like the silence in the morning

 

I can barely hear the songs, but my heart thumps to its beat just the same

Waking up before the alarm screeches its infernal — albeit necessary — wail has its advantages.  The switch from dream to waking was peaceful, as if it were a natural progression.  It was still dark outside;  there was no need to hurry.

I went down through the not-quite winding stairs, skipping the last three steps by holding on to the wooden pillar at the base and jumping/twisting the rest of the way.  The body is bursting with energy because the morning was still mine, no deadlines, no demands, no pressure, no expectations.  I could breathe.

Cooking tocino would be too messy, and the tapa is something I have never tried before.  The hotdogs, on the other hand, I can leave with the toaster, and that is what I do.  I then turned on the TV, amped the sound to something barely audible, played a forgotten worship video of Hillsong United, and went to the bathroom to shave.

I can barely hear the songs, but my heart thumps to its beat just the same.  How long has it been since I last jumped and raised my hands like they do?

The toaster dings, signaling that I can now break my fast.  I open the ever-present chocolate drink in the ref, partake of some questionable bread (I haven’t been at home much to finish it), and quietly ate the hotdogs at the kitchen counter.  I like this quiet.  I like this slowness.

I wash the dishes — no use letting laziness mar the cleanliness of the new house.  I even mopped the kitchen and swept the floors of the whole ground floor.  I then remembered it was a Monday, so I took out the trash where the collectors can get them.

There was no one in the street.  I really like this quietness.

I head on back, but before taking my bath, I decided to email my boss the articles I was expected to submit today.  It’s 7 in the morning, and bulk of my deliverables are done.

I take a bath, the water gloriously rushing and stripping down the rest of the things in my head.  I’m ahead, I’m in no rush, I am fed, and I am praying.

I’m still.

 

I wish… you were here.

 

no one to tell

“There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts.”

- Neil Gaiman

If there is a good thing that the silence of loneliness brings, it is the impetus to compose sonnets, create poems, write stories, draft songs, make secret blogs.  A heart, after all, can only hold so much.  And when there is no one to tell the yearnings it holds, it must find its way or find itself torn apart.

These days I find it amazing how casually we dismiss emotions.  I admit I too, have been remiss in this.  There were years when I held myself aloof and built walls, and scoffed at those who chose to invest their hearts.  We trade in mermaids and gamble away hearts as if they were cheap — as if it were at all possible to mend a heart as if it were never broken.

I used to dismiss emotions as if they were less valid, less real, less a reason to make decisions. And while thinking logically has its merits, I wonder how deep are the wounds and how damaged we leave ourselves by dismissing how we and others feel.  It has been said before, after all, that the most grievous of crimes is to steal away a heart and then break it.

“As I write this now, it occurs to me that the peculiarity of most things we think of as fragile is how tough they truly are.  There were tricks we did with eggs, as children, to show how they were, in reality, tiny load-bearing marble halls; while the beat of the wings of a butterfly in the right place, we are told, can create hurricanes across an ocean.  Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minute, and scarcely falter along the way.  Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible of things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill.”

- Neil Gaiman

Of course, given enough time, we can recover and patch up our hearts.  But I wonder if the costs we pay to do that are too high.  A man may learn, after all, that the only way to stop the hurt is to build walls and to hide his heart so that no one can touch, and therefore hurt, it again.  I’ve been there before.  I have no wish to return.

But still.  We can only bleed so long until our hearts dry up and harden.  And when that happens…

Congratulations.  You’ve killed yourself a person.

sometimes, flying’s easier than falling

It’s 1:20 a.m. and our whole department’s still here.

About two hours ago, Jacs posted a link toward a preview of a yet-unaired Glee song “Defying Gravity”.  At this moment, I must say it hits my spot perfectly.

Here’s for all those who choose to lose because “if that’s love  — It comes at much too high a cost!”

 

 

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I’m through with playing by the rules
Of someone else’s game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It’s time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap!

It’s time to try
Defying gravity
I think I’ll try
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I am defying gravity
And you wont bring me down!

I’m through accepting limits
”cause someone says they’re so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I’ll never know!
Too long I’ve been afraid of
Losing love I guess I’ve lost
Well, if that’s love
It comes at much too high a cost!

I’d sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I’m defying gravity
I think I’ll try
Defying gravity
And you wont bring me down!

I’d sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I’m defying gravity
I think I’ll try
Defying gravity
And never bring me down!
bring me down!
ohh ohhh ohhhh!

 

OPM, you speak to me

Minsan, enjoy ding mag-emo.

Yung para ka ulit nasa high school. Upo sa tabi ng kalsada pag gabi.  Secret messages sa mga sinasabi.  Grabeng drama about the slightest things…

At syempre, mga kantang feeling mo ginawa para sayo.

For some reason, dumadami ang online kong pasyente nitong mga nakaraang araw.  May nagsabi na dati na ako daw ang kanilang online psychologist — pinagandang pangalan para sa glorified hingahan ng sama ng loob through instant messenger. Oks lang, basta nakakatulong.

Anyway, eto ang isa sa mga nakausap ko:

I still care, she said.

But what good would that do?  She cares – while I love her with a passion that made the gods themselves envious.  She cares.  I appreciate the gesture, but it kills me that she doesn’t feel the same.

Heto pa:

See, this is what I hate.  I’m fine, then I do something good, or think of something smart.  Instead of feeling good about myself, my mind screams — “you think you’re good?  So bakit di ka nya mahal?

I wonder how long I can keep asking this question before I begin hating myself.

I’ve been there, so I know their pain.  Hay.

(ambient noise: Sugarfree’s Burnout)

O, wag kang tumingin ng ganyan sa akin
‘Wag mo akong kulitin, ‘wag mo akong tanungin
Dahil katulad mo, ako rin ay nagbago
‘Di na tayo tulad ng dati, kay bilis ng sandali

CHORUS
O, kay tagal din kitang minahal

Kung iisipin mo, ‘di naman dati ganito
Teka muna, teka lang, kelan tayo nailang?
Kung iisipin mo, ‘di naman dati ganito
Kay bilis kasi ng buhay, pati tayo natangay

[Repeat CHORUS]

Tinatawag kita, sinusuyo kita
‘Di mo man marinig, ‘di mo man madama

O, kay tagal din kitang mamahalin

kay pat*, sa iyong pag-iisa

i miss her a lot. ang hirap. wala kaming contact, pero alam mo yon… nasanay lang siguro ako na andyan siya lagi. and it’s killing me that she’s not feeling the same.

i just… want my friend back.

If there are those who say that what you’re feeling is adolescent or “for telenovelas”, they are idiots.

It’s simple enough: you build dreams, your life around a person — then suddenly, with no way whatsoever of making sense how it happened, she’s gone.

Mayhap it is a cliche, but that doesn’t make it untrue.  The world turns gray and you are left with a bitterness so vile  it blackens your tongue, but doesn’t deaden your heart.

No, never a dead heart.  You feel it every second – that gaping, violent hole that impossibly sucks all energy, all life you have left.  You feel white hot pain one moment and a dark, silent, empty pit the next.

You count the days with activities to push away the silence.  But even that is a lie.  Every activity is a countdown to a moment you dread and look forward to in equal measure: replaying how it felt to touch her face, hearing her barely-contained moan before she groans your name, remembering the moments when there was no doubt that you were known, that you were hers.

you were hers.

Your needs are simplest now. A time machine, so you could go back. Telepathy, so you could reach her. Answers, as to why nothing seems to make sense anymore.

Maybe you could also fall in line at hospitals — who knows, they might be handing out new hearts. Today might be your lucky day.

* not a real name