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.

Matulog

To sleep. Perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub.

Sometimes, all day long, all I want to do is stop right where I am (in the middle of a phone call, in the middle of washing dishes, in the middle of my commute to work) and just sink to the floor and fall asleep. It's all I can do sometimes to just get through whatever it is I'm in the middle of and not just close my eyes and drift off.

But then when the appropriate time presents itself (such as now), the urge to sleep escapes me. Runs from me like I run from the dark. Betrays me and leaves me bereft and inconsolable in my longing to be in its restful company. What a damn tease.

So I change my mind. I make the executive decision to go without. If sleep avoids me then I avoid it. I will myself into a new state of being that no longer requires the tedious task of the R.E.M. cycle to function. I am never too exhausted to be stubborn.

But tonight, I will settle for a stale mate.

Pag-asa

On my desk, I keep a photograph of my parents on their wedding day. It's a black and white shot. Neither of them are looking at the camera as they walk by arm in arm. My mother's smile reaches her eyes. My father stifles a smile with a knowing pout. In a single frame, I'm able to see myself in both their faces. I wish I could have been there if only to see their first dance.

They've been divorced over 22 years now. And believe me, it was for the best. But I still love that picture and every time I look at it, I can't help but smile. No matter if a marriage might end or last a lifetime, a photo like theirs always gives me hope. Because that's all newlyweds have don't they? Hope that their love is strong enough. Hope that they'll be able to carry each other through. That leap of faith that usually paralyzes me with fear of falling.

For now, I look at their photo one more time and smile. Here's hoping for all of us.

Kalungkutan

Loneliness is a feeling that doesn't always come to visit.

It's like my mind has a defense mechanism against it. I like to call it self-preservation. Others would probably call it denial. Either way, I guess I'm better off. Although, I do believe every feeling has a purpose. Just like pain teaches us to keep our hand away from an open flame or joy shows us how to embrace the ones we love. Loneliness is a reminder that something is missing. Remember it says. Remember. I guess that's why people say that it's a nagging feeling.

Tonight there is that familiar longing in my chest. That uneasy sense that makes me keep looking over my shoulder. Looking for what, I don't know. And then I remember. I almost welcome it in like an old friend. Gone much too long to be good. Because the loneliness pours over me like warm water melting away my defenses. And maybe, just maybe I'll go out once more and find what's missing.

Tandaan

I remember when
He made my stomach ache in that hungry sort of way.
I remember when
He looked at me. Straight through me.
Hot knife with ease. Can’t breathe.
I wouldn’t flinch when he reached out
And held me by the small of my back.
I would rest my head in the crook of his neck.
Breathing him in. I remember when.
He made me feel reckless.
Daring deeds of debauchery.
Reckless me. Wreck me.
I remember me.

Salamin

Sometimes I'm surprised by what I see in the mirror. Not because I hate who I see or am taken by surprise by my own beauty. Bleh. I'm trying to avoid the melodrama here. But sometimes a distortion does in fact take place. A visual translation I don't speak. Which leaves me standing there. Staring. Head at a tilt. Waiting for something to click. I know it's me. I recognize and acknowledge that basic fact. But for that moment, I look at her and wonder. And she wonders back.

Because the moment just before I looked in the mirror, I thought I knew what to expect when I got there. Because the moment just before, I was at peace. And now I'm not. And now I wonder if perception is reality, then maybe there are times I should avoid mirrors altogether.

Ulan

I admit it. I love the rain for all the sentimental reasons other people probably love it too. The trickling sound it makes outside my window. How it forces everyone to slow down to watch their step. To watch each others step. I love watching people share an umbrella. Someone held close. Someone given the excuse to do the holding. The way the smell of wet grass and pavement reminds me of when I was a little girl playing in the rain. The free carwash.

Night rain is my favorite. The serenade is better than any nightingale. My dreams are easy on these nights. All rounded edges and velvet voices. And I look forward to morning like it was Christmas day. Because mornings after the rain are like mini-do-overs. A present made better than just a regular now. The present all wrapped in a clean, new now. I told you it was sentimental.

I don't know why I decided to write a blog but here I am. I guess I'm tired of carrying random thoughts around with me all day. Like so much spare change rattling around at the bottom of my purse. Weighing me down. I don't want that anymore. So I guess this is my mental piggy bank. And my first deposit. Clink.