Rain rain go away

The rain came as light showers that adorned the sky. It was like Christmas lights at the start of September. And just like how we see the start of a spectacular light show leading to the main event, the light showers turn into a full blown storm like the star of the show that it is. Amazing as nature may be, for me it just brings devastation. I have seen it coming, and as expected the devastation started inside me.

The constant rain will not go away easily. It will enjoy the season because it’s his. It will embrace the heat when the morning comes. It will receive well the droplets of water that it brings. So that when it is full to the brim, it will release everything like a child high on sugar leaving everyone drenched. And…the rain does not play alone, it’s accompanied by the cold wind slowly travelling from the north pole. It signals the change in atmosphere and along with it, a change in me. From the light sniffles I get from the cold wind, to the dry air that tickles my throat…the sudden unfamiliarity chokes me. I can’t breathe and next thing I know I am fighting to survive this.

Breathing in, I inhale all the things I want to forget. Breathing out, I exhale all those things out in to the world wanting catharsis. But it’s not easy because I need to keep breathing and every time I do, everything comes back like the pain from that last heartbreak you can’t move on from.

But like all things, the rainy season will end too. As it ends, I hope that it takes all the bad things too. As for now, I wait for the rain to go away just to come back another day.

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.

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!”

See yah!

A few months won’t guarantee a foolproof friendship. But a lifetime won’t either. A true friend is a true friend, it’s innate. It’s something can’t be taught but can be learned. This goes for a friend who will say goodbye to our everyday bantering with the team, everyday foodtrip, etc. She will be missed certainly, but I know we will still see her, well not everyday but maybe weekends?

Crying, you broke the news

sad silence overwhelmed that call

Wishing you best of luck and see yah!