My father has always been a stranger to us. But despite his eccentricities and unlikable ways, i know deep inside he loves us so. He just has a different way of expressing it i suppose. I just hope that in the future he doesn't regret his decision to deliberately distance himself from us and stay cold.


A Man Sits Under the Tree


A man sits under the tree
Staring into infinity,
Watching his dreams passing by
Like puffy clouds across the sky.

A man sits under the tree
And he spoke of his life story,
But no one cared to listen
Soon, his words were all forgotten.

A man sits under the tree
He felt desperate and lonely,
For he never shared his heart;
So from us he has stayed apart.

A man sits under the tree
He never knows what he should be,
Sitting there for all his life
Having fought none of his own strife.

A man sits under the tree
I feel him living inside me,
My one and only father
My own flesh. My blood. A stranger.

Another piece written at work as i was swamped with tons of tasks. Taking out the stress prompts me, as always, to write poems of sadness or something worse. I really couldn't tell why my mind meanders to dark realms when i'm pooped out or anxious to the core. But it does help me a lot in terms of de-stressing myself. 



Existencia Pathetique


It only takes a second to open one's eyes,
Yet man sometimes lives an entire lifetime of lies.
A false existence, a world of his creation;
Where everything seems real but all are illusions.

Whatever can be lofty, whatever is grand.
But in the end nothing can be worth more than sand.
Anyone and everyone flying to the stars;
The weary hands of time have traveled long and far.

This concrete labyrinth we live in is endless.
With each breath we move on, exhausted and listless.
The horizon changes with each passing minute;
We tumble here and there, doing what seems right and fit.

Endless is it not, but is this the truth we seek?
Of what use is greatness if the spirit is weak.
Alas! We are merely flotsam riding the wave,
Drifting in confusion that only death can save.

An old poem dating more than eight years ago if i am not mistaken. Again, about heartbreak. But based on my choice of picture for this one, i guess my optimistic side equally balances my depressive side every time. 



Farewell

No sweet promises would be given;
No words of love would be uttered,
For passion has died during the winter season.
Hope finally faded and left me no reason
To hold on to each sweet memory.
The dream we once shared has crumbled to dust;
My eyes sting with pain that retreat is a must.
If only to live to see the coming of the dawn,
I travel back to the path where love once traversed
But now has gone...
I will remember you though forever has passed.
You know how my heart had been true,
And now the end has come at last.

Penned during overtime, as i was on the verge of losing my mind from working too much, again another poem of loneliness. Not new but another old one, approximately written four or five years ago.



Lonely as Can Be


Do the heavens cry in silence tonight?
There's nothing but darkness. No star in sight.
The wind feels frigid against my cheeks;
I hear its sorrow; in my ears it speaks.

The wind is not alone in its lament
When loneliness grips each waking moment.
There's no room for sadness in a world so still
Pretend it is not so; hold on until...

Until the void sinks deep into my soul,
And with the loneliness I become whole.
No longer seeking, no longer wanting
Of love's delusion, its painful haunting.

In the end darkness merges with the light,
And solitude feels so perfectly right.
The night was young and lonely as can be;
Then a little girl cried out...I was she.

I really don't get it why some of the paragraphs here turn orange. I wrote this short story two years ago, an offshoot of a blog post i did for a promotional campaign at work. 


As my friends and I got to talking about birthday celebrations, a distinct memory from not so long ago suddenly hit. Although several years have already passed, some people and certain experiences you've had with them just won't go away. Try as I might, I could not bury their memories. And as the images came flooding back like a torrent of murky flashflood water gushing down, the mixed feelings of sadness, longing, and hilarity came pouring in as well. 

It happened five or six years ago. Back then, I used to hang out with my then best friend Beanie. A guy of distinctive, if not unusual character, Beanie was no looker--never has been and I guess, never would be. But he's got brains and a similar though differentiated artistic skill like mine. Although we had similar interests and shared a lot of traits in common, we still remained the distinguished individuals we were, differentiated from each other in every which way. Having been together since our mid-college days, we grew so close to the point that we became best buddies. 

I didn't realize it then, and it took more than five years of togetherness until I found out that I had fallen for Beannie. However, though I had confirmed my feelings to myself, I was reluctant to divulge it for fear of severing our friendship. So I just left it alone and kept my mouth shut, watching the years slip by which brought us even closer to each other. 
But waking up one day, it dawned to me that I could no longer hold my feelings back.

Though I tried to stay strong, my efforts to contain my romantic feelings for Beannie was so thinned out already. I saw no point in holding it in any longer. So, after much deliberation, I finally decided that it was high time I let him know.
Since my birthday was nearing, I planned to stage my revelation by asking Beannie out to dinner to celebrate the occasion with me. My paying for dinner was nothing new between us. As best buddies, each of us took turns in occasionally treating each other whenever we chose to. And doing it during our birthdays was nothing short of typical. He immediately accepted when I invited him. He didn't have the slightest idea that there was more to that particular birthday dinner than it ordinarily was. 

My birthday finally came. 

Dressed in a beautiful pink dress, I proceeded to meet Beannie at the expensive restaurant where I had made our reservations. Coming in early, I waited for nearly half an hour. When he arrived, his eyes beamed when they  fell upon me. He acknowledged my radiance, "Wow, you have never looked so beautiful." Flattered, I just bowed my head and smiled shyly, thinking, "This is gonna be the most beautiful night of my life."

The dinner proceeded as it should. We placed our orders, waited a short while, and feasted merrily. As we gorged on expensive steaks and salads, we talked about our jobs and our art and reminisced about the good old college days. After finishing dinner, the waiter came and brought two flutes filled with sparkling red wine. There was no idle minute between us. We revelled in each other's company, laughing and chatting between sips as we indulged in a banter over matters mundane and ridiculous alike. 

Although very nervous, I did my best to look naturally calm. I bided my time and waited until the red wine had sunk into my system. I knew how  badly I needed that kick so as to muster the courage to tell him about my long-kept secret. Actually, he did most of the talking that night. Though I tried my best to make it appear as if  there was nothing unusual or special about the occasion, aside from the fact that it was my birthday, I was always bothered by the thought of whether or not he had sensed my nervousness through my idiotic smiles and frequent nodding. 

Another half hour later and a couple of flutes of wine each, both of us were already in high spirits. He was talking a little more loudly than usual while I was laughing heartily about anything that he said though I hardly understood the words that came out garbled and slurred from his already reddened mouth. A few minutes more passed. Taking advantage of my new found bravado, I had finally decided that it was the perfect time to execute the last part of my plan to complete that beautiful night.

Because neither of us were alcohol drinkers, two flutes of red wine were enough to make us both feel giddy and braver than we usually were. Grinning widely, I snuggled closer to him. As I had expected, he didn't do so much as to even flinch in his seat. He remained still while holding his empty flute in his left hand, as he fixated his gaze upon me,  that queer, intoxicated smile stretched across his shiny face.

I thought, "There could be no better time than this." 

My heart felt like it would burst. I was giddy and happy and overflowing with love for him that if I had been more intoxicated, it would be unsurprising if I just jumped at him and planted a big, passionate kiss on his lips. Unfortunately, though I felt totally emboldened, there was still a wee bit of soberness and apprehension left in me to keep my actions in check.

I opened my mouth to speak. But before I could say a word, he raised his finger to my lips and said, "Can I tell you a secret?"

Something at the back of my head suddenly went off. It sounded like a million sirens wailing soundlessly like crazy. I was too surprised with the turn of events that all I could do was gawk at him in anticipation. My mind was floating in the air. I was too overwhelmed with what was going on. While the rest of the restaurant swam in my peripheral vision, I was toying with the fantasy that he had also felt the same way for me all along. And as I was about to open up, he had made the first move for me. I couldn't have had a more pleasant birthday gift. No wonder he had brought me none! To think that I had felt a bit frustrated when the only thing he gave me was a grumpy-sounding "happy birthday" greeting. It was the stuff romantic novels are made of, and it was happening to me right then and there.

Fighting hard to contain my excitement, I blinked away the tears of joy that almost slipped out. He averted his eyes and stared at his fumbling hands while he silently struggled to grasp the right words. It took him a few seconds before he turned his attention to me again. When he opened his mouth to talk, I noticed the tears streaming down the sides of his face. I held my breath.

"I...I...I'm gay." Then he turned away and started sobbing.

The blasted sirens that had been wailing out of excitement earlier were suddenly kicked down my throat and got caught in my breath. The air about us went suddenly still as if it had been sucked out of the restaurant. I tried to say something, but no words came. My heart ached. My head ached. Areas in my body were wracked with so much pain, yet I couldn't tell exactly which parts they had been or why they were hurting to begin with. Even if I had painkillers in my purse, I doubted that they would be any good at all. My shoulders slumped and felt so heavy that it hurt too much to even lift my hands off the table. I was glued to my position. Stupefied. Hurt. Lost. Unable to say anything, let alone think of what to do next. 

When he turned to me again, his eyes were so red and puffy. Between sniffles, he managed to regain a bit of his composure before speaking in a quivering voice, "I know I should've told you about this a long time ago, but I wasn't so sure of myself. In fact, I don't want to be like this, and my parents would be extremely disappointed should they find out. I know how disappointed and surprised you are right now. But I know that you understand. You're the only one to whom I could confide. You're the only one whom I could turn to. I know you understand me."

And I did. Damned, if I didn't.

His last words hung in the air, weighing it down with an unspoken agreement that required neither response nor acknowledgment. Through the pain, confusion, and surprise, I knew he demanded my understanding and confidence. And for the man I loved, there was nothing I wouldn't do.

Nothing, even if it killed me.

During the remainder of what could have been the most beautiful night of my life, as the minutes ticked away leaving off my birth day to proceed to the next, we just sat in total silence at our dinner table. Neither of us could afford to look at each other. With his head bowed, there was no telling if he was still crying or just fidgeting with his hands like he always did whenever he felt uncomfortable emotionally. As for me, distraction was the only recourse to keep myself from losing my mind. 

Blocking out everything else that had previously happened, I watched the waiters bus the tables while the lonely old lady, who accounted for one of the last three customers which included Beannie and I, was being escorted by a handsome, young waiter to the door. With only a few minutes left before midnight, the restaurant was getting ready for closing time.

Make no mistake about it, Joani is just a fictitious character. A diabetic child i created for my promotional blog for an office project. Here i decided to include the short story i posted there sometime earlier this year.


Joani and I were watching the proceedings of the news last night. Huddled  up against my chest, she stared at the tube with rapt attention as images of the devastating earthquake that hit Japan came into view. The destruction was appalling. The last time I felt a strong earthquake was during my sophomore year in high school during the time when Mama and Papa were still living together with me and Anita.   Anita and I were studying in the same exclusive girls' school run by nuns when it happened. Shocked, the first thought that came to my mind the moment the ground started rocking was our home and my sister. This time, though the fear wasn't as palpable, Joani took over my thoughts. 

I was torn between instinctively wanting to cover her eyes and switching channels. Unlike other kids, Joani has shown an unusual interest in the news at the age of 5. Since then, she has made it part of her daily routine to watch the early evening news before going to bed. I for one hated the news. Nor do I read the newspaper. The only reason I got into the habit of watching it was because of Joani. If not for the need to protect her young mind from getting dragged down by the dismal reality often presented in the news, I would not bother at all. 

But the images of devastation has got me frozen in place. I felt Joani huddle closer without taking her eyes off the screen. Stunned, neither of us hardly touched the bowl of unbuttered popcorn we habitually nosh on when watching TV. 

At 8.9, the earthquake that hit Japan really caused massive destruction. Though we are thousands of miles away from the Far East, hence making threats of an oncoming earthquake remote, it does not ensure that the same tragedy would not befall us. The damage to civilization is nothing compared to the number of lives that would be lost. Although no casualties were shown, I feared more for the Japanese people and the lives of those living in nearby countries than the loss of   technology or civilization itself. 

"Tia, why did God create earthquakes?"

Joani's question caught me off-guard. My mind grappled with any plausible answer. It would be no use to discuss scientific data to a 9-year-old kid. Looking at her cherubic face, I could see grief and wonder written all over it. The sincerity and concern in her eyes crushed me. I was chagrined because I knew not how I could answer her question without breaking her innocence or my resolve. 

Earthquakes, like diseases, are part and parcel of human existence. Asking why earthquakes happen is no different from asking why Joani had to have diabetes, or why cancer claims millions of lives yearly, or why Anita and Jonathan had to die so soon, leaving their infant daughter alone in the world. I was at a loss for an explanation because I myself had searched for answers to these questions but to no avail. 

Before I could come up with anything to say, Joani interrupted my thoughts with another heart-wrenching query, " If the ground would shake right now, what are you going to do?"

Though my mind was confounded, my heart had the definite answer: "I would hug you tight, kiss you, and tell you how much I love you."

It always hurts like hell when the one you are pining for cannot love you back due to one reason or another. Getting bitter and resenting him does no one any good at all, though. Written three years ago, this piece was inspired by the same guy who inspired me to write "Closing Time."



Wounded


Perfection incarnate, in beauty you are sublime
With eyes portending a sadness best left forgotten
In the eyes of most, you are merely ordinary
Just a man, neither exceptional nor different
But all I see is your entirety so very fine

To whom do I owe this privilege so delightful?
Of having your wondrous presence here, so close to me
Oblivious you are to this feeling I do treasure
A secret affection, a desire, an intense longing, 
A desperate need to have someone so beautiful

Yet as hard as I wish, the truth remains very clear
I am no more than the woman you have known for years
Tomorrow whispers not a single vow of return
Nor a glimmer of hope, let alone a precious chance
To be the one you would cherish, the one you'll call "dear"

Perfection incarnate, in beauty you are sublime
Your image is a memory best left forgotten
Painful as it is, fate leaves no choice but to walk away
To love you is to die, and I want to go on living
Better to cry now than to face the new day mourning.

A very old one, 15 years old by this year, this poem was penned in 1996 when i was still in college. I remember doing this at the back cover of my sketch book at the library while i was waiting for my best friend. Having waited for almost three hours for her, i bided the long waiting time by unleashing my irritation and sadness thru this poem. 



Angel


An angel lies in the corner.
His wings lifeless, his expression somber;
With eyes that see nothing,
They stare coldly at the sun.
Had he lived, he could have grown...

But now it is done.

Had he wanted to dream?
Had he wanted to fly?
Of what use is to question
If his fate is to die?

Grieve not.
It is the world's desire.
His fate had betrayed him;
It consumed him like fire.

An angel lying in the corner
Is all there is.
Young as he is
He had to leave,
And give death his precious kiss.