Freedom

then there's the sun.
fiercely giving. burning.

mirroring my thoughts
those little screenshots of me

kissing you. showing you.
what Truth is.

and Madness. Love. Despair.
all that they should mean so well.

like Hell. breaking loose.
setting free the desires of desires.

what can i do with this heart
so like Pandora's quiet little box?

Monotony

today. not unlike the others.
i am ebbing silver sea

on a black sand shore.
i couldn't be more.

i can't escape my fate,
the way i drain into

the half-dead horizon
with the rising of the moon.

I Don't Know Much

...But I know I love you.
Let me be all I need to know.

No Birthday Wish Too Late

lend me the space
in which i will be
the script filling

row upon row
of nothingness
with colors

and light
and love
and me.

let me write about me.
let me be the I
who writes about it all,

who wants to know,
to be sure,
that sometime

in all lifetimes
he has really,
truly lived.

P for Predicament

sun and fish
longing to kiss

but how could it be?
there's more between them

than just the sea

-for Pipit

The Next Ten Minutes

drip. drip. drip...
went my spirit.

i am candle
burning out bright

my life's statement
is my light.

Unbearable Lightness

me.
floating in

a whirlwind
of feathers

plucked from
the whitest

sacrificial
doves.

Come?

to make myself stop not hoping.
i'm tired of not hoping.

i'm tired of dreaming moonshine.
and greenest meadows.

and soft nightwinds.
and holding you. close. still.

whispering to your face, Life.
Magic. Dreams. Us.

Wednesday Resolve

Breathe you.
I must stop breathing you.
Even if it means Death.
Painful than asphyxia.
More gruesome than drowning
Or taking gas.

It’ll be
hanging from
the gallows of Love
suspended.

So spend I
the precious seconds
not breathing you.

And November scents.
Your unsaid sentences.
Songs. Clouds.
Memories. Hope. This.

Wednesday Morning

mornings.
explosions of
yellowhot Hope
across the sky,
upon us all,
they say.

what can I say?

how can I a child of Gloom
ever so truly say I know
the Light they speak of, when

I can’t find it deep inside?
when it can only cast me as
a lone shadow against
the beaming face of Life?

I know I am nothing more
I can’t be more
consequential than that.

Routine

A new day.
Another sun melting on us.

Another stream of minutes and hours.
A sea of ways to follow bliss.

But what is all of this,
When the heart remains the same?

Holding on. To you.

Jeprox and Pipit

Jeprox: Why does happiness have to come in bits, sharp little grains of Love and Light, seeking the most vulnerable part of us, sinking deep into our souls, making us whole in what we can only hope to be?

Pipit: Do you feel that way now?

Jeprox: More than I thought I would.

Pipit: (Sigh) Basta ako, happiness is there so long as it’s not gone. Whatever form it might take.

Jeprox: I’m slipping into ‘downtime’ again. Help.

Pipit: Where ka?

Jeprox: At work. Imagine.

L'attimo Presente

full moon ngayon.
nagdadrama ang mundo.
pati ako.

masaya.
matalinghaga.
amazing.

feeling ko
ako buo.

Outgoing Mail

Jeroen, been working hard since last week: late nights in front of the computer, swamped by survey papers, and all that jazz. I had it all coming. No worries, I’ll get over the worst that things could get around here.


I miss reading your e-mails; I know you are very busy too. Doctors weren’t made to be couch potatoes. I really appreciate the one sentence birthday greeting you dropped for me yesterday. Thank you. When is your birthday, by the way? So I may have the chance to return your kindness.


Your fratello is now 23. That leaves me with 57 years to work on really living Life and winging it. You see, I have a gut feeling I’ll live no further than 80. And some would argue that even that is wishful thinking. Whatever. I wish I’d live to be a ‘full 80 someday.’


Take care of yourself, wherever you may be. I’m hanging on here too, as most people in this tired world do. My writing has somehow run out for the time being. I can’t bleed words all the time fratello. It hurts me so.

/
Dear Jamie, it’s 1:39 AM here. Still have some more work to do. Usual bane of researchers: quantitative data encoding. I have a long tube of Pond’s Clear Solutions in front of me. It has seen me fuss and sigh every other minute for the last 3 hours that I’ve been working. Time for a break. A sandwich. Green tea with honey. A facial wash.


The point is: I’m somehow lonely. To think that it was my birthday just two hours and forty-four minutes ago. My nails somehow badly need a trim. I need to get the dirt and wax off my hair. I need days off. I need.


Tell you what, Little One, hope. Go on and hope. Kakapoy mag indi mag-hope. Take kuya’s word for it. Love, Kuya.

/
Tin, wish you were here. Pipit and I went to SM this afternoon. Window shopped, ate fast food. Talked. We agreed we both miss you so. Guess you’ll make it home for Christmas, no?


So much has happened to me these last couple of months. I call it ‘cooking a revolution of Love.’ Long story. Something to do with my joining the Focolare [a catholic-intiated ecumenical spiritual movement about ‘unity in love.’]


Speaking of love, the object of my affections gets me feeling a little black and bleak. But we’ve talked about this countless of times before, right? And each time I kept hearing myself, ‘it’s a no-win situation right from the start anyway.’ Nevertheless, I’m feeling my way around it. Processing. Processing. Is it a good-bad thing? Take your pick: diminishing marginal utility or dependency/addiction.


I go through my days hoping the nights would cease to be black and full of stars. I can’t take all this wonder anymore. It makes me want to burst when the most I could do is shrink.


I know you’d get past the melancholia, Kuya.

/
Kimee, new e-mail ko ‘to. You know naman me, may issue with ‘permanence.’ Musta?

At This Hour

I am a November snowflake--at once restless and peaceful.

Chiara Inspired

Every heart is a hearth of Love
Its warmth is felt only when it's open