a little love poem

Someone who hates scrabble.

Someone who sleeps on her back near an open window in winter, her breath rolling like a river into night.

Someone who wants me to wake her in the morning by reading ee cummings' love poems, giving a small candle-flicker of a smile just before opening her eyes.

Someone who appreciates the architecture of churches, but refuses to step inside.

Someone who has hands fit to hold hurt sparrows and robins.

Someone who threw out an her Alice Cooper records when she found out he loves to golf.

Someone who would swerve a new car into the ditch to avoid a frog crossing the road.

Someone who would tattoo my name on her arm in writing the same colour as her skin, so it would appear slowly from nowhere when she suntanned, people thinking her blood was telling secrets to the world of its own accord.

Someone who learned Spanish to read Marquez, or Lorca, or Neruda.

Someone whose hips whisper their own stories of the serpent and the garden of Eden.

Someone who bites the back of my neck like a leopardess carrying her kitten to safety.

Someone who'll make me wait for her to come out of the shower.

Someone whose smallest movements amaze me: her hair falling over her eyes, the soft swell of her hips when she ties down, a deep sigh when she sleeps.

Someone who maps every ticklish part of my body and then uses her knowledge strictly for evil.

Someone who paints our bodies black and makes love with me under the stars.

Someone who burns through my chest like that first shot of scotch.

Someone whose tongue, if we're kept apart too long, would nervously trace my face into the roof of her mouth.

Someone who practises her signature with her wrong hand, in case of accidents or a sudden arrest.

Someone whose fingrnails smell faintly of her hair.

Someone who reminds me of the soft tickle of fog.

Someone who would rush outside in the middle of the night, setting a spider onto the lawn, never admitting it's because she hates rain.

Someone who understands the unforgivable importance of ravens.

Someone wholl flicker into my lips with the ferocity of a dragonfly.

Someone who will open, thick, pungent and vital, like a Mapplethorpe flower.

Someone who has searched for me like a near-sighted woman groping for her glasses, stubbing her toes and swearing in Yiddish.

Someone who would understand why Steve and Dave and Paul and I sat in a bar staring at the mirror behind us for twenty minutes because somebody had asked what would happen if you looked at yourself in a mirror using a pair of binoculars until we had to admit the question was too big for us, and we turned back to the safe optics of the beer bottle.

Someone who would just happen to cut my wrist shortly after reading Ondaatje's "The Time Around Scars. "

Someone who'll stare softly but straight at me, smiling reassuringly when I tell her how my 73 year old Medieval lit prof looked up from Chaucer, stared blankly over the class's heads and said that even the happiest marriage will end in death.

Someone who understands the efficiency inherent in suicide.

Someone who knows that love can be the thickest slice of hell we’ll ever taste.

Someone who would dance with me by the sides of highways.

~andy weaver

hoping to find love like this soon...

my legend...

if only all people would think like paulo coelho, then this world would be a better place...

"what is a personal calling? it is God's blessing, it is the path that God chose for you here on earth. whenever we do something that fills us with enthusiasm, we are following our legend. however, we don't all have the courage to confront our own dream.

"why?

"there are four obstacles. first: we are told from childhood onward that everything we want to do is impossible. we grow up with this idea, and as years accumulate, so too do the layers of prejudice, fear and guilt. there comes a time when our personal calling is so deeply buried in our soul as to be invisible. but it is still there.

"if we have the courage to disinter dream, we are then faced by the second obstacle: love. we know what we want to do, but are afraid of hurting those around us by abandoning everything in order to pursue the dream. we do not realize that love is just a further impetus, not something that will prevent us from going forward. we do not realize that those who genuinely wish us well want us to be happy and are prepared to accompany us on our journey.

"once we have accepted that love is a stimulus, we come up against the third obstacle: fear of the defeats we will meet on the path. we who fight for our dream suffer far more when it doesn't work out, because we cannot fall back on the old excuse" "oh well, i didn't really want it anyway." we do want it and know that we have staked everything on it and that the path of the personal calling is no easier than any other path, except that our whole heart is in their journey. then, we warriors of light must be prepared to have patience in difficult times and to know that the universe in conspiring in our favor, even though we may not understand how.

"i ask myself: are defeats necessary?

"well, necessary or not, they happen. when we first begin fighting for our dream, we have no experience and make many mistakes. the secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.

"so, why is it so important to live our personal calling if we are only going to suffer more than other people?

"because, once we have overcome the defeats - and we always do - we are filled by a greater sense of euphoria and confidence. in the silence of our hearts, we know we are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. each day, each hour, is part of the good fight. we start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. intense, unexpected suffering passes more quickly than suffering that is apparently bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at our soul, until one day, we are no longer able to free ourselves from the bitterness and it stays with us for the rest of our lives.

"having disinterred our dream, having used the power of love to nurture it and spent many years living with the scars, we suddenly notice that what we always wanted is there, waiting for us, perhaps the very next day. then comes the fourth obstacle: the fear of realizing the dream for which we fought all our lives.

"oscar wilde said: "each man kills the thing he loves." and it's true. the mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. we look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. we forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far. i have known people who, when their personal calling was within their grasp, went on to commit a series of stupid mistakes and never reached their goal - when it was only a step away.

"this is the most dangerous of the obstacles because it has a kind of saintly aura about it: renouncing joy and conquest. but if you believe yourself worthy of the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the soul of the world, and you understand why you are here."

~paulo coelho
rio de janeiro
nov2002
translated by margaret jull costa
quoted from "the alchemist"

memo to myself

this is my head talking to my heart...

you really have to stop looking. eventually you'll read something that would tear you apart and you won't have anybody to blame but yourself just because you couldn't help it. make it stop.

serves me right for waiting... again

break my heart again for old times sake?




C'mon, c'mon
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
You lay down with angels
To feel yourself again
You've got everything you need
Under your thick skin
I know where you're going
I know where you've been
When it comes to playin' games
You will always win o

[CHORUS:]
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake

You can't see your shadow
Reaching for the sky
Lay your head down on my bed
Please don't ask me why
Why am I leaving
Why don't I know
Something deep inside me
Is forcing me to go
You say you need me
But you can't tell me no
When I ask you to stop me baby
You just let me go

C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake

You took the best of me
And threw it away
Too bad the rest of me
Still wants you to stay
Want you to stay
You say you need me
But you can't tell me no
When I ask you to stop me baby
You just let me go
You just let me go

C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake


***
the agony of waiting is all i have to know you are still here

lutong macau

***i figured i resume my writing to forget everything else. i hope this works***

"with cebu pacific air zero fares, it's time everyone flies"
(again, i should be getting paid for saying that)

05.17.08 all ron wanted was to eat portuguese egg tarts. plus he was in a big fight with raphael so he had to do something distracting. as for me, it was time i see those aadshfahsfd pandas aside from the frustration i felt last 2003 when i went to hong-kong and had to stay inside the house for two months because of that dang crazy chicken disease and SARS. alas! when we checked cebu pacific, zero fares were on and we just had to book a trip. i tagged my sister and her boylet along so it was less cool... but that's a different story... (they were actually cool, i just felt like saying the former, tsk!)

08.17.08 and so we baptized the newly opened ninoy aquino international airport terminal 3. god knows i should have kissed the floors of that bodega. first time to travel abroad out of whim. this should be great...


day 1: arriving at macau at night was a blast. we rounded the casinos, lost my sister and her boylet because apparently their walking fits that of a couple enjoying the cobblestone roads in paris and ron and i are strutting bitches in new york, and finally felt the pang of hunger. we thought we'd enjoy a nice portuguese dinner but everything was closed so we had to settle for junk...



we went back to our temporary abode and decided the day is not yet over at 2am. ron and i had to go out and get ourselves lost.



by 3am, we were so tired but we just had to take a few souvenir snapshots of whatever olympic air we can sniff from macau.



*meme na*

day 2: we woke up early just because we can. i realized the more you sleep while on vacation, the more you waste time (i know, it's common sense *boohoo*) so we headed out to ruínas de são paulo to catch the morning sun.


and ron finally realized his dreams of eating those portuguese egg tarts. i personally found pork buns to be pagkaing tamad. kumbaga, you are so lazy to cook rice so you just buy pan de sal and stuff the dang meat in. all in all, it was a great gastronomic experience.



next stop was shopping at leal de senado...


...and we saw this nice looking alley somewhere there. its too much of an insult to ignore
avenida de almeida ribeiro


meliza and ryan (i just realized i haven't mentioned their names yet, sorry naman) decided to leave for hongkong earlier so ron and i were left out to explore the famous venetian hotel which is reportedly the largest single structure hotel building in asia and the third largest building in the world.

*ripped from this site

it was amusing to see people wasting their money in casinos, but the most fun part was seeing the gondolas. it almost felt like i was in italy.



having exhausted ourselves, we decided to go back to leal de senado and have a decent chinese meal.



ahhh... my heart can't possibly be lost because everywhere i turn, i see the two-tailed siren telling me there's already too much blood in my caffeine circulation. thus we wasted the night over coffee and cigarettes.


after coffee, we roamed the streets to cap our last night in macau.



*meme na uli*

day 3: i'd say macau is a good place if you have money to burn. it's a small place. so small that we saw the guy we were sitting next to on the plane in one of the 711's near the place we stayed. i mean, what are the freaking odds?

now we're off to see the PANDAS!!!
afldkhoadutajgkmgdjadgj;ajg'p;agpafgkmndfkajgpajgpnafdg

an attempt to forget

i hope this keeps me busy in the meantime...


*sheesh*

if you ever wonder what it is i hear at night before i go to sleep...

... or the sound i hear the first thing i open my eyes in the morning...


THE SOUND OF ONE HEART BREAKING
By Karen Kunawicz

What is the sound of one heart breaking? It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night, the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin, it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring, the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat.

It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you, the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye," it's the soundtrack of memories torturing you, it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time, it's the sound of cherub's dying breath, the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink, it's the unrelenting, plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.

It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop, the sound of all the doors in the world shutting and closing in your face at the same time, of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you, the sound of your voice as it screams back at you, the echo of "I love you" burning holes in you, the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.

The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor, the caress of sharpened kitchen knives on skin, the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear. It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there, of winged creatures dying and falling on a city pavement, of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness, it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company, it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.

Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as a feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery. No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.


***
i thought this death will be over quickly. but i am, after all this time, still here... at the end of all things.