bunk bed blues.

I lay drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for the light of my mobile phone to turn itself off and let the darkness of the room be whole again. I have more quiet moments now, some few stretched spaces for thought and lady Solitude; sometimes she comes unexpected and invited and we talk, about how there might subtle differences of how rain falls there in Naga, as the rain here in Manila even seems rushed when it comes to leaving, or we sometimes compare memories of warm water slowly flowing over our body. Then I after some time I realize I am talking to myself in the dark.

It is raining, and I sit here in the dark, on my bed, looking out from the dirty window screen of our apartment and on to the heavens slowly falling outside. I can feel the cold, and I bury my feet under the comforter, silently wondering if it would be so good to have you here to talk to, though the darkness and cold would conspire for those conversations to turn to dialogues of the body instead. But I'd dearly settle for an embrace at this moment; that embrace to take me home; that place forgotten by space, so far back in time and only visited in memory and unexpected mnemonics of smell and touch. But there is only the darkness and the rain falling outside for now; along with some quiet discourses with my present thoughts and side long glances to the warmth of the past.

That home and familiarity being the ultimate temptress for the lost and broken; the discontented and misplaced; the sensitive and unembraced; the weary and those caught in the web of time.

Having been one or the other at one time or another, I usually give in to temptation for that is the time that I find myself again.

waking the dead.

I was still lost somewhere, replaying Jennifer Connelly's face in my mind, her nose and jawline being central; then I was running late for work and being haunted by some scenes in the movie. The early morning overcast sky embraced everything in its dark, cold endearing arms, and I stopped to stare, finding a weird kind of solace in that grayness before a LRT Leverisa bus came.

Some scenes were still there in my mind, and the movie's accompanying feeling of loss and resulting redemption just became my morning coffee. Perhaps a mild case of seasonal affective disorder. just perhaps, since this kind of season holds its own internal joy for me.

Jennifer Connelly mentioned something about ambition in the film, she said, "Ambition is the ice in the lake of emotion."

a long time coming.

I have watched more than a dozen rains fall and then dry out since, and me even hoping for rain in between. It is still Manila, changing and unchanging, wondering how many lives since then have met, went together or went astray in between those downpours. Friendships and romances, little passions shivering in the strangeness of these cities that is Manila. Some flames spluttering and going out in the cold to black embers hoping for some warmth and raging against the chill, most often ultimately dying. Then there are some passions that burn bright enough for others to read their stories in the dark.

Been home and back again, so much promise there and me wanting only to stay, to hear stories being told instead of me telling them, except when Rain asks me to tell her stories about dragons and their breath of flames. Been home and we burned three nice lovely flames, our own fireplace for warmth against the cold of unexpected downpours. Had to leave again and leave only with the memory of their eyes, warm and expectant for another return. Going back here, I can only burn, and burn still.

Here in Manila I have to cradle my thoughts like babies, the unwritten and the untold for this place is no refuge. And thoughts only find refuge with their own kind, I think sometimes this is the reason for some fortunate lives meeting and melding together and finding solace in each other's thoughts and burn their own kind of flame. We can only hope their flames burn steady and brighter, in whatever shade of passion.

Tara Santelices.

In some little way, this is to help.

Please sign this petition and tell others who you know about it; be it a blog post, or a forum topic or that casual conversation with a friend.

http://gopetition.com/petitions/justice-for-tara-santelices
(if this link doesn't redirect you please copy and paste it your web browser address bar)

and a little prayer for Tara won't hurt a bit, in fact, it would help so much.

If you want to know more about Tara, just search for her name in multiply, or google. or here. Many people care, I hope you will too.

dikit na tabang pero kung kabali ka, madakula.

mga lakad sa siyudad na kinaladkad ng bumukadkad na edad.

Kabilang ito sa mga ligaw na palagay, sa mga di inaasahang pagtanto na napapadaan habang naliligo ka, habang nakaupo sa trono, habang bumibisita ang katahimikan pag patapos na ang inuman pero hindi ka pa lasing, habang nasa sasakyan at trapik o minsa'y habang naglalakad ka lamang. O kadalasan kahit ano man ang ginagawa mo, at kusang dumarating na lang, na parang trangkaso.

Kadalasan na ang biruan ng, "Gurang ka na" or "Nagugurang na talaga kita." (loosely translated as "Matanda ka na") sa amin apartment, na kadalasan may koneksyon sa inuman. Nasa kalendaryo pa naman ang mga edad namin pero dahil siguro sa medyo may kutob na kami sa mga susunod o kadalasan tinutulak na kami papunta dun, kung hindi ng tadhana o kaya ng mga magulang namin mismo (o ng mga kabatch).

Sa tuwing uuwi ako sa Naga mas natatanto ko ang paglipas ng panahon at ng buhay. Nung una siguro yung mga duda na talagang lumilipas ang panahon ay puede pang palampasin, o wag na lang pansinin at di mo muna ikkwento kasi baka ikaw lang nakakaramdam nun. Pero pag nagtitipon ang barkada unti unting lumalabas na rin ang mga gantong usapan. At pag nagkikita kayo ng mga kakilala o kabatch na hindi naman talaga kayo close pero close enough para magusap, tungkol sa buhay palagi ang tanong.

"O, anong year mo na?"
"O, sain ka ma college?"
"O, anong year mo na?"
"O, sain ka nagtratrabaho?"
"O, may agum ka na?"
"O, pira na aki mo?"

Ika nga ni Enteng, mga ilang taon na nakakaraan, dati raw birthday party ang kadalasang napupuntahan, ngayon kasal at binyag na. Kaya siguro ngayon sanay na kami, o minsan sinasabina ito na ang tadhana at lasapin na lang muna ang buhay ng kasalukuyan na kumpara nung dati ang tadhana ang nilalabanan. Uunahin na muna ang hindi mabalot ng lungkot ang pamilya at sarili, na kung puedeng masaya habang nabubuhay. At minsan lalabanan naman ang tadhana.

Nang minsan sa pag uwi ko sa Naga, habang naglalakad. May nakita akong lata ng sardinas, 555, sa gitna ng kalsada. Walang laman at nakatayo. Napangiti ako ng sandaling yun, naalala ko nung naglalaro pa kami ng tumbang preso, o minsa'y "inserektos". Gutom at sugat lang aalalahanin mo nun. Nang malapit na ako dun sa lata, sinipa ko ito na parang pagpatunay sa pagunita ko sa nakaraan. Lumipad ng ilang metro at ayun tumba na siya, sabay ngiti ulit ako. Tapos may narinig ako.

"Naman si tsong! Ta Sinipa pa"

May apat na bata sa likuran kong nakatingin sa akin, yung panglima tumakbo na para kunin yung lata. Dahil dapat hanggang gunita na lamang pala ako. Di na ako kasali sa mga laro nila, at oo, tinawag na nga akong "tsong".

Pag uwi ko maglalakad ulit ako sa Naga ng kaunting panahon at maghahanap pa rin ng kwento.

isang nais.

may naligaw na samyo ng ginisang bawang akong naamoy kanina, habang tumatawid ng EDSA at patungo sa trabaho. Mabuti na lang holiday (oo, may pasok ako) at madaling araw dahil nakalimutan kong bigla na nasa EDSA nga ako. Kaya nga kahit nabasa ko pang nakamamatay tumawid dito, isa lang nasa isip ko kaninang umaga. Tapsilog.

Busog ako pero eto na naman yung mga pagkakataon na yun, mga pagkakataon ng mga masidhing paghahangad sa wala na.

Di na ako makakatikim ulit ng tapsilog na ganun, na naamoy ko pa sa isipan ko ngayon. Kahit umuwi ulit ako sa Naga, at puntahan ko ang karenderya na yun (na kahit ang pangalan di ko na maalala). Wala nga pala yun kainan na yun, ginawa ng dorm ang lugar pero wala ng tapsilog na ganun, kahit magbukas at nandun pa yung kainan dahil nga iba ang tapsilog ng nakaraan. Iba ang halimuyak at lasa na naalala. Bawang, sinangag, pritong itlog at tapa. Apat lang na sangkap (walang atsara na kasama), pero di na makayang maulit ang nalasap nun.

Siguro ito rin ang dahilan kung bakit tiwala ako na kapag walang mapili sa menu tapsilog na lamang. Pamilyar ang lasa at yun na yun, na kadalasan may atsara ng kasama. Parang paggunita na lamang sa tapsilog ng nakalipas.

At dahil sa amoy ng bawang, tapsilog ang hapunan ko mamaya.

For thinking that there were degrees of how hard life can be, and thinking that this is just the easy hard.

I fell again, and understood some mighty mighty wrongs in assumptions, ah, since realization is a bitch and she bites straight through the skin and on to the bone. I continue staring out of this high rise window and sees some sort of familiarity, it's still raining out and I have no chance of doing any runs in the downpour, I have to work and find some sort of continuity of my life in the flat monitor screens in front of me. Perhaps there are answers somewhere in that grayness, even as my laundry stays damp and mildewy. I pull the blinds down and return to the monitor screens, thinking when was the last time I ever wanted coffee. Or perhaps, I just need some time for myself. I return to the window for my fifteen minute break and stare into grayness again, hoping the buildings weren't there to ruin the scene.

As my birthdays come my heroes also slowly die, and still I continue staring out of this window and into the rain. I feel there's a need to be lost again, then I can find myself, and have some time enough to love myself.