Tuesday, April 27, 2004
is not truly Silence:
there is no
p e a c e
nestled comfortably in the space emptied of sound.
Instead, we breathe in a Quiet
turbulent with unsaid Words,
poisoned with the Longing to speak thoughts
...that are not there...
and intense with the Desperation to bury thoughts
We are suffocated
(from the inside),
C L A M O R S
to be exhaled
to purify the ingress of these lies,
to dissolve the exchange of these deceptions:
of these silences
that are not truly silent.
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 01:45 a.m.
The Mirror Self
Monday, April 19, 2004
Stare long enough into the looking glass and your face wouldn’t be your own anymore. It rearranges itself, almost desperate to change: amplifying features and dismissing others, smoothing out, crumpling up, settling into unrecognizable expressions that are deformed and scandalizing and irrefutably sinister.
Small distortions, at first: the thinning of lips, the gradual blurring of the nose. Then comes the melting away of cheeks, like a dispersed fog, the retreat of the hairline into the hazy peripheral surrounding a now dismembered face. The practiced smile slides into an undeniable snarl, teeth glaring, spreading out eagerly without a mouth to frame it in.
Then the eyes.
The eyes widen startingly, glower terrifyingly, painfully sharp and metallic, like a steel knife running across the tongue. They bind you into immobility, drawing you into a gathering darkness. They fascinate you as they take control of the entire face. They leer, they wrinkle in menacing contempt, they hear your terror.
The eyes know. They flash in a muffled neon light of black and grey. They speak of a mirror self, a secret self, slowly spreading with the impending, blinding glow of thirsty mutiny.
A startled blink or a frightened gasp quickly dissipates the illusion. Now the original face stares back at you, hanging slack in astonishment: mouth agape, cheeks pale. Frozen. A suppressed breath finally claws its way out of your chest.
Echoes of a taunting smile linger in the eyes, before they too, cloud over in incredulous wonder.
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 02:10 p.m.
A Kite's Story
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
The small kite remained still in those two tiny hands: a proud banner woven from perfectly incisioned paper and carefully positioned bamboo slats. It hungrily took in the warm sunlight as it looked on in awe at the sky. It longed for the feel of the wind rushing through its frame, longed to soar and dance and reach up to tap defiantly at the heavens. The kite rustled softly in anticipation, relishing the phantom caress of some imagined breeze.
Another kite stumbled blindly upon those two tiny feet: tattered and exhausted, still reeling from the once delirious, now abandoned flights of long ago. It stared vacantly at the sky before the foot it clung to shifted ever so slightly to kick it away. A final act of mercy, an entrance to oblivion.
The kite lands calmly on the dust, and there remained still: a consummated dream, finally laid to rest.
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 11:06 p.m.
Life ≠ Buhay
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
"Get a life."
'Yan ang pinaka-sikat na payo na nakukuha ko sa aking mga “kaibigan”. Habang ang madalas na tagubilin sa mga normal na katulad nila ay tipong "Study hard," o "Books before boys," naka-reserba naman para sa akin ang walang-sawang utos na "Get a life." Sa katunayan, isinusulat ko na ito bilang motto sa mga slumbook noong senior year. Naisip ko kasi, sayang naman yung payo nila kung hindi ko man lamang magagamit. Naka-inggles pa man din.
Pero hanggang slumbook lamang ang mararating ng mga salitang 'yun. Dahil kahit ilang beses pa man nila idiin ito sa akin, kusa na itong pumapasok sa isang tenga at lumalabas sa kabila. Madalas, kapag naisipan kong gaguhin pa sila lalo, pakurap-kurap pa akong magtatanong kung saan pwede makabibili nitong “life” na sinasabi nila.
Malalalim na buntong-hininga ang laging bumabati sa pamimilosopo ko, sabay pag-uulit ng tanyag na mantra na siguro'y inaasahan nilang makagagamot sa pagka-loser ko balang-araw:
"Jaymee. Get a life."
Sa daming beses nilang gagamitin ito, hindi na nakapagtataka na magsasawa rin naman ako at magpa-plano ng maiging pambara. Kaya maya-maya niyan ay ilalabas ko na ang aking secret weapon:
"Sige nga," uusisain ko sa kanila, "Tell me: what's a 'life?"
Tahimik. May ilang henyong mag-tatangkang sumagot, ngunit hanggang "Life! Ano siya...'yung...life, you know?" lang ang mararating.
What is a "life"? 'Yan ang pang-Matrix 'kong tanong na nakababara sa pangungulit ng mga concerned citizens na hindi makatanggap ng isang taong walang pakialam sa happenings o sa barkada.
May ilang mapilit na nilalang na rin ang nagtangkang sagutin ang pilosopikal na suliraning ito:
"Mga gimik!" matapang na subok ng isa.
"May pera ka?" busisi ko naman.
"A relationship. Get a boyfriend," pilit naman ng isa kong kaklaseng umiikot ang mundo sa love life.
"Hindi ko inaasa sa ibang tao ang kasiyahan ko," mabilis ko namang naisagot. Drama. Pero totoo. Wala umimik para kalabanin 'yun.
"Labas ka, kasama kami," mungkahi na lang ng isa sa mga malapit kong kaibigan.
Sinubukan ko rin. Masaya siya: sabay-sabay niyong pagsasawaan ang walang-patutunguhang paglilibot sa mall, sa park, sa bahay ng bawat isa --- pati eskwelahan ay binalikan. Nalibot na namin ang buong probinsya, kahahanap ng "happening" na 'yan. Dumating din sa puntong ang pinaka-interesante naming ginawa ay ang mag-aral ng Physics. Lumalala na ang sitwasyon.
"Why don't you pursue a hobby?" suhestiyon naman ng aking tutor. Malakas na halakhak ang isinumbat ko. "Ma'am, kung may kwenta sana ako sa mga hobby na pinursigi ko nung bata ako, eh wala na sana akong problema ngayon!" Marami-rami na ring slumbook ang nagsasaad na P.E.D.R.O.S.S. ang aking hobby, ngunit isang malaking kasinunggalingan lamang ito na dala ng peer pressure. Playing. Kasama ang ibang mga bata? Baka kasi makapatay ako ng kalaro eh. Eating. Sa pagka-palito kong ito, may maniniwala pa bang mahilig ako kumain? Dancing. Kinamulatan ko na sa aking paaralan na para sa mga mukhang-artista lang iyon. Running. Kung bakit dapat kahiligan ang pagtatakbo ay hindi ko alam. O. Nalimutan ko na kung para saan ang acronym na ito . Sports. Gusto ko pa sana mabuhay nang matagal. Sleeping. Uy, ayos yun ah. “But that’s not a hobby,” angal ng tutor ko, sabay simangot sa akin.
Marami pa akong natanggap na mungkahi ukol sa ibig sabihin ng "life," pero kahit kailan ay wala akong natanggap na matinong sagot. Lahat may butas. Lahat nababara. Minsan nga, lubusan nang nawawalan ng pag-asa ang mga tinatanong ko. Tulad na nga lang ng aking kapatid, na ang tanging naibahaging payo sa akin ay:
"Pakamatay ka na lang."
Hindi naman siguro kailangan humantong sa ganoon.
Dahil kung iisipin, hindi naman talaga kailangang humantong kahit saan ang isyung ito.
Sa kasalukuyan, ang tanging inaatupag ko ay ang matulog, kumain, manood ng TV, mag-Internet, at maglaro ng Ragnarok, kung saan malaya ko nang napapatay ang aking mga kalaro.
Sa makatuwid, I don't have a life.
Sa makatuwid, wala akong ginagawa.
Sa makatuwid, ang sarap ng buhay ko.
In short, this is THE life.
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 06:09 p.m.
Sob-story of a Frustrated "Artiste"
Tuesday, July 1, 2003
Tried using words
to draw images,
but the paint was too thin.
Trickled down the canvas,
my pretentious transparent tears.
Dripped and dried
back to empty reality,
leaving nothing but a wasted canvas.
(and a puddle of overused metaphors)
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 02:54 p.m.
Saturday, June 7, 2003
I shuffle my way home, trudging along empty and murky streets illuminated only by the accusing glow of moonlight. I do not find the courage to look this silent intimidation in the face. Head bent down, confidence and security low, fear and shame high, I concentrate my full attention on my sneakers, my feet racing each other in their journey to find refuge – now left, now right, now left again, now right. Quicker and quicker. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left, right. Left, right. Leftright. Leftright...
I stand tersely in the middle of the road, where a closed fast-food restaurant looms nearby. I gawk at the scene near my feet. My Skechers hide under the hem of my pants, shying away from the morbid sight in close proximity.
A rat. Neck twisted, skull crushed, body squashed. Glassy eyes bulging out, intestines spilling onto the road, small brain strewn on the otherwise void and shady path.
I notice it has no blood. Only its entrails glisten under the sullen luminescence of the moon.
I look around. The dark road is blank. Guilt-free but not innocent. Accountable but not to blame.
It is quick to deny any knowledge of the crime.
I didn’t do it.
I look back down at the fresh display of grisliness.
I bite my lower lip and tear my gaze away.
“It’s not my fault either.”
My sneakers apprehensively peer from their hiding place. They gingerly turn away from the squalor, shut out the lifeless shell on the street, and slowly, slowly resume their race for shelter.
Left. Right. Left, right. Leftright.
My heart is slowly seized by a cold dread. It thuds rhythmically with my quickening footfalls.
I have to get away before...
Small claw-like fingers reach toward me.
“Ate, pwede pong makalimos...?”
...the roadkills come to life.
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 04:48 p.m.
The fate of this blog.
Monday, May 14, 2003
Nay, I shall not abandoneth this baby.
I hath decided to make this a "Story" blog. Yes, a story blog.
I shall post here short post-long stories, that may or may not be factual, may or may not be in English even.
Why am I doing this?
Because I can and no one reads this blog anyway since they think it's abandoned-eth.
If you want updates on mine lifeth, and mine rants and raves and random trivialities, then thou shalt goeth and clicketh here to Get Skippeh.
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 10:03 a.m.
And so I acknowledge my unfortunate existence.
Friday, March 14, 2003
Just blogging this to get rid of the former index page. It's starting to annoy me. I do not know why.
Will post something of some sense later.
~Ri-iight. THAT was me, denying existence @ 08:31 p.m.