(un) fettered

it is too small for me, this thing you call life.
i have tried blending in only to find myself
confined, claustrophobic, suffocated into non-being

i find myself breaking into sweat, forming fluid-filled thoughts
of doubt and compromise, of drowning into conformity
fabricated existence, desperation crawling out of every orifice

breathing in. breathing out. stretching every breath to make it last.
to make it last. to make it count. count for what?
everything they write of, sing for, and bleed into, eludes me

i see you at night

i see you at night,
the curve of your back
and hear the weight of your cold-harried, well-worn step

i see you at night,
staring from the corner of your eye
furrowed brows creating undecipherable valleys between chocolate-colored romance

i see you at night,
endless waterfalls of curls and waves
covering thought and reaching out through unbreachable space

i see you at night,
standing still, moving all the same
creating turmoil in the wake of a missed opportunity to meet, to speak, to love

Who would've known we'd get silver? Junior Delphic Games

The Delphic Games is an international competition for the arts. It's relatively young, 10 years old, but aims to end up becoming the art equivalent of the Olympics. We joined the competition as representatives of the Philippines for the free percussions category. (Jaimar, Chai, Ate Klara, Myx, Kuya Jayson, Rhea, Regh, Me, and Frey)

Our performance doesn't stick out to clearly in my mind. A 13.5 minute piece we crammed for in a week doesn't really get you emotionally attached. But we sure didn't think we were going to win anything. We went against 4 Korean teams who were clearly joining the competition to win. (We were happy just being part of the whole event) It seemed our well-worn gamelan instruments paled in comparison to their big and shiny drums. But we gave it our best and hoped it would be enough to make Sir Edru proud. (Yun lang naman talaga goal namin eh. Pasayahin si sir at wag pahiyain ang KG)

The audience said we did great. Although the only ones I heard clapping were the Koreans. There were a few giggles when we did the Tongatong dance, Yogad. It's funny they thought we were Vietnamese or something and some of the locals were surprised that we had Gangsas in our ensemble.

We went out that night after watching the unbelievably lame Time&Transformation concert. We went to Oh My Gulay only to find out it was closed and decided to head to some pub where the drinks were expensive and the music was so-so. We got drunk on laughter and were lucky not to get kicked out for all the noise we made.

The next day, we were asked to do a repeat performance but Sir decided to have us do our usual KG repertoire instead. (Thank God.) The audience was much more appreciative this time. Things went pretty well except for the fact that I lost my bulalakaw in mid-dance. Ah yes, the things I do just because I love performing. The show must go on right?

That night, we watched the concert the Koreans prepared. It changed the way I see Koreans. I mean, yes they're invading the country by hordes but all the culture they have, the history of their art, the way they continue to love it and pass it on is just so inspiring that I can't help but have a new vantage point from which to view them now. After, we went to Oh My Gulay only to be disappointed once again so we went on an ukay-spree instead. (P50 duffel bag vs P150 duffel, P100 fur-lined boots, animal toe socks, and "ukay" redefinition)

Special mention of The 50's Diner where frey brought us is in order. My goodness! That place was food heaven. Servings were giant-sized and incredibly cheap. I'll upload the pics later on.

Our last day in Baguio was probably the best one we had in the competition. We headed the first part of the interaction between delegates. City High students came in droves asking questions and begging not to be left with a Korean delegate. We talked to the Samulnori Band members and despite the language barrier were able to make friends with them, exchanging email adds and going around the hall with them. It's funny they remembered us from the free percs competition because they were amazed about us putting on make-up backstage.

Kuya Jayson was the star of the show when almost everybody started congregating around his drums. People were jumping on stage and the high school students started exchanging songs and chants with the Koreans. Sung kept explaining the songs to Regn and me, "Traditional Korean Song" "Soccer...Cup...Cheer?". I was disappointed with the Filipinos, however, who just kept singing Wowowee songs. *sighs*

That night, the awarding took place. The performances were amazing. We had no idea we were going to get 2nd place (we had inside information that the Korean judge was extremely unfair and biased against us). It still hasn't sunk in. We got 2nd in an international competition. I look at the medal now and can't seem to muster much emotion about it.

I went there to experience something that I wouldn't have the chance to experience elsewhere. The prize seems irrelevant now. All I'm really happy about are the moments I had with my friends and the people I got to meet there. What an experience.

who knows if the moon's

words have become scarce in the wake of indolence. allow me to borrow, then, those of ee cummings in the hopes that tomorrow the world will once again give me a reason to write. enjoy.

who knows if the moon's

who knows if the moon's
a balloon, coming out of a keen city
in the sky--filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we'd go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody's ever visited,where

always
it's
Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves

buhay buhay

I've come to realize that writing in this blog is only appealing when there's something else I should be doing like, for example, studying for an exam. It's ironic really. Now that I have nothing to do, I do nothing.

So here I am, forcing myself to write just so the hinges don't get rusty. There's something there. Something that wants to be unearthed and exposed to the world that is literature but I have yet to find the energy and motivation to dig it up.

Ah. To be young and lazy. 'Tis bliss.

unslaked

The urge to move you, pushes air out of my lungs.
I want to make you feel.

Passion.
Guilt.
Love.

The urge to touch you, forces lids to tightly shut.
I want to have you understand.

Commitment.
Compromise.
Love.

The urge to keep you, strains my fingers to trembling.
I want to let you see.

Pain.
Trust.
Love.

The urge to love you is too strong.

If wanting, spent and refilled, were our basis, you would be borne on clouds
to my feet, left there to bathe in caresses and breathless whispers

Of love
Unbidden,
Ignored.

of strange encounters and lost possibilities

it was the light that night,
the light dancing steady in your eyes.

it was the weight of your stare;
palpable on my shoulders as i continued to move.

it was the slowing of my blood
as i turned on my back, catching my breath.

it was the heat and cold mixing;
and i fought, composing myself to remain calm under your gaze.

it was an intensity, unmatched.
i couldn't bring myself to meet the questions stirring behind your mask.

homage to the great poet

Pablo Neruda, one of the greatest poets to have held pen to paper. I just wanted to share this with whoever might take the time to read this blog. enjoy. I hope you end up loving him, Neruda, as much as I do. ^__^


I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

i miss you guys

how does it happen exactly, the parting of friends? it seems so long ago when i was part of your life. and yet, when i think of you, nothing has changed. i remember. and yes, maybe it's an imperfect memory. details blurred. dates mixed and tangled. the telling is always different. but maybe that's what makes it so priceless. treasured stories of each other we keep hidden in shoe boxes, in books that accumulate with dust, in pages we turn over and over again. an attempt to recapture moments. different for each of us. we take away only what we found beautiful and worthwhile. sometimes, it's a small thing. but with us, it was always entire days of images flashing through the mind.

remember we promised to always be there for each other? remember those crazy ideas of opening a shop together? something for everyone right? (which for us meant food) but how could we possibly be good at that when we were too busy enjoying ourselves? and so the plan bloomed, involving the paths we chose to take. nurses and a doctor for a hospital, and a lawyer for all the screw-ups we were bound to make.

but dreams like ours have a funny way of remaining just that, dreams. i don't know anymore what you do during your free time. i don't know what drove you insane today. or what crazy new inside joke you have. we have different lives and different people have come to fill the roles we used to have with each other. a new laugh. a new set of arms to fall into.

i miss you guys.

still

a jumble of fingers:entwined, hands:crossing, arms:draped
a mixture of body against warm body:mingling in the heat

no lines, rather contours. hips:merging, legs:interlaced
breath dwelling only narrowly in crevices left between

a mirroring of slow steady movements:shifting of weight
a dance of mirrored forms nestling snugly into place

i lie content, barely aware of your presence alongside mine
boundaries:blended:blurred:one

something new

it felt good to finally do something new. i hadn't realized that life had become monotonous. don't get me wrong, having a routine isn't bad. but somehow it felt extremely good to do something fresh.

it was fun, doing soccer drills in the rain. it was even more fun to actually play soccer for the first time in my life. i knew only a handful of the people who were there but oddly enough, i was comfortable. i'd never been filthier in my whole life and yet it was completely refreshing. it was just what i needed, i suppose.

i wouldn't trade my first passion for anything in the world but i guess we all need a break, even from the things we love to do most. yesterday was a good day. it was good to be that person who sucked and had no idea what to do. it was gratifying to know that simply kicking the ball (even to the opponent) earned you a pat on the back and a few words of praise. it was fun. i'd forgotten what fun was. pure and simple fun from which you could walk away without feeling drained and completely out of it.

i went home wearing something i owned, something i borrowed, something disposable (thanks laya), and not wearing something that i should've been wearing. :) i looked a mess and i'm sure i wasn't completely mud-free yet but i didn't care. and it felt good not to care.

a short way from you, a few steps just across

in a tiny hole near the core of my world there resides a heart,
hidden yet still beating.

beneath a comfortable shade a short way from where you live,
i scratched the surface of the earth with the scuff of my toe,
a little bit every day, until the ground caved in.

a few steps from the front of your door,
so near you would have seen with a peek from your window,
i battled with the devil. a war you could only imagine. leaving
the marks of a grave i never intended to make, to wait for you.

across from your comfort, i struggled with love.
unaware, you passed by me (a short way from me, a few steps just across)
until conquered, i placed my heart in a grave created by the scuff of my toe.
you will never know of my longing or of the nights i spent in a shade near you.
you will never know, my heart, my life has gravitated alongside yours but never with.

in a tiny hole beneath the place you call home,
i have placed my defeated heart. hidden, yes, but still waiting.

when i said i loved you

when i said i loved you, i didn't mean to say that i like you.
it was an offering, an outright approval
of certain personal favorites that only i could have possibly had about you.
it was an assent, an acceptance
of the infinite number of things that might go wrong
and the wee bit that already had.

when i said i needed you, it was not to mean for always.
not to perfect me, or mold me into someone only you would think as better.
not to appose myself to your rather stiff frame for fear of becoming nothing away from it.
it was a basic need i spoke of, a primal urge, one that when quenched may be ignored.
it was, in actuality, myself i pertained to. you have kept with you replicas of myself.
it is that which i need.

when i said i love you, i never should have said only you.
but in saying i needed you, did you not see my purpose?
it was to say i would love you most of all.

shallow breaths

move only if you must.
stay a while longer. linger
for love will not create for us.
we remain as we were.

eternity will not come
despite our promises.
hold me and i will cling,
living in your now.

hold me and i will cling.
stir only if you must.
the world continues to turn
but we, we will remain still.

-

a slow wilting into stillness
art giving way to form
no, ravaged.
yes, ravaged by a graceless need
to belong
to stand out
to glory in a trifecta
of precision, accuracy, uniformity.
masterful.
glorious.
it is
neither.

you aren't that different from me

you aren't that different from me.
when your hands reach down to touch mine,
they have substance, weight, and a texture
almost exactly like my own.

when you speak and my eyes remain still,
beneath lids tainted with the pigments of the earth,
i find denotation and sound aren't changed
despite our stark contrast in shade.

you aren't that different from me.
my world isn't a canvas dictated by color,
by slants, by intonation, and height.
you aren't that different from me but there is difference still;

i perceive depth despite.

living along the margins

My soul lies awake tonight as if it has never known rest.
It lies awake at the memory of your name.

The recesses of my mind echo with but one sound.
Your name echoes in the recesses of my mind.

I am allowed no rest, no sleep.
You have taken, with you, my rest, my sleep.

At the sacrilege of voicing thought, the stars burn out.
Your name allows no utterance and thus I remain mute.

I live haunted and bound wide-eyed.
Your name haunts me and I live not if not to be bound.

I am reborn with the knowledge of your name.
With knowledge only of your name, I am still-born.

still frames

your hands draw forth mechanic whirring
with short outbursts of electromagnetic radiation
streaming from flights of infinitesimal beelzebubs
wrapped in metal casings

i am amused, enthused, brought to laughter
imploring to remain within the ritualistic frameworks
of you paying homage to me or a likeness thereof
mirroring two-dimensional affectations on chemically-coated paper

i exist through captivity, imprisoned in dark rooms:
refuge to stolen souls sucking breath out of otherwise healthy men.
i exist through you. in a vacuum created from sensitised metal
requisitioning cognition and thought, incapable yet still smiling

broken families, no matter what anyone does, always feel broken

how long does it take to forget? what does it take to finally be able to say we've moved on? i see your message on the screen, bridging the seas and vast tracts of land separating us. and even through the distance, i feel my body tense with uncertainty. what do i say? how do i convince myself that i feel hardly anything at this possibility of contact? i cringe at the thought that you are real. i shudder at the realization that it was only i who denied your existence.

but what would you have me do? i am torn. i am broken. i am lost and you have been shattered. shattered into the tiniest fragments that memory has allowed. shattered and scattered across time, across space that i will not occupy. i've forgotten you. i don't remember how it felt to have once been complete. i plead for the mercy of forgetting you. i beg for reprieve from a litany of words threatening to make me long for what has long been dead. when will you let me go? when will you allow me to forget you?

it has been too long and yet you've brought it all back with just one word.

missing you, i wonder how you look now,
wonder if you still do that little habit with your fingers

i remember you as if it was only yesterday
and realize it is only in yesterday that i have the courage to remember.

when sunrise is still a dream

The night hosts a sea of darkness as we hide in the pause of our prolonged purgatory. Resting place of the weary. Haunting grounds of waiting souls.

"Are you cold?", you ask, straining to sit closer.

"Not at all," I whisper knowing no sound will bridge the barren space around you.

(It must have been so hard for you. We were so unhappy. )
Tears course down your soft cheeks. What can I do but hold you?

"I'm happy. I've always been so happy."

And the night watches, cradling my lies, forgiving me my inconsistencies.

why mornings are so cruel

day 1

He woke up. Frying pans. Plates. Egg. Rice. It has begun. And he watched the steam, rising from his still warm coffee, brew war.

"Did I get the eggs right?"
A nod of acknowledgement with the clatter of spoon and fork.

٭

day 2

The whisper of a name yanks him from a cocoon of dreamlessness. Palpitations. Voiceless cursing. Humidity of new day. And only a dim awareness of droplets of sweat persisting, forming, nagging and winning.

"Hush now. You've just been dreaming."

A hand running through bedraggled hair with the resounding drop of a head on the pillow.

٭

day 3

There is nothing but his eyes flutter open. Sleep chased away. Weight. And there is nothing more painful than having to peel off covers wrapped around, stuck tight to the skin.

“It’s there today.”

Not even a stare with the rustle of the broadsheet’s pages to the obituaries.

٭

day 4

He is awake and watches dawn shatter through the blinds, conquering the empty room. Troubled breathing. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. And he waits.

“Are you ready?”

A black pin placed over his heart with the assent of silence.

٭

day 5

He woke up. Frying pans. Plates. Egg. Rice. It will continue. And he watched the steam rising from his still warm coffee brew war.

first meetings

In the beginning, there was only the spark of something, barely an inkling of familiarity, and only a sense of a rather awkward hesitation. There never arose a need to act. For action would, in its typically vulgar manner, destroy the anticipation cleverly hidden in our brief and tight-lipped encounters.

Polite conversation. A brief nod. Perhaps a small smile every now and again. A clever story about common friends if luck allowed. Supressed glances. The fanning of cheeks that have become much too affected. Pleasantries. An indescribable attraction to describing the weather. And the widening gap that lingers in between.

Because at the very start of everything, there is only the turning over of possibilities in the presence of famished silence.

content

Maybe it's something as simple as eating ice cream on a bench together. With the still night sky not being particularly clear and a patient moon not seeming at all that extraordinary. A plain evening with all its routines and customary bothers. No soft music or dimmed candlelights. No traces of roses or promises of a stolen kiss. No furtive glances or increased heart rates. Nothing at all. Just ice cream and being together.

I've spent the better part of a month aching to post here and now that I finally have the chance to do it, I have nothing to say. *sighs* So much for that.

----------Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!----------