Monthly Archives: November 2006

in and out

“live, write, be.” – sacred circle, ssc manila, lightyears ago and a few lifetimes after

i was never a real atenean, the kind who watches uaap games and cheers with the blue babble. i don’t even know by heart the lyrics of our alma mater…all i know is the line, “mary for you, for your white and blue…” what lyrics. i scoffed at girls who looked very made up, who looked like they’ve stepped out of vogue’s fashion shoots. some guys were prettier than myself, and they tried to look bored and superior. (while a few guys snagged at my heart and bruised it a bit). i tried to not stand out by being my nicey-bitchy self and by immersing myself in ateneo’s lovely trees, ducks and old buildings. my orgs were very open, and i immensely enjoyed my being a member and eventually an officer there. areas occupied my time, and in the mornings, i’d be seen rushing off to the library to cram especially for the subjects with terror teachers. the filipino section of our library was my favorite nook: it was cozy for quick naps. and i’d be seen clutching rushdie’s satanic verses. or any third world lit book as part of our reading requirements. i could never understand how i graduated with a fucking title, but i thank god for giving me that honor. he simply helped me while i coasted along. i was never a real atenean, i was my real self in college. i wore what i wanted, i cursed aloud, i got scolded by one of the terror teachers, i psychologically seduced one teacher so that i can ace his very difficult oral exams (thank god for Ralph Lauren perfume for women> it works wonders, i assure you). i cared a lot for others, i cried and laughed, and lived wondrously with beautiful children and beautiful people. my god, i can still remember listening to U2 songs under the trees and feeling like i can write the seven ultimate poems in my life. i held special people close to my heart, and it pointed me to a silent place where flight was possible. i lived, wide-eyed, in stupor, in love with god’s worlds. it was euphoria, it was a drug that went ricocheting right within my soul.


 poet: andoy castellano 

the sex of a long friendship, is the act which is not physical.
it is the smile,
the slight caress of the palm,
the pinch of the cheeks, or the nose,
a smirk,
a wiggling of the nose to raise the eyeglasses,
it is communicating a need,
a short discourse, perhaps,
a hunger of the soul to feed.
it is asking: “have you eaten?”, or just asking: “coffee?”

let the eye stray, or wander,
and maybe the paths might diverge,
it is not fate, or destiny, which will rule,
but that compass at the back of your mind,
of the wish for peace,
a longing for serenity,
of companionship without asking,
without doubt,
without regret, without restraint, and always with utmost respect,
that the bodies will come,
but only if, and only if,
the sex is with the soul.


the course talks to you

 i overheard a golfer-addict talking this way. the course talks to you.

maybe it’s because of the open space and the sun whirling above and the lakes waiting for falling leaves. it’s this space that i long for. i remember going to my first golf course for a shoot, and losing my breath over the entirety of the place. you forget the funny-looking golfers and their tired caddies. you walk, and you feel the sun and wind on your arms. and the fire trees. oh man, i had to restrain myself from rushing off and hugging a tree.

a friend told me of a house in batasan with a rent fee of only 500 pesos a month. imagine, the house all to myself. no companions, just my journals, a box of books, few clothes and money. i can write. what’s more, i can write naked. i don’t have to worry about taking a bath or about my hair going limp or people demanding for something or my nails growing uncomfortably long. there’s also a foreign writer who wants to write naked. i want to do that. nothing weighing me down, only the rush and absence of words. a breeze from a half-opened window can lift me slightly off my chair, and that would be a blessing.

a lot of things and moments have been talking to me. sadly, i seem to keep my distance from them. for the meantime. but one hand is already miming for life to come back, and my body is aching for release. i have poems fermenting inside my body. don’t stop talking to me, i am here, and my flesh listens.

 “bullet with butterfly wings”

(i copied this from another person’s blog… please don’t sue me. all credits revert to their apt owners.)

bits and pieces | updates

tremors and fissures

i’m back to wearing glasses. i was once a four-eyed girl, but ditched it for a more uncluttered look.

now, i feel like a first-class nerd with my braces and glasses, but hell, this is better than having a permanent hole in my right cornea. my right eye has a small wound (am i being shredded into pieces? see my related post, an ode to murakami), thus the soreness in my eyes.


dangerous acronyms

one sunny day found me going over friends i’ve lost because of circumstances. if they’ve given me up, does that mean they don’t deserve to be part of my inner circle of trust and intimacy?


murakami mode

“i didn’t mean to hurt you, i’m just a jealous guy.”
“you’re so beautiful…beautiful fucked-up man, setting up your razor wire shrine”


win back my friends campaign

i dined out with my high school barkada. my girls were still their funny, childish selves, and wecouldn’t help but jar the relative serenity of little buddha (i don’t understand why i insist on calling it big buddha. can you imagine a midget buddha in the first place? oh well.) we reminisced about high school, from our embarassing moments, crazy class presentations to our most endearing lit teachers. and i realized one thing: my teacher-crushes in high school had some sort of tiny defects. teacher A who taught lit in first year high school’s gay. teacher B who taught economics limps when walking. but they do had one thing in common: they smelled very nice (sorry, i’m an auditory and olfactory person). so there we were, laughing our heads off and making time move slower.


a bit drained

i’m physically tired. my boat is waiting for me to take me to neverland, but i haven’t budged an inch.


soul searching
urban dub

say a prayer for me
i need a new life
i’m not blind cuz i see the truth and the lies.

heed my words, listen to advice
you don’t need to run away and take your life

no you can’t live this way.

saw you go for miles and miles
and miles and miles and miles
destination nowhere, no means or how
so you go for miles and miles
soul searching, soul searching
for how…

just take a look around
at the faces that you meet
cuz everybody’s got their own pains
like you and me
never fall away.

whatever you do choose life
the thoughts on your mind choose life
wherever you go choose life
choose life.

saw you go for miles and miles…
destination nowhere, no means or how
so you go for miles and miles
soul searching, soul searching
for how.

poison ivy

or things you should know about me before it’s too late 

they say that when you fight harder against the pull of quicksand, you get into a lot more trouble. but if you just allow yourself to sink, you realize it’s nice to have no solid ground beneath your feet.

for the few who know my blog and for the unfortunate ones who have stumbled upon this, i’d like to share with you my quirks. reasons for this post: a) i am bored straight out of my skull since i want to do more strenuous physical activities such as swimming or zipping (future post/s on these topics) b) i am attempting to be ditzy..heehee c) i have lots of poetic posts that i seem to need a comic relief, some sort of comfort room break, for both you and me.

1) i desperately try not to smoke, drink and not to troop to a tattoo station for my desired design. My self-control astounds myself. >> i’ve written this post eons ago. i’ve just met a man who does tattoo, and who showed me his back and his tummy full of images. talk about loving pain and art.>>

2) i am a crybaby.

3) i love the moon.

4) i take friends and family for granted.

5) i sometimes care a lot more for strangers.

6) i can carry on a tune, and i can dance.

7) i am physically flexible (but years have reduced that flexibility), still there are benefits to be had.

8. i can’t whistle.

9) i used to have a crush on Guns & Roses’ Axl Rose.

10) i speak my mind especially when i’m angry. i’ve hurt a lot of people with my bitchiness.

 11) i hate people who love to backfight. i’d rather be stabbed face-on. i hate people who love to spread lies and gossip.

12) i can’t cook. pathetic.

13) i’m iffy about blogging. even until now. i do this a) for parody b) for entertainment—yours and mine.

14) when i fall in love with books, i read them over and over again.

15) i get insane cravings for food every once in a while. i’ve had cravings for kamias, jollibee champ, morcon, pusit, etc. right now, i’m craving for ice cream.

16) i can’t eat food from burger machine, even if i wanted to. their sauce makes my tummy act funny.

17) i love only a few blogs, and i admire their respective writers for their being sensible. i’m always on the lookout for sensible people. if you’ve made it to my list, you’re in luck since i would praise even the ballpen you’ve used since college.

18) i can’t draw.

19) when i burp, i don’t care what you think of me.

20) i have my own notion of the end of the world based on our high school lessons in mayan culture, and it sometimes scares the shit out of me.

21) when i get attached to a friend, i really get attached. remember the starfish in Finding Nemo? i stuck like a real-time sucker to any unlucky person. beware.

22) i love animals. i love wolves, i love cheetahs, i love pandas.. i love cuddly cute animals and some of their predators.

23) i am a boring conversationalist. i prefer to listen to sensible people. but when i choose to talk, watch out cos it might get unstoppable.

24) i tend to overread things, statements, instances. i’m a sucker for metaphors coming alive in real life.

25) i have been featured in a couple of exhibits with my entries being my half-naked self. of course, sublimation is the key for me to have remained anonymous. (i love this term, anonymous. it’s so smooth to my tongue.) my dream is to be a nude model for a painting or a sculpture. there was once a person who found out this dream. this person was offering to shoot me (since this person was adept at photography, this i have to admit even if it makes me gag), but thank god, i didn’t oblige. this person had a way of making this person’s stints known to the world. >> update: we have another exhibit. yey! 🙂

26) i complicate things; i love indie films.

27) i’d love to go hot air ballooning, ride a carousel, go hiking. definitely go to india.

28) i keep secrets in a metal chest and swallow the key.

29) read kundera to understand this: i’m very particular about who to welcome in my poetic memory. when you’re inside, you stay. for good.

30) my OC-iness borders on clinical.




i’m gung-ho over this song these days. i don’t listen to it on my player several times a day, but it echoes in my mind, while i stare outside my window, while i eat lollipop, while i imagine myself packing up and going to my neverland. my lovely last-song syndrome, my bittersweet wad of gum.

yeah yeah yeah

yeah yeah yeah
pack up i’m a stray enough oh say say say you’ll say say say you’ll say say say you’ll say say say you’ll say say say..

they don’t love you like i love you
they don’t love you like i love you
they don’t love you like i love you

 i don’t just hear the ocean, i also hear moonlight

“i don’t just hear the ocean, i also hear moonlight ….”

 *this photo was taken by carlo guerrero from a quaint restaurant. i think it’s balaw-balaw in rizal. credits to all concerned, especially to the owner of the resto.

an ode to murakami

they had so many names for each other; they didn’t use them in public, but they called out to each other in silence. he would never understand her fascination towards hindu culture, how she longed to ride a boat up the ganghes, smell the insane aroma of a people gone crazy over a collection of gods and histories and battles. but he listened and absorbed her. he was always in her mind, but she never had the courage to tell him that; always, she was happy to talk to him in furtive moments, share dumb stories with him, dream of a world full of balloons and bubbles and bird baths that smell nice. here in this crazy world, they found their nook and told stories. sometimes, the past was raised, and their histories would leave a catch in their throats, but they saved each other from too much drowning. until they had to part. that was when the story got muddled up, almost disappearing through a vicious undertow. she acted as if she was never one to scream his name in the middle of the night, but she was compelled. deeply compelled that it drove her to bite her tongue until dusk. he was never one to beg, but he did through long words and snaking paragraphs. they were like pages in a book that got switched over and over until endings stood on their ends and looked for their beginnings. it was a mirage that got caught in thistles; they wondered, separately, what went wrong, who trashed away the magic word, who rode away shouting triumphant words but with a hole in one’s chest.


choose your ending:

a) one day, they will meet on a side street, and find each other with a hole in the center of their chests. they will grope in their pockets and find unopened letters, perfumes, roses, feathers, tales, ribbons, and they will use these to fill the holes. and they will go off together, to the himalayas perhaps, to find the magic word.

b) one day, they will meet on a side street. they will gaze at each other, and the pain will be so immense they will break in half. whoever has seen people breaking in half knows this feat: the cracks will begin at the toes and will snake on arms, on necks, on cheeks, even their tears will break in half. tremors will rise in their hearts, and their sight will give halved visions of the sun, the horizon, their hands.


cartoon love

i don’t often watch spongebob square pants. this saturday was different. the episode i watched was pure heart even if i was looking at quirky underwater characters who actually drink milk. spongebob got addicted to beating the popular maniac who reached the trillion record in the paddle-string-and-ball game. he didn’t even realize one week had elapsed, thus, he wasn’t able to feed gary, his pet snail.

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