Munchquin

I am now ending a chapter of my life and starting a new one...

http://munchquin.blogspot.com

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before.

The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new."

~Rajneesh

The Naked Wife

Unlike other people, television is not something I would consider a necessity. In my opinion, TV is evil in the sense that it spaces you out, distracts you from doing more productive things, shows you commercials that can make you order a remote-controlled blender or a garlic press in the middle of the night, and prevents you from communicating with your loved ones. Broddy, on the other hand, deserving of the presidential seat among the cult of TV addicts, lives and breathes television when he's at home.
Which brings us to the annoying antics he does to entertain himself when we moved to our own apartment just recently, yet to purchase a flat screen TV, much less cable access.

Bored with reading a n old book he found in my library, he got out of bed, wore my glasses, put his hands behind the small of his arched back, stuck out his tummy, copied my matter-of-fact facial expression, and said, "Hi. I'm Nat. I'm a doctor. I'm Nat. Take a bath. I'm Nat. Brush your teeth. I'm Nat. Should I make you coffee? I'm Nat. I like my Enfamama. I'm Nat. Stop it. I'm Nat. Can I have a hug? I'm Nat. Can you pay attention to the road?"

Despite the hormones of pregnancy and the pride I inherited from my dad, I couldn't keep a straight face. Even with the 9 inches of height, shorter hair and almost a hundred pounds that my husband has over me, the resemblance was uncanny. It was one of those simple but unforgettable moments that made me feel grateful that we didn't have television yet.

Broddy and I have been together for a year, 3 months of which we were already married.
He's come to be the only person who has seen me at my hormonal monster mode. And although unfathomable to most people, to him I'm an open book. Naked and exposed.
He says I high-five like a dweeb.
He knows I'm sneaky in the sense that I pretend to forget to wash the dishes on purpose if someone was coming in the morning to clean the house.
He thinks--or rather, knows--that I'm only pretending to know my way around the kitchen... which is why after the first time I cooked for him, i never wanted to again. After all that heartless snickering I could hear from behind me while I pan-fried my ground beef, I didn't want to make the effort anymore. Having a husband who's a chef does have its disadvantages.

I know him as well as the back of my hand too. But I dare not write down the nasty habits I'm privy to, because if I do he might just murder his own wife.

I love talking to my husband because he makes me laugh. He's a comedian and a klutz, and he's endearing like that.

And if we'd get less moments like this if we get a TV, then I'm hiding the cable application form for as long as I could.

(c) Natalisms 09162011

Wallflower

You don't look at me the same way anymore

Like the wallpaper on the bathroom wall.

It's the little things that count

But it's also the little things that miss your attention.

When something becomes routine

we take things for granted.

You wouldn't notice if I took just one step back.

After all

Air is only important when there is none.

Crutches

Sometimes, we measure our lives by finding what we've always hoped for and dreamed of. More often than not, we find ourselves disappointed in the process, and wonder how come other people have it so easy. Friends tell us we just have to be patient, this too shall pass, and soon we'll meet that one person that's going to make it all worthwhile. But with each failed relationship, each goodbye, each time we go out trying to forget, and each time we remember, we feel that all-too-familiar sense of hopelessness that eats up at us slowly. For a time, we become bitter, jaded, cynical and pessimistic. So we hang onto those people we hold dear to our hearts. Those people who never left us, offered us a shoulder or an ear, and dropped everything just to be there. Our relationships may fail us, but our best friends never do. They help us get through the worst of it, and serve as our crutches when we're too pained to rise up, walk and go out into the world again. With their help, we surprisingly get over it so fast, and we wonder if we're just used to the pain, or we've become experts at recovery. But then maybe it's because we've grown up, and we've learned not to cry over spilled milk. After all, everything happens for a reason. The universe conspires to give what is best for us, and maybe that person wasn't it after all. What else to do but hope for the best. There is, after all, no harm in living life to the fullest, whether we're single or not. Whatever comes, comes. And when it does, we should make the most out of it. We should love as if we've never been hurt and dance to the music as if no one's watching. If we end up disappointed again, we all know we'll get over it one day soon. After all, our best friends will always be there to lead us through it all over again.

(c) Nat Casuela 09022010

Best Friends' Day on Election Day

"Zombies are coming," he said in a deep, slow monotone as he clicked away on his mouse, staring at the screen of his laptop with an unwavering expression.

I look up from my books and glare at him, uselessly, since he was too focused on his game to even glance at my direction.

I should have known:
spending a day at Chili's with my books and Noel with his laptop = spending a day at Chili's with my books alone.

So today is Election Day.

Noel and I--best friends with strong, passionate and opposing political views that don't matter since neither of us are registered--decided to make it one of our impromptu Best Friends' Days. Minus the alcohol (@#*<^&?! liquor ban!), Best Friends' Day is basically the same as all the other Sundays I spend with him: with me staring at my books and pretending not to wish I were the one playing Plants & Zombies on the other side of the table, and Noel with eyes only for his laptop.

So why do I keep spending days like these with him, you may ask? Why suffer while he tortures me like this, clicking on his mouse endlessly while I highlight my books and try to tune out the irritating guttural "gamer" sounds he does?

Because Noel is one of the few people I could sit across from, in comfortable silence, without pressure to make conversation. Because he's one of the two people who would spend the day with me at Chili's during the liquor ban. Because just to cheer me up, he would look for a good angle, and take a pretty photo of me when I'm down and at my ugliest. Because he's the only other person I know who knows The Little Mermaid's "Part of your World" by heart, and would sing it with me at the top of our lungs just for kicks. Because no matter how much weight I've gained, how many mistakes I've made, how emotional I am when I'm PMS-ing, how obsessive-compulsive I get, he would spend time with me even when I know he has much more exciting and better things to spend his time on. Because he knows me inside and out, and he can finish my sentences and even say things he'd know I would say before I'd even think it. Because he loves me for whatever I am, and for whatever I may represent in his life.

And for that, I love him too.

Happy Best Friends' Day, Squid!

Missing Nancy

It was a gloomy day.

It looked like twilight in the morn, hinting at a slow drizzle, as several lazy clouds drifted together in a congregation.

The ocean was gray, reflecting the skies above, and the waters were clam as night.

The smell of rain was in the air, that of cold damp earth lingering with the scent of morning dew on grass.

The beach was almost completely deserted, with a few seagulls revolving around a moldy, rotten boot that found its way to shore.

There was a child, alone, sitting on a rock by the water, beside a sculpture that looked like a sandcastle from days past, deformed by the tide and wind.  A deflated balloon lay on the ground beside her, its string still attached to her thin, scraggly wrist.

She was in a dress, the kind that parents make their children wear on special occasions, with puffy short sleeves, a pink sash for a belt and layers of lavender silk and satin skirts.  It must have been a pretty dress, except now it was smeared with dirt and peppered with sand, and skirts all tattered and torn, just like the rest of her seemed to be.  Her long hair was in tangles, and she held in one hand a tiara, still shiny as if it had just been bought today.  Her shoulders were slumped forward and her back was turned to the sea.

She was crying in silence.

She wiped her tears with her her hand, smearing more grime onto her face.

She stared hard at the tiara she held, tenderly rubbing the fake rhinestones on it with a handful of skirts until they gleamed liked stars.

She lifted the tiara, very carefully, onto the oily, filthy tendrils on her head.

She put her chin up, like a real princess, just like her mother used to tell her.

Slowly, she stood up and walked barefoot towards the water, leaving footprints that will be forgotten, because of the ebb and flow of the tides at sea

(c) natalisms 05032009

Flightless Dove

My heart brims

With questions left unanswered. 

I am trapped in an elevator car

Watching the world pass me by

Longing for the wind on my face and the clouds behind me. 

 

I am destined for greatness.

But my feet are planted firmly on the ground

By those who hold me down for selfish reasons.

My guilt weighs heavily on my soul as I wish for wings to fly

For they know not what they do.

They know not what they do.

 

Have I found you yet

Or am I losing you more by staying?

Tears stain my chest

As I feel that all too familiar want of air

 

I weep like an abandoned child.

The world is happening around me

But I dared not move

Because who would remind me of myself

When I fail to remember?

 

I stay for all the wrong reasons

And pretend today never happened

For they know not what they do.

They know not what they do.

(c) natalisms 04212009

Cheshire Cat

He was walking backwards, and he didn’t know it.

The marble tiles glowed blue and sprouted a black flower with every step backward he took.  He was wearing red Chuck Taylors with yellow laces.  In a weird sort of way, it complemented his checkered trousers.

She watched him from the shadows, with a handcrafted piece of clothing in her hands, embroidered with erotic images from the teachings of Kama Sutra.

He seemed to be thinking about something intensely, with a painful expression comparable only to those trapped in a medieval torture house.

She stood up, approached him quietly from behind, and gave him a tap on the shoulder. 

He jumped out of his skin when he felt a burning sensation emanating from her index finger.  He turned around and saw her, wearing a pink sundress and a corsage on her left wrist.

“Cayenne pepper,” she laughed, looking at her finger. “I have a small bottle in my bag.”

He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“I like it with fried chicken balls.  It’s a daily staple,” she shrugged and waved the topic away.  “You always walk backwards when deep in thought?”

“I’m sorry but do I know you?” he said in a tight, irritated voice, in mid-back-stride.  He looked at her from the top of her head to her bare feet, and stared longer than was necessary at her missing left big toe.

She imagined stuffing a piece of foam into his mouth and celebrating the rest of the night in a luxurious bed of sheets made out of human skin.  She looked at her painted fingernails instead.  “We've never had the need for names, but we’ve already met,” she said as she bit onto a hangnail.  “Several times.”

“Where?” he asked, his stance relaxing a little.  He seemed more curious than miffed now.  He tilted his head to one side and looked at her pale face.

“There’s this map I made while you were asleep.  It has places you’ve been to before, but I don’t quite think you remember.  You always wake up confused and you end up forgetting.”

“You’re not making any sense,” he shook his head and closed his eyes, as if trying to make a migraine disappear.

“I don’t have to,” she smiled, showing a missing front tooth.  “This is my dream, not yours.”

Indulge Me.

After having a hundred encounters with airheads who spend countless hours talkin' about themselves without even realizing you never said a word, I vowed to never place another person in that same situation of torture I've always had to endure.  I promised to talk about myself as minimally as possible (unless I'm talking to my best friends, of course).  

But then Noel, being the deliciously vain creature that he is (and rightfully so), decided to hop onto the bandwagon of self-absorbed strangle-worthy individuals and make a shout out for me to join him

Dare I say "no"?

Ten Years Ago:   

Damnit, this was... give or take...15 pounds ago.  

I was 15, in my first year of Physical Therapy, and cutting almost every class with my two closest friends then, Dennis and Carlo.

At about this same time that year, Dennis and I, along with our other friends Berzo, Melanie and Jerson, decided to go up to Cloud 9 in Antipolo.  As was the usual case, Dennis' car broke down, on that road you have to go through to get there (the one with the 75-degree angulation).  Since none of us knew how to jump-start a car in reverse, we had to run up that steep road while pushing his car. In heels.  Of course, we never got there.  We went to LIMITS instead.  Old school!  WOOHOO!

Five Years Ago: 
I think this was about the time I met Noel (or was it 6 years ago?).  I just came out of a bad breakup, depressed and looking for a reason to be happy.  Toni introduced him to me out on Starbucks  6750.  We all took a table outside, and talked about this and that.  During the course of that conversation (dressed in an exotic tunic, may I add), he looked at my palm then at my innocent, vulnerable superstitious face, and told me in a serious Madam Auring voice that there were gonna be a lot more men in my future, but I should be careful because I'm gonna get pregnant at the age of 21 (WHATTA MONSTER!!!!).  Of course that didn't come true, but that traumatic warning took a lot of fun out of my "formative years".  

One Year Ago:  
Clerkship (senior year of medical school).  We were on our Community Medicine rotation.  We had to spend a month in some faraway rural godforsaken ghost-ridden hospital where we weren't allowed to go out.  We had to take baths in moldy mushroom-y shower cubicles (I swear it, mushrooms were sprouting on the doors), taking care not to make contact with the filthy walls and catch fungal infections.  We had to sleep on old hospital beds (who knows how many people have died there and what kind of bodily secretions have touched its surfaces all these years) that creaked during the night even when you weren't moving.  The only good things we looked forward to each morning when we woke up were the after-lunch naps, the 4 o'clock fishballs, and our outdoor makeshift whiteboard-projected movies where we could smoke and get drunk while watching horror flicks on the big screen.

One month ago: 

Arvin and I went to Hi Street and we bought my own skateboard!

I named him Jude Law.  

Tee-hee!

Five Snacks: 
1.  Chocolate-covered macadamias

2.  Ruffles - cheddar cheese / sour cream n' onion

3.  French fries

4.  Snacku 

5.  Uhm, beer.

Five Songs I Know All the Words To: 
1.  Solu Music feat. Kimblee - Fade

2.  Roc Project feat. Tina Arena - Never

3.  Deepest Blue - Deepest Blue

4.  Musiq Soulchild - Don't Change

5.  Of course, like Noel, Part of Your World by Ariel of The Little Mermaid (we already have a recorded duet of this, to be out on the market come December)

Five Things I Would Do With $100 Million:
1. Buy a building and build a company that employs at least 500 of the disabled.
2. Distribute a monthly free magazine that promotes Filipino art, literature, culture and nationalism.

3. Buy my parents a farm with a really big house and lots of rooms where all their future in-laws and grandkids can stay every weekend (and a big kitchen where some gourmet chef will be doing all the cooking).

4. Give my baby brother the amount he needs to start his own law firm

5. Hire a bunch of scientists to find ways how to make me permanently thin without having to diet or moving a single muscle to exercise.  Heehee.

Five Places to Run Away To: 

1.  The beach

2.  My room

3.  Good Earth Roasts, Rockwell

4.  Our house out of town

5.  Any place where Toni / Noel / Arvs is.

Five Things I Would Never Wear:
1.  Cheap shoes

2.  Ruffles

3.  Fake jewelry  

4.  Fishnet stockings

5.  Someone else's underwear

Five Favorite TV Shows: 
1.  The Family Guy
2.  Conan o' Brien

3.  Sex & the City

4.  Spongebob Squarepants

5.  Anything on Discovery

Five Greatest Joys:
1.  The beach

2.  Patients who get better and appreciate the fact that you had a hand in that

3.  Finding out I lost weight without making an effort to do so

4.  The last minute of 34-hour hospital duty

5.  Cinema One

Five Favorite Toys:
1.  Barbie (tee-hee!)

2.  My pink & white striped Blankie (took me 18 years to sleep without it)

3.  Jigsaw puzzles

4.  Minesweeper

5.  Presently, Jude Law (my board)

The Anatomy of Melancholy

I waited for the sun to go down while burning to a crisp.

I know I shouldn't have worn a jacket, but it don't matter.  It don't matter, just like you said, thinking it was better than showing everyone the flaws you didn't use to see.

So I back up into the shade and drank the coffee I didn't like, secretly punishing myself for the fact that I meant to change but didn't.

I wanted to renew myself.  To find a refreshing non-surly disposition that doesn't bring you down with me. 

But there is and has always been something.

Something wrong.

Something lacking.

Something out of place.

Something that made me less of who I've always wanted to be.

Less of who you've wanted.

Could it be everything I ever did?

Could it be the decisions I chose to get where I am or the things I let you do but didn't like?

I've tried both ends of a rope that keeps on breaking like a thread each time I pull on it.

When two worlds collide, either of two situations can result:  a sonic boom of stars and fireworks, or a conflict of interests.

It's the little games we play and thoughts we never shared because hurting the other was the last thing we meant to do.

So I bask in melancholy while waiting for an epiphany, in any form that I would recognize as hope for salvation.

With coffee in hand and a cigarette in the other, I put on my earphones to drown the rest of the world away, losing myself in the solace I find where I can think thoughts you never want to hear.

Phoenix

You stop to take my hand when I falter.

You unravel me from a thousand knotted strings.

You take me from doubt and suspicion

Into a world of violins and good intentions.

The pitter-patters of tears gone past

Have eased my soul into apparitions of yours.

I become the center of the universe

Shining like a star,

Riding on a ray of sunlight.

I find joy in mellow lullabies

And my spirit in a hundred rainy days.

Just when i thought I was broken

From pieces of unspoken conversation,

You make me soar like a feather in the wind.

Wraith

I open my eyes in the dark

My heart beats like a drum in my ears.  

My breathing is fast and shallow

Fear grips me by the throat with its iron fist

I couldn't move my arms nor my legs

My head is held down by something, I know not

I couldn't breathe  

For my chest is heavy

Someone is pushing me down

Pain sears down my legs

I am burning

Burning

Someone is whispering

Whispering

Chanting

Chanting a prayer

Louder and louder it chants

Until it becomes a deafening scream in my ears

My eyes dart back and forth in the dark

I am enveloped in a cloud of pure panic

A shadow stands by the foot of my bed

I try to ask, Is someone there?

But I find my voice would not speak.

060808

Since childhood, I have kept it to myself, scared to death of being called a freak.  But I have found the courage to tell everyone today my dirty little secret.

I see dead people.

Well, I thought I did.  Because of this, I still sleep with the lights on.  Yeah yeah, I'm a big loser, I know.  However, after my most recent and worst episode to date, I decided to look for a logical and scientific explanation to my problem.  I logged onto the Triple W.  I Googled and hopped from one link to another.  And then I found the answer.

I have sleep paralysis disorder.

Only those with the same disorder can understand how hard it is to cope with such an ailment.

And so for all those who could be having the same problem as I do, I'm posting this article for your benefit, with this very comforting message:  You are not alone.

Sleep Paralysis (SP) is a common medical condition. The symptoms can sometimes include complete to partial paralysis of arms, legs and upper torso, a tight or heavy pressure on your chest sometimes with a choking sensation and almost always experienced as you are about to fall into sleep or just come out of sleep.

The most remarkable symptoms of SP are the accompanying audio and/or visual hallucinations often causing extreme terror and panic in it's sufferers, who more often than not mistakenly believe they are being visited by aliens, malevolent beings and other evil presences.

Research shows that SP is linked with REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. When in REM sleep you are usually dreaming, your body does not act out your dreams as you will hurt either yourself, or someone else, so evolution has worked its merry little way of getting your brain to switch off your muscles (so to speak) and relax you while dreaming, essentially paralyzing you to a degree.

The cause for a state of SP is when your mind wakes up, usually still in a semi-REM state, but your body is still relaxed and semi paralyzed, bringing on a the sometimes horrifying sensation of being paralyzed while still in a semi-dream state yet awake. The consequences of this state are usually nothing short of terrifying to individuals with their dreams suddenly becoming reality as they are trapped in an inbetween sate of consciousness. The usual result is panic to try to release oneself while sleep creeps around your brain like a slow fog trying to drag you back down to it's depths again. 

Of a recent survey it is suggested that between 25-30% of the general population has suffered some form of SP with 95% of these experiencing a perceived horrifying event. It is now considered to be a common disorder among the population, but not many people admit to suffering SP. Yes, it does run in the family, if you have suffered an episode, chances are there's a member within your close family who has also experienced this. People often feel they are experiencing something paranormal with SP due to the bizarre symptoms and don't realize that they are in fact suffering from something many others have experienced with a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Of course there are many other symptoms besides the paralysis and hallucinations, sometimes including shooting pains in the arms, back, neck or head, paralysis of only one limb (partial paralysis), choking and suffocating feeling, pressure on other parts of the body such as back, neck, arms or legs the feeling of someone touching you, feelings of an evil presence behind or beside you, and sometimes squeezing or hugging around your body.

The term "perception" needs to be used in the case of SP, as the feelings of a presence are usually only perceived and not actually sighted in the majority of cases reported. The presences are in fact not real and only hallucinations induced by our brains in this dream state, you could say they are in fact a waking dream. An interesting fact is that in most cases nothing is actually ever seen, and only felt. A feeling of someone watching over, lurking about, walking around, but never actually sighted, and within these cases the feeling being of a dark humanoid figure or figures.

More commonly than the visual perceptions are the reports of audio hallucinations. These include scratching, laughing, scraping, buzzing, ringing, voices, radio music and other noises all seemingly very real. We now believe that many alien abduction cases have been merely suffering an episode of SP, let alone the amazing amount of cases reporting Evil presences and ghosts.

Solace in Company

Each day I grow a little older

And time crawls by slower than it should

I am blinded by the reality you painted

Because it's all I ever wanted to see.

I keep on trying and believing

Despite failing every time

Holding onto that slim chance

And faint glimmer of hope.

You pummel me to the ground

But despite my exhaustion, I stand tall

Only to fall back down again

Like the dust that rises

Before settling back on the earth

Every time you leave me standing

With everything to lose.

Over the Edge

A brush past destiny
Among treacherous rocks by the sea
I scratch my knee as I jump
From one jiggly stone to the other

I break down from exhaustion
Like an old steam engine at its final hour
While wave after wave of emotion
Ebbs like the tide at sea

I feel myself sink to the bottom
And touch the rocks that stand strong
Beneath the surface

I am drowning in my own tears
Caught up in a ripple of panic
Drifting onto the horizon
Of endless disbelief.

Lights 101

Passing lights leave when least expected to.
Trailing beams that never go away.
They haunt me, intoxicate me, abuse me until
I break into small pieces.
Sensations flowing in waves of perfect order and disorder.
Each minute that crawls by captures a moment of recollection.
Of days filled with cosmic satisfaction, love, hate, and everything in between.
The uppers and downers of life flow with it.
Like a drug, you hit me with different levels of oohs and ahhs.
But you push me to the edge of my patience.
Because drugs kill me with bluntness.
Bluntness?
Straight to my soul.
Like love but not quite like it.
Like lust but to a different degree.
Like passion that captures nothing.
Nothing?
An empty space filled with everything unsaid.
And undone.
Love & Hate wage wars that take me to the edge of my sanity and insanity.
Stand up, like a tired old man from a thousand battles.
Worn out from the pain.
But still could stand another thousand more.
Each step burns my shadow away.
Washed out by little soldiers of the pouring rain.
In tides of hope that bring us back to where we started…
Passing lights.
They leave when least expected to.

11072005

Puddles of Hope

I never knew leaves could dance.

I sipped at my coffee and stared at the bushes beside me. I was sitting alone at an isolated cafe, surrounded by a few items I just found the time to purchase.

It's weird how the end of something leaves us unnoticed. The moment just comes and passes us by, and leaves us a day or two too late of trying to stop it. Protest falls on deaf ears, and we are left spent and helpless, with nothing else to do but accept the confirmation of the fears we've always had for so long but never acknowledged.

But my heart has recovered from its exhaustion.

I lit a cigarette, dragged in a piece of air, and turned my thoughts back to the dancing bushes. Funny I never noticed them before. Nor have I, until now, ever given attention to how beautifully cigarette smoke floats lazily like a ribbon through the dark, or how the clinks of coffee cups sound so melodic even without a tune. Solace will always give us another perspective from the ones we are so used to have.

I tapped my finger against my cup and closed my eyes as a distant memory floated into my thoughts. He said I rocked his world with little earthquakes.

I couldn't bring myself to cry anymore, even if I wanted to. I've been wrung clean of all emotion except melancholic sadness. If there is any bitter consolation in losing someone, it would be the acceptance of knowing it was probably for the best. The only thing that reminds me to breathe ever morning when I wake up, is the hope of bigger and better things to come, and this strengthens my faith.

I took another swig of my coffee and noted how its warm liquid seemed to transform back into its bitter powder at the back of my tongue. It's the first time I ever noticed that too.

I heard a rumble of thunder and watched the street with fascination as the rain started and steadily grew stronger and stronger, until the pitter-patters drowned the rest of the world away. The smell of rain on concrete wafted into my nostrils and I took it all in one quick breath. Little puddles merged together on the sidewalk, and strangers running for shelter splashed through them, unknowingly getting themselves wetter in the process.

We used to run like that in the rain.

I stood up and walked to the curb. I felt the rain on my head, slowly drenching me in its sweet dampness. It felt sadly different.

I gave it my best, but my best was never good enough.

Again, I was left standing with everything to lose.

I turned my head up and watched the rain fall towards my face as if in slow motion, with its drops gradually becoming bigger and bigger until it hit my face again and again like fingers tapping on a wooden table. I embraced my self in the rain and I became one of the strangers, splashing into puddles and walking into the rain before me. I picked up my pace and broke into a run, with arms wide open as if I could catch the wind. The puddles flowed into rivers as I ran without fear of slipping. My shoes were muddied, but when were they ever not?

You laughed at me for being different. Now I laugh at you for being the same.

Fausse Reconnaissance

There is an urge in each of us that searches for that familiar sense of belonging. We try so hard to find it and we keep our eyes wide open for every chance and every opportunity, sometimes even imagining finding it in people we long to find it with.

How do we know when it's real? If we lose it, does it mean it never was ours?
We're all barely halfway past making sense of ourselves, how do we find the capacity to make sense of these mechanics?

Perhaps we are but mere threads in that mesh called life, but eventually we find the knot that holds us to that web...after recognizing the fact that the very rope we desperately search and grope for, is that same rope that is pulling us to to safety, and not the one that hangs us by the neck.

01052006

Tropical Mornings

I bubble at the mouth and you laugh.

You lick off each piece of meat from every fishbone and I watch in avid curiosity.
You catch me off guard as you pick off every remnant.
No one else could have done it as beautifully.

You draw me closer like a hopeless moth to a flame.

You sip at your coffee, brown with a shot of milk.
You smile and I smile back, not really hearing what you're saying but watching how you say it.

I feel like what I keep seeing is an eighth of you.

I listen to the waves and the soft gentle breeze that ruffles your bedraggled hair.
I breathe in the scent of the sea and I taste the saltiness of this sweet moment.

What now, I know not.

For now, nothing matters but the sound of your voice, and the way your laughter melts everything else away.

12292006

Empty

An angel, once upon a time
Who journeyed a long and devastating fall
My soul trails behind and I lose myself
I am but a whisper of an echo
Of nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

01052006

Idle Thoughts

They reach out with hands soaked in mud and hearts forever yearning for the shelter they have never known, hoping against hope that someone would find the courage to look straight into their eyes and acknowledge their existence. We pretend to be oblivious to the faces that peer hungrily at us. We look forward, afraid that turning to look will strike a chord of guilt that may consume us. We wash our hands clean of what has permanently tainted our souls with the indifference we use as our masks to cover the ugliness that lies beneath.

What names were they were born with? Where are their loved ones, and why do they search the streets desperately, remaining hopeful of salvation? Why do they feast on the treasures that we have disposed of, and how can they stomach it when others feast on their flesh?

We carry on with our lives as if we know nothing. We pretend to be blind, deaf and unable to defend their cause. We believe that remaining idle is a neutral act that does not result to further damage. But nothing can repair the shattered glass on the floor of their broken dreams.