tinir

12/31/09

*

2009, i will never forget you.

 

you made me unfold places, met arts, met music and Beyond Art’s Sake.

shaved my head.

got to know my madder self.

let go.

 

you taught me that a dream shared by many becomes a REALITY.

 

you proved me wrong about my beliefs in erosion and downfalls.

you were there to watch me rebuild hopes and relearn who I AM.

 

with you, i did not fear to stop when the rest were itchy to go.

with you, i held on the skies when others dwelt on the holes of the soil.

with you, i managed to be a wide-eyed fish.

always looking up for the bluer hues, for the sun and for the horizon brimmed with stars in daylight.

and then, you sent me other women who remind me that

the thighs are beautiful and the heart  is made not just for love but for other intricacies that

could never be felt in some mornings.

 

 

you gave me love:

the kind that does not speak in elegant languages but feels so real.

a kind that does not see me as a word-weaver nor a clown but as someone

flawed, fickle and funkeeeeh!

 

you gave me love that transcends my being human. you gave me miracles when i began to take some footsteps backwards.

 

 

 

2009, i am most alive when i took you both carelessly and carefully.

from your downfalls, i learned that what i am now is not because i have risen

 

but because i have fallen.

 

 

 

 ♥

kwadro

12/22/09

*

 

 photo taken by Leo

@ Valle Verde, Guimaras

 

 

in most years, she really wished that her life was as whirly as the way she changes hairstyles. but it was not. there were those days when all she could do was idly wait and wail and write. and right now, she sucks at the attempt at not writing this in first person.

 

hi there. this is me. i am 25 and it does not really matter. when i was nine, it did not also matter. i knew right there and then that i was bound for something like a joyride or a roadkill in the 5th year after my first menstrual flow. when i was nine, i asked my Lola what would i be when i turn 25 or 30. 

 

“bigger. bolder. brighter.”

 

she was fixing my hair while telling me ahead. she never told me that before i reach 25, i’d find my self in places i never dared imagine. no one ever told me that before this Silver age, you could find this piece of permanence from others only to find out that there is nothing as constant as transience in life. all i could remember: she warned me that the post office closes at 4pm and i should live humbly and happily no matter what. i forgot about the former but carried the latter everywhere i stayed, rest or slipped.for that, i will never forget her. when i was so young i had this feeling that i would look like her when i too become wrinkled. i was wrong, right now, i am sure, i’ll have more calloused toes than Lola.

 

for me, thanking 1984 is more than just a celebration brimmed over with confetti and fireworks. i found time days ago to just sit and pay gratitude to those i have walked with all these years. i am the sum of the people i have come across, loved, lost, hurt, missed and touched. i also smiled back at those times when i’d rather stay behind and appear like a dust. sometimes, i have these thoughts of just letting life happen before me: let it bore me, let it arouse me, let it bitchslap me or let it make me fall in-love all over again. 

 

i know i am not ageless. but guess what? i am excited. i still want to watch sunsets, moon glows and tangerines, meet people and listen to stories of people i barely know, i still want to learn about how people hang on to life. i still want to write songs because of no particular reason. i still want to dance and tumble down on the sand. i still want sweet accidents and little sins.i still want to build paths on that spot of mine under the sun. i still want to go places and feel cold in the mornings. i still want to teach a kid to write his or her name. i still want to drink beer with my whole family in one table. i still want to love and be loved— a little bit more than the usual. i still want to LIVE. (verb: the attempt of living life the way i love it and the way i don’t)

 

 i still want to kiss spontaneously and go “awwww”.

 

.

lubad

12/11/09

*

straight from scratch paper.

i have been orgasmically imaginative at night time.

somewhere, i have found the muse and you are all invited to

name him. Latvian names would be OK.

(btw- my former officemates rock. they love singgit)

 

 

 

enigma filmed by: thresca

 

 

This is not love but here we are: infants’ section of the mall. At this very place, I found memories of Mama, her pedicure and the manner she hums while she crochets. The lady at the counter had yuletide lipstick. This is not love but we belong to one house. You felt my stomach and I had this rare feeling that I only get when I listen to Icelandic music. We never visited the doctor, both of us do not believe in ultrasound just as much as we champion disbelief in the existence of Uranus and the food pyramid. Most days, we think alike. Rarely, we argue. And if we do, it does not end until one cries on the floor beside his or her vomit and pair of soiled socks.

I could have gone somewhere else that day 10th of December 2009. I could have worn lace on top of my brassiere or have ordered cucumber slush instead of latte. Perhaps, it’s because of any of them that made me noticeable to you. We made love hours after you noticed my pair of marionette shoes. We agreed we were soul mates and by all means we must not let each other go. We liked kissing on roofs of post offices and outside courier centers. We shared this fantasy of long distance love though we were together (almost) daily.

It was love. It was even an instant gratification I never had before. Never had I have it for food, for digital photo frames, nor the latest hippie dress on ebay. It was beyond romantic love, a kind that I had, not in my heart but in my stomach. The way I get too acidic when I talked to my Literature teacher about poetry and Dante. It was the way my tummy ached when Lito, a friend who buried a bullet on his head told me that one day, we’d watch the rain on the surface of Batanes. It was the fireflies in my digestion when I was just a minute away from sharing a long city walk with Leo. I loved you. Once, I meant the entirety of your faith and filth.

The doctor looked like an architect. He looked at you in such a way that you’re like having this testosterone conversation with your Uncle (and you always felt like this little boy in front of a whore). You cringed in anticipation. I went out pale and ambivalent.

“No pregnancy.” 

 

 

.

kis-a

12/2/09

*

 

and so, it is like this: i stand tall holding a mug of tea, watching the sky as if i am seated in an old slow train bound for home. i could almost feel how the ground shivers, i could hear the tiptoeing cold, all those cello in an orchetra. standing alone feels so good this time of the year. it is as if you were born to wake-up and feel beautiful. it is as if your toes were molded from the elbows of God, your chin from his cheeks and your heart from the core of his soles. this time of the year, the morning does not seem lonely. no, this is not the time that you are about to stand in front of the mirror and feel your stomach with a kind of nausea. today, your tummy is perfect. and one day, you will stand and feel it moving. moving with life and with a dash of disco.

 

the walls do not feel like peeling paint. you bid goodbye to that feeling of “perhaps what we are searching is not here”. you find the deepest reasons why some people do not stay and leave all at the same time. you sing with the old mainstream song from the radio. you look for old teacups because you want to smell lips that have bit them (like loves you have kissed and lost). you tap your toes and feel “i am amazing.absoluuuuuteelyy”

 

the christmas tree looks like May. the balls looks like grab-able pieces of fate. i bite my lower lip, think of the days that have walked before me, moments that have made me cry over yellow flight tickets, afternoons that swept me outside barber shops, evenings that have commenced without memories and bookends - all grey and dusty.

 

 

i recollect them like shoeboxes and dried petals ‘tween unfinished pages. but this morning is home. and yes, sometimes, i write about you in this manner.

 

let us put it this way:

 

you do not have a name and you are most beautiful. 

 

.

idlak

11/23/09

*

 

 image by Tin Lorico

 

 

reminders that the ocean and the sky are one.

 

that’s why we always cling to dreams because one day, we’ll be stars that can turn into wide-eyed sea creatures. nights ago, we revisited our fears. the fear of carousels,your fear of holding infants because they feel too small and fragile as wine glasses. my fear of marriage and the way how choreographed weddings are. erotic art for you spells d-is-c-om-for-t. i always jot down notes about the difference between nude and naked—tell random strangers that looking at themselves without any fabric infront of the mirror is a life coach’s way of self-esteem. you fear mascots, and i have been looking for the phobia term for that. i fear stray dogs but you know by heart that i think there is a need to get astray sometimes.

 when we press our hands against each other we think of wishing stars.(also) the waning moon that has been watching us walk under it, its cape flowing and twirling around our thighs, so soft and silky. we feel like walking on clouds. you told me once that you love your mother that much. i nodded. i reckon if most people in the world feels the same way, oh what a better world this could have been. i wrote your name next to Efren Penaflorida’s an afternoon ago. it was just something i thought of that made me smile. i guess, i am glad and flat-awed like that.

i bought a world map when i visited the old novelty store near our house. i used to like Geography that much. i was 8 when i spent hours thinking why the Libyan flag is all-green. well, i’ll take you to Nicaragua though you have been so vocal about your want to breathe autumn. we’ll shine each other’s combat boots, and at night we’ll drive around the vast soil of wilderness. silently, we’ll feel the flowing river beside the highway. i’ll pass you the bottle of vodka. and for once, the stars will look like carps and mudfishes. 

 

we’re fearless. and in the morning, we’ll bathe with clothes on, drive home with the same clothes and never feel alone without even saying i love you.

 

 

because the only moment we were alone made us complete though not whole. at least.

 

.