Just forget it, that’s what N last said, outside the temple, turning around after standard farewell. The way he said it was as if he could feel my pain which made moist my eye sockets. What is to forget? The particular incident or the anger that had been building in me and hasn’t gone away? I don’t want to over analyze it. All I know is that I have wronged and being wronged, all my fault. I prayed for peace within, more to myself I think, at the same time mourning for the lost, dear love and friendship, in my lasting memories and aching heart. And that should be the closure for my rough year. Sometimes closure is necessary. - From Chiang Mai.
i felt like an old woman
December 17, 2011tonight i felt like an old woman
peeking from the car window
the lamps and posters fleeting
by and by
as if my gone ages
trembling in the cold
my womb
surfaced something I had refused to see
a heart colder than stone
i arrived in a swirl of the wind
November 23, 2011I arrived in a wild swirl of the wind that obliterated half of the leaves from the trees and blew them in all directions. It was colder than before. I stood by the terminal for close to an hour, waiting for the bus, and found myself shivering after a short while. The city felt different, in a way I actually adored. It was this kind of reveling that sustained me through the day, and the night, and rolled over its equal pungency to a blend of sorrow and hope, for which I had been weeping inside.
to and fro
November 6, 2011Walking to and fro the swimming pool, I felt as if I were back on the trail and along the shore of Hawaii. Leaving behind gifts of kind intentions, expensive sweaters with crystals and glistening earrings, I rest assured what really define me are the backpack and sneakers. Then I began to wonder who would apprehend this course of liberation, and how many people were able to make a change in themselves.
When I was in this bakery after swim, a little girl grabbed a round cake with chocolate fillings, and her grandmother, I supposed, who appeared to be near sighted asked me to read the price for her. It made me happy to do a small favor. The cashier girl’s face was deformed, a birth defect perhaps, but she seemed warm and hard working.
The water temperature was lower than that of the outdoor, I had to keep swimming. I could almost complete a lap, yes almost. The guy who asked everyone if they felt cold was funny. He only did two laps and always smiled above the water. Maybe he smiles under too.
I only have bad news now, my own, and my friend’s chemo. And every morning I woke up in a sheer stun, pondering two ways of existence and from which to choose, and questioning what I knew about true love and myself. Lately I have enjoyed watching a series of Christian drama about love. At first I didn’t know it was religious, but I was still moved by their unending spiritual pursuit. Faith isn’t only for those with religions.
Yesterday I saw the beach for the first time ever since I left Hawaii. It was a mostly cloudy day and the water wasn’t as blue; I still found it absolutely breathtaking and attentive to heart. I am here now, caught up in the cross current, but I shall find my way to the other end of the ocean, where my new dream would commence.
a season behind
September 30, 2011Three seasons have been altered before I could have a full savory of any, the unstoppable force of which makes the throbbing of a heart evidently pungent. The updated wardrobe becomes less spacious or colorful, as if the fall heavily favors black, dark blue and grey. When the cool wind lurks into blocks and mingles with breath one can’t help being mesmerized, by the progression of the nature, and the beautiful sensation it carries. The skyline became visible again, even when wreathed by thin clouds, so that buildings and mountains many miles out could be viewed nakedly and grandly in layered altitudes. Fall evokes nostalgia, that’s what’s been said, but all others stubbornly apply to me too because my friends and I live in separate seasons. Then in parks, more often, seeing children frolic and throw tantrum, I realized how adorable they were and I had lost one. So I danced, and danced, to forget and to heal.
You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. – Mae West
weekdays are over
August 6, 2011If I don’t even enjoy salsa classes there must be something wrong; silence loomed when I was asked what it was. Right then there was a muffled, lingering voice in my head: why is my life so hard? or rather, why do I always choose harder ways to live? Adapted from one culture to another, region after region, then retrograded into long abandoned customs, cues and minds, which turned out to be most harsh. It’s almost painful to be brought back. I have difficulty developing a liking for this city. To quote someone who made a short stop here and committed to the same pro bono work as I do: it’s rough, not only the loudness but the overall impoliteness. Noise, noise, noise, heard or unheard, seems overbearing, and is sometimes coupled with objectionable body odor. Even when I burrow into my apartment it won’t stop. It punctuates what I wish to be quality sleep. I even experienced a lower degree of anxiety. That was my week. Luckily, in the end two tiramisus and a black coffee, my pre-dance dinner, as balanced as they were, rendered some soothing mood so I was able to refresh.
the plight of the road
July 19, 2011I jogged before the torrential storm this morning, what a fluke. But afterwards while on the crosswalk a car approached in full speed and shoved me out of the way. I got to have a glimpse of the driver, an entitled-looking man. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence here; it no longer frustrated me that easily, just saddens. Cars, viewed by many as a symbol of status and prowess, somehow believe they have the right of the way. As the dense populations and lenient traffic law enforcement have already conjured a chaotic morning rush picture, prevailing lax driving habits embedded more unpredictable dangers. Being alert of frantic vehicles all the time is an add-on stress, and tolerance of misuse of power. Pedestrians have to bear with relentless honking that collides through dust. Walking in the street often feels uncomfortable. One time I saw a large truck driving on the left side of the road, another time a scooter was tailed off the lane, the rider’s protesting gesture flung. If one can’t walk with dignity would he own it in other aspects of life? If one’s ignorant behind the wheel would he respect others when he is not manipulating the car? What is the downright disgrace and predicament shaped by? I’m baffled.
monday morning
July 11, 2011Monday morning. On my way to work. In a cab. Brought a bag of sponge cake to feed my intermittent hunger. Oh stomach is aching. Everyone poured out onto the roads and rushing. Driver is peeking through the rearview mirror to see why anyone would type on the back seat of a moving vehicle. An overcast day smelling of some chemical, good thing the trees are dense. Willows sway to seductive poses…On a freeway, disoriented but it’s good feeling and I know I will be let off at my office building. Another week of work ahead but I wish I were home resting. I miss holding Sporty, how soft he is. I need to whine.
i’m still here for you
July 9, 2011It’s Sade time again, meditation time, a time for me to recall the spirit of that island in the Pacific. Or is it summoning? No place feels so dear, no place understands me so well. Our separation has made my mind travel back from time to time, weeping in the sweetest tears. How many Saturday mornings like today I sat in my calming beachside apartment listening to Sade’s after an early morning dip, then meeting Linda at the farmer’s market? How many times in the same songs my lover and I raised our wine glasses?
They all say let go of the past but I can’t. It was austere but I lived more genuinely than what I’m living now. It was where I was recreated, became my better self, and loved most boldly. It is now what I turn to when I’m bearing physical pain, when I get a little annoyed and ungrateful, and when I want to be embraced in the most sacred place.
no longer close
June 26, 2011Yes I snapped. My festered anger upgraded itself into waves of gut-bursting yelling. I needed it and I didn’t want to stop. I believed I had a world of rights to raise my voice and make the dishes clank. It felt awesome, lion roaring kind of pride, but I had no idea how much rage had been accumulating until it was pushed to this point. F words repeatedly zoomed out. The vibrancy of my lips couldn’t quite keep up with the churning breath in my chest. Poor thing. Only my stuff animal knew what’s got into me. I was ditched! By someone I was close to! That’s when I realized I had been taken for granted for long, but it’s alright, I learnt my lesson, not to mention how easy, almost too easy, to be selfish. I could have a swell time just by myself, proof being all those quality alone time spent on Manhattan or Oahu Island. No need to prove it even. I had not finished reading “Lord of the Flies”, bought Banana Boat sun screen that I had an eye on for a while, taken my new netbook to Tour Les Jours , or been able to rollerblade to the market across the street. Why didn’t I go do that? I am no stand-by woman who revolves around others’ life. I am not!!! Perhaps I didn’t strongly project myself that way, or my thoughtful gestures were misinterpreted as obedience. The hell with it. Well, it’s not too late, not when you were no longer chosen to be made happy. It’s unfortunate, but “Splash” kind of sweet tale doesn’t normally happen, at least not to me, not now.
Now that I am venting my fury, I could list a few other nuisances: all that haggling with the Silk Street venders who reeked of money, frantic vehicles forcing their way into the bike lane, apprentices from all hair salons exhibiting aerobics in the store front, and second-hand smoke circulating the city. They prompted me to relate my source of anger to them too. Who knows? But I am still upset and well aware that there is a volcano inside me which is actively waiting on more destructive, surprised moments to come.
