Liquid Sunshine

A scene straight-out-of-a-movie -- walking the dogs on an empty street, tall lush trees swaying, cold wind making dead leaves rush by our feet, then a softness to the rain, a freshness to everything, a cool mist rolling in over the vibrant green grass as we slowly jog & laugh for cover, the dogs stubbornly holding their ground, not wanting to go anywhere else but there, right in that moment of rain & play, and we give in, relishing the freedom, the magic of that moment, that sweet fleeting moment, the world crisp and sparkling, free of bullshit, fuck-ups, vanity & ghosts … raindrops and me and him and our dogs who we know will always always love us no matter how destitute or pathetic or idiotic we might seem to other people. It started to rain harder, & we started to laugh louder, & the dogs’ ears started to sway higher as we jumped & splashed over puddles … & the horizon, radiant in its aqueousness, bringing to the senses a calmness, a serenity, but also bringing forth a distinct feeling of strange buoyancy, a lightness pregnant with possibilities of flight. A scene straight-out-of-a-movie … but it was real, and it was beautiful. And it is enough. Enough to keep us walking, enough to make us get up stand tall & dance after a slight stumble or a hard fall, enough to make us thankful for every vision of hope the universe sends our way.

Be happy for this moment; this moment is your life….”_-Omar Khayyam

Facades

Today I feel like this:




This art work's title is The Great War on Façades (La Grande Guerre Façades), by Rene Magritte. You might be more familiar with his The Son of Man, which was referenced/featured in films like The Thomas Crown Affair, Stranger Than Fiction and 500 Days of Summer:



Various interpretations of Magritte's art works are available online. If you want to read more on him, click on the following:

http://nomad0307.blogspot.com/2009/01/ceci-nest-pas-une-vie.html
http://www.brain-juice.com/cgi-bin/show_bio.cgi?p_id=22
http://www.artchive.com/artchive/M/magritte.html
http://www.dropbears.com/a/art/biography/Rene_Magritte.html

Today, I feel like the woman on the The Great War of Facades painting. Although I'm thankful I don't ever have to wear that silly frilly dress in real life, today it symbolizes all the preconceived notions of people about me. That flower is my f--- you to those who have boxed me in their labels.

And enough of the bitch-fit. I love Rene Magritte's work. Actually, I love almost all surrealist artists. They are such brave inventors of each of their own unique universes. As Magritte said:

To be a surrealist means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been.

She Just Wants To Be ...

These past few months I've been dedicating songs to other people, through text or a call or a facebook note. Today I'm going to be selfish and dedicate a song to ME.

She Just Wants To Be - R.E.M

It's not that she walked away,
her world got smaller.
All the usual places, the same destinations,
only something's changed.

It's not that she wasn't rewarded
with pomegranate afternoons
and Mingus, Chet Baker and chess.

It's not the stampede and fortune
of prim affectations
she's off on her own and she knows now
it's greater than the whole
of the past
it's greater
and now she knows.

She just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be.
She just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be.

It's not that the transparency
of her earlier incarnations
now looked back on, weren't rich
and loaded
with beautiful vulnerability
and now she knows.

Now is greater
and she knows that.

She just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be.
She just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be.

Now is greater
now is greater
and she knows that

She just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be.
She just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be.

It's not like if angels
could truly look down
stir up the trappings
and light on the ground.
Remind us of what, when,
why or who?
The how's up to us, me and you
and now is greater than the whole
of the past
is greater and now she knows that.

Now she knows.

Another version 1 of something ...

I, Ariadne, You, Minotaur

Attempting to read you, and I’m in a minefield
my teeth chattering against the pin of a hand grenade
you placed in my mouth
you said “I wonder, I wonder how beautiful
it would be to see you explode,
explode like a star, every little bit of you sparkling,
stunning, one last spark, shining so fiercely
weaving one last desperate flight for light
dancing your one last arabesque for the night
and finally fading, fading loudly
violently, until you’ve spent all your fire
all that exquisite pitiful thread of life
until a whimper, a whisper,
fading into nothing.”

I finally see you
Minotaur of my dark dreams
savage beast, monster, eater of flesh
and yet you seek not to devour me
only wishing for my death to shower you with
light and beauty, things that are forbidden to you
because they say, you must remain
the horrible legend that you are.
But I, Ariadne, is nobody’s goddess bride nor prize
I, Ariadne, slayer of might and false light, will rise
Towering with you, a mammoth monstrous swelling
shaking the truth out of their sham fables,
destroying, dismantling, the vulnerable I, the savage you.

Come, it’s time to weave our own labyrinth.
A labyrinth both forgiving and unforgiving
merciful and merciless, terrible and beguiling
soothing and horrid, a mirror of everything and nothing.
I, Ariadne, You, Minotaur.
In our own terms, In our own time.

WTF Is A Glocky Kanurd?

*For my crazy-beautiful lulubelles/boozelab/alak pa friends*

A Drunken Musing peppered with bits of Victorian Slang

oh my bonny winkles, my sweet toffs!
off your cribs and on your gallies
no time to cagg, come be lush
raise your toosh off the doss
hasten to the bubbling night, no time to blush
pocket a finny to buy us some scran,
some mecks or some shandy gaff
no room for square-rigged moochers
but plenty of laughs for a slang cove in whistle and flute
glocky kanurds, chaunting and ran-tan
so hearken hearken
oh my bonny winkles, my sweet toffs!
no hush, oh slush,
Out-dance the sunlight blithe!

----------

Here's a line by line translation:
oh my beautiful girls and boys
get out of your house, put on your boots
no time to abstain from alcohol, come be the spirit of alcohol
get your ass off its resting place
hasten to the bubbling night, no time to blush *(i didn't need to translate that right?)*
pocket some money to buy us some food
some wine, some beer & gin
no room for square/proper behavior
but plenty of laughs for funny showmen in suits,
half-witted drunks, loudly singing, roaring drunks
so hear me hear me,
oh my beautiful girls and boys,
no to silence, oh icy silence
Let's out-dance even the cheerful sun!

Lithium

This song is my ME in the 90s. Every time I hear it, the opening riff alone sends my gut in a whirlpool of emotions. It sends me back to the time when every meaningless/meaningful thing that happened to me affected me like being stabbed with a glowing hot knife – burning, searing, maddening- all the while pretending I-Don’t-Fucking-Care “I’m not gonna crack.” It was that time when I experienced a lot of things for the first time – first love/first heartbreak, first encounter with powerful women who would profoundly change my life forever, first kiss, first mind-blowing journeys into feminism and philosophy and literature ... Ahhhhh everything was just delicious and fresh and romantic and creative and yet also melancholic, rebellious, raw and wildly confusing. I loved madly and I hated intensely, and I was bouncing off walls “yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.” My mind was a crazy mess full of Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Kant, Simone de Beauvoir, Julia Kristeva, Luce Irigaray, Erica Jong ... until I finally found my home in Said, Spivak, Krishnamurti. “Light my candles, in a daze ‘Cause I’ve found God.” But my mind and emotions, at that point in my life, were like stereotypical binary opposites struggling for power (such is the case with every teenager riddled with both good intentions and raging hormones). “I love you I’m not gonna crack I killed you I’m not gonna crack.” ... Oh the 90s. Oh Kurt Cobain, one of my personal saviours. Oh how this song makes me so damn nostalgic, and at the same time so inflamed and provoked and insanely ALIVE.

I'm so horny, that's okay

My will is good



Yeah yeah yeah yeah
 yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
 yeah yeah

I like it I'm not gonna crack

I miss you I'm not gonna crack

I love you I'm not gonna crack

I killed you I'm not gonna crack

I like it I'm not gonna crack
I miss you I'm not gonna crack

I love you I'm not gonna crack

I killed you I'm not gonna crack



I'm so happy 'cause today

I found my friends

They're in my head

I'm so ugly, but that's okay

'Cause so are you

Broke our mirrors

Sunday morning is everyday

For all I care

And I'm not scared

Light my candles in a daze

'Cause I've found god



Yeah yeah yeah yeah
 yeah yeah

*In a parallel universe, that dude dancing in the middle, that’s me. *

My Never-Ending Moving On Story :-)

I’m used to moving. Ever since I was four or five, my family have moved to 10 different apartments/houses. Our fifth move, when I was 16, was to our own house in Filinvest, Cainta. We all thought, at last, we have our own permanent home. I had my own room which I happily designed and decorated myself -- with pictures of my high school friends, and later on with college friends, with metallic confetti, with glow-in-the-dark stars, with my collection of Little Twin Stars on a side table and my main wall scattered with pictures of Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Pearl Jam, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Guns N’ Roses, PJ Harvey etc. I remember using two 1-liter Coke cases and the flat base of a white dish rack as a table for my boombox and an old car seat as a chair. It was a room I really, really loved because it truly reflected the many facets of who I was at that time. But four years after, our family had another financial crisis and my parents ended up losing the house they’ve worked so hard for. It was the one and only “moving out” I remember vividly. During our last night of packing, my best friend Toni and Kathy were there to help me. We were laughing a lot because at every nook and cranny they would find my hidden stash of cigarettes or a hidden makeshift ashtray full of ash and cigarette butts. We also found old pictures I’ve either torn or crumpled because it was with an ex-bf. And my dengue-meds, which the doctor ordered me to take even after taking them for almost 7 weeks in the hospital. No matter what I did I just couldn’t push down those damn meds anymore, I always ended up puking. So, I hid them from my mom, saying I took them as the doctor ordered. All into a trash bag these remnants of an old life went, and that was when the melancholia hit. I toured the house one last time. I went to my sister’s room, which was just across mine, to our study/library that used to house my many books, to the guest room, which was beside my room. I took one last look at our beautiful living room which used to contain our Victorian furniture, antique jars, vases, lamps and other curios, its high ceiling with wood panels where a crystal chandelier used to hang, the shiny marble floor, the off-white paint – I can still remember how during Christmas, no matter how good or bad that Christmas was, I would find peace and simple joy in just sitting in front of our xmas tree, enjoying the flickering lights and the shadows they made on the wall. I took one last view of our terrace, which was aside from my room, my other favourite part of the house because this was where my friends and I used to spend our afternoons banging our heads to punk/rock/alternative music, smoking our head off and drinking Alco pop (Bartles & James were our favourite then) or at night just having clean, relaxing fun, (coz my parents were already back home from work at that time), dancing, talking till morning. I can still remember our dining room, which we only used during parties. We usually ate at the “dirty” kitchen and small back lawn. I can still remember my parents' room, big and airy and full of sunshine. I took one last look at our garage where I accidentally bumped my dad’s old Mercedes, and the basement right beside it (oh my dirty little secrets haha), a rush of memories from my 18th birthday party where we transformed that area into a disco. And of course, how can I forget the garden and stairs in front of the house, which was also a favourite of mine because during that time there was always a scheduled black out, and my family & friends would sit around the garden and the stairs, sharing stories or just sharing the silence, the vast night sky, the stars … It was a big and beautiful house, it was witness to the many dramas of a couple handling a rebellious, impetuous daughter who had that young-and-stupid ready to defy all moment when she fell madly in love for the first time and soon after will experience her first teen-life-shattering heartbreak. It was a house where at times we felt least like a family and at better times, where we were really happy.

I can still remember how mixed my feelings were standing in front of that house one last time. We were all standing there, my mom, my dad, my sister and I, all facing the house and saying goodbye in our own quiet way. It was dawn, which made that moment more poignant and pregnant with meaning for all of us. I remember feeling very sad because I thought that that house was going to be where my parents will grow old together, with grand children in the future running around the house every now and then. I felt nostalgic and heavyhearted at the same time, remembering the sparkling, shiny moments we had as a family with all of our dogs, especially Dagul, our rottweiler, my dad’s most beloved, who we lost, mourned and buried in our side garden during one xmas season. I felt wistful for all the bad and good memories we were leaving behind, and also felt relieved and hopeful that we can start anew. And then I heard our collective deep intake of breath, as if we were all trying to absorb all the beautiful memories we have of the house and keep it within the safe walls of our heart. And then we exhaled. Looked at one another. All teary-eyed. All smiled. And my mom said “Oh well … let’s move on then.” And that’s what we exactly did.

My family has since moved 5 more times after that. There was another “move” that was a bit life altering again, but that’s another story which I think my mom or sister can better narrate since I was sadly not with them during the most crucial points of that time. Also, I was already living in BF at that time, at Ritchie’s house, already handling our own small business together. Four years ago, Ritchie and I moved our business out of their house and into a commercial space we rented, with simple hopes and dreams of succeeding and making it on our own. But alas, things did not go as we hoped, and we are sadly moving out of the first space Ritchie and I called our home. As the moving out deadline we’ve set for ourselves creep in, I can’t help but feel a rollercoaster of emotions, and to be honest, sadness and heartbreak are still far outweighing the there’s-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel shit. But as in everything in life, I know that this will pass. Ritchie and I (and Frankie) entered this door we called home, together, full of high hopes and dreams … and we are going out of this door, still full of high hopes and dreams, still strong and resilient, together. The sun always rises! :-)

Oh Life!

It was such a nice morning walk. The cool, crisp morning air, the wind making the dead leaves dance on the street, the sun still soft-gentle-gold, rising on the horizon, casting the street with a warm pleasant glow. Walking Frankie every morning and every night is like a calming ritual that helps me start and end my day with placidity. It makes me appreciate everyday the beauty of the simplest actions (like walking), the simplest gestures of Mother Nature (leaves dotted with dewdrops, waving brief sparkles & brilliance under the passing shafts of sunlight), and the simplest affirmations of love (Frankie slobbering my face with kisses). This morning I saw three birds playing in a puddle, each of them taking turns jumping in and out, their soft chirping a merry and joyful sound against the roar of cars rushing to their everyday battles. I, too, will be rushing to my own battle in a little while. I, like everybody else, will be dealing with things that are far from simple. During the course of the day, my demeanour will probably be not as fresh and light-hearted. I will probably at times fall into bouts of grouchiness, ill-temper, pessimism. But … there is that one pleasant thought …

This morning I planted my faith in simple things, and the world was a playground for birds. This evening, I will rest my faith again in simple things, hoping for my own puddle, whistling for the wind.

side note: I've learned another valuable lesson just now. Leave your bowl of cereal with milk, uneaten, on the table, far too long and it turns into something not pleasant. It turns into something like that foul-smelling slodge you puke out after a night of heavy eating combined with heavy drinking. Nasty stuff. Just like Life. Leave something good in your life unattended, ignored, taken for granted, and sooner or later it'll rot & leave you with nothing but a lifetime of regret (which translates to a lifetime of heavy drinking and puking out more of those nasty stuff).

-- Yes, an uneaten bowl of cereal is a valuable life-lesson for me. --

The Drunken Wannabe!

Because I’m a wannabe photographer / writer / traveller / bon vivant / witch / director / editor / druidess / dancer / singer / film critic / lyricist / poet / band aid (like Penny Lane in Almost Famous) / beach bum / backpacker / playwright / burlesque queen (haha! – think Santanico Pandemonium in From Dusk Till Dawn – wannabe remember?) / revolutionary / Manic Pixie Bitch (in contrast to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, I mean let’s face it, I am no dream girl, yes even if it’s just a wannabe thing – my tummy can’t stomach it) / polyglot / environmentalist / feminist / jester / mermaid / trapeze artist / … I Wannabe Whatever/Whichever/Whenever. Everything that life throws my way, I say “Drink Up! Soak Up! Suck every last drop!” Yes, I WannaBe Intoxicated with this Mad Brewery called Life (everything about it – the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, the lies, the truth, the fusion of all things disparate). I am a Drunken WannaBe. Kampai!!!!

Once I Was A Little Girl Too

Sometimes when I seem to be spinning within a vortex of madness and lunacy otherwise called “adult life”, there are times when I wish I am a child again, mom and dad’s little girl, safe and sheltered within their embrace. My childhood, as with everybody else’s, was not a perfect one. But within that imperfection were golden nuggets of happiness that mercifully shine on even as time raged through and tirelessly tried to erode it into non-existence.

I can still remember vividly how my dad used to take me to all the shows Lea Salonga had with the Sanrio characters. He used to carry me on his shoulders as he tried to squeeze his way into the crowd up to the front, all because he did not want his little girl to miss the chance of shaking the hand of Kiki and Lala (the Little Twin Stars). I loved the Little Twin Stars because, well because I love stars: they fish for stars, sometimes they are illustrated as having wands in a shape of a star and where little stars also come out, and mainly because Kiki has a star on his back which enables him to fly.




My dad indulged those girly fantasy whims, but he was also not afraid to treat me like a pal, his small little best friend who would accompany him to movies like “Gandhi”. So from my dad I learned to nourish my budding love for the whimsical and the fantastic, and also to love good movies. And having been exposed to films like Gandhi at such a very young age (I was 8), my dad also encouraged my love for freedom.



I remember my mom, who enrolled me in a ballet class, and would always stay throughout the duration of the class, beaming proudly at her little girl in her black leotard and pink tutu. She would also buy me all these books, hardbound ones, with beautiful life-like illustrations. She would always admonish me if eyes would stray to the “cute dolls” section of the store but let’s me have my way in the children’s book section. So from my mom I learned to love dancing and books, and thank God, to not really like Barbie dolls. I remember the only Barbie doll I had was given to me as a gift, and not even a week has passed when my mom found out how I had cut it’s hair really short, and how I had destroyed it’s dress, trying to make it look more “normal”. What I enjoyed as dolls back then were those battery-operated robots that can walk, make noises, and had this middle portion which looks like a small “TV”. It is no surprise then that later on in life I am to have a boyfriend who loves to collect robots.

Now, the Little Twin Stars are no longer popular. (Barbie I guess still is, although I don’t really know if they have ever tried to make a more “politically correct” Barbie. Whatever, I still don’t give a f*ck.) The fairy tales I enjoyed as a child have been revisioned and deconstructed in a thousand ways. Instead of siding with Dorothy and wishing to be like Cinderella, I now wish to be Elphaba (Gregory Maguire’s version of the “wicked witch of the west”) or be more like Danielle De Barbarac (the deconstructed Cinderella in the movie “Ever After” starring Drew Barrymore). Time indeed raged on and rages on, re-shaping life, destroying and re-building, wearing and tearing but also re-constructing, shifting plates, giving birth, burning and quenching all at the same time. This cycle can sometimes be too confusing, and sometimes too exhausting that sometimes, all I can do is sigh and wish to be that little girl again … Oh well, I live in the real world. I cannot be that child again (in the language I use right now, that’s just plain bull). But cheesy as it may sound, sometimes when I feel like giving up (like right now), I look at old pictures, or very simply, just close my eyes, and indulge myself with a nostalgia bath. And for a fleeting moment, I am rid of all my angst, my vanity, I am free of all the adult bullshit-trappings … for a sweet, fleeting moment I am that little girl again, walking out of a movie theatre with my dad proudly holding my hand, fumbling through a pirouette or an arabesque with my mom never looking embarrassed, reading aloud the books my mom bought for me, looking up to see my mom smiling like an angel, pride and love brimming out of her eyes … for that candy-coated ephemeral moment, I am perched on my dad’s shoulders, not a princess but a queen, the Stars always within my reach.

Love and Light for ALL

"All beings seek for happiness; so let your compassion extend itself to all."
~The Mahavamsa

Experience the love and joy an animal companion can bring to your home. Experience the kind of happiness that only comes out of allowing yourself to do good, the kind of bliss that comes out by allowing yourself to share that goodness towards all beings.

Please visit www.paws.org.ph and www.mefindhome.org today.

There is a song from The Smiths that goes “There is a light and it never goes out. There is a light and it never goes out ... “ PAWS (Philippine Animal Welfare Society) is that kind of light. But I believe everyone can be that kind of light. Support the HOMELESS, NOT WORTHLESS campaign of PAWS. Adopt a homeless animal. Make them a part of your family. Share that light, and don’t let it ever go out.

The Peristaltic Journey of a Goddess (First Draft)

The Peristaltic Journey of a Goddess

I saw the abyss
Where two bearded white men playing chess
(One was named Shakespeare and the other one ...
He had so many names, I can’t remember even one)
were talking about me and Lady Macbeth.
Was I gasping for air?
Lady Macbeth said “Unsex me here”
I heard a cry for moral order somewhere
I wasn’t gasping for air
I was drowning in blood
(an attempt at decency, for
they are actually putrid juices)
Don’t call me a whore!
I am Jezebel
Lady Macbeth is just unfulfilled lust
while I, I am the climax of all your sighs and desires
Lady Macbeth is nothing but a glorified gorgon
I am divine
I will take you to the promised land
taste angel-sweet hymns
suck on luscious-saccharine halos
Lady Macbeth is cruel
I am merciful
I will let you chew on my flesh when ravenous
Lady Macbeth and the ridiculous way she just ... faded
nothing but a wretched shadow that ate itself.
While Me, Jezebel, I
flew out of the open window ...
now being digested in this bitch’s brew,
getting ready to be excreted as a goddess,
who will lead all to a delicious kind of burning.

for all of us dreamers ...

Go…

Burrow deep into soil that harbor seeds of creation.
Inhabit the shadowy spaces, the palpitating core.
Go. Go and drink life’s heady brew, go and hear the drunken people singing.
Come to life in the primitive bowels of the earth.
Neither map nor evidence is required.
Go. Go kindle the blood like venom. Let your woe be your boon.
Exhaust, repulse, all the vapid algorithmic assurances,
Go and shatter all patterns.
Deny security, shun comfort.
Let blood jet up from sincere melancholy.
Go. Go for radical change.
Give us a sense of a freshness unknown until you.
Stir voices, move bodies.
Give birth to worlds both real and imaginary.
Go. Go chase failures and turn them into triumphs.
Invent. Interpret.
Create puzzles on literal landscapes.
Don’t live between walls.
Come out, let sunlight be your stage.
Sometimes, allow the dead be more alive than the living, but always
Make the living more gripping than the dead,
Let the living wound the dead, let the dead arouse the living.
Draw blood, create wounds that never fully heal,
Baptize in both white fire and gray water all the scars.
Go. Fill the world,
Of your greatest rages. your humblest exploits, your secret battles.
With magical force, or just sheer madness, maybe even great genius,
Convert, transform, discover.
Seek the uncontrollable, the rootless, the black sounds.
Divulge the tender intimacies that reside within volcanoes.
Make known to us the smell of a thousand nightmares,
Make us hear a hundred unborn children singing
Eternal dreams of birth and love and death.
Be the mother, the father, the son, the daughter,
Be that nameless one that dances the dance of all ages.
Go be the wind blowing insistently, seeking the unfamiliar.

Go.

For all of us with a dream and who are brave enough to heed that dream’s call. I was sorta’ actually “inspired” to write this after receiving a text message from Mike saying he won Cinemanila’s Ishmael Bernal Award for Young Cinema for his short film “Delusions.” Lucky bastard, he even shook hands with Quentin Tarantino! Guess I just have to be content with the fact that I know someone who was actually awarded a trophy by Quentin :-) Go Mikey, we always knew you’d make it :-)

crazy dancing circles

song playing in the background: oo by updharmadown

black. silence. tanananananan ... soft fade in of this bittersweet song. smoke. a cigarette. a hand. slowly a face. you. half hidden. in shadow.

‘Di mo lang alam
Naiiisip kita
Baka sakali lang maisip mo ako
‘Di mo lang alam
Hanggang sa gabi inaasam makita kang muli

halfway through your life. crazy dancing circles. same stories different people. same shit different time. wondering if there's a way out of. crazy dancing circles. round and round. bouncing backward sideways forward backwards backwards backwards ... struggling to bounce forward. bounce far. away from all these craziness. but always, like a small damselfy to a sundew, always always falling into the same trap. inspite of knowing that behind the sweet scent and sugar taste, is a darkness waiting to consume you. the uncertainty of it all. why is it so damn addicting?

Nagtapos ang lahat sa di inaasahang pahanon
At ngayon ako ay iyong iniwan
Luhaan, sugatan, ‘di mapakinabangan
Sana nagtanong ka lang
Kung ‘di mo lang alam
Sana’y nagtanong ka lang
Kung ‘di mo lang alam

Ako’y iyong nasaktan
Baka sakali lang maisip mo naman
Hindi mo lang alam
Kay tagal na panahon
Ako’y nandirito pa rin hanggang ngayon para sa’yo

words. cruel. why was there ever a need for such hurtful things to exist? why do we have that power to use ... words ... cruel ... only to drown ourselves in regret. hoping to snatch back the pain. throw it back to nothingness. why do we lose things we don't want to lose. why can't we lose the things we so desperately have to be free of. you could have just said something. anything. you could have asked. but you were a fool. still a fool. always a fool.

Lumipas mga araw na ubod ng saya
‘Di pa rin nagbabago ang aking pagsinta
Kung ako’y nagkasala patawad na sana
Puso kong pagal ngayon lang nagmahal

melancholy baby. drowning in salt. you. there was a time. you. under the summer moon. mirth springing forth. there wasn't even a need for rain. like magic. things just grew. there was just you. giving life and color and vibrancy. it was splendid. dazzling. but melancholy baby ... it was so swift. there it was. the vast black universe. you were powerless. against such a force, you are powerless.

‘Di mo lang alam
Ako’y iyong nasaktan
Baka sakali lang maisip mo naman
Puro s’ya na lang
Sana’y ako naman
‘Di mo lang alam
Ika’y minamasdan
Sana’y iyong mamalayang hindi mo lang pala alam

you. still half-hidden. in shadow. the soft glow of your cigarette. seductive. deadly in its softness. you looking at them. wondering why it couldn't have been you. you. so wrong. you decided you were just so wrong. it was going to be suicide. everything and everyone around you. in that vast black universe. you couldn't risk it. better just you.

‘Di mo lang alam
Kahit tayo’y magkaibigan lang
Napapaligaya lang sa tuwing nagkukulitan
Baka sakali lang maisip mo naman
Ako’y nandito lang
Hindi mo lang alam
Matalino ka naman

did intelligence, in this game of yours, ever count for anything? maybe. it got you away from them. but you're still a fool. pretending those smiles don't mean anything. pretending you don't dream. pretending there are no stolen glances. no secret smiles.

Kung ikaw at ako
Ay tunay na bigo sa laro na ito
Ay dapat bang sumuko
Sana hindi ka lang pala aking nakilala
Kung alam ko lang ako’y masasaktan ng ganito
Sana’y nakinig na lang ako sa nanay ko

no matter how many times you ask why. it's there. no one can stop it. but you. but you just refuse. the darkness is just so fucking addicting.

‘Di mo lang alam
Ako’y iyong nasaktan
Baka sakali lang maisip mo naman
Puro s’ya na lang
Sana’y ako naman
Isang kindat man lang
‘Di mo lang alam
O, ika’y minamasdan
Sana iyo’y mamalayang di mo lang pala alam
Oooooooo

smoke fading. the faintest glow. from your cigarette. it's almost gone. still in shadow. will you please get up? don't choose misery. it will never leave you alone. unless you leave it. lose it. you have to get up now. up and out of the shadow.

Malas mo
Ikaw ang natipuhan ko
Di mo lang alam
Ako’y iyong nasaktan

dont' be a fool. a fool within crazy dancing circles. just going around and around, same shit, in different disguises. if they can not love you back, malas nila. get out of the shadow. you. bounce, leap forward, fly. don't ever look back.

light. dazzling. forever. this bittersweet song. totaly faded out.

sana.

carousel (i miss you) by paramita

this song just keeps playing over and over in my head ...

Carousel (I Miss You)

hey, i thought of you today
i thought that i should tell you
how much i miss you
remember what you used to say
"friends forever, i hope that we'll remain this way.. oh.."

all this time, i've been thinkin' bout the way we used to play\the promises we made..
you're everywhere i go i can't escape you,
when i close my eyes i see you
even in my sleep i think of you.. oh..
i miss you..

can we put the blame on the changing times?
where have all the years gone by?
so fast, so young,
so sure that this will never end
i'll always stand by you, my friend
but forever was just too long..

reality bites

Troy: There's no point to any of this. It's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle... and I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.
***
my version
There may be or may not be a point to any of this. Maybe it's indeed all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy or a series of near escapes ... or maybe good or bad things happen because they have to, to get us to where we want to go, by choice of course ... but chance and luck and fate and destiny and soul mates, those are nice concepts to believe also. even if realistically speaking, they may be just concepts. that fuckin' cliche, it's not the destination, but the journey itself, the getting there and all things encountered therein that's most important -- maybe quite shitty to admit that it 's true, but it is essentially true most of the time. So I also take pleasure in the details. You know ... a bowl of fruit loops with fresh milk, those are good, lying on the beach looking up at the starlit sky, the moment when you first realize the first intimations of love -- stolen glances and secret smiles, good friends, cold booze, cigs and great music after a hard day's work, quiet nights, cool and serene with just the soft lapping of the ocean waves and the warm glow of a candle lit room lulling you to sleep, the full moon, the bright yellow of the sun, a bird taking refuge on your windowsill during a lazy rainy sunday afternoon, a surprise phone call from your bestfriend, the pain and excitement of not being sure about something, taking a risk, taking that great leap into the unknown, the smell and sound and words and visions of FREEDOM, immersing yourself in a really good book, rocking till your ears bleed, bob marley assuring you that everything is indeed going to be alright, laughing so hard and so loud people stop and stare at you and think you're one crazy loose woman ... and I sit back and I smoke whatever there is to smoke (except menthol please) ... and I dance to my own groove.

i had a dream ...

yes, i had a dream. i was sitting all alone, enjoying the beach, basking in the warmth of the morning sun. i was reading a book, and i would look out into the blue of the sea and drown my eyes in its coolness. there's a father and child who was near me. it was a very nice day.
the kid comes up to me. i look up at him, he was such a beautiful child. big eyes, skin so pink and flushed, you just wanna kiss him and hug him. he just kept looking at me, and i suddenly felt love and longing, wishing this kid was mine. he said something in spanish. i don't really speak the language, but i can understand a bit of it. but what he said was something that i refused to believe he really said to me. so i just kept thinking, he's really saying some other thing. i just smile at him. and he says the same thing, but this time like he's affirming it to himself. His father comes up to us. the father says "did you understand what he just told you?" i look up. such resemblance, like the kid that was in front of me suddenly summoned his future self.
"i sort of understand ... but it's not very clear" i replied to the man. he asked me what it was that i sort of understand. i laughed. "it's silly ... i don't think it was what he really said." the man just kept smiling at me. so i told him. "your child seems to think i'm the angel who sang to him in his dream." the man beamed at me. "yes, that was what he said." and he just kept smiling at me. "oh that's very nice ... " was all i could say. i just kept thinking ... somebody's pulling a prank on me. the child was now touching my hand, and he was reaching up to my hair. he said something again, but i was just so embarassed to be in that situation that this time, i really did not understand him at all. the father puts his arm around his child, and sits next to me. the child just kept playing with my hair and kept saying "mi angel".
"you know ..." the man started talking to me again, but i sensed some sort of hesitation in his voice...

then i woke up. hope this dream continues tonight in my sleep ...

sentimental musings

we just had a party ... and everyone was drunk, and merry ... and getting more drunk as the hours passed. it also was a well documented event ... there were a lot of photos that should not have been taken in the first place :-) too bad some pics got deleted, and those pics were taken when we were all not sooo drunk yet. i had a blast, and looking at the photos, i think we all did. we were celebrating a lot of things ... birthdays that we were not able to celebrate, halloween ... and most importantly, another year has passed and big wave is still going strong. now i'm starting to feel a little sentimental here. so many things has happened, so many heartbreaks, but as ritchie said the heartbreaks turned out to be blessings in disguise. i'm so happy with the current team that we have. everyone's just so good at their assigned tasks, and unlike before, i really feel like we are working as a team. but i'm scared also, because as another cliche goes, most good things never last. but hey, why do i even have to think about things like that. me and ritchie will always get by, no matter what :-) and i'm really just so thankful now, so thankful ... thank you big wave, for giving my life an extra ooomph :-)

30 and fab...or so i wish

well yeah, here i am 30 years old. at the back of my mind, that cynical devil side of me keeps on hissing "look at you, 30, and look at you ... what and who are you?" not that i pay attention to her all the time ... though i gotta admit she's one pesky and insistent little brat. i mean, who am i kidding right? i'm 30 years old and none of the things i planned for myself when i was, say 16, ever really happened. not that i'm blaming myself or anyone for that matter... well okay i blame myself, but just a little. ever since i was young, big dreams formed just a teensy weensy part of me. the rest was rested firmly on the real world, and i was just one happy camper, carefree, one of the so-called happy-go-lucky kids who takes bad luck in stride and everything else like a walk in the park. then when i grew older, specifically during my college days, i grew more cynical and jaded and full of existential angst i thought the world owed me something. but still, even at those times i've always thought it will all pass, that when i get older, i'll be calmer and all my angst will be washed away by the kindness of time and the natural river of life -- all stones eventually get eroded away into nonexistence. but here i am 30, and i still snack on angst and bitter melancholic songs on moonless nights when there is nothing to chew on but my fingertips. don't get me wrong though. i'm generally "happy" ... great boyfriend, our own business at this age ... parents who love me more now, well because they don't see me everyday. (now i know, cliche as it seems, absence does make the heart grow fonder.) a sister who'd do anything for me (another case of absence makes ... you know the rest)... sometimes i guess i wonder, as we all do i bet, how time flew so fast?

in the middle

i miss my bestfriend. her name is toni. she lives now at the great u.s of a, and is in fact already an american citizen. too much distance and culture divides us now, or so it seems. she called me a while ago. and it felt like she was just there at their old house in kamuning, and we were just two giggly girls talking about the boys that flutter in and out of our lives. it brought back feelings of excitement, of great expectations and even greater disappointments, of all the firsts in our lives that make up most of our inner psyche now, that inner psyche that essentially makes up the basis of all our judgement calls. what i miss most about our younger years would be that warm, tingly, nervous-wrecking, exciting feeling of anticipation that something or someone is out there, something like a great bar with great music and great people and you can just drink your night away and have fun and be fun and just be your crazy silly self. someone like that not-so-cute guy sitting on the bar, but full of attitude and bad boy looks and okay enough smile, and you're seriously hoping he would be great to talk to, and it would be an even bigger bonus if he'd be a good kisser later on. we were always anticipating for something to happen, for someone to happen, and something always does. we always had a good time, for me at least for even if "someone" did not happen, i always always had fun with my friends, good or bad times, it didn't matter. sigh sigh sigh. those days are gone now of course. each of us burdened with so-called grown up responsibilities. we are always in the middle of something, not like before when it felt like we were always on the verge of something. words like carefree and mirth and fun were like coins jingling in our pocket, ready to be doled out every time we needed to buy candy. but those were the days, and these are the days. it's not so bad to be in the middle. you can always go back or go forward. or stay, and anticipate the next step that you'll take. these are the days, these are the days. and that's all there is to it.