets and the rising of new tennis stars. I was blown away when Del Potro brought Federer to his knees on last year’s US Open and how Kim Clijsters, a wild card entry, regained her title, despite coming from a two-year retirement; a Cinderella story indeed. I heard Henin Hardene is coming back. Shocking!

UAAP Volleyball Season 72

Round 1 will resume on January 9^th. You can catch them live on Studio 23 and Balls. Too bad they’re not featuring the Men’s Volleyball. But I like watching Women’s Volleyball morebecause of longer rallies. Men’s Volleyball is all about power. Here’s my new favourite player of the season, Charleen Cruz. Isn’t she cute? :P

American Idol Season 9

I have always been a fan of this show and since I am an Ellen fan, I bet this year’s going to be blast. Hehe! I think Ellen’s one of the funniest and lovable TV personalities out there and it would be interesting to know what she could bring to the table to fill Paula’s place (I sure gonna miss her looping comments T_T)

I hope Emily Wynne Hughes would return this season. It broke my heart when she was cut off in Hollywood week. There were rumours that this season is going to be the last due to some allegation that Simon is leaving Idol for good. Hmm. Idol premieres via satellite on January 13 at 6 PM on QTV and StarWorld.

Lost

The final season will air early next month. The Lost series has gained its reputation for being weird or bizarre. No wonder some people don’t watch it. Even a magazine called it the worst television series. I say they just don’t have the intelligence to watch it. Ha-ha! But I don’t blame them. I was cynical of this before. I mean, yeah, it’s about commercial plane that crashed on an island but there’s more to it than entertainment. Brain fuck--Haley use to call this stuff; books, movies, anything that could tease your mind and blow your head off eventually. And because of the nature of this series it’s very hard to talk to someone about it apart from my best friend of course.

Enjoy the New Year everyone!

nightmares

Stay away from my sight

From my dreams take flight

Erase the trails on the ground—

Insignificant blots for which I am bound

Fade away into twilight

Fall into shadow—

Like the ink on your paper heart

In which you have written my name

Sever the ties

Break the bonds

Intertwining the souls

Confused so long ago

Let me taste freedom

Barren of guilt

Teeming with love—

True and true and true

For which I will be forever sure

Not to break

Not to age

Not to fade