Skip to main content

Magkaliwanagan nga tayo

Kumakain sa aking isipan ang mga malabalahibong salita na gumapo sa dila ng kausap kong kay ganda. Hindi ko lubos maisip kung ako ba ay tunay ninanais o ginagamit lamang upang makamtan niya ang intensyon ng kanyang mga matatamis na pangarap. Habang malalim kong iniisip ito, lalo kong pinapatibay ang pagkumbinsi sa aking sarili na sa kabila ng lahat ng hirap at pagdurusa, masasabi ko sa aking puso na ako'y ganap na masaya.

Tumalikod ang kausap kong dilag at nagpaalam, ang gintong buhok nito'y umuuntol na parang buntot ng kabayo sa dilaw na sikat na araw, kanyang damit ay inaalon ng ginhawa ng mga espiritu. Siya'y ngumiti sa aking direksyon, kanyang bughaw na mga mata tumutusok sa aking pananaw, at ilong na napakatangos at masarap pisilin, at ang matambok nitong bibig na ubod ng senswalidad at karakter. 'Kita kits 'maya,' bulong niya sa akin na may kasamang ngiting nakakabighani.

Hindi ko maintindihan. Hindi. Bakit? Bakit hindi ko maintindihan? Minsan panalo, minsan talo. Kung may sagot sa tanong ko, siguro hindi na akong mag-aabala pang magtanong.

Dahan-dahang lumiliit ang anino ng kanyang likod sa aking harapan hanggang ito'y naglaho't parang salaming lumalabo at hindi na mapansin. Biglang sumuntok sa aking isipan, bakit sa lahat ng pagkakataon at swerte ay may dalang kapalit na lungkot? Bakit nandiyan lagi't nakabuntot ang opsyong ito? Bakit kailangang marunong kang alamin na mayroong mga bagay na nagpapaalala sa atin na sa bawat swerte ay isang importanteng desisyong kailangan mong pag-isipang mabuti bago sagutin upang maibsan kahit papaano ang higpit ng pagsisisi na lagi na lang nasa huli?

Tinawanan ko na lang ang aking pagkapilosopo. Sa ngayon. Mamaya-maya, ito'y babalik at ako'y muling magmumuni sa ilalim ng ugat ng aking sensitibong isipan. Nilakad ko ang daang mahangin dala ang pangarap ng dalaga na aking ninasahan. At muli kong naranasang magkaroon ng ambisyong matamasan ang pagiging nasa sentro ng tuktok ng mundo.

Popular posts from this blog

And then...

Four hours and ticking and I cannot seem to be copacetic to the privacy of her suspicious absence. How could I be when frightening tremors had shook their country just earlier today? It has been quite common to read about earthquakes rocking Italy recently, and the more these events take place, the more people feel less surprised about the fatalities. At the moment, I can sit on this chair being bothered by Starbucks personnel every half an hour or so, waiting for updates of Miriam's whereabouts. Surely she would be safe. I suppose my fears always come back to bite me in my arse. This is a farcry from mine fears. Far be it from the truth, I will not let it tear me asunder. She will be back to me soon enough, and then it would not take long before she will be in my arms, singing praises of our love, beneath the starry sky and our duvet. There is this unusual feeling of dread knowing that tomorrow I will be once again immersed into a job that I do not love; a return to form; of bei…

Strange Fruit

I had recently adorned a vow of silence for myself with Miriam for no apparent reason whatsoever other than to suit my whim, and, regardless of the pettiness associated with this misdemeanour, I pray this will only strengthen us both in spirit for the coming days. The coming days are definitely not meant for one such as me.
In the next few hours, not shortly before I am done with this piece, this vow will be disavowed. Miriam is sleeping soundly in my right, broken by the exhaustion that seemed to catch her unaware. This was not what she had prepared for when coming to London. This was not what I meant for her when I asked her to come. In order to alleviate the guilt of me making it more difficult for us both, I do what it is that I do best, and that is to love her hungrily and wildly. And some little bit of swag on the side to cure her state of frustration albeit temporarily.
My days are long and yet wields very little. For now I do and take whatever I can, whenever I can. A grand f…

Decide my fate for me

As though the wind may pass with golden steps from shallow graves, the warmth of her hands could not defeat January weather in England, proving that tests of fate weigh heavier than the insidious intentions of a warring tribe. Perhaps it is high time I engage in other methods more worthy of personal consideration. She left me in the cold when my reality cloaked in malady was in full motion, sweating icicles in the interior, punching my guts in gutsy ups and gutsy downs. She was my meaning. She is my void.