Ahas

A friend once said, "Don't blame a snake when it bites you. It doesn't have legs to run from danger. A snake bites because that's the only way it can defend itself."

The best part about that quote - she was referring to me.

Cold blooded in the dark. Eyes that hypnotize. Slides slowly to your side. Sways slowly so you stare. Silent as the grave until you hear the warning rattle. Too close she says.

Too close.

Magbasa

I’m told quite often that I’m an open book. Easy read. Plain as the nose on your face. What you see is what you get. And yet everyday I have no idea exactly how I’m feeling. How do these two realities exist? I’m an open book and yet I’m illiterate. How’s that for irony?

I’m an open book. But what does it say? Who reads a book just because it’s open? Don’t you want to pick one out for yourself from the bookcase, from your section of interest? Aren’t those books actually more interesting because you took the time to select it? Chances are you only ever read an open book in the waiting room at the dentist’s office on whatever abandoned page the last patient left it on absentmindedly. Is that what I am? Abandoned literature in the waiting room of life?? Ok. Ok. I’m reeling it in. Reeling it in.

I guess I really don’t mind being an open book. Thankfully, some people do take the time to take a read. But what I would like, is to take a more active part in writing what’s on the pages.

Pinagdaanan

How do you simultaneously remember something forever and wish it never happened? I want to scream into a black hole, scream till I’m raw and then nothing. No echo. No reverberations. Like it never happened but that I still got that release. I guess it’s my version of living in a world with no repercussions. I want to eat a giant ice cream sundae but not experience the gastro-intestinal havoc of lactose intolerance. I want to feel the exhilaration of jumping off a building but not the gravity that brings it to a bone crushing end. I want to experience falling in love but not the falling out of it.

There are days when I just want to soak in it. Like it’s droplets of honey between my fingertips all sticky and sweet and impossible to untangle. I don’t know if I’m remembering it correctly. Is this love? You pull at the golden threads and they stretch and glisten in the sunlight. They catch a breeze and pull away from your fingers like kite strings. Honey gold. It’s everywhere. What a mess. Yeah, I guess it is.

Anghel

Sweet angel,
please grace me with a smile.
Laughter that tinkles like crystals in a breeze
Please
once more for me.

Darling angel,
dancing to a secret melody.
So free.
I'd like to know how it goes
Share with me?

It's still pretty rough but I had to put it down and out of my head for a bit. It's for my nephew, Gavin. He's 7 and just a slice of heaven. He was diagnosed with autism at 2 and every time I'm with him I feel blessed. Love you, Gav.

Kuwento

As a lawyer, my father worked long hours and often came home when I was already in bed. But on nights that he was home early, he would tell me bedtime stories about his childhood. My favorite story was about my dad's magic "sando" (shirt). The story always started the same way.

When I was a young boy, I walked to school each day with my classmates. One morning on my way to school, there was an old beggar woman on the side of the road asking people that walked by for spare change in order to buy food. Most of my classmates ignored her cries and pretended not to see her while other boys were mean spirited and even laughed at her dirty appearance. But not my dad. He was a good boy. He felt sorry for the old beggar woman but he did not have any money. So instead, he stopped and gave her his own lunch to eat. The frail woman was so moved by his kindness and generosity that she thanked him with a present, a magic shirt. But the shirt did not look magical. It was so old and threadbare; it looked as if it would disintegrate right on your back if worn in the rain. But she insisted that it was a magical shirt and because my dad was a polite young boy, he took the present with gratitude and went on his way.

When he got home from school, he did his chores and forgot all about the excitement of the day. Later that night, he found the shirt in his bag and remembered the old woman’s promise of its special powers. Hesitant to even put this soiled shirt against his bare skin, he finally convinced himself to put it on. My dad turned to see himself in the mirror but to his shock and amazement, he wasn’t there. He was invisible! The beggar woman was right; it was a magical shirt! And that was the beginning of many great adventures. At first, he would play tricks on his mother to make her think there were ghosts. My grandmother would be so frightened by his tricks that she would faint and he would always feel sorry afterwards for scaring her. Other versions of the story would have him sneaking on planes that took him to America. On other nights he became a brave crime fighter outsmarting bank robbers and stopping thieves all in the secrecy and safety of his wonderful “sando.”

I don’t know what made me think of that story tonight but I wanted to write it down for safe keeping.

Gusto ko

I started to think that living by process of elimination was the way to go. I'm not sure what I want, but I do know what I don't want. So all I have to do is pick out what I dislike and I should be left with something I can work with. Tonight I realized that POE might work when selecting what to eat for dinner, what purse to use, or what movie to see but not so much when selecting the person you want to be intimate with.

Some time long ago, I stopped letting myself want certain things in life because I thought it wasn't in the cards for me. So if I don't choose, I can't lose. Tonight I passively had him walk into my house and into my bed and into my arms but it didn't work. I eliminated other choices but it still didn't make him the right one.

Nasunog

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
Every time I read those lines, it's like I get the wind knocked out of me.

Who are you not to be?
Who are you?

I'm 32 years old. I have a successful career. A nice home to call my own. Friends. Family. Check. Check. Bedfellow. Previously checked.

It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.

But what if my light just isn't strong enough? What if it's not the right light? What if I'm meant to light my way alone? Too many 'what ifs'. So I leave that match inside me unlit. There are other ones. Burnt already. Charcoal ends. Crumbles at the slightest touch.