August 20, 2015

Outside the sandbox 

You know how you strayed too far from your spot in the park? 

Maybe that’s why 4s should go with 4s and leave the 8s to play with the 8s in the sandbox. 

Surely. 

August 4, 2015

Akin to tangerine

I’ll find you. Don’t worry. Just be on your own and I’ll find you. – Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book 

Those minutes before you wilt into the night are the best reels of you. You recall the niceties, you remember the words you wished you said and your tactile memory doesn’t forget tracing skin. 

They say it’s supposed to be difficult. You come undone when you have no reserves left. It’s as though you forgot how to breathe easy or even at all. You  will be bared to the bones and hollowed out from carving and caving. You work at consistency and (try to) exceed expectations on an incline. Basically, it’s a fool’s errand. 

But you dip your toes into the dating pool and you find yourself rewarded in the little things too; he chooses to be as invested and somewhat delirious too. He too comes undone. He goes the extra mile each time. He can hardly catch his breath, but he works at it without a day off. He reaches out to you when you clam up. He chooses to be silent when you have no need for words. He wants to end the week with you. He chooses to start his day with you. He affirms when you least expect it. He tries. Every. Damn. Day. 

And that is the very standstill that lulls you to sleep easy each night. “Two fools.”

August 1, 2015

Quake

Someone who kisses you even when you don’t feel pretty enough in your own skin is more than you deserve.

August 1, 2015

Too old to die young and beautiful

You can be addicted to a certain kind of busyness. It’s as though the stars know. You lie on your back, half defeated and send smoke signals into the dull skies. You don’t need to hear a comfort or get affirmation. You’re more than enough for two, even if he doesn’t think so. It’s a battle against what you know and what you fear. That busyness keeps you buzzing. But there’s a warm victory brewing and that will lull you to sleep past the terrors and the worries.

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A new chapter has supposedly unfolded, yet there’s an anchoring feeling that we’re stuck in the old, plainly wallowing at ground zero. But what’s wrong with having nothing yet everything at the same time? The nagging persists as contentment begins to wane each passing day. Can we shelve the lofty ideals aside and continue driftwood status?

There are the things you want to say most, but you’re afraid that you are left stark naked and bruised. Maybe it’ll die with you. Let’s hope it does.

There’s nothing August can bring that will surprise this stoned heart.

March 30, 2015

It doesn’t have to equalize 

What I want in life doesn’t necessarily have to equate to what you have to give. 

What I’d like to have in life, for a day or two in the year, are waking up to (imperfect) calligraphy of quotes that reminded you of me, being greeted by flowers for breakfast, dancing under the stars while sipping on our favourite poison, having breakfast for dinner and dinner for lunch, floating on our backs, and the like. 

The anticipation of raw emotions makes good bearings. Steadfast longing wasn’t built in a day, or even by mere words. When you amplify your heart through the little things, that’s when I stop my selfish wantings.

I’m interested in your genuine interests, even if it makes us uncomfortable to no end. Being uncomfortably happy is really the ascent beyond planning and hoping. I cannot wait to try. 

March 26, 2015

Hands in the jar

We are ruminative thinkers–or so I’d like to think. There’s a humming joy even when the busyness mutes the little wins throughout the day. Yet we know that the candle burns at both ends with me and like clockwork, it cascades down to petty fumes and misheard tales to spark the tinder of irrational things. Then when the ashes settle, I take a step back to watch the good times dance across the skies, listen to the familiar tunes that are weaved into the winds and wisps, and play the tapes of retrospect–outside the looking glass. 

It’s when you’re detached that you’re the most sober. You don’t get drunk on promises, you don’t OD on precedents and you sure as hell won’t fall for words that make you gravitate towards self-deprecation.

Can I axe out of this? 

March 8, 2015

House of cards

I am, essentially, a knot of knots. I want to unravel at the idea of a becoming. As lofty as ideals go, I’m a wisp of happenstance and concerted efforts. There’s no order of things, as there is no you at the beginning.

John Mayer’s Waiting on The Day is a hug in the dark of the night.

March 2, 2015

Treading on ripples

Carelessly you fall into the crevices that you built walls around.

Carelessly you slip into looped REM sleep and never want to wake.

Carelessly you find less reasonings and go with spontaneity.

Carelessly you catch yourself being more than yourself and being totally okay with that.

**

To expect or to want is to set yourself up for the great tragedy. Anticipation makes great company, but nightfall creeps by painfully fast and at the same time, painfully slow. The only insurance you have is the safety net that will cushion the unexpected curveballs, the numbing times and the in between’s.

But with all the padded fears and armory, how do you inch forward? How do you make good on hopes of stability and consistent contentment–albeit the possible landslide? How do you move from a pleasant spot under the shade to the other side?

For the first time in a long time, things are going swimmingly well–in many aspects. Now that’s where the anxiety attacks lurk and where insecurities wake. The cue for the rumble would be the incompatibility of change beyond compromise. What else can mules do?

December 2, 2014

Needlessly, not.

Routines have a odd sense of humour; you condition yourself to check off daily tasks and by and by, you name them chores. And before you know it, you call them on first name basis in hopes to gain some comfort in the familiar (and mundane).

Then you go through the motions and be that person everyone needs you to be. Slowly you forget what it’s like to laugh at the silly things, to be at places that doesn’t make you feel awkward, to dance with two left feet, to snack on whatever whenever you want, to sing on the streets and in the rain… Slowly these chores determine your waking hours. But that mustn’t define you.

You are more than a sunrise. You’re more than a rolling storm. You’re an entity of capabilities, preferences, experience and compassion. Love endlessly, they say. Love wholly, I know. If we were hardwired to function in necessity, then I say pull the plug.

November 23, 2014

Catapulted

What am I to do with those eyes / look at what you’ve done to my pride

Ahh. Trent Dabbs saves my week, again. It takes countless playlists on shuffle to find an artiste that strikes a chord with this monsoon junk.

Last night, I slingshot my way into a good place where I defied the gravity of sunken and sullen. While it is an undecidedly pretty look to be hollowed, I’m trying to find the beauty in the void. The possibility of filling that space with new-found joys, no more suppressed laughs and wild abandonment makes the weeks ahead a little brighter, a little easier and a little more hopeful.

*

I want to disappear into skin and bones. I want an illogical lifetime of answers to questions I didn’t know I would ask.

*

Tinkerbell: You know that place between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming?
[Peter nods]
Tinkerbell: That’s where I’ll always love you… Peter Pan. That’s where I’ll be waiting.

October 23, 2014

Neutralize that seethe

The penchant for affogato is as natural as my taste for the bittersweet symphony in things. You can’t cheat on the espresso flavour as you can with sachets of instant brew and you can definitely not skimp on vanilla beans for this treat. As strong flavored as it might be, if done right, life is made alright again–even for that tiny window of time.

The year is ending and the retrospective mood is setting in. To right the wrongs or to progress with a chip on the shoulder? If life is about picking up the pieces then who’s to see what’s charging ahead? I’ve so many oxymoronic questions and I really do want to pick at brains and answers over affogatos.

October 21, 2014

Sequence that dance

From Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl:

For several years, I had been bored. Not a whining, restless child’s boredom (although I was not above that) but a dense, blanketing malaise. It seemed to me that there was nothing new to be discovered ever again. Our society was utterly, ruinously derivative (although the word derivative as a criticism is itself derivative). We were the first human beings who would never see anything for the first time. We stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed. Mona Lisa, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building. Jungle animals on attack, ancient icebergs collapsing, volcanoes erupting. I can’t recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn’t immediately reference to a movie or TV show. A fucking commercial. You know the awful singsong of the blasé: Seeeen it. I’ve literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: The secondhand experience is always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can’t anymore. I don’t know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script.

It’s a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality traits selected from an endless Automat of characters.

And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as a soul mate, because we don’t have genuine souls.

It had gotten to the point where it seemed like nothing matters, because I’m not a real person and neither is anyone else.

I would have done anything to feel real again.

I’ve been taking forever to complete this read, not because it’s bad or complex, but simply because I’m running on borrowed time. These days, I lose myself to the work pile, fall off during text conversations, trip over words and lay off social plans in a fervent bid to scale the expectations imposed. I’m dancing to my own tune again.

This book, James Bay playlist and flaming jäger bombs could not be more timely.

October 20, 2014

That’s the thing…

…you’re right beside but so distant at the same time.

What can I do to make you see that my thoughts are mine and my time is yours?

October 19, 2014

Crack the stable doors

You can live forever in one place and never wonder what’s on the other side. That’s because you’re contented with the now.

I wish I can say the same.

October 6, 2014

“What are you doing on the other side?”

We’ve been through this, countless of times–people leave and some just never throw anchors. It’s almost like we want them to fling themselves into free fall and land on their two feet, right next to us. We wish so much against gravity, chance and everything in between.

I want to believe that memories are beautiful yet disastrous creatures that you allow to reside in your head. You let the funny ones in. You handcuff yourself to a bad one yet play squash all day together. And you definitely side eye the ugly ones that make you cringe at the mere whiff of spirits. As sterile as we try to retain these memories, perspective and hope come in like a fog.

Hope. Is it akin to holding a helium filled balloon? Or letting it go and waiting to see what happens?

September 20, 2014

Stereophonic relevancy

We’ve toasted enough to reckless weekends and lost Parisian nights. We might have carved one too many keepsakes out of soap and etched hipster symbols on that phony stone in the Japanese gardens. How many hours can we steal from the world and live in this bell jar of a virtual high-speed chase? We try to marry our idiosyncrasies for a good hour before the party crumbles, inevitably, every time. That’s the problem when someone right/wrong comes through the doors at the right time; you’d try to make it right.

Oh, red herring.

September 18, 2014

Some Kind of Impetus

I’m hard wired to thrive on narrow beams and tread around babbling brooks. I get uneasy around still waters and plateaus. Like a tide that creates a current, I want to carry you in my thoughts and cradle in patting knowledge. We don’t have to sync; we just need momentum.

Perhaps it’s oversight, but we can relish the eclipsed truth that the moon is on our side. I can gravitate to the other side where there is warmth in the cavernous shadows. Maybe one day this enigma can defy and define the darkness behind the stars and find some sort of gratuitous solace.

They say, any port in a storm. But I need you to interpret the flashing green we see not to be the emergency exit on hyperdrive.

As I do.

August 17, 2014

Liberty is the possibility of isolation

A liberdade é a possibilidade do isolamento.

I was introduced to Fernando Pessoa’s works at a fairly odd time during my college year. I was in between semesters, in transition after a summer back home, and definitely in search for direction and a career path. I’ve always found myself rocking back and forth on leaving or staying in the States then. I digress. Distractions aside, I found myself spending time in between classes to read The Book of Disquiet and lose myself to questions and philosophies. I wasn’t searching for answers in particular. But there’s this void you desperately want to fill and you don’t know how else except with words.

I’d woken up early, and I took a long time getting ready to exist.

I don’t usually watch a film thrice or read a book twice, but I found myself leafing through his works to gain some stable footing when life rattles and blurs perspective. What better to save me from myself.

I want to wake up to quotes I can brood on, lyrics I can sing (in my head) to, words I can be empowered by… It’s difficult when there so many routines to go through before you even have time for yourself. Words for a tired soul is as pointless as it is mindless. This rat race will consume us whole. So sometimes we have to lean on songs that drive home or words that warms you enough to sleep easy till the next light.

**
I’ve seen an image like you somewhere in my daydreams and some part of me knows that I’ll recognize it when I see you face to face. You’re quite the open-ended joy I didn’t plan for. Sure, I’m building castles in the air, but for the first time, there isn’t any collateral damage or façade to upkeep. Let’s just be.

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