Seems almost as if

She will let the ---------- fade away
much like the mark on her breast
she will give it a week, save for the feel of her skin
and the photograph of the back of her head
during the short drive away from her.

Etched.

She whispers an apology.
And hopes to live through this.

Ang Pagitan

Mula sa koleksyong Corpus ni Carlos Piocos III

I.
Kapag lumapit ka pa, sige, halika

lumapit ka pa, mawawala ang tunog, garalgal, gasgas

at sagasa ng mga salita mula sa aking bibig patungo sa iyong tainga.

Sapagkat hahalikan kita at saka mo pakinggan

ang mga sinusukat mong akala.

at eto pa

II.

Kung lalayo ka pa ng ilang kilometro, isang milya,

Tutunog ang katabi mong telepono sa loob ng opisina,

at sa ganito kalayong distansiya, ibubulong ko kung

natatandaan mo pa ba ang pangalan ko?

On another note:

Listless, lackadaisical... this is how I am these days. Zero drive, which is sad because we are entering shitstorm season in the office. But here I am, wanting nothing but to write snippets and fragments of poetry, pseudo-poetry, love and letters and... if only I can spend my days writing and hope for the world to be a better place. If only it were that simple. 

Just now:

Me: I didn't go to work today.

Mom: Tired? Not feeling well? Or not feeling it?

Me: All of the above.

Mom: Why?

Me: Beats me.

Mom: You want to come home? So you can recharge?

Me: Hmmmm...

Thank God for mothers, especially mine. They know just the thing to make you feel better. 

Yes, Ma, ikaw lang ang babae sa buhay at puso ko. Naks!

I guess I'm just tired. And a big wuss at that. So many things going on and I'm caught smack in the middle of it. You are not helping. And you... you inspire me. Thanks, and I'm sorry.

There, I said it.

Note to self and to you, out there, going through the same thing as I am, probably worst: It's going to get better.  

Knowing

I.

This is how, at 23, you realized you are in love --- you said Yes to that lousy deal. Which, at the time, did not seem lousy. Not at all. It was romantic; she was going to choose you in the end. Or so it seemed.

You were young, and idealistic. Armed with your bastardized notions of romantic love gathered from your dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, and The Notebook.

And so you fell into the workings of it. You waited and waited for the message that would not come. 

II.

This is how, at 26, you realized it was, indeed, a lousy deal. You thought you were brave and brazen. You continued to wait. But you were dying inside. A little, everytime the message did not come.

And so you decided. Backed out from the deal. This was the time the real meaning of brazen came to you. You surrendered to the nothingness of it. And you were not scared.

III.

This is how, at 27, you realized you never really loved until you clothed yourself in words and letters and ran after your beloved in the rain, unaware of the paper, sodden, drenched revealing you naked and bare. 

And so you ask yourself --- what of the urge to mount a chase? 

What of the itch to spread your wings and fly?

This is how you, at 27, never made sense of it: The waiting. The utter surrender of your heart. The resolve to love without expecting. 

Perhaps, you thought, you are braver than you think.

IV.

But there nights, the heart, loses resolve, emerges defeated. You try to sleep it off only to awaken worst than when you succumbed to slumber.

And so you retaliate in words. Because. Because. Because. And how. And how. And how.

I love you so.

V.

But other nights, the heart, remembers, emerges beautiful. 

And this is how you made sense of it: What they meant to find it. What they meant to know the one.

And so you write letters of love, of longing, and of hope. And you whisper prayers of maybe, just maybe, she'll hear me.

Because. Because. Because. Oh how. Oh how. Oh how.

I love you so.

VI.

And yet.

This is how, at 27, you know there will be other days. There will be other nights. 

Because there will be. And you will either emerge beautiful. Or defeated.

Call me a dreamer

I'm afraid the moment I knew, the instant I realized I'd sent this proud heart's citadel to fate, I never knew of a time when I did not [love you].

I can't say it didn't happen. I can't say that the thought wasn't real. Or that it originated independent from any feeling and that the feeling is non-existent. So here I am.

Call me a dreamer, but the moment your heart is available, know this: Mine was already there, waiting.

Happy Birthday, Lola Kit!

Kamusta ang panahon sa Mindoro?
Gumagapang ang init dito sa Metro
Ngunit may nagbabadyang ulan dito sa kinatatayuan ko.
Ulan ng pangungulila at ng kagustuhang makapiling ka sa espesyal na araw na ito.
Hindi ko man mapilas ang mga dahon ng kalendaryo
Sa kawalan ng kasiguraduhan ng pagbisita sa'yo
Sa mga oras na ito, hiling kong marinig mo ang aking pagbating
Maligayang Kaarawan, Mahal ko.

By Tatski for Lola Kit, 25 April 2012 

80 going on 18

I can only wish to be half the woman my grandmother is. She's sick right now but the crisp Mindoro air and the freshness of the farm ought to do her good. I think I got my fascination for horror movies, mga aswang, and what other mythical creatures are there from our conversations that stretch to the wee hours of the morning. My mom recently confided that she's been painstakingly collecting family recipes for me which she believes should come in handy when I start my own family. How cute is that?


I love you, Lola. I'll see you soon. Miss ko na ikaw. 

Sometimes you just gotta

Be startlingly honest, I mean. And pull no punches.

Every once in a while, it pays to tell the truth. Be so honest that clicking the "Post" button will give you a mini anxiety attack. Be so honest that you render people speechless in the comments section. Be so honest that your mother and your closest friends will tell you to stop because you're embarrassing them and yourself. You'll feel better... I know I did.

I realize how overly out and confessional I was in my last post, and I am contemplating throwing a bail-out to my tail-behind-her-legs-extremely-embarrassed self. But then again, I don't want to apologize for the truth. You just can't run away from them. Truths. If only subtlety spoke louder than my heart.

But I do apologize to you, my love. 
That was me writing drunk, and not editing sober afterward.

What a day!

See that poem below? I know it's long and I know, I know, I could have just taken a verse or two but that poem sort of anchored me today that the words almost resonate with me, and I just had to pay homage and quote the poet in entirety. That's my way of saying, "Thanks for being my ray of sunshine in this otherwise bleak day."

This day was something else. Really. But it made me realize a few things:

1. I should have gone cold turkey on you. Not going into details because I'm starting --- right about now. 
2. I miss dancing. A lot. Zumba was a blast! And I'm happy to note I didn't flail around like a fish out of the water. Everybody was nice and welcoming, urging me to come back next week. I feel pretty darn good and it sure lifted my mood immensely. Now, who wants a lap dance?
3. I miss my family. Today is my maternal grandmother's 81st birthday. Eight-one mighty years! I made her a short poem in Filipino and she was delighted which made me a little teary-eyed just because she was so appreciative. She mentioned NVM would be proud and that made my heart skip a beat. But who can beat you, Lolo Itong? We simple folk can only try. But I do know of one who's got the chops.

I thought this was going to be a super mega nega post but I was happily mistaken. So am I ready for tomorrow? Yup, you betcha!

Paano mo kaya ako hahawakan?

Mula sa Guerra Cantos ni Carlos Piocos III

      Lahat tayo ay mga bagong-salta sa sari-sarili nating balat.
      At tuwing hatinggabi bago matulog,
      humaharap tayo sa ating sarili nang hubad,
      at tulad ng mga manlalakbay, dinadalaw
      natin ang ating katawan na parang mga dayuhang
      kinikilala ang matagal nang di-nakikitang kamag-anak,
      kinikilatis ang mga marka: anong hugis ito, anong laki,
      saang kagat, at kaninong labi? Dinaramdam natin
      na parang nabalong asawa ang mga naiwang bakas.
      Ano’t lagi’t laging di natin nakikilala ang ating sariling balat
      kapag lubhang napapaso sa labis na init,
      kapag lubhang namamanhid sa labis na lamig,
      kapag lubhang natutupok sa labis na pag-ibig?

      At saka natin titingnan ang isa’t isa upang muling magpakilala.
      Tahimik na tahimik na hihiga sa kama, magkatabing
      pagmamasdan ang ating mga kahubdan na tila mga sundalong
      nakaligtas sa matinding engkuwentro ng ating magkalabang
      kampo: Payapa akong lumalapit sa iyo. Ligtas ba dito
      sa iyong teritoryo? Huwag kang mag-alala
      hindi ako naparito para maghanap ng gulo.
      Mangyari kasi’y ako’y nawawala: sugatan, uhaw, gutom
      at nanghihina. Kahit sandali lang, maaari mo ba akong patuluyin
      sa iyong balat? Kailangan ko lamang ng konting lakas.
      Makikiusap ang ating mga hipo, ang ating mga himas,
      ang ating mga hawak sa pintuan ng ating mga balat
      makikiusap tayo sa isa’t isa na ibaba muna ang ating mga armas,
      ang ating mga depensa. Nakatungo tayo’t nakaluhod,
      at buong pagkukumbaba nating papapasukin ang isa’t isa.

      Saka natin lalanggasan ng kumukulong laway
      ang ating mga sugat. Sinisipsip ang mga iwa nang matunaw
      ang nanuyong dugo at magnaknak ang bukas na sugat
      sa ating mga palad para sa ikatitighaw ng ating mga uhaw.
      At upang lalong magkakilanlan, ibinubulong natin ang mga pangalan
      ng mga teritoryong ito, o pinapangalanan nating muli
      gamit ang ating maiinit na buntung-hininga ang ating mga balat
      sa wika ng kinis, pawis, lambot, balbon, gaspang at dulas.
      Napakaraming kailangan sauladuhin sa kapwa-balat.
      Ito na ba mismo ang iyong pinananahanan, ang iyong sentro,
      o ito pa lamang ang bungad?
      At saka tayo mag-aalala:
      Paano kung ito na mismong ating mga balat ang ating kaluluwa?
      Napakaraming pilat dito sa ating mga espirito:
      Ito ang pantal na labis kinamot sa murang edad.
      Iyan ang mga pinagdamitan ng iyong mga hinubad na taghiyawat.
      Ito ang maliit na mata ng salubsob, mahabang hiwa
      ng talim ng kutsilyo, daplis ng ligaw na bala, mga tinuklap
      na kalyo’t kulugo. Iyan ang mga pinalatandaan natin
      sa ating mga kapangahasan at karuwagan sa digmaang ito
      Ito ang aking balat noong aking pagkabata, sa pagitan ng dibdib,
      parang isang bansang nalunod na nang tuluyan sa mapa.
      Paano kung ito na mismong ating balat ang ating kaluluwa?
      Paano kung ito na mismo ang ating Lalim,
      ang ating Babaw, ang mga labas-masok
      sa ating sarili sa loob ng silid ng ating mga katawan?
      Paano kung ito na ang ating Kaloob-looban?
      Paano mo kaya ako hahawakan?

An apology

In my strength, I have been weak; and in my silence, I have been deafening. I am a creature of sentimentality and I remember, perhaps, too much, and let go of too little. Simply, I don't know when to stop or serenely accept.

I'm sorry that I must write what I cannot utter and that you must be the object of my hankerings.

Unbelievable

How I have come to love someone thoroughly even without the bonus of saccharine promises. Nor the gift of a return. You are not meant for unfulfilled love; on the contrary, my love, I am.

The only authentic ending

Margaret Atwood had this to say about endings:

You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality. The only authentic ending is this: You die. I die. We all die.

So much for endings but one such ending struck a chord in me recently that the waterworks could not be helped. This is the authentic kind of ending: Death. Now I don't personally know the deceased, but the account of her death and what happened surrounding her death is something I felt I needed to write about as I was wholly moved by it.

We all know we are to die at some point. Perhaps, it is with this understanding that we rush about in life, working to succeed, trying to make something out of our existence. Something of meaning, something that will allow us to pass peacefully in eternal slumber. While we know death to be eventual, it does come like a thief in the night. Unexpected. Mind-blowing. And this was how it was for her.

She complained of back pains but thought little of it. Life has a way of getting in the way of things, even trips to the doctor. The pain was intermittent at varying degrees. At times a dull throb, sometimes striking, but always present. Through trips back to Cebu and another to Palawan. Through conversations with her co-workers about her son's upcoming wedding, two years in the making. Through the many times she played with her grandson. Through family dinners. The pain had become part of her daily existence and still, she charged it to age. When she did find herself in the doctor's office, she was unprepared for the results: She had breast cancer and it had metastasized to her spine.

Her husband remained positive all throughout. His text messages to family read like this:

"Her liver had failed completely. But this is not the end. She looks well and the prognosis seems promising. Let's continue to pray for her recovery."

Do me a favor and run a search on Google regarding liver failures. What you will find is that upon liver failure, death is imminent only in a matter of days.

Her dying was a sight to behold. She could no longer close her eyes and her breathing was shallow. It was as if she was taking in all of the last moments of her life surrounded by family. Words were said and the tears were overflowing. Especially for her. The tears flowed along with her laborious breathing.

From her, who would have been her future daughter-in-law:

I know things were not always good between us. We fought a lot but I am here now and I promise to take care of your family.

It was over as soon at it begun. Her future daughter-in-law took it upon herself to take off all the jewelry and the fancy trappings that she so loved in preparation for what was to come. And since her body was bloated, the daughter-in-law had difficulty removing her wedding ring.

At this point, her husband took over saying that as he had put that ring there, it was just proper that he take it off.

And as he did so, he started reciting his marital vows.

In the haze of my tears, I saw the stretch in between. The whole plot of their life together, encapsulated in those vows. The things, mundane and vital, to their life as husband and wife. As mother and father. The one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.

The how and the why.

True connoisseurs savor the in-between since it's the hardest to do anything with. Trapped in an in-between, what do you do? Looking back is as painful as looking forward to the possibility of a non-future. So we stay strapped to the present, carrying our baggage, trying not to give in to that chip on our shoulders, and if we are lucky, sleeping off our sorrows.

The in-between defines who we are, how we are and what we will be. And in this special place, we can only hope and wish and perhaps pray to our gods to heed our deepest, secret desires.

After all, nothing's settled, until everything's settled.

Panalangin

Habang paulit-ulit kong binabalikan ang kahapon, may nabubuong takot sa aking dibdib. Hindi kasi malayong mangyaring makalimutan mo ko; samantalang ako itong si gaga, nabubuhay sa mga alaala.

Hindi ko man maaninag ang mukha mo o marinig ang mga tawa mo sa mga oras na ito, masaya ako. Dahil kahit pano, kahit sa alaala, minsan nahawakan kita. Na minsan dumampi ang mga labi natin dala ang matatamis at nakakahumaling na mga halik. Na minsan pinagsaluhan natin ang isa't isa.

Sadyang kay bilis ng mga pangyayari. 


Sa ilang oras lang naganap ang mga hindi inaasahan at hinawakan natin sila kahit panandalian lamang. Hindi natin maitatangging nangyari ang mga pangyayaring ito at ninamnam natin ang kakarampot na sayang dulot ng mga ito.

Ang kaibahan: Tangan ko ang mga alaala. Patuloy ko silang hinahawakan.

Inaamin kong umasa ako kahit hindi nararapat. Higit pa sa umasa, naniwala din akong marahil pagpalain ako ng tadhana at may mabuong matamis na pagtatangka sa pagitan nating dalawa.

Sa pagtatangkang maibalik ka, aagos ang mga madepektong talinghaga at gabi-gabi ipipinta ko sa langit ang panalanging mahal na talaga kita.

Putangina, mahal na mahal. 

Hush

Hush, my heart, you cannot, will not, won't be... heard.

Your voice is a mere whisper drowning in the wind. 

You will not go far. You will not prevail. 

Be still, my heart, you cannot fly. 

Your wings are weak, they will not last the flight. 

You are unwelcome. 

Haven't you tried and failed?

Take heed, my heart, and hush, keep still, be silent. 

And wait.

Silent sorrows

The suitcase I brought with me still sits in the hallway. Forlornly, I might add. It throws whispers my way, desperate murmurs to put it back in its rightful place in the cupboard above the fridge. The fridge is pathetic in its emptiness. In intentional avoidance, I haven't gone to the grocery. Lately, it seems, when I find myself in one, I can think of nothing to buy but wine and beer, especially that wine. The bottle of wine, emptied of its sweet, tangy contents is nestled in a curio so special, it reminds me of the time I tried but desperately failed.

The few and far in between I've tried, I carry them like scars, beautiful sorrows that lightly linger in the daylight, make themselves furiously felt at night. 

Be that as it may

I never had your eloquence for metaphors

Nor your penchant for similes

I spoke in climaxes envious of your restraint

I came on too strong, firm and proud

A little too happy, a little too hopeful

A little too full of maybes and what ifs and could be

But my love

You never really heard me, felt me, saw me

I am a memory, a quotation living in dreams and whiffs of coffee

Be that as it may

I must exist -- if only to dwell in the shadows

If only to be seen once in a drunken moonbeam

Panamgo

Ang panamgo sang isa nga naga higugma

Palangga, kung tani imu mabatian ang handum sang akon kasing-kasing

Imu ayhan tatapon ang mga hutik sang akon tagipusuon?

Apang wala ka diri, kag wala kasiguraduhan ang nabatyagan mo para sa akon.

Ngaa bala may duta kag dagat pa nga napatunga sa aton nga duwa?

Kung diri ka tani kag kung dira man tani ako

Indi ko na lang pag dal-on sa damgo ang kahidlaw sa imu.

Kaangay sang handumanon nga ulan sa mainit nga adlaw

Kaangay sang handumanon nga tubig sa tunga sang disyerto

Amu ini ang akon pangabay, ang akon hingyo

Nga tani lupadon sang hangin o daligdigon sang tubig

Ang mga tinaga nga

Palangga... ginahigugma ta ka.

Love's imaginings

It's blistering hot and yet pieces of love and letters are floating in my head, seemingly oblivious to the humidity of a warm summer night. They fill my thoughts and in my mind's eye, I see them clear as day, ready to be plucked from the air and immortalized, cached and compartmentalized. Sometimes, thoughts of love and romance move you and you can't help but be swayed. Sway along with me.

~~~

"Hey, I think you forgot my goodbye kiss."

I was almost at the top step of the apartment complex where we live when you called out. I turned around and saw you looking impishly at me. Your eyes told me I had done something quite inconsiderate in your book. I hopped down the stairs and threw my arms around you. As  I leaned in for a kiss I whispered, "Did you forget? Right there by the archway when I helped you put on your coat," then I kissed you lightly, lingering on your lower lip, nibbling it just a little.

You smiled. "Gotcha! Why are you such an easy target, my love?" 

I groaned, "You do this all the time! There will come a day when I will no longer believe everything you say, love. Just wait and see."

"You believe everything I say, hun," you smirked and gave me that half-smile I most adore. The one you know I can never say 'no' to. Just last night, that smile had me whimpering underneath rumpled sexy satin sheets. 

"No. Nuh uh. Not this time. There will be no more gullible me." I swore vehemently. I reached over and fixed your collar, looked at you straight in the eye and said, "Starting today, I will no longer believe everything you say."

"Oh, yeah?" Your eyes were endless pools of mischief just for the briefest of moments. In less than a fraction of an electric second, they magically turned serious as they bore down on mine. I took a deep breath, steeled myself for what was to come. 


"I love you to the moon and back. I love you today and everyday for the rest of our lives."

I sniffed, "So you say. Go on, you'll be late."

"Alright, call me later?"

I smiled, "Maybe."

As soon as you disappeared around the bend, I rushed to the apartment and grabbed my phone. You picked up at the second ring. "I love you, too, you big doofus."

Because yes, you know me so well. Yes, because I do love you to the moon and back a billion times. In fact, I love you in every way anyone has ever loved.

~~~

Yet sometimes, love chooses to leave, despite and in spite of how hard we fight for it or how long we wait. 

~~~

“I’m leaving,” I say. She looks at me with blank eyes I’ve come to loathe. She thinks I’m pulling her leg. A smile begins to form in the corners of her mouth and she dissolves in laughter. I wait for the tremors to subside. 


“Are you done?” I ask quietly. She looks up and frowns. I know she sees the seriousness in my eyes. Her frown deepens. She sees something else.

“Yes, I’m tired.” I reply to a query she has yet to voice out. She drops her face into her hands and lets out a groan. “What have I done?” She mumbles. I refuse to answer not because I want to be intentionally cruel but because the words won’t come. For the life of me, I am at a loss for words. 


“Please, don’t come looking.” I tell her, my hands lightly touching her arm. “I don’t want to be found.”

“At the very least, tell me why.” She grabs my hand and imprisons them in her own. The warmth is distracting, conjuring images in my mind. I shake my head in an effort to forget and I hastily pull back my hand. “Moot point,” I reason out. “You wouldn’t understand.”


“Try me,” she answers sardonically.

“I want to.” I turn away as traitorous eyes threatened to dim with unshed tears. I focus on a bunch of roses blooming in the English garden we both painstakingly tried to maintain. 

“We vowed to make this work,” she says. “I chose you, remember?”

“I know,” I murmur. “I’ve never thanked you enough for choosing me.”

“If that’s what’s bothering you, forget it. I don’t regret choosing you.” I can feel her pacing around in the room. I feel the desperation in her every step. She lays a questioning hand on my shoulder, wordlessly asking permission to take me into her arms and crush this folly away.

Love's folly indeed.

Thing, Interrupted

Will I forget?

When I close my eyes I conjure an image of you, striding, looking around, grabbing your phone, furiously punching…. Hello? Hey! I can see you… you stepping through the door, me rushing to meet you, hands shaken, awkwardness forgotten. When I open my eyes you linger like a phantom, your voice, your laughter, your touch… Oh my, how you touched me… I can feel them in the air all around me, in the cadence of my breath, in the rise and fall of my chest, heaving, believing, hoping the ocean non-existent, personal idiosyncrasies notwithstanding.

If I close my eyes will you be there? More real, more concrete, more than my imaginings, more than words, than conversations, images, poems, notes, musings, romantic somethings. If I open my eyes will you disappear? Your memory, your feel, your sound, your laughter, your voice, your eyes, your hair, your touch buried in my everyday nothings, my reality, my noise, my attempt at nonchalance, masking, distracting, forgetting. But will I?

Will I forget?

Let's talk about...

LOVE.


What is love, really? 


The crazy, I will cross the ocean, quit smoking, be a better woman, you complete me kind of love? Love is, I guess. It defies explanation, kicks logic in its goddamn face, mangles the brain, messes up the mind, and churns fools out of otherwise imperfectly perfect rational human beings. At the same time, Love is pure, is carnal, is hope, is dream, is random, is divine, is beautiful, is perfect, is heaven, is sunshine, is rain. It just is.


The beginnings of Love is a sight to behold. It ignores gender, crosses borders, transcends time, breaches boundaries, travels space, unites cultures, inspires art, prose, poetry, and music. Love is the meeting of the minds, the touching of two wandering, wondering souls. It is a gift. A song of happy impermanence, a life lived in snippets and wonderful moments, its echoes beating through the walls of your heart and mind. 


It is blessed when it anchors itself. Love is. Wrapping itself gently around you until it grows and grows and grows and grows and sheds light into the dusk of your life.


Sometimes, Love chooses to disappear and the days turn into endless nights. When Love disappears, choose to fight or heed its cry. But know, that it is not Love but the person in which you have enveloped with Love that has made the choice. 


Love is omnipresent. It never leaves. It may wane, disappear, evolve, morph, transform, choose to be different. But it never leaves. 


You are Love. It moves with you, reflected in your thoughts, your choices, your joys, your travails, your triumphs, your sorrows. 


Love is lesbian. Love is queer. Love is straight. Love is gay. Love is for you and for me, regardless of who we choose to love. Love is free.


Love is. That's all we know.

Internet zen, what?

When I was in my early 20s (yesss... how old are you again, you devil?) I was all over the World Wide Web. I had a Friendster account; then a Facebook page; some students and a few friends cajoled me into starting a Multiply account; and yes, I had a couple of blogs. I think I used to have a Wordpress blog and another at its sister site, Blog (how original, no?). Oh, and let's not forget I used to have a Twitter account as well. Amidst all the hullabaloo, and that one fateful night of several unanswered texts and a couple rejected calls, I got the bright idea to practice Internet zen, which meant limiting my online carbon footprint to just my now defunct blog, The Renaissance Chick.

That was, give or take, three years ago when being online meant a huge pain in the backside. The hassle of having multiple online repositories was getting on my nerves and I soon came to start forgetting usernames and passwords. Plus, allow me to be a little vain here, I wanted to get rid of incriminating, unflattering and fugly photos of me. And so, I deleted my Facebook and Friendster accounts, and my Wordpress blog, which I couldn't open anymore having forgotten my username and password. I was now left with a Twitter account that already was on the road to extinction, and my blog, The Renaissance Chick. I stopped tweeting soon enough, deleted my account and concentrated on just my blog. But I had to delete that for reasons that I most eloquently state here.

The Multiply account was relegated to the back burner but has recently made a silent comeback. After three years, I remembered my username and password! What a miracle, eh?

Fast forward to the present. I've signed up on Twitter (again!) at the start of the year and have begun to tweet like a mad woman. I am loving this blog (Oh, yes, yes, yes... I am loving Twitter, too. Hell, yeah!) and because I needed a space to post my photos and my random and sometimes of little import notes on life, love and everything in between which would otherwise be too short and a total waste of space to post on this blog --- I've signed up on Tumblr.

Stomach, meet somersaults.

Whoopdedoo! I've posted some photos of my recent trip to lalaland because my mother has been bugging me to show her the photos for weeks. I will be posting some quotes that strike me funny or simply have struck a chord in me or tugged at my heartstrings. And of course, my notes and observations on my wonderful life, conundrum, what have you. I've posted the link somewhere in this blog for you curious cats.

So there. What happened to all my Internet zen bullshit? Wait, is that a rhetorical question?

What's in a name?

Her kiss. Her touch. Her name. This thing we have. The thing that inexplicably, unexpectedly existed before it needed a name. Name, name, name, name it into a pedestal. Explain it and say it. Name it all, everything. Damn you, name that feeling, that sense, that energy; name you and me and us and what you want, and how you want and what this is and what it will be and what you will be and what we can be and what we will be. Tell me what this is now that it wasn't before. Name the thing that makes it real. Tell me the true story of the origins of life on Earth and name the route that got us from there to here, then to now; us.


From nothing comes something. Names come after. After the longing of unknown cause, the wish never whispered, the thought never shared, the feeling that explodes, the experience that sparkles and blinds, the inventions, the creations, the ache that flares, the thing, that thing, the something that was not here before and now is here, big as the world and wide as the sky; the feeling of her as she steps close. The exquisite feeling of her arms around you. Her lips. Her strength. Her beauty. Her smile that beguiles. Her mind that intrigues. Her voice that enchants. Her words that captivate.


Naming captures. Holds. Forever. Even if what is named changes, evolves, morphs into something else, fades, wanes, disappears, goes extinct or magically reappears. A woman loves a woman. Naming a thing calls it into existence, calls it to attention, heralds its arrival and achievements and failures and its place, its right to exist -- and to be -- in our very human world.

Just a thought

Perhaps we are often[always] bound to cultivate the obscure, to hide behind a shroud of vagueness where the ones we [romantically]love are concerned.

Look what I found!

Finding out that my Multiply site hadn't gone down in flames revealed some pretty wonderful things, such as the photo below. This photo was a gift from the inimitable Ms. Rita Bustamante a couple of Christmases ago. I've lost the original photo but this, this is way better, knowing how time and effort went into the making of it. Thanks, Ms. Bu! You made me look so purrtttyyy. :)

Interesting how my site, Flotsam & Jetsam, chronicled a lot in my life then: my bout with mild depression, my coming to terms with myself about my sexuality; and way before I tackled the former two, my giddy, girlish and petty random thoughts. So methinks I'm going to keep the site, albeit no update is necessary.

I hadn't realized then that these entries spoke volumes about who I was in 2008 and 2009, how confused I was and how I tentatively tried to get a grip:

On falling in love and discovering it was with a woman:

"there's this book i got for my birthday, which i haven't gotten around to reading yet...i will, as soon as i finish my requirements for school and work and life and...i probably won't get to read it until i'm ensconced in my seat on a plane ride back to Iloilo but that's another story.

moving on...the title obviously hit me. the truth about forever... fill in the blanks, finish the darn thought... i've been thinking...wishing, hoping is more like it...the truth about forever is that it must exist in this special place exclusively shared by two people. of course, this is stuff for the movies. forever is a fallacy...

lucky me... sometimes i lie in my bed just thinking and wondering WTF have i gotten myself into. lucky me... i can't tell the world for reasons that rank .789 in Cronbach's Alpha.

i once wrote a poem with the lines:

how i came to be me is a mystery even to myself... these lines have never held more truth and weight until now. being who i am now? is this really part and parcel of who i am or am i just caught up in the whirlwind of this exquisite feeling called _________.

i'm hesitant to label the going-ons in my life right now because it gives me a sense of finality. don't get me wrong..i'm not scared of finding out the truth about me. i can deal..it's the process of going through that discovery and the emotions that come with the territory  are what's giving me the jeebies.

how i feel is scaring me...it's everything and nothing."

On my bout with mild depression or extreme sadness:

"Inasmuch as I would like to act mature over what is unfolding in my life right now, I'm afraid the circumstances prevent me from doing so. Right now, I feel like crying. Crying over something I cannot put a finger on. My emotions have totally spiraled out of control that they have taken precedence over everything that constitute my life: work, relationships with friends and family, my over-all wellbeing. Everything is an irony. I want to be left alone yet I yearn to talk to someone who'll lend an ear. I am so confused. I don't know what to do. I've always been a bit sarcastic and cynical but lately, my sarcasm is out in full force. I snap at students. My moods are ever-changing like crazy. I feel that every smile and friendly banter I share with people is fake. I'm a fake, forcing myself to smile when all I want to do is cry, forcing myself to function properly when all I want to do is curl up in a ball and huddle in one corner. I feel like turning my back to the world. I just want my mom.

I don't know what's happening to me. I feel like I'm in a nightmare where the chances of my waking up are slim. I look horrible. I am haggard even if I've had a full night's sleep. My work is not giving me the exhausted satisfaction I get after I've done everything and more. I used to go to mass everyday. I've stopped going on the excuse that I'm not feeling well. I've flirted shamelessly with someone who's in a relationship. I'm turning into the woman I abhor the most. I have lost control over my life."

I remember 2008 and 2009 very well. 

The former was just a sad, sad year for me. I remember waking up in the morning and crying; I remember falling asleep at night, exhausted from the tears. I couldn't understand why I was just so sad. It was then I started running. I'd run every given day for an hour or two at most. After each run, I'd slump down and sleep off the exhaustion. The tiredness prevented me from thinking and wallowing in my misery and confusion as to why I was so miserable. I lost so much weight which had everybody concerned for my health. The nuns would send food up to the dorm for me. I had colleagues suggest therapy and joining groups of young adults and what have you. I ignored them all and hid in my room. I didn't speak to anyone. I was like an automaton, going through the motions of everyday with nothing. Towards the last quarter of the year, I was able to break through the misery with the help of a friend, who, to my surprise, turned out to be something more.

The latter was a year of discovery and changes, although it, too, was tinged with confusion. I discovered something I think I've known for a long time but haven't explored: my attraction and love for women. I discovered love for a particular woman. I discovered love and realized it's not what it's cut out to be in the movies and in the books I've read. That it's different for everyone, and it certainly was for me. I realized that I am too much in love with love that it hampers the reality of my love at the time. I learned to deal and fight and apologize. I was humbled and learned to let go. I left pride at the door and loved, loved too much. But it was good.

Looking back, I'm seeing how I've grown, how I'm much more kinder to myself and to other people, and how, I'm hopefully a much better person. I've learned how to make it work. It being life and everything in between. Love, on the other hand, is something of a work in progress. But isn't that to be expected? In love, all we can do is try. That, and take a chance.