For my sake

For my sake,
call me one last time.
Let me hear your voice again.
Tell me that it will be alright.
Tell me that things will be fine;
That I can sleep sound tonight
knowing that you had thought of me
One last time.

For my sake,
kiss me again like how you used to,
urgent like it would be the last time.
Kiss me like how you’ve always wanted to,
but never did.
Kiss me once, twice, thrice;
As much as you can
in this limited time.

For my sake,
leave without going back.
No calls, no messages…
No ‘how are you doing?’
‘I’ve missed you.’.
Leave and mean it!
Because for my sake,
I need you to let go of me,
finally, this time.

Parkour defined

Parkour. It’s a philosophy. It’s a way of life. It’s movement. It’s efficiency. But what is it really? Well it is all that and more. I can’t tell you since I’m not a traceur and I could probably commit mistakes that could get me into a lot of trouble. But I can try, right?

So here goes nothing.

Parkour is the callus I feel when I used to hold his hand. It is the eye rolling I did when he sees high walls. It was me shouting ‘I’m not with him!’ when he jumps everywhere. It is the cold clammy feeling when I hold railings just so I can try what he was doing. It was the delight I felt when I was able to jump across the low bar and I say, “oh my, I’m doing parkour”. It was the twinkle in his eyes saying “I’m so happy you did it, we are now getting on the same page”. It was me holding a video camera just to capture the ‘awesome’ stunt he does. It was the soiled pants he usually wears on Sundays. It was the annoyance I felt whenever he would jump off crazy stairs. It was my fear that he might injure himself. It was the dirty hands he kept off my face after he worked out. It’s the sweat trickling down his face that I taste as we kiss. It is the new shirts he would wear, one size smaller. It was the question, “is that okay for you?”. It was a test of my character, I admit. It was his dream to do it, but didn’t push thru. It was something I can’t do anything about, but to support.

At one point, it was everything to him.

It became mine too, at one point…as he was my everything.

But parkour, like everything else he did, had to sit back and relax. Until finally, one day forgotten.

He found different things to focus on. He found something he was better at. He found something he was more passionate about.

But I would always see that twinkle in his eyes, so I know that it’s alright. He is happy. Parkour may be gone, but he is still happy.

Now I sit back and relax. I haven’t seen him for quite some time. But I wish he still has that twinkle in his eyes. That even though my one day had happened already, he stays happy.

Sa UST hindi ko siya nakilala.

** I wrote this a few months back, it was never published in the UST site so I decided to put it here. It’s in taglish for now, but I will write an English version one of these days.

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A few years back after I graduated, nakilala ko siya. Sa usual na paraan, sa common friend. That time, he was studying to be a lawyer at UST and I was already working. Classmate siya ng friend ko kaya kami nagkakilala.

Facts:

Parehong sa UST kami nag-aaral

Magkabatch kami

MagkaFaculty kami

MagkaBuilding pa

Minsan magkasunod pa kami sa room na ginagamit, so malamang nagaantay siya sa labas ng pintuan ng Room103 habang naglelecture pa si Sir Dalangin samin.

Pero never ko siya nakilala nun. Yes baka dahil marami naman kasing tao sa UST. Sa AB pa lang grabe na. So pwede nga na hindi kami magkakilala nung time na yun. Pero what are the odds that I would meet him months after graduation? Parang pinilit ng tadhana.

Sabi ko sa kanya parang pelikula yung story natin ha. Biruin mo, we were maybe at arm’s length. Nagkasalubong na marahil. Malamang isa sya sa mga nakikipagsiksikan kapag dismissal na, pwede na nabunggo na niya ko sa hagdanan.

Nung naging kami, ang lagi kong tanong, “nasan ka nung paskuhan nung ___ year?” o di kaya, “naging professor mo ba si _____?” or kung “kilala mo si ______?”. Andaming tanong na minsan nga naisip ko, bakit kaya di tayo pinagtagpo nung panahon na yun? We could have started early on with this relationship. Pero hindi eh.

Years later, eto ko ngayon. Facing the hardest breakup ever. Sabi niya di kami pwede kasi hindi pareho ang goals namin in life.

Oo, tama siya.

Pero kahit tama siya masakit pa rin. Pero kung iisipin ko mabuti, panu kaya when we met early on, at nagtapos kami sa dahilang binigay niya sakin ngayon? Baka di ko masabing tama siya. Baka galit lang ang maramdaman ko. Kasi kung noon pa yun nung bata kami, di ko maiintindihan ang nangyayari ngayon. Di ko maappreciate bakit niya ito ginawa. Di ko matatanggap basta basta.

Buti na lang, late na kami nagkatagpo.

Buti na lang sa UST di ko siya nakilala.

Can you write for me?

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It started with the question, Can you write for me?

I was five and my teacher, teacher Jo, asked the class to write our names in a sheet of paper. I proceeded with writing my name. I had these new set of pencils that my mom bought me for first day of class and I sharpened them earlier that morning. I was too excited to do the exercise that I accidentally, pushed the pointy end to one of my bare hands. How did I do that? Beats me. But it happened. That day, I learned that writing is painful.

I was thirteen. Freshman in high school at a new school, it was kind of overwhelming but exciting as well. One of the teachers required us to keep a diary. It is to practice our writing skill. I happily obliged and wrote a day-to-day entry. One day, after exams, I wanted to hang out with my friends at this new mall in our area. That would really be cool. But my mom refused to. So I went home and swore that I hate her. I wrote down the frustrations I had in the diary. I poured my anger in the poor paper. That night, my mom learned that writing is painful, especially your daughters “I hate my mom” on every page of the damn diary.

It was February and I was 19. We were discussing poems in a Literature class. The professor said, write for me 3 lines that explains love for you and recite it to class the next day. So next day came, I was well prepared. I even thought I have written something good. Then I stood in front of the class and read that small paper and said,

Drinking, at the bottom of the glass

I see you…

Then I drowned.

I choked on the last line and cried after. No one knew why. That day I learned that writing won’t take the pain away. But instead, it makes us more aware of it and made me realize my capacity to bear it.

I was 25, I just came to the office. I know I had a busy day ahead. So, I opened my computer, got my planner out and started to browse my emails for the day. The first one was from him. It was a love letter, he said. I read what he wrote and that day I learned that if writing is painful, reading is heartbreaking.

So now I question myself, if writing is painful then why do I still write?

I write not because I’m sad, lonely, heartbroken, or because it’s painful. I write because I am trying to be happy. But, writing does not take away the pain, it just echoes my reality. It deepens the awareness of the hurt that’s clawing my insides. It resonates the screams I want to shout. It brings tears to my eyes. It’s mental torture if you ask me. But it’s the only way I come to terms with whatever it is that’s agonizing me inside.

Writing is my passion. It always has been. I’ve written hundreds of pieces, short or long ones. They are all scattered in my different sizes of notebooks. All of which are mirrors of who I was, what I am feeling or who I want to become after.

I was 25, a late night chat with a friend of mine, she asked me, can you write for me?

So I answer her, “of course I can!”

Sometimes Yes, Sometimes No

Listening at the sound of your breath,

I braced myself for the worst

When you spoke,

then it was even more…

I thought I was ready for the answer. I was hoping that I could hear a favorable one. I guess it’s the fault of my question. It was a “SO” question that I didn’t want to be answered and yet, there he was giving me one; an answer that crushed me to pieces.

Asking you straightforward,

I am hoping you’d say YES!

Telling me instead;Sometimes Yes, Sometimes No.

It hurt. So Much…

It was painful hearing those words. But I have to hold my composure. I even asked why? Hoping I could understand you, your thinking, your logic, whatever it is that made you say that. But everything you said after was slurred to my hearing. I didn’t understand anything, anything at all.

Crying…

I watched you, watching me

You had no idea what your words caused me.

I am at loss for words, tears fell down my cheeks. I can’t control it, but I have to. You even asked me if I was crying, and all I was able to do was nod. I felt so helpless.

Holding tight on your slipping hand

I grab the other one…

But you wooed me away!

Help me….

Help me stay.

I Love You

 

3 words, so powerful it can change lives.

 It nitpicked my worst feelings and turned my world upside down.

When I was in college, my Art Professor wanted us to make I Love You poems. Poems that are 3 liners that would express love in the most beautiful or awful way. I was heartbroken when I read mine to class. But after that, I was able to move forward. I don’t even remember the exact words, but to showcase a hidden passion, I have tried to rebuild the words as I remember them.

 

Drinking, I see you

At the bottom of my glass

And I am drowning at the bottom of the ocean.

 

Again, not my exact words, but that was still the experience. I hope you like it because I would be posting a lot of those here. So I can try to encapsulate love in a poetic way.