(This is what I get from looking through old files in my computer before reformatting. ;p)
It was the second time she watched the stars with him while sitting by the beach. She could still recall how she used to love those scenes in movies and she never thought the stars could actually be lovely to stare at. He was just a few inches away from her and it was one of the most amazing, unexplainable feelings there could ever be.
A few years back, the idea of him was real only in romantic novels that she used to read. But he made everything truly like a fairy tale in real life. He had the kindest smile she had ever seen. He had the ability to make her feel like there was nothing more important in the world than to be with her.
He took her to places she had never been before. It was not as if she had never seen trees, and flowers and lakes, but nature seemed lovelier and more perfect with him having to show it to her. He declared her as his inspiration in front of his family, his friends and probably half of the town’s population and she just drowned with so much attention he poured out on her.
By the steadiness of his breath, she knew he was already asleep. As she heard the little waves break into the shore, she stared at him trying to discern something unspoken. She smiled remembering all the good things of the past and she wondered if he somehow thought of it too.
Things were already different. Maybe two years was really long enough to change everything. Even if his mere presence brought back a familiar feeling, and even if he were there right beside her, there was still a strange hollow between them.
Earlier, their friends continued to tease them as if it were a continuation of that special thing they once shared. They sang their old songs and tried to bring back that bond that they lost after so long. It was surreal. It was like one of those fairy tales brought back to life.
She asked herself, was the feeling still there? But until the break of dawn, she was not able to come up with any answer.
He opened his eyes and she realized it was time to go. She smiled at him and felt the awkwardness to say a word. She knew it was time. Because the moment they leave that shore where they watched the stars together, she already felt the coldness of the sand that she will leave behind, together with the new hope that the early morning sky promises.
He stopped the car where she had to take off. He told the others, “Guys, let’s drop Trina off first.” A very fast, deep regret in his face was unmistakable as if he wished to have bitten his tongue at that very moment.
It wasn’t her name.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The Game
Characters: He and She
Setting: Some bench in some place, one hazy day.
He: “So you think everything’s changed now, eh?” He had that probing eyes, trying to extract all information from her silence.
She: “Am I wrong?” It was her time to give him that prying look, and he turned away with a nervous laugh.
He: “I’m still here, right?” He tried to make it sound funny.
She: “Are you?” She threw back. It was the first time that he failed to make her laugh.
He: “What do you think am I, a ghost?” He laughed, feeling victorious in having found a way to break the tension between them. Second try.
She: “Didn’t you introduce yourself to me as that a long time ago?” She simply shrugged, breaking his triumph. Second failure.
He: “I know…” He said quietly. She could’ve jumped for winning the all-questions game they started. But she hoped he would say something more.
He: Said none.
She: “Gotcha. I won this time.” She joked, collecting back her things and her tears. She said a fast goodbye.
She: Ran away, without looking.
She knew he would never add anything more, not now, not tomorrow, probably never in this lifetime.
When can that ever sink in?
Setting: Some bench in some place, one hazy day.
He: “So you think everything’s changed now, eh?” He had that probing eyes, trying to extract all information from her silence.
She: “Am I wrong?” It was her time to give him that prying look, and he turned away with a nervous laugh.
He: “I’m still here, right?” He tried to make it sound funny.
She: “Are you?” She threw back. It was the first time that he failed to make her laugh.
He: “What do you think am I, a ghost?” He laughed, feeling victorious in having found a way to break the tension between them. Second try.
She: “Didn’t you introduce yourself to me as that a long time ago?” She simply shrugged, breaking his triumph. Second failure.
He: “I know…” He said quietly. She could’ve jumped for winning the all-questions game they started. But she hoped he would say something more.
He: Said none.
She: “Gotcha. I won this time.” She joked, collecting back her things and her tears. She said a fast goodbye.
She: Ran away, without looking.
She knew he would never add anything more, not now, not tomorrow, probably never in this lifetime.
When can that ever sink in?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
NOW THAT I'M HOME
Demy was standing outside for almost an hour now. It was almost midnight and it was freezing outside but he didn’t care. His old hands were holding a bouquet of red roses which could have already withered by his stare.
He knew the kids would be arriving in the morning. Even if he couldn’t hear a slight movement, he knew there was still somebody inside waiting for them. He peeked through the heavily curtained window once in a while, desperate to get a view.
He made several attempts but ran out of strength to move a few more muscles to make that press on the doorbell. Fear, together with the cold breeze, wrapped him. He began to become more anxious. He was afraid of how he would be welcomed, if he would be at all. He didn’t even know how he got the courage to be there.
He was about to leave when he heard a door being opened. Sensing the noise created by the screen door that probably had not been replaced for years, Demy knew that it was the back door.
Quivering, he made a few steps towards the backyard. The porch at the back was dimly lit. Hearing the silent rush of waves, he paused. He closed his eyes, remembering how good it felt to be there once again.
He stopped upon seeing a rocking chair move from the other side. He stared at the old lady facing at the beach, slowly rocking the chair back and forth. He guessed she was reading one of her hundreds of books.
With a few more deep breathing and fidgeting, he quietly said, “Merry Christmas, Betty…”
The rocking chair stopped and he could see the lady froze. Betty slowly turned her head and her eyes instantly welled up.
Demy moved toward her and handed her the flowers.
“You remembered…” Betty almost whispered.
He hesitated but made one more step to reach out for her hand. “I’ve made mistakes in the past and it took me this long to realize I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry…” He was trying to fight the lump in his throat.
With more effort, Betty stood up shaking her head. And with those same loving eyes, she said, “What matters is you’re here…”
Demy hugged her, hoping it could make up for the lost years. “I will never leave again…now that I’m home…”
He knew the kids would be arriving in the morning. Even if he couldn’t hear a slight movement, he knew there was still somebody inside waiting for them. He peeked through the heavily curtained window once in a while, desperate to get a view.
He made several attempts but ran out of strength to move a few more muscles to make that press on the doorbell. Fear, together with the cold breeze, wrapped him. He began to become more anxious. He was afraid of how he would be welcomed, if he would be at all. He didn’t even know how he got the courage to be there.
He was about to leave when he heard a door being opened. Sensing the noise created by the screen door that probably had not been replaced for years, Demy knew that it was the back door.
Quivering, he made a few steps towards the backyard. The porch at the back was dimly lit. Hearing the silent rush of waves, he paused. He closed his eyes, remembering how good it felt to be there once again.
He stopped upon seeing a rocking chair move from the other side. He stared at the old lady facing at the beach, slowly rocking the chair back and forth. He guessed she was reading one of her hundreds of books.
With a few more deep breathing and fidgeting, he quietly said, “Merry Christmas, Betty…”
The rocking chair stopped and he could see the lady froze. Betty slowly turned her head and her eyes instantly welled up.
Demy moved toward her and handed her the flowers.
“You remembered…” Betty almost whispered.
He hesitated but made one more step to reach out for her hand. “I’ve made mistakes in the past and it took me this long to realize I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry…” He was trying to fight the lump in his throat.
With more effort, Betty stood up shaking her head. And with those same loving eyes, she said, “What matters is you’re here…”
Demy hugged her, hoping it could make up for the lost years. “I will never leave again…now that I’m home…”
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Didn't You Like Daddy's Gift?
Three days before Christmas. Mom was busy preparing the dinner. Knowing that I was not allowed near the kitchen while they were busy, I used my strategy. “Mom, can I mix this for you?” I asked sweetly, eager to help out in making the flan. I was four years old.
But my mom knew better. Maybe she remembered the last time that I “helped” her I just broke the bowl and spilled everything on the floor. “Thank you honey…But don’t you think it’s more fun to be part of the game team?”
It didn’t work! With a defeated look, I walked away. I knew my sisters wouldn’t let me help either.
“Can I help?” I boldly volunteered anyway. My sisters were wrapping the prizes for the games.
“You don’t even know how to use the scissors. Plus, it won’t be a surprise then.”
“But…what will I do?” I was helpless. Everyone had their assignment for the party but nobody would let me help.
“You can take care of the gifts. Arrange them from the biggest to the smallest.”
I can do that! That’s the best part! So I hurried towards the tree and stared at the huge pile of gifts slumped beneath. Squeezing and shaking each gift, I had guessed them all.
Another pillow for mom…
Stuffed teddy for my sister…
A toy car for my brother…
For dad…Maybe something for his car…I can’t guess this…
And mine is…Where’s mine?! I finished arranging the gifts but I couldn’t find mine. I was already in panic searching for my gift.
Then I found a tiny box at the farthest corner by the tree. It was so tiny that it didn’t seem like a gift at all. But when I checked it, oh boy, it had my name on it! And it was from my dad!
I sneaked at my sisters and saw everyone still busy. I hid at the corner and hastily opened that tiny box from my dad.
“There’s nothing here!” I squealed loud enough to stop the entire household from doing their thing. I threw the box away and marched outside, grumbling.
I left them all bewildered. But seeing the wrap of the tiny box torn open, they began to laugh.
Outside, I was still in shock. I couldn’t believe my dad would give me a box of matchsticks for Christmas! It was the most ridiculous gift any person could have. I didn’t even know how to light one.
My mom followed me outside and tried to pacify me. I was acting like a total brat.
“Didn’t you like dad’s gift?”
Instead of answering, I pouted and stomped heavily. Mom burst in laughter. I was so pissed off. My mom’s terrible. How could she laugh at my misfortune?
She showed me the tiny box of matchsticks and opened it in front of me. Two bright pink Hello Kitty hair clips were inside. I froze. It was the hair clips that I had been bugging my mom about. She said I already have dozens of Hello Kitty items and she wouldn’t buy it for me. I looked at my mom then back to the hair clips then back to mom.
Mom wiped my tears and kissed me on the cheek. “Daddy bought it for you…”
In the middle of my silent sobs, I heard a voice behind me. “Didn’t you like daddy’s gift?”
I ran toward daddy and hugged him tight. “It’s the best, daddy! I’m sorry…”
“What’s inside is what matters, right honey?”
But my mom knew better. Maybe she remembered the last time that I “helped” her I just broke the bowl and spilled everything on the floor. “Thank you honey…But don’t you think it’s more fun to be part of the game team?”
It didn’t work! With a defeated look, I walked away. I knew my sisters wouldn’t let me help either.
“Can I help?” I boldly volunteered anyway. My sisters were wrapping the prizes for the games.
“You don’t even know how to use the scissors. Plus, it won’t be a surprise then.”
“But…what will I do?” I was helpless. Everyone had their assignment for the party but nobody would let me help.
“You can take care of the gifts. Arrange them from the biggest to the smallest.”
I can do that! That’s the best part! So I hurried towards the tree and stared at the huge pile of gifts slumped beneath. Squeezing and shaking each gift, I had guessed them all.
Another pillow for mom…
Stuffed teddy for my sister…
A toy car for my brother…
For dad…Maybe something for his car…I can’t guess this…
And mine is…Where’s mine?! I finished arranging the gifts but I couldn’t find mine. I was already in panic searching for my gift.
Then I found a tiny box at the farthest corner by the tree. It was so tiny that it didn’t seem like a gift at all. But when I checked it, oh boy, it had my name on it! And it was from my dad!
I sneaked at my sisters and saw everyone still busy. I hid at the corner and hastily opened that tiny box from my dad.
“There’s nothing here!” I squealed loud enough to stop the entire household from doing their thing. I threw the box away and marched outside, grumbling.
I left them all bewildered. But seeing the wrap of the tiny box torn open, they began to laugh.
Outside, I was still in shock. I couldn’t believe my dad would give me a box of matchsticks for Christmas! It was the most ridiculous gift any person could have. I didn’t even know how to light one.
My mom followed me outside and tried to pacify me. I was acting like a total brat.
“Didn’t you like dad’s gift?”
Instead of answering, I pouted and stomped heavily. Mom burst in laughter. I was so pissed off. My mom’s terrible. How could she laugh at my misfortune?
She showed me the tiny box of matchsticks and opened it in front of me. Two bright pink Hello Kitty hair clips were inside. I froze. It was the hair clips that I had been bugging my mom about. She said I already have dozens of Hello Kitty items and she wouldn’t buy it for me. I looked at my mom then back to the hair clips then back to mom.
Mom wiped my tears and kissed me on the cheek. “Daddy bought it for you…”
In the middle of my silent sobs, I heard a voice behind me. “Didn’t you like daddy’s gift?”
I ran toward daddy and hugged him tight. “It’s the best, daddy! I’m sorry…”
“What’s inside is what matters, right honey?”
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Biggest Star
It was only four in the morning. The house was just lit by the flickering Christmas light. Tricia was already busy decorating the tree.
Tricia remembered how she was not allowed to put decors on their Christmas tree when she was younger. She would be given just a few Christmas balls and she would hang it on the bottom of the tree. Even so, she was always thrilled at her mom’s announcement of the annual tree decoration.
“Mom! Look! I think this is the best spot for this ball!” She would proudly say to her mom, wanting to get her ok to every spot she would hang her few precious balls.
And her mom would smile at her lovingly and would tell her, “Yes dear, that’s the best spot.” With that smile, Tricia would beam with excitement.
By the time they finish decorating, her dad would suddenly appear. That was the best part. Her dad would lift her to his shoulders while she held on protectively to the biggest star. Her brother and sisters would cheer her as she placed the star on top of the tree.
Then they would all march towards the kitchen and chaotically got themselves a hot chocolate. They would spend the entire morning on the dining table talking about what to eat on Christmas dinner. That was the second best part.
“You ok?” Her sister, still in her pajamas, appeared behind her.
Oblivious of her presence, she almost dropped a Christmas ball. “Yeah, I’ll be done in a while.” She quietly smiled.
“Alright. Wake me up if you need help ok? But I don’t think you want me to help you anyway.” She teased and ran off.
It was roughly 10 years ago since they last decorated their Christmas tree together. She could barely recall how they spent those ten Christmases without her mom.
After she placed the last Christmas ball, she thought, “Isn’t this the best spot for this ball?”
The sun was already shining when she finished decorating. She stared at the biggest star and left it beneath the tree. She was on the verge of crying, realizing that she did everything alone.
She was already cleaning the boxes when everybody suddenly rushed in the family room.
“Wow!!! This is so great! You made it!” Her sister beamed.
“We’ve never had a Christmas tree for what, a century?” Her brother exclaimed.
She couldn’t say a thing in surprise. She turned her head when she heard a voice saying, “You did this sweetie?”
It was her dad.
“Well…Uh, huh.” She said sheepishly.
“Yes daddy. I saw her doing it at four in the morning!” Her sister said.
Her dad picked up the biggest star and handed it to her. “It’s the tradition.”
Tricia’s eyes widened as she remembered the Christmas feeling she had 10 years ago. As her siblings cheered, she placed the biggest star on top of the tree with a big smile.
Her dad hugged her. “Come, we made you a hot chocolate.”
Tricia remembered how she was not allowed to put decors on their Christmas tree when she was younger. She would be given just a few Christmas balls and she would hang it on the bottom of the tree. Even so, she was always thrilled at her mom’s announcement of the annual tree decoration.
“Mom! Look! I think this is the best spot for this ball!” She would proudly say to her mom, wanting to get her ok to every spot she would hang her few precious balls.
And her mom would smile at her lovingly and would tell her, “Yes dear, that’s the best spot.” With that smile, Tricia would beam with excitement.
By the time they finish decorating, her dad would suddenly appear. That was the best part. Her dad would lift her to his shoulders while she held on protectively to the biggest star. Her brother and sisters would cheer her as she placed the star on top of the tree.
Then they would all march towards the kitchen and chaotically got themselves a hot chocolate. They would spend the entire morning on the dining table talking about what to eat on Christmas dinner. That was the second best part.
“You ok?” Her sister, still in her pajamas, appeared behind her.
Oblivious of her presence, she almost dropped a Christmas ball. “Yeah, I’ll be done in a while.” She quietly smiled.
“Alright. Wake me up if you need help ok? But I don’t think you want me to help you anyway.” She teased and ran off.
It was roughly 10 years ago since they last decorated their Christmas tree together. She could barely recall how they spent those ten Christmases without her mom.
After she placed the last Christmas ball, she thought, “Isn’t this the best spot for this ball?”
The sun was already shining when she finished decorating. She stared at the biggest star and left it beneath the tree. She was on the verge of crying, realizing that she did everything alone.
She was already cleaning the boxes when everybody suddenly rushed in the family room.
“Wow!!! This is so great! You made it!” Her sister beamed.
“We’ve never had a Christmas tree for what, a century?” Her brother exclaimed.
She couldn’t say a thing in surprise. She turned her head when she heard a voice saying, “You did this sweetie?”
It was her dad.
“Well…Uh, huh.” She said sheepishly.
“Yes daddy. I saw her doing it at four in the morning!” Her sister said.
Her dad picked up the biggest star and handed it to her. “It’s the tradition.”
Tricia’s eyes widened as she remembered the Christmas feeling she had 10 years ago. As her siblings cheered, she placed the biggest star on top of the tree with a big smile.
Her dad hugged her. “Come, we made you a hot chocolate.”
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Jingling Bells
Jingling bells jingling bells
Jingling all the way…
Little Ben sang with great exuberance, his little fingers slightly tapping the car’s window, a little drum hanging around his neck. The driver waved his hand without looking at him.
His eyes lost sparkle, his shoulders fell and he quietly moved to the sidewalk as the light turned green.
After a few minutes, another red light. Little Ben instantly leaped as if not feeling the cold wind wrapping him, creeping into his tattered clothes.
Jingling bells jingling bells
Jingling all the way…
He hopped from one car to another, continuing to sing the same lines. People kept shooing him away but he sang anyway. Some were amused but never gave him anything.
A lady tossed a penny from the window. Little Ben’s eyes widened with excitement as he thanked the old lady.
Upon realizing how long he’d been roaming the streets, little Ben slumped into the sidewalk.
“One…two…three…one…two…three…” He silently counted as if he knew exactly how to.
Suddenly a girl, about 4 years old, appeared behind him.
“Kuya…” she said in a soft whisper.
Frightened, little Ben hurriedly hid the coins he saved from that day. “Oh Sarah, it’s you! I told you to wait for me at home.”
Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes. “Kuya, I’m hungry…”
His throat tightened and realized that they hadn’t been eating anything for three days.
“Don’t cry… Look, 1-2-3-1-2-3! Kuya earned much! We’ll eat something special today.” He managed to cheer his voice up.
Little Ben left Sarah near the bridge and got themselves something for that day. Then he ran back to their home where she left Sarah and hurriedly climbed down. The pile of cartons was already set. Sarah was already sleeping quietly at the end waiting for him.
“Sarah, wake up…” Little Ben shook her softly. “It’s time.” He said with a silent excitement.
The two of them watched the different colors of fireworks appear in the sky, eating bread and a cup of warm noodles. “Merry Christmas Sarah…”
Jingling all the way…
Little Ben sang with great exuberance, his little fingers slightly tapping the car’s window, a little drum hanging around his neck. The driver waved his hand without looking at him.
His eyes lost sparkle, his shoulders fell and he quietly moved to the sidewalk as the light turned green.
After a few minutes, another red light. Little Ben instantly leaped as if not feeling the cold wind wrapping him, creeping into his tattered clothes.
Jingling bells jingling bells
Jingling all the way…
He hopped from one car to another, continuing to sing the same lines. People kept shooing him away but he sang anyway. Some were amused but never gave him anything.
A lady tossed a penny from the window. Little Ben’s eyes widened with excitement as he thanked the old lady.
Upon realizing how long he’d been roaming the streets, little Ben slumped into the sidewalk.
“One…two…three…one…two…three…” He silently counted as if he knew exactly how to.
Suddenly a girl, about 4 years old, appeared behind him.
“Kuya…” she said in a soft whisper.
Frightened, little Ben hurriedly hid the coins he saved from that day. “Oh Sarah, it’s you! I told you to wait for me at home.”
Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes. “Kuya, I’m hungry…”
His throat tightened and realized that they hadn’t been eating anything for three days.
“Don’t cry… Look, 1-2-3-1-2-3! Kuya earned much! We’ll eat something special today.” He managed to cheer his voice up.
Little Ben left Sarah near the bridge and got themselves something for that day. Then he ran back to their home where she left Sarah and hurriedly climbed down. The pile of cartons was already set. Sarah was already sleeping quietly at the end waiting for him.
“Sarah, wake up…” Little Ben shook her softly. “It’s time.” He said with a silent excitement.
The two of them watched the different colors of fireworks appear in the sky, eating bread and a cup of warm noodles. “Merry Christmas Sarah…”
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Changing Lanes
In my head, I found myself driving on a single lane, easy road at approximately 40 miles per hour, satisfied at my rate, well-buckled on my seat, comfortable at the sounds of my stereo. I had a content smile on my face saying “This is what I call life.”
I came to a busy street with horns honking everywhere, intersections blocked by cars trying to beat the red light, and each vehicle trying to make a way for itself. Naturally, my moment of ease was disturbed. For a moment, I was preoccupied with the traffic. I forgot the comfort I was feeling a few minutes ago, and I busied myself with what was actually there, with what was in front of me. At a red light, I compared my car to all those that are in the same lane, leaving brief comments on each I envied as well as on others I felt I was better off. When it turned green, I never gave any other car a chance to get into my way.
Traffics are always a headache. After a few times of cursing to the pedestrians who were still crossing the street at my green light, and after almost hitting the bumper of the car in front of me just to not let anybody else get ahead of me, I got weary and wanted to get out of the main road. So I turned right, went straight ahead, and made a couple of U-turns just to find an easy way to get out of it. Having no sense of direction, it took me a little more while to find a clearer road.
I found myself in the middle of the same road I was on before. Coupled with frustration, I fled. Time and again, I was able to unbelievably overtake a few trucks, and to avoid some hollows on the road under repair that I used to never miss. I was filled with pride that I was able to exceed my limits in driving. It was another adventure for me.
Yet, after the fun, I slowly became bored. I found nothing challenging anymore. I became uneasy with my speed so I slowed down a bit. Lost in my thoughts, a question popped. Where was I heading? Consumed by panic and fear, I realized a truth: I was heading nowhere. I looked outside my window to check how long I have travelled with no precise destination. I checked on my rearview mirror to see if there were any other vehicles running on the same road.
So I decided to pull over. A few cars, including a patrol, checked on me if I had a problem. At the back of my mind, I was asking, “Could you give me a road map?” But I didn’t want them to know I was lost. So I just pretended I was taking a break for a long trip ahead. Anyway, it was partly true.
It was already mid-afternoon. Still unsure as I was, I decided to get on with my ride. I drove at an acceptable speed. Seeing the fire trees that started to bloom that season, I began to relax. My worries passed and peace wrapped me. I enjoyed the solitude.
Throughout that long day, I realized, it’s not with the comfort, it’s not with the ability to get away with traffic, it’s not with the speed, nor is it with the ability to get ahead. A worthwhile ride is about being able to enjoy and appreciate every part of it, driving not too fast and not too slow, and still fully understanding where you’re going.
And now at the end of the day, the same question popped: Where was I heading? This time I smiled. I was heading back home.
It’s always reassuring to know that after my road trips, there would always be Him taking me home.
I came to a busy street with horns honking everywhere, intersections blocked by cars trying to beat the red light, and each vehicle trying to make a way for itself. Naturally, my moment of ease was disturbed. For a moment, I was preoccupied with the traffic. I forgot the comfort I was feeling a few minutes ago, and I busied myself with what was actually there, with what was in front of me. At a red light, I compared my car to all those that are in the same lane, leaving brief comments on each I envied as well as on others I felt I was better off. When it turned green, I never gave any other car a chance to get into my way.
Traffics are always a headache. After a few times of cursing to the pedestrians who were still crossing the street at my green light, and after almost hitting the bumper of the car in front of me just to not let anybody else get ahead of me, I got weary and wanted to get out of the main road. So I turned right, went straight ahead, and made a couple of U-turns just to find an easy way to get out of it. Having no sense of direction, it took me a little more while to find a clearer road.
I found myself in the middle of the same road I was on before. Coupled with frustration, I fled. Time and again, I was able to unbelievably overtake a few trucks, and to avoid some hollows on the road under repair that I used to never miss. I was filled with pride that I was able to exceed my limits in driving. It was another adventure for me.
Yet, after the fun, I slowly became bored. I found nothing challenging anymore. I became uneasy with my speed so I slowed down a bit. Lost in my thoughts, a question popped. Where was I heading? Consumed by panic and fear, I realized a truth: I was heading nowhere. I looked outside my window to check how long I have travelled with no precise destination. I checked on my rearview mirror to see if there were any other vehicles running on the same road.
So I decided to pull over. A few cars, including a patrol, checked on me if I had a problem. At the back of my mind, I was asking, “Could you give me a road map?” But I didn’t want them to know I was lost. So I just pretended I was taking a break for a long trip ahead. Anyway, it was partly true.
It was already mid-afternoon. Still unsure as I was, I decided to get on with my ride. I drove at an acceptable speed. Seeing the fire trees that started to bloom that season, I began to relax. My worries passed and peace wrapped me. I enjoyed the solitude.
Throughout that long day, I realized, it’s not with the comfort, it’s not with the ability to get away with traffic, it’s not with the speed, nor is it with the ability to get ahead. A worthwhile ride is about being able to enjoy and appreciate every part of it, driving not too fast and not too slow, and still fully understanding where you’re going.
And now at the end of the day, the same question popped: Where was I heading? This time I smiled. I was heading back home.
It’s always reassuring to know that after my road trips, there would always be Him taking me home.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Trying to Get the Feeling Again
There is a feeling that has been at rest for quite some time. Before, it was full of hope and trust, but eventually it has grown weary waiting and decided to lock itself inside, where nothing could disturb it. Now, a guard stays before its door, stern and overprotective.
When a feeling has been inactive for quite some time, how should it be awakened? Or, should it be awakened at all?
What if an intruder tries to get into the feeling? Does the feeling jump for joy or does it shut itself out?
There comes into the picture the examiner. This one has a long list of questions, or probably a book. It has to probe. It has to scrutinize the intruder, and in this case, it’s already an old guest. It has to make sure that the standards are passed, the intentions are made clear, and the sincerity is validated. It may take a while and if the intruder is patient, it will endure all the questions of the examiner. The examiner has to make sure it has gone through all the procedures. Why? Because it knows it needs to explain everything to the guard. It’s the safe keeper of the key to the feeling.
After the examiner has fulfilled its responsibilities, it goes to the locked feeling and talks with the guard. They discuss the result of the investigation. The guard is always suspicious. It doesn’t want anything to get into the feeling. The examiner explains the facts but the guard is full of doubts. It reminds the examiner of the ruling: Old Guests Are Forbidden.
“You’ve seen what the feeling went through in the past, how could you be talking to me about the same intruder?” The guard says disappointedly.
“It’s my job to examine all intruders and give the feeling my report.” The examiner frowns.
“The intruder may have won you, but I won’t let it get into the feeling again.” It fights back stubbornly.
“I didn’t say it has already passed the test,” says the examiner. “All I’m saying is the feeling needs to check my results by itself. It’s not us this intruder needs, it’s looking for her.” The guard makes face, not trying to hear a thing.
“I don’t have time to convince such a stubborn feeling as you. Do you think it was easy for me to deal with this intruder? I saw her sadness too and I was exploding with hostility towards it. But is it my job to judge?” The examiner says and walks away.
Seeing it has won the argument, the guard whispers by the door, “Don’t worry. I will never let anybody get into this door. I will never allow anyone to touch you again.”
Meanwhile, the examiner goes back and ventilates its annoyance with an associate. Now, this associate is new and is still very naïve.
“I am just presenting the facts. That guard is too domineering.” The examiner says furiously.
The associate knows it’s not in the position to comment about anything. Nevertheless, it says quietly, “Maybe it doesn’t want to cause the feeling any more pain. It seems reasonable to me.”
“How can you conclude that? You’re just a novice!” The examiner scowls. “I have my previous reports intact. The feeling was happiest with that intruder! Yes, they had misunderstandings and the timing wasn’t right, but who are we to judge who is and isn’t right for the feeling?” The examiner leaves the novice the reports and marches away.
The novice studies the reports and by its innocence, it is easily swayed by the data. The examiner is right, it mutters.
Late at night, the novice drops by the locked room.
“What do you want?” the guard pries.
“Oh, I was instructed to tell you that there is an intruder outside who wants to talk to the feeling and the other guards can’t stop him. I think they need you there.” The novice replies.
With another prying look, the guard says “How can I trust a novice like you?”
The novice shrugs and doesn’t say a word. A few seconds pass and the guard remains troubled by the reported commotion. It doesn’t want to leave the feeling with the novice, but it knows that if the intruder gets in, the feeling will be in more difficult situation.
With a deep concern on its face, the guard tells the novice, “It is my responsibility to keep the feeling safe. You have not known the entire story yet, but that intruder is very dangerous. Do you understand how serious this is?”
“We’re all here to protect the feeling.” The novice simply replies.
With that, the guard instantly leaps from its seat and warns the novice. “Don’t come near the door, you novice.” Then it hurries away.
The novice nervously stands by the door and knocks. “Are you there?” The novice waits for a reply but the feeling doesn’t answer.
“I just came here to tell you that the intruder is here. The examiner has been meaning to give you this,” the novice slips the results through. “Your guard is too protective of you and I understand that, but I know that in the end, the decision is yours.” And the novice leaves.
The danger in leaving a feeling out in the cold is that it may turn out to be hard enough that it won’t be melted by the highest degree of heat. The scary part could be that after such a long time, it won’t be able to recognize what has stirred itself in the first place.
As days pass, everybody is continuously disturbed by the intruder from the outside although it never gets to pass the guard. Despite all the disorder outside its door, the feeling remains unmoved. Does it mean the feeling has already been gone or has it just fallen into a very deep sleep that no ordinary intrusion may awaken it?
Who knows if the feeling hears everything from the inside. Who knows if it even looked at the reports of the examiner. Who knows if the guard were really successful in preventing the feeling from any form of intruder by just standing by the door.
“Could the feeling still be there,” the novice wonders.
When a feeling has been inactive for quite some time, how should it be awakened? Or, should it be awakened at all?
What if an intruder tries to get into the feeling? Does the feeling jump for joy or does it shut itself out?
There comes into the picture the examiner. This one has a long list of questions, or probably a book. It has to probe. It has to scrutinize the intruder, and in this case, it’s already an old guest. It has to make sure that the standards are passed, the intentions are made clear, and the sincerity is validated. It may take a while and if the intruder is patient, it will endure all the questions of the examiner. The examiner has to make sure it has gone through all the procedures. Why? Because it knows it needs to explain everything to the guard. It’s the safe keeper of the key to the feeling.
After the examiner has fulfilled its responsibilities, it goes to the locked feeling and talks with the guard. They discuss the result of the investigation. The guard is always suspicious. It doesn’t want anything to get into the feeling. The examiner explains the facts but the guard is full of doubts. It reminds the examiner of the ruling: Old Guests Are Forbidden.
“You’ve seen what the feeling went through in the past, how could you be talking to me about the same intruder?” The guard says disappointedly.
“It’s my job to examine all intruders and give the feeling my report.” The examiner frowns.
“The intruder may have won you, but I won’t let it get into the feeling again.” It fights back stubbornly.
“I didn’t say it has already passed the test,” says the examiner. “All I’m saying is the feeling needs to check my results by itself. It’s not us this intruder needs, it’s looking for her.” The guard makes face, not trying to hear a thing.
“I don’t have time to convince such a stubborn feeling as you. Do you think it was easy for me to deal with this intruder? I saw her sadness too and I was exploding with hostility towards it. But is it my job to judge?” The examiner says and walks away.
Seeing it has won the argument, the guard whispers by the door, “Don’t worry. I will never let anybody get into this door. I will never allow anyone to touch you again.”
Meanwhile, the examiner goes back and ventilates its annoyance with an associate. Now, this associate is new and is still very naïve.
“I am just presenting the facts. That guard is too domineering.” The examiner says furiously.
The associate knows it’s not in the position to comment about anything. Nevertheless, it says quietly, “Maybe it doesn’t want to cause the feeling any more pain. It seems reasonable to me.”
“How can you conclude that? You’re just a novice!” The examiner scowls. “I have my previous reports intact. The feeling was happiest with that intruder! Yes, they had misunderstandings and the timing wasn’t right, but who are we to judge who is and isn’t right for the feeling?” The examiner leaves the novice the reports and marches away.
The novice studies the reports and by its innocence, it is easily swayed by the data. The examiner is right, it mutters.
Late at night, the novice drops by the locked room.
“What do you want?” the guard pries.
“Oh, I was instructed to tell you that there is an intruder outside who wants to talk to the feeling and the other guards can’t stop him. I think they need you there.” The novice replies.
With another prying look, the guard says “How can I trust a novice like you?”
The novice shrugs and doesn’t say a word. A few seconds pass and the guard remains troubled by the reported commotion. It doesn’t want to leave the feeling with the novice, but it knows that if the intruder gets in, the feeling will be in more difficult situation.
With a deep concern on its face, the guard tells the novice, “It is my responsibility to keep the feeling safe. You have not known the entire story yet, but that intruder is very dangerous. Do you understand how serious this is?”
“We’re all here to protect the feeling.” The novice simply replies.
With that, the guard instantly leaps from its seat and warns the novice. “Don’t come near the door, you novice.” Then it hurries away.
The novice nervously stands by the door and knocks. “Are you there?” The novice waits for a reply but the feeling doesn’t answer.
“I just came here to tell you that the intruder is here. The examiner has been meaning to give you this,” the novice slips the results through. “Your guard is too protective of you and I understand that, but I know that in the end, the decision is yours.” And the novice leaves.
The danger in leaving a feeling out in the cold is that it may turn out to be hard enough that it won’t be melted by the highest degree of heat. The scary part could be that after such a long time, it won’t be able to recognize what has stirred itself in the first place.
As days pass, everybody is continuously disturbed by the intruder from the outside although it never gets to pass the guard. Despite all the disorder outside its door, the feeling remains unmoved. Does it mean the feeling has already been gone or has it just fallen into a very deep sleep that no ordinary intrusion may awaken it?
Who knows if the feeling hears everything from the inside. Who knows if it even looked at the reports of the examiner. Who knows if the guard were really successful in preventing the feeling from any form of intruder by just standing by the door.
“Could the feeling still be there,” the novice wonders.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Was It Real?
(A Poem, A Play)
SCENE 1:
He was looking straight at me,
Trying to catch my gaze.
What was in that stare?
Was he trying to tell me something?
Was he searching for answers?
But I couldn’t return his look.
I don’t know why.
Was I confused?
Was I afraid?
From the corner of my eyes,
I saw him turn away.
No expression at all
Or at least nothing I could read.
SCENE 2:
He was beside me,
Not speaking a single word.
It was heart-breaking
Being too close with somebody
And yet feeling he was drifting away.
I couldn’t contain the sadness I felt.
I was filled with confusion,
Excitement,
Anxiety,
Emptiness…
The list goes on…
Then suddenly,
All the havoc within me was interrupted
When he held my hand.
It was the first time.
And again, it was as if
There was oblivion on everything else,
Even on my own heartbeat.
Simply, I was stunned.
I didn’t dare look,
Nor did I ask anything.
I remained still,
Trying to identify what feeling it brought me.
SCENE 3:
I was looking at him,
Trying to catch his gaze.
But he looked away.
I tried to hold his hand,
But even before I could reach for them,
He locked them inside his pocket.
I tried to speak a word.
Something he never did.
But his eyes weren’t fixed on me.
Was he searching for something else?
It was my turn to look away.
Not to escape his gaze,
But to hide my tears.
I knew it was time.
But I couldn’t get into my feet.
Instead, I waited.
For him to look right over his shoulders.
And give me that look
I thought I once had.
Time was ticking.
I saw the leaves falling from the trees.
And before I knew it
There he was…
A shadow from afar…
An image I barely know…
Nothing but
A ghost who passed by…
It was when I wished the rolling of the curtains would end the scene.
ABOUT THE PLAY: It’s been almost a year since I played a lead role in a theater where I had no audience. It was a story which I personally produced, believing in its substance. It was a play whose script I, myself, wrote, choosing the plot, the climax and whose end still hangs. It was a play which I starred with no reservations at all. But eventually I realized it was a play I got myself involved with alone.
SCENE 1:
He was looking straight at me,
Trying to catch my gaze.
What was in that stare?
Was he trying to tell me something?
Was he searching for answers?
But I couldn’t return his look.
I don’t know why.
Was I confused?
Was I afraid?
From the corner of my eyes,
I saw him turn away.
No expression at all
Or at least nothing I could read.
SCENE 2:
He was beside me,
Not speaking a single word.
It was heart-breaking
Being too close with somebody
And yet feeling he was drifting away.
I couldn’t contain the sadness I felt.
I was filled with confusion,
Excitement,
Anxiety,
Emptiness…
The list goes on…
Then suddenly,
All the havoc within me was interrupted
When he held my hand.
It was the first time.
And again, it was as if
There was oblivion on everything else,
Even on my own heartbeat.
Simply, I was stunned.
I didn’t dare look,
Nor did I ask anything.
I remained still,
Trying to identify what feeling it brought me.
SCENE 3:
I was looking at him,
Trying to catch his gaze.
But he looked away.
I tried to hold his hand,
But even before I could reach for them,
He locked them inside his pocket.
I tried to speak a word.
Something he never did.
But his eyes weren’t fixed on me.
Was he searching for something else?
It was my turn to look away.
Not to escape his gaze,
But to hide my tears.
I knew it was time.
But I couldn’t get into my feet.
Instead, I waited.
For him to look right over his shoulders.
And give me that look
I thought I once had.
Time was ticking.
I saw the leaves falling from the trees.
And before I knew it
There he was…
A shadow from afar…
An image I barely know…
Nothing but
A ghost who passed by…
It was when I wished the rolling of the curtains would end the scene.
ABOUT THE PLAY: It’s been almost a year since I played a lead role in a theater where I had no audience. It was a story which I personally produced, believing in its substance. It was a play whose script I, myself, wrote, choosing the plot, the climax and whose end still hangs. It was a play which I starred with no reservations at all. But eventually I realized it was a play I got myself involved with alone.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Just Another Story
There were few people near the cinemas where they agreed to meet after another 2 long years. There were sounds of arcade games nearby, people chatting near the popcorn stand, a crew calling out orders on a fastfood chain. Somebody called out her name. She didn’t know if it was said loud enough, or the voice was just familiar that she instantly turned her head in his direction. When she saw a guy in red shirt with a camera hanging around his neck, she automatically grinned.
“Heeeeey!” she exclaimed, almost running towards him, arms stretched as if she were ready for a huge birthday present. They hugged that they almost fell. She imagined how foolish they must have seemed if they weren’t able to keep their balance. But that could have added up to the excitement of that “reunion.” They laughed at their clumsiness and at that point, she remembered how great it felt to be with him once again.
There was nothing extraordinary on that meeting. They spent what, four, five hours together, had lunch, did some live performances singing and laughed like crazy. Probably that was the best part of it. Yeah it was a bit odd. Every time he said something, she automatically burst into laughter no matter how stupid it was about. You two are weird, his brother even commented. She could’ve probably spent an entire day with him just listening to his “concert” and watching him concentrate on his pasta, as if trying to figure out how the entire plate can fit into his mouth. Who am I with, a five-year old? She teasingly thought.
Before they knew it, the day was over. He walked her to the train, where they would leave the last traces of that day. For the third time in nearly 5 years of knowing each other, they said good bye. They hugged. Still, she managed to tease him but then, she felt strange. Nobody has hugged her that way, as if telling her how much she was missed, how much he didn’t want to let her go or that he didn’t want it to end. Or maybe, it was just her mind playing tricks on her…coz maybe she was the one feeling that way.
She slowly walked away, giving him a last look. She smiled and even tried to reach out for him while she was being carried away by the line towards the train. They would probably meet in another year or so, and at the thought of it, she sighed.
And… she sighed. That was all. It was as if there was nothing more she could add. She held a pencil on her right hand, slightly tapped it on her head, lost in oblivion on what to write next. On the corner of the table was a trash bin, half-full of crumpled papers. She’d been trying to do the story for weeks, but all she could do was to stare blankly at her nth sheet of paper, with drawings of circles and twirls. Of course she could’ve used her computer in front of her, but she felt more of a writer with the pencil. Besides, saving the trees was not her top priority at that moment.
She let another sigh. She decided to get herself a cup of tea, the one with flower contents and that said: “a soothing drink to aid relaxation.” She held the back of her head and realized she badly needed it.
She threw herself on her bed and reached for a Mitch Albom’s. Maybe she needed some inspiring thoughts that would disguise the sadness she felt. She flipped the pages but the words barely registered to her mind. Unconsciously her thoughts slowly drifted from the time she tried to sense the relaxed feeling from her tea, to the time she didn’t even have to exert any effort to feel complete, just months ago.
Shaking her head, she tried to push away what had been haunting her. She got up and went back to drawing circles and twirls on the paper…
A month after, they accidentally saw each other in messenger. They chatted as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. It was the continuation of the … of the day they met, if there really were a … on it. And she actually didn’t think there could be anything else besides their usual senseless conversation that only they could understand. One thing led to the next. She was more puzzled on how things were going. He would call her on special occasions, chat with her everyday, not failing to be extra thoughtful. He would plan up a getaway with her, telling her it was his first time to really plan on something. Now, what was that about?
She crumpled the paper again, frustrated. She felt it was useless telling a story that was as unreal as Cinderella’s tale. What then is real?
They’ve known each other for 5 years now, 11 hours of it were spent together, the remaining practically as strangers, trying to know each other behind their monitors and phones. And all these time, they claimed to have known each other well. They spent these 11 hours comfortably that made her think that what they had was something special.
She knew what they had shared in 5 long years was the exact definition of oddness. She could’ve looked up in Webster and found its meaning as: an invisible friendship that started as a joke, shared apart, deepened despite the distance, continued to infinity.
She could’ve been contented on their friendship, but the 4, 5 hours of it changed it all. And the invisibility that came after ruined her dreams…coz she could never believe it could, at any point, be real.
She smirked at herself. Was there really a point that any of these things became real? Looking back, nothing seemed to make sense. Probably it was only her that laid an imaginative sense on everything. And now reality had finally found its way to bang her head and cruelly say that it was him that existed, not the one she had in mind. And it kicked her unmercifully. Who was she trying to convince that the story is convertible to reality, when it was her denying what’s already in front of her?
Hey, it’s been a long time since I last heard from you.
She wanted to ask why it did take him that long. She was damn bedazzled on what really happened. A ghost... She already pushed that idea away. She couldn’t believe that after all this time, he’d only been a ghost in her life. She wanted to tell him but then, she chose to say it plain: Yeah, nothing much has changed.
They say dreams do come true. But you’ve got to distinguish a dream that is plausible from something that you’re stuck with, just because you can’t let it go.
She sighed… She crumpled the paper once again, paused, and decided to keep that page. Some stories are better left untold. Indeed, it was just another story that would add up to her collection. The realization was already gazing at her, waiting for her to claim it, and yet she was reluctant to even give it a glance, coz she knew that when she got a hold of it, that signified the end of her story.
Did she want it to end?
She tried to sense any possible sign of anything at all. But she couldn’t discern a thing. Lost in that situation, she felt helpless. But then again, she chose to let things be.
Was it a mistake?
I’m coming back this year. Maybe I’ll see you then.
And…she sighed…
“Heeeeey!” she exclaimed, almost running towards him, arms stretched as if she were ready for a huge birthday present. They hugged that they almost fell. She imagined how foolish they must have seemed if they weren’t able to keep their balance. But that could have added up to the excitement of that “reunion.” They laughed at their clumsiness and at that point, she remembered how great it felt to be with him once again.
There was nothing extraordinary on that meeting. They spent what, four, five hours together, had lunch, did some live performances singing and laughed like crazy. Probably that was the best part of it. Yeah it was a bit odd. Every time he said something, she automatically burst into laughter no matter how stupid it was about. You two are weird, his brother even commented. She could’ve probably spent an entire day with him just listening to his “concert” and watching him concentrate on his pasta, as if trying to figure out how the entire plate can fit into his mouth. Who am I with, a five-year old? She teasingly thought.
Before they knew it, the day was over. He walked her to the train, where they would leave the last traces of that day. For the third time in nearly 5 years of knowing each other, they said good bye. They hugged. Still, she managed to tease him but then, she felt strange. Nobody has hugged her that way, as if telling her how much she was missed, how much he didn’t want to let her go or that he didn’t want it to end. Or maybe, it was just her mind playing tricks on her…coz maybe she was the one feeling that way.
She slowly walked away, giving him a last look. She smiled and even tried to reach out for him while she was being carried away by the line towards the train. They would probably meet in another year or so, and at the thought of it, she sighed.
And… she sighed. That was all. It was as if there was nothing more she could add. She held a pencil on her right hand, slightly tapped it on her head, lost in oblivion on what to write next. On the corner of the table was a trash bin, half-full of crumpled papers. She’d been trying to do the story for weeks, but all she could do was to stare blankly at her nth sheet of paper, with drawings of circles and twirls. Of course she could’ve used her computer in front of her, but she felt more of a writer with the pencil. Besides, saving the trees was not her top priority at that moment.
She let another sigh. She decided to get herself a cup of tea, the one with flower contents and that said: “a soothing drink to aid relaxation.” She held the back of her head and realized she badly needed it.
She threw herself on her bed and reached for a Mitch Albom’s. Maybe she needed some inspiring thoughts that would disguise the sadness she felt. She flipped the pages but the words barely registered to her mind. Unconsciously her thoughts slowly drifted from the time she tried to sense the relaxed feeling from her tea, to the time she didn’t even have to exert any effort to feel complete, just months ago.
Shaking her head, she tried to push away what had been haunting her. She got up and went back to drawing circles and twirls on the paper…
A month after, they accidentally saw each other in messenger. They chatted as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. It was the continuation of the … of the day they met, if there really were a … on it. And she actually didn’t think there could be anything else besides their usual senseless conversation that only they could understand. One thing led to the next. She was more puzzled on how things were going. He would call her on special occasions, chat with her everyday, not failing to be extra thoughtful. He would plan up a getaway with her, telling her it was his first time to really plan on something. Now, what was that about?
She crumpled the paper again, frustrated. She felt it was useless telling a story that was as unreal as Cinderella’s tale. What then is real?
They’ve known each other for 5 years now, 11 hours of it were spent together, the remaining practically as strangers, trying to know each other behind their monitors and phones. And all these time, they claimed to have known each other well. They spent these 11 hours comfortably that made her think that what they had was something special.
She knew what they had shared in 5 long years was the exact definition of oddness. She could’ve looked up in Webster and found its meaning as: an invisible friendship that started as a joke, shared apart, deepened despite the distance, continued to infinity.
She could’ve been contented on their friendship, but the 4, 5 hours of it changed it all. And the invisibility that came after ruined her dreams…coz she could never believe it could, at any point, be real.
She smirked at herself. Was there really a point that any of these things became real? Looking back, nothing seemed to make sense. Probably it was only her that laid an imaginative sense on everything. And now reality had finally found its way to bang her head and cruelly say that it was him that existed, not the one she had in mind. And it kicked her unmercifully. Who was she trying to convince that the story is convertible to reality, when it was her denying what’s already in front of her?
Hey, it’s been a long time since I last heard from you.
She wanted to ask why it did take him that long. She was damn bedazzled on what really happened. A ghost... She already pushed that idea away. She couldn’t believe that after all this time, he’d only been a ghost in her life. She wanted to tell him but then, she chose to say it plain: Yeah, nothing much has changed.
They say dreams do come true. But you’ve got to distinguish a dream that is plausible from something that you’re stuck with, just because you can’t let it go.
She sighed… She crumpled the paper once again, paused, and decided to keep that page. Some stories are better left untold. Indeed, it was just another story that would add up to her collection. The realization was already gazing at her, waiting for her to claim it, and yet she was reluctant to even give it a glance, coz she knew that when she got a hold of it, that signified the end of her story.
Did she want it to end?
She tried to sense any possible sign of anything at all. But she couldn’t discern a thing. Lost in that situation, she felt helpless. But then again, she chose to let things be.
Was it a mistake?
I’m coming back this year. Maybe I’ll see you then.
And…she sighed…
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