Monthly Archives: January 2007

another stupid post

i remember us talking about a person very close to your heart. you were so giddy. and it was a feat for you to open up, both of us not used to you being open to talking about matters of the heart. i listened to you, while you tried hard to level the mood, temper your excitement. but it was all there, the warmth, the indefinite longing, your sighs. he has a girl, but you and the guy have a past; in short, he is The One That Got Away. i wanted to tell you my stories, too. show you my own wounds—Exhibit A journal entry # 201, and so forth; to tell you that you shouldn’t allow him to get away, but i was intrigued and fascinated by your own sets of wounds that i kept my mouth shut and flew with you to the sky.


i am physically tired. i still have bad dreams, and i am afraid to sleep. i need a perfect drug: something that’s legal, will not cause hallucinations, will make me embrace sleep and not fear it, will not cause desire to maim asshole-bike riders and stupid, shallow morons; something that i can carry to a cinema without alarming the guards, something that even sweet guard dogs will love.


it’s funny whenever i accidentally leave my house keys in the house. what happens is i get paranoid especially if my mom is at home. she is usually roused by the racket our dogs cause. with my keys, i am quick to rush to my dogs, shush them, and hug them. but without my keys, darn, they make such a racket to let me in. and my mom wakes up, and talks to me as if it were a normal weekday morning, as if she is very lucid to scold me about coming back to the house at hours when angels are sleeping. gripes, gripes, this happened to me last night, thus the ranting.



a friend went on a semi-alarming depression stage. we are so much alike; sometimes, we finish each other’s sentences, or voice out almost the same thoughts. i wonder: if life gives me hell, will i react like that friend? i remember my almost-futile efforts to save her. will i steel myself also and hide from the world?



another secret out: aside from the beautiful spots (india, anyone?) i’d like to visit in the near future, i am also wishing/pining for a little discovery: that i stay at /find a place where makahiyas, wishing feathers, and fireflies abound. now, if i find that place, i’d be settling there, and treat tan-awan village (baguio) as my second home. if you know of a place that fits my description, i’d give you a portion of my (non)-wealth, a fragment of my soul, and a month of servitude.



current pc wallpaper in the office: dali’s temptation of st peter
previous pc wallpaper in the office: gael garcia bernal (yes, i love him, and if he asks me out with lovely words coming out of his shit-even-guys-and-angels-fall-for-your-lips lips, i would not bat an eyelash. i would tell him, yes, let’s go, we’ve wasted years. now na.)
current pc wallpaper at home: scarlett johansson (she is amazing)
previous pc wallpaper at home: TUGON photo (myself and my friends carrying one baby each during a babies’ day out activity. we looked so comfy holding the babies, and it was funny because the respective babies we held that time looked just like us. i held monica; i miss her.)



1) failed to drop by doulos
2) failed to be more industrious in work
3) failed to stop thinking about somebody
4) failed to watch indie films
5) failed some people


1) god loves me, and i am his kid
2) my dogs love me. well, ashley does. jomari is very snotty. hmpf
3) having another photo of myself with a mascot. ye-hey!
4) my persistent hunger in reading books
5) i saw my guy idol. hehe. he is a very smart and jolly man.
6) managed to be nice to some annoying people. yey!
7) weight of words in my poetry

silly conversations (warning: this is a stupid entry)

“ano, seseduce mo na naman siya?” said a true friend.
<insert my bewildered-i-can’t-help-it-my-large-eyes-are-becoming-larger-to-show-you-that-i’m-innocent look>
“hello, what do you think of me, thinking of me” or any wild remark i just had to hurl at her for hurting me.

“bakit, nase-schedule ba ang lust?” i asked a friend.
the friend was dumbfounded, not because we were talking about malicious things, but because somebody overheard us.
<next scene: the two of us snickering while the poor man who overheard us feigned innocence>


“ha, so hiritan na to?”
<silence, with myself twiddling my thumbs>


 “hulaan mo kung ano bago kong watch…” i bugged my brother.
<insert brand A here> my brother replied.
“what about ______ (brand B)?” he asked.
“Guess kaya.”
“umm, _______ (brand C)?” he persisted.
“Guess nga!”
“Ah, ________ (brand D)!” he proclaimed.
“Hello! as in Guess, as in yung brand na may triangle and question mark. I wasn’t asking you to guess na.”
  *goodness, my brother, the demented martian*


“ako gusto ko pumunta ng palawan!” i said.
“talaga? ba’t hindi bora, di ba may balak pumunta barkada mo?” asked friend A.
“wala, kasi gusto ko lang talaga makapunta sa mindanao area.”
“ha, palawan, di ba visayas yon?”
<insert motion graphics of the Philippine map, with separate arrows pointing to mindanao and visayas.>
calling my araling panlipunan teachers from grade school please… help?


Disclaimer: in these conversations, i wasn’t even a wee bit drunk.



but again, this entry is just an introduction to another confession, of how i get jealous for no apparent reason sometimes (let me make that clear). when i decide to let a person into my poetic memory, that person is treated as mine. like elmira getting another dream pet to love and smother. and so here i am living another day, when something is revealed to me, and i feel my possession is being snagged from me. well, as i’ve been told, i don’t have forever. now what the hell am i doing staking my chances on that forever? even wendy had to leave neverland for something as mundane and big and uncontrollable as city life and adulthood and loss and pain. i don’t have forever, but i do have my convictions, and if i say there is forever, there is bound to be. because i believe in it. and i live it, even if the pain is so tangible it grows into a hard lump at the base of my throat. and if at the end of the road, there’s no forever, but only a tangle of weeds and old trees, i’d say, too bad, you could have taken that journey with me, and the old trees would instantly blossom, ghibli-style, into giant tortoises. but there would be no you, only  a lonesome journey, but then, it would have been worth it, because i would have staked my very last breath to believe in it.


drinking song

wine comes in at the mouth
and love comes in at the eye;
that’s all we shall know for truth
before we grow old and die.
i lift the glass to my mouth,
i look at you, and i sigh.

a poet to his beloved

i bring you with reverent hands
the books of my numberless dreams;
white woman that passion has worn
as the tide wears the dove-gray sands,
and with heart more old than the horn
that is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
white woman with numberless dreams
i bring you my passionate rhyme.

—- William Butler Yeats  —-

i told you this was a silly piece. but of course, yeats is exempted.

paradiso perduto


in one of the greatest books on earth, it was said that we are all the same from childhood to adulthood. and i think of estella from that book being taught to hurt men, as if it were a skill that could be measured by the number of hearts flopping at her feet. but there was hope, because a man—who seemed to be able to pull extra hearts from nowhere–came and stayed. that is from great expectations, my ultra-favorite book and movie–where everything goes in a circle, where rot and love belong in one place.

“what kind of creature leaves this woman, waiting like a fool? a man, a man does this, so men must pay…estella will make men weep. i taught her well. when she returns, she’ll cut through them like knife through butter.” [insert tori amos’s song, siren]

“know the chill, know she breaks, my siren…”

“what is it like not to feel anything?” finn asks estella. in the movie, he asks estella this awful question, his feet bare, his soles white, fleshy, ready to take on more beating.

“don’t you understand that everything i do, i do it for you? anything, that might be special in me is you.” after finn’s success at the gallery opening.

estella’s thoughts: i can walk you through life, hold your hand, point you to the most secret of gardens, drink with you in the fountain, let you hold a brush while we choose colors, swim with you in the ocean of my dreams. i will take your hand, dance with you across the room, and place your hand on my chest and ask you: my heart, it’s broken, can you feel it? and you will be confused, in the aftermath of our dance, you wonder, whose heart is really broken? you are afraid to look down at your feet.  

finn’s thoughts: it is madness to run after a cold woman, run after her on deserted streets, get cut by her stares, get run down by her words. but it is beyond madness to forget her. i paint her using brushes, colors, canvas, but i can’t hold her down. she comes in like an urgent message, and leaves me in a mess. she can’t be held down by the spinning world, but once she decides to offer a word or two of sudden kindness, then i know, that i am ready to go through this charade, this never-ending bruising of lives, this pyramid of pain, over and over again. [insert lyrics: “if i loved you for a day, then throw my life away….”]

fuck. i love this movie.

note: the phrase “pyramid of pain” is not mine; it was borrowed from the very detailed track list of the said movie. i just fell mightily in love with the beautiful phrase.

happy thoughts

there’s a certain author i love more fiercely than others (if that were even possible when it comes to my devotion with my chosen writers). i love this certain author’s metaphors and characters. he wrote in one of his recent books how the memory of the protagonist’s father seemed to be poisoned by stories of his mother. this boy is such a melancholic one that “his fingers can see in the dark” whenever he wanted to hold his mother’s hand.

i’m writing this because i think of his books right now. i think of his stories, the quirks of his characters, their dilemmas and inconveniences, their mishaps, their fantasies and frustrations. i relish reading his books, and being apart from his latest book makes me yearn for it. 

to sum up, this is not one of my days. and so i am rounding up my happy thoughts, as peter pan always tells me to do.

what are my happy thoughts?

1. recently, i was able to hug the “duck” i referred to as going to her own south. this same friend sent me an email that made me cry. imagine me in my workplace sniffling while trying to edit an article. it’s true: it’s the sound of this person’s laughter that i’m really gonna miss. now, i feel that ever-familiar emotion attached to the phrase, “it’s the saddest part of my day leaving you.” (from love actually)

2. i ate chicken curry, which i’ve been craving for weeks

3. i have the sked of indie short films. (now, being able to watch them is another story.)

4. corny sms that make me smile

5. pictures of kids. now, if only i can hold them

6. my books waiting on my bed (like assorted lovers?)

7. the memory of that one night when i slept with moonshine on my chest

8. looking forward to reggae nights

9. looking forward to Simpsons The Movie (ten-ten-ten-tenen-tenten-tenenenen-tenenenen)

10. thank god for the friend of my mom (gasp, my mom has a friend? he-he-he) who survived an alarming asthma attack. i can only imagine the wheezing sound of death.

11. the idea of getting taller (hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!)

12. my dogs. my turtle. my stuffed toys. my brother who has a big nose. hahahaha!


angels fall like rain

“what’s so wonderful, the point about these flowers is that they have specific relationship with the insect that pollinates it. there’s a certain orchid that looks like its insect, until the insect is drawn to this flower, its double, its soulmate, and wants nothing more than to make love to it. after, the insect flies off and spots another flower, and makes love with it, pollinating it. and neither the flower and the insect will ever understand the significance of their lovemaking. how would they know that because of their little dance, the world lives, and does by simply doing what they’re designed to do, something large and magnificent happens. in this sense, they show us how to live and the only barometer you have is your heart. now when you spot your flower, you can’t let anything get in your way.” adaptations

violating poetry

there is magic

i’ll let one of my secrets out: even if i love writing poetry to the essence of the marrow of my bones, i am actually afraid of it. because i feel, due to coincidences, that some of what i write about come true. i don’t want to support this point, because it would reveal so much about myself. note that when i write, i based it on vicarious experiences. suffice it to say that i feel like a wounded kid afraid to play in the fields, but who so love the grass and the plants and lilting butterflies. when i feel the urge to write, i hold back, and the geyser of words become cold. they leave wisps of smoke about me. i remember someone who loves bubbles so much he actually bought a set and blew bubbles at me. it was his version of one of gabriel garcia marquez’s strongest characters, a woman who was followed by butterflies all the time. i feel a lot of words have been held back, and i feel their weight inside and outside of myself. it’s hard to forgive myself, loving writing and yet holding back a lot . i guess it’s one of the greatest ironies in my life.

one time i got so pissed by this irony i wrote a poem about my writing paranoia. here is an excerpt:

She throws her pens in the attic,
tears pages from her journals,
and sings with the birds.
Sad tunes, they’re carried straight
through me, singed blades
cutting through my sleep.
“I wonder why you’ve stopped,”
I ask her.
Over cookies, she says that all
her writings come true….


(all rights revert to the owner of the photo used in this entry. gracias.)