i am the closet geek

he walks

2012-01-27T09:02:00.001+08:00

on a street and chinese lanterns guide him,

they stare, they sway with the wind while he, he starts to hum.

the night is calm, the sky, silent. he feels the moon follows him,

he looks up and it smiles. he smiles back, he thinks he hears it say,

are you not aftraid of the light?

why, i have nothing to hide, he answers.

he laughs,
he sees the moon as it cloaks itself with a cape of clouds,
the dark turns darker.

he reaches home, he opens the window,

the window that frames a smiling moon.

he stares

2012-01-24T08:22:00.000+08:00

into the source of light. not blinking, unafraid.
he tries to capture a stray beam,
blue turns to white. to fiery red.

he closes his eyes. he hears a whisper,
breath grazes his ear,

open them. let me see the fire in your eyes again.

and something inside him explodes,

he can taste the burning flesh in his mouth,

his nose overflows with

smoke.

what i see in this picture,

2012-01-19T08:28:00.000+08:00

i see hope for all of us.

she...

2012-01-17T13:13:00.001+08:00

is the one you call mother

or the beggar you meet somewhere

a woman hopelessly in love

a sick saving her last breath

or perhaps a daughter crying
a girl consumed by desire

listen to her

to the words she cannot say

hear the soft whisper,

or her silent scream

please,

lend an ear

ssshhh...

listen

this is the geek's first post for magpie tales

dancing queens

2012-01-16T12:54:00.000+08:00

when sergio mendes' magalenha started to play, i knew i was standing but in my mind, i saw myself on those nights when the only love i loved to love was to dance, where friends looked for me and they saw me up on the stage, dancing together with the band. or those few minutes of forgetfulness and you found yourself in the arms of a complete stranger, his body full of sweat next to you. oh those carefree nights... i was young...and well, the music's high.

i remember when my trainer was teaching me a new set of exercises. while he was watching me as i try to copy him, he asked me, do you dance. i replied, i used to. he smiled and said, no wonder you are a fast learner. really, sometimes, old ghosts come to haunt you. they possess you and bam! you retrace the steps you always knew by heart.

i love to dance. where the lights make you high, the beat of the music fills your chest, as if it is about to explode, it echoes within you and all you have to do is to move your body and let it all out. sometimes i laugh, because when i close my eyes and lose myself to the rhythm, i am transported to heights i never been to, to a kind of solitude, a freedom so rare, and yet when i open them i find myself exactly on the same spot.

and then, i think of you. i think of you and i think of the night we danced, where you fell in love with the lights, fran tried to capture them. i, on the other hand, tried to find what i forgot, or lost. little by little, i found them, i found myself on that dancefloor.

i once asked you why we are close. i did not see that the answer was there all along. so, shall we dance again, kane?

classic, just classic

2012-01-12T11:28:00.000+08:00

i am sitting alone, waiting for my breakfast. my palms cup my chin, elbows resting on the top of the table as i stare outside. the sky, shifting its moods this thursday morning. from somber grey to peaceful blue to a sudden brightness, it blinds you momentarily.

a shadow falls on my table, a body blocking my view of the bipolar sky. i look up and my eyes meet another pair, those of a stranger. he smiles and asks

is this seat taken,

referring to the one opposite mine. i scan the place, i see vacant tables, unoccupied chairs. an eyebrow involuntarily raised, wondering,

no,

says i. he smiles, wider this time and asks again

are you?

i can feel my lips as they form a silent oh. then i begin to laugh and he follows. mine, soft, amused; his, deep and loud.

then, i answer him,

very much.

because

2012-01-10T13:49:00.000+08:00

brevity is the soul of wit.

image source

dear [g],

2012-01-03T09:05:00.000+08:00

the next time i visit and spend the holidays in your home, i think we need a bigger bed.

love,

geek

p.s.

this should have been my answer when your sisters asked me when will i be back.

dear [g],

2011-12-19T08:17:00.001+08:00

forgive me if sometimes when i open a book and start to read,

i forget i have a boyfriend.

love,

geek

the one who got away

2011-12-13T10:30:00.000+08:00

i like walking on these parquet floors because they give me an illusion that i am walking with you, where i see two shadows instead of mine alone. i follow the herringbone pattern until i reach my destination and before her, i will stand, stare at the mysterious beauty that da vinci captured in canvass. her smile always reminds me of yours, as if you share a secret, kept miles apart and you both make me wonder. you are my own mona lisa.

or that afternoon where i saw someone standing, his face partly hidden by a book, inhaling its scent. for countless times when we were still together, i saw you do that, where you always say that the smell of old books is your own drug, it keeps you high, it makes you orgasmic. i thought i saw you on that bookstore, but the setting sun played a trick on me. he looked at me and i saw a stranger.

or that early morning when i crossed the street, and i looked into a pair of eyes - the same color as yours - and my own heart choked me. i could feel it strangling me, leaving me breathless. i felt it was your eyes staring unto mine, like the first time you stared at me on that restaurant. i blinked and i saw cars, i heard their impatient horns and like those angry drivers, i cursed. you are my curse, that i admit.

and on my countless dates, with guys better looking than you, more intelligent than you, talking over gourmet food and yet all i could think is the simple meals you cook. i think of you and i think of home. i see you, everywhere. from a slice of light in a curtain, to the pages of a book i am reading. to a pair of shoes, you love shoes. or a lone soul in that coffeshop, he reminds me of you, your 'me' time and your 'silence in chaos'.

the endless line of lovers, leaving the room, their backs on me. i try to find your lips on one of them, to feel just the touch of your fingertips, your breath, your skinny chest light on top of me. i try, and i fail. i search for the one i once had. and lost.

i remember you, i remember that night you followed a trail of clothes and found me, naked with someone else, in that bed that we used to call our own. i still see you, your sad eyes, your calmness, those determined steps, echoing silently.

i regret that night, the night you walked away, and i let you.

paper planes

2011-12-11T00:11:00.004+08:00

he tried to write something
about you. he
prayed but he could not
put together the right words. please,
you must forgive him.

but look up
into the sky, for he sent a
rainbow of paper planes. he wished
they will reach your open palm, and you will
hold them
dearly, affectionately,
as if
you are holding his heart.

a friend asks,

2011-12-05T11:30:00.004+08:00

sometimes i wonder,

how can your skinny frame carry the obesity of your heart...

ghost of christmas past

2011-11-27T16:30:00.008+08:00

they pushed the gate decorated with rust, its paint peeling off. they entered and a pieta imitation greeted them; the smell of old age and sad, tired smiles, those were the warm welcome.

they looked at each other, reading each other's minds, a similar thought bridging them. a what if, a peek of their future mirrored in their eyes. they were looking at the wrinkled men and women, abandoned by their loved ones, the homeless, the hopeless, the loveless.

we must do something, he said. the other nodded.

the next day, they opened a joint account for this purpose: a year of savings for the home for the aged, a christmas gift for the unnamed lolos and lolas...

it all started eight christmases ago. they were still together then. they were young, they were stupid, their hearts overflowed with a thing called love.

the check is ready, he said to him the other day. he was just waiting for his instruction.

he listened to his reply, nodding from time to time.

so, merry christmas, a greeting, a farewell before they end the call. or you prefer joyeux noel?

they laughed.

it will be merrier if i am with you, it was his answer. he then called him in a name he claimed as his, and suddenly he was nineteen again. silence hovered, both were lost in a labyrinth of their past.

he could hear his sigh, he could almost see his sad smile. he imagined him, standing near his window, a cigarette trapped in his fingers, his right hand holding his phone while he was looking outside his room with a view of la dame de fer.

"how beautiful to find you once were someone's ghost."
-the story of a marriage, andrew sean greer

tropical depression

2011-11-25T08:00:00.002+08:00

i.

he lies on a bed of fears
and sleeps
with his blanket of shadows

a soft cloud of doubt, his pillow
his lullaby,
the howls of the wind

he breathes, he chokes
air soaked in tears
salty mist creeps and he shivers

ii.

his walls of leaves swirl,
a tree bows, fruits burst
branches dance, petals weep

a chandelier of rain drops,
lightning erupts,
it stains his ceiling

waves crash,
the sea rocks, and foams cradle
a floating bed of fears...

image source

musings of the muse

2011-11-24T09:00:00.006+08:00

this is now the second part of my most unforgettable posts. click, read, and fall in love with words, again and again.

fireworks, hormones, and this blog post by yoshke

brine dreams by spiral prince

joie de vivre by human, all too human

power d and of red tulles and passion by the darc diarist

and i want to share something that my partner and i both love; two of the most beautiful and poweful posts from two of our favorite bloggers.

where time stands still by human, all too human

kissing by citybuoy

aurë entuluva

2011-11-22T11:22:00.026+08:00

they were standing under the mallorn tree, whose green leaves turned into pale gold that time of the year, a contrast to its silver pillars and nuts.

how is the boy, celeborn asked.

galadriel poured water on the basin, breathed on it, and looked into the mirror named after her, her hands clasping the edge. a ray of autumn light caught nenya, and it sparkled on her finger.

the water showed a boy, clapping, standing outside the tent in shire where they were celebrating bilbo's eleventy first birthday. the sky was full of lights, the fireworks danced and roared, magically choreographed by the wizard, gandalf the grey.

like a roll of film, the next scene showed how he climbed minas morgul and orthanc, how these two towers deepened the tiny hollows on both his cheeks when he smiled. it also mirrored the night he got lost in the land of mordor, how he tried to find his way out of the shadows.

they witnessed the boy and his first kiss, somewhere in the forest of isengard, the white flowers of aeglos and alfirin in bloom, the petals of small star-shaped yellow elanor turned green with envy.

in the palace of gondor, they watched as arwen and aragorn sang lullabies to him, fëanorian lamps glowed softly in the dark.

the mirror now reflects rivendell, where they find the boy in a room with vines crawling on the walls, a few leaves scattered on the uneven marble floors, the windows open and the sound of waterfalls creating music on the early hours of dawn. elrond watches the boy as he writes, as to what he is writing, the elven lord does not want to know.

you have an excuse to do almost anything, he said. today is your birthday, after all.

the boy looked up, looked outside the window.

now, you gave me an idea, the boy replied, he grinned.

the water on the basin now was still, asleep until the lady of the golden woods will wake it again.

aurë entuluva, she whispered.

galadriel looked into the eyes of celeborn, and they both smiled. the middle earth remembers the boy who was born on the twenty second of november.

for a blogger friend who shares my passion with books, who loves making love with ondaatje, j.r.r. tolkien and atwood, and for someone who sometimes finds himself lost in middle earth.

to the victor gregor, a happy, geeky birthday.

eau de toilette

2011-11-18T09:45:00.009+08:00

he lets his eyes feast on the different bottles on the counter, the shelves were adorned with a cornucopia of shapes and colors. he then asks the staff for a tester of your eau de toilette. he feels the cold glass and sprays a cloud of fragrance on his wrists.

they were lying in bed, his head resting comfortably on your chest. he felt at home there, in that exact position, where he still could smell the fading scent of citrus mix, coriander, subtle watermelon and ocean air accord. there were hints of star anise, galbanum, and lily of the valley, some cedar, patchouli and amber, awaiting to be kissed. he smiled and he hugged you tighter.

from time to time, he brings his wrist under his nose and he allows himself this simple moment of happiness were he feels you are close, you are with him. he misses you.

notice how long your sample spritz lasts, fragrance experts say. if the scent is still there after an hour, then it will last.

he goes home, and he smells just like you. he knows the scent will stay. he knows you will last, he knows you will stay.

christmas tree

2011-11-16T09:00:00.005+08:00

nalilito ako sa dami ng pagpipilian. nakakahilo din ang iba't ibang kulang ng mga dekorasyon na nakapalibot sa akin. pero sa kabila nito, na-excite ako.

pinili ko ang pitong talampakan na bristle pine christmas tree. kasunod ang kulay pula at asul na christmas balls, ilang kulay ginto na poinsettia, ilang rolyo ng christmas ribbons at ang patay-sinding mga ilaw. napangiti ako, tradisyonal na kulay pala ng pasko ang mga napili ko.

bumalik ako ng opisina at sinimulan ko na ang pag-aayos ng christmas tree. unang nilagay ang mga ilaw, kasunod ang pagkabit ng mga christmas balls at iba pang dekorasyon, ang maarteng pag-ikot ng christmas ribbon sa kabuuan nito.

ilang oras din ang nakalipas bago ko natapos at sinindihan na ito. umupo ako sa aking mesa at tiningnan ko ang katatapos na obra. napahinga ako ng malalim, napangiti ngunit hindi ko napigilan ang mapaluha.

pasensiya na, alam ko mababaw. pero ito ang unang pagkakataon na gumawa ako ng ganito, ang mag-ayos ng may dahon at hugis-tatsulok na christmas tree. hindi man ito akin, wala man ito sa bahay namin, ngayon alam ko na ang pakiramdam. dalawampu't walong taon na ako at ngayon ko lang ito naranasan.

masaya pala...

kandong

2011-11-14T09:00:00.037+08:00

malakas na ulan ang bumungad sa akin pagkagising ko ngayong umaga. tiningnan ko ang relo at napabalikwas ng makita ko na malapit na ang alas-otso. nagmadaling naligo, nagbihis at nag-ayos.

siksikan sa labas, naghalo ang ulan, makukulay na payong, taxi, sigawan. abala ang lahat na paghahanap ng masasakyan para makarating sa paroroonan. makalipas ang limang minuto, nakaupo na ako sa likod ng tricycle patungo sa opisina.

ang aking katabi ay dalawang bata, magkapatid. ang isa ay nakakandong sa kanyang kuya, tahimik. habang tinitingnan ko sila, sa isang napakasimpleng eksena, may naramdaman akong tuwa. malamig man ang dapyo ng hangin, naramdanaman ko ang init nang kanilang pagmamahal sa isa't isa.

bumaba sila sa tapat ng eskwelahan at tumakbo, ang kanilang pantalon na maong nakatupi, basa. sa ilalim ng ulan, sila ay nagkulitan, nagkatawanan.

patuloy na umiyak ang langit, madilim ang paligid. tiningnan ko sila at sa kauna-unahang pagkakataong ngayong umaga, ako ay napangiti.

musings of the muse

2011-11-10T11:30:00.015+08:00

i have been blogging for more than three years now and in that span of time, i have read some blog posts from other bloggers that for me, to forget about them is a sin. so, i would like to share those posts that swept me off my feet, left me breathless, something i would love to read again and again. i keep a printed copies of these posts and dear bloggers, i am sorry if i forgot to ask for your permission, i just could not help myself. its just that nothing beats reading something beautiful on a piece of paper...

here is the first part (just click the title to read the entire post):

the death of a blog by sean's dirty laundry

geography by the bashful one

red by tristan tales

stillness by the cat loves curiosity

end of days by red is the new black

a knight to remember

2011-11-08T15:30:00.010+08:00

he kisses her with such ferocity, and she meets his lips with the same intensity, the storm of longing creates a whirlpool of desire, and two bodies plunge into the abyss, its arms encircling them, pulling them, closer, deeper, harder. as the eye of the storm approaches, the sea shouts its primitive howls, the cry as old as time.

she let her fingers lazily trace his back, the tiny pearls of his spine her rosary beads, and she whispers her litany of forgiveness. it is not clear to whom she says her prayers, to herself, to the man lying beside her or to the woman this man promised his lifetime.

when the tsunami of lust finally subsides, and the subtle waves of reason take over, and once again, there is that blue sky, she sees herself in the same shore, alone, sailing in the boat of loneliness, its destination, nowhere.

image source

3g: three years of blogging

2011-09-01T03:00:00.002+08:00

"no one steps in the same river twice
for it is not the same river
and he is not the same man."

-heraclitus

image source

the closet shelf

2011-08-24T15:30:00.002+08:00

today, i made my shelfari account. and when i saw my shelf of books, i fell in love with it.

the picture below shows the 27 out of 35 books that i have read from january to august 2011

this is actually better than my goodreads account. aside from its appearance, shelfari offers a variety of options for you to choose, from different editions of books( you can even upload your own book cover), tags, your review, the complete details about the book.

look closer and you will see small icons on the books. a heart for your favorite book and a gift icon for the books on your wishlist.

i could not help but smile everytime i see my shelf. :)

wind of change

2011-08-23T13:15:00.002+08:00

wind of change,
please, be gentle
gone are the days of my youth
have pity on this old soul
i am now of feeble heart

let me find a place
to anchor first
where i can rest
while you rage inside me

then sway me, softly
rock the boat, easily
shatter my core, oh so kindly

wind of change,
have mercy.

image source

one knight

2011-08-22T11:30:00.002+08:00

he whispers words she does not need to hear. and today, he will say 'i do', holding the hand of the woman in white, the audience eagerly awaiting the seal of this union.

she imagines her to be beautiful, with the slight blush common in a bride, her smile, a smile of triumph. a silent message at the corner of her lips, i won, it says.

and he will stand before her, tall and proud. amidst claps and shouts, he will kiss her.

she closes her eyes, wishing, hoping to be the woman in white. still, for the last time. but fate has other plans.

she looks at the woman's gown as the hem grazes the floor, and like a river, it sweeps away all of her dreams, stealing with it her knight, flooding her eyes until she cannot see them.

image source

the saramago affair

2011-08-19T08:45:00.002+08:00

i finished reading this book in less than 30 minutes. and within
that span of time (and up to now),
i was and still under the spell of the wordsmith who is
jose saramago.

i fell in love with him, again.

"with the publication of the tale of the unknown island, the little prince has an heir." - san francisco chronicle

foreplay

2011-08-18T12:45:00.001+08:00

i feel this...
everytime i start to open a jose saramago book.

this feeling...
an anticipation...
like a prelude to lovemaking.

special thanks to [g], the darc diarist, cloud airheart,
and to toilet thoughts (for the last three books).

bonne nuit

2011-08-17T12:30:00.001+08:00

he listens to the rain
as it sings long forgotten
lullabies.

the wind cries,
its howls
dancing in the dark

he whispers
he wishes you
good night

and then he sleeps
lying in the stillness
of the night

your blanket of love
cloaks him
and he smiles.

sweet dreams, dearest.

image source

the suit

2011-08-11T09:30:00.002+08:00

it was just a few minutes past six in the morning when i woke up. i looked at the left side of the bed. it was empty.

still lying, i tried to recall the vents of the previous day. shopping, an afternoon stroll, early dinner and walked five blocks to the hotel.

i was smiling when the door opened. it was him.

"oh my! what are you wearing?" i exclaimed.

i stood up and slowly, very slowly, i headed towards him.

i smelled it first. the scent was intoxicating. i then touched the suit he was wearing.

my notorious hands caressed the light brown silk, then wandered to the finely hidden hems, to the sensitive buttons, the slightly rough edges, to the well-oiled zipper. finally, they reached the tail of the suit.

my, my, i thought. there must be something wrong with the cut of this suit. why is the tail stitched in front?

nevertheless, it did not spoil its beauty. i offered a prayer of thanks to the Tailor who made it.

"you should wear this more often," i whispered to him.

i smiled again, but this time a different one. a naughty smile, one that he loves.

"i just wear it on special occasions. like today"

"yes, i know. now, you want me to sing happy birthday?"

"later. let me blow the candle first."

"oh."

originally posted on september 2009. revisited again, by special request.
for M.

needles & threads

2011-08-09T12:45:00.003+08:00

she draws.
she cuts.
she sews.

this is the cycle of her life.
the sewing machine,
the music it creates in the middle of night
lulls her family to sleep.
that rusty scissor,
the red pin cushion,
rolls of threads,
they are part of her. they are members of her household.

she sips the coffee on the morning,
while she sits surrounded by yards of cloth.
they are her breakfast.

she secures the stitches, as they will provide food on the table.
she fastens the button, there lies the future of her son.

that old chair is her throne
and she is the queen.
the tiny space,
colorful with scraps of cloth,
decorated with patterns and sketches,
a lone bulb hanging from the ceiling,
it is her kingdom
she trims, she reigns.

from day to night,
from dusk till dawn,
she is a seamstress.
her other name, dressmaker.
or she can be your tailor.
i call her mother.

image source

once upon a dream

2011-08-05T16:30:00.005+08:00

i almost cried when i saw these designs from the exhibition 'savage beauty',

a tribute to the alexander mcqueen
by the metropolitan museum of art.

a long, long time ago, it was my dream - to be a fashion designer.

images from the met museum

weekend thoughts

2011-08-04T11:30:00.006+08:00

"just because you prioritize a friend does not necessarily mean that your name will be on his list of priorities, too. and just because the weekend that you were expecting failed to happen, it is reason enough not to enjoy it."

i want to acknowledge the following friends for making my trip worthy of a blog post. you were not the primary reason but then, you showed up.

sa natatanging pagganap ni dabo sa 'ang beki sa MRT'. hahaha yun ang tinatawag na chance encounter.

the polar bear, for the warmest welcome (your text was the first to greet me); to the sick beagle, your fever was not an excuse to walk with us under the rain. for these, and for saving my saturday night, thank you.

my dearest and one of my closest friends, bonsai hunter, i was so, so happy to see you again. i missed you! nearly two years, right? nagbiyahe ka pa from laguna, maraming, maraming salamat, for introducing me to bonchon, pati na din sa tatlong dosenang krispy kreme. hihihi. i will see you here in iloilo, ha?

mike and his plus one; marivelles, dahan-dahan sa pagbitchesa sa national bag ng pilipinas ha. am happy now that you are happy... :) kape ulit next time...

the rest of the gang: atty. zar (na tumakas pa sa hogwarts), francis (silent type, just like me), popoy (ayan, nagkita ulit tayo. hahaha), jepoy (na may mr. ym na ngayon), jp (aka miss pampanga)... salamat sa pagpunta kahit umuulan. at mikmik (we missed you, miss clark), salamat sa pabaon niyong tatlo. hihihi

the darc diarist, well... what can i say. last april, you bought the 'couple chairs' for me and [g], you prepared dinner for us. and last weekend, you organized a post-birthday celebration for me and jepoy. you always make me feel extra special. thank you, thank you, bbf...

and A, this time, i was not surprised. i was more surprised with D's reaction. hahaha thank you for the gift and for driving all the way from laguna kahit may sakit ka. it was great seeing you again, as usual.

see you again on october 29!

on short notice

2011-08-01T13:45:00.001+08:00

sometimes in friendship, friends do not need an invitation.

they invite themselves in.

friends, for your time and company,
i am deeply touched.

image source

ms[g]

2011-07-25T08:30:00.001+08:00

"why do you have this effect on me.

everytime i look at your pictures,
i swoon, i sigh and i giggle."

-sms from [g], 07.22.11, 04:08:16pm

before knight falls

2011-07-21T11:00:00.006+08:00

she reads and her eyes swim in the ocean of words. the letters move and they form his name, images shift and she sees his face. she closes the book and sighs.

she plays the piano, and her fingers, light on the keys, creates music that feeds her longing of him. she sings for him, she sings for them, the notes seek the word and the world that do not exist.

she sits and looks around, to the small plate with a snowman, the ceiling, the yellow lamp that clings to its life, the window that frames the nightscape, to the garden where the swing now sleeps.

he is the island where she hides, his arms the trap she puts for herself. maybe he is the cave she unearthed, his heart the very prison wall she surrounds herself with. his chest, the place where she is safe, he is home.

but then, she wonders. how can you call a place a home when it starts to choke you with memories when you are alone. who will fight for her, or with her? she loves him, but she loves herself, too.

until when, she asks herself.

she sleeps but her heart is awake, waiting, still wishing.

image source

knight and day

2011-07-05T15:00:00.006+08:00

she tries to paint. the dark sky is her canvass, her brush creates the color of the sea at noon. azure. aquamarine. cerulean. iceberg. periwinkle. slivers of silver. night has become day.

one stroke and butterflies fly, colorful birds sing, flowers bloom, this is paradise and she is a child again. she runs into the valley of happiness, she clings to the cliff of her new life, she leaps and plays with the wind.

the golden sun becomes the knight's heart, it warms her, it burns her. he is hers.

and then, the heavens weep, the rain wipes away the life she wishes. shades of blue paint make love with the brown earth, the sky cloaks the lacquered sun, and her world collapses. the flowers, they die, the butterflies, the birds, they flee, fearful of the wrath of reality.

i know, i can never have your heart, she whispers. forgive me, but sometimes i forget.

image source

starry, starry knight

2011-07-01T09:30:00.001+08:00

is it bad to wish for something, for someone with such intensity, she asks herself.

the cold wind plays with her as she swings herself, suspended in-between, like how she feels, floating, drowning in the very own air that she breathes. the question hangs, it waits and it seeks for answer.

her gown flows, softly, wildly while the night glows with its millions of stars, its moon happy with its crescent smile. she looks up, sighs and it mirrors the small curve that is playing in her lips.

there are other things that make one happy, she whispers. the moon, the stars, this swing, those fireflies.

she pushes herself, higher, and higher and she dances, she sways in the rhythm like that of a pendulum. she laughs, and her laughter explodes and spills on the earth, it overflows the river, it fills the sleepy hills, it captures the wings of the birds in flight, some pieces find her sleeping knight and they echo in his heart, its beat, in harmony with her.

image source

a thousand and one knights

2011-06-27T13:00:00.005+08:00

he is her theater and she holds the faces of many women, hiding in masks of rouge, scarlet lips and false eyelashes. he transforms her into a new woman, and she acts her best.

she was his gypsy, dancing and rekindling desires. his geisha, and she mastered the art of silent pleasures. his courtesan, a lady, a vixen.

and on this bedouin night, a forbidden tryst of two souls, hidden in these miles of golden dust, leaving traces of footsteps and shapes, sands clinging and quenching bodily thirsts.

the air was warm and yet, she felt cold.

he wrapped his arms into her frail body and she lost herself.

she stared at those eyes the color of earth and she was home.

image source

a midsummer knight's dream

2011-06-27T10:30:00.002+08:00

while she waited, she dreamt of him, of things that could never happen, the future, their future that is so, so far away.

she needed to taste this dream, to digest it and be part of her being. but the more she chew the more that she want to spit it out. her system rejected the mere idea of them, happily ever after.

where are you, she whispered. this longing is painfully, slowly killing me.

as titania helped her braid her hair, rapunzel's tears fell on her palm and she weaved the invisible skeins of despair, her fingers the spindle that pricked her into oblivion.

a knock, a creak, hinges groaned while the door opened.

she ran and collapsed into the arms of her dream.

image source

the other side of mid-knight

2011-06-25T12:00:00.003+08:00

i kissed those lips, once, many times, she thought. those arms entwined unto mine; she still could feel the warmth of his breath, the weight of his body, the beat of his heart; how a single tear dropped from his eye when he reached the point of no return. no, not once. nights, days. months.

she stared at him now, as he was getting dressed, preparing to return to the life he chose, where fate destined him to be, definitely not beside her.

that body, it's hers. except for that stubborn organ the size of fist. it lives, it beats, not for her, for someone else.

i can never have your heart, she thought.

the door closed. rapunzel will wait for his return.

again.

image source

once, there was a boy

2011-06-23T10:45:00.000+08:00

he is a boy who came to the city with a lot of baggage.
he drops them all when he is on the dance floor.

the lights, the music...
they are his drugs.

he forgets. he floats.
he is free.

image source

hello, stranger

2011-06-20T13:45:00.000+08:00

where was i when this film was released?

i.i jointly

2011-06-17T11:45:00.001+08:00

i smile everytime i make a deposit into our joint savings account.

when i look at it, i don't see numbers.

i see us, our future...

image source

quote vi: semiotics

2011-06-14T15:30:00.000+08:00

"the sheets of the unmade bed, the carpets, the furniture, the wrought-iron balcony outside the window, the lake which is the colour of steel and lavender, the alps - everything within their sight - is unaffected by the rapid beating of each heart."

-G. by john berger

i find these lines beautiful because one can have various interpretations: it could be a post-coital event, an aftermath of a lovers' quarrel, a silent break-up or just a lazy day with your beloved.

image source

of mothers and daughters

2011-06-12T10:30:00.006+08:00

"the old woman remembered a swan she had bought many years ago in shanghai for a foolish sum. this bird, boasted the market vendor, was once a duck that stretched its neck in hopes of becoming a goose, and now look! - it is too beautiful to eat."

these lines welcomed me as i opened the book and was plunged into two worlds, china and america; and i joined the extra-ordinary journeys of two generations of chinese women, four mothers from china and their four american-born daughters.

in this fast-paced, fluid book, the joy luck club, the chapters are alternately narrated by each women, sharing their own stories, their secrets, their past and present lives, their worries, their fears, their loves. this memorable book made me see how rich chinese culture is, how diverse their beliefs are, how much they value their families. amidst a backdrop of american-chinese history and cultures, amy tan weaved a delicate web of mother-daughter relationship, strengthened by the past and polished by their present lives. she understands emotion and knows how to put them into words.

aside from the clash of cultures, there are various familial scenes so true that they made me pause and recall my own experiences: of parents dealing with pride and disappointment in their children, of sibling rivalry, family disputes, the hardships our parents endured. i love this book because not only it is so real, not only because it deals with family issues, but because how much i can relate to it. i don't know what it is to be chinese, i am not one, nor i was raised in a family of chinese, but the feelings of this book, those i know.

how well do we really know our mothers? how well do we understand their pasts? how well do we listen to them? how often we tell them of our love?

the book ends with one of the daughters and her father coming home to china, and for the first time, she met her long-lost twin sisters. i am not ashamed to admit that i cried when i read this part, i know how it feels to be reunited with someone you have not seen for a long time.

to the darc diarist, for shipping this swan of a book, for reminding me how much i love my mother, how much i love the kind of family i have, for letting me understand the strong bond of parents to their children, for allowing me to be my mother's son, again. thank you so much, d.

i think of her and i send my love, like those feathers from a thousand li away.

let me hide the sun

2011-06-10T15:00:00.000+08:00

for B...

in darkness,
he silently weeps
they don't know
he doesn't want them to know

a breeze entered
it hugged the red curtain
and they danced
softly. gently. wildly.

the moon smiled
and kissed him
hush, little one
welcome to dreamscapes

no, he said, stubbornly
please, don't...
waterfalls flooded his cheeks
let me weep longer

but the night opened its arms,
freeing the golden ball
morning came
and he slept.

image source

the saramago affair

2011-06-07T11:00:00.002+08:00

why i am obsessed with this author.

from the guardian

Some years ago a reliable friend told me I should read José Saramago's Blindness. Faced with pages of run-on sentences and unparagraphed dialogue without quotation marks, I soon quit, snarling about literary affectations. Later I tried again, went further, and quit because I was scared. Blindness is a frightening book. Before I'd let an author of such evident power give me the horrors, he'd have to earn my trust. So I went back to the earlier novels and put myself through a course of Saramago.

It's hard not to gallop through prose that uses commas instead of full stops, but once I learned to slow down, the rewards piled up: his sound, sweet humour, his startling imagination, his admirable dogs and lovers, the subtle, honest workings of his mind. Here indeed was a novelist worthy of a reader's trust. So at last I could read his great book - or his greatest until its sequel.

Accepting his Nobel prize, Saramago, calling himself "the apprentice", said: "The apprentice thought, 'we are blind', and he sat down and wrote Blindness to remind those who might read it that we pervert reason when we humiliate life, that human dignity is insulted every day by the powerful of our world, that the universal lie has replaced the plural truths, that man stopped respecting himself when he lost the respect due to his fellow-creatures."

This, on the face of it, is an odd description of Blindness, for in that book it is powerless people who insult human dignity - ordinary people, terrified at finding themselves and everyone else blind, everything out of control. Some behave with stupid, selfish brutality, sauve qui peut. The group of men who seize power in an asylum and use and abuse the weaker inmates have indeed abandoned self-respect and human decency: they are a microcosm of the corruption of power. But the truly powerful of our world don't even appear in Blindness. Seeing is all about them: the perverters of reason, the universal liars. It is about government gone wrong.

Very evidently Saramago's novels are not simple parables. It would be rash to "explain" what all the people (but one) in the first book were blind to, or what it is that the citizens of Seeing see. What's clear is that they're the same people, it's the same city, a few years later: one book illuminates the other in ways I can only begin to glimpse.

The story begins with those ordinary citizens, who not so long ago regained their sight and their tranquil day-to-day lives, doing something that seems quite unconnected with vision or lack of it. It is voting day, and 83% of them, after not going to the polls at all in the morning, go in the late afternoon and cast a blank ballot.

We see the dismay of bureaucrats, the excitement of journalists, the hysteria of the government, and the mild non-response of the citizens, who, when asked how they voted, refuse to say, reminding the questioner that the question is illegal. The satire is at first quite funny, and I thought it was going to be a light, Voltairean tale.

Turning in a blank ballot is a signal unfamiliar to most Britons and Americans, who aren't yet used to living under a government that has made voting meaningless. In a functioning democracy, one can consider not voting a lazy protest liable to play into the hands of the party in power (as when low Labour turn-out allowed Margaret Thatcher's re-elections, and Democratic apathy secured both elections of George W Bush). It comes hard to me to admit that a vote is not in itself an act of power, and I was at first blind to the point Saramago's non-voting voters are making. I began to see it at last, when the minister of defence announces that what the country is facing is terrorism.

Other ministers oppose him but he gets what he wants - a state of emergency, then the exodus of the government, by night, from the capital city, which is declared to be under siege. A bomb is exploded (by terrorists, of course, as the media report), killing quite a few people. An attempted evacuation of the 17% of voters who marked their ballots ends in failure, as the government forgets to tell the troops blocking all the roads to let the refugees through. The so-called terrorists in the city, still mild and peaceable, help the refugees carry back upstairs all they tried to take with them - the tea service, the silver platter, the painting, grandpa ...

The humour is still tender but the tone darkens, tension rises. Characters, individuals, begin to come to the fore - all nameless except a dog, Constant, the dog of tears from Blindness. The ministers jockey horribly for power. A superintendent of police is sent into the city to find the woman who did not go blind when everyone else did four years ago, sought as the link between the "plague of white blindness and the plague of blank ballots". The superintendent becomes our viewpoint and mediator; we begin to see as he begins to see. He brings us to the woman, the gentle light-bearer of the first book. But where that story began with an awful darkness that slowly opened into light, this one goes right down into the dark.

José Saramago will be 84 this year. He has written a novel that says more about the days we are living in than any book I have read. He writes with wit, with heartbreaking dignity, and with the simplicity of a great artist in full control of his art. Let us listen to a true elder of our people, a man of tears, a man of wisdom.

this is my personal review of the book:

i marvel at how he wrote the book with such simplicity, with a reality so stark that it hurts even for someone apolitical like me.

a must-read for those who are occupying public offices...

now, i hoard books

2011-06-01T18:45:00.001+08:00

a few minutes ago, i was in booksale when i heard a little girl saying,

mommy, can you buy this for me?

the mother looked at the book the child was holding, a colorful drawing of tinkerbell on the cover. the mother nodded and the store was filled with the child's joyful

yes, yes!

i looked at her and she giggled, like someone who already opened her christmas present.

lucky girl, i thought. and then, i smiled at her mother.

i never had them when i was a child.

image source

quote v: [element]ary

2011-05-30T20:00:00.000+08:00

"but then that is the great thing about ordinary words,

they are incapable of deceit."

-seeing, josé saramago

image source

quote iv: the salt & pepper affair

2011-05-26T13:00:00.002+08:00

so, why do you like salt & pepper, i asked.

my friend replied:

i don't like anything sweet.
i prefer spices.
salt & pepper,
those two are different,
in color, in taste, in texture.

but look at them, geek.
standing there,
side by side...

as if they are made for each other.

image source

biglang liko

2011-05-24T13:30:00.001+08:00

naaalala niyo pa ba ang drama kong ito?

muntik na akong mawalan ng pag-asa sa aking munting proyekto na ito. pero nabuhay muli ang aking pagnanasa na tapusin ito ng tumawag si [g] nung nakaraang sabado. nasa cebu siya last weekend para sa isang work-related trip. naghanap siya sa powerbooks at fullybooked doon.

nakangiti yata sa amin ang langit ng araw na iyon. nakakita siya ng 4 na libro ng pinakabago kong paborito na manunulat. pero 3 lang ang pinabili ko sa kanya. medyo mabigat na sa akin ang 1,600++ para sa tatlo. nasanay kasi ako sa presyo ng mga libro sa booksale. hahaha (pero iyong naiwan na isa, bibilhin ni [g], 'sponsor 'daw niya. hahaha)

naisip ko na ang swerte ko na mayroon akong minamahal na mahal din ang mga munting bagay na nagpapasaya sa akin.

4 na libro na ang nakita namin, 15 pa ang aming hahanapin. medyo matagal-tagal pa na paghahanap ito...

the ghost of lover past

2011-05-19T10:30:00.003+08:00

something funny happened yesterday.

some of my college friends were meeting up and they called me to join them. 5 o'clock came and from work, i headed directly to the restaurant. i found them, feasting on pizza and pasta, a pitcher of cucumber cooler half-full. i poured myself a glass of it, complained about the unforgiving weather and they offered me a several plates for discussions: childbirth, love life, marital disputes, wedding plans, recipes, diaper brands and formulas. oh well...

while a friend was showing pictures of her baby, and the rest oohhed and aahhed, the one sitting next to me whispered that a guy on the other table was staring at me since i got inside.

i looked sideways, discreetly, and found a pair of beautiful eyes . the guy was handsome, very handsome actually. he looked familiar, i thought i saw him somewhere.

i ignored him but there was this feeling of awkwardness when you know someone is staring at you openly. i felt vulnerable, as if i was a specimen; naked, exposed to the doctor's eyes.

it lasted for almost an hour and i was relieved when a friend said they were going for coffee. i did not join them, an errand was waiting for me at home.

while i was walking outside the complex, i noticed that a car was following me. nice car, i said to myself. a window was rolled down, and those same eyes looked at me. it was him. again. this time, with eyeglasses.

it was creepy. i ran inside a thai restaurant, stayed on the second floor for a few minutes, the staff looked at me strangely. i just smiled at them, saying i was looking for some friends. thankfully, when i went outside, the car was gone.

later that night, he was still swimming inside my head. who was that guy? i remember the way he looked at me, as if he knew me. i was silent, staring at the floor, as if trying to find the answer there. the moment was disturbed when my housemate laughed and said that i looked stupid.

i laughed and then...

he stopped swimming, instead he was laughing and his laugh filled my head.

it was his laugh that got me hooked.

him. i remember that night.

it was him, the one who ended my two years of celibacy.

my friend Q was right. history, indeed.

lumelevel-up

2011-05-17T11:00:00.001+08:00

ahil parang walang plano si [g] na pakawalan ako, ayan tuloy, isang taon na pala kami. parang kailan lang, naaalala ko pa ang mga panahong nilalandi niya ako. hahaha

medyo mahirap din ang sitwasyon namin pero sa awa ng Diyos, nakakaraos naman. nakaya at kakayanin pa.

baka magtanong kayo kung ano o kung asan ang celebration, wala po. as in walang wala. medyo bankrupt pa kami ngayon kasi magkasunod-sunod yung biyahe namin nung march at april. so pahinga muna kami, lalong lalo na aming mga bulsa.

pero may simpleng regalo kami sa isa't isa. nung april, sinabihan ako ni [g] na mag-open daw kami ng joint account. sabi ko pag-iisipan ko muna. hindi din kasi madali ang usaping pera, isa yan sa mga pinakasensitibong bagay sa isang relasyon. ako dati, ayaw kong pag-usapan pero dahil doon na din naman patutungo siguro mabuti na yung maagang mapagkasunduan ang mga bagay bagay. pagkatapos ng ilang araw na pagmuni-muni, eto ang aking proposal: sa araw ng aming anniversary, hindi kami bibili ng regalo. ang perang pambili, yun na lang ang gagamitin para pang-open ng savings account at magsisilbing regalo namin sa isa't isa. pumayag naman si [g].

so sa mismong araw namin, nag-open na ako ng account para sa joint savings. :)

siguro hindi lang kami ang nagma-mature, pati relasyon din namin.

para sa ating dalawa...
at sa ating bahay kubo project.

bibliophilia

2011-05-11T20:00:00.001+08:00

his fingers traced the rows of books. he freed one, and their silence was disturbed as its mate leaned to fill the now empty space.

he opened it, smelled pages 34 and 35. he smiled. how something can calm and haunt you at the same time, he thought. how funny, how ironic.

he closed, and put it back, the row again was complete, like disciplined soldiers awaiting command. wait for the next master, he whispered to them.

he slowly moved to the next shelf. colorful spines graced the wooden shelf, dreamy, a delight to the eyes.

if he could turn back time, this section would be his playpen. he would invite his friends, make a mess of crayons, toys, books, cookies and pillows.

he still collects this kind of books. he never had them when he was a child...

his feet brought him a few steps to the left, classics, the label said.

he imagined the ancient philosophers, the great writers hunched on papyrus, on vellum, parchment, a quill, its tip laced with blank ink.

the scribes and their affair with hieroglyphics, with ancient greek, latin, the mayan symbols.

the journey of these books, told, some not, priceless. if they could talk, aside from those words which stained their pages, what would they say?

he wanted to sleep in this room. to be surrounded by geniuses, the literati, the bestsellers, the masters. would they wake him at night, would they converse with him? or let this poor fellow rest for a while, for his mind is already full of them? or would they be his guardian, smiling as they lull him to sleep.

he still has to fulfill his secret fantasy, to make love with his lover, amidst piles of books. how would it feel, he wondered. sweat mixed with pages, their scent stamped on skin, racks of books as pillows, silent witnesses of the war of the roses.

you must think he is crazy. he is, and he knows it.

ssshhh... these would be our little secret, he said.

and then, the bibliophile giggled.

image source

a cupful of depresso

2011-05-10T12:30:00.000+08:00

this morning, i told my bestfriend that i am depressed because i was not able to find the books i am looking for. she laughed and said:

"where most of us become depressed
because we can't find true love,

you, my dear friend, is one of a kind.

you become depressed because of books."

shallow, right? but i was just so desperate yesterday to the extent that i almost cried. hahaha she is one of those few who just laugh at my idiosyncrasies. anyway, she is going to cambodia and vietnam this june and she will also help me look for those elusive books. i so love my bff! this quest to complete my wishlist just became three-way and it made me feel better. what am i going to do without her and [g]...

the fun begins. wish us luck!

image source

ili ili

2011-05-08T09:30:00.005+08:00

minsan,

ayaw kong magsulat tungkol sa iyo

dahil iniisip ko pa lang,

naiiyak na ako.

pero dahil mahal kita,

titiisin ko.

mga salita,

iyan lang ang kaya kong ibigay.

ngunit alam ko,

sila ay hindi sapat.

bawi ka na pag-uwi mo, nay.

ako naman

ang magduduyan sa iyo.

soliloquy

2011-05-06T13:30:00.003+08:00

in more than two years of our friendship, my dear friend ben sometimes would say that he doesn't understand me. and i would just laugh. later this april, armed with the purpose to understand me better, he asked if he could meet ekis, my first boyfriend (my first ex-boyfriend).

i once told him, that among my boyfriends, ekis knew me best. for two reasons: first, we had the longest relationship (but someone is to break that record :D ) and second, our proximity (geographically speaking).

so i asked for ekis' permission and when he said yes, he would love to talk with someone about me, i was surprised with his assent. he is a very private person and he rarely talks about me, or the used-to-be us.

and so they met. i smiled when i imagined the two of them, a past lover and an almost lover, talking about me.

no, i was not really curious with what ekis was to share. my curiosity leaned more on what he would have to say to a stranger (on his part), a very inquisitive doctor, private details of his life, his relationship and about someone he used to love.

after their talk, ben called me to 'report'. an hour of phone call, sixty minutes that i let myself float in the past. when we hung up, i cried.

after a relationship ends, or years after the relationship ended, at some point, you arrived at certain situation where you think or ask yourself of what your past lovers/boyfriends have to say about you, their relationships with you, their lives with you. not all relationships end amicably, not all would say good about their past.

but if you hear nothing but good things about you and his relationship with you, you would feel emotional, too.

there are things i learned just now that he was not able to tell me before. and i could say, i loved right, i loved just enough.

to ekis, some are not as lucky. and mouse, now, you know. ;)

image source

a-maze

2011-05-04T11:00:00.001+08:00

i always think that i am boring...

but my boyfriend and my friends think otherwise.

image source

passenger seat

2011-05-02T21:15:00.004+08:00

on my way home tonight, i suddenly remembered the ride we had with you.

and i smiled.

i was impressed by how you carefully drove your car, how easily you go with the traffic or the very smooth turn you made.

yes, i enjoyed the ride. i felt secure in your silence. with the unfamiliar song speaking on your behalf; how the lights and shadows danced in the windshield and the moon played hide and seek.

it was a happy night, great dinner in the company of great friends.

to darc, friend, it was a beautiful surprise.

and to A, thank you for the memorable ride.
you made me remember how much i love traveling at night.

36.1°C

2011-04-28T13:36:00.001+08:00

beads of sweat falling...

translucent pearls in brown shell.

image source

dahil baliw si geek

2011-04-24T16:00:00.004+08:00

noong nakaraang taon, buwan ng disyembre, sa unang pagkakataon, tumuloy sa bahay si [g]. at sa unang pagkakataon din, ipinagluto ko siya. simple lang naman ang mga alam kong lutuin.

sinabawang gulay (ginaya ni [g] ito ngunit iba daw ang lasa), ground beef with sitaw, kalabasa at dahon ng alugbati (scientific name: basella rubra linn), ginataang pork na may halong sitaw at kalabasa (again). hindi naman sabay-sabay sa isang araw ha. kung mapapansin niyo, mahilig ako sa gulay. sisihin mo ang nanay ko na pinarurusahan ang hindi kakain nito.

ang sabi ni [g], masarap daw akong magluto. pak! hinahanap-hanap nga niyo daw ang mga ito. (may pagka-bolero din yun minsan eh.) pag natikman niya ang adobo at pochero ko, baka mag-propose yun bigla. choz!

pagkatapos ko siyang ipagluto, ipinaglaba ko naman siya (tinulungan naman niya ako: pinag-igib niya ako at pinuno ang mga balde at palanggana. so rural, di ba?). aba ang [g], dinagdagan ang bola: mabango daw ang aking mga labahin.

ngunit kanina, habang naglalaba ako, tinitingnan ang pag-ikot ng mga labahin sa loob ng washing machine, napa-isip ako bigla. naisip ko ang mga sinabi ni [g] tungkol sa aking mga luto, sa aking labada. at dahil baliw nga ako, eto ang conclusion:

magaling daw akong magluto.
mabango ang aking labahin.
baka hindi asawa ang kailangan ni [g], baka katulong?

malay mo, diba? hahaha

joke! baliw sa akin iyon eh.

bow!

the god of small things

2011-04-19T11:30:00.004+08:00

while i am writing this post, my bookmark rests on page 42 of the god of small things. yes, i have still more than 200 pages before i am going to finish it but here i am, making a very early review. this is a first. but i just can't stop myself from doing so.

my friend's boyfriend recommended this one.

the book opened with these lines:

"May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled by the sun.
The nights are clear, but suffuse with sloth and sullen expectation."

after reading them, one adjective came into my mind: beautiful. if these would be the start of this book, i have a feeling that i am going to love it. i am usually right and yes, i am loving it. arundhati roy's sentences are fluid; the paragraphs graceful. she is not selfish with her description of things and events, or the details that are almost lyrical. and i think i am beginning to know why mugen said that this book is post colonialism at its finest.

the story is a roller coaster of flashbacks and flashforwards. it tells of family bond, of forbidden love, of bitterness and hate, of the rich indian culture, and secrets yet i have to find out.

there were times when the words were replaced by images. those of my father and his bestfriend alcohol, my mother's smile and tears, and an image of the young geek, happily playing with his siblings. images swam and they almost drowned me in nostalgia. it greatly reminds me of my family and the simple life we lead. we were complete then. i understand the book when it tells of parting, either to seek greener pasture or when one leaves, permanently. its sorrows i know more than its happiness.

this is a book with a heart and it should grace the shelf of every book lovers.

i want to thank rosvie, not only for lending me this book, but also for reminding me how much i love my family, imperfections and all.

a stran[g]er once

2011-04-17T11:00:00.001+08:00

nanay said then, do not talk to strangers.

stubborn geek did not listen.

if he did,

he would not have met [g].

image source

the son of eve

2011-04-15T14:00:00.000+08:00

books, they are my forbidden fruit.

they tease me.

take me. try me. taste me.

who am i to resist?

G's confession

2011-04-13T13:00:00.001+08:00

i would love to wander in your mind and explore it, he said.

why, i asked.

i don't know.
i feel like there's a lot to explore,
i know i'll discover something great.

you're a complex person
and i love anything that's complex.
it's exciting.

i thought i am a simple person, i replied.

you make it appear that you're simple
but you're not.

sodom & gomorrah

2011-04-01T14:00:00.005+08:00

yes, i am a whore. i know.

did i tell you that for several times, dan brown made me breathless?

or my romance with michael ondaatje? such a graceful, sensual lover.

four times i kissed michael hoeye. he was funny, adventure was his game.

i had an orgy with voltaire, oscar wilde and dante. it was heaven and hell combined.

allan justo pastrana caressed me with his poems. someone got lucky, infinitely.

i imagined i was one of those heroines of sidney sheldon while i made love with their creator.

and yes, j.r.r. tolkien. he promised me middle earth. but he vanished. i think he forged another ring.

i had my share of women.

i had danielle steel when she was young. i see her from time to time, those five days in paris or the sunset in st. tropez. the adage was right, like wine, women get better with time.

and my love affair with the passionate johanna lindsey. i was dressed as a pirate, she the damsel in distress.

lauren weisberger, candace bushnell, even jackie collins. yes, i worshiped them. it was an unforgettable weekend tryst, full of gossip and intrigue.

joanne harris tied me in her chocolate cage. it was a unbelievable feast; gluttony at its finest.

some, they want to remain anonymous. unnamed. they prefer the silence, the untold events. it was our little secret. but once, twice, i stared at them, i let them kissed my fingers and i was transported to heights and places i had never been.

last night, i had markus zusak.

it was love at first sight.

i am such a whore. *giggles*

tête-à-tête

2011-03-31T12:00:00.002+08:00

he asked:

"how do you know if you're really in love?

she replied:

"love? that's a good question.
i think love is a little different for everyone."

- no time like show time, michael hoeye

from the avenue to the aisle

2011-03-26T11:30:00.000+08:00

today, she is going to say i do.

will she cry, that i won't know.

maybe... she is happy.

or he will,

and she will kiss his tears away.

best wishes, dear kikit.

and to the boy, congratulations.

quote iii: i wonder why

2011-03-24T08:00:00.001+08:00

a very close friend once said:

if you like geek when he's sober...

believe me,

you'll love him when he's drunk.

today

2011-03-21T08:30:00.002+08:00

i tried to call you earlier today. but your phone just kept on ringing.

i know you are still asleep, but i just want you to know i remember.

i could not help but smile, the past years i was the last to greet you.

you would cry the moment i call, saying i forgot march 21.

how can i, you know i love you.

happy birthday, nanay.

and yes, i miss you. :)

witching hour

2011-03-17T15:00:00.003+08:00

'i should have never let you go...'

he woke up to the beep of his phone, a text message. these words were hazy at first, the kind of mist that blurs your eyes the moment you wake up.

the sender, one he knew so well. someone he used to love. his first.

he saw himself that night, walking but he was actually running away. he was running away from him, he saw things he was not supposed to see.

he remembered how he stared at those eyes, those eyes that suddenly filled with shock, with regret, with shame. he stood there for a while, motionless, his feet betrayed him.

his hand found the band that enclosed one of his fingers. it was cold, like how he felt. he tried to get it out, it struggled, as if refusing to what he was doing. but he was more determined, the ring, surrendered, was free at last. he put it in the table, along with the keys to the apartment.

he looked at him, he smiled sadly, then he walked away, without saying anything.

he was holding his phone now, thinking how he should react, how he should feel. he could think of nothing, he felt nothing.

a sudden light erupted, a beep and another message came.

'i love you...still.'

ang bakasyon

2011-03-16T13:15:00.002+08:00

sa pasalubong mo, atty. di ko ito inaasahan.
pero ito ang unang naubos...

kay darc, sa karagdagang pasalubong na isang doseng krispy kreme.
at sa nanay ni darc na nagbigay ng librong ito, fresh from the printing press...

kay cloud airheart sa kanyang homecoming surprise, ang tatlong libro ni michael hoeye.
sa paghahanap sa iba't ibang bookstore para makumpleto ang hermux tantamoq series ko.
sa E-ffort, sa pag-alala, nahiya at nagulat ako...

kay jepoy na ginawa kong personal shopper, sa pagsama kay mik...

kay [g], pasensiya sa stress na idinulot ko. hihihi

sa masaya at nakakabaliw na boracay weekend.

ssshhh....

salamat, maraming salamat!

ulitin natin ito!

weightlessness

2011-03-14T10:25:00.008+08:00

i was born under the sign of the crab. water is supposed to be my element. but i am afraid of it. ironic, isn't it?

i wrestled with that kind of fear again last weekend.

after a fun ride with the banana boat, i settled myself on the edge of the yellow speedboat. two of my blogger friends, ready for their parasailing. the rest of us, along with the crew, we would be the audience.

the waves by that time were silent. but when the speedboat reached almost the open sea, my fear intensified. we were in the middle of waves crashing against each other. subtle at first, bestial the next. the speedboat, no match against its unpredictability.

my left hand were tight on the railings, the other found [g]'s hand. i looked at him, a look of worry on his face. i could feel my stomach performing its kegel exercise. my insides, they were pretzeled with each other. my feet, cold.

i was praying for the fifteen minutes to end, like a child waiting for the bell, the end of the class.

i closed my eyes, trying to convince myself that i was not there. i took a deep breath, i used to be good at this - gauranga breathing.

and then i felt it - weightlessness.

i knew i was holding the railings, but it seemed that i was holding unto nothing. my right hand, the one [g] held, became limp, i don't know if he felt it. my stomach relaxed. i let myself be free, let go of everything. it was a sweet surrender, against nature, against myself.

try to imagine a balloon, like it is playing with the wind. a piece of bamboo, stranded in the middle of the river, floating freely. or dry leaf, caught on the side of the pond, silent, still. lifeless.

still with eyes closed, i smiled. that small curve of the lips, its movement almost invisible, like i have this little secret, unknown to the rest.

when i opened my eyes, i could see my two friends, the colorful parachute stained the blue sky. i felt happy, for them. they were floating up there, and i thought, i am floating down here, too.

when we returned to the shore, and when my feet kissed the powdery white sands of boracay,i was silent. thankful that i was back but with a little sadness, i wondered when will i ever experience that kind of feeling again.

after all, it is such a luxury, not all of us can easily afford to let go of ourselves freely.

and to [g], thank you for not letting go of my hand that day...

the gargoyle

2011-03-09T14:30:00.006+08:00

i learned about this book through kyusireader when he posted his review on it last july 2009. and much as i want to make a detailed review of my own, i chose not to. this is one of those few that i am scared to make, i am afraid i may not give it justice. to classify it into any category, futile. it encompasses a wide range of topics - history, religion, medicine, mental and emotional health, and yes, love. years after i finished reading the book, it keeps on haunting me. i consider it to be one of my favorites, an unforgettable read.

once in a while, a reader has to surprise himself.

this book is not for everyone. but if you think that the word grotesque is synonymous with beautiful, then, this book is written for you.

from amazon:

An extraordinary debut novel of love that survives the fires of hell and transcends the boundaries of time

The narrator of THE GARGOYLE is a very contemporary cynic, physically beautiful and sexually adept, who dwells in the moral vacuum that is modern life. As the book opens, he is driving along a dark road when he is distracted by what seems to be a flight of arrows. He crashes into a ravine and suffers horrible burns over much of his body. As he recovers in a burn ward, undergoing the tortures of the damned, he awaits the day when he can leave the hospital and commit carefully planned suicide --- for he is now a monster in appearance as well as in soul.

A beautiful and compelling, but clearly unhinged, sculptress of gargoyles by the name of Marianne Engel appears at the foot of his bed and insists that they were once lovers in medieval Germany. In her telling, he was a badly injured mercenary and she was a nun and scribe in the famed monastery of Engelthal who nursed him back to health. As she spins their tale in Scheherazade fashion and relates equally mesmerizing stories of deathless love in Japan, Iceland, Italy and England, he finds himself drawn back to life --- and, finally, in love. He is released into Marianne's care and takes up residence in her huge stone house. But all is not well. For one thing, the pull of his past sins becomes ever more powerful as the morphine he is prescribed becomes ever more addictive. For another, Marianne receives word from God that she has only twenty-seven sculptures left to complete --- and her time on earth will be finished.

Already an international literary sensation, THE GARGOYLE is an INFERNO for our time. It will have you believing in the impossible.

i knocked opportunity out

2011-03-07T11:00:00.002+08:00

i should have said yes, they told me. after all, it is a rare opportunity. someone would have grabbed it, i should have...

it was the third time i was offered to write a book, this time with another writer. less than three years ago, i was wondering what to write in this blog, and suddenly, this came. i should be proud of myself. i am, partly. the other half, ashamed.

why? because there are a lot, a LOT of excellent writers, excellent bloggers out there, and then you ask yourself, why me?

when i told my friends about this, they were excited. darc said, go. my boyfriend told me to accept, it is about time i have to read a book, with my name printed to it.

but if you don't consider yourself to be book material, problem starts and you are caught in a debate within yourself.

i don't think of myself as such - book material, even when the rest says so. i seemed to have lost it, 'it' being the ability to think of a witty post, a single witty line. maybe, i am growing up, outgrown the it.

how can i say yes, when the offer was based on it?

ben said, one day, my stubborn self will regret it. maybe i will.

ekis said i will not. it was a wrong offer.

but at that time, i did what i think is right.

'i know, every opportunity has a shelf life... i'll let mine expire then... :)'
-facebook, february 18th

the nightmare before christmas

2011-03-04T11:45:00.000+08:00

nakakaloka! marso pa lang pero pinoproblema ko na ang mangyayari sa pasko.

kasi ganito yun. sometime last year nang pumunta dito si [g], isinama ko siya sa probinsiya para maipakilala sa aking familia. nagbiyahe kami sakay ng bus alas-kuwatro ng umaga. na-stress ang lolo mo, di kasi sanay sa puyatan yun.

pagkatapos ng apat na oras, dumating kami sa bahay ng tiyahin ko. andun kasi ako natutulog tuwing umuuwi ako. so ayun, pakilala dito, pakilala doon. mula sa aking tiyahin, sa aking mga pinsan na kinilig for me, sa aking nakakatandang kafatid at sa kanyang asawa, pati na ang aking mga famangkin from highest to the lowest levels, sa familia ng bestfriend ko. binyag kasi ng famangkin ko that time so ang daming tao sa bahay.

in furnace, feeling close sila ng tiyahin ko ha. more ang stories nila at nagbigay pa ito ng pinakakatagong hand-woven scarf para sa mama ni [g]. kaloka, parang magbalae lang.

barter pala ang pagpapakilala na iyon. ang sabi sa akin ni [g], ako naman ang ipapakilala niya sa kanyang familia. first time niya itong gagawin at natakot ako bigla, kasi sabi niya may pagka-suplada yung monster-in-law ko, este, mother-in-law pala. suplada, i think, is an understatement.

madre de dios!

tapos kahapon, napagdugtong-dugtong ng kapatid niya at alam na niya kung sino ako. pasaway ka, facebook! napanaginipan pa ng isa niyang kapatid ang initials ko. kalurkey itetch. mega kilatis sa facebook.

so this coming december, ang sabi sa akin ng boyfriend ko, we are going to spend our christmas holidays sa bahay nila. tutulungan ko daw si mama niya na maghanda ng noche buena. katakot, baka hindi madala sa charm ko eh gawin niyang chopping board ang mga kamay ko. choz!

hindi pa naman ako pumayag agad, baka sabihin niya easy to get ako. hihihi

pero as a sort of precaution, i'll tell [g] na habang doon ako sa bahay nila, can he put her on leash? malay mo, kagatin ako. hahaha aylabyu, mama! mwah mwah! tsup tsup.

ayun lang. isang maa[g]ang pasko sa lahat!

in memoriam

2011-03-01T13:00:00.008+08:00

i.

he smiled as he took her hand, asked for her blessing as she put it on his forehead. her hand was cold, wrinkled. age spots adorned it.

she stared at him, her eyes, wondering. he said his name. she smiled, uttered the two syllables of it, she was smiling.

it was the last time he saw her, his grandmother. there was a twinkle in her tired eyes.

ii.

he called his mother, lola passed away, he said. she wept.

hush, he said. she is home now.

he doesn't know where exactly home is.

iii.

he stared at her, her eyes closed. her pale blue dress, the one he bought days after he received the news, it looks good in her, he thought. her daughter said it was her favorite color.

she looked peaceful. they told him she died peacefully.

he wondered, how could 84 years of her life fit in that white, rectangular box.

iv.

he took pictures, inside the church they were singing. the camera shook, his hands, they were shaking. the screen, blurred. he was crying.

his grandmother, captured in 4x6 prints.

v.

he took one last look, he closed his eyes as they shut the lid, and she saw her grandmother. she was smiling, again.

somewhere.

do not stand at my grave bereft; i am not there. i have not left.
- mary elizabeth frye

to all who offered prayers and sent their condolences,
to ekis, ben & marcus,
to [g], my spinal column...

thank you.

kahapon lamang

2011-02-25T09:00:00.001+08:00

feeling ko ang swerte ko kahapon. nag-send ang aking isa sa pinakapaboritong kaibigan, si bonsai hunter ng pdf copies ng dalawang libro ni salman rushdie, ang midnight's children at ang the satanic verses. medyo may kamahalan kasi ang libro ni rushdie so naka-save ako. may bayad pala ito, trappist's mango bars pag pumunta ako ng manila. granted!

ito pa ang isang paborito. dumating ang gabi at nagkita kami ng toilet thoughts. pagdating ko sa lobby ng hotel, andun siya. iniabot niya sa akin ang paborito ko: ang isang dosenang krispy kreme original glazed doughnuts. natuwa ako na nahiya na na-touched kasi dala-dala pa niya ito from manila to cebu hanggang makarating siya ng iloilo. naiwan na siya ng eroplano niya, in fairness di niya iniwan ang doughnuts eh ang dami dami ng dala niya everytime na nagbibiyahe siya.

maraming salamat. mahal talaga ako ng dalawang ito. ♥♥♥

ang babaw lang ng kaligayahan ko. hahaha

crazy little thing called love

2011-02-24T08:15:00.002+08:00

i am crazy about this movie!

it reminds me of my first crush, my first love and all the craziness it brings, all the worst and the best... this is something that all of us have in common and we all can relate to this.

if you love mario maurer as tong from the movie love of siam, here is a straight mario maurer and you will love him even more. the silent, the hot, the mysterious guy.

watch this and fall in love again, just like the first time.

it is crazy. it is funny. it is love.

ang gabing natukso ako

2011-02-23T15:00:00.004+08:00

unang tingin ko pa lang, alam ko na isa kang napakalaking bawal. isang napakasarap na bawal.

tinitigan kita.

para kang nang-aaya.

tumalikod ako. sabi ko, hindi pwede.

ngunit ng mapadaan ako sa harap mo at masamyo ang napakabango mong amoy, hindi ko na kinaya.

tinanong ko ang aking sarili kung bakit mo ito ginagawa sa akin. alam mo naman na pagdating sa iyo, mahina ako.

napalunok ako...

pumikit...

nagdadasal na sana sa aking pagdilat, isa kang masamang panaginip.

pero di Niya ako pinakinggan.

dahil ikaw ang una kong nakita pagbukas ng aking mga mata.

hindi ko na inisip kung ano ang tama at kung ano ang mali.

hindi ko na pinansin kung ano ang mangyayari kinaumagahan.

dali dali akong lumapit,

at bago natapos ang gabi...

naging akin ka.

allergic po sa mani si geek. baklang-bakla lang dibah? :D

i am sorry, geek

2011-02-18T11:00:00.003+08:00

more than two years ago, i said to my blogger friend pie that i wished i have his talent for storytelling. he said, don't. according to him, i have my own style and i am being loved because of it.

style. it really defines us from the rest.

storytelling is really my weakness. i am not good with paragraphs, with sentences. phrases, now that is a different story. i like it, chopping sentences, breaking paragraphs into lines. a friend calls it narrative poetry. does that make me a poet? there are some who said i am. i never considered myself to be one.

last week, i was reading my previous posts and their respective comments. it was quite nostalgic, a few turns of the time turner and i found myself swimming in those stories. i tried to imagine how i felt then while writing those entries, or the emotions behind them.

i would smile, i have some posts that are actually funny. there are some that made me say 'wow, witty'. i read my own stories and they made me speechless. i even fell in love with some. (is it healthy? falling for your own words? or shall i use the term like instead of falling in love?) some, i cringed and made me ask myself, are those my words?

there were comments that humbled me, especially from those bloggers whom i personally call, literary geniuses.

i realized that i will always be a blogger who believes in the power of simple words.

but for countless times, i doubted myself. i doubted the extent of what i can write. i doubted my thoughts, the words i was trying to weave. that while others believe(d) in me, i turned away, refusing to acknowledge it.

i am sorry, geek.

have you ever done that, trying to ask yourself for forgiveness?

you, him & tiffany

2011-02-15T11:30:00.001+08:00

i.

someone to come home to.

that single line graced the card. the paper was thick, it was white. simple. it was so you.

he asked you then, what kind of boyfriend he was. you did not answer.

he was holding it now, your answer. finally. it came in a pouch. months too late.

his eyes stared, at the little blue box that came with it. he thought:

you remember, you remember.

ii.

your head was on his lap. his eyes glued to the screen, you were reading a book. it was coelho.

audrey hepburn got out of the yellow cab. she was dressed in black, rope of pearls adorned her neck. the camera swept at her slender back, the facade of the famous jewelry store. and then, she stood there, scanning the glass window. eating.

was it croissant, he asked. you paused from your reading, he pressed rewind.

definitely not a bagel, you said. he laughed and you joined him.

she lingered for a while, holding her coffee.

one day, i am going to buy one there. he said.

what? a ring? a necklace? you asked.

just something. maybe the cheapest. hahaha

i will give you one. not now, one day, i will.

he cupped your chin, he kissed your forehead. the tip of your nose. your lips.

the sun was about to rise. the camera followed her, she walked away, he thought she was childlike.

he hummed...

moon river, wider than a mile,
i'm crossing you in style some day.
oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you're going i'm going your way.

iii.

his hand cradled the little blue box. tiffany & co, the label said. his fingers traced the silk ribbon, gently as if he was holding a bomb.

he sighed. he put it away, on top of other boxes you sent, some shipped, others personally given.

up to now, after how many years, still all of them, unopened.

bahay-bahayan

2011-02-09T11:30:00.006+08:00

minsan napag-usapan namin ni iro[g] (choz) ang tungkol sa mga plano-plano in the not so near but not so distant future... kung saan kami magsesettle down (pak!)...

ang una naming naisip, kung malaman ng mga magulang niya mag-aasawa siya ng lalaki at palalayasin siya, sa cebu kami magbabagong buhay. together. hihihi

or pwede din dito sa amin pero gusto ko naman ng change of scenery, ng bagong adventure.

so we settled or sort of initially planned na sa kanilang lugar na lang. may nabili siyang lupa sa isang subdivision doon, so para maka-save, doon na lang ang plano naming magpatayo ng bahay.

so may lupa na. problemahin namin ang yung pagpapatayo ng bahay. dahil sa kanya na ang lupa, naipasa naman sa akin ang gastos sa bahay. division of labor, division of assets, so and so.

problema nito, di ko pa kayang magpagawa ng isang palasyo. nagmakaawa ako, lumuhod sa kanyang harapan at nakiusap na bahay kubo lang ang kaya ko. okay naman siya. on one condition: dapat may aircon ang kwarto. sa isip ko, ang kondisyon ko naman: dapat may sofa ang restroom. naobserbahan niyo ba na pag nasa banyo ka, wala masyadong nang-iistorbo sayo maliban na lang kung may diarrhea ang kasama mo sa bahay. minsan kasi gusto ko habang nagbabasa eh, all is silent.

nakikita ko na ang itsura ng bahay kubo. may puting bakod na gawa sa kahoy, mga makukulay at mababangong bulaklak, in fairness, magaganda ang flowers sa lugar nila, may maliit na terasa. isang lugar na kung saan pwede mong matatawag na hindi lang bahay kundi tahanan. iyong matatawag mo na 'inyo'. (yung mga furniture dapat gawa ni kenneth cobonpue.)

tatanggap ako ng labada, habang siya eh mag-araro ng bukirin, magpapakain ng mga alagang manok at baboy (asa pa, eh hindi nga yun naghuhugas ng pinggan at naglalaba sa kanila, araro pa) para sa aming mga bisita. malay mo, bibisita doon ang mga kaibigan namin. halimbawa si darc, si jepoy, si toilet thoughts at kung sinu-sino pa. ang aarte pa naman nila so dapat paghandaan talaga. magbarbeque kami sa aming backyard, lulutuin ang mga bagong ani na gulay at ihahanda bagong pitas na mga prutas.

namiss ko tuloy ang dati naming bahay sa probinsiya. ang nipa na bubong, ang sahig na gawa sa kawayan na masarap tulugan pagkatapos ng tanghalian, yung sariwang hangin nagduduyan sa iyo.

nakangiti ako habang isinusulat ko ito. libre naman daw ang mangarap.

malay mo...

note to self: dahil bibisita din daw ang reyna tristan, dapat may red couch ang bahay kubo.

image source

romancing voltaire

2011-02-07T14:30:00.003+08:00

i read my first voltaire last weekend. his famous satire, candide, was first and secretly published in 1759, and has enjoyed both great success, and of course, great scandal.

the story introduced us to the life of its protagonist, candide of westphalia. early in his life, he was taught by his teacher pangloss of a leibnizian principle "all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds". but when he was forced to leave the castle, armed only with that single principle, he set out and traveled.

along his journey, he met several people. he encountered various events that made him question the principle indoctrinated to him. among the most notable character is the manichean scholar, martin. this scholar is the complete opposite of the ever optimist candide for he believed that the world is half good and the other half, evil.

of all places ever visited by candide, i can say that el dorado is the most interesting of all. a village of harmony, of peace, its inhabitants rational, reasonable and just. it made me compare to sir thomas more's utopia. both are ideal and both of them, they do not exist in the real world.

this satire is nearly three centuries old but the genius who was voltaire, captivated the atmosphere of his time but it is not different to the present. there is still the war between conflicting nations, of men in power still abusing them, of writers against another writer, the discontented rich who are still craving for more, of women selling their bodies for a living, of the romantic cliches, the power of church and those behind it and dreamers still dreaming of an ideal society.

it was written in a form that is simple, some lines hilarious. but hidden in this books are the sad realities of the past until to the present. it encompasses all aspect: the government, its people, the church, romance, philosophies, the armies, politics, life in general, our ideas of optimism.

candide is juan de la cruz incarnate.

when i checked the price of the book, it was php 99.00 i was saddened at first. this gem of a book is under priced, its contents undervalued. but when i left the store, i realized why. they made it affordable, so that all of us will have a chance to read voltaire's satire - his legacy.

post-coital tristesse

2011-02-01T10:45:00.004+08:00

blogger's note:

i often read it, where writers will tell of a mind-blowing sexual encounter, the earth-shattering orgasm. there is also one reality that some try to withhold, that kind of feeling that some feels after sex.

a friend told me a different kind of story, far from what we are familiar with. it was the sadness one feels after having sex. i don't know if i captured the right emotions or if i would be able to give justice to it. but here it is. as promised...

as he lead me
into that dark alley
i was consumed by lust
the smell of the place
his cold hand,
grasping mine
intensified my desire.

i could have made love there
that rough wall, the bed
the stars, the shy moon
our ceiling
the black cat, the audience.

we ran until i saw it
- the door
its paint the color of blood.

mi casa es su casa,
he whispered.

and my lips found his
while the key
french-kissed the lock.

the hinges groaned
the door frame shook
as we invaded the room
the darkness,
a welcoming friend.

suddenly, we became one
we created earthquake
the dead lamp,
clinging for its life
our sweat became rain
drenching the soft sheets.

as the eye of the storm
approached
his fingernails
anchored on my back
i was his lifesaver.

he shouted, i shivered
and then,
silence.

while he was smoking,
i was still. so weak
tired. empty.
i felt alone. lonely.

the night was a womb
but it was no comfort
fragility -
it consumed me.

as i closed my eyes
i sighed
soft, warm tears flowed
my sad hands embraced me.

now,
i would rest
tomorrow,
i will hunt happiness
again.

drowning of the fish

2011-01-26T23:30:00.004+08:00

are you ready, asked the water to the fish.

the fish was silent, its eyes closed.

do i have a choice? the fish wondered.

you had but you blew it. literally.

but i had to or else i will be gone. for good.

it was gentle, as if they were making love.

such exquisite pain, unbearable sorrow.

its tears mixed with water.

the water cried, too

as the fish exhaled its last breath

silent bubbles created ripples.

and then the water slept again.

image source

teddy

2011-01-19T17:30:00.015+08:00

today, i am going to write about teddy.

he is my new friend, i met him just last week.

here. in this blog.

he is one of my anonymous readers.

and no, he is not a blogger.

he said i am his crush.

teddy is ten years old.

one of the best things that can happen to a blogger is finding friends through his site. okay, not just friends, but also lovers. friends and lovers who are also bloggers. i am guilty of both.

but if you find friends here who are not bloggers, that is something worth talking or writing about. i am fortunate enough to have met personally some of them.

but if that anonymous reader happens to be a ten-year old boy, how would you react?

no, i did not meet teddy personally but i received an email from him just last week. he said he is a fan of my blog since the day he read something that kept on haunting him until now. (the first five lines of this post.)

i wondered why he was traumatized by those lines. when i asked, he simply answered that anna karenina is one of his favorite books.

*faints*

this boy, he shocked me. how can someone his age appreciate that particular work of tolstoy and several authors, some i never heard. i told his mother that he a has a genius for a son.

he made me think of what i was doing when i was his age. i think i was busy playing. don't let me elaborate on that.

to be praised and appreciated by him, by this child, it made me speechless.

is thank you enough, teddy?

:)

an amazing love

2011-01-17T12:30:00.001+08:00

you a-maze me...

the essence of touch

2011-01-13T11:45:00.002+08:00

"touch comes before sight, before speech.
it is the first language
and the last,
and it always tells the truth."

— the blind assassin by margaret atwood

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tahan na

2011-01-11T12:00:00.001+08:00

akala ko

matapang na ako...

ngunit nang umiyak siya

bigla akong nanghina.

the magician: the last act

2011-01-07T14:00:00.001+08:00

the magician

and the magic ends

years passed and i saw him again.

he was all over the news

and the world wept for him.

such a great loss, they say.

i was among the many

who wished to have

a glimpse of his body,

or even just his hands...

as i come nearer

nearer to the wooden box

that held his remains...

i did not know what to feel.

but inside, i silently cried.

i am a fan.

i am a stranger.

i am a friend.

and then,

i saw him...

the greatest magician

lying peacefully

i looked...

no, no,

i stared.

a tiny smile

playing on his lips...

as if he was amused

by this... this charade...

the hat, the mask, his wand

they were near his heart...

ahhh...

magic

his first love

certainly, his last.

i closed my eyes

as memories seeped

i saw him laughing

i saw him crying

i saw him staring at me

i saw us...then...

there was no wind

but a sudden cold brushed my arm

i opened my eyes

the heavy curtains softly danced

the face i stared a few minutes ago...

gone!

the wooden box?

empty.

later,

the stage would become a mess

the place became chaotic

the noise, unbearable

as everybody wondered

asked... shouted...

shocked...

frightened.

right before his fans,

where faces of strangers gasped...

where his friends mourned and rejoiced,

his family wept but at awe...

i was crying

but i started to clap

i clapped like it was my last

as it dawned on me...

who would have thought

that he would perform

his greatest trick

his last act

that will remind me,

that will remind the world,

how powerful he was...

or is.

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pssst... chief...

2011-01-04T11:45:00.000+08:00

soon?

amishu!

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a peek-a-boo drama

2011-01-03T12:30:00.002+08:00

just a hint of it, kane...

after all, what is life without drama? :)

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us

2010-12-31T11:00:00.001+08:00

political + apolitical = us

happy new year!

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a geeky tradition continues

2010-12-24T23:30:00.000+08:00

a classic christmas tale...

have a merry, geeky christmas!

dear ekis

2010-12-21T16:30:00.005+08:00

as i washed the dishes the other night, i thought of you and your call. well, sometimes i thought about you, too, when i do nothing. one side of my brain said i should not, that would make me unfaithful. the other laughed and reasoned out that if it was the case, then that would make me unfaithful for countless times.

i laughed. those two, they are always funny. well, who doesn't think of their past loves? if thinking of them makes one guilty, then i am guilty, your honor. thank you very much. you are, after all, my first.

i played with the bubbles and i said to myself that i need a new set of plates. those colorful squares are already fading. and i love that teaspoon. i should buy more of it.

i smiled. you love doing the dishes then. funny that for someone who doesn't know his way in the kitchen, this chore would eventually become your favorite. it is a great way to think and contemplate.

we lead a simple life. we were young, we were stubborn, we were in love.

we used to dream of things. a simple home at my favorite country. we thought of places to visit, of food to taste, to try a little bit of everything.

as i stood before the sink, holding that soapy tweety bird mug, i thanked Him that he has always been so good to both of us, to you especially. a lot of your dreams came true, some you have yet to follow.

you never forget that from one dream fulfilled to another, you always think of me... of us... that i am a part of it... always be...

have i ever said thank you?

if not, then, i thank you now.

you taught me how to love. freely. unconditionally. totally.

damn this dishwashing liquid.

it made me cry.

-geek

and oh, merry christmas. i know you will read this. :)

the bisexuality of writers

2010-12-19T10:30:00.000+08:00

in my waking life, i'm a woman,
but sometimes in my dreams
i'm a man...
in every book, the writer's body is missing,
and this absence turns the page into a place
where we are truly free to listen
to the man or woman who is speaking.

when i write a book, i am also listening.
i hear the characters talk
as if they were outside me
rather than inside me...

i find myself pulled between the two sexes,
wondering which one i am.
not knowing bothers me,
but when i write, that same ambivalence
becomes my liberation,
and i am free
to inhabit both men and women
and to tell their stories.

-from 'being a man'
(an excerpt from a plea to eros by siri hustvedt)

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head over heels

2010-12-17T08:20:00.001+08:00

you slipped me off my feet...

again.

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you swore you'd never tell

2010-12-14T16:20:00.001+08:00

my current favorite...

sshhh...

this will be our little secret.

the belle of the ball

2010-12-13T11:45:00.002+08:00

your egg awaits

you know when, you know where.

to my [g], a belated happy birthday.