These days, I spend a lot of time watching you. I'm not entirely certain if it has something to do with the years I didn't get to spend with you, like they are something I have to make up for. Maybe it does. Maybe they are.

Now, I watch you pace the length between here and there and wonder how far you've gone from where you are.

Is it true, what you say, that the number of times you stir your coffee makes a difference? Does it take more of the bitterness away, the more circles you make? I wonder.

You are looking at the road and I am looking at you. To your left, a darkly tinted window; to its left, an unrecognizable twilight. I realize that I don't mind if it is so, at all. I trace your profile with my eyes.

I couldn't bring myself to stop at four segments; and so I write you down again.

Passage, or something like that

There's an element of strangeness in it: being half in love with something for as long as one can remember and then, one day realizing one doesn't like it anymore. This was the case with my (erstwhile) addiction to coffee and sadness. One morning, I woke up, fixed myself my usual cups of caffeine and gloom and, after a few sips, decided I wanted no more of both. 

I poured them into the drain, turned the water on, pelted the sink with disinfectant, and scrubbed with more force than usual. 

I went out to buy some tea and bask in the sunlight.

The Walk Home

what surprises you most in what you feel,

earth's radiance or your own delight?

- Louis Gluck

The lamps were lit, the street was pale yellow, and my steps were unhurried as I walked.

I was thinking, it is no longer the night that's catching up with me; it is I who's catching up with the night. I was remembering a particular moment--daybreak, it was--when you made me realize twilight no longer made me sad, the way it used to, for a very long time.

A small, unforeseen smile, a quickening in my chest, the deep, languorous texture of evening--an aqueous joy was rushing through my veins, and I felt light, like a murmur, or a ripple. A faint memory of, of--something brushed my left cheek, and was gone before I could give it a name. The word/s seemed far away, too blurry for me to make out. Or was it a breeze?

I laughed, out loud, and the sound echoed upward, toward the sky (like I knew what sky meant), like my laughter always does when I am laughing, and happy. I felt my heart swell with anticipation. Just a few more steps and I would turn the corner that led to you.

Thoughts of hot tea, of music and books, of hope and love, wafted in my mind like promises about to be fulfilled. I brushed back some wisps of hair that fell over my eyes and quickened my pace. Awake and pensive, by the light of the furtive moon, I knew you were waiting.

A moment, a pause.

It is inevitable that they come along; first, one, and then, the other. Along with trailing noises--a puppy's bark, some jazz--and the daily sight of things, walls, maybe, or a folded shirt, an empty glass; some invisible door opens, and the moment tiptoes in, with the pause, in tow.

The moment stretches into something almost palpable, and so does the pause. One is made to acknowledge both, and the hours that came before. How long has it been? The question begs to be asked. How long since the once constant companions--endless wakefulness, maybe, or periodic stupors, insuppressible tears--have left? The days have been kind, one realizes. They have brought one to the present, where the certainty of pain, the sting of anguished thoughts, and the seeming permanence of grief for lost things, are but memories, that consign themselves deeper into some indeterminate recess of the healing heart. 

Some dull ache taps one on the arm. But the day waits outside and has, in truth, begun pulling one out of the hour. The interlude ends, and one stirs back into one's locus, where breakfast waits, and shelves need dusting.

Somewhere, the sudden loudness of a door shutting, the footsteps of someone walking away. Somewhere, the sound of someone leaving. 

But here, the sunlight streams in. And for a moment, the handle of the coffee cup sparkles where the light slants, like newness. 

This morning's companions

I promised myself I'd catch up on all the sleep I keep losing during my work week, but here I am, with my cup of coffee, reading and scribbling, musing and smiling in between, sighing, every now and then. I missed this, hopping from one blog to another, becoming privy to other people's thoughts, finding affirmation in their hopes and solace in their griefs, knowing that I am not alone in my mind's episodes of darkness. That these people are strangers makes the balm even sweeter, as the knowledge that other people go through brokenness, too, and that they, too, write candidly about life and love, make for delicious companions on a Tuesday morning, that could very well find itself buried under a pile of other days as the weeks and months and years progress. One could not escape what one is, and this could just be who I am. Cheers to the beautiful creatures that words are. Life seems less lonely, with them in all these (seemingly) blank spaces.

Just Little Things

The small things are often the most neglected. 

But catching them could just turn out to be the best moments of our day.

more here

Rainy Days and Mondays no longer bring me down

"Each moment is a place you've never been." 
— Mark Strand

It's been a while. The days have gone by, one after the other, in a seemingly perpetual stream of hours and people and places.

But let me start with my dad, and the cherished hours the two of us, once upon a sunny morning, whiled away in music, and talks about melody and lyrics, and performing on stage, and the Beatles and Crystal Gayle and books and writers, and family, and life. Priceless, that's the word that comes to mind. I am lucky to have a father who understands me and whom I understand and with whom I can talk to about things in languages that are familiar to us both.

And, from there, comes everything else that's keeping me on a high these days:

the job I have that's become more than just a job, recently, something more than a reason to get out of bed at a certain hour and drag oneself to start and complain about and finish because one has to, but something that has finally, finally turned into a place where I know I can be (extremely) productive and useful and, yes, happy, at the same time;

the weekend getaways that are proof of the importance of work-life balance, the bouts of conversations and laughter--be it in holes-in-the-wall, or bowling joints, or a cinema where "Transformers" is proof that robots can also wear shawls with flair (hello, Megatron!) or loud music-infested joints, or quiet cafes--that are best shared with well-trusted buddies, or peers with whom one can be comfortable, or new-found friends that one is getting to know better;

and, not least of all, the moments I spend with myself, those few, precious hours that keep my sanity intact and my sense of the world and my reason for being in it, in place, where my only companions could only be either of these: a good book, or a good song. And where the only constant is coffee, with sugar and lots of cream.

Rest Day

"And today is whatever I want it to mean."
- Beth Orton, "Central Reservation"


If my eyes are to be trusted, I'd say it was a full and orange moon I saw in the sky, early this evening. The wind was benign, not biting, at all, just all coltish and balmy, bringing memories of violins and vanilla. Beth Orton was in the background, and Miles Davis followed suit with his trumpet and his band. The lines of a just-read poem still floated in my head and I breathed it all in: the aftermaths of twilight, the cool scent of the evening, the loveliness of beat and song, the exquisiteness of words and spaces, the lucid state my mind was in.

I had my music and my sanity. Everything was in its right place.

The Month That is

Tailing the heels of a funked-up first month of the year, my February is brimming over with laughter and Oscar nominees and Grammy winners and my kids' bout with and eventual recovery from measles and bonding time with my mom and prayers for and hopes for a good year and occasional givings-in to purchases and work, work, work and once more teetering in killer stilettos and allowing myself to indulge in conversations with good friends and revisiting old haunts and entertaining dreams of Tory Burch bags and Anthologie shoes. =)

I am blessed, and for that, I am thankful.

Redemptions

or was the point always
to continue without a sign?
-Louise Gluck, "Matins"

I have all too recently realized my folly of letting things pass under my nose. Without me noticing them, without me giving them notice.

What a terrible, sad way of life it is--to wake up and go through the motions of one's day, to close one's eyes off to slumber without first looking at the stars and wishing on one, just because one has not wished on a star in ages, just because one has forgotten to, or ceased to believe in such things. Things like wishes, and stars, and blessings, and rainbows after rainy days. In even more intangible intangibles, like love, and faith, and hope. In believing that life is good, that there is much to be thankful for, despite and in spite of the daily toils, the unrealized dreams, the occasional hunger, the uninvited sadnesses.

But life doesn't cease to remind. And it has given me constant nudges until I learned to pay attention to things I have unintentionally taken for granted.

That there is a roof over my head, that I have a job that more than gets me through from one pay check to another, that I can buy the things I need and want, that I have a nose that lets me breathe, that there is air to breathe, at all--I am thankful. But more so, for the fact that I have a family who has never, ever abandoned me, come hell or high water, that I have friends who stay with me in good times and in bad, that there is grace that keeps on saving, over and over, and over again--for these I am grateful, happy to be alive.

May you have a blessed year ahead.

You, sunlight.

     the rain
is brightening now.
-Elizabeth Bishop, "Rain Towards Morning"-


The wind takes something with it when it passes by: dust, moments, pain. The rain could bring flood in its wake, but washes away, too, heat and heartaches. 

The heart emerges refreshed, whole again, after a storm. From a newly-opened window, the mind sees the sunlight streaming in.

Ride

Traversing the city's roads, the mind's eye conjures safety, blocking out the images that pinpoint pain, threshing out the familiar where the bitterness resides, learning to see by itself and for itself, feigning numbness for distances and distances, until the need to be numb disappears, and all that's left is the newness, the heart's eagerness to start seeing again where the mind left off, empty spaces waiting to be filled, and the heart, breathless, keen on filling them.

Suddenly, sunshine. The world sparkles, once more.

Finally,

something to look forward to.
=)

I remember telling you

about my childhood--about the quaint, old house I grew up in, about its resident turtle and trusty, ancient Queen, the dog, about the dear, kind people I spent my mornings and evenings with, the chirping birds and squawking hens I woke up to, the crickets I listened to as I drifted off to sweet, innocent sleep.

I remember the sad smile that turned up the corners of your mouth. Most of all, I remember your reply: the world is a cruel place and you're just a little, little girl in the middle of it. And I remember thinking, perhaps you're right. Indeed, there is much evil here, squalor in so many places, greed in some, leftover misery from the first miseries that were, so many lonely people trying to make their way in whatever way they can.

But I remember thinking, too, how there must have been something wrong with what you said. After all, you're here. After all, my dad, my brother and I just had a really nice time catching up with each others' lives a week ago. After all, my other brother just texted me his wish that I get well soon. After all, my mom just called me up several days ago to cheer me up. After all, colleagues are helping me take care of work matters. After all, friends have sent and are still sending get-well-soon messages. After all, you just made me a comforting cup of coffee. After all, the sky is finally dousing the dry earth with its rain. After all, I have a pink towel. After all, tomorrow is another day. After all, there is the gift of words. After all, I continue to dream of and hope for a better life. After all, I know you do, too.

The world can't be all that evil. 

It just isn't possible.

And the ladies lunched

Drat, I can't find the Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo essay I had been meaning to base this post on. I skimmed through her Coming Home, which was where I remember having read the phrase "they call it pampahaba ng buhay", or something to that effect (I am not altogether sure if that was the exact line). I think I remember her referring, too, to Gilda Cordero Fernando's book Ladies' Lunch and Other Ways to Wholeness. Age can blur so many things.

Tsk.

This pampahaba ng buhay she alluded to was that important ice-breaker in every woman's--or man's, for that matter--daily humdrum of routines: the lunch date, or shopping appointment, or cozy dinner with the best friend or college barkada, or the social afternoon call (merienda) to someone from the exclusive ladies' (or guys') clique. It is that most needed conversation, that good laugh over coffee, that outpouring of secrets and dreams and woes to a friend, or two friends, or even three. You figure how it becomes a "pampahaba ng buhay." Because it is.

I had one such tryst earlier today with my dear, dear friend Sheila, who is one of the rare few who have really taken the time and effort to break down my carefully built brick walls, said "hello, how are you?" so many times, said number of times eventually softening my hardened heart and allowing her entry so that now, she is an indispensable persona who adds so much value to my life. We had lunch of pasta and chicken (for her) and salad (for me, yes, I am on a diet again) and iced tea and exchanged hosts of stories and gossip and thoughts, as if we hadn't yet had enough of it in the office, mainly, I guess, because a lunch out is an entirely different thing. We didn't seem to run out of fodder for conversation. We never do, anyway.

So, yeah, you should definitely catch up with that old friend, or that trusted peer. Grab that chance to bring back that joie de vivre, that chance to be just a girl, just a guy, worry-free and young (no matter what age one may be) because meet-ups and talks like these do much to ward the stress away. It keeps one healthy, ready to go back to life's same old palette of grays and browns.

Because in those two short hours, or three, even, there will be good vibes all around. And an exchange of dreams and hopes, too, definitely. And laughter, loads of it. Sadnesses, too, perhaps, yes, but always, always, that sense of knowing that there is someone (aside from that significant other, maybe) watching out for us, or simply someone who will listen and share her views to help one turn a problem around, or to be the stronghold for when one finally gets the courage to confront that difficult issue.

Or just smile back, when silence is all there is, and silence is all that's needed.

Basic Multiple Choice

Choose the best answer:
a) be happy
b) sulk

March Me Up

I love marching bands. They make me happy.

And, oh, yeah: the louder, the better. I especially love the tuba; it's quite magnificent.

Yesterday was a reversal of roles as my 8-year-old son covered his ears with his hands because the marching band passing us by was "too loud" and I, I couldn't stop my feet from stomping to their music. Heck, I had to stop myself from marching alongside them!
=D

Have an awesome February!

*photo source*

My dad

is really something else.

We were texting just this afternoon and I was telling him about my unusually busy (not that it's ever been not busy, just that it's been especially busy) and colorful week at work and he told me that he had just dismissed the foreman of the team of builders working on the new house because said foreman was reporting to work inebriated (which is, come to think of it, ground for termination). My dad is now acting as foreman. I have no idea what it is that a foreman does. But, there.

In my mind, I was, like, sheesh, Daddy, is there anything you can't do?

See, my dad is sort of a jack-of-all-trades, an all-around kind of guy, cosmopolitan, if you will, doing a little bit of this and that and everything else.

I remember being a first or second-grader and seeing the plan my dad had drawn of the house he was having built (which was ours). Awed, I asked him, "Daddy, did you draw this? You're goooood!" Even as a child, I was already a doting fan.

A few years back, when Friendster was still the "in" thing, I remember writing in my profile: "My dad is the one man whom I measure all other men against."

The loot: Erstwhile stage actor, Fisheries grad, one-time teacher, competent banker, talented singer/musician (he sings and plays the keyboards in his rock band and the church choir and he plays the guitar, too), architect/engineer, contractor, real estate broker, interior designer, Ping-pong champ, dancer, Art aficionado, guidance counselor, loving husband to my mom, wonderful, wonderful father to his three proud, adoring kids, and my steadfast saving grace.

Whew.

I told him, "Daddy, you are one tough act to follow."

And he is. He really is.

I don't think any other kind of worry can equal that of a mother's for her sick child.

Thank you, God, for making Kim well.

Come in, 2010

I spent New Year at work, and, in that respect, at least, it was no different from last year.

Otherwise, things were better.

You know that lightness of being (which was in no way unbearable, by the way) that people have when they're happy? I felt that. The last New Year I remember feeling that way was when I was a small kid. Long time ago. You know, all wide-eyed and bright-eyed and content and excited, at the same time? It felt good to be my age and feel good and actually look forward to the coming year.

Wishing you that lightness of being, too.


Happy New Year, reader. Things will be better, you'll see.
=)