irindahan.

inda man.
inda ko man kung tano arog kani ang maagahon.
inda ko baga.
inda ko kung tano halawig pirmi ang mga biahe.
inda ko kung mauran atsan.
inda.
inda sana kung aram mo.
inda ko talaga.
inda ko sa mga sinabi mo kadto...
inda, inda; kaya lang giroromdom ko pa.
inda ko kung ika iyo man. inda ko sana.
inda ko baga.
inda kung nagsagin sagin lang,
inda kung garo mayo lang
inda kung pasil ingirit
o kung mas pasil lingawan.
inda sa inda mo,
inda kung kaniguan o bako
inda kung pasali lang o totoo man nanggad
inda.
inda ko saimo.
inda man saimo.


basta.

don't cross the streams.

It isn't that hard to feel, unless you mean pain, let Atlas shrug this off if he can. It isn't even an effort to fight it off because some part of you will still feel. So, I just let it go at that and found out that, it was in a way, how to escape. I should have just fought it off then, continuing would have been more easier even broken. Even if I knew that a broken vase can still be further broken.

But as it is, I am now here and the strangeness of Manila, as I have known before, wouldn't be of help; it just made me more detached. The rains I have been in are halfhearted at best; and if it doesn't rain, then I remain, unmoving and waiting. There is no one here, no one, except myself, and this time I need more than myself.

I know I have to go home, that I have to miss you like I have never missed you before, hoping that there would be clues left for me in the sadness of it; that I may sometimes feel that I am living another life, that it would be this detachedness that I have to understand and balance at the same time. I have to go home, even if only in the physical sense of the word.

Like because I can never have your embrace again, and because that is home too.