A Song and A Quote

Yes, I'm embracing this quarter life crisis or whatever this unbelievably sucky period in my life is called. Nothing interests me anymore. It's like the world has become one dull movie I have to suffer 'til the very end.

I could feel like this for a very long time. Close to what J.D. Salinger wrote in Catcher in the Rye that "the man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling."

But on the other hand, maybe this is just one of my sentimental episodes. I am convincing myself that something good will emerge from this, after all, shit does make the flowers grow.

Scenario

Here's a good thought. Why don't I go to your house and give you a surprise visit? I'll bring along a gift for your baby - a toy, a storybook, or a cute hat, I haven't decided yet.

I'll look at you and see how you've changed. Your face has gone round and your breasts have finally revealed themselves. Maybe, I'll find you more attractive that way. I don't know, I've only seen you in the photos. You'll have the baby in your arms, that toothless wonder you've been raving about in Facebook, and I'll marvel at his cuteness. I'll even say he's got your sharp nose that you're so proud about.

You'll let me hold the baby, because you know how much I like kids. You know this because back when your youngest brother was still a toddler, I used to play with him and carry him around your house when we go there after school. Oh how I loved playing with your little brother. Now, the little man's taller than you.

The baby's going to smell good, like  all babies do. I'll cuddle him and we'll play peek-a-boo. I really hope that he'll like me and won't cry when I hold him. I'll tire that baby out, I promise you.

Maybe when the baby takes a nap we'll talk about what happened to you. We'll talk about how suddenly you now have a baby. I will want to know every detail of it. How did he even fit inside you? How painful it must have been to bear him.

Maybe I'll find the courage to ask you why didn't you tell me you were going to have a baby. He was already born when I knew. I'll ask you once, but it would be fine by me if you don't want to answer. Actually, a part of me doesn't want to know.

We'll talk and talk like there's no tomorrow. We'll talk like we used to. We'll talk about our friends. We'll gossip and backbite and laugh our asses off. We'll talk about who we were as if the past still matters. Like it was yesterday and we are still living in it. Maybe we could just pretend.

I'll look at you as I always have. I could not understand why every time I'm with you I feel so lonely and vulnerable, but brave and invincible at the same time. I could not understand how sometimes I'm so much fond of you like you’re the only one that matters, and how sometimes I hate you like you're the worst person in the world.

I look at you and I see my failure, but I wouldn't let you feel it. We all have secrets to keep.

Varicella

.   . 

   ..      .      ..

 :.  . .   . .  ...     .    .

     .      ..   .      .

one of the hardest things to resist is an itch

Some Other Day

Today you will not create your best creation yet.
Today you will need to make money.
Today you will not write that special song for that special someone.
Today you will bury yourself  in textbooks.
Today you will not gaily gait at the park.
Today you will solve problems that aren't even yours.
Today has no room for monkey business.
Today is not some other day.
Today you will let the world rule over you.

Time Out

There is no time out in life. As long as you breathe, you're still practically living. The heart pumps painstakingly through the course of the day no matter how awful that day is. And the mind is a restless vagabond, always up and about even in sleep. There is no escaping life. It is as constant as the sun's rising and setting. No time outs!

But I really need to shut down for a while.

Haiku in my room

oscillating fan:

labors through the humid day

with dust on its blades

***

lazy afternoon...

dirty clothes

lying on the floor

***

just roused from siesta;
staring at ceiling cobwebs
irritates my nose

Image from: http://img.ehowcdn.com/article-page-main/ehow/images/a08/c5/p4/repaint-ge-fan-800x800.jpg

Where are you?

You were who I considered whole, though you always thought slightly of yourself. You were brave and you fought for what you believed in, and I was as passive aggressive as ever. Our common ground was our adamant indecision at the face of our individual forks in the road. But you were fickle and constantly jumped into different things at once, while I, the coward, always settled. Yet I learned from looking at you that I was not as fearful as I thought. In fact, at special times, I was a stronger person than you. You confided in me many things that were fresh to my being. At first it felt like I was walking on the edge of a cliff, at the verge of falling into the unknown, but I learned that I need not share this treacherous paths of yours. All you really asked of me was to listen. And I did. But then, just like that, you were gone.

It is not your mere presence that I miss, but the impression of  your presence on me. I have bestowed in your person my strength and candidness, and they seemed to have vanished with you. That last night we talked, I knew I had found a friendship of a lifetime. 

Just so you know, I have not lost my faith in you. I am certain that right now you are out there saving the world. One day everything will be okay and you can come back.

The Laundry Line

I'll take you to a field with an infinite laundry line
Where the clothes can hang low
And tempt the grass with their soft caresses
Where the wind comes and goes
Passing idly and wanting
We'll hang our cares beside the sheets
We'll leave them up until they dry
And when they're clean, we'll stain them again
With our pensive thoughts and fleeting dreams
We'll let the sun burn our skin
Until they're the color of fresh earth
We'll smell the bleach-scented breeze
And pretend we're as clean as laundered clothes
We'll sleep through the passing afternoon
And wake up to a crepuscular sky
Then, one by one, we'll take down
The blankets, the shirts, and the underwear
We'll take a second to linger at their softness
Before we put them in a neat pile
And then we'll walk slowly for home
Smelling of the sun and the grass and the bleach

Image from http://www.someartfabric.com/art/KokkaCompany/JG-55200-201B.jpg

My Little Accidents

I'm sorry if I have such unsteady hands that I shattered your dreams into pieces.

Let's escape together

Flight

Written by Craig Carnelia

Performed by Sutton Foster and Megan McGinnis

Let me run through a field in the night 
Let me lift from the ground till my soul is in flight 
Let me sway like the shade of a tree
Let me swirl like a cloud in a storm on the sea 
Wish me on my way, through the dawning day 
I wanna flow, wanna rise, wanna spill, 
Wanna grow in a grove on the side of a hill 

I don't care if the train runs late, if the checks don't clear, if the house blows down 

I'll be off where the weeds run wild 
Where the seeds fall far from this earth-bound town, 
And I'll start to soar, watch me rain till I pour 

I'll catch a ship that'll sail me astray 
Get caught in the wind, I'll just have to obey time
Till I'm flying away 

Let me leave behind all the clouds in my mind 
I wanna wake without wondering why
Finding myself in a burst for the sky 

I'll just roll, let me lose all control 
I wanna float like a wish in a well, 
Free as the sound of the sea in a shell 

I don't know but maybe I'm just a fool, 
I should keep to the ground
I should stay where I'm at 

Maybe everyone has hunger like this 
And the hunger will pass 
But I can't think like that 

All I know is somewhere through a clearing

There's a gleam of sunlight on a river long and wide

And I have such a river inside 

Let me run through a field in the night, 
Let me lift from the ground till my soul is in flight, 
Let me sway like the shade of a tree
Let me swirl like a cloud in a storm on the sea, 
Wish me on my way, through the dawning day, 
I wanna flow, wanna rise, wanna spill, wanna grow on the side of a hill 

Wanna shift like a wave rolling on, wanna drift from the path I've been traveling upon
Before I am gone. 

Morning

I miss waking up to the smell of breakfast. Now I rise at the insistent protests of my empty stomach. I feed myself with instant oatmeal which I only began to eat when I left home. Its blandness is unabashed as I devour it with guilt that always accompanies one that wakes up when it's almost noon.

In the morning, I feel most alone. I miss the people who used to cook breakfast for me. They are some place far off where things are much simpler. They do not know me anymore. I have become too complicated for their comprehension. They always ask me how I'm doing, but I simply tell them I'm okay. They do not know what "okay" means. It means I am having a hard time but still hanging on. It means I try my best to make things happen but they just don't. It means I'm tired so just leave me alone.

This people who used to cook breakfast for me love me, but they don't understand me. They are some place far off where I was much simpler and easier to love. Now I always wake up with hunger and longing and all that I could feed myself is instant oatmeal.

Imploding

What keeps me awake at night is the fact that there are just so many things in this world that I am not. I've been meaning to find myself for a long time, but it seems I am perpetually stuck at my countless "fresh starts." I wish that I had come to this world with a tag that says, "This baby will grow up to be..." so I had something to work with in the first place.

I couldn't decide whether to end this with:
"Dear God,
I'm tired! Just hand me the answers already."
or
"Dear Universe,
I don't know!"


Go figure.

Epitaph

In the book of my life

I will purposely leave out the periods and question marks

And punctuate the sentences with your laughter.

The Piano 

Animation by Aidan Gibbons

Music by Yann Tiersen

Kindergarten Love Affair

There once was a girl with pretty black hair

Who goes by the name of Mary Claire.

She sat across me on her little pink chair

In my half remembered days at Day Care.

One day I took a fancy of drawing her locks

With my new set of crayons, sixteen in a box.

I came up to her with my stomach in knots

As I shyly looked down at my mismatched socks.

I cried, “Mary Claire I drew a picture of you.”

As she grabbed my paper she said, “Thank you.

I like the shades of Blue-Violet and Blue,

But where is Carnation? It’s my favorite too.”

“Carmention? What’s that? I never heard of it before?”

“It’s Carnation, silly. It’s a Pink I adore.”

“Oh my! My crayons must be missing a color.”

“Of course you don’t have it. It’s in a box of twenty-four.”

So that day at dinner as my Nay and I ate

I told her my colors were missing eight.

“Let’s buy another box before it’s too late.

Without  the Carnation, my drawing she’ll hate.”

My Nay just smiled and said, “Silly you!

One day you’ll meet someone, I know it to be true,

Who won’t mind your choice of color and hue

Instead she will like the picture you drew.”

The truth

If I talk about love, it does not mean that I am in love. It's the same thing when I talk about your smile. I am merely speaking of what I see.

I cannot say that your smile is perfect because your teeth are slightly crooked. Maybe dimples could help with that, but you don't have those. What I can say, however, is that it's truthful because even if it fades in your mouth, it still lingers in your eyes. 

The best time to catch you smiling is during your sudden epiphanies. Those are the kind of smiles that seem to come out of nowhere. They make you look crazy and charming at the same time. 

Really, there is nothing special in your smile, no magic, no fireworks, but it can be contagious at times. And above everything else, I always want it painted on your face.

So So

You may walk pass the same street a hundred times but not even a gaze is wasted towards your general direction. Even as you look into the mirror, your face gets lost with the reflection of the rest of the world. They can put you under the spotlight but all they will say ever is 

"Look at the pretty light."

The story behind your smile

My 90-year old Lola

It must be from the flowers
that endlessly bloom
in your well trimmed garden. 

Maybe it's from heaven's answers
to your daily murmurs to God at dawn; 

Or from the quiet satisfaction of looking
at your beautiful assembly of dusty
and cobwebbed memories.

Wherever it comes from, I hope you tell it everyday.

                                                                                                 
                                                                                                          

                                                                                      

                                                                                                                  

My Life So Far

It's like everyday I'm driving off into the highway and I keep missing my turns.

What's worse is that I don't even know how to drive.

Misty Nights

Misty nights love the lonely

Fade as the lights fade

And leave none but a shadow

Unearthly beacons 
dwell in trees

From fireflies that haunt them

Waiting for the sun to extinguish their glow

Misty nights own the lonely

Hope fades as the lights fade

What remains are shadows

Rain

Dear Beth,

Remember that four years ago I asked you to send me any written work that I could illustrate. I found it so ironic that you sent me a poem about the rain despite your silly revulsion towards water. Though, by now, I'm sure you have already braved many a storm (literally and figuratively). By the way, I also have a deep connection with the rain. Like you, it is one of my dearest friends.

A  Heavy Downpour

by Beth Salas

A heavy downpour 

Is outside the window

But it is not angry.

This is not rage. 

This is sadness.

The tears of its heart 

Somehow cleanses the earth

Refreshing it 

Making it fertile again.

The earth is alive, rejoice!

                    

"It is so nice to see those creatures prancing in my  puddles     

Ecstatic, because I have brought along a cool breeze.

I have blown away vapor out of frustration.

I have brought life!

But my wound will never heal again.

No, it is here to stay forever

Here to make me weep for all eternity.

Because the world rejoices at my tears.

They enjoy my sighs. They are happy!

Yet I don't know if they will realize my sorrow.

If they will ever understand my longing

For someone who can love me back

So I won't have to cry anymore.

But somehow..."                                                   
     

A heavy downpour is outside the window

But it is not angry

This is not rage.

This is sacrifice.


I just love the rain!

To my sun and stars*

You sit there
Like a lonesome flower
On a vast meadow


I watch
As you dance
With the Wind


I wait
Until It brings
Your fragrance








*borrowed from George R.R. Martin