Blurring the Distance.

I And She.

2009-10-15T20:47:00.002+08:00

Some nights...

I only feel the woven mat between the mattress and the marble.

[While She holds her pillow with that nightly-dreamy look on her face.]

Some afternoons...

I only feel the empty heat of the summer.

[While She tilts her head back, her eyes contrasting with her parted lips.]

Some mornings...

I only feel the world's possibilities outside the still-dim walls.

[While She dances with the excitement of her dress' hem.]

Some days...

We find ourselves feeling the earth's daily turning... both thinking, yes, We are each other's gravity.

October 8, 2009.

2009-10-08T10:16:00.003+08:00

Flat surfaces fool you
No marks
Cool and uncomplicated-looking things
Not one visible crack
Not a single, faint tremor

Ancient earthquakes

There are no fingerprints here
No traces of clenched fists
Yelled-out voices
Never transcribed
Pristine vastness of white that fool you

Yes... memories are sly creatures.

Waiting With A "117" Taped To My Chest..

2009-10-01T23:09:00.002+08:00

Jenny, your recent post made me realize that I haven't visited my blog in a long time... I haven't written anything in a long time...

____
Too long... but time is relative here.

Sensation of tremors in my arms
My hands feel like two phantoms
My elbows absent
My shoulders floating somewhere else

And I only feel my back pressed against the wall

Locks of hair- like twisted shoelaces
Form patterns on my scalp
The companions of idle fingertips
Weaving idleness into forms of creations

Six years of silence in a six-minute full circle.

Yes.

2009-09-28T17:07:00.000+08:00

Yes, Shirley. Yes. I'm in an infinitely better place now. So much of that is because you are in my life. Thank you everything we share: the joys, the sorrows, the many crazy messes we get into.

I remember your old blog. The one that got you (and me) writing again after so long. Going through your old posts now. The entry from August 6, 2008 struck a chord in me. Admittedly, at the time, the kind of "togetherness" you spoke about completely mystified me. Of course, my paradigms have shifted since then, and I can honestly say that I understand completely.

Thought about you a lot when I was stuck on the damn bus. And I did some more writing. With no intention whatsoever to publish this anywhere, I feel no compunction about posting this. My words are out there anyway. I know you know what I mean. Somewhere the poems float on: perhaps kept and treasured, or maybe lost and forgotten. Wherever they are, a part of me resides in the heart of the world now, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

***

The wind moves inside me
the way mountains will move
or sigh or breathe
and tumble like the coarse
gray pebbles of dawn. Sleep
is fading. When was
it ever solid?

Gravity
passes over me. The sky tautens, lifts
its grey grasp from the city.

Somewhere high above is a song,
and a river, and a book about
the continents. I am the shifting, and you--
my sweet-- the tremors of night.
The rifling of blank pages.

Look up: there is a riverboat of cloud
and the keening of the wind,
as it moves inside me. The tired stretch
of road moves inside me
with a shimmering. Was it diminishing?
Still, there is a quickening of wings.
You are the quickening. There
is a tree, and the shadow of a tree
looming. The forms that we assume
are pulsing through the firmament, as
the world turns. As the world turns.

[Sptember 28, 2009]

The Love Sick puppy- yup, that's me...

2009-09-25T09:49:00.003+08:00

hey guys, I wrote this a few days ago, its still a work in progress... Love you!!!

Let us lie down,
My love,
My funny boy.

You can stare at the ceiling and think of nothing,
You can lay there with your hands behind your head
and I will rest mine on your chest
and ride the waves of the rhythm of your breath.

We can stay still and keep silent,
we can create our tiny universe
population two,
spin it out of the wisps of nothing,
turning each second into precious stones.
that I will use to encrust my soul.

In your eyes,
I see volumes, numerous chapters,
You are the pages I long to read for days on end,
I will go on an adventure from your fingertips
I will gallop with the firing of your thoughts
and dance along to the music of you.

I wait,
only for you,
perhaps you will find me to be your perfect card,
perhaps not.

Meanwhile I savor you,
how you sprinkle around me like
powdered sugar,
encompassing all the tiny spaces,
and how your smile
clings to the light and dark
that battles in my heart...

Uncanny Inspiration...

2009-09-15T11:04:00.002+08:00

it has been over two years since I had to come home from my pursuit of education in the United States,
I remember that at the time, I was so sad and I felt so extremely lost because the path that I thought I was going on suddenly gave me an unexpected twist.
For months I was depressed and like I said, lost. It is always hard when you feel that you have been derailed. Somewhere deep, deep, deep deep in my heart, I knew that there would be a day that I would look back and be grateful that things turned out the way they did.
Today is that day...
I am not at the highest point right now, I feel stressed overwhelmed and fearful. I feel lonely, unworthy and broken, but the difference is that beneath this turbulence of emotions, I feel strong and stable. Its a strange yet wonderful experience to feel like a tree in the midst of a storm being beaten from every side, and yet rooted to faith and hope and love. This is a whole new experience for me because I have always been someone who is easily rattled with every fiber of my being.
I opened my Fresno pacific e-mail account today and I haven't done so in months, I decided to read some of the old e-mails, before I left I wrote this:

Dearest Friends and Valued Teachers,

For the past two and a half years God has been so good to me. I had wanted to
study here in the United States for a long time, and let me tell you, it has
surpassed all of my wildest dreams. I have experienced some of the most
amazing things and met some of the most wonderful people you could ever meet.
I thank God so much for allowing me this great opportunity.

For two years I had to wait patiently (and a lot of times impatiently) on the
Lord and for two more, He has given me the desires of my heart.

>From the very moment I arrived here, things have been so frightfully uphill.
A constant struggle with regards to financial issues has been the test of my
walk of faith with God and to be honest, I have not always been faithful and
trusting. Yet, here I am, alive, surviving and joyful despite my troubles.
Though I have been hard headed, like a loving parent the Lord has patiently
loved me, hitting me on the head when I needed it and gently taking my hand in
my moments of overwhelming fear and doubt.

Of course, God's plans are not our plans; his will is not our will. And it
seems as though my time here is coming to a close. I will miss everyone and
everything about FPU (even the bad things).

A few months ago at work, we had morning devotionals. It was about David and
his desire to re-conquer Jerusalem. The Jebusites mocked him and scoffed at
him and yet, we all know that David succeeded in taking back God's chosen
land. Today's key word was nevertheless. Nevertheless, David was able to
reclaim his kingdom.

My life has been filled with nevertheless'. My father died, nevertheless, God
saw me through. It seemed impossible, nevertheless, The Lord made a way for me
to come and study here at FPU. My mother was put in jail; nevertheless she was
set free with much enlightenment from the Lord.

So, today, I pray for my nevertheless. I am aware that it may not be what I
want it to be, but I rest in the fact that it is what God wills for me. And
though I do not fully understand it, I know that all these things are in God's
perfect plan. I let go of all my worry and lay it at God's feet, it is the
scariest and most liberating feeling in the world. I am ready to face what
comes my way. With God in front, beside and behind me, what do I have to fear?
I've nothing to lose.

I wanted to share this with you and send it with a prayer that you too will
realize all the nevertheless' God has put in your life and that he will give
you many more.

You have touched my heart and my life in more ways than you could possibly
imagine.

God bless.

Abby

- The responses to this e-mail were wonderful, I never really noticed before, maybe because at the time, I was too wrapped up in my pain and confusion. I would love to share them with you sometime.
for the past few days, I forgot who I was, and in this most uncanny way, I've been reminded. I am Abby, strong, beautiful, a treasure, and extremely blessed.
I want you to know, Shoilee, Jenny, Ate Sandy, Kuya Gambit and Zoilo, that you have magnified the wonderful things in me tenfold,
thank you...
I'm still not at a hundred percent, but I have a feeling I won't be needing those two weeks after all...

2009-09-14T09:39:00.001+08:00

It is I, Granny Shoil.

I am trying to work but my usual kung-fu powers are catapulting down from their usual high point. Right.

Sigh.

I feel, well, human- far from invincible.

It's Been a While

2009-08-26T14:56:00.002+08:00

And yes, I'm not complaining. That part of me that panics whenever I feel like I'm not writing enough is silent for the moment. It was wonderful seeing you Shoil. Even if it was only a few days, it kinda felt like weeks. I know you know what I mean.

There are so many things that make me happy today:

~ Collaborating with you, Shoil. We don't do enough of it, but that will come in time. I hope you know how very proud of you I am. As an aside: you have this very intense look on your face when you shoot. Did you know that? I love watching you work. I am honored to witness your creative blossoming. :)

~ The work is good. I am busy, and it's good. I am finally realizing that I kick ass at what I do! :D

~ The gigs are such a blessing. I had all but given up on forming a band that isn't comprised of psycho stalkers and uncommitted musicians. Thank you,but I will not play babysitter or guidance counselor to a bunch of neurotics anymore, no matter how talented they are. This new and improved "Strange Fire" just makes me smile every time I think about it. And, I'm finally having fun again when we play at sets! Friends do make much better band-mates.

~ My art is flourishing. Am I allowed to say that I'm actually proud of myself? *blush*:D

~ I'm being kinder to myself. I know Abby was about to wring my neck at one point because I was so hard on myself all the time. No reason for that anymore.

~ I know, Shoil, that you like to say that I'm giggly a lot of the time these days. I like to think of it as me inviting happiness in. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. So to the reason behind my perma-smile: Thank you! It's been a while since I allowed myself to feel this way. :)

I can't wait to see you again Swarlz. Remember, we have an exhibit to plan for November. Let's get cracking! :D

2009-08-12T23:29:00.002+08:00

[Haven't visited in a long time.]

Yesterday I found myself mumbling out loud while browsing for the perfect pack of muscovado sugar, yeah, big deal.

I looked like a loon with my cartful of groceries, mumbling about inconsequential things.

I guess I've been spending too much Alone Time.

Gratitude

2009-07-01T14:37:00.003+08:00

Last night I started feeling tired. Yes. I get tired too. It's something that I need to keep reminding myself of because often, I forget that I have to rest too. In a way, it was good for me to just drift off on the couch last night as you were all talking.

That is something I am going to miss when you go back down on Thursday: just listening to your voice. You could be talking to anyone else in the house, I could be focused on my writing, the music could be playing at full blast upstairs and I would still be acutely aware of you. There is something comforting about your presence. I know it will feel like the house is a little emptier when you leave, however, I am grateful for the time remaining. I am grateful for how much I learn when I'm with you. I am grateful for the love. Thank you.

Cafe By The Ruins [Doodles].

2009-06-30T03:48:00.002+08:00

We have been quiet for how many days now. Then again, we have been together. Woo!

I decided to post the table napkin ngarfs I wrote during the book sale. Tsaka na natin i-edit.:D

I.
Crushed pulps water drops on metal sink while friends bend back their heads, necks stretched out in rowdy chorus. I stand here, a window looking at me as if perched on a mountain; while untasted sour and bitter mingling together dry on my fingers. Is that a dried-out pulp under my fingernails? The table's about to give in under the weight of monster tomatoes reduced to such tiny, tame-looking things. Forming a mountain. A version of a tabletop forest, juices draining at the bottom of a plastic bag. Getting colder from the tiles.

I purse my lips when I am in deep concentration. I think if I were a psychiatric case, I would permanently look like a pinched prune. Every morning thudding on the floor or being thrown with looking-back gazes from white walls.

We paint ourselves over and over with oils, water and colors we sometimes know not how to mix, even sometimes name. Yes, musing while my fingers air themselves dry from the stretched, overstretched sour source.

The necks cease their snappings and, quiet. I plant another seed in that forest.

II.
Smoke, thick as that lump lodged in your throat, keeps us from saying things. Replacing words with puffs and moving fingers and distant gazes. I have lost you a long time ago- to the woman with an uncapped toothbrush silently waiting for its mistress moaning under you.

I know things and smoke masks those fixed images and they drift away with it. (Coldness on my exposed arms.) You, my lost, pathetic love- moving your eyes from side to side, woman to woman.

We do not talk. We never talked. Only conversations around a table as wide as a continent situated on a carpet of pins and needles. We smile.

Perhaps tomorrow, I will find my bathroom cabinet empty of boxed, manufactured smiles. But I have other things to replace those.

I light another cigarette. The silence continues.

III.
This fragile thing holds wars. Takes beatings from clubs wielded wildly they blur enemies and friends alike.

Wars can be washed out by water. By a clenched fist denaturing the potency of well-planned moves.

Tap. Tap.

The storm wanes. Its waters washing away the silent battlecries.

Tap. Tap.

----

Ayan lang. I'm happy to be here with you, wahoo!

2009-06-24T22:10:00.003+08:00

Just three more nights of sleep and I'll finally see you, the new place and all our wonderful friends. Oh, I hope to make new ones, or at least one, from your other guests.

So, two eighteen-year-olds, eh?

Don't you sometimes wish we can actually go back?

I was walking on my way to the studio, with the storm starting to live up to its name, and I thought about my childhood. I loved storms (though I hated the thunder and lightning) and I used to sneak out of the house to swim in the puddles (when there were no thunder and lightning of course) formed by the torrents of rain.

Looking back, that was quite disgusting and unthsanithary but hey, fond memories still.

I have always loved the rain and I think I always will. I miss the jumping into puddles after and the best part was those paper boats we used to make as children.

I still sometimes wonder how it would have been like if we met as kids. Dami natin sigurong trobol, ano?:) I had a lot of playmates as a child and had the whole barrio for a playground; but, I never really had anyone to actually talk to.

I miss you, Jennybug.

2009-06-23T20:26:00.002+08:00

Jenny,

I just saw the video of "Neda" on Youtube and I am a little shaken right now.

I don't know what to say,
Shoil.

2009-06-22T20:18:00.004+08:00

Those were the days
Those Sundays when my nose pressed against your cheek
And in hushed tones we spoke to each other
Delaying hunger with cups of coffee and morning shows

It's funny, but I guess I was already outside then
A mere ghost of a woman trying to view the inside of your room
Trying to find your familiar smell amidst my absent shelf of books
(While another woman's undergarments were stashed in your drawers)

----

Jenny,

It's funny, huh? How some memories choose to lock themselves up in the strangest places, the strangest things?

And how turning the key to those chests no longer hurts you the way it used to.:)

Shoil.

The Dreams.

2009-06-21T18:52:00.007+08:00

[Nagmamadali na naman ako. Type lang ng type, write? I mean, right?]

I.
There I was in this rough and gray room that looked like the mausoleum of Juliet's family. It was as if it was in an open field though I somehow knew I was underground. There were three men with me. Haha, and they resembled Aragorn's party. You know how strange (and hot) dreams can be.;) There were no hostile forces around. Just the walls and tombs of the now long dead.

We walked around.

Then out came three men with murder in their eyes. One of them tried to attack me and I suddenly saw myself holding onto a sword. I told him, "Do not move." He did not; but, his eyes challenged mine, as if goading me and somehow knowing that I did not wish to hurt anyone. He advanced towards me. Slowly closing the distance, with the same challenging stare.

And at that moment I knew that it was his life or mine. I wielded my sword and with the sweep of an arm I would never have imagined capable of taking another person's life, I killed him.

I woke up.

II.
The street at the right side of our house has always been the site of my nightmares. The end of my childhood did not put a stop to such nightmares.

So it was in this same street where the road bends that this second dream took place.

I was walking down this street when a little girl with fresh, open cuts on her face blocked my way. She had this evil look on her face. Where innocence should be, I only saw hatred and malice. She was making these sounds that had no audible words; but, they were the kind that made my skin crawl- like, as if someone was out to get you. She was holding this knife and with every sound she made, she cut her face. Slashed with no particular direction only with her face being the definite target. She had hateful eyes and an evil grin, as if trying to tell me, "This is how you cut yourself, you spineless coward."

She tried to give me the knife. Her eyes saying, "Go on, try it." I backed away. She matched my steps.

In the dream, I felt like I was going to go mad. She was cruel in her pursuit of making me do the same thing she had done to her young face. The sounds coming from her started getting louder and louder. I grabbed the knife from her. Triumph lit up her eyes. A split second it lasted before I slit her throat and the blood spurted out from the wound.

I woke up.

III.
I was walking down this alley. It was narrow and the ground was muddy, potholed. At the end of it, I saw a road being paved. Three boys stood near one of the road signs.

I was with a little girl, I think, and she could not or rather refused to walk. I carried her. And those three boys stared at us and every once in a while would whisper among themselves.

We reached the road and I set her down. We started walking. The three boys stopped whispering and started following us. We kept walking. They kept following.

I saw this bridge ahead of us and I told the little girl to start running at the count of three. 1, 2, 3... We ran as if the very devil was behind us- only it was three boys now with openly-evil looks and loud, sinister voices. They threw rocks at us while running behind us.

I kept running. I looked behind me and the little girl was not there anymore, but they were. Again and again they threw rocks at me. I kept running until I realized that I was nearing our house. I realized that by the time I got home, they would not have any more rocks left to hurl whilst I would have all the rocks I could throw (our family business, remember?).

I reached our house and I stood on top of my father's pile of stones... and I stoned each and every one of them to death.

I woke up.

----

I can't remember the possible why's of those dreams. Dreams can show so much yet hide so much.

[A volcano erupting would have been preferable for I read somewhere that it is a definite omen of... diarrhea!]

Hmm... that's it, pansit.:)

Tuna Is Feeling Cold In The Fridge.

2009-06-20T17:07:00.002+08:00

However, it will be feeling extra warm by nine.;)

I don't really know what to say but I did commit to posting daily. So here's me babbling, yet again.:)

I was cleaning my place and as I was putting some things away, I thought of "glory days." How a piece of what was once fine clothing can make you remember the days when buying such a thing was so easy. The way an old rich man's house is slowly getting dilapidated. Certain areas in the house have square marks where old cabinets or pianos used to stand. How they might say, "How they danced in the ballroom, how bright the lights were and how powdered and perfumed the ladies."

And as I was cleaning, the line from that song from F.Z.'s Romeo and Juliet kept ringing in my ear, "Comes a time when one sweet smile has its season for a while. And Love's in love with me."

Sigh. Don't know why...

This Afternoon, I Gave Birth.

2009-06-19T20:53:00.002+08:00

Jenny,

Got my new baby... I don't know what to call her yet but she came from a place of reds and blues. She was 70-300mm. Sniff.:D

I feel happy and a tad out of sorts from the excitement. It's been a while since I had a day that decided to dress itself up just for me. Well, at least that's how I see it anyway.

The place where she came from was a fiesta of fruits, people yelling out their wares and the LRT screeching on the rails.

I simply just can't wait to start new adventures with her. I'm out of words right now.

How can one contain giddiness and happiness?:)

S.

Hiro Was A "Still-Life" Filmmaker."

2009-06-18T22:29:00.004+08:00

So out of his home he goes and through the camera he sees:

[Piano music playing in the background.]

A woman sweeping in the yard with the dry leaves flying in the air.

Leaves falling down from a tree. A child, falling halfway to the ground, with his face all crunched up like a discarded candy wrapper. His friends frozen in their childhood laughter.

A man's contorted face, in the heat of passion, with his lover digging her fingernails on the side of his arms- under the light of a soft, yellow lightbulb.

Under the soft glow of a bathroom light, a woman is bent over her pile of laundry with nothing but a shirt on. Crimson and metallic fluid flows from her. From that part of her that never knew a man's fingers, a man's lips and perhaps never will.

And the fingers of this man hold on to this piece of metal and lenses, keeping all these images. Unseen by everyone but him.

He blinks and the world once again moves.

----

[I'm out playing with the boys kaya di ko na ito naayos. Wah. I have three other posts dapat but they're asking for me. Wah.

To be continued, aye?:)]

Opposite Routes.

2009-06-17T19:46:00.007+08:00

It’s funny how we never ran into each other when I was still up there. We probably would have, literally, had I taken the path opposite your usual route. I used to take long walks, too, sometimes ending them in Geo Café-if I had money. Most Sundays though, I would just take a flask of coffee and sit somewhere and try to write… I still fear writing but you are helping me overcome that.

There are a lot of words wanting to come out of me right now but I am pressed for time and I wasted so much of that already just thinking which ones I would write down first… I ended up not writing down a single thing.

So here’s me just writing.

Your recent entry made me remember high school. Those days, I hardly had enough money to buy anything. Skipping lunch and having to walk home from school were normal markers of my days back then.

One of my deepest, darkest secrets (at least I think so, because I hate lying) was not paying the fare this one time (soundtrack ko pa si Strauss, I felt like a thief)… I remember the way my heart thumped that day and I could only imagine how the lines on my face froze and twitched at the same time and how wide my eyes were in fear that the driver would get out of his jeep and drag me to school and report me. I remember the fear and shame of that day.

I remember boiling macaroni and putting powdered cheese over it just so I could have something to eat during our lunch breaks. I remember the tough times (now that I think about them) we (my sister and I) went through as students: doing every chore by hand and moving limbs in the apartment, budgeting the money our parents sent us to make sure that we had food for a month, waking up at dawn to keep filling two buckets of water until the drums and containers in our apartment were all filled up (we lived on the third floor)… now, need you wonder how could someone as “tiny” as me can haul such a huge backpack, shoulder bag and duffel bag all at the same time? I have my father’s back and those experiences to explain why.

----

I wrote this while I was in class this morning. I was thinking about our “possible themes” and I just started writing. I reminded myself of what you told me- five minutes, just write, don’t edit and keep your pen moving. Though I don’t think it has any connection with what I just wrote, I just want to write it down na rin… scatterbrained me.

It starts with a door.

A door thick from the hungry bark of a tree. It leads into a house of yellow walls and used-to-be high windows that used to meet with plank-like ceilings. This door came home late to decide to call this yellow house, "It's my home now and everything will have to secure the permission of my hinges for entry."

This door is heavy. Not yet heavy with its newfound home's own ancient memories; but, if you put your ear against its folded surface, you will hear the sky that used to hover over it when it was a mere seedling struggling for birth from the brown, moist earth of its old home. Perhaps a bird nested on its branches or perhaps a child hid under the security of its wide and numerous leaves one late evening when he and his friends were playing hide and go seek.

Will it tell you the number of trysts and waitings it witnessed?

I touch this old, dead witness and I wish I can catch some of those faded smells and sounds.

No longer will it tell of new forest tales.

Only of one village home and the people it houses within it yellow halls and walls.

Yes, it starts with a door.

----
Help me edit this when we see each other?:)

After All.

2009-06-16T21:25:00.003+08:00

You could say I've been feeling a bit nostalgic lately. Well, more than usual anyway. I started remembering those years I used to gig on a regular basis. Of course it was all a little bit lonely for me back then, playing on my own. I was in between bands at the time and I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do next. So I did a lot of walking. I didn't have a lot of money then and I budgeted what little cash I had on hand so that I could buy a few used books every month, have an extra set of guitar strings handy, and have enough left over to buy a few beers now and then. I loved walking.

Some days when I didn't have any gigs to go to, I would walk from our old house at City Camp and make my way down Abanao, then up Session Road and on to General Luna Ext. to this coffee shop that I liked to hang out at. The owners were friends of mine and they usually let me just sit with my one cup of coffee for a couple of hours. I would write. I probably filled a dozen blue Corona spiral bound notebooks that summer. I still have them. They're in the bottom drawer of the desk in my bedroom.

That summer, I met a lot of people. I was hungry for stories and for conversation. I wanted to learn everything I could, to see as much as I could. I sang wherever I could. I played my guitar. I wrote just about anywhere. Yes, I sang at that coffee shop too, on occasion. There was a peace corps volunteer who heard me play there a couple of times. She liked the way I played so much that one of the afternoons that we were there together, she handed me a cassette tape. We talked about music for a bit and I thanked her for the tape. I played it as soon as I got home and it totally blew me away. And that's how I was introduced to the music of Dar Williams. I've been a fan ever since. I don't remember the name of the girl who gave me the tape, but I'll always be grateful she gave me such a gift.

Remember that evening we were all alone in the old apartment? I took out the tape -- the very same tape I'd been given -- and I played it for you. Your face lit up a way I'd never seen it light up before. There I was, just happy that I was able to share with you something that gives me so much joy. I never told you, but those songs helped me through a lot of trying times.

This is one of my favorites:

After All

Go ahead, push your luck
Find out how much love the world can hold
Once upon a time I had control
And reigned my soul in tight
Well the whole truth
It's like the story of a wave unfurled
But I held the evil of the world
So I stopped the tide
Froze it up from inside
And it felt like a winter machine
That you go through and then
You catch your breath and winter starts again
And everyone else is spring bound

And when I chose to live
There was no joy
It's just a line I crossed
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost
So I was not lost or found

And if I was to sleep
I knew my family had more truth to tell
And so I traveled down a whispering well
To know myself through them

Growing up, my mom had a room full of books
and hid away in there
Her father raging down a spiral stair
'Til he found someone
Most days his son
And sometimes I think
My father, too, was a refugee
I know they tried to keep their pain from me
They could not see what it was for

But now I'm sleeping fine
Sometimes the truth is like a second chance
I am the daughter of a great romance
And they are the children of the war

Well the sun rose
With so many colors, it nearly broke my heart
It worked me over like a work of art
And I was a part of all that

So go ahead, push your luck
Say what it is you gotta say to me
We will push on into that mystery
And it'll push right back
And there are worse things than that
Cause for every price
And every penance that I could think of
It's better to have fallen in love
Than never to have fallen at all

'Cause when you live in a world
Well it gets into who you thought you'd be
And now I laugh at how the world changed me
I think life chose me after all

Outside These Yellow Walls.

2009-06-16T19:15:00.002+08:00

It's raining again. I woke up this morning and it felt like I was in Baguio. It felt like a new day.

This blog is comforting. It does make me feel like the distance between us is being blurred somehow. Every sweep of my pen seems to draw that couch, those cups of coffee, your endless shelves of books, those paintings of your old place where we spent so many days and nights just talking- sometimes wanting to cry.

Haha, this day is practically perfect. Practically... you see, there is this blasted, cheap remix of "U-G-L-Y you ain't got no alibi, you ugly! You ugly!" being played by my neighbor... hold on one sec and let me fetch my lightning hammer...

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Okay, moving on...

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You have told me about that dream but only up to that part where the light grew and pulsed... I don't remember the last time I had strange dreams... oh wait, I do... but I'll write about that tonight. I remember taking down notes after waking up, trying to get a hold of the slowly dissipating mist that held those dreams together. Finding ways to somehow make them be remembered and analyzed. They were very disturbing...

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Did I ever tell you about my sister's "anything room?" I've always thought that it is such a delicious idea.

When you said, "write, shoot, sing, paint. Whatever you want," I remembered it. I think this online space that we have is like that room.

[Maraming make-up kit ni Leeloo rito + multipass.]

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Ang gulo ko. Haha.

Sleepless.

2009-06-16T02:13:00.005+08:00

Dear Shoil,

Thank you for starting this blog with me. I'm constantly wondering how you are, what you're doing, if you're getting enough sleep, if you're happy. And I also miss our talks, the messes we get into, the craziness. All of it. This is another way for me to "see" what your life is like right now, through your eyes. This is another way for me to hold on to some semblance of normalcy. This is you, and me. This is us: being honest. Thank you for allowing me that much.

Love,

Jenny

***

I wrote a lot today. More than I thought I was going to. But that's not really the point. The point is this: I am writing again. I am writing like it's going to save my life, and it probably will/it probably already has.

The house lies silent now. I have to stop myself for the moment because I need sleep too. Sometimes I forget. Even though I haven't been drinking any coffee lately, I still forget. Or maybe I just have so much energy in me that I can't bring myself to shut my eyes. Whatever the reason, it's been going on for far too long. The last time I was this sleepless was way back in high school. I remember how I used to get up in the middle of the night to get water. Often I would just hold the cool glass up to my cheek and walk around the house until my heartbeat would slow to a normal pace again. Yes, I've been having strange dreams again. Sometimes it bothers me. Sometimes it doesn't. Right now I'm choosing not to let it bother me.

Did I ever tell you about that recurring dream I had when I was around 9 or 10 years old? The first part of the dream would find me in a white room without any corners. I would be in the center, staring into this white light that just grew and grew, and pulsed. It would then overtake the entire room until everything was just light. The second part of the dream would find me in a desert, the earth parched and cracked. The hills off in the distance were edged in blue. I would find myself beside a dead tree. My hand would reach out to touch it, but before my fingers could even brush the bark, I'd see another face peering at me from behind the trunk. I would always look, it would always be my face. The dream always ended with a flood. The water was red, like blood. I had that dream until I was 12. I never knew what it meant, but I would always wake in a cold sweat. The dreams I've been having lately aren't like that. They're just very strange. A bit disturbing maybe, but nothing more.

I hope I get some real rest tonight. I know I need it. Putting away my pen and paper now. Wishing you dreams of the non-bizarre kind.

For Now, No Edits.

2009-06-15T23:48:00.000+08:00

[For now, I will take pen, ink and keyboards to open doors.]

I cleaned an apartment that missed me for three weeks.I came home last night to find some of my books on the floor. Gawa siguro ng bagyo. Namihasa sa pagkawala ko.

Maalikabok ang bahay. Makati sa balat. Makati sa ilong. Hinihintay ang walis at basahan.

Masaya ako. Amoy floorwax at sabon na uli ang bahay. Maaliwalas na uli. Mas madali na uling mag-isip.

Alam mong malaki ang takot ko sa pagsusulat... pero hamon ko ito sa sarili ko. To hell with it.

I'll try my best to write honestly without judging myself because that's a miserable state to be in. Doubting yourself makes it harder to take other people's criticisms.

You said you do not believe that "We're not all born writers." I will have to agree because nobody can claim that he has no stories to tell.

So here's to all those stories, kathang-isip man o hindi, na naghihintay lang na maisalin sa titik, musika o ano pa man.

Salamat Jennyboo, ay, Jennybug pala.:)

[Sorry sa Taglish everness na 'yan. Sabi mo walang edit edit. So there. Hugs!]