To the Hero with Rockets on His Feet

You don't say you want, only to take back the words later. You don't say you will, only to back out at the slightest hint of danger. You do not do any of these things, but you still do, you still did, because you're only human, are you not? Like a frightened animal, you bowed your once proud head and submissively retreated from the snarling creature who towered over you.

I know your story. You once loved that monster, though in your eyes it was never such. You saw it one day when life was at its liveliest, when things seem to be falling into place. You saw it, and hated it, very much like how you hated, at first sight, every one you meet. Because that's all you can do- hate first, love later.

But when you love, you fall endlessly, never mind the fact that anytime, you might hit rock bottom and barely survive. You fill the empty crystal glasses on your nightstand with tears without fail every night, before you let yourself fall into living oblivion. You were foolish, and brave, for daring to care for such a creature with the unfathomable eyes and leathery wings, but you were whole.

It seemed to me, that it was all that mattered. You were whole.

It didn't matter that you were ravaged, desecrated within an inch of your life for even stepping near the creature. It didn't matter that you returned with shreds of cloth barely hanging off your emaciated frame, with purplish bruises littering your alabaster skin. It didn't matter that there were dry tear tracks down your once-plump cheeks, didn't matter that your hair hung in greasy clumps around your tired face. It didn't matter that sorrow nearly killed you when the creature left.

You were whole. And it was all that mattered, because being whole allowed you to see yourself in the mirror and fool yourself into thinking that there are no cracks on the surface, that the mask of the joker remained as what it is- a visage with a painted-on smile.

I could only laugh at your demise. You were alive, yes, but barely. Seeing the creature in your memories and dreams could not sustain you for long, for you yearn to touch, to taste, to feel with your bare palms. Tangibility.

We do not know how much time had faded into waste. You went on hating, then loving, every person you meet down the path. We do not know how deep the lacerations had become, how large the gaping holes had grown, because you smothered them all with pretentious peace and silvery talc.

Until it returned. And the barriers you erected around yourself started to fall, one by one.

Until you were left as you were before the creature vanished.

Until you were nothing more than a bruised bag of bones.

Until nothing, save the creature, could liberate you from the prison you made for yourself.

Lies spewed from your mouth in endless streams. You no longer love the creature, you say?

I could do nothing but laugh. I laughed and watched your face crumple, watched as youth left your body through a rattling breath. I laughed and felt the disease consume her from the outside, eating away at her vitality, at her exuberance. I laughed at the absurdity of it all, that you loved and I hated, though we were trapped in the same shell.

See, we are one and the same. I always came first, so I hated. And you were a mere second, so you loved.

To the hero with rockets on his feet.

She never stopped, though you thought she did.

She never resented, though it appeared she did.

The only truth is that she loved.

She loves.

When Boy Meets Girl

A canine love story. Enough said.

Boy.

Girl.

The first look.

His bashful question.

Her blushing reply.

They meet.

And sparks fly.

* Photos captured by my bro and sis. Check out his and her Flickr site.

Caught in His Web

It's official. I am definitely, positively a follower of the deity in human form named JASON MRAZ.

If you are wondering how that seemingly impossible phenomenon came to pass (if you know me personally, then you are aware of my quite different musical tastes and influences), then let me bring you to enlightenment.

He kinda looks like Hugh Grant here, but whatever. It's Jason Mrazzy enough for me ;)

I became aware of his glorious existence through my dear friend, Drei. The first song that graced my ears was "Melt With You" and that was sometime during March of 2008. Quite far back, if I may say so, because the next thing I heard of him is "I'm Yours", September of 2008. And you know what? I fell hopelessly, positively, downright in love.

He's not as hot as Joe Jonas, nor is he as dreamy as Josh Groban. He's got an unruly nest for hair, he's skinny and well...he's short. But you don't see me caring, do you? Well then, what makes him stand out among the endless line of musical deities?

His voice, as clear and free-flowing as aqua, is one of his strongest points. Only a handful of singers could boast of possessing that joie de vivre, and he is one of those blessed few. One could never tire of listening to his crooning, chocolate-to-the-ears voice, and right now, as I try (to the best of my abilities, might I add) to capture in words his flawed perfection, I listen to one of my favorites, Details in the Fabric feat. James Morrison from his album We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things. I don't think I could listen to My Chemical Romance all day long (no offense to the guys, I still love this band with all my heart).

And have I mentioned his poetry? I admit, I'm not some bigwig poet or poetry critic, and I don't read much of the stuff (I adore Poe's work, though), but I know clever wordplay and glaring yet subtle innuendos that only a master word weaver can pull off when I see it. And he's got it. Jason Mraz got it in heaps.

His song "Love for A Child" (again, from his latest album) appealed the most to me for reasons other than the soothing, catchy melody and witty metaphors. This song showed me that one thing is sure about him. He just doesn't pull words out from nowhere and slap them together with music. He writes them, and he means it. He means every single word.*

I could say no more. As Thomas Mann once wrote in his novella "Death in Venice", language could but extol, not reproduce, the beauties of the sense.

- - -

*I know that I may sound like a complete idiot with that fangirly statement, assuming that I know the man behind the music, but just humor me, will you? "Love for a Child" tugged something nasty at my heartstrings, and it made me realize quite a lot of things about myself, hence that statement.

Not gonna post anything about Christmas.

The Birthday Post

I feel no different. No sudden accelerated growth of cells nor unexpected bouts of maturity. For one thing, accelerated growth only happens in science labs and sci-fi movies/books, and maturity does not come in unexpected bouts. So I think a birthday isn't everything it's cracked up to be.

I am not disappointed, no. Disappointment, I feel, shall not come easily to me. For one thing, memories of the Saturday get-together with my high school friends keep replaying in my head. No, they're not just friends. Such an overused and underrated word would not and could never do them justice.

They are my brothers, my sisters- those select few of similar wavelengths, those who match my wits, those who could bear my callous attitude with graceful acceptance and knowing smiles. We spent most of the day in laughter (and amused annoyance- with Ray's overly bubbly little bro) and happiness in knowing that nothing changed between us. We may have changed and grown in the span of time that we were apart, but the unyielding camaraderie remains. (Krisann, Ray, Ia, AJ, Drei, Raymond- THANK YOU) And that is the best gift I could ever receive from them.

Then there's my family. Every carefree moment spent with them is precious to me no matter how taciturn I may seem with these matters. I know too well how we came dangerously close to falling apart, how I once harbored bitterness towards some of them, how it is possible for one (or several) of us to leave and never go back. Paranoid, I may be. But I learned from the best*. And being like this makes me appreciate the things that are normally overlooked by people who have a loving family.

I am not fussy with birthdays. Many people get the idea that I want a huge bash or tons of gifts to make me happy, but all I really want are the happy smiles of the people who matter.

That's all.

***

*This shall be discussed further in another post.

Of Inky Zeniths

I haven't raised the pen in so long. It might have become rusty with alienation, dry with abandonment, or useless with uncertainty. I haven't raised it in so long that the mere thought of having it in my grasp, while feeling its unfathomable power, makes me fear its existence.

Why have I forgotten it?

No. I have not forgotten it. It is a lie just a few steps from the truth, yet I cannot face it in love or remembrance. For brief moments in eternity, I had it. I loved it. It ran in my veins and was one with me for so long that parting was hell and heaven at the same time. I wielded a power so potent that for interminable moments, I was my own god. I was the essence of the universe. I created life, and took it back. Exhilarating, addicting. It is a power that very few could brandish and still retain their sanity. The screaming contrasts would overcome and consume. Its pliancy would seduce and beckon, and once you are in the power's grasp, it would, in turn, bend you to its will.

I thrived in it, in that intangible ambrosia that would soothe and burn. Burn. I burned with it, each lick of fire had left gaping yet impalpable wounds. They had never closed, never healed, and to this moment, I am left gasping for the hand that will never reach out. I am left longing for it, thirsting and wanting, until there is nothing more left of me.

I haven't raised the pen in so long. And I may never will, in this lifetime, and all the lifetimes that may come after.