I wish I can wake up to the sound of your breath coming out from my own nostrils—partially guttural and mainly my life basis. As if it is taking full control of my entirety. Have I must forgotten to breathe a thousand times. But holding breath won’t kill me. Heaving through suffocated lungs does. In case I forgot to breathe for the numerous record, I want you to know that I have always envied your clear breathing, no-lapse heart beat. I wish I can play magnets with my own hands, and attract them by my growing insecurities. I wish I can touch the rays of the sun and offer my smoldered hands inside the anatomy of my cold heart. No one will ever make me warm again. My make-up would wear off 5 hours after it has been daubed. I am a beast, and will always be. I wish I can dance the loneliness away gracefully, like how the sea douses the sand with saline—free-falling on any coarse or grained sand. Swiftly. But don’t get me wrong, I would choose sadness instead of joy. Never be mistaken by any of these because you will only feel pensive sadness once you let someone reverse the fact you are enjoying the little things life could ever offer. You can’t abandon yourself, your soul can’t intrude other bodies, you can’t consider yourself dead by not having the desire to live another day, you just can’t. Other people do your slaughter, not you.
Dream-catchers aren’t as real as you think they are. They worship the shallow hopes of every human being but it doesn’t exceed from there. Then hope comes to it climactic episode—where it becomes officially false. If they were only words, they’d be sugar-coated. They’d be the bad kind of fiction. Make-believing but not long-lasting.
Here I am,
Waiting outside your door.
I have done this before
but I am sure this time
you’ll let me in.
Here I am,
Calculating how many knocks
I have done in fear
that I might annoy you again.
Here I am,
Wishing that thrice is enough.
I have also counted the seconds:
601.. 602.. 603..
Here I am,
Standing face to face
with your apartment door.
I never knew it was mahogany.
Perhaps I never knew anything about you.
I know that this is condescending: the fact that I often laugh at my friends’ misadventures in love. I often think that the confusion and pain they are going through is ridiculous and that there are other more important matters to be worried about like your grades and your career. I often think that loving someone is such a waste of time.
In truth, I wasn’t like this before.
I used to be a lovesick creature. I would fall in love with someone who treated me nicely and then all the over-analyzing will follow. I would fall in love with someone whom I think looks cute, or whom I can see as an achiever. I would fall in love with someone whom I have exchanged few conversations with. And boy, do I fall in love so quickly that Cupid’s supplies of arrows must probably have become sold out.
Now I find it funny. All those nights when my pillows turned into piles of salt-water absorbents. All those nights when I had turned into such a lunatic that I could barely spend the night without texting or placing a missed-call for the unfortunate object of my affections. All those nights when I used to think that I could get a guy to like me back because what the heck: I am cute too, ain’t I?
Every time I think of all the tears I’ve wasted and all the silly declarations of love I’ve invented; every time a friend of mine talks to me about her/his heartbreak, I just ponder and ponder on this silly phenomena that connects us all—heartaches. Heartaches are bridges that connect the brokenhearted with fellow love devotees. We are devotees because we invest so much of our affections and our life towards one single human being who perhaps cannot reciprocate what we feel.
A friend of mine told me that he enjoys unrequited love because as he tries to win the heart of the girl he loves, he is working hard and somehow, in the end his hard work will be paid off. He also told me that he thinks he has no chance but chances are created, not waited upon.
I guess I could only applaud at his determination. Honestly, no matter how hard I try to be hostile to love, it always wins. The people who are proof that loving is difficult but still carry on, they have changed me.
I think about the unusual bud of hope that is springing forth in my heart right now. Yes, I do think that falling in love is such a waste of time, but I am beginning to yearn for the tenderness and the delight that comes from loving someone, be it one-sided or not. I think it’s because of this silly feeling I’ve been having these past few months. I’ve been in denial because I don’t want to repeat all my stupid mistakes. Now, I have come to fully accept this fondness, this attachment of my heart to a wonderful person worthy of all the love in the world. I do not know what to do with this, really. It’s like I know that I may inevitably get my heart broken but who cares? Shunning love away is the biggest mistake I have probably made, even if you put together all the foolishness I have done for love.
After all, ”It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
Command my brain
To synthesize my dreams
Until I fall asleep
I am never away from the
is it not the winds of fate
blowing into the windows of our souls
when we wake each day
seeking the essence of this
and finding half a heart
staring right at us all along—
is it not destiny
brushing against our lips
when even the oceans have gone dry
is it not, is it not our fate
to find another soul
from across this chaos of a world
to pay our debts of joy
to free us from enslavement
from this borrowed life
Ikaw ay nangako na ika’y babalik
Inasahan kita, ako ay nanabik
Ako’y naghintay, naghintay at naghintay
Bawat segundo at minuto inalay
Sa dami kong sulat na ipinadala
Para bang wala ka, ako’y nagalala
Nakalimutan mo na ba ako, mahal?
O may iba ka na diyan na minamahal?
Nakarating na, iyong sulat sa wakas
Sabi mo’y ika’y babalik, ako’y lumakas
Aking puso ay tumibok ng mabilis
Ako ay biglang sumigaw ng matinis
Sa wakas ika’y bumalik saking piling
Nakamit ko na rin ang lagi kong hiling
Pero bakit hindi buo ang ‘yong pangako?
Di mo natupad, tila ba ay napako
Pangakong ako’y sasamahan sa buhay
Para aking buhay lalo pang kumulay
Bakit di mo tinupad, iyong sinabi?
Pagmamahal sa’yo, dito nakatabi
Iyong katawan balot ng puting tela
Luha ko’y tumulo, sila’y pila-pila
Ako’y ‘yong nilisan ng walang paalam
Puso ko’y tumigil, agad namaalam
Ba’t hindi mo ko sinabihan
Na ikaw ay agad lilisan
Ikaw naman ang maghintay diyan
Hanggang sa muli, aking kaibigan
The air is toxic without your breath into mine, making our bodies lit a thousand fireworks in the night sky. I was wild, frantic for air, but a kiss tamed my deserted lips and you are an oasis that gave me life the second time around.
Words thrown, pasts unearthed
Filthy thoughts from fabricated words
How can a dead person leave such ordeal
That paints a picture of suspicion and jealousy
He hasn’t spoken to her since. She made him coffee, he only watched flies drown in it. She cooked him dinner, he went to sleep. She lied next to him, he keeps to his side of the bed. Despite everything, she doesn’t exist to him anymore.
She came to me threatening to leave — one more and she’ll start packing. It’s breaking my heart to see her this way again and it pains me that I’m too much of a coward to do something about it. She spilled her anger and frustrations. I cannot blame her, she has sacrificed so much and she deserves to be treated better.
How hard it is to swallow pride and apologize for something that is so petty, so simple, something that is intensely stupid of a reason to jeopardize and ruin two decades of togetherness? Why are we always condemning ourselves to lose something before realizing their worth?
And tonight the air remains cold.
She’s riding the sky with emerald in her eyes.
I always imagine her like that,
during cold nights I seek the warmth of polyester blankets
while yearning for a comet, to fall, for whoever knows
On autumn afternoons I watch leaves fall down
like men on serpentine small talks in empty jazz bars.
I wish for a blade to cut loose strings manipulating
pedestrians facing trucks: voices shrieking, bodies smashing
while people watch like football games on summer muds.
There she flies through the skies, I often think
when modal jazz meets absolute arrangement of ambient array of sound.
“I can see the future.” A friend once told me
while we were out smoking grass beneath the grand clockwork of stars.
She whispers to my ear—as if to form some ominous fear, she sounds so clear;
then I look at the stray dog in front of us
and the parked bus; I take a piss.
Slowly the pen kisses the stationary paper
inspired by transit dreams and waking bottles of beer;
drops of sweat painting post-modernist swirls
the moment it drops on the paper and its absorption
signs the last Enigma transmission of the Nazis.
Caffeine-induced sleepless nights followed by meaningless sighs.
The drone of motorcycles.
The swing of pendulums.
Nature’s reply on tide’s call.
Tramadol-fabricated lucid dreams preceding the adventures of Sal Paradise.
I glance at the window and glanced again at the living room;
everything turns into bubbles.
There she floats holding crossbars
and disappearing on the ancient backdoor of the sun.
Help me, Lord, that I may rejoice
even I’m not the fortune’s choice;
that miseries may crush my bended knee,
may I not forget what You’ve implanted within me
Help me, Lord, as I figure out his maze
Your Words may be the light as I seek Your face;
by the weight of the cross, may I still smile
remembering that it would lead to You after a while
Help me, Lord, to end my selfish ways
that there may be no more sinful days
may You grant me a new heart
one that’s shaped from Yours from the start
Help me, Lord, for You’re all I need
may You be part of my every deed;
help me, for I can’t rely on my own,
help me, Lord, for I can’t do this alone