Posted at 03:35 PM

*Crack*

I hear the crackling of paper as I light my cigarette, my first for the day. Woke up a little bit too early from late night drinking with a few imps who share the same interest, same taste for action and the rush, same liking for all the world’s pleasantries, and same loathing.

Half of my cigarette consumed and I haven’t even delved into the good part yet. And God, I still write like a doctor (I’m writing this on paper). Sigh! I feel so old just sitting here and looking at a crossword puzzle I’ve pulled out from the Sunday paper. My morning coffee is getting cold, and I have a bad cold. Almost everything around here feels old ... and yet, everything is new.

Hopeless
Posted at 12:08 PM

Stupidity, delusion, selfishness and lust
torment our bodies and possess our minds;
we are mortal idiots toiling in fates’ palm.
And we sustain our affable remorse
the way a beggar nourishes his lice.
Our sins are rigid, our repentance lame;
we want our qualms and uncertainty worth our while –
we cheerfully crawl back to our destitute space
with few cheap crocodile tears washing the stains away.
Monsters subtly rock us to sleep,
our robbed spirit on their wicked bed.
The things we loathed become the things we love.
What a life, we mortals live.
We steal in passing at clandestine joys
and squeeze the oldest orange harder yet.
In a zoo of vices, a jungle of smoke, a swamp of booze,
we sleep, we breathe, we revel, we stay;
for there is no other place for us – little hopefuls, we truly are.
There is no true happy ending.

The ceiling is a blank canvass as I stretch supine upon my heady bed. The old paint grows darker as the little cracks become more realized, and I then imagine myself back in Nueva Ecija 2 weeks ago; its barriotic charms sitting permanently in my heart.

I was never the first and I know, I will not be the last. But despite the interesting revelations, I’ve come to accept that little white lies no longer daunt me and haunt me in my sleep. I now choose to explore every facet of enjoyment... even if it’s just me trying to console myself. I was lost in the airy space. And I immediately fell in love with the quaint house and the people who lived there.

In curious corners were coops; in long tables, men telling stories about their exploits in that little sport called sabong. My curious friend is always caught smiling as we reminisce about his adolescent meandering with his childhood friends. Tito Ike was always friendly and he always made it a point that I was always comfortable. I know that he will always be endeared to me.

During times of solitude, smoke from cigarettes wrapped me in humid embraces; the quenching sensation a glass of coke gave me was more than close comfort; and there was always Iko, a child who taught me that innocence is what greatly sets children apart from adults. His merriment pours forth, flooding my heart with thoughts of thankfulness, I was not always alone.

I reminisce about quiet nights during my stay there, and I find myself smiling. Holding a loving hand wipes any scruple away. And then, I pull myself to wakefulness... there is no true happy ending.

Posted at 09:35 PM

i can almost feel you beside me as i write this letter.
i can smell the scent of aspen that always reminds me of you.
and i can picture your lips curve into a smile as you try to decipher my writing.
but at this moment, these things offer me no comfort.
our meetings have become less often.
and i feel sometimes, that the greatest part of me is slowly slipping away.
i am trying, though.
at night, when i am alone and whenever my ache seems the most unbearable, you still find a way to return to me -- in my dreams.
last night, you were smiling, laughing; not the usual expression, lit up by the feeling of intrusion -- you were glad to see me.
you held my hand and whispered something unintelligible, nut unimportant.
i was happy.
i long for moments like this, more than any other.
it is what i live for.
and when you return my embrace, i give myself over to this moment.

forgive me if i am still here -- to love you and hold you.
forgive me if i am still here to learn from you and glad to receive your love (or care) in return.
i am here because there is no other place for me to be.
i want to love you without clutching,
appreciate you without judging,
join you without invading,
and invite you without demanding.
i want to leave you without guilt,
criticize you without blaming,
and help you without insulting.

i watch with a breaking heart each time you decide to forget about me.
i find myself straining to remember everything about that moment,
everything about you.
but always, always too soon, your image fades away.
and i am left to cry, and cry, and cry.

right now, i am wondering where you are,
what you are doing,
and why, i marvel as i sit in a dismal state, are we being forced apart by each other's monsters?
i don't know the answer to these questions, no matter how hard i try to fathom.
the reason is already there but my mind forces me to dismiss it
and i am torn by trempidation in all my waking hours.

i confess that i think of you,
i dream of you, and i conjure you up when i need you most.
this is all i can do.

i am torn from bereavement to exhaustion.
my mind is no longer clouded by "what ifs" but by "whens and whys",
and i can never answer the questions in my mind at this time that i am still struggling with myself.
When?
Why?