769th Letter*

There were letters I wrote you that I gave up sending long before I stopped writing. And here are the reasons why:

I don’t remember you even in a blur. I don’t remember you sitting on a couch, we’re face to face, and you’re just staring how my lips touched the hot porcelain that it marked pink on immaculate sides.

I don’t remember the day I saw you munching your nails at the candy store because damn I was so annoyed that I hit your hand in a rush. I was sorry. You were sorry.

Our first kiss, at our freshly soaked backyard, no I can’t remember. I can’t remember how I wished to close my mouth because I don’t think that’s the right time. Nonetheless, I opened it; slowly. Like I was shouting to my brother in a slow motion; Like I was sleep talking because I dreamt about my aunt and I loved explaining to her things; Like I was savoring the summer pepper liquor of the sea, and the soft, long, hair braid of a six year old kid just caressed my lips as I kept on shutting my face like a dream; the best thing about dreaming is when you can feel everything without complaining how it feels. When feelings stroke you, you dreamt about dreaming the same thing over and over until you got tired of sleeping, and it’s not your fault. It is your body’s fault. Pain can stay in bed whenever you plan to sleep. But when we kissed, I wished it was a dream. I feel more when dreaming than being awake. I don’t remember you.

Our first hand touching, I don’t remember it. I don’t remember how you awkwardly leaned your arms over the wounded sofa while we’re watching MTV, and you waited for several minutes to find the perfect tempo of music that will coat your desire. You didn’t know I noticed that. Your fingers were thumbing down to my arms. Right now, I can still feel your digits in my shoulder. Heavy, but you tried to make it light. The next thing I knew, you’re holding my hand. We’re holding our hands. Shaking. But not too shaky. Cold. The average moisture of our palms made me think of letting go with the shame but I didn’t. I didn’t because it’s your hand. There’s something special about your hand that I couldn’t quit. We were sixteen then, childhood tied up our hands into one – until now. Our hearts. I don’t remember you.

Your texts, those virtual hugs and smiles, no I don’t. I don’t remember how you painted my tears with lies of “Everything will be fine.” “You are fine.” “It will be fine.” “We are fine.” and how I spitted all of it with the truth. I was not fine. And I will never be fine. We can never be fine with just “fine.” For me, saying I will be fine meant for keeping my shits together. Alone. And the people who say “fine” are people who really don’t give a fuck. Fuck with my feelings, because I don’t remember you.

The letters I made that I gave up sending to were just words and they bleed. Endlessly. Every strokes and every curves of each letters were still the hint of scars mended long ago, but still itched every midnight that I scratched it until it renewed as wounds again. Crispy skin. It is still bleeding. Endlessly. Pain is in my bed all the time that when I dream there’s a picture of you in a larger scale of vision, zooming in front of my eyes. All is white except from your skin. There, I feel all the versions of pain that tortured my bones of sixteen summers and fourteen winters at once. My heart feels heavy like I dropped it on myself. I do remember. I do remember memories.

 

And for all eternities, it urges me to write and write more letters for you and burn them all at the same time. Those flesh drenching dreams, this numbed body. I don’t remember you.

This is the last letter saved from my drawer. You can make an airplane out of it; or a ship; or a box; or you can just crush it and burn it in the bulimic rays of sun. Whatever. Just don’t read it. This is meant for wasting every bits of remnants in our downfall called love.  Waste. Every. Single. Thing. Don’t ever smell the paper. This was meant to hurt.

In the end, I would say to myself: Everything will be fine. It will be fine. I will be fine. Then spit.

*For love and crumpled memories I wish were gone

Jejejeje

Nakaka-turn off talaga ‘yung kapag katext mo Jeje. Don’t get me wrong. Hindi ako matapobre. Pero iritang-irita talaga ako. ‘Yung ako pa ang maga-adjust para maintindihan ang bagay na mababaw rin naman.

Hindi ako elitista. Well, sa behavior, hindi. Pero sa taste, gusto ko rin naman ng quality.

Feeling ko kasi, kapag you messed with your language, you messed with your life. Language is the basic unit of communication, tapos ifi-fail mo pa? D!b4aAhH?

Siguro nga, in a fashion sense, baka ito ay istilo lang sanhi ng progresibo ng lengguwahe. Progresibo ba ang pagiging Jeje?

Kunsabagay, hindi naman natin madidiktahan ang mga Jeje na huwag maging Jeje. Pero puwedeng gawan ng paraan. Thru words din. Tulad nito. Jina-judge ko sila. Baka kapag nabasa nila ito, ma-realize nilang ang baduy nga nila. Or puwede ring murahin nila ako with their language. With accent.

Makatulog na lang.

Nakakasawang Bumili ng Banana Q

Araw-araw ganito ang eksena.

Tuwing gigising ka sa umaga, ‘yun at ‘yun ang ringtone ng alarm mo. Magpapa-inin ka ng limang minuto sa kutson, kahit na bente minutos na lang ang natitirang oras at leyt ka na sa klase. Makakatapatan mo ng mukha ang mga boardmates mong nagkukuskos pa ng mata at nagpapahid ng panis na laway. Papatayin ang alarm, tapos pipikit ulit. At ikaw, mag-iinit ng tubig para mag-kape.

Nakakaumay din pala. Bakit kasi ang tagal mo?

‘Pag namataan mong pitong minuto na lang ang palugit sa’yo ng wall clock mo para mailigtas ang unang mong klase, saka ka lang kakaripas sa bilis. ‘Yung tipong ala-Flash sa bilis. Makakalimutan mo ang module at ball pen mo, pero hindi ang pagpupulbo. Maiiwan mo ang mainit mong kape at iinumin na lang pag-uwi kung kailan malamig na. Lalabas ka na sana ng pintuan, kaso naalala mong hindi mo pa suot ang I.D mo. Magba-babay ka sa mga boardmates mo, at agad silang tutugon ng “Ingat!” (most spoken lines, ever). Tapos ayun, lalakad ka na ng mabilis na parang walang pakialam sa mundo. Walang pakialam sa nadadagasan mong tao.

Nakakaumay nga talaga. Kasi naman ang tagal mo.

Tititigan ka ng guard kung suot mo ang I.D mo kahit na sobrang obvious naman talaga. Makakasalubong mo ang mga kakilala, kaklase, kangitian, at namamlastik sa’yo. Wala eh, ganon siguro talaga. Kahit saan may epal. Tapos dadaan ka ‘dun sa may shortcut papunta sa department mo. Aakyat ka sa hagdan para sumugod sa naga-agaw buhay mong klase. Tapos wala pa pala ang propesor niyo. Hihinga ka ng malalim “Wooooh!” sabay upo at mangongopya ng assignment sa katabi mo.

Nakakaumay, pramis. Ang tagal mo!

Hanggang sa makapasok ka sa class room niyo. May babati, may hindi. May ngingiti, may ngiti-ngitian. Tipid lahat sa classroom, pansin ko. Tipid ang kooperasyon, tipid ang pundasyon.  Kodiks na nga lang ata ang hindi tinitipid. Sasama ka sa mga kaibigan mo, tapos ‘di ka magsasalita. Wala lang. Sasama ka lang. Ngingiti ‘pag nag-jojoke sila. Tatawa kapag may nagpapatawa. Iimik ‘pag tinatanong. Boring no? May pagkakataon din namang parang hyper ka at absuwelto sa mga problema. Pag ganun ang vibes, ayos.

Nakakaumay naman. May hinihintay pa ba ako?

Tapos ‘yun, everyday quiz. Ay.. “quizzes” pala. ‘Pag ‘di nakapag-aral, hahanap at hahanap ng paraan para pumasa. Ako? Depende sa mood. Depende kung nakapag-aral o hindi. Pag labasan ng grades, nataasan ka pa nung kumapi-peyst ng sagot mo. Mawawala ka na sa huwisyo  para mag-aral at dadaanan na lang sa tindahan para bumili ng Banana Q. Pero mababadtrip ka ulit dahil sa sobrang daming asukal ng Banana Q. Bibili ka ng tubig. Bibili ka ng Milo para bukas ng umaga. Bibili ka ng Downy. Bibili ka ng mga walang kwentang bagay. Pagsisisihan mo pero gagawin  mo ulit bukas.

 Nakakaumay, darating ka pa ba?

Araw-araw ganito. Ganito dito. Gusto ko ng umuwi sa amin. Manahan kung saan nakakahinga ako ng maluwag. Malayo sa landas ng panghuhusga, kalungkutan, kapootan, at pagpapanggap. Pero bakit parang habang hinihintay kita, tila lalo kang tumatagal. Lalo kang lumalayo. Ayaw mo ba?

Bakasyon, iintayin kita. Sana bilisan mo ha?

Gasgas mula sa aking bisekleta

Natagpuan ko ang sarili kong nagbibisekleta sa malawak na kalsada sa aming bayan. Natutumba ako, at babangon rin. Naluluha tuloy ako sa sakit.

Simula ng mag-bakasyon, panay suntok at apir ang inabot ko sa kapatid kong si Chito. Biro nga sa amin ni nanay, ganito daw pala kami maglambingan. Pipikunin ko siya, mapipikon siya, at ayun, maglalaro na kami ng wrestling. Hindi ko madalas makita si Chito, kay lola kasi siya nakatira. Ako naman, kay nanay. Hiwalay na kasi ang nanay at tatay namin, kaya hiwalay din kami ng tirahan. Tuwing bakasyon na nga lang kami nagkikita eh. Madalas ko tuloy mamiss itong si Chito.

Nagsisimula kaming mag-bisekleta sa parke tuwing alasais ng umaga. Ito ang nagsisilbing ehersisyo naming tuwing umaga. Racing kami mula sa bahay hanggang parke. At dahil sa mas malaki kesa sa kanya ang biwas ko, ako ang laging panalo. At ang matalo, manlilibre ng pandesal at milo. Yan ang usapan.

Araw-araw kaming nagka-karera sa kalsada. Naghahabulan na parang pusa at daga sa daan. Tawanan, kulitan, asaran. Yan  ang samahan namin ni Chito. Kahit na hindi na kami madalas magkita, sinisigurado naming sulit ang mga pagkakataong magkasama kami.. Naglilinis kami ng bahay tuwing umaga. Siya ang taga-walis at ako naman ang taga-mop. Tapos magpapatug-tog kami ng malakas sa bahay, at hahawakang parang gitara ang walis at mop na gamit namin Tinutulungan niya rin akong magluto ng tanghalian, siya ang pinaga-gayat ko ng mga gulay at karne. Nadala na kasi akong mag-pasaing sa kanya eh, lagi kasing sunog. Kapag magmemeryenda, sabay kaming pupunta sa ihawan at bibili ng isaw at dugo. Bibili pa kami sa tindahan ng Tang Orange. Tapos manunuod kami ng pelikula sa gabi habang nag-ngangata ng kut-kutin. At dahil nakakatakot ang madalas naming panuorin, magka-akap kaming natutulog habang nakatalukbong ng kumot. Sabay ngaw-ngaw ng “awooooo” at tatawa.

Sumapit ang kaarawan ni Chito. Mabuti na lang at natama tuwing bakasyon ang birthday  niya, kaya lagi akong present sa handaan. Ibinili ko siya ng second hand na bisekleta sa dati kong kaklase. Natuwa naman siya dahil mukhang bagong-bago pa ang binili kong mountain bike, kumikislap pa ang manubela. Yun nga lang, hindi ko na magagawang samahan siyang mag-bisekleta dahil pasukan na naman. Kailangan ko na namang lumisan at lumayo ng panandalian.

Sa tuwing lalabas ako sa pintuan ng aming bahay para umalis, namamataan ko ang lungkot sa kanyang mga mata. Pero kapag tinititigan ko siya, dumi-dila lang siya at tatawa na parang nakakaloko. Akala niya hindi ko pansin ang kalungkutan niya.

“Ate, pag-uwi mo, bike ulit tayo ha,” sabay suntok ng sunod-sunod sa aking braso.

“Oo naman, dapat manalo ka na,” sinundan ko ng mabigat na tawa.

Ilang linggo pa lang bago ako umalis sa bahay ay nakatanggap ako ng tawag galing sa kanya. Naggamit na kaya niya yung binili kong bisekleta?

Chito calling..

“Hello? ”

“Apo.. Wala na si Chito.. Nabangga siya ng bus sa kalsada kanina habang nag-bibisekleta.. Hindi na kinaya sa ospital.. Si lola ito..”

“….”

Hindi ako makaimik. Naputol ng ilang Segundo ang dila ko. Pinipigilan ang malalakas na sigaw at iyak na nakakulong sa aking dibdib. Pilit inihihinto ang dumudulas na mga luha sa nagiinit kong mga mata. Nagiintayan kami ni lola kung sino ang unang iiyak, pero ako rin ang nauna.

Umuwi ako agad at ipinapa-walang bahala ang mga klase pagkatapos ng maiksing usapan namin ni lola. Gamit ang bisekletang may pahid ng dugo, natagpuan ko ang sarili kong nagbibisekleta sa malawak na kalsada sa aming bayan. Natutumba ako, at babangon rin. Naluluha tuloy ako sa sakit. Ang sakit ng iniwan mong gasgas sa akin Chito. Ang sakit, sobra.

 

 

Darkness

Darkness

Darkness. Before it was a fear vision.
But now, I’m longing to live in the dark forever just to touch your warm lips into mine.
Tab-lub-lub.
My heart sings in darkness.

Eyebags

alastres ng madaling araw

mata’y nananatiling mulat

sinusuyod ang malambing na gabi

Walang mintis

basta karamay ay buwan

tinitipa ang lumang piyano

habang mahinahon ang gabi

marahang nagmatiyag

Wala din

mata’y gising pa

gumulong-gulong sa kama

sapi’y lukot-lukot na

apuhap ang luno na unan

Di umubra

diwa’y dilat sa malay

alaskwatro ng umaga

araw’y pasikat na

tinanaw muli ang ulap

Madilim pa

konting tiis na lang

Hinagilap ang salamin

pinagmasdan ang kurba ng mga mata

nagkukubli sa ilalim ng dilim

Eyebags, aba

talagang itutulog ko na.

Not another movie review

Movies can’t blame me. They’re so boring. Well, erm, I’m not generalizing all of them, best to say many of them.

          I’m not a movie geek. The fact that movies secretly command us to cry and laugh at times. I did watched movies sometimes (when friends insisted me), and I really found it so dull. With all movies I had been watched, only ¼ of them satisfied me a little. My eyes start to tire when I’m in the midway of the story. So yes, capital BORING.

          I compared movies to my own perception of love. Love has endings; endings that sometimes make you smile or laugh. It has interesting start on the very first scenes, but will bore you on a halfway.  Like movies, love is very predictable. Predictable in a sense that story lines of everybody else repeat on other people’s life. Holding hands, warm kisses tight hugs, blah blah and blah. Movies contained them all, and that makes it predictable. It is somehow good and romantic but I’ll repeat, it is boring!   

          Foreign and local movies, name it all, they’re all the same. They’re all making us hope that there is true love, that there’s someone out there will proposed a marriage on a train way, someone will die for you, someone will take care of you when you get older, and soul mates do exist. I don’t know, but these were all junks. Movies are unreal, same as love.

    11-21-10 (long ago, huh?)

 

Message sent!

They’re right. You’ll never know the real feeling if the situation wasn’t came yet. You’ll just understand things if you experienced them in action.

And yes, I was there. Puzzling my mind in distress while my new-laundered blanket covered my exhausted body. I wasn’t able to text my mom for three consecutive days. And woaaaah, she’s worried about me. She might thought I was slaughtered or did something, erm, bad.

“Why didn’t you text me? I was worried about you,” mom texted me around seven o’clock in the evening.

And the worst, I wasn’t replied right away because I was asleep. So she called and texted me without a response. I felt her being worried and hysterical that time I woke up and checked my phone.

“I’m sorry mom. I was asleep. Hm, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to text you this past few days, don’t worry I’ll text you more often starting today,” I replied.

“If texting me is a difficult obligation for you to do, well it’s better not to text me anymore,” she said.

I could not believe she just said that! And my heart was in a rush. I could feel the veins splitting down in my chest and releasing its heat which made me choke to death. Teary-eyed. I could not move easily. Guilt. Disgust. Oh men, I think it’s a major offence.

I sent S-O-R-R-Y thrice, but none of those got replies. I was so sorry that time, and I couldn’t help to cry. Maybe for some it was not a big deal but for me it was. I love my mom, so much you can imagine. Even she’s strict and perfectionist, I can say she’s the best mom in the world and no one can replace her tender loving care.

So starting today, I must say I understand things because of foolish experiences of mine. Even though I fucked up, well at least I learned. Isn’t it cute to think the thought that mom know how to “tampo” with you just because you didn’t text her? Small but sweet things are really appreciated like the bigger ones.

Too-toot. Too-toot. And my phone beeps! Message sent!