SIGAW

Of things you want,
and could never be yours.
Of pains that has taught you,
lingering back,
teaching you again.


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sucks.
editing posts yet to be posted.
who cares, nobody reads this anyway.
vulnerable.

BUS STOP

IN BUS STOPS, i meet strangers, strangers i share idle moments with until i arrive at my chosen destination. these are idle moments, minutes amidst the sceneries of moving buildings and static mindless thoughts. these are just bus stops, a place i share with nameless beings and beings whose names i choose not to know. and then i met you, another stranger in another bus stop. another stranger, whom i have to share idle moments with. another stranger, amidst the sceneries of moving buildings and static mindless thoughts. another stranger, a nameless being and a being whose name i choose to know…

…AND then i knew your name, like a refreshing whisper . i wander for that silent whisper of your voice, though i know those whispers knew no silence. for you talk a lot, and i let you speak. for when you speak, you reveal more of yourself, a refreshing noise against the chaotic silence of my wandering and waiting. and when you speak, i get to know more of you, no longer as a stranger, but a refreshing answer to my silent whispers of prayers and hope…

…COULD you be that, the answers to my whispers, that sweet melody of refrain i love to hear or are you just another stranger in those bus stops, who will leave me after sharing idle moments with? you can be either, or both perhaps. that i don’t know, that you could not answer. for now, what i share with you is this nameless emotion and an emotion you will choose not to know the name. FOR now, let us share this bus stop, amidst the sceneries of moving buildings and static mindless thoughts, against the chaotic noises of screaming strangers and static bus stops. and i hope, my sweet melody of refrain, your chosen destination, will be into these arms of a a once nameless stranger you choose to share the journey with…


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As said in PAALALA, this is one post in Kamunduhang Inigo, my friendster blog. Written out of a blue last February 7th (a week before Valentines Day), Bus Stop talks about this nameless stranger whom I have met recently and have indeed changed my route. And looking back at it, Bus Stop is dedicated to your special someone who was this complete stranger before he or she have entered the bus (your life) in that particular bus stop (moment) you mutually met. How timely, I thought. Still, Happy Valentines Day.

And to you, "nameless being whose name i choose to know", Happy Valentines Day.

PAALALA

Ang mga kathang may label na NAKARAAN ay hinugot mula sa Kamunduhang Inigo, ang aking blog sa Friendster. Ang mga komposisyong ito ay isinulat isa hanggang dalawang taon na ang nakalilipas, noong ako ay isa pa lamang mag-aaral sa Unibersidad ng Silliman. Sana’y maibigan ninyo (kung may nagbabasa man ng Ang Dakilang Inigo) ang mga kathang ito.

PARA KAY ANA

A part from this place where we, our souls, have met, there are
N ew horizons where you alone should traverse, should fly above.
A nd you, our fair and fragile butterfly, will have to leave us all now behind, leaving


M emories, enchanting though few, caressing us as we will remember you,
A na, those selfless laughter, those brave, truthful tears. Grateful be
R ecalled those little months that have wandered, searched, the time
I , we, have known how precious a treasure you have become.
A nd treasures, no matter how valuable, how cherished, are meant to be shared.


B ut goodbyes speak only of new beginnings, of life refreshed, breathed
A new. For the many faces you will encounter, of voices
Y ou will have to listen, discern on His love for your strength
A nd lean on these arms for your yearning. For Monday will
N arrate of next chapters, of an uncertain journey. But always Ana, always,
I n this crossroad, in this old horizon, we are thankful our paths have crossed.


No one will take that away Ana.

No one.

Move forward dear one, move forward…

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ANA MARIA BAYANI is a friend, a former colleague in the audit firm I am working for. And this poem becomes my personal message regarding her resignation in the firm.

This poem was written during the Friday of her last work week in the company. Thankfully enough, no client schedules were given during that day - allowing me the whole eight hours to squeeze into those “emo” juices, mixing anecdotes with words, juggling shared experiences with sentences.
Viola! Para Kay Ana becomes a collective reaction of Ana’s resignation. Attached with the poem is the photo below prepared by another colleague, Kym Bryan Bela. This photo shows the new batch of associates (author included) hired in our cluster.

JHE NEW HIRES (Left to Right, starting from above). Christopher Alzul, Maria Theresa “Apple” Estandian, Jacqueline Forones, Juan Paulo Cuevas, Mary Rose Ganibo, Kenneth Crisostomo, Mark Joseph Pizana, Ana Maria Bayani, Nino Jose “Inigo” Gonzales, Ricky Rosario, Suzanne Garciano, Roselle Honofre, and Kym Bryan Bela.

POST-SCRIPT: An update, Ana now works for a private firm located adjacent to our audit firm. We miss her just the same.

THE MORNING AFTER

THE MORNING AFTER

SLEEP
You are there asleep.
Tucked in sheets,
Waves of endless
Pursuit made last night.

SHOWER
You bathe and
Water flows, washing away
Scents of your
Midnight blossom.

SUNNY-SIDE UP

You eat and
Caress the cup’s edge,
Delighting thoughts
Of the dark’s buffet.

SHIRT
You stand still
And I clothe you,
Hiding remnants of
Ways I traveled with.

SHUTTLE
You bid a kiss,
A long travel still.
“At set,” you said,
“We’ll meet again”.

SCRUB
You have left me
To clean these stains,
Some marks of sin
Breathed over lunch.

SECRET
You work and
Your love waits.
Not me; but the other –
I am, thus, a sin.


SIGH
You are then

Remembered,
The skin lingering
With the afternoon rain.

SOUP
You will share with me
Broth for dinner,
Its simmer
Waiting for reply.

SUBWAY
You meet the train
At half past ten,
Two roads still –
Of one to hear you knock.

SHIVER
You are the
Question of this lie,
The ambiguity of
Your return.

SWEAT
You have arrived,
Drizzled in midnight
Shadows, secrets
Not known in light.

SUPPER
You mingle the soup,
Words become your fondle.
“The best”, you said.
“I know.”


SHHH
You flush our sins
With just one kiss,
Promises to drown
By this goodbye.

SHEETS
You drape the path
As we unzip,
Of nights of pleasure,
Of days to guilt.

SKIN
You travel north,
The south I traverse.
In deep, my love,
Shall be the end.

SLEEP
You are there asleep.
Tucked in sheets,
Waves of last pursuit…


… We made tonight.

How does it really feel to be the third party? Of someone you want to possess, but is owned by someone else? How does it feel when every touch is guided by facts of guilt, forbidden and risqué? How well can you keep a secret? How can you end it?

THE MORNING AFTER deals and seeks to answers these questions. It is a story of an illicit affair and the narrator details the routine of being “the other one” and the realizations that goes with it.

I intentionally made the narrator genderless as the main actors in this affair could be as diverse as the many promises they do – from a husband cheating with his wife’s best friend, to a cougar supporting her handsome scholar, even as strange as “kumpares” or “kumares” hiding their secret relationship.

If you are diligent enough, you may notice that THE MORNING AFTER is divided into seventeen sections, equally composed of seventeen syllables each. And again, if you are industrious enough, every progressing section contains hints of time periods which denotes the exact moment the narrator is or was – from the breakfast in “you eat and caress the cup’s edge” in Sunny Side- Up, the lunch in “some marks of sin breathed over lunch” in Scrub, and the evening in “you have arrived, drizzled in midnight shadows” in Sweat.

And now you may ask, is the narrator the author too? Did the sentences come from real true-to-life conversations and even, hmmm, “escapades”? Have I ever entered into a forbidden relationship before?

Fortunately (or unfortunately), I have not entered into an illicit relationship before, or would never plan to be in one either.

THE MORNING AFTER was initially set to be only SLEEP. The first seventeen syllables “You are there tucked asleep, waves of endless pursuit made last night” was the first few words I syllabicated upon waking up at my clustermates’ apartment.

I then thought about Haiku,a form of Japanese poetry. From the little I know of this poetry (or even poetry as a whole), I started to engage in more lines as more time was crunched between audit schedules and finishing this new composition. I was pretty proud of how the work is going. And then…

Wikipedia narrated the technicalities of haiku.

Amongst others, Haiku needs (stress needs) 17 moras in three metrical phrases of 5,7, and 5, respectively. This rule needs to be maintained, each line capable of being independent by its own.

This frustrated me a bit – a lot, to be honest. The draft written was based solely on the seventeen-syllable rule. Following the rule meant revising 80% of the almost 30% completed work – adding more frustrations that comes with counting mouthed words with my fingers and looking like a desperate associate reconciling unreasonable account differences. And so I chose to bend the rules, make it a quarter-haiku instead. This compromises everything, I thought.

Finally, after two and a half-weeks of continuous revisions and frustrations, the narrator has arrived THE MORNING AFTER.

My gratitude to my clustermates Mark Joseph Pizana, Roselle Onofre, and Kenneth Crisostomo for “forcing” me to spend the night at their apartment (which will be my official residence by the 15th). Without their coercion, the narrator would have continued their forbidden affair.

Click on the hyperlink below to learn more about haiku.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haiku

PHOTO CREDITS: http://www.roseimpexltd.com/images/bedsheets/messed-up-bed-sheets.jpg

TEN YEARS

There are
Endings.
But once,
There was
A beautiful beginning.
We age
And we let our promises
End –
Wither.
We gasp at where we are
At our lives now,
Where our feet now stand.
We once said,
“There’s no turning back,”
And
We let each other go.
And we let these miles,
This distance
Dictate the journey,
This path where I now stand –
Away
From You.



Blame it on Jimmy Bondoc’s “Let Me Be The One” why these lines were written.
I delved on the plot of two former flames and ten years after their fires have been lit out.
This is dedicated to all our parent’s past lovers and to our parents as well, for they have been, in a point in time, a part of somebody’s tragic love story.

BUWAN

Hindi ko winawangis ang sarili sa mga ibon o di kaya’y sa mga isda sa kanilang paglalakbay. Sapagkat narito lang ako, sa isang sulok - nag-iisa. Nagmamasid. Minamasdan ka. Tinatanaw ka habang ika’y walang pagod na umiikot sa aking mundo.

Ikaw ang mundo; ako ang buwan – ang buwan na sa gabi mo lang natatanaw. At kahit sa dilim ma’y hindi mo ako mapapansin. Dahil ano ba naman ang isang buwan sa mga bituin – mga talang kinakausap mo sabay sa pag-ihip ng hangin. Ang mga kumukutitap na mga anghel na sinasambit ang iyong mga panalangin, ang mga bituing nakakarinig sa iyong mga pakiusap.

At kahit minsan nawawala ang buwan, ang mga tala’y patuloy pa rin sa kanilang liwanag – at hindi mo mapapansin ang aking paglisan. At kahit paunti-unting siyang bumabalik, ang mga tala’y patuloy pa rin sa kanilang liwanag – at hindi mo kailanman mababatid ang aking pagmamahal…



- habang naghihintay sa harap ng elevator ng ika-24 na palapag ng tinitirhang condominium, biglang naisambit ng aking mga labi ang mga salita ng unang bahagi ng maliit na komposisyong ito. Pagkatapos makabili ng Absolute Mineral Water at Paracetamol Biogesic (medyo masakit ang ulo, ingat!) sa magkakalapit na tindahan, dali-dali akong bumalik sa aming unit at tinapos ang buo gamit ang laptop ng aking kamag-aral sa Silliman (iniwan naman kasi ang laptop sa opis). Ito’y produkto ng “kati ng manunulat (writer’s itch, tama naman di ba?)”