Confessions : Surprise Me

Confessions : Surprise Me

I have to admit, that is there is anything that is worth enduring in this crazy world, it is the possibility of things to happen. Perhaps, this is the reason why those who are in despair that they have not only thought about dying but made plan and detailed preparations for it (guess where im pointing my finger?!) stay on their feet, waiting, wandering, wondering. Perhaps it is my reason too, though I know enough of myself and a little understanding about how the world works to allow a small space in case I might be mistaken. Still, knowing that even the most extensive mapping of possibilities can still fall short where it matters the most, one cannot help, well, I cannot help but stare into the dark sky, coffee on one hand and reds on the other, far-away eyes with a smirk of surprise on my face.

[start of side note] for most of my life I have heard of so called “players”, those who, well, as their labels suggest, play around with lots of things, though I should mention that this label gained notoriety when it comes to playing the field of human emotions and desires. I admit that when I was a kid, I was in awe of these players, and I wanted to be one of them, Good thing is that I realized how shallow that was amidst the thrill involved. And so I decided that I was gonna do things better than players, and so I decided that instead, I would be, for lack of a better term, a Game Master. Unlike players who would play to win, I would create to play, for other people to play, for me myself to play. If winning matters the most with players, for me it was the availability of a game after one has ended. (ok ok, I know I am being conceited here and evil and all that bad stuff, but hey, this is me!) [end of side note]

With things playing out and coming far from my projections and personal rationalization of events, I can say with all honesty that I am a player in someone else’s game. God, in my book, was, is, and will always be the top GM around anyway. Still, im smiling, =) see!

And as much as life is something worth living for because of these surprises, I should mention that I also give credit to the ability of mortals such as you and I to endure every brand of pain, designer or otherwise, and be able to stand up and smile after everything that has happened. Personally, a few years back I was in the most shitty of my self: friends started accusing me of betraying the very things I stood, fought, and bled for (and they were all correct in that), the days that were still to be born were so dark for me and ironically, the only way I figured out to escape it was to go into a darkness unknown by mortal minds, well, at least by the living that is, and that darkness was no other than the eternal darkness of death. I was not suicidal, nor was I crazy for I was sane enough to come up with the best possible painless way to do it. And yeah, it gave me a lesson I would never forget: I always believed, as most people do, that when a person talk about dying, they do not actually mean it, that the very act of talking about doing it was an indication that they really wanted to be alive. Perhaps this holds true to some, but for myself, it was different. I meant it. And I wanted it. But there was a problem, a very big problem:

I endured and survived my own version of hell. Just as how my friends believed I would fare, considering that I have survived other torments that they say they would not have done so quite easily (of course, its possible my friends were just trying to beef me up, but it leaves a strange flat taste on my mouth that most of my friends believe that I could survive any force of humanity-induced torment. Hey, im just human, in case they forgot that. )

I endured. And funny that of all the things that hurt me most (needles knives fist and foot nor creepy insects don’t scare me by the way) I never expected, or perhaps I did and did not want to dwell on it, that it would be simple betrayal and abandonment.

From the perspective of serious personal relationships with the women I adore and love, let me count the times they did that to me (and yeah, when I say “serious”, it means I can still count it without using my toes =)..lets see…ALL OF THEM. You heard me right. (of course, its possible that I am the one to blame for this, that all of them were actually correct and would be even granted special privileges by their god for doing such a despicable thing to me, and if so I then offer a finger for their gods, or of course, I could be wrong, thereby making me right, thereby making them all wrong, but that’s not really the point here….and the point is…)

I endured. And I should, I owe it to myself for doing so. What kind of person would I be to let other people kill me anyway, I would rather do it for my own reasons.

To sum it up, things happen as the planet revolves and the universe goes on expanding (I hope) and things, new things happen. And I would never know the next chapter unless I am there to experience it.

Currently, I am watching DeathNote. Its an anime about this guy who founds a notebook, Death Note, that even contains specific instructions on how to use the notebook (the instruction in English, because according to the Shinigami or Death God, who happens to speak fluent Japanese, he chose that language because it was the most common of all). I highly recommend the series, and yeah, there is a Live Action Movie available, though I am still to watch the 2^nd part. Anyway, there is a teaser line there from one of the characters, about Death Gods eating only apples…

…in my case, I prefer strawberries. Wait. I prefer mei strawberry.

p.s. gotta go sago, a lot of vaginas are currently out there waiting for me. OOOpsss, gotcha! I am, for the record, the organizer for The Vagina Monologues in Iligan this year. 1 + 1 = 2 or 10. =)

Poetry : (Both work and title in progress.. =) ]

of how you
open your eyes
and see faint
glint of silver
in my outlines
of rust, pain
and despair.

your gaze flew
became the wind
sailing across
half a world away
transforms into
invisible fingers
caressing
numb flesh and soul
too long denied,
too long abandoned.

it was there
in your eyes
i saw
myself
smile

and though
one day
your eyes
shall hold me
for the last time

(finish this later...)

Confessions : How To Save A Woman From A Lie…

Confessions : How To Save A Woman From A Lie…

I confess that I am just like any other ordinary guy.

By “ordinary” I mean that like all of my kind, I am a chaotic concoction of sweet and bitter juices, potion and potion poured out as one. Of course, I am not ordinary in other things, I know that much. I am conceited enough to know that much and express it out loud.

The real confession: unlike most of my kind, I am on the top of the food chain, especially when it comes to baring my dark and twisted side. Unlike most of my kind who do the worst thing in the best of light more from chance and luck than plain darkness, I know most of the tricks of the trade when it comes to hurting people. If you don’t believe me, ask my exes, (fling wife lover gf one-nightee etc) of course, I don’t always bare it. But I do bare it at times, mostly when it has to be shown that I am just human, a person of duality. Most of the time I bare it because I could. Just like my ultimate reason for cheating has, and will always be, because I could. And its funny that I am still to meet a fellow of my kind who would utter the same reason.

But then, if there is any saving grace for me, I will say that it is my honesty that I can, and have been, and in the future will be, at times, brutal. So brutal than in someway, the woman on the opposite end would really wish that she had never met me at all, amidst all the ecstasy that I have given her. Yup, I have proof of that. Ask her.

But this is not really about my dark side.

Or perhaps it is, considering that who I am, what I am feeling, how I have been treated will always be linked somehow to the person that I am.

Perhaps it is my fault, for when I was a child, I then knew at a very young age that I would always be alone. For a time, I despised my fellow mortals for being blind to the reality of this truth, until the day I realized why they preferred sweet blindness: who wants sight and vision when the very gift of knowing would also open your eyes to the horrors and painful simplicities of life that would come and come through your door?

Oh yeah, about the vision of being always alone, it has, as it always had, come true again.

I remember that it has been a couple of times when I said that the last one would be the last. And yet, I always failed myself, believing that redemption is always possible in the tomorrow that comes. Yet, all that I have left and kept are fragments of colors, like faded and worn-eaten photographs, the ghost of voices and sensations that stay only to haunt me. And even in my deepest sadness, there is that part of me that ask me “how many women is enough? How many tears do you have to shed?”

I have met a lot of friends who have been in a situation where abandonment and exile becomes their new country. And I can’t help but remember the varied things they do to cope up with it: some go out and drink it out, some cry their eyes out, others turn to hate and fury (the most accessible of all, I should say), some go stalker mode, or go public with private photos and videos, some go and hit the next guy the girl is seen out with and lots of other crazy stuffs. For me, I do shed a couple of tears, though I try to limit it to 12 minutes for after that it would be self indulgence. I drink, but not to get drunk but because I want to drink. I have also contemplated crazy audacious stuff, but in the end, I did what I do best.

I endure it in silence.

Still, drowning as I am in my own lake of pain and despair, I am glad for the side of me that never seems to lose its composure, no matter what the situation is. For a lack of a better word, I would say its my best side, my good side, the one who could destroy a hundred of my other side’s arguments with just a short statement. Coz even where I am now, I still think of the woman I loved (and if truth be known, still love for I always could not find it in my life to end it, though I must admit I don’t always call her “woman”, sometimes I call her all sorts of bad names…) Perhaps I am just rationalizing things up so I can cope up with things, like how its better now that she is gone because she would have been miserable if she stayed with me and all that bullshit. But honestly, I still love the woman, and thus my thoughts lend me to some ways that things would be better, if not for the last one, then perhaps for the one who would come (that is, if I still have a couple of tickets remaining…)

This time, I have come up with a thought, a kind thought. Somehow, I always knew the truth about this, but being like most of my kind, I wanted to believe in something even as I knew it could not be possible. I guess mortals, my kind and those of women, are at some point of their lives like that. I guess. Nah, I could be wrong though.

Thus, the title of this entry: How to Save a Woman from A Lie…

You can save a woman from a lie by Never asking a woman to love, nor care, nor endure, nor accept, nor stay with you forever. Because if you ask it of her while she is drowning in the ecstasy of your shared passions, she will make that promise, and you both know that it’s a lie. And though you might say that she is a liar, you can also blame your own self for asking it in the first place.

Unsent Mails : "Turning Seven..."

Turning Seven

20 February 2000

Early morning…

I woke up to the ringing of the cellphone I always kept by my side. I was informed that you were on your way, half a world away, and they would be going on their way to meet and welcome you.

I stayed home all day. For a very good reason, I could not go out of the house, not knowing when and how you would be arriving. I knew that your journey was one that was filled with some danger, and I was worried and afraid about your journey, as well as also worried about the one person who was with you.

Even now, I could not remember a day when time seemed to be so slow, stretched out by my waiting. I knew then that all that I could have done was to wait, and yet while I was doing that, I must confess I was eager for a call, for that warm voice to tell me that you had arrived.

I did not feel hungry that day, and that must be the reason why I skipped my lunch. But beside me was a fresh pack of cigarette, reds, alongside a crumpled one and an ashtray filled with butts, ashes overflowing.

The day stretched out, the sun that was rising was now on its way down, falling, slowly.

I received news that you had already arrived about 6 hours after you did. It was then that I found myself smiling. The dangerous journey that you undertook was over, and the one who was with you was also doing fine. Mixed with emotions, I then sent out messages to friends who were also waiting for your arrival.

We waited for you for nearly 9 months seven years ago.

Today is seven years after that day. A lot of things have happened, tragedies and mysteries unveiled.

Seven years ago today, and still we are both half a world away.

I honestly don’t know if you are going to make another journey where your feet would lead you half a world away to where I am. And even if you did, I honestly don’t know if I would still be there, to welcome you as I should have, seven years ago. But then, that would still be seven years from now, or two seven years from now. At least, we have today, seven years since that day.

Happy Birthday Jian, my son.

Thank you for the gift of making my dreams and ideals come true with your every breath.

Who you would be, what you would do, where you would go, everything about you I know and do not know is enough for me to smile everyday…

…even if I am never ever going to see you.

Archives:The Price That Must Be Paid & A Letter For My Sisters...

the following are old post, and when i say old, i mean old. saved them from the last website i tried to keep, and i want to save it on this one. its an old piece, and yet resonates something akin to who i am, who i always have been. anyway, here they are, for posterity's (my own) sake....

The Price That Must Be Paid

At times, I wonder if I am to be an inheritor of so many beautiful memories. Beautiful, and yet that is what they all are, just memories, bits and scraps and crumbs that could never make a whole, that could never satisfy the hunger. Memories, only memories, colorful and soft pieces and shapes that time could easily crumble, grind to dust or distorted by the forces of longing and wanting and loneliness that feeds on its own self.

At times I wonder if the greatness of my poetry would demand the highest price out of me, a mere mortal, and a man as such. I wonder if that, for my poetry to remain and be remembered and be kept so close to the chest of those who need them and find solace in them, I, the poet who is first a man, would have to be away from a woman. Until the moment my eyes would shut their windows one last time, until the moment my breaths would forever be lost to me.

Will that be the price that I have to risk paying, that I would be remembered and kept in so many pages of memories because of my poetry, and never to be taken as the man with all of my fears and shame and tears?

I wonder if I have to lose the love of women from where I gathered my purest and strongest ideals, the love of women who is the earth, sky, sea and air since the moment I claimed my own space in this universe.

Where do I begin of how the love of women flowed into the arid wasteland of my soul, bringing its elements that seeds long since buried by ashes of my life sprouted and broke through the surface to bask under the warmth and caress of the endless fingers of the sun, seeds who bore flowers and fruits and scents that pervaded the most silent and cold of nights, leaves swaying to the music of the night, resting until the sun would rise again? The years have been full of it, and I would not be foolish enough to attempt telling you in a few words, when I know that no words could ever suffice.

But perhaps I could tell you that somehow that, with regards to the flow of the waters of love into my former wasteland turned garden, the end had already began. And perhaps I was a fool indeed, blinding my own eyes and soul to the inevitable.

The land is dry. My eyes do not shed tears as they used to.

I miss my tears. Whenever they burst from the lake of my eyes and flow downward through the hill of my nose, and into the cave of my mouth where my tongue soaks in them, it reminds me that I am still human, and warm. The taste of fluid salt reminds me that I know the taste of sugar because I have tasted salt.

I wonder. Perhaps I should not wonder at all. For however or whatever it may be, I am willing to pay the price, risk everything in the name of my poetry. My poetry is all that I have, and my poetry is me.

It would have been beautiful, and I would have been willing to pay my poetry as the ultimate price and sacrifice if only I would have one love.

It would have been beautiful.


---------------------------------


A Letter for My Sisters...

I became your brother beyond blood because you saw me as the fire who burned, so that corpses and bones would turn to ashes and blown away by the wind, so that the cold arms of loneliness and despair would open and move away, so that dark places could find a slice of light and things could have their own shadow.

I call you my sisters because even before I became your brother, women such as yours nurtured me, protected me, fed me, gave birth to me.

I would always be your brother, and all of you shall always be a sister to me. Nothing changes between us, I am and will always be the brother you longed for, the brother you found, and I shall be a brother that you could always keep.

And because each of you is my sister, I have to let you know. I have to let you know that I am no longer the brother with warm burning fingers. I have lost my kingdom of summer and spring.

I no longer shed tears, and each of you knows that I am strongest when the salt of my tears singe the wounds of my pain. And as I have said, and will do, I miss my tears.

I miss my tears, who is my warmth, who is my water, who is my banner and my shield, who is my sanctuary.

Please do not worry sisters.

I am now an Ice King.

An Ice King, and I could never even shed tears for what I have become. The mere though of shedding tears are frozen in my soul, they then turn brittle then into mist as if they never were. This is the only way I know so that pieces of me that you love would not die. This is the only way I know so I would never lose each of you.

I am responsible for the creation of two Ice Queens before. They were my lovers, each one could have been a sister to me and yet in my pride I lost them. I wanted to know how far my talents would go, and I snapped the threads of their compassion for me.

Perhaps some elemental force in the universe has not forgotten nor forgiven me for my sins. And perhaps this is just one of the small price that I have to pay for being me. I am tired, my sisters, and each of you knows I tried. I tried to live and believe that I could create something for myself, that I could find love again if only I believe. I believed, I believed. But no more. I am tired. The youth of my face betrays the deep scars of my wounds.

Perhaps one day, someone with burning fingers would come my way. She would lay siege to the walls of my kingdom, melt its frozen corridors, burn away the cold from my earth so that seeds could awake, an end to the winter of my despair, a birth to the spring and summer of my gaze.

Perhaps. Perhaps.

---

sisters, understand that each and everyone of them left me no choice: they all left me. they abandoned me. they fucked with me, and i shall fuck them all seven ways from sunday. in time.

The Birth of a Farewell

The Birth of a Farewell…

There must be a very good, or perhaps bad reason as to why the idea of saying goodbye to this city has been gnawing at my mind for some time now.

It has been going on for days, with ever increasing intensity, of how I seem to be living these past few days. There have been days that were slow, silent and still, as there have been days where I just can’t seem to have enough time for all the things I would like to accomplish. The last deserves noticing, considering I have put Project Life on hold because of this development.

On another development, it’s gonna be a while more, double the time I expected, though it could revert to the original schedule as planned. Still, even if its gonna be postponed a bit, I still can’t shake off the feeling, this newfound awareness of sorts that I have been having that all began when I got the news.

It seems to me, now, that this Birth of Farewell is nothing like I have ever encountered before.

True, its not the first time I have experienced such events that lead to partings and farewells. Have done it a couple of times with places I have lived in. Hell, if I go to the realm of ex-girlfriends, farewell is the first thing that comes into my mind whenever a new relationship starts (note: and my friends say that this frame of thought might have played a significant role in the farewells that did occur, and though I could agree with the statistics on that, it might be something else, but that’s another story.)

I have to say this though, that I have lived Life here in this City, a city I have learned to love (though my friends could not believe that technically, I still haven’t had the chance (or was it my choice) to discover the daughters (err…women) of this city as how I usually do it).

It would still be some time, I know, but perhaps it has something to do with knowing that its gonna happen that bugs me. Much like with the previous relationships, though its odd that knowing that those relationships were gonna end (as all things that begin naturally do) did not bug me a bit. In truth, I even felt a sigh of relief when the so called “steine.d” prophecies did happen (or perhaps I was just being my rationalizing bastard self more than what is called for.)

It’s coming, of that I am all too sure. Truth be told, I have been making preparations for it, so much like how Dream of the Endless did his preparations.

It’s just there in the horizon, waiting. Perhaps not, but it is there, happening as we speak.

A lot of things could still happen. So many things to do. I have always been, and always will be, a sucker for farewells.

Still, it’s going to be a wonderful life.