I

a bright idea can take you away...

I am a 25-year-old Human Resources Professional with a degree in Psychology from the University of the Philippines.

I was born in Cebu City but now reside in Cavite.

Everyday for 12 years now, I spend at least four hours transitting from my house to the rest of my life.

Along the way, I have come to learn a lot of things about life, loss, and love.

But this blog is not about that.

It’s about those brilliant moments in life that refuse to be erased in your memory, times you may sometimes wish to forget and times you wish you were in forever.

Most people tell me that my life is very fascinating. I think so too, I’m full of myself. I feel, like most people do but hate to admit, that whatever goes on in my life is of great interest to everyone else.

So really, indulging myself is doing you all a service.

With that, I hope you all have a great time reading on.

no tears

if looks could kill

If i didn’t know better,

I’d still think that forever is a fact

And promises are currency.

If I didn’t know better,

I’d still wish on stars

And believe in unconditional love.

If I didn’t know better,

I wouldn’t be able to tell

That something has died here.

And my tears would stop flowing,

Because I wouldn’t mourn for

The time I didn’t know better.

haiku

Fishing

The Golden Rule

It’s not uncommon for people to have what’s known conveniently as a “Public Self”. This is the image you project to other people. In psychology, this is the basis of the concept of personality, which as you might know comes from the Greek “persona” which means “mask”.

Now, in the age when people value the “true self”, and when imperfections are celebrated as the root of “real beauty”, one might begin to ponder, is my public self a betrayal of who I really am?

First, I think it’s worth mentioning that the phenomenon of the Public Self is an entirely natural thing. It’s prerequisite when immersing yourself in any social situation that you project a set of characteristics that promote how you want to be perceived. Whether this image is agreeable or not is detemined mostly on how you want to position yourself in other people’s minds.

I’m personally of the opinion that some people tend to take this phenomenon to the extreme. Sometimes, a person’s image is so totally beyond the norm of what is expected of them that they are labeled “poseurs”. The term poseur itself is a pretentious version of the word it represents, poser.

Typically, poseurs project an image of wealth or popularity. In a third-world country, image is everything. Any way that you can dilineate yourself from the rest, especially in terms of economic status is, for some people, a goal in life.

This is most frequently observed among the noveau-riche and the upper-middle to middle class.

I’m sure you’ve heard outrageous stories from some of your so-called friends claiming to be chauffered around, though you’ve never seen a hint of such luxury. Imaginary phone calls, affected accents, spur-of-the-moment trips abroad (without even a single photograph for documentation), a sudden conversion to Kabbalah, these are just some of the tell-tale signs that we all love to gossip about.

In a way, I think everyone is guilty of posing. I sometimes find myself in a situation when people expect me to continually be my public self. But there are days when I just want to be my anti-social self.

There are even times when I question how much of my public self actually factors into my personality. Well, my public self isn’t so different from my private self anyway. Basically, when I’m by myself or with a select group of people, I’m more introspective and less comedic.

These past few days people have asked me if there were anything wrong with me. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t been my usual outgoing self. I have to admit that sometimes, playing the comic relief can get real tiring. I don’t blame other people for expecting me to always be happy. That’s the image I created for myself. Frankly, I don’t mind if that’s the only image they have of me. There’s nothing wrong with it. I just wish they’ll understand when I don’t have a punchline at one time or another.

Like what they say about icebergs, the image is always just a small part of the person within. For poseurs, it’s a good sign that most of the glitter around them must be hot air. For the rest, it’s a challenge to go deeper.

Every now and then the world turns upside down, and the image becomes concealed so you can see the rest of the person. Let’s just hope that you’re able to see through them enough to know that what you’re seeing is the real thing and not mistake it for the mask.

 

Surrender

not mine

when you caused me to look at myself
and let you see me too,
I told you,
“my tears are beautiful.”

 and suddenly the universe opened
and I was wide awake.

and for a speck of eternity,
i felt you in my arms
like my own skin.
and i knew that i was married to you.

and all that was mine
is now yours.
you have reached through me
and i breathed through you.

your mind sang so loudly
my heart was naked
like Jericho.

and you loved me more.

and I let you.

and i will embrace you
face to face now.
i won’t ward off the days
until you leave
instead welcome you
each time you crash into me.

my heart is not mine now.

do as you please.

Sleep

I LOVE YOU MOST IN THE STILLNESS OF THE NIGHT
WHEN I PRETEND YOU ARE BESIDE ME.

I FEEL YOU MOST IN THE EMPTINESS OF MY SELF-EMBRACE
WHEN I PRETEND THAT MY ARMS ARE YOURS.

I HEAR YOU MOST IN THE SILENCE OF MY LONELINESS
WHEN I PRETEND TO HEAR YOUR OVERTURES.

AND IN THE MUSIC OF WORDS UNSPOKEN,
AND CARESSES NOT FELT,
AND IN THE INFINITE LONELINESS,
MY HEART OVERFLOWS WITH WANTING FOR YOU.
AND I SLEEP, CRADLED IN THE ASSURANCE THAT
IN THE NOWHERE WHERE YOU ARE, I AM IN YOUR HEART.

 

Review

quench

 

I hope that in writing this, I do not risk boring you with the cliche “getting over” phenomenon. Isn’t it funny that people can’t get over “getting over.” It’s repetitive. And I find, especially lately that it’s torture. Worse, it’s addictive.

I’m not an expert at keeping relationships. The longest I have been with anyone was in my last tryst, which lasted an epic four months. So don’t consider me an authority on relationships. The best advise I could give you on that regard is rooted in my idealism, or more honestly, my hopelessness.

I am, however, an expert at obsessing and the conundrum “what if?”

Exhibit A: Today, I got a call from my bestfriend in Singapore. The story of our friendship is a little complicated and deserves it’s own entry, but it’s roots may be significant in this discourse. I used to have a crush on him. I would stalk him in swimming class but never had I made any attempt at a formal interaction with him. I later formed a friendship with him when he left for Singapore and I rediscovered him online.

I still secretly wish he would fall for me.

Exhibit B: That bestfriend called me about my ex, the one I mentioned at the beginning. Yes, they met each other online through me, when ex and I were still pre-exes. Now they message each other more often than ex and I do. My bestfriend said that my ex was livid when he told him that I said my ex made a great bottom.

Although I feel that the timing of my ex and my separation had been appropriate, I still believe that it had been premature (but the reason it would never progress is beyond our control, or simply he didn’t wish for it to.)

My ex and I are in good terms. Yes, we don’t talk much (almost not at all anymore) but I’m not particularly mad at him. I actually think that in a few years, maybe we can give it another shot. But then again, we might just be too different.

Sometimes, I still ask myself if I did everything I can to keep him.  

Exhibit C: The first guy I ever dated wasn’t gay then. Well, he was experimenting. I saw him once. And I remember everything. We had a great and long conversation that one time we went out. We’ve always had a lot to say to each other. We never ran out of clever things to say.

That is, until he began to fade away,

It’s been about three years since then. I never saw him again. I lost his number with my phone. But in the most unexpected moments, he would pop up in my messenger and try as I may, I could never fully be apathetic about it.

I don’t know how wise it is to hope that he’ll find me again.

I’m known for being foolish.

Is it a sense of unfinished business that causes these feelings to persist? If this business is unfinished, then why does it seem that the object isn’t bothered by it at all? Is it like two people holding hands and the other one lets go but the one left behind still has his arm outstretched?

Their palms are open– facing upward. Isn’t it the same as begging? Or is it simply waiting? Or checking for rain?

I realize of course that keeping your hand outstretched makes it harder to embrace someone else. And the drought could be long, that it could take aeons for a single raindrop to fall upon the valley of your palm.

But then again, would you rather be parched in a warm embrace?

Or be quenched by a drop of pure bliss?

Best Muse

MIYERKULES:

“Becks, may papakilala ko sa’yo.”

“O, sino naman yan?”

“Basta friend ko from college. Matatype-an mo ‘to for sure.”

“Weh, masarap ba yan?”

“Gaga, ambastos mo talaga. Pero cute ‘to, maraming nagkakagusto sa kanyang girls. Kaso, boys din gusto niya. O, go na Becks magkikita kami sa Friday, sama ka.”

“Hmpf, alam mo namang wala akong gana sa mga cute-cute na ‘yan. Ang habol ko substance. Saka, baka naman hindi ako matype-an niyan kung sinasabi mong may cult following pala siya.”

“Anukaba, irereto ko ba sa’yo kung hindi kayo okay? Saka ayos na yan, ang cute niyo kaya together. Matagal ko na siyang gusto ipa-meet sa’yo kaya lang galing siya Amsterdam, may workshop.”

“Amsterdam? Hmm… pilitin mo pa ko konti.”

“Friday. Bahala ka sa buhay mo. Basta go.”

“O siya, siya, kailangan ko ba mag-tube?”

“Malandi ka.”

BIYERNES:

“Becks, si—hey san ka pupunta?!

“Shit, pasensiya ka na, medyo weird talaga siya. Balik kami kagad. Daan lang kami sa Quill.

“Uy Mike, what the fuck?!”

“Sige Qmbs, go lang. Umayos ka, nag-abala ko magpaka-manly ngayon.”

“Be back, promise.

“Fuck!”

…

“Finally! Becks, Mike. Mike, Becks—err… James.”

“Hi. I’ve heard about you…”

“Hello, nice to meet you.”

“Becks, writer to si Mike. Grabe, how long has it been since we last saw each other?”

“I can’t remember.”

“So what do you write about, Mike?”

“Different things. Gay lit.”

“Becks, na-Palanca na ‘to.”

“Ano ka ba Ella…”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Iniignore niya naman ako kanina.”

“Kita mo na, kupal ka kasi.”

“E, I wasn’t ready.”

“So what are you waiting for? Get his number.”

“E, nahihiya ako.”

“Ayos ka Becks a, nahihiya pero naka-abot na yung cellphone.”

“Save?”

“Yep, let me get your last name, medyo OC ako sa phonebook e.”

“Tiongson.

“You wanna join our table?”

“O tara, papakilala kita sa mga orgmates namin nung college.”

…

“Becks, ano nangyayari bakit di kayo nag-uusap?”

“Qmbs, ano ba naman yung topic, di ko grasp. Pero tingnan mo yung tuhod niya—

“Gaga, wag ka naman pa-obvious.”

“Footsies? Este, kneesies, pala…”

“Namimitig na nga yung kaliwang half ng katawan ko, ayoko kasi gumalaw.”

“Bakla ka talaga.”

SABADO (MADALING-ARAW):

“Becks, ang lupit mo pala.

“Kanina pa kita gusto kausapin kaso busy masyado mukha mo e.”

“Qmbs, marupok ako. Saka wag kang inggitera kung tino-tour namin ang tonsils ng isa’t isa, kasalanan mo ‘to. Grabe ka-weird naman pala nito. Tatawagin daw niya akong Shiela. What the hell?

“He’s asking me to go home with him. What do I do?”

“Umaarte ka pa? E ano bang gusto mo?”

“Siyempre payag ako, ang layo ng Cavite sa Teacher’s Village ‘no.”

“Pinagpaalam ka kaya niya sa akin. Sabi ko tanungin ka niya.”

“Ang galing mo talaga Qmbs. Bugaw na bugaw lang.”

“Sabi ko sa’yo e.”

LUNES:

“Qmbs, ano ba ‘to? Gusto ko na talaga siya.”

“Nasan ka?”

“Dito kila Mike.”

“Ay puta ka, hindi ka pa umuuwi?”

“Gaga, siyempre umuwi na. Kumuha lang ako ng damit tapos bumalik na ako dito. Para lang kaming nag-live in, ganun.”

“Nasan siya?”

“Pumasok na. Ang cute nga e, may ritwal talaga kami kanina. Iwan ako dito sa bahay niya mag-isa. Mamaya pa kasi pasok e. Nakahiga lang ako sa kama, inaamoy ko yung damit niya kanina.”

“Yuck, parang stalker lang.”

“Ang plastic mo, parang wala akong nakitang panty sa bag mo nung isang beses a.”

“Gago akin yun.”

“Lace?! Sinong ginago mo?

“O, ano na? Palagay mo ba magiging okay talaga kami?”

“E okay naman kayo a. Ang cute niyo kaya together. Tapos parang ang sweet niyo. I can sense something there. Or…”

“Anong ‘or’?”

“Baka gawin ka niyang musa.”

“Musa?”

“You know… inspiration.”

“Gaga, alam ko yun. Bakit niya kailangan ng musa?”

“E may sinusulat yata siya.”

“Hala, never pa ko naging muse before. Laging PRO in English lang.”

MIYERKULES:

“Ella…”

“Hello? James? Becks, serious ba tayo today? Di ko natanggap yung memo. Anong meron? Kumusta kayo ni Mike?”

“Ewan ko. Ang labo nga e.”

“Panong malabo, e nung isang araw lang parang lasing na lasing ka sa saya.”

“Nag-usap kami kagabi. Sabi niya magkaron daw kami ng agreement.”

“Kayo na?”

“Gaga, ano ka ba, you’re not helping.”

“Sorry na… sige, go.”

“Sabi niya, starting on Friday, we’ll pretend like this never happened, that we never met.

“Pu-tang-ina Kyombol, anong klaseng game ba ‘yan?”  

“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkk… Tarantado talaga yang si Mike.

“O, anong sabi mo?”

“E ano bang dapat sabihin? Siyempre nag-agree ako. Ayaw niya sa akin, gagaguhin ko ba yung sarili ko?”

“So pano ka ngayon? Umuwi ka na?”

“Andito pa rin. Anukaba, Wednesday pa lang…”

“Hala, adik ka talaga. Okay ka lang?”

“Sabi niya, from now until Friday, gawin daw namin ang lahat ng masasayang bagay na gusto namin gawin together. Parang mamamatay lang.”

“Becks, I think you just became a muse.”

“I know. Nakita mo yung sash ko? Best Muse sa liga ng mga tanga. Tangina Qmbs, I don’t know what to feel. I’ve been crying ever since, para akong may hormonal imbalance.”

“I’m sorry Becks.

“Mike must still be hurting. I don’t know. Tumatakbo kasi siya, kailangan niya lang siguro ng magpapatigil sa kanya.”

“Haay, maganda lang ako Qmbs, hindi ako superhero.”

“Kaya ka nananalong Best Muse e.”

Best Muse

MIYERKULES:

 

“Becks, may papakilala ko sa’yo.”

 

“O, sino naman yan?”

 

“Basta friend ko from college. Matatype-an mo ‘to for sure.”

 

“Weh, masarap ba yan?”

 

“Gaga, ambastos mo talaga. Pero cute ‘to, maraming nagkakagusto sa kanyang girls. Kaso, boys din gusto niya. O, go na Becks magkikita kami sa Friday, sama ka.”

 

“Hmpf, alam mo namang wala akong gana sa mga cute-cute na ‘yan. Ang habol ko substance. Saka, baka naman hindi ako matype-an niyan kung sinasabi mong may cult following pala siya.”

 

“Anukaba, irereto ko ba sa’yo kung hindi kayo okay? Saka ayos na yan, ang cute niyo kaya together. Matagal ko na siyang gusto ipa-meet sa’yo kaya lang galing siya Amsterdam, may workshop.”

 

“Amsterdam? Hmm… pilitin mo pa ko konti.”

 

“Friday. Bahala ka sa buhay mo. Basta go.”

 

“O siya, siya, kailangan ko ba mag-tube?”

 

“Malandi ka.”

 

 

BIYERNES:

“Becks, si—hey san ka pupunta?!

“Shit, pasensiya ka na, medyo weird talaga siya. Balik kami kagad. Daan lang kami sa Quill.

“Uy Mike, what the fuck?!”

 

“Sige Qmbs, go lang. Umayos ka, nag-abala ko magpaka-manly ngayon.”

 

“Be back, promise.

“Fuck!”

 

…

 

“Finally! Becks, Mike. Mike, Becks—err… James.”

 

“Hi. I’ve heard about you…”

 

“Hello, nice to meet you.”

 

“Becks, writer to si Mike. Grabe, how long has it been since we last saw each other?”

 

“I can’t remember.”

 

“So what do you write about, Mike?”

 

“Different things. Gay lit.”

 

“Becks, na-Palanca na ‘to.”

 

“Ano ka ba Ella…”

 

“Well, it’s true.”

 

“Iniignore niya naman ako kanina.”

 

“Kita mo na, kupal ka kasi.”

 

“E, I wasn’t ready.”

 

“So what are you waiting for? Get his number.”

 

“E, nahihiya ako.”

 

“Ayos ka Becks a, nahihiya pero naka-abot na yung cellphone.”

 

“Save?”

 

“Yep, let me get your last name, medyo OC ako sa phonebook e.”

 

“Tiongson.

“You wanna join our table?”

 

“O tara, papakilala kita sa mga orgmates namin nung college.”

 

…

 

“Becks, ano nangyayari bakit di kayo nag-uusap?”

 

“Qmbs, ano ba naman yung topic, di ko grasp. Pero tingnan mo yung tuhod niya—

“Gaga, wag ka naman pa-obvious.”

 

“Footsies? Este, kneesies, pala…”

 

“Namimitig na nga yung kaliwang half ng katawan ko, ayoko kasi gumalaw.”

 

“Bakla ka talaga.”

 

 

SABADO (MADALING-ARAW):

 

“Becks, ang lupit mo pala.

“Kanina pa kita gusto kausapin kaso busy masyado mukha mo e.”

 

“Qmbs, marupok ako. Saka wag kang inggitera kung tino-tour namin ang tonsils ng isa’t isa, kasalanan mo ‘to. Grabe ka-weird naman pala nito. Tatawagin daw niya akong Shiela. What the hell?

“He’s asking me to go home with him. What do I do?”

 

“Umaarte ka pa? E ano bang gusto mo?”

 

“Siyempre payag ako, ang layo ng Cavite sa Teacher’s Village ‘no.”

 

“Pinagpaalam ka kaya niya sa akin. Sabi ko tanungin ka niya.”

 

“Ang galing mo talaga Qmbs. Bugaw na bugaw lang.”

 

“Sabi ko sa’yo e.”

 

 

LUNES:

 

“Qmbs, ano ba ‘to? Gusto ko na talaga siya.”

 

“Nasan ka?”

 

“Dito kila Mike.”

“Ay puta ka, hindi ka pa umuuwi?”

 

“Gaga, siyempre umuwi na. Kumuha lang ako ng damit tapos bumalik na ako dito. Para lang kaming nag-live in, ganun.”

 

“Nasan siya?”

 

“Pumasok na. Ang cute nga e, may ritwal talaga kami kanina. Iwan ako dito sa bahay niya mag-isa. Mamaya pa kasi pasok e. Nakahiga lang ako sa kama, inaamoy ko yung damit niya kanina.”

 

“Yuck, parang stalker lang.”

 

“Ang plastic mo, parang wala akong nakitang panty sa bag mo nung isang beses a.”

 

“Gago akin yun.”

 

“Lace?! Sinong ginago mo?

“O, ano na? Palagay mo ba magiging okay talaga kami?”

 

“E okay naman kayo a. Ang cute niyo kaya together. Tapos parang ang sweet niyo. I can sense something there. Or…”

 

“Anong ‘or’?”

 

“Baka gawin ka niyang musa.”

 

“Musa?”

 

“You know… inspiration.”

 

“Gaga, alam ko yun. Bakit niya kailangan ng musa?”

 

“E may sinusulat yata siya.”

 

“Hala, never pa ko naging muse before. Laging PRO in English lang.”

 

 

MIYERKULES:

 

“Ella…”

 

“Hello? James? Becks, serious ba tayo today? Di ko natanggap yung memo. Anong meron? Kumusta kayo ni Mike?”

 

“Ewan ko. Ang labo nga e.”

 

“Panong malabo, e nung isang araw lang parang lasing na lasing ka sa saya.”

 

“Nag-usap kami kagabi. Sabi niya magkaron daw kami ng agreement.”

 

“Kayo na?”

 

“Gaga, ano ka ba, you’re not helping.”

 

“Sorry na… sige, go.”

 

“Sabi niya, starting on Friday, we’ll pretend like this never happened, that we never met.

“Pu-tang-ina Kyombol, anong klaseng game ba ‘yan?”

 

“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkk… Tarantado talaga yang si Mike.

“O, anong sabi mo?”

 

“E ano bang dapat sabihin? Siyempre nag-agree ako. Ayaw niya sa akin, gagaguhin ko ba yung sarili ko?”

 

“So pano ka ngayon? Umuwi ka na?”

 

“Andito pa rin. Anukaba, Wednesday pa lang…”

 

“Hala, adik ka talaga. Okay ka lang?”

 

“Sabi niya, from now until Friday, gawin daw namin ang lahat ng masasayang bagay na gusto namin gawin together. Parang mamamatay lang.”

 

“Becks, I think you just became a muse.”

 

“I know. Nakita mo yung sash ko? Best Muse sa liga ng mga tanga. Tangina Qmbs, I don’t know what to feel. I’ve been crying ever since, para akong may hormonal imbalance.”

 

“I’m sorry Becks.

“Mike must still be hurting. I don’t know. Tumatakbo kasi siya, kailangan niya lang siguro ng magpapatigil sa kanya. ”

 

“Haay, maganda lang ako Qmbs, hindi ako superhero.”

 

“Kaya ka nananalong Best Muse e.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unang Hilik

Kanina,
Matapos ang ilang araw nang walang
Balita mula sa ‘yo
Walang ha
Ni ho
Tumunog ang telepono ko
Mensahe mula sa’yo: 
 
Papunta na ko jan baby
Sira cp ko
Hintayin mo ko sa baba. 
 
Nagdalawang isip ang puso ko
Pipintig o
Malulusaw? 
Ito ang araw na aaabangan kita
Sa pintuan
Dala ang mga gamit na iniwan mo
Sa aking aparador
Ang mabilis
At walang kabig na pamamaalam
Sinosoli ko na ang kandila mong
Upos.
Pundido. 
 
Nguni’t di napigil
Ang puso kong tanga
Na naghihintay
Sa baba ng gusali
Sa tapat ng pila ng traysikel
Pinagtitinginan ng mga usiserong
Kapitbahay
Hithit-buga sa ikatlong yosi
 
Inaantok.
 
Umaasa.
 
Naghihintay sa’yo
Naghihintay sa wala.
 
Natapos ang tatlong magdamag
Dumating kang
Nababalot ng libog
At ng halimuyak ng
Kawalang-muwang.
 
Ang matulog sana sa tabi mo
Ang aking kunswelo
De bobo.
 
Pinalitan mo ng mga halik
Ang dapat sana’y hilik
Na hindi mamutawi
Dahil natatakpan
Ng iyong mura
At nag-iinit na katawan
Na bumabayo
Sa aking katahimikan. 
 
Ang pakikipagbaratan,
Wag muna ngayon-
Sige na-
Gusto ko lang matulog-
Wala na akong suot,
Nauwi sa barurutan.
Di mo alintanang
Nagdurugo ako. 
 
Natapos kang kumikislot
Hinihingal
Nakahandusay ka
Sa aking kama.
 
Kay sarap tamnan
Ng patalim ng
Iyong hunkag na dibdib. 
 
Mahal mo ba ako?
Huh?
Mahal mo ba ako?
Oo.
Sabihin mo.
I love you.
Tangina mo. 
 
Nagpahatid ka na sa baba
Gaya ng puso mo
Nahungkag ang kuwarto ko. 
 
Hilik. 
 
Hilik. 
 
Hilik. 
 
Mas matamis ang halik
Ng pag-iisa.

A Romance Begins

I’m still wracking my brain trying to come up with a clever explanation for
How you and I met.
When it was so random, and pathetic, and totally ill-motivated–

Well, not entirely.

I’d like to assume that you were motivated by boredom.
While I was motivated by exasperation
Or some other feeling that justifies why I put
Myself out there and risked the humiliation.

I was incredibly brave to answer your bold questions.

And to invite you over.

You were a stranger. (Which doesn’t matter since…)

I’d just been with another.(A mere hour ago)
Not so successful,
But it had done.
At the time.
A sort of masturbation.
An almost encounter.
He was obviously not into me.
Which I took offense at.
But (immediately) subsequently dismissed as mutual feeling.
Nonetheless, the deed was done.
As it always goes with me.
Better take one for the team
Than seem like a douchebag.

Always karma.

Nevermind the consequence.

Ironically.

He fucked me.
And I let him.
And I shat on his cock. (After a thrust… or two I don’t remember)
And I remember feeling embarrassed by it.
How gross he must think I am. (Which I conveniently converted to…)
It’s revenge for him wearing a headband and calling it a bonnet.
And calling himself top.
When he was so made up.
His face was cakey and opaque.

But I still went down on him.
Pleasured him and became his slave.(I pretended to be…)
The weak one.
The giver.
(Which literally is the receiver when you’re taking one up the ass,
or in the mouth,
depending on how strongly he needs
to assert whatever masculinity he’s imagined into himself)

When you came by,
Almost instantly,
I dillydallied. (I was still expunging the rest of him from my bowels)
And I minded each squish
That was a souvenir from the travesty that had just occurred.

I took out the trash when I went down to meet you. (To explain what took me so long)
I thought nothing of you until you turned around.
And I saw that your eyes were slits.
And I asked myself if had shrunken so significantly,
That I drowned in them.

Like finding the coin that was tossed from a boat.
(Which immediately caused panic,
Because I knew that you wouldn’t like me)
I felt discovery.
So disproportionate was everything between us.

And I gave you a glass of water to drink.
A cigarette.
My hand.
You showed me the cuts on your knuckles.
From striking a wall.
Out of rage.
And I told you I wanted to fix them.
(And I really did
Because I found something broken in you, too)
But you dismissed me,

Squeezed the hand I gave you and interlocked fingers.
I asked you why you’re alone.
And you told me that no one’s ever made the mistake
Of being with you.

What a great time to be wrong then.

And I told you I thought you were cute.
And that it was impossible that no one would have swooped down
And got you already.
You told me that you thought that I was cute.
(Which I took as politeness, but accepted as true)

I moved closer and you lay your head on my shoulder.
I kissed your forehead and said I wanted to keep you.
A hug.
I was swallowed by your arms.
And I fell into a nook on your chest.

So I took you into my room.
We lay beside each other.
I asked you if it were alright if we just went to sleep.
We spooned.
You wrapped me tightly with your arms.
I told you that this was how I always want to sleep with you.
I turned around and you kissed my mouth
And pulled me closer.
Your lips are like warm jelly that never melts away.
I tried to exhaust them.

I pulled away and looked at your face.
I stroked your hair back.
You looked straight into my eyes.

I hate kissing you.
Because I can never see your face when I do.
You smiled.
And you asked if you could take your shirt off.
I said yes.
I grabbed you.
And peppered you with kisses.
Your bare skin.
And the stubles of hair on your chest and belly.
Your hands were all over me too.
Kneading. Squeezing.
Wanting.
You take your clothes off.
And I could have left mine on.
But you insisted.

Your massive cock.

I told you there was no way that was getting in me.
I made up for it by sucking you.
The way I’ve always wanted it to be done to me.
(With full submission)
You told me that you were excited to do it with me.
I feared this. (As its size has already caused my jaw to ache)

You bargained with your kisses.
That moan you have.
The way you looked at me when I was pleasuring you.
You looked at me.

You called me “baby”.

And pleaded with me.
And I let you do as you willed.
I trusted that you would be gentle.
That you wanted to please me too.
That you would kiss my nape as you took me.
That you would turn my face to kiss my mouth.
As if to take away the pain that you were causing.
And you did.
In a way so… heavenly.
You say, is it alright baby?
Are you pleased baby?
Do you feel good baby?

I swam in a sea of yeses.

You devoured me.
With your lips,
Your tongue,
Your arms holding me tightly.
I felt like you were in me. (And you were)
And I was in you.
And we were diving in a pool of

Deliciousness.

You took me with you
As you took each step to climax
And then explode.
Your moans had mixed with mine
And your breath and mine blew into each other.
And I was filled with light.
I was done.
Like a cake. (And you had come out clean.)
You took me to the bathroom.
And you caressed me.
You said we’re going to have a baby.
I am to be your wife.

And you stayed.

We ate.
We went back to bed.
You left a spot with your arm stretched across
Where my pillow should have been.
It was my spot now
As you are mine now
And I yours.

As agreed.

ELMA

She walks down the aisle of the office supply store. In the back of her mind seeps the irony of the situation, this could be her wedding. And the rows of adhesive tape, the tubs of paste and the jugs of glue might as well have been her friends and family, marveling at her, celebrating the day she found love. 

But woe, like the many trips she’d taken in the past few weeks to this same “secret” supply store, there is no air of celebration today. Only an odd sense of nostalgia, like seeing a friend you’ve abandoned for a few years and are revisiting now that you’ve hit rock bottom. 

———————— 

She remembers the first day they met… in the community nursery school. Between short gasps of air through her snotty nose, she surveys the shelf for anything—anything that will take her mind from the embarrassment of wetting herself. Her pants were soaked in urine. And her face was a painting of tears, dirt and mucus. It is getting dark. Her mother must have passed out again. All her friends have been fetched. She saw as they left, laughing at her, calling her a grease lady, an urchin off the streets. 

She opens a tub of crafting paste and opens her mouth. 

Halfway through the tub, the security guard comes into the room and catches her. His face opens in surprise, but quickly transforms to display a hybrid of interest and guile. 

“You like that?” 

She looks up at him innocently. She knows not to answer questions like that. She wipes her mouth with her forearm. 

“I have more of that if you like…”

He unzips his pants and pulls her face to his crotch.  Her tears wash the grime from her face. 

————————- 

It is a week before prom. She is a far cry from the snotty girl in nursery school. She is running for honors, president of the student body and girlfriend to the Captain of the Basketball Team. She might even be Prom Queen. That is if, she’d finish with the decorations. 

It’s a good thing her boyfriend is with her. It’s been almost a month since she first heard about the rumors between him and her best friend. She has nothing to worry about, despite remaining chaste with him all this time. Both parties denied the rumor when she confronted them that night they went to the mall. She even forced her boyfriend to take her best friend home after they dropped her off. 

The gym is empty except for the two of them—and the ménage of crepe paper, balloons and glitter that were strewn across the court. He throws a balloon which hits her on the head. 

“Stop it! Or we’ll never get done.” 

“Oh, we’ll get done alright…” 

He grabs her blouse and tugs it open. He pushes up her brassieres to expose her chest. He kneads and squeezes, too hard, too roughly. She is sprawled on the wood floor and he on top. He forces himself between her legs and pulls her panties from under her skirt.

His large hands explore the vagina she’s withheld from him. It belongs to him now. He rubs his fingers together in front of her face, toying with the moisture between them. She was wet. 

“You like that?” 

She knows not to answer questions like that. She merely looks away, into the darkest corner of the gym, hoping this painful ordeal would be over. 

A final thrust and she feels his body tense and shiver. And through his groaning and wheezing, she imagines she heard her best friend’s name. 

“Look at what you’ve done! You got blood all over me!” 

The same large hand that taunted her flew into and unstoppable trajectory towards her face. And as quickly and as randomly as it started, he is up and out of the gym, escorted by a chain of expletives. 

Her tears mix with the blood from her nose. And his semen mixes with the blood from the wounds on her vagina. Through the corner of her eye was a tube of glue. 

She unscrews the cap and opens her mouth.  

————————-  

He bought her a set of martini glasses and she makes them both a drink. She took up bartending classes because she knew she could be good at it. Plus, it took her mind off a lot of things. 

Her lychee martinis are perfect as expected. He showers her with compliments—as he always does—and with the same air of sincerity he showed her the first time he said “I love you.” It was extremely rare for any man to be able to be that true. She was, after all, an extremely rare woman. 

The long conversations they shared at home, on the couch, have included everything. He knows her backwards and forwards and loves her despite, and sometimes (more than either would like to admit), because of everything that has happened to her. 

Tonight, in another of those long conversations, he is acting more deliberately. It is as if he is twice himself… almost fidgety. A small Tiffany box replicates the lump on his throat. She gets up to mix another batch of drinks and he rehearses his lines. 

She walks into the living room and he is on one knee. 

“You like that?” 

Lychee martinis intoxicated the floor. She knows the answer to this question. 

“Yes.” 

————————— 

She waits in the dressing room, her dress—a perfect, milky white, they picked it together. She remembers his face when she first put on the dress. He was almost in tears. Both of them were. 

Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, why hasn’t the ceremony started yet? 

She calls for her maid of honor to investigate. A few minutes later, she could hear a hushed argument seeping through the crack the door makes with the floor. 

“You tell her.” 

“But, how?” 

“I’ll tell her.”  

The door swings open. It is her mother. 

“The police are here. The car he was driving collided with a truck in the freeway. It was a freak accident. He was rushed to the hospital but he was no longer responding when they got him there.” 

————————– 

She takes the only martini glass left in the set he gave her as a present. She takes out the bag of supplies she got from the store and unscrews the cap off a liter of glue and poured. 

It was a perfect, milky white, like the dress she was going to marry her in.  

And she drank the entire glass of it as tears streaked her cheeks. 

How many liters will it take this time to get the pieces of her heart together?

Haibun: Resort

I creep into bed and curl beside him under a blanket of flowers. The room is cold but the nook on his back is warm against my face. I reach for his hand in an embrace and weave our fingers together.

 

While he is sleeping

I saunter into his dreams.

I am his husband.

 

I press my belly on the small of his back and tighten my arm around his torso. I try to match his every breath.

 

When night falls at sea

The horizon disappears.

Sea and sky are one.

 

He stirs. I let go of his hand and turn my back against him. The light slowly creeps through the window.

 

When the sun rises

The horizon reappears.

You and I are gone.

Orosa

Pumipintig

Ang kalsada

            Nobody,

Nobody

But you. Sa lamesa,

 

Isang karton

Ng siomai na sobrang

                        Anghang.

Kala      hating boteng beer

Na bumubula at isang

 

Bakanteng silya

 

Iniisip kong mabuti kung gusto kong

Ikaw ang makatabi.

 

Pero alam kong

Kahit sino, pwede.

 

Ang dami-daming tao.

 

Hindi ako makahinga. Hindi ako makahinga nang nag-iisa.

 

Ang korni.

 

Lasing man siguro ako

Di naman ibig sabihing hindi totoo.

 

Gusto kong malaman mong

Ginawa ko yun dahil hindi ko

Na alam ang gagawin.

 

Naliligaw ako.

 

Na

     hu

 

         hu

 

 

         log

 

 

 

 

 

        sa

 

 

 

 

     balon.

 

 

Walang katapusang lali-

 

m.

 

-Mag-uumaga na-

 

 

Di mo ba alam na hinahanap kita?

 

Ang      

Y A

N G nanlulukob KAP

MO

 

Ang umiipon

Sa         sa

      ri

 li

 

kong nagkalat.

 

 

SABOG

 

Wa tak-

 

Wa                        tak

 

Mula nang iwan mo.

Pag-ibig ko.

Ngayo’y wala na.

 

Nag-iisa ako

 

Sa masukal na kalsadang

Napupuno ng

 

Mga bakla.

Kay Crush

Nagpapawis na ang mata ko sa kakahanap sa iyo.

Umaandap ang isang milyong butil ng mga ilaw na pumapatay-sindi sa tabing ng kompyuter upang mabuo ang iyong dibuho. Upang mabuo ang mga titik ng iyong mga salitang dahan-dahang pinipilas ang mga saplot ng iyong isipan.

Minamasdan kita, sa kathang-isip na dalampasigan na binuo ko sa pagmumuni-muni. Doon malaya kong nasisilip ang iyong malapad na likod. Dinidilaan ng aking pilikmata ang iyong balat– lasang dagat, mainit, maaliwalas at mahapdi, parang mga luha.

Isinisiksik ko ang aking sarili sa pagitan ng iyong bisig at ng iyong tagiliran. At para tayong mga piraso ng nabubuwal na monumentong pinagdidikit ko ng kanin at matatamis na salita. Paulit-ulit na bumabagsak,

nawawasak,

nawawakas.

Sinusundo kita… sa tagpuang ako lang din ang may alam.

Gulatin mo ako.

Haibun: Resort

I creep into bed and curl beside him under a blanket of flowers. The room is cold but the nook on his back is warm against my face. I reach for his hand in an embrace and weave our fingers together.

 

While he is sleeping

I saunter into his dreams.

I am his husband.

 

I press my belly on the small of his back and tighten my arm around his torso. I try to match his every breath.

 

When night falls at sea

The horizon disappears.

Sea and sky are one.

 

He stirs. I let go of his hand and turn my back against him. The light slowly creeps through the window.

 

When the sun rises

The horizon reappears.

You and I are gone.

cafe

i am drinking cofee again, desperately trying to mimic the warmth i feel when you are with me, in so many nights like this when i am stuck in a place i do not belong in but do not want to leave.

beside me

the chair is so

so empty.