^

let me breathe... you bind me with a fate i do not yearn for... yet accept without yielding...i grow... yet i stagnate...

guro. alab. alabok.

guro.
saan ka patungo?

kung ang baga ng iyong alab ay upos na.

at ang bukal ng iyong dunong ay simot na.

at ang gatas ng iyong kalinga ngayo'y abo at alabok na lamang.

kapwa guro.

ang mga sulok ng iyong silid aralan ay mga tuyong talulot na hindi nakakarinig sa iyong mga dasal.

mahal ka pa rin ba ng iyong yeso at pisara?

padayon..

BITTER BLISS – the anniversary

“live in my house…I’ll be your shelter…just pay me back…with one thousand kisses…”

Teach me how to write. The story of us. The unassuming shrug I make when you laugh at my jokes. Your light (socially undetectable) pat at my shoulder as storms gathers betwixt my brows. Of small gestures we do. To say that we have each other. To say to the world and affirm to ourselves, that yes, we are alive and for some freakish jest of fate we have found each other.

Teach me how to write. Nay, to give birth. To a symphony, a poem, an epic, or a text message. To how much better it is to exist, survive (despite the jadedness) when I have you. Of the sleepless (oh divine cliché) nights as my clammy hands clasp the phone as you whisper your goodnights in gigglish delight. And then we finally do say goodbye, and I realize that I have been holding my breath the entire time. You were always a skip or two ahead. Taunting with unsolicited mirth and seduction (of which you were unaware of).

Teach me how to write. Of the first day we met. Of how nervous you were. Of what a wreck I was. Both trying to be so suave yet stealing little side glances at each other, then hiding our smiles beneath the redness of our faces when we get caught by the other.

Teach me how to write. Of that first kiss. In the gathering gloom. Tender and sweet. As the old trees gathered close to hide our temporary sentimental paradise. Tender and sweet. Not hurried, just as we intended it to be. Of the way you clasped my hand as you closed your eyes, and the way you trembled when I held you close. You snuggled deeply into my chest and listened to the beat of my heart. Still the way strangers stared scandalized, oh but we were oblivious. They passed.

Teach me how to write. Of the tears I held back when you grew cold. The bitter taste it left in my tongue as you conveniently forgot to call or send a message. Of the tiny sharp pinpricks at the heart when you drifted away. The way you can freeze with a nonchalant hello and a noncommittal ‘uh huh’.

Teach me how to write. Of the day you finally got around to saying farewell. A part of me already knew it was coming – yet I just did not want it to happen. You said I wasn’t listening. I was. I just plainly didn’t know how to prove it. You said I was asking too much. I probably was. I just wanted to keep sustaining what little we have. Yet you faded.

Teach me how to write. Of the reality that I failed. Failed to keep you with me. Failed to show you how much. How much more…

Teach me how to write. The story of me. Without you.

Waiting

Waiting
(Of dust motes – glimmering in sunlight’s apathetic bliss.)


Waiting.

This endless waiting

I hate.

Not knowing

If one can. Or cannot.

Or how,

In infinitesimally minute thought flickers,

Can someone just – quite unabashedly and grotesquely commonplace – pass the time?


Waiting.

Perpetually waiting.

For what really, one is behooved to have an answer. For whom?

For him? He is … well…not here. Gone.

For pastures not necessarily greener.


As I tell myself that I AM.

In the here and now of layered sub contexts of my own creation (rationalize, I say necessarily).

Though I know I fail grandiosely.

Tell me how can I?

Or cannot?

Then I’ll pass the time. Unabashedly and grotesquely commonplace.

While I wait…