The rains have moved back in, and there is solace in overcast skies again. They have come back along with the cold of early mornings, and the accompanying desolateness of daybreak when it is still dark, when I hold my pillow close in despair of that fervent want for warmth. I remember the singularity of your embrace as having the same effect of being home again.
There is the feeling of being adrift again as the constellations I knew have moved, as reality has shifted ever so slightly in some places and a major upheaval in other places. The feeling of dislocation only gets stronger now and I have pull to some of myself back in, as there is a feeling that there are some parts of me that I will never get to be familiar again; and for the longest time in days I have been waiting for some thing inside me to thaw, for some part to move, for gears to turn again, for the feeling that I'm fading only keeps on getting stronger these days.
The weariness gets stronger, and I don't bother with sighs anymore; but at night I still look at the stars and whisper to them endearments or pleas, perhaps both, and in differing intensities.
I know like the rains, I have to come back.
Aug 13, 2009
Aug 7, 2009
always.
It was a late afternoon on a Saturday and it felt like Sunday had come early; an air of idleness that came along with the lazy traffic and the avenue almost seemed lonely for the lack of passersby on its sidewalks. I stood at the end of the avenue and stared at its other end some distance away and I let my mind wander as the sunlight grew golden on the walls of the university and contrasted with the blueness of the sky.
A slow wind was picking up and I took it from there as a sign for a good time to walk. A deep breath and I took my first step. There was a vague sense of sadness as my feet slowly warmed up to a lazy easy stride; it was the first time in months that I had taken a walk by myself for no reason whatsoever.
We always walked whenever and wherever we found the time for it, and late afternoons were always the best time. Perhaps it was the sound of our feet hitting the ground at the same time that gave an impression of comfort, of that silent connection and managed to take the edge off of everything, then again there was always your warm easy presence beside me during those walks. Now, the sound of my feet as it struck the concrete sidewalks was lonely in comparison; and saying that I knew lonely was an understatement. As I slowly neared the corner of the avenue, like clockwork, I wondered about how you were , and vainly tried to focus on my walking instead. And that time my mind didn't wander again but easily stayed with you.
As I reached the other end, I turned to look around with a sort of detachedness that one felt when reliving a memory, I saw the avenue again and it was almost desolate as before. There was this sudden flash of yellow from my periphery and I looked casually at someone across the street. She was wearing a yellow shirt and had her back turned but there was a feeling of apprehension along with the slow dawning recognition that it was you.
It was you.
I was just staring; staring and tight-lipped as you held out your hand, not to me but to someone and the two of you held hands like it was the most casual thing to do, and of course, it wasn't your brother. Then you turned around and saw me and we were staring, staring and tight-lipped.
You were lovely, and I can still remember your cute protests telling me that you were not, everytime I told you so. You were so lovely, more so under the late afternoon sun, just like this. Just like this beautiful golden afternoon. I haven't seen you wear yellow for a long time. I felt something stir inside me and I was shifting, moving on to my side.
KAMEHAMEHA!!!!
And I started walking again. It didn't exactly feel good but it would be a lot easier now and I will miss that part of the avenue where they stood and after this, I knew I would always miss you.
A slow wind was picking up and I took it from there as a sign for a good time to walk. A deep breath and I took my first step. There was a vague sense of sadness as my feet slowly warmed up to a lazy easy stride; it was the first time in months that I had taken a walk by myself for no reason whatsoever.
We always walked whenever and wherever we found the time for it, and late afternoons were always the best time. Perhaps it was the sound of our feet hitting the ground at the same time that gave an impression of comfort, of that silent connection and managed to take the edge off of everything, then again there was always your warm easy presence beside me during those walks. Now, the sound of my feet as it struck the concrete sidewalks was lonely in comparison; and saying that I knew lonely was an understatement. As I slowly neared the corner of the avenue, like clockwork, I wondered about how you were , and vainly tried to focus on my walking instead. And that time my mind didn't wander again but easily stayed with you.
As I reached the other end, I turned to look around with a sort of detachedness that one felt when reliving a memory, I saw the avenue again and it was almost desolate as before. There was this sudden flash of yellow from my periphery and I looked casually at someone across the street. She was wearing a yellow shirt and had her back turned but there was a feeling of apprehension along with the slow dawning recognition that it was you.
It was you.
I was just staring; staring and tight-lipped as you held out your hand, not to me but to someone and the two of you held hands like it was the most casual thing to do, and of course, it wasn't your brother. Then you turned around and saw me and we were staring, staring and tight-lipped.
You were lovely, and I can still remember your cute protests telling me that you were not, everytime I told you so. You were so lovely, more so under the late afternoon sun, just like this. Just like this beautiful golden afternoon. I haven't seen you wear yellow for a long time. I felt something stir inside me and I was shifting, moving on to my side.
KAMEHAMEHA!!!!
And I started walking again. It didn't exactly feel good but it would be a lot easier now and I will miss that part of the avenue where they stood and after this, I knew I would always miss you.
Jul 31, 2009
june will bleed into august.
I remember a promise attached with this coming month, spoken in a fever and welcomed in the dark, and later written down; perhaps more to feel the words forming and becoming real rather than as an afterthought. As fervid as these promises go, it has been ages since, since the words of those promise were spoken, and not repeated again. Lately, they sometimes repeat in my mind; chantlike, fading in and out, and without any apparent mnemonic to remind me. There are some early mornings when I wake up hours before I am supposed to wake and I hear the words again; and after that I don't get to sleep again. I also end up writing most always, just to take the edge off. It helps a little, but the words will stay with me for the rest of the day after that.
I wonder if the past weeks were part of a cycle I was once familiar with, intimate even to the point of calling it my life. Perhaps I haven't just been somewhere familiar lately, even if some of the places I had been to were comforting; by comforting I meant those places reminded me of something familiar, of somewhere familiar, and evoked some sense of a happier time or even just something to that effect.
Now, it's only a few hours before August, before I start crossing out the 31 days, then the months will become years again. I have forgotten about July already. I sometimes imagine it is still June.
I wonder if the past weeks were part of a cycle I was once familiar with, intimate even to the point of calling it my life. Perhaps I haven't just been somewhere familiar lately, even if some of the places I had been to were comforting; by comforting I meant those places reminded me of something familiar, of somewhere familiar, and evoked some sense of a happier time or even just something to that effect.
Now, it's only a few hours before August, before I start crossing out the 31 days, then the months will become years again. I have forgotten about July already. I sometimes imagine it is still June.
Jul 21, 2009
5.
1. To see you walking in near dark, in that short distance between your house and the highway, hearing your footfalls along with the wind coming in from the fields in a cool singsong whisper; you, under the light of a billion stars and the light from the lampposts.
2. To hear you talk when I am not one you're talking to but know that I'm listening; a welcome intruder, an aural voyeur and you smile at me invisibly, I smile in return, sharing secrets in our minds and conversing in hushed silences and breaths.
3.To taste you, in a surprising return to memories of some distant summer and those lulls during rainshowers that we watched fall in watery clamor.
4. To smell your hair during the late afternoon when we are resting and just watching the grass grow shadows and as the skies go psychedelic with indigo and crimson fading into pink, this is when the scent of your shampoo is almost a memory and you are everywhere inside me as I inhale and watch you, tired and longing for something else beyond tiredness, as your grin suggests and you embrace my upper arm as if for balance.
5. To feel your touch again, your fingers trailing secret silent paths across my face and down to my neck then I also make my own spontaneous map with my fingers on your face and arms as we become cartographers of our bodies and deem ourselves rediscovered and found again.
2. To hear you talk when I am not one you're talking to but know that I'm listening; a welcome intruder, an aural voyeur and you smile at me invisibly, I smile in return, sharing secrets in our minds and conversing in hushed silences and breaths.
3.To taste you, in a surprising return to memories of some distant summer and those lulls during rainshowers that we watched fall in watery clamor.
4. To smell your hair during the late afternoon when we are resting and just watching the grass grow shadows and as the skies go psychedelic with indigo and crimson fading into pink, this is when the scent of your shampoo is almost a memory and you are everywhere inside me as I inhale and watch you, tired and longing for something else beyond tiredness, as your grin suggests and you embrace my upper arm as if for balance.
5. To feel your touch again, your fingers trailing secret silent paths across my face and down to my neck then I also make my own spontaneous map with my fingers on your face and arms as we become cartographers of our bodies and deem ourselves rediscovered and found again.
Jul 19, 2009
journals.
because I have rediscovered writing on paper again, even when my fingers can hardly keep up with my thoughts, with my internal arguments and flashbacks.
because ctrl+z isn't possible with paper, because it doesn't care about misspelled words, because even by candlelight it is possible.
and it is one of the only few true moments that I can be with myself.
but I always find myself straying to the digital...
because ctrl+z isn't possible with paper, because it doesn't care about misspelled words, because even by candlelight it is possible.
and it is one of the only few true moments that I can be with myself.
but I always find myself straying to the digital...
Jul 9, 2009
EADGBE.
I find you in songs these days
taking some of the words for my own,
reading them as oracles
as portents long gone,
long come true
and as echoes
of a dream
made real
and they keep playing
playing in my mind
with an aftertaste of you
from every verse
to the chorus
the lyrics trip lightly on my mind
and continue on playing
right through the seconds
before sleep
that upon waking
I press play again,
and repeat
and find you
smiling
in between
the opening riffs of our songs.
taking some of the words for my own,
reading them as oracles
as portents long gone,
long come true
and as echoes
of a dream
made real
and they keep playing
playing in my mind
with an aftertaste of you
from every verse
to the chorus
the lyrics trip lightly on my mind
and continue on playing
right through the seconds
before sleep
that upon waking
I press play again,
and repeat
and find you
smiling
in between
the opening riffs of our songs.
Jul 8, 2009
pungaw.
sa mga mortugong pagmati
na nagkasurupugan, na pigsusuruway ang hiling
ta kung ano man na rason kang pagmati na bagul na daa,
na pirmi na lang nagkakairinot ang mga taon saka mga dominggo
sa pag agi, sa pag sangli kaya dagos pigtatarakig na
sa lipot kang rayo sagkod mga ngirit
asin urulay sa tahaw kang pagpangudto,
na may tarom ng kaibanan, kang mga pagmawot
na pigtatarago na lang siring kang raot na alahas.
mortugo, mortugo daang pagkamoot
na tinutubuan na ning mga ugat kang mga tanom,
na dai man mapundo sa pagtalubo asin pagtahob
sa pagkamoot. sa pagkamoot
na yaon lang, na nagmamawot
man lang ngani talagang giromdomon;
para mag imbong, mag init
sagkod mamati liwat ang pungaw,
ang paghanap sa kugos
asin init kang palad pag minadutaan
kabali na ang girok sa paghinghing,
asin kugos na siring man sa dalan pauli.
na nagkasurupugan, na pigsusuruway ang hiling
ta kung ano man na rason kang pagmati na bagul na daa,
na pirmi na lang nagkakairinot ang mga taon saka mga dominggo
sa pag agi, sa pag sangli kaya dagos pigtatarakig na
sa lipot kang rayo sagkod mga ngirit
asin urulay sa tahaw kang pagpangudto,
na may tarom ng kaibanan, kang mga pagmawot
na pigtatarago na lang siring kang raot na alahas.
mortugo, mortugo daang pagkamoot
na tinutubuan na ning mga ugat kang mga tanom,
na dai man mapundo sa pagtalubo asin pagtahob
sa pagkamoot. sa pagkamoot
na yaon lang, na nagmamawot
man lang ngani talagang giromdomon;
para mag imbong, mag init
sagkod mamati liwat ang pungaw,
ang paghanap sa kugos
asin init kang palad pag minadutaan
kabali na ang girok sa paghinghing,
asin kugos na siring man sa dalan pauli.
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