Tarry

They descended slowly, those white mists. The academics claimed that meanings are forged in binaries where one cannot exist without the other; yet that night, there was only silence between us and nothing more.

The absence of the other houses the embodiment of nihility. It fetters and in dry, frightened steps, it paces back and forth. The void tarries in its surroundings and, apart from the clean sheet of white mist, there was nothing it in.

The academics claimed that meanings only thrives in binaries but perhaps they are wrong. You see, it was not that stiff figure of detachment as it recedes and flees; there was more to it than exile.

Meanings, I suppose, reside in multiverse where one reality collides against your endlessness. Because, my love, in this topographical distance between you and I, there exist the hundred attempts I’ve tried to find you and the hundred years I’ve failed.

But, in broken spaces and dimmest worlds, there breathes my defiance to never give up and my unwavering resolve to always, always hope.

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Wonders and short convos

“Do tell. What happened?”
“We talked.”
“You mean you two confined yourselves in the hotel room for 48 hours and just talked?”
“Yea. It was surreal.”
“And you talked about what?”
“A lot.”
“Like?”
“Solipsism. Narratives of suicides. Past life regression. Mercury retrograde. Parallel lives. Politics in art. Emile Durkheim. Effects of various drugs on nervous system. Angel’s trumpets. Waltz of Chihiro. Myers-Briggs. Both of us are INTPs, you know?
“Yea. Nerds. What else?”
“Chances we took. Chances we took for granted. Chances we never took. Second chances. Third. Fourth. Labels. Social stigma. People we have hurt. People we loved too much, in our best capacities as emotionally detached individuals. People we have to forego. Obligations. Uncertainties. Dull inanities in life that made us question if these are all we actually have in this material plane. Secrets we have never told anyone.”
“Mind to spill a wee bit of those secrets?”
“Ah no. Maybe next time. Or ask her directly but gain her trust first. I’ll introduce you.”
“As if. And then? What did you do after the talking?”
“We slept. Ah, no. We went out past midnight and had ramen, all the while conversing about anything and nothing at all. She’s eloquent and well-read. You’ll love her.”
“I’m sure. She’s a bit renowned, yea?”
“She worked hard for it, like really hard. They dismissed her at first, debased her creations even.”
“And then?”
“She persevered.”
“What did you two do after the ramen escapade.”
“We lay on bed and talked some more.”
“About what this time?”
“I can’t remember. While she was saying something, I zoned out and found myself regarding the details of her face with delight. She’s otherworldly. With her, I realized how easy it is to lose yourself without rehearsals and inhibitions.”
“That was… intense.”
“Yea but it is more like.. I think this is what friendship actually is.”
“You mean what?”
“I mean, I think friendship is the most sublime affection of all.”

Those frameless heads

“I’m going to tell you something. I don’t know why I want to tell you this but I want to tell you this. C, that guy who was sitting across us, he was apologizing to me a while ago. Thing is, last Tuesday, he confessed to me. I rejected him.”
 
“People have become obsessed with this relationship ideals. I’m not sure if it is indigenous in the Filipino culture but it seems like nowadays it has become impossible for us, females, to be friends with males without them jumping into us like rabid creatures.”
 
“It was revolting. C said he has this thing with me that has been going on for 6 years. I was like, wtf. I was not even informed. He then asked me if he stands a chance. I said nobody has a chance.”
 
“They treat single-hood as if it is a disease that must be cured. What a weak-minded notion of human existence!”
 
“Yaaaaaa. Abominable! Like, they said I’m lonely because I’m single but actually I am not. Not having anyone is liberating.”
 
“I actually find it fascinating, this seeming obsession people have towards human relationships. If their age ranges somewhere between early to mid 20s, I would understand the behavior following the tenets of Eric Ericson’s psychosocial stages. The behavior falls in Intimacy vs Isolation category.”
 
“On my end, I don’t think I need the presence of anyone to validate my existence. You see, I am not emotional as a person. I cannot handle too much emotion. When C confessed, I was like ‘please don’t say that. It’s dangerous for you.’ Haha! But of course I did not. My mind was like wtf dude how in the name of fresh hell should I react properly.”
 
“Saaame! It happened in Zambales. I was there to gather some court documents and was staying in this house in San Narciso. I was genial to people because basically I have no reason to be hostile. Then there was this nephew whom I befriended. We went on road trips, had dinner outside, visit places. I actually expected we were friends. Next thing, he confessed to me. Que ultimo horror!”
 
“Have you been intimate to someone?”
 
“I don’t think I am capable of that. I have an arid heart.”
 
~Tam-awan Village, Baguio City | May 2018

Ciao! Existence

The year 2017 has been a trying one for me. January, I got off an employment where colleagues are negligent and downright feckless. I went from being underpaid to being a bum, and goddess knows I’ve succeeded.
February, my cat, Fishy, passed away. It was a freak accident. Once, when she was barely 8 weeks old, I was able to snatch her from death. But that February evening I was simply not there. She died alone and in pain. And after all these months I’m still grieving.
March and April, I was plagued with intense sadness and everyday gloom. Or maybe it was melancholia. Leaving the house was difficult. Facing people, especially those I know, more so. I obsessively thought about death.
May to June, I hitched my way round the country. Rode random trucks and ships to distract myself from suicidal tendencies and cross out an entry from my bucket list.
It was during that time when I spent a night in Mindoro and Aklan. I swerved a trip to Boracay. I got stranded in Capiz. Encountered difficulties in Cebu. Killed a long while on the road from Bukidnon to Davao. Saw Mindanao from the mountaintop. Met an old friend from UPLB graduate school. Slept in bus terminals. Slept in an island 3 hours away from Indonesia. Visited the Grand Mosque in Cotabato. Ended up less than 40 kms away from Marawi when the Maute conflict broke. Experienced Martial Law. Volunteered in the refugee camp. Got interrogated a few times.
July, I came back to my loneliness. I hated this country. I hated the people — every single jot of their pretense and hypocrisy. I hated their spotless, untrue lives in the social media. I hated their lack of sincerity. I still do.
I wanted, more than anything, to leave. Over time, this persisted and intensified. It was a mental battle I had to resist and confront and combat and overcome — and I don’t always win.
August, my suicidal tendencies progressed. A gloom that is rooted to a death incident more than a decade ago devoured me alive. It was agonizing. I wanted to leave this world.
September, I ended up in a project in Zambales. It resuscitated me, in its particular way. Those were the days when life randomly surprised me with hope and a guarantee of a bearable tomorrow. I held on to that, best as I can.
One of my bestest friends, Jy, recommended me for the project. It is almost the end of my contract but in doing so, she restructured my life and, in her way, kept me alive.
October, a good friend of mine passed away. It was sudden and his absence left an aching gape in this lifetime. I have not moved on. I have not accepted his death either.
November, I had a skin flare outbreak. My skin cells have abnormally developed this inability to live longer. I shed skin — and I shed relentlessly. This disables me from keeping moisture. I had to guzzle plenty of fluids to keep myself from dehydrating. This also disables me from retaining my body heat. I was always cold. And I was gravely ill.
December, a friend of mine who passed away last October was callously judged in front of me. I was appalled. That day I have learned the kind of person I no longer want in my life. They are the ones who reduce the complexity of your existence to fit the box of their preference. Those who find empowerment in prejudicial remarks. Those whose self-righteousness have blinded them to pure hypocrisy. Those who find it easy to slander an individual and grueling to actually understand.
This was a trying year, 2017. My demons rose and no matter how exhausted I am, I had to will myself and pursue the battle. Some days I failed but what matters, I guess, is persistence. I will always be grateful to those who were patient with me, especially during those times when I simply wanted to kill myself.
Of course, I lost myself in the process, painful and bit by bit. But I have also come to love and nurture what remains of me, and this will not be possible without those few friends and loved ones who patched me up and made the choice to stand with me when I was disintegrating. They rowed the boat to stubbornly beat on against the ruthless current.
We’re rearing the end of 2017 but before we reach its conclusion, allow me to thank those people who held me intact and believed that, in a cruel and unforgiving world, keeping a beating heart is already a victory.
Thank you, guys, for staying in my life and for simply being kind. This piece is for you.

When two universes collapse and explode, they will produce gold

I have not met every single inhabitants of this Earth yet, and perhaps I never will, but you are my favorite person in this world.

You are the still, bright lake on a summer day; you are the dew drops at the tip of each leaf on misty afternoons. You are the luminous smoke from a mug of coffee on cold evenings and you are the rain who dances in barefoot in my sunken places.

You are the tender hand on my hair, the kiss on my left temple, the pauses in my erratic life, the keeper of secret happiness and stolen glances. You are the sun beams of the lost forests and you are the home of this drifting fog.

You put order in my existence and the years of this lifetime will never be sufficient to show my gratitude.

Ich verstehe dass Sie sind nicht immer vollständig. You’ve ventured too long and too far and you’ve lost yourself in the process.

Now it is my turn — and this is for you.

When two universes collapse and explode, they will produce gold. And if you hold your ground against these beatings and disappointments and endless exhaustion, you will be the living prodigy of this transcendental phenomenon.

So courage, dear heart. You have a world to love.

Jasmine

Somehow, things ceased to matter: political affiliations, advocacies, philosophical subscriptions, hazzards, impending earthquake, pol-econ framework of analysis, social media clammor, mainstream vanity, involvement.

Their values unravelled and their corpses filled my life, converting the uninhabited house inside me into a crowded graveyard.

I’ve began avoiding people, especially those I know. Their presence subjugates my existence and wrapped all I could be in a sargasso of anxiety. I’ve ditched all social calls and all the paths I used to take. I worry, everyday, that I might bump into someone I know. I recede in the background and desperately beg invisibility to render me unnoticed.

This way, I feel safe.

But, in the midst of all this, at the heart of my isolation, there’s this deep-seated hope inside me that wants the mad universe to take over and, in the dappling vines of jasmine and wild narcissus, to make me bump into you, specifically and always, and to no one else.

Why poppies are impossible

You were angry at your grandmother for losing her sense of equilibrium. This afternoon, she tried to stand up and she fell, face flat against the cold ground.

You screamed at her, you cursed her — her existence, her physical weakness, her remaining days — and you wished, blatantly, for her to fold her laboured breathing without noise and tuck it neatly in the drawer, never to be used again.

The neighbors hated you because of that. But you ceased caring.

I hated my father with all the passion I can muster. But unlike you, I fear his death. I don’t want to deal with the funeral arrangement and all the necessary, customary matters. I don’t want to attend to everything after everything — abandonment, beatings, screams, deceits, betrayal.

My clan will disown me if they hear me say this. But like you, I have stopped caring. Family is a very messed up institution, you said. And they perfectly know where it hurts.

I think of you often, on times like this. The books we’ve read, the poems we’ve written, the vile, blasphemous things we’ve confessed without rehearsal, the hesitations and half-eaten plates and the raw, unacceptable passages we’ve nailed on our blood-dripping chests.

I think about our burdens. The expectations we find repulsive. Your dying grandmother. My autocratic father. The family we did not chose, the one bereft of warmth. The people we’ve been wanting to flash out, the tyrants we’ve been condemned to live with.

We inhaled the world and built a gallow out of our stifling regrets. We lay on our backs on the soft spirals of aurora borealis. We savoured our distractions and celebrated our impending demise, the graveyard beneath our skins, the barren land inside us, the sunken places where flowers and visitors freeze and crumble into oblivion, the echoes of our footfalls battering the pavement, the stubborn refusal of the night to exhaust its heartbeat and the loathsome desire of the despicable god who ruminates the expansion of his seething underbelly.

We’re the estranged vivisection and you are right. It would take a miracle for someone to love us dearly. (July 6, 2017)