The Fifth of a Dozen Verses (December 21, 2004–January 1, 2005

December 21, Tuesday
*Coryza*
cough
cold

phlegm
fear

itch
ill

dyspnea
disturbed

December 22, Wednesday
*Gift*
The Christmas tree in the living room
Is elegant and impressive
Yet it fails to amuse me
Despite the lure of the gifts lying underneath

Although I know some of those boxes are for me
They just couldn't console me
For the greatest gift I could ever be receiving
Is for the meantime very far from my reach

December 23, Thursday
*Lithe*
Where did my strength go?
Where did my courage go?
Where did my pride go?
Where did assertiveness go?

Where have my voice gone?
Where have my power gone?
Where have my command gone?
Where have blitheness gone?

Oh, someday
May they all return

December 24, Friday
*Hum*
The leafs have been blown
The wick has finally expired
The wind subsided
The trees have been lighted

The snow is yet to come
My heart is at the moment calm

Will the New Year bring a new hum
That can give my heart aplomb?

December 25, Saturday
*Swan*
The gregarious gander has turned into a contented cob
The gentle breeze is hushing to serenity the leafs of my heart

Once a restless spirit
Now an imperturbable soul

The coarse and raspy noise
Is now a soothing voice

December 26, Sunday
*Gloom*
As the jaded year ends
May my misery mend

As the new year looms
May my old dreams bloom

December 27, Monday
*Tsunami*
How events can change a state of mind
How others' fates can uplift one's own faith

How mirrors can reflect who we truly are
How the heart can show what we really want

How others' fall can be a wake-up call
But for others it is for whom the bell tolls

December 28, Tuesday
*Inflamed*
How you can bring my heart to tumor
How you can send my cheeks to rubor
How you can set my body in color
How the results of all is but dolor

December 29, Wednesday
*Lakbáy*
Pilantík ng mga dalirì ko sa tíklado
Nagíng melódia na ng báwat áraw ng kaléndaryo

Paták ng túbig sa aquário
Dinig na diníg sa kinaúupuan ko

Sa báwat ubó ni Lolo
Damang-damá ang kanyáng kalbáryo

Lamíg sa loób ng báhay
Nanúnuot sa bawat himaymáy

Ipikít ko lang ang mga matá ko
Pára bang lumílipad na 'ko

Kung marúnong lang sána akong mag–biyáheng astrál
Pinuntahán ko na sána ang aking mahál

December 30, Thursday
*Úgoy*
Iduyan mo naman ako paminsan-minsan
Kahit sa panaginip man lamang

Sa aking mga tenga ibulong mo sana
Ang himig ng iyong pagmamahal

Nais na kitang makaisang-dibdib
Sa harap ng anumang dambana

Tulungan mo akong pabilisin ang panahon
Nang ika'y akin nang mahagkan

Subalit sa sandaling tayo'y muli nang magkasama
Sana'y biglang huminto ang inog ng mundo

December 31, Friday
*Alingawngáw*
Éko ng bóses mo sa telépono
Nagíng melódia na ng pusò ko

Sa báwat pagbáti ng mga mahál ko sa búhay
Damang-damá ang kaniláng paghihintáy

Báwat putók ng rebintadór sa Pilipínas
Dinig na diníg sa kinaróroonan ko

Ínit ng báwat salitâ
Nagpápalinaw ng áking gunitá

Ipikít ko lang ang mga matá ko
Pára bang yakàp-yakàp mo na 'ko

Kung maaári nga lang sána
Bukàs na bukàs rin akó ay pauwi na

January 1, 2005
*Pamana*

Mga sugat ng kasaysayan
ay hinihilom ng panahon

Kaagapay ng pagsusunug-kilay
ay ibayong pag-unawa

Hindi lahat ng natututunan
ay kinakailangang paniwalaan

Subalit mga kaalamang di mapaniwalaan
ay di nararapat ipagsawalang-bahala

Gamitin ang napili
ang di nagustuhan ay itabi muna

Mga aklat at panulat
ay aking kayamanan

Pamana, pabaon, alaala
pagsapit ng kamatayan

Ngunit higit kaysa "nung unang panahon" at "balang araw"
ay ang pangkasalukuyan kinasasadlakan

Puso kong pihika't mapagmahal
ay nakatagpo na rin ng katapat

Sa pagpasok ng Bagong Taon
muli na naman akong mangangarap

Anting-anting ko't agimat
ay pag-ibig at pag-asa

Inbetween Seasons

The morning breeze blows
Kisses onto my goose-bumped skin
Gentle dribbles of baby rain
Whispering: "How have you been?"

With smiling eyes, "Better these days," I say
Better the rain in Spring
Than the snow Winter brings

Yet the best of all is the love I found
In Summer amidst a haiku of sounds:

...drip...drip...lost and found
Charlotte sometimes, found again
thud…thad! my heart pounds

- 4:30 a.m., Saturday, August 14, 2004
Surrey, British ColumbiaWhile listening to “Charlotte Sometimes” by The Cure
(Staring at the Sea: The Singles; 1981, Fiction/Elektra)

Some People Are Better than Others But Fare Less Successfully and More Disastrously!

[As it is...]

- July 2004; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
While listening to "The King of Junk" by Virgin Prunes
(Over the Rainbow; 1985, Baby Records)

I'm Afraid Love Has Found Me Moving Away From (The Shadows of My Heart in Summer)

[Yet to be indited]

- 1:00 a.m., Saturday, July 10, 2004
Surrey, British Columbia
While listening to “The Whole of the Moon” by Mandy Moore
(Coverage; 2003, Sony)

All She Ever Wanted Was (In This World Devoid of True Believers)

(to Charlotte Belialba)

All she ever wanted was
a man who believes that fairies exist
and butterpillars think and caterflies dream

who knows that parallel lines are parallel
only in short distances in respect to
the concept of infinity

that turtles leave their carapaces only when
it is not raining and that manatees are
after all merfolk pretending to be manatees
that look like merfolk

who believes that once is better than
never, and part of forever is better than none

that every day can be Valentine and
Christmas at the same time, while tomorrow can
be everybody’s birthday
(imagine those balloons and candles)

who knows that yesterday can hardly be
someday but will always be more memorable
than any other holiday

who believes that there is someone who believes
that there is someone who, like himself, believes
in such seemingly unbelievable make-believes
in this world of make-believing
devoid of true believers

- poem written in October 1996
Mandaluyong City, Philippines
Reprised while listening to “The Crying Scene” by Aztec Camera (Stray; 1990, Sire)

The Third of a Dozen Verses (November 27–December 8, 2004)

*Melt*
How a voice could melt a heart
How words could conjure a smile

How sighs could tease a tear
How goodbyes could pull some tears

*Sometimes*
Sometimes I'm hopeful
Many times I'm hopeless and fearful

Sometimes I'm happy
Many times I'm sad and lonely

Sometimes I feel loved and belonged
Many times I feel solitary and alone

Sometimes I'm prolific
Many times I'm pathetically moronic

Sometimes I'm a real eLf
But most of the times I'm only human

*Mulí*
Amputi-puti ng ulap
Ang hangin ay anunglamig

Halos lahat ng punò ay hinubaran na ng dahon
Subalit sa aking paningin sila'y maririkit pa rin

Di na 'ko galak sa muling pagbagsak ng ñebe
Dahil alam ko na ang kapalit n'yan

*Ulít*
Mga salita ko'y paulit-ulit na lang
Tila nagamit ko na ang lahat ng 'yan

Subalit hindi na bale
Hindi na bale kung paulit-ulit
Kahit ang buhay nama'y paikut-ikot

Hindi na mahalaga ang bawat salita
Sapagkat bagong emosyon naman ang hatid nila

Panibagong mga pangarap at mga mithiin
Panibagong mga tulang iluluwal ng aking damdamin

Madilim na ang hapon
Palamig na nang palamig ang simoy

Halos ubos na ang nagsasayawang dahon
Animo'y dasal at panalangin
Ang pahiwatig nila sa akin

Nu'ng aking kabataan
Napakalapit ko sa simbahan
Kung ako nga'y manalangin
Akala mo'y wala nang kinabukasan

Subalit sa paglipas ng panahon
Paniniwala ko'y unti-unting nagbago

Di na ako ang dati-rating
May kaluluwa at relihiyoso

Ngunit wag kayong mag-alala
Ako pa rin ang kilala n'yong busilak ang damdamin

Nagbago man ang aking pananampalataya
Ngunit hindi ang aking adhikain

Kabutihan pa rin ng nakararami
Ang pinakamahalaga sa akin

*Disappear*
frustrated
exasperated
disgusted
disappointed
I want to disappear for good

stubborn
apathetic
condescending
tactless
I want to disappear for good

sleepless
prideless
voiceless
penniless
I want to disappear for good

alienated
uncomfortable
misunderstood
unappreciated
I want them to disappear for good


*Lilà*
Sabi nila, pag puno ka ng pag-ibig
Nagiging kulay-rosas ang paligid

Sabi nila, pag busilak ang 'yong damdamin
Nagiging lapitin ka ng pag-ibig

Bakit nga ba lilà ang paborito kong kulay?
Matagal ko na 'yang pinag-isipan
Ngunit di ko na talaga maalala ang tunay na dahilan

Ah, basta, hindi na mahalaga 'yan
Hindi na mahalagang malaman pa
Ang "bakit?" at "kailan pa?"

Higit na mangingibabaw
Ay ang "ano?" at "sino?"
At ang "ngayon," "bukas," at "magpakaylanman"

*Rise*
What doth really make a man?
His strength?
His invulnerability?
I don't think so

For, I think a man only becomes a man
The moment he acknowledges
His weakness and vulnerability

A man should be strong, yes
To be able to brave any adversity
But he should, above all, be soft and compassionate
So love can touch and penetrate him

For only with a loving heart
Can a man rise above his true nature

*Ripple*
I – the sound of running water
You – the ripple in my heart
We – the blood running through the veins of those we love

*Moment*
I always find myself floating
Inbetween the dream and the waking states

I could see myself staring at me
I could see me staring back at myself

I feel like I'm dying
In that split-second moment
Of worthlessness and nothingness

*End*
If I'm a declarative sentence,
You're my period.

If I'm a question,
You're the only answer.

If I'm a noun,
You're my series of adjectives.

If I'm a verb,
You'll be my adverbs.

If I'm a story,
You'll be the teller.

I'm your beginning,
And you are my end.

*Instead*
Drop, drop, drop
The snow has fallen

Drop, drop, drop
My tears are falling

Drop, drop, drop
Dreams from the sky

Drop, drop, drop
I opened my hands
and bowed my head
I would have knelt then prostrated
But I dropped tired on my sleeping blanket instead

*Why?*
The sun has suddenly shone
And this morning the rain was a steady pour
But why wasn't there any rainbow?

Believe Me, Winter Is Gloomy When (You're All Alone and Far Away from Home)

I’ve seen it on postcards
I’ve seen it in Christmas movies
I’ve wished for it to fall
In times when the heat was insufferable

I’ve dreamed of it in childhood
I’ve prayed for it in adulthood
I’ve wished for it to fall
In times when all dreams were plausible

Oh, Winter found me
Skulking behind the shadow of my soul
Yearning for yonder things I used to own
But about which now I could only frown

Now, Summer finds me
Heaving from the hillsides of my heart
Yearning for someone I feel I can love
But whom now I cannot yet have

So believe me when I say
I have seen it; I’ve felt it and lived it
Winter is gloomy when
You’re all alone and far away from home

And Summer and love are all I could hope for

- 8:05 a.m., Tuesday, July 7, 2004
Surrey, British Columbia
While listening to “Such Great Heights” by The Postal Service
(Give Up; 2003, Sub Pop)

Every-Morning Walk in the Neighborhood

The scent of the grasses
The colors of the flowers
The whirr of airplanes regularly flying by
The kiss of the nether gales
The very slow gait of this 89-year-old friend of mine
I feel like sitting under that big bonsai-like tree
And weaving a couple of haiku
In ode to my reflective Summer days
In British Columbia, the Canadian province where I am
And all these images would someday surely
Remind me of my maternal grandfather and our

- 3:00 p.m., Monday, June 14, 2004
Surrey, British Columbia
While listening to “Birdhouse in Your Soul” by
They Might Be Giants (Flood; 1990, Elektra)

A Poet to His Firstborn

Finally I found the lady
Who would be your mother and fairy

Lucky you for
She is all whom I could ever wish for

Your mother and I
Have been friends way before
We began to love each other

Or should I say,
In our hearts we have been loving each other
Long before we decided to be together

You may have come late in your parents' lives
But that's the very reason you are special
Not only to us but also to all the people
Who care about us

I promise you that
Whatever happens
We will give you everything
You will ever need

I'm sure too
That your mother will love you
As much as she loves me and as I love you

Just promise me two things:
As you grow up
Love to learn, read, and write—
For this is the key to
Understanding the world and
Accepting thy neighbors for what and who they are

And most importantly
Love and respect your mother
As much as I respect and love her

- 12:55 p.m., October 27, 2004, Wednesday
Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
While listening to "Do They Know It's Christmas?" by
Band Aid (Christmas single, December 1984)

A Poet to His Future Wife

If you met me in my youth
In the days I was wilder and freer
Could you have loved me still?
If you met me in my youth
When my heart was restless and untrue
Could you have persevered and stayed?

The mental picture of you which I've always painted
Soft-haired, flowers on your head
Starry smiles beneath idyllic eyes
Lovely lips, supple skin
Would you have loved me then
Like you love me now?

The scent of my Summer siestas
There on the magical swing
Beside the generous apple tree
In the backyard lawn
Of Cousin Mike and his family's home

Moments spent yearning for my own lao jia
Could you have been dreaming and hoping
In the same moments for someone like me?
Could I have been the portrait of your love
Even if I had not arrived?

– 10:58 a.m., Monday, June 14, 2004
Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
While listening to "When I See You Smile" by
Bic Runga (Beautiful Collision; 2002, Columbia)

The Second of a Dozen Verses (November 15–26, 2004)

*Life*
Winter is looming
Colder days are here

On nights, my mind is clear
My heart is beating

Hope, my ally
Despair, my foe
Humanity, my goal
Love, my light

Music, my companion
Pen, my mind
Verses, my heart
You, my life

*True*
La-la-la-la love me
That's all I want

La-la-la-la love me
That's all I need

La-la-la-la love me
That's all I ask of you

La-la-la-la love me
Before, now, and forever

La-la-la-la love you
That's all I do

La-la-la-la love you
Hon, it's true

*Warmth*
When the weather is cold
I think of you

When my blanket is not enough
I think of you

When the waiting makes me impatient
I think of you

Thinking of you
Gives me warmth

Thoughts of you
Give me love

*Gold*
Because of resentment
My mind is red

Because of sadness
My heart is blue

Because of solitariness
My sight is black

and then...

Because of you
My mind turned purple
My heart turned red

and then...

Hearing your voice
My cheeks turn pink

Knowing you're there
The light becomes silver
My future becomes gold

*Abode*
Your voice is New Wave
Your face is Christmas

Your love is Life
Your words explode

And you're my abode

*Glitter*
Too many ideas, I fumble for words with which to express them
Too many words from my lips racing to escape, I stammer
Too potent the emotion when speaking such words, I stutter

But in spite of all these, the you and me will always glitter

*Magic*
Tpaulus, hope for the.
Apope, eternal sunshine of.
Flowers, a spotless mind.
The choice.
The promise.
Og life.
oD steel.
Forever and ever.
Magic.

*Kindle*
I'm glad we're not alone
In this kind of love

Life is kind after all
For showing us the light

Now I'm a better person
Able to rise from human nature

Now I'm a rekindled spirit
Able to emerge from darkness

You are my light
You are my shining light
You are my guiding light

You are the light
At the end of my tunnel

*Simplified*
My feet are cold
My lips are warm

My mind is restless
My heart is contented

My faith is indomitable
My promise is true

My intentions are pure
My love is noble

My views are multiperspective
My heart is unidirectional

My beliefs are diverse
My ideas are well versed

My compassion is universal
My goodness is unconditional

I may be complicated
But in love I'm simplified

*Yearn*
When days are cold
I long for your warmth

When nights are solitary
I long for your company

When moments are saddening
I long for your smile

When I think of you
I yearn for home

*Boustrophedon*
Train of thoughts railing in my mind, vivid, visions of you, sings of you-->
og yam uoy reverehw em ekat ,eciov ruoy ,neris eht ,ecaf ruoy<-- -->I will go. I will come with you.

*Blush*
Staring at the rain
I need a little bit of pain

O Autumn, don't let me fall
Spare me some leafs; heed my call

The water splashes
The wind lashes

In silence, you hush me
Blushing, I love you

The First of a Dozen Verses (November 3–14, 2004)

*Love*
Your face smiles in my mind
My heart yearns for ever more
To be with you is what I wish for
Having you, I could no longer ask for more

Three years may be long
But the thought of a happy life with you
Turns those years into mere days

I will never forget what you said:
"Time and Distance is nothing
compared to Love"

Love, indeed, conquers all!

*Promise*
Receiving mails from you
always delights me

Catching you on the messenger
always excites me

Reading your words of fondness
fills my heart with gladness

Oh, my love
You're the best thing I ever do have

How I long to touch your face
Your kisses I want to taste

If I only have real butterfly wings
To home I will fly right away

For the meantime, listen as my heart sings
I promise you, my love
We will be in bliss together someday

*Always*
Whatever some might say
I will always love you

Whatever some might do
I will still wait to be with you

No matter if they doubt my nobility
I will still be who I truly am

No matter if they discourage me
I will still stand by my ideals

I am who my family know I am
I am who my best friends say I am
I am who you believe I really am

*Perseverance*
You soothe me with your voice
You comfort me with your words

Your giggles make me laugh
Your sincerity makes me feel secure

But, most of all,
Your love makes me persevere and dream some more

*Patience*
This may be short
Yet my patience to wait is long

This may be quick
But my love for you is strong

*Hitík*
Sa dilim ng yungib
Liwanag ay tubig

Kabog ng dibdib
Badya ay pag-ibig

Mga marka ng tinta
Alay kay Karlota

Bawat dulas ng pluma
Pag-asa'y laging kasama

Mga akda ko ay hitík
Damang-dama kahit walang imík

*Eternity*
I dread the day when we would finally meet again
For I feel afraid I might lose you again

I count the days elementarily
With every verse I indite with honesty

Oh love, Oh love
Do wait for me
For I, too, will
Very patiently

Oh wait, Oh wait
And forever love me
For I, too, will
Through eternity

*Gently*
Blowing...like a gentle breeze
Flowing...like a silent stream
Glowing...like the full moon
Slow but moving...like a solitary swan

That's how my heart, for you, feels

*Cope*
weary and lonely
exhausted and tired
depressed and alone
homesick and sad

But your love is what
Makes me cope and
continue to hope

*Fly*
If only I am avian
I'll fly home to you

If only I am magical
I'll fly home to you

But since I'm neither avian nor magical
I'll just fly home to you when I'm deep in slumber

*Just*
How does a man know if he's really in love with a lady?
How does the lady know if the man is really in love with her?
How does the lady know if she's really in love with the man?
How does the man know if the lady is really in love with him?

There are no hows.
They just know.

*Home*
Through the open front-window blinds
Leafless trees I can see
Gray skies steady pour of the rain
Atop the lamppost perched a solitary crow
Whispering winds making the branches swing
I stare in silence, contemplating
My mind wide open, flying
Towards familiar places
To see familiar faces
I yearn I smile I wish I hope
That soon I may return home

Finally Summer Found Me Smiling

On a Monday morning
The sky is wide awake
She is an elven maiden with open arms
The sun is Queen once again
Amid kowtowing cumulus clouds
Nestled in her northern nook

Sadness has finally left me
But I hope not for only a while
O Happiness, will you stay long
Enough for a Stonehenge in my heart to rise?

- 3 p.m., Monday, June 14, 2004
Surrey, British Columbia, CanadaWhile listening to "Burst" by Shelleyan Orphan
(Humroot; 1993, Rough Trade / Virgin)

The Road Home

The road home is very long
The time for the homecoming is still far
But what is Time and Distance compared to Love?

- August 25, 2004, Wednesday
Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While watching The Road Home; 2000, Sony Pictures Classics)

A Rainy August Wednesday

Before lunch, we are heading Langley
To check out Willowbrook Mall
Gray is the host of clouds in the sky
Veiling me as if they are
Tattered cloaks worn by weary monks
The nether gales are making the leaves dance
Perhaps they are music to the trees
Nevertheless the same winds and the rain are chilling my skin
Make me pull my coat tighter
I breathe a sigh of the past as I close my eyes
Rainy days like this remind me of home
Especially of the stormy days when
I had nothing to do but stay home
Brood by the window and try to make Time slower

- Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Langley, British Columbia
While listening to “Round Here” by Counting Crows
(August and Everything After; 1993, Geffen)

Dreamwalking

for Roselle Bumbay, on April 20, 1989
{wherever she might be now}

I know just when you are far away
That is when you are too near for me to be enthralled

I do nothing but close my eyes
Whenever I wish to see you

I shut my mouth when I wish to converse
For you speak with your eyes with sublime sincerity

A multitude of lovers had met their fall
Our love will catch our fall

Open your heart and I will enclose it with mine
Talk in rhyme and in one breath I'll sing it with mine

Sad songs will cease on the day you are mine
Behold! That day springs a new bliss of art

Entrust your life if you dread for death for
Death will die to countenance a life that immortality bestowed

- Written in April 1989; Makati, Metro Manila, Philippines;
as inspired by "Dreamwalkin' (Along with You)" by Lee Ritenour (Rit/2; 1982, Elektra)

Could This Someday Be the Saddest Poem I Ever Wrote?

Is this the perfect moment for writing a sad poem?
Raining hard, feeling like a bard
Holding a pen, lost in thoughts
Outpouring, as raindrops softly and quietly Kiss the grass on the backyard lawn

As always, I’m alone and lonesome
Nine months have passed, yet everything’s virtually the same
Would Time ever give birth to laughter and mirth?

Will I remember this someday
As the saddest year of my life?
Would these be the loneliest leaves of my diary?
Should this be the bleakest part of my biography?

Suddenly a black-furred squirrel sneaks into the lawn
Looking for something to eat or, perhaps, checking the raindrops

But in my mind, it’s just a solitary squirrel
staring at a man wandering in his mind…
Or could be, a solitary man staring at a
squirrel wandering under the rain

Whatever…does not matter anymore
When feelings are overwhelming
Reasons no longer count after all

I have come to an age when the joys and woes,
The fun and pains of my past
Pour down like rain

The stillness of the trees
The coldness of the breeze
The numbness in my heart
The sameness of the rain
The sadness in my childhood
The arrogance in my youth

Are these reasons for this perfect moment?
Am I really alone in this kind of situation?
Or am I simply expressing something natural and universal?
That every being—human, other animals, or plant—
is cursed most of their lives with solitariness and loneliness
And with the longing to belong with someone or
with others of their own kind

Is there really happiness after sadness?
Is there really togetherness after solitariness?
Is there really belongingness after loneliness?
Is there really heaven or hell after death?
Or is sadness only the default state
From where every being strives to escape?
While Heaven and Hell are just the
personification of everything good and evil on Earth?

Is this really the perfect moment for writing a sad poem?
Could this someday be the saddest poem I ever wrote?
Could I then someday be among
The saddest poets one will have ever known?

Suddenly a black crow perches on the backyard fence
Braving the rain, just to feast on its piece of grain;
while I:

Still the same hopeful man with a pen in his
hand and a heart full of dreams—

For I am a yan yong you hong hu zhi
‘little sparrow with dreams of swans’


"That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost——
"The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, who we were, we are the same no longer."— Pablo Neruda, “Saddest Poem”


- 9:00 a.m., May 26, 2004, Wednesday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada (While listening to "Tragic Comedy" by Immaculate Fools, [Dumb Poet; 1987, A&M])

We Will Be Reaping in Old Age What We

The time is 11:20 in the morning.

My grandfather and I had just come back thirty minutes ago from our regular morning walk in the neighborhood. We are yet to eat lunch in a little while. As usual, only the two of us are left in the house. I’m presently listening to a CD containing Christian New Wave songs a new friend of mine from North York, Ontario (another Canadian province), has sent me—which arrived in the mail this morning. Grandfather is on his ground-level bed, sewing something, whiling his time, curing his own boredom.

I feel more comfortable and relaxed in situations like this—moments when my grandfather and I are the only souls in the house, regardless that we’re always inside our room anyway.

Only now—in my being constantly with him—that I’m realizing how patience could really be the young’s greatest virtue in dealing with the elderly—add to that, understanding and empathy. Believe me, if not for these virtues, I would have long given in to resentment and annoyance.

PATIENCE
Every time we would walk, I usually get tired not because of the distance my grandfather and I were covering nor of how fast we were walking but because we were walking rather very slow—almost as slow as a snail's pace, for the obvious reason that my grandfather's weakness and poor sense of balance could no longer afford him the agility, stamina, and stride of youth. If not for patience, I would have easily given in to annoyance and frustration. Because of patience, even though my legs become tired and my mind weary, my spirit becomes stronger.

UNDERSTANDING
This morning, my grandfather and I came back from our regular early walk, my aunt and the rest were still in the house; in fact, she even asked Grandfather where we went—to which he replied: “Just around the neighborhood.” Then, Aunt told Grandfather and me to eat lunch (they’d finished theirs) for they would already be leaving for work. Grandfather bade them goodbye and saw them through the door. The funny thing was, after only about thirty minutes, while he and I were resting in the room, Grandfather suddenly asked me whether Aunt and the rest have already eaten lunch and if they were still in the house; to think that he saw them leaving! If not for understanding my grandfather's condition—that he’s beginning to suffer from the inevitable senility, I would have given in, again, to annoyance and frustration. I would have wondered, how come he easily forgets such simple things; remember, he was the one who actually saw Aunt and the rest leaving through the door.

EMPATHY
Being my grandfather's constant companion and confidant has given me the rare opportunity of entering the microcosm of elderly people in general. It afforded me not only patience and understanding but more so empathy—the ability to identify with and understand the situation, feelings, and motives of people who are in the sunsets of their lives. I didn’t only understand their fears, frustrations, regrets; but instead, I began to feel such woes as if these were mine. In foresight, anyway, such woes would soon be my own; for surely I, like all of you, am inescapably destined to become an elderly someday. Yes, all of us will certainly become old and wrinkled like my grandfather. Maybe not in the near future, but definitely someday. And that is inevitable. It will certainly come. Believe me, it will come—unless we die young. And all we could ever hope for is that when that time approaches—when we finally enter our own sunsets—when we have become the elderly—the forgetful, the weak, the senile—there would be someone PATIENT, UNDERSTANDING, and EMPATHETIC who would care for each of us.

We will doubtlessly be reaping in old age what we have been sowing in our youth.

- 11:50 p.m., May 8, 2004, Saturday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "Wonderful Life" by Black [Wonderful Life; 1987, A&M])

My Home Is Not Where I Am

What I always think of now
are the better things that will surely come my way
after all the heartaches, sacrifices, and pains.

Nonetheless, I will always miss my family and friends,
so I can’t promise not to feel heaviness in my heart
and cry once in a while
every time I dream of home.

My home will always be there
in my beloved country.
The New Wave song “State of the Nation,” by Industry,
sings of truth after all, and
only now that I am feeling what it’s really singing
about...

“There’s no place like home…
“There’s no place like home…”

Believe me, this is very true.
For sure, it could have been different
if my family were all here with me, or,
at least, some of them. Perhaps, this
is the reason my relatives here could easily speak
of convincing my sisters and me to immigrate here—because they probably don’t experience much homesickness for
they are together with their own families.

The sentiments are different when
one is in a foreign land
alone and on his own,
away from his closest relations.

But my dreams and ideals are the things that
will keep me struggling and holding on. They
will be my bonnet and suede coat when
Winter is harsh;
my raincoat and umbrella during
drizzly days between Winter and Spring.

“There’s no place like home…”
For my lao jia ‘home’ is not where I am;
it is where my thoughts and heart always dwell.

- 11:10 p.m., May 7, 2004, Friday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "Now That I Miss Her" by Elefant
[Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid; 2003, Kemado Records])

Age and Experience Can Mellow People

Every time I revisit the eLf ideas newsletters that I used to make and distribute in the late 90s and reread what I had written in those days, I can still smile at the ideas I was able to churn out at that age and with having no formal background in writing; however, I now usually find myself blushing in shame at the way I brusquely expressed many ideas and views—often arrogant, couldn't-care-less, lots of neologisms, verbose rather than eloquent, flamboyant rather than precise.

I even remember declaring in one article: "This is my literary world, and you are just my platypi. I can do whatever I want; I can write whatever I think of. You can't do anything but read."

That now triggers goose bumps on my nape. The arrogance of youth. The "I am an anarchist" stage of life!

But, age and experience can really mellow people.

I'm glad I was given the chance to work in a publishing company such as Diwa Scholastic Press Inc., where I realized that—more than expressing my views and "brilliant ideas" and writing with a bit intent of impressing—being able to communicate feelings and concern and knowledge in the most subtle and compromising way most often hits the goal.

I hope that I have really mellowed down and had rather become calmer and more patient: no longer shoving, instead suggesting; expressing, not impressing, contributing, not monopolizing; clarifying, not concluding; offering, not imposing; and accepting and considerate, no longer rejecting and indifferent.

I hope that the "Fuck you!" and “I don't care what people say" rebel days have all been really gone.

Wency Cornejo was right after all: "You can't be so radical...."

Lastly, I remember myself back those carefree days—whenever a jeepney or tricycle driver wouldn't give my fifty-centavo change, I would really flare up and confront the equally flared-up guy just to get my well-deserved change, ignoring the possibility of myself getting hit with a pipe at the least.

Now, caught in the same situation—I would rather simply smile and walk away, believing that the hardworking driver most likely deserves the fifty-centavo better than I deserve it and avoiding the possibility of a senseless death.

- May 6, 2004, Thursday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "Next in Line" by After Image [Touch the Sun; 1992, Dyna Products])

The Invincible Summer Within

Fortunately, I’m feeling better already. I never realized how a one-hour call from my mother and sisters and a bulk of incoming mails from friends can cure the illness of my heart.

Being my grandfather’s companion is somewhat of a curse to me; for, I’m sure, whatever happens to him—worse if he dies—I’d surely be the first witness and would definitely receive all the guilt and blame, as if I can do something especially that he’s already 89.

I no longer sleep well these days, for I am always afraid that my grandfather might die in his sleep. His mere deep sigh or softest snore can send my heart pounding.

I’m really glad I have an access to the Internet, and I have so many friends as well as I have my family with whom to exchange e-mails; for if not, I can’t imagine as to what extent repression and suppression can damage my mind.

Sometimes, even the potency of my literary mind cannot defeat my woes. I’m wary for these incidents have been causing my pen to blot frequently these days. Luckily, however, thoughts of home and memories of my youth as well as words of care from my family and friends prevent my literary hearth from totally burning out.

But worry not! I’m fine now. I was really moved by the concern and response of people who regard me. Now, I feel kind of embarrassed for letting most of my friends and loved ones read my throes—for instead of encouraging all of them to go on living despite the harshness of Life and to think of Canada as a land of golden opportunities, here I am complaining and whining as if I'm unluckier than the poorest poor.

But what can I do? Like everybody else, I too become fragile and despondent once in a while, especially when despair, loneliness, and solitariness seem to be ganging up on me.

I may be feeling better now—but the resentment for the few who couldn't understand me will surely be nestling in my heart for quite some time. All I could hope for is that something positive may hatch of it.

Nevertheless, early Spring in Canada is getting lovelier by the day—the weather is inviting and the gardens in the neighborhood are again astounding. Flowers are proud. Leafs are sleek. Perhaps it’s just me—and my current mood.

I’m hoping nonetheless that the forthcoming Summer will equilibrate the intensity and apathy of the cold Spring breeze.

I hope that my family and friends continue to remind me of the invincible Summer I discovered within me in the coldest and gloomiest nights of last Winter here in Canada.

“In the depths of Winter I finally learned that
within me there lay an invincible Summer.”—Albert Camus

- 11:50 p.m., May 5, 2004, Wednesday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers
[Hot Fuss; 2004, Island/Def])

The Darkness of the Human Being's Heart

My feelings, my choices, and my moods change from time to time, depending on the situation in which I find myself. Right now, here are some of the emotions dwelling in my heart and mind.

The most evil people are those who are indifferent and devoid of human compassion. Very rarely, and only with a valid reason, will I feel hatred towards people; and I'm furiously angry right now. And the worst part is, I can't do anything about it; for at this stage of my life, I’m virtually helpless, with no one to turn to and trust my sentiments with. All I can do is indite my emotions into words. I'm suppressed. I'm repressed.

If only I had the choice, I'd rather be with total strangers who can utter sincere smiles and will engage in friendly conversations with me than be with people close to me in relations but don't care a bit and look at me condescendingly and consider me stupid and nonexistent.

I'm bored, depressed, and uninspired. My literary pen is running out of ink. And the well of inspiration from where I draw my ink is currently dry and empty. Loneliness and solitariness are the worst feelings in the world. They are eating away my vigor, my vitality, my energy, my thoughts, my brilliance, my ideas. They are rendering me hapless, helpless, and hopeless, crumbling all my dreams and confusing my ideals. They are making me feel useless and unimportant, insignificant and nonexistent. They are making me cry pathetically until I run out of tears to shed, until I feel apathetic and numb. They are taking away my appetite and patience and resilience and has afflicted me with insomnia and melancholia yet again.

Sometimes I am wishing that I die in my sleep while dreaming of wonderful things. (I’m glad, though, I have my family to live for.)

Sometimes I am doubting if I made the right decision of ever leaving home in the first place. (I’m glad, though, I have my grand vision and dreams to look forward to.)

And, most of the times, I am doubting the person who I really am. (I’m glad, though, I have many friends who keep on confirming that I am doubtlessly the person whom I think I am.)

“Ralph wept for the end of innocence,
the darkness of man’s heart, and the fall through the air of
a true, wise friend called Piggy.”—William Golding, Lord of the Flies

- 11:50 p.m., May 3, 2004, Monday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "Forbidden City" by Electronic [Raise the Pressure; 1996, Warner Bros.])

My Ideology and Vision of the Ideal World

I'm a bibliophilist—would rather buy a book than watch an ordinary movie.

I'm a lover of New Wave music—fell in love with it in 1985 and will continue to make love with it until the day when I die.

I'm a Lit'terariat—I love Literature, Languages, Grammar, Poetry, History, Culture, Science, and Music and writing about them as well as writing my original poems and stories. I love sharing my literary works and ideas to as many people as possible. In short, I love learning and sharing to others what I learn and think about many things.

I was in a band, but I never smoked, drank, nor dabbled in drugs. I may be fashionably erratic, or perhaps already outdated (since I'm stuck in the New Wave culture of the Eighties); but I will always be the same youthful, weird eLf whom I was more than two decades ago.
I may be a nostalgic person, who loves to reminisce about the past; but I'm also hopeful about and continues to work hard for my future.

I may have done many mistakes in the past, but I always move on improving and bettering myself.

I may have hurt my loved ones and many friends many times in the past—either intentionally or unknowingly— but I hope my apologies to them they’ve finally accepted.

I finished Nursing, a College course that I didn’t really like, but I now don’t regret it for I, after all, became what I truly wanted—a writer. “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”
I have been into many relationships, and I treasure them all. I may have broken the hearts of many and some of them had broken mine, but I hope they eventually forgave me the way I have forgiven those who hurt me.

My childhood was both happy and sad, but I look back now at its memories with fondness.

I came from a broken family, but it didn’t make me and my siblings bad persons. We lived with our mother, away from our father, whom we eventually learned to forgive, making him close to our hearts once again. We never forgot the past, but we learned to forgive what had passed.

I believe in a Supreme Deity; but the most important is, I believe in Hope, that miracles do happen, and that there is light at the end of every dark, narrow, and long tunnel. I believe that we are miracle-makers once in a while, and we are all magicians in our own simple ways.

I believe that being spiritual is better than being religious. I’d rather be with people who seldom or never go to their churches but respect their fellows than be with those who attend such gatherings regularly but speak ill of their neighbors.

I abhor people who are indifferent, discriminatory, judgmental, narrow-minded, gossipmongers, and maliciously wicked.
I avoid generalizations, name dropping, and feeding on the fruits and labors of others without consent.

I respect creativity and originality. I despise plagiarism and credit grabbing.

I never believed that Rock is the devil’s music. I don’t believe in the existence of the Devil itself; because, for me, this is only the personification of everything bad and evil.

I believe that the majority of us have the capacity to change for the better. In order for us to succeed, we need the guidance and support of others who genuinely care.

I acknowledge my weaknesses, nevertheless I try hard every day to improve myself and boost goodness and kindness.

I don’t believe in monotheism, or in a divine singularity; but this doesn’t mean that I disrespect those who do.

All I want is to influence as many inhabitants as possible to understand and respect the cultures and faiths of others without necessarily renouncing their own. I respect individuality. Whatever religion or faith a person has, as long as it makes her a better fellow to her neighbors, no problem I can see.

I hope to foster understanding and mutual respect among races despite idiosyncrasies and peculiarities.

I dream of a better world—not one that has only one color, language, culture, God and beliefs but a world like where we live—diverse, multicolored, multilingual, multicultural, and polytheistic—but where people take time to “speak” each other’s “language” so they can truly begin to accept one another’s differences without ignorance and prejudice. That, for me, is the ideal world, where I would love my future children to live and eventually raise their own families.

“Unless you assume a God, the question of life’s purpose is meaningless.”— Bertrand Russell

- 12:20 a.m., April 24, 2004, Saturday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "New Dreams for Old" by The Room [In Evil Hour; 1984, Virgin])

Friends Are Keys to Locked Memories

Reminiscing (or simply exchanging thoughts and insights) with friends—close or not-so-close these friends may be—has again proven me that people—friends, acquaintances, or mere familiar faces—serve as keys to many of our locked memories, which without such keys will be forever imprisoned in the webbeddest recesses of our minds.

This is the reason I always delight in reminiscing or exchanging letters with people with whom I had in any way connected in the past, for they always help me unlock many dormant memories—sad or happy these memories may be. For, from such memories I always find a lesson learned, an inspiration worth rekindling, and, as one friend said, "a friendship overlooked in the past worthy of pursuit."

It's good to hear friends finally discovering what they really wanted to become of themselves. I feel happy every time I see them realizing their personal legends and dreams.

“To realize one’s destiny is
a person’s only obligation.”— Paolo Coelho, The Alchemist (1993)

- 12:30 a.m., April 21, 2004, Wednesday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "State of Art" by Friends Again
[Trapped and Unwrapped; 1984, Mercury])

In My Darkest Solace, Friends Are My Brilliance

I'm wondering if I'm right in my belief that all, or at least most, of us have once entertained the thought of leaving the world for good, especially in times when we feel that no one and nothing except memories are there to sustain our strength of minds and hearts.

I think that the greatest achievement for anyone is to be able to emerge at the end of one’s darkest tunnel unscathed and never the less wiser—a better person, a stronger Soul.

In the meantime I am still stumbling inside the darkness and murkiness of my own tunnel, trying to sustain my breath until I reach the end, I have no one and nothing but friends and memories to guide me through the end.

This is the reason I now regard my friends as lights. My friends are the flickers of light that compel me to go on, despite the obstructions and obstacles which lay before me.

Friends are my brilliance in my darkest solace.


“I've been watching me fall for what seems like years
Watching me grow small;
I watch me disappear, slipping out my ordinary world,
out my ordinary eyes,
yeah, slipping out the ordinary me”— Robert Smith, “Watching Me Fall”

- 8:45 p.m., April 19, 2004, Monday; Surrey, British Columbia, Canada
(While listening to "Watching Me Fall" by The Cure [Bloodflowers; 2000, Fiction/Elektra])

Bleak and Meek

Bleak like Blake in the Night:
“The evening star does shine
And I must seek for mine”
Burning coals crackling in my poems
Like in the hearths of many Winter homes
I’m usually fraught feeling like a schnook
Frozen in an imaginary inglenook
Watching the embers, bleak and teary-eyed
While my sense of reason, blurred and undignified
Is it the soot or smoke trying to get into my soul
Or the pangs of pain extinguishing my very whole?

Meek like Blake in The Lamb:
“Gave thee such a tender voice
Making all the vales rejoice”
Faith once again in my heart springing forth
Like in the hearts of those with newfound worth
Night could have been a tranquil bed
If not for Sadness, the wandering skáld in my head
I dream more of returning to my native land
Than of making love with my cursive hand
Is it the nether gales or the meek breeze in early Spring
Or just the sound of my restless sighs devoid of zeal and zing?

- 9:20 p.m., March 24, 2004, Wednesday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Nothing Ever Lasts Forever” by
Echo & the Bunnymen [Evergreen; 1997, London])

You Can't Find Me Yet

You can find me always with a book in my dim-lighted aerie
With traces of tears wetting the window sills of my soul

You can find me always in my little nook feeling awry
Staring catatonically at the images on the wall in dole

You can find me always writing something in my diary
Weaving dreams, in reverie, documenting my history

But no, you can’t find me; you can’t find me yet
Not because I’m once again a silhouette
But because I still have to fill the emptiness my heart has kept

- 8:20 p.m., March 6, 2004, Sunday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Candleland” by Ian McCulloch
[Candleland (The Second Coming) EP;1990, UK EastWest])

Will You Weep When I Wither?

Why did you ski the slopes without me?
Why did you kayak the kyle without me?
I thought we would do anything together till eternity
I thought you would love me endlessly

Have you forgotten you said no and then kissed me?
When after a movie, under the marquee, I asked thee:
“If I were an aged sunflower
“Will you weep when I wither?”

How shall I ski the slopes without you?
How can I kayak the kyle without you?
We used to do anything together
We used to utter, “I love you forever!”

After Cast Away, under the marquee, I asked thee:
“If I were an aged sunflower
“Will you weep when I wither?”
I swear, I remember, you did utter
“No, I couldn’t weep when you wither
“Because I myself shall surely shrivel.”

- 1:25 a.m., March 8, 2004, Sunday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Sickness Divine“ by And Also the Trees
[The Klaxon; 1993, Normal Records])

Ode to Spring (In Surrey)

O Sun! A star ablaze on the sacred sky
Gardens are gaudy; grasses are green on the glorious ground

Squirrels sneak silently on the shaded streets
Crows and gulls cackle in glee
Cirrostratus clouds splendid in their clarity

No more scarves nor bonnets nor mitts
No more worries about snow ice and slips

Tree trunks, barks, and branches are browner
Lustrous leafs, shimmery as if chandeliers
People are friendly; pets are frisky
Songs are cheerful; chores are simple

Winter is gone; Spring has come
The first of floral feasts and frolic and fun

O Spring! A sunny season anew in Surrey, the city where I stay

- 11:28 p.m., March 6, 2004, Sunday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Braveheart” by Vermont Sugar House
[single release; 1999, Firestation Records])

Don’t Trim Trees Just To

Don’t trim trees
Just to build houses
Trim some to make homes
Don’t trim trees
Just to obtain wood for hearths
Trim some to warm cold hearts
Don’t trim trees
Just to have flagpoles and ledges
Trim some to build patios and bridges

Don’t trim trees
Just to harvest leaves and fruits
Trim some to live and know the truth
Don’t trim trees
Just to make sheaths and hilts
Trim some to make sheets of paper and pencils
Don’t trim trees
Just to tell stories and myths
Trim some to weave legends and dreams

- 11:35 p.m., March 3, 2004, Wednesday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “[Nothing But] Flowers” by Talking Heads [Naked; 1988, EMI])

The Last Gloomy Winter Morning

Once again younger days are rediscovered
as two best friends blow bubbles
and kisses at each other
charmingly
cheerfully
under the cool warmth of late-Winter Sun
stelladazing
scintillating
as a smiling Circle
with eight Lines as rays
above two little matchstick children
hopping
tumbling
playing hide-and-seek or
or a game of chase
sharing magic tricks
Spring is fast looming
white balls of cotton
immaculate fallen melted
Hail! O Hail!
newly blossomed
flowers and foliage
efflorescence
effervescence
fervence
fluorescence
half forgotten half remembered...
leaves from my diary—

My childhood tree.

- 1994, Quezon City, Philippines
(While listening to “Am I Wrong?” by Love Spit Love [Love Spit Love; 1994, Imago])

On These Winter Nights

Are these tears of gladness
Or tears of sadness?

On these Winter nights
I’m alone in my bed
Listening to songs in my head
Weaving some new tales
Somber like blue whales

Are these tears of hope
Or tears of a mope?

On these Winter nights
I’m lonesome in my nest
Feeling not in my best
Sleepless yet unsleepy
Wistful and dreamy

Restless, my mind
Wintry, my heart

On these Winter nights
My pillow is wet
My conjunctivae are red

On these Winter nights
I’m always home
Yet far away from home

- 12:15 a.m., December 30, 2003, Monday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Hold Me Now” by Thompson Twins [Into the Gap; 1984, Arista])

if i loves u,then

Winter loves dreams,
snow loves grasses,
barn owls love barns,and
woodpeckers love woods

As swans love lakes
bees love hives
caterpillars love leafs
and grasshoppers love to hop although
grasses don’t hop
and hoppers don’t grass
yet leafs love Spring and
butterflies love to fly as well as flies love butter
and snowy owls love snow
while Winter the snow so loves

So, if i loves u
and jays love trees
then B loves 4
even if yu doesn’t believe mi
but if i loves u
I mean, if i really loves u,then…

- January 24, 2004, Saturday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Love You” by Primal Scream [Sonic Flower Groove; 1987, Elevation])

that soft fey-face

soft as snow on its first fall
coolascold as a crankcall
warm as a windblownwick
dank as a dampeneddeed
plainaspace ; feyasyourface
dazed,fazed,gazed,haze,lazed,maze

softasclay soft
as your fey-face aloft
yourways—athousandways
you do that soft-
en my otherwise frozen days

- January 25, 2004, Sunday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Blushing Girl, Nervous Smile” by The Wallflowers UK; single release)

Times Are Tough When

I’m alone; only the strength of will can make me endure

My fate. Once again, I turn myself to writing contemplatively. Moments

Like these are conducive to introspection as well as retrospection. They

Challenge my mind into rising far above despondency and

Mediocrity. They give me ample time to examine the real beats

Of my heart. Weave some more dreams and conjure some

More wonderful things they allow me to—the dreams that I

Really wanted to dream about—the things that I really wanted realized.

- 9:19 p.m., February 18, 2004, Wednesday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Hope for Winter” by Club 8 [Club 8; 2001, Labrador Records])

After the Snow

{to Algae}

As long as there is
Spring after
Winter there is
A reason to dream
Gloomy and sad
These days and
Nights may seem
A snowball of sorrowful
Moments is
Sure to melt
Into a palmful
Of bliss
Full of memories
After the snow

- January 12, 2004, Monday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Hands Across the Sea” by Modern English [Ricochet Days; 1984, Sire])

Sorrow in Lieu of the Snow

Suddenly the child in me about came prancing
When against the windowpane one morning
Snowflakes started to patter
Delightedly my lips did mutter
“At last! It did finally embrace me—
“The scent and softness of Winter potpourri.”

I never imagined upon waking
Trinkets of white would do the greeting
On my lips, however, were only half-smiles
For the loves of my life were far away a thousand miles
So the enchantment summoned by Winter that morning
Waned and was replaced slowly with sorrow and with yearning
To return to where my thoughts always dwell—

Home

- February 20, 2004, Friday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Home and Dry” by Pet Shop Boys [Release; 2002, EMI])

Nothing Changed Between Us

Once you asked me to compose a song for you
O’er the phone I sang it without any cue
A song of longing and loneliness
Can you still remember the blandness
Of my voice when you questioned my coldness?

How you cried
How I laughed
How I ended everything in mock-
Ery! Every Very smack! Dreary Curse me!

Once you asked me to dance with you
But under a Lothlórien moon my heart whispered adieu
We danced so close yet I felt so far
From each other’s spell and spark and par

Can you still remember my kiss?
Can you imagine the taste of my lips?

How you closed my eyes with your left fingers
How I averted and walked away
And ended everything in silent mockery

- 1:35 a.m., December 15, 2003, Monday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Right Next to Me” by Whistle [Transformation; 1988, Select Records])

Finally, I Touched the Sky

I used to write poems about the snow
The whiteness the purity
Immaculate oh how it percolated my throe!

But now I’ve realized they were half-lies
Well, at least, in my own guise
Pretentious me oh I succumbed to Vanity!

For how could I have written about the snow
When I hadn’t even touched its glow?

But that Saturday, my Muse bestowed me another chance
To weave something about the jaded snow
And this time, believe me, I was in silent lucidity
For I beheld its fall in nonchalance and woe, not in revelry

Morning came, outside the window-
Pane Silent cottons of feather-bits a-flow Pain!
From the sky above to the ground below
Kissing the waiting grasses ever so slow

O smooth o smooth-
Ness silent and white
West! I never thought it could be so bright
Less than love o loveli
Ness so soft and light

Towards the windowpane I sauntered
Slowly and opened it bliss-
Fully a chilly breeze embraced my skin
O how I wished I was with my closest kin

I just closed my eyes and let my soul fly free
A vague smile on my lips uttered unmistakably
Mustering words that said: “Finally, I touched the sky.”
I finally touched feathery bits of the unreachable sky

- 7:20 p.m., December 4, 2003, Thursday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “The Sun Always Shines on TV” by a-ha [Hunting High and Low; 1985, Warner Bros.])

Déjà Vu

{to Elena, the first to assure that many others suffer a similar fate}

Every night at the same time
I find myself nestled in my bed—my eggshell
In the lamplighted nook of my bedroom—my nest
Thinking of everything and nothing at best
My glorious past is flashing back like a spell Sublime!
In my mind in my head Is there anything else I can do
Other than listen to these bittersweet songs anew?

I’m jaded and out of bliss
How much longer can I endure this?
Will I reach the end of this tunnel
Unscathed and once again spirituel?
Will I emerge after all still whole
A stronger person, a better Soul?

When days no longer differ from one another
I wonder if there are many others
Who suffer a similar fate
And begin to lose their faith

Sucked into oblivion into some unwished-for plight
And all I can do is languish in this forlorn mental flight

- 1:45 a.m., December 15, 2003, Monday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “The Ghost in You” by Counting Crows [Clueless OST; 1995, Capitol)

Cold as Snow

I used to wish for Winter days and snow
Back home, back when I was too young to know
The thought of such immaculate and enchanting sight
A wonderland where wishes beamed—so bright!

Soon, at last, the first fall of flakes has come
and awakened me on a dusky dreary morning
Silent little feathery bits of immaculate falling
from the sky above Gently kissing
the damp green grasses below in aplomb

Child-eyed, full of awe, I hurried and opened the windowpane
There I stood and stared, then smacked on the face
By the sudden whip of ice-cold brazen haze
I closed my eyes and felt the breeze of cold-hearted pain

And then I wondered to myself once more
Where went my smile? Oh, it was killed!
It flew against my will
The smile I kept when Winter was still a lore
Are wishes grand only when they’re still
deep in our hearts and unfulfilled?

Another whip of Winter breeze has lashed my face
Right there and then, in a faint wintry morning daze
At last, I witnessed my first-ever sight of wished-for snow
Alas! It turned my heart into something as cold as floe

O Cold! So cold! Because I was so far away from home
The mirth for a wish-come-true was gobbled by a winter gnome
So now, how could I wish again for the return of snow
When home’s the only wish that sets my heart aglow?


- 10:15 p.m., December 4, 2003, Thursday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Life in a Northern Town” by The Dream Academy [The Dream Academy; 1985, Warner Bros.])

The Fourth of a Dozen Verses (December 9–20, 2004)

*Scents*
There's something in those scents
That in my heart transcends

Bittersweet memories
Kisses of the past

Badly broken hearts
Loves which didn't last

Inevitable tragedies
Forever will be mysteries

*Dilim*
Pagud na pagod na 'ko
Mga mata ko'y laging mugtô

Ang tigas ng ulo ng lolo ko
Mukhang mauuna pa yata ako

Di na 'ko makatulog nang maayos
Pagbabantay di matapus-tapos

Ni wala man lamang mayapós
Sa t'wina ako'y mistulang nauupos

Di ko na mawari ang aking nadarama
Galit-awa-galit-awa

Nasa pagitan ako ng dalawang demoño
Walang itulak-kabigin parehong talo

Sitwasyon ko'y parang wala nang katapusan
Kailan pa kaya panibagong buhay ay masisimulan?

Kunut-noo, kagat-labì, buntung-hininga
Kailan pa kaya ako muling makatatawa?
O makangingiti man lang nang ubod-sigla?

Pagong pa rin ang usad ng panahon
Sukò na yata ako sa mga araw na mapanghamon

Sana naman tutuo ang kasabihan:
"Sa dulo ng bawat lagusan
Ay may liwanag na maaasahan"

At kung iyan nga ay isang katotohanan
Sapat pa sana ang aking isipa't pangangatawan
Upang bagtasin ang kasalukuyang dilim
Na sa aking buhay ay nagpapakulimlim

*Apathetic*
How paradoxical life really is
I expect the unexpected
But I get surprised by the unsurprising

Trivial or controversial
Things seem to not matter anymore

Everything has become subjective
Everything has become relative

Or were they like that ever since
Only I haven't realized it?

*Molecules*
Snow doesn't excite me anymore
Rain doesn't inspire me anymore

But love, yes, love
Love is the magic
That bonds my remaining molecules

*Seven*
I tried so hard to understand
Why did it have to be us?

Your gift that year was a broken home
Gone in our lives then you were suddenly

I remember the tales you used to tell
There in my crib I would listen so well

An ode of forgiveness now gently plays
From me and them and her to you

Out of gloom Out of heaven
For years I yearned

It could hush us seven
Seven us hush could tears?

*Chained*
Sitting by the window in the children's room
Staring at the motionless and virtually leafless trees
And then as always crows and gulls and squirrels
Frolic and foster in their gift of freedom
Flying where their wings take them
Climbing the treetops hiding in the treeholes
While I—engulfed
In silence and imprisoned
In my own thoughts
Indefinitely

*Rebirth*
So many questions in my mind
Answers, would there really be, someday?

So many ill feelings in my heart
Comfort, would there really be, someday?

So many dreams in my mind
Fulfilled, could they really be, someday?

So many resentments in my heart
Forgiveness, would there really be, someday?

So many wounds my soul has
Healing, would there really be, someday?

So many scars left behind
Will my spirit survive nonetheless?

So many moments I felt I died
Rebirth, is there really such a phenomenon?

*Epitaph*
I'm a burning candle
I'm a two-week-old moth
I'm a jaded song
I'm a half-forgotten saga
I'm a half-remembered hero
I'm a millennium-old sequoia
I'm my ailing grandfather

fading...
...waning
ending.

*Rotten*
Emptiness is eating me
I'm a rotting emu egg
Solitariness is imprisoning me
I'm a rotting chinchilla
Loneliness is killing me
I'm a rotting narwhal
Immortality has left me
I'm a rotting corpse


*Kabanatà*
Báwat paták ng túbig sa yúngib
Ay luhà

Báwat kináng ng kaliskís
Ay tuwâ

Báwat álon sa dágat
Ay pangambá

Báwat kurbá ng hásang
Ay pag-ása

Báwat úkit ng pantíg
Ay litératurá

Báwat kampáy ng buntót
Ay panatà

Báwat kabanatà
Ay bágong alaála

*Bells*
Christmas is near
Is it?

Christmas bells are chiming
Are they?

Christmas gifts have been wrapped
So what?

Christmas carols are lingering
Very saddening

Christmas is near
Yet I'm far away

*Out*
Running out of words
Running out of ideas
Running out of strength
Running out of hope

Running out of dreams
Running out of inspiration
Running out of energy

Running out of running out of
Running out
Run

Winter Once Again

Hush,
the dream is not yet over.
Someday.
I know someday,
my loved ones will be with me,
to stare through the window as
the snow falls. And all
of us will fall
in silence,
in the same contemplative moment.

- December 6, 2004, Monday;
Surrey, British Columbia, Canada

My Solace, My Friends

How each turn of a leaf exudes a scent far
more alluring than the most fragrant flower

How each page that I read gifts me with
new insights and broadens my knowledge

How the smoothness of every leaf, to my touch,
feels like my lady's skin

How just marvelling at my bookshelf equals
pondering the Eiffel or, perhaps, the Stonehenge

Books, O' books!
My solace, my friends

My faithful and silent companions on nights I want
to forget my sadness and woes

My quiet and trusted accomplices in moments I want
to get lost in some distant yet familiar world

- December 2, 2004, Thursday;
Surrey, British Columbia, Canada