hawan
02/7/10*
Me adorar tú
how your timid heart finds ways to dare and taste every fiber of my soul
how the windmills at hide, bud and bloom for us two:
salsa, la estrella, strings before slumber, febrero viento
hacer el boca a boca a alguien
me y tú,
no frontera
.
the sun tastes so alive and soooo near these days. and because im such a drifter, i have been spending volleyball mornings on the shore. been dancing mad to latin (especially Cuban) beats lately as well. oh to complete the quirk, i’ve rewatched the following:
“life is like the surf, so give your self away like the sea”
“What we had in common - our restlessness, our impassioned spirits, and a love for the open road”
” I know that it’s scary as hell to let another person touch that part of you. But if you do…it’s worth it”
perhaps, like ember, there is something burning inside me, silent
but flaming. ashes dancing with the cold 2am breeze. and no one sees it but us.
the world in still tilted a bit, we shook and slept like humble giants.
.
duko
01/31/10*
i just came in from a long moment with the moon. i am not very sure about how it feels to be up there, alone, majestic, looked up and dreamed of. it was cold outside. a kind that calms the spirit. a kind that made me feel alone but not lonely.
for quite a while, i listened to the whole OST album of Spirited away again. it moved me to this feeling of anti-gravity, a ‘decided’ flight and that near-to-courage letting go. there was this sudden rush of fleeting sadness inside me. inexorable for minutes that i wanted to fold my arms and push my self to tears. as i look at it in most days, it was never easy to take the path that you choose for your self because it could be a wrong choice. i mean, everyone your age wants to look expensive, educated and upright. sometimes, it is a struggle to cling on the dream of being this: happy, loving and loved.
and for a moment, this entire space and vastness above felt like a grandeur of emotions, winding, astray, pointless but peacefully glad. like that only hug you can give away after missing someone’s warmth (you still do the giving despite you were the one who was sorely longing). like patience, like how it never asked but just waited and welcomed when everyone left and lavished on short-cuts, over the counters and quick fixes. like how pregnancy is and will always be a miracle to most mothers. and how being a Father can both be the height or the downfall of a man. like that overwhelming feeling of turning your back to love because of ageism and fear then one day, you just can’t help but face the world holding everything that you’ve been scared of and call it “mine” (without a lump of doubt). like the first kite you’ve seen, so raw and fresh in the stream of your thoughts. like how clouds follow the motion of the train or the bus where you seat as a stranger.
it’s just this.
.
more than ever, i don’t want to be powerful,one-in-a-million and eccentric.
i just want to taste all that is vulnerable, brave, human and humorous.
feel the earth on my toes and love like the trees and the mountains.
(no matter what it counts and what it takes.)
♥♥♥
this is where i go home to:
.
san roque, where i usually spend time reading, writing or just burning
the trees that i have been hugging
the meadows where i watch the world look down on me
the hills and mountains where i watch the town glow,
life in a different angle, closer to the clouds
the laid-back snack nook where you breathe that offbeat, homey arsty feeling
.
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.”
.
