sugod

03/6/10

*

he told me that he was wondering why i was alone in such a crowded city. i told him i was happy like that, like when i am alone, i have this happy thought of phoning my siblings, that i am inside this red telephone booth and that i know from a distance what their shirt colors are. he was holding these packs of photographs and arranged them according to theme on the coffee table we shared. he’s 26. he likes town plazas and he has been to my hometown’s. his mother is a public school teacher. he hums oldies. when he talked, i could feel that thirst down his stomach: wanting to be listened to, wanting to laugh with someone like me: alone, with mall bags of stuffs (a kiddie pool, printed photos and bargain CDs), who writes in a school notebook silently. 

 

he was trigger-happy. take this— strangers have always been kind to me. i can tell you amazing bus seatmate stories, infront of atm machine random conversations, dispatsadora diaries and so forth. so he was no surprise to me. it’s always like that: strangers tell me something cyanic from their lives. and so this guy told me a lot of things. one, he dreamed of this (meeting someone who wears gypsy skirt somewhere in time and she does not have a face), two—he’d be able to climb Mount Kinabalu and get high for hours crying God is alive and God really burps, and three—he’d Father a boy who shall collect Lego toys and they’ll go sunrise swimming all the time.  four, he likes the smell of clothes being ironed, the smell of the after-rain soil and the smell of old refrigerators. fifth, that he likes his older, more un-physical self now and that he wants to plant more trees with his calloused hands. he asked me a lot but i told him a few:

 

 

that i bought a kiddie pool for my siblings, cousins and neighbors. all kids and kids at heart. P799 for summer glee and giggles and that i am dipping-soaking-swaying my self there for some summer nights. or perhaps, bring a friend and just talk about anything, star-lit…opened parasols.

that if he has spare time he can take the bus with me one day and just watch the earth move from the windows, that i like the idea of all the seas and fishponds far from the highway and all you can see when you gaze outside,  is a line of blue and a burst of light.

that we will have classes again. that there are kids wanting to be like him: alive, sad sometimes, sunny, art-inspired,  dreamy, dawning and that there are young people like us who believe that to bring change does not mean to be a complete martyr. you can still be your cool, kick-ass, quirky self while molding better changes for others.

 

that i miss TEY. and that he reminded me of the last day i walked with him in Dumaguete as we exchanged thoughts on walking unfamiliar streets. ah, him, the Incendiary. that they have the same smile, but his is more fragile.

that i work from home. inside this walls that felt so open, un-roofed. that there is a jetmatic pump near where i sleep and i love listening to it guessing who’s fetching water. laughing inside when i make wrong guesses.

 

**

 that i have been listening to them lately before i meet him that day—

 

 

 

***

 

he gave me a pack of Vegetarian chicharon and an old necklace. i gave him a poem from my notebook which he picked by random page scanning. the last message i got from him today is this:

 

“funny how this old woman at the airport reminded me of you, tin. she’s reading this novel turned movie. have you watched Wristcutters?”

 

i told him, yes and that i was inside a pet shop—feeling this tiny guilt of thinking that all the caged animals were so beautiful that very moment.

 

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