Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Christmas and Broken Marriages


Twelve more days to go before Christmas. While Uyanguren Street is packed with shoppers, sidewalk vendors and jeepneys, my mind travels to a far distant thought about broken marriages.

Yesterday, I came across a real-life story from a female voice in the phone looking for her husband who happens to be my office mate. Unfortunately, she just missed him as he left ten minutes ago. I told her to try calling again later but she said it's no use to waste another long distance call.

Nothing's new, she said, because even if he was present, still she wouldn't get any chance of talking to him. The guy has left her and their two kids three years ago without any word until she finally found him in Facebook where she also got our phone number.

Then, she continued telling her story... All she wanted was financial support from her kids' father and nothing else. Her income from teaching in high school is not enough. "Kabalo ko naa na siyay laing gibalay nga pamilya diha. Paluoy-luoy lang na siya og dagway pero daghan kaayo nag babae (I know he's been living with another family there. He only appears meek but he is a womanizer.)," she told me.

And, then she said that the guy wouldn't have gotten his college degree if not with her financial assistance when they were still classmates back then.

At first, I tried to interrupt her by saying that I will tell the guy that she called. But she said, "Don't bother. He will just scold you just like he scolded me for calling the last time I was able to speak to him."

She asked if our company's big boss can be reached anytime because she decided to raise their issue to some legal matters.

So, what I did was to let her pour her heart out to a perfect stranger... There's nothing more pathetic than listening to her and knowing that I couldn't do anything to help alleviate her situation. Let alone empathy.

Until words and cry were hard to distinguish. Then, a wail followed and she ended the call by saying goodbye...

I only prayed that the call served its purpose; that it wasn't another wasted long distance call.

Meanwhile, this morning, I had a chitchat with a former workmate who was recently fired for some violations of the company's policies. We didn't talk much about it though, but about his wife and daughter leaving their house to save a bit of her dignity.

He told me that they left not only upon knowing that he is already jobless, but because they broke up. She finally found out about the other woman. Thanks or no thanks to the text message.

What she didn't know yet is that the other woman is pregnant and the guy sleeps with her during the nights he wasn't home. He told me, he's going to tell her sooner or later when he'll find a job. Not now, when it's Christmas, and he has nothing else left but the tiny life inside the other's womb waiting to see the life preset for him or her.

Sometimes, Christmas and marriages lose their meanings at the same time and in the same manner. Good thing new year will come right after a couple of weeks. And, let's wait to see the difference.

Merry Christmas to all!

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Impulse


Impulse is defined by Merriam-Webster as "a force so communicated as to produce motion suddenly." Some say that acting by impulse or being impulsive is a weakness. Oftentimes, this is true in my case as I had a lot of "not so good" decisions made out of impulse.

(By the way, I don't want to call them "wrong" decisions because we can't categorize decisions as either right or wrong. I prefer calling those that brought out favorable consequences as "sound" decisions.)

For one, after turning down an invitation, I said YES upon learning that the person concerned was disappointed by my initial reply. But, then as circumstances gradually unfolded while the date was fast approaching, I realized it was not for me to decide. And, so I turned it down again for the last time.

This post was supposed to be about the invitation and how important the event would have been for me, if only I were to decide without considering its unfavorable consequences. Well then, that surely would not be a "sound" decision.

But, because it took me for awhile to continue writing this post, I came to reflect about something else. (I guess, something more important than saying YES to that invitation.)

It is about my impulsive decision to open up myself to somebody whom I first met online. (Not Facebook. It was from another social networking site; something uniquely designed for special purposes. But, not porn sites! My ghad!)

This time,the first statement about impulse is not quite true. I don't think it was a weakness to decide right away to befriend a guy who got me by his first "good evening" with a smiling emoticon. I didn't mind what made me felt warmth and comfort as we continued chatting. And, although a portion of my mind entertained a possibility of a hoax (which is not new to me anymore), I continued our conversation with intensifying interest as I became more curious about him.

Maybe, some may call this serendipity. I like this word. But, as of now, I'm letting things happen naturally, without schemes (as my Libra friend used to do with me, "scheming" as he'd like to be regarded as "schemer")... I don't want to play games anymore. This new virtual friend appears to be true and honest compared to Mr. Schemer.

Oh, I don't want to spoil this post with much about the schemer, or the Libra friend. Let me just leave it hanging here; My story about a man I prefer to call "Chinito"... C'est la vie!

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

October


While on his cigarette break from a regular drinking session with his male friends last night, he told me, he hated October. He didn't tell me why. I didn't bother to ask although I probed a bit that it might be because his birthday will be three days from now. He said he's not that big birthday guy or something. He just wanted to let it pass like an ordinary day. But, I bet he will still have more drinks than during his regular tipsy nights.

This guy is a poor thing. I didn't know he's a drunkard. He drinks alcohol almost every night. I can't stand such habit, or addiction, I suppose. But, in spite of that, the song Scientist by Cold Play is still playing in my head. Someday, the playing will stop once I will decide to finally bump my head on a wall or trunk.

Anyway, whatever his reasons for telling me that he hates October so much, I told him, try not to. And, having come across a poem of Robert Frost, I dedicate this to him. I wish he would write something about why he does hate this month.


October

by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Apples



When I said "things happen for a reason", I meant that there is really no such thing as coincidence. I'd rather believe that there is something or someone stronger and more powerful than we could imagine like a force or the universe conspiring for a condition to set before our eyes.

It was last Saturday night, or was it Sunday dawn when I encountered someone from high school. In spite of intoxication, we were able to manage a serious conversation like a brief time travel to our common past, our high school life. He was my batch mate who used to copy my notes and even answers during quizzes. He admitted that he couldn't forget about it.

I learned that he is already a policeman, trying to make ends meet after his live-in partner left him for London, with their son whom his mother is taking charge now. He said the girl hasn't spared anything not even for the kid. He barely can survive with P4,000 a month, a salary too small for an SPO1, but it's only what is left for him after all loan deductions. Yes, he had acquired loans when he was still living with the girl to capitalize a lending business only to end up bankrupt.

He was a pathetic man, I sympathized him. But, however depressingly he related his story to me, I can see hope in his eyes, in his voice. He asked me if I could still remember the bookmark I gave him during high school.

I recalled I used to make bookmarks painted with pictures using watercolor representing a saying or slogan I wrote on it. The one I gave him, he recalled, says "Don't put all your apples in one basket."

It's only that moment that I was able to recall who I was before. That I was this intelligent girl, with lots of friends, and sweet enough to give them bookmarks. And, I got these philosophies in life I shared to them written on those pretty little handcrafts.

He said, he followed what I wrote on the bookmark, to never put all his hopes in one pursuit. That's why he continues to struggle despite the trials and defeats.

Going back to the core of this, meeting him that night was not a coincidence after all. It was supposed to happen in time, that very moment. He became an instrument to remind me of who I was, and how I used to hold on to some philosophies that I should be using for myself these times.

He was a message. God knows what I've been going through. Each day is a chance for me to continue struggling or to give up the person I chose to love. Maybe, God is telling me to remind myself of the apples. Maybe, the message is that I will not spend all my present moments dedicating my thoughts to this one person, whom I don't know if he really cares for me; I don't know if he also thinks of me especially at times when we're not together, not even getting any message from him.

After that brief moment with my long lost batch mate, I figured how many apples I still have. And, I've been thinking to gather more baskets for them.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Writing workshop


At last, I am one of the fellows of the Davao Writers Workshop 2011 come October! It's been last year since I aimed to be part in a writing workshop since my last which was a long time ago, in 2001.

I'm hopeful to meet the other fellows and learn not only from their style of writing but from their own stories about life, love and relationships. It will be my chance to peek into their minds and see how we maybe different or similar in so many ways we could afford to open up during the entire period of workshop.

I only have this dilemma though. It's going to eat up almost my entire working week. I only wish my application for leave will be granted, or else, something has to give.

I realized today that there's so much one can do about his or her life. If only one would seek deep into his or her soul, one can bring out and inflame a desire until it burns into a passion that will eventually define one's personality. No one can stop anyone to express what he or she is supposed to be.

I'm biting a pen while fingers are crossed.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Rewind


If only life is like a movie played in front of us, we could push the rewind button to undo the things we did in the past. But, I'm too big to daydream about that. However we call it, "turn back time", "undo", "rewind", "make up", there's only one thing certain--- we want a chance.

So, this post could also be entitled as "Chance" for I will be talking about asking and getting a chance to make things right, to rewind...

Yesterday, I realized that I haven't written about him. That my blog, nor my notes have not mentioned any of him although he had been the subject of my poetry since then. Maybe, the reason why I changed the layout and design of this blog is because I want to start again. I want to write again not only when I'm depressed or heartbroken, but when I'm happy given this chance to be with him a little bit longer.

Having this chance is not only a chance for me to make it up with him, with all my shortcomings, lack of patience, and limitations such as my ability to understand. This chance is also for myself to create a clear path of who I want to be and what will I become after being honest with what I really want.

I'm glad he started his own blog Omertà , I always wanted him to write. But, honestly, his first post was quite embittering, and I was devastated... Yet, I still wish to read about his thoughts, ideas, opinions that he might not be able to share to me when we get a chance to talk.

Likewise, from now on, I'd like him to make this sanctuary of mine to be his window to my thoughts, as I always wanted him to see me more deeply, more than what his eyes can see...

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Nothing to write about me



This morning isn't so great. I read a note from the person I tried to keep as a friend. Yes, only as a friend as he wanted us to be. (Well, I can't push too far from that. He already rejected me to the nth time.) The note says he always wanted to write something about me, and then later realized there was nothing he could write about me after the changes.

That felt like a solid blow in my chest! My eyes labored like stopping a dam to break. But, I was able to manage my sanity by applying what Sabum Nim Jun taught us---control of breathing.

I didn't ask him to write about me anyway; I didn't ask him to be a writer or even try to become one. But, he just did. He had just written a note about me. And, it's amazing how he was able to talk about me and us in a manner that made his writing effective as it piqued me impeccably.

Whatever the reason why I met this person, loved and hated fashionably at the same time, I only wish that we had more time. Like an essay writing exam, we had just started the introductory paragraph when the bell rang. Then, the teacher said, "Pass your paper, finished or not finished."

I'm only keeping my humor to minimize the pain. In the meantime, let me stay in this sanctuary until I recuperate.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Perhaps My Last Poetry


Sometimes, a river is not

enough

to water the seed we planted;

Sometimes, the sun is not

enough

to burn the fire we started;

Sometimes, the mountains are not

enough

to add weight to the "thing" we chose to carry,
which oftentimes we call relationship;

Sometimes, poetry is not

enough

to make a good love story;

Sometimes, I can never be

enough

for the one I chose to

love

and always end up

sorry;

But, I want you to know my

love

that you were always

enough

for me to live each day

happy.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Ocean and the Shore


The ocean ceases to be
what it had been for
the waiting shore---
A light years gap between
her and the hazy terrain
from afar, where
an unlaunched boat lingered,
like her, waiting;
Indifferent to her longing
that one day, its waves
will not just come and go...

The ocean ceases to be
what it had been for the cynical shore;
Now, it cradles the boat
that unleashed itself from
its deep anchor.
And, the waves still
come to the shore,
but, only to bring her
when they go with the boat...
In a journey to the abyss
where everything is unknown
except love.

-- Lorie

Monday, July 11, 2011

Random poetry


These are a few quotes I received recently from a Capricorn friend.


What a chase of spins this thought with two hearts holding hands through us on the moonlit evenings and the mornings when city and sea take shape from dark while the nightingale sings.
11.07.2011 2:18AM

The vain beauty cares most for the conquest which employed the whole artillery of her charms.
10.07.2011 11:06PM

Beautiful may be the lies from the deceiver's lips, but when revelation descends with full force, his grossness is undraped.
06.07.2011 1:42PM

Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface is as the tossing buoy that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
03.07.2011 3:43AM

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Fallen leaf




I had just been dumped yesterday. I'm still a bit intoxicated not by inebration (or herbal high), but by compunction that has chagrined me since the day my heart was broken. I have been drifting mindlessly with the wind like a weightless leaf fallen from an old tree.

My head is a dam of thoughts waiting to be released freely through the river until they reach the ocean, where I guess my love has drowned me. Sometimes, ocean speaks of death, a silent one.

In the meantime, I'll let Pablo Neruda express my feelings with his poem, If you forget me...

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine...

--Pablo Neruda

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Thinking about P.N.

Oh not again. I don't know why I'm thinking about Pablo Neruda again... I'd rather post his piece here.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda

And, I'm glad you didn't forget me...

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Cat's Dream


How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings–
a series of burnt circles–
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger’s great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail

by P.N.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Only when I write

Like right at this moment, finally done with four stories (my quota for this week).

It's only when I write that I feel like my life has a sort of meaning. (Grin) I'm pretty much sure that I'm not really expert on this skill, but this is the only thing I know I can do right.

Like what I always say, "It's only in writing that one can be exact." In writing, I can still delete an idea, add something that just came up, control the number of words I have to say, and even forget about the entire idea that I tried to compose.

In writing, I can take all the time in the world, as long as I know I still have enough before the deadline. And, in writing, I can have a conversation with myself without opening my mouth, like a schizophrenic.

In trying to write a story, whether something that happened in my past, or somebody's that I witnessed, or something that I totally made up for the sake of immortalizing my fantasies or imaginations, I feel like a writer. And,it's where my dream of becoming an author begins, when I feel like a writer and behave like one.

And, only in a moment like this, when I'm done with my quota and submitted them to the editor, that I feel like I'm working, and deserved remuneration. Huh! Life is good!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

You're still normal!



One day in a breakfast meeting with my co-author, who is the owner of several business establishments here in the city, I spoke about a predicament preoccupying me lately.

Should I be thinking about how to make more money than how much I'm earning now? Am I already too old to plan about my career which is synonymous to income, considering that business plan or career path will cover 10-15 years?

Then, he told me, "You're still normal."

He said if I would receive a million right then and there, I might be ruined.

True enough, I don't know what to do with such big amount of money!

Let nature take its course. We all dream of a good life and need more money than what we have. But it doesn't mean that's what we want right at this moment. Good life is relative. What is good life for you, anyway? For money is but a by-product of our so-called success or should we call it fulfillment.

If one dares to venture overseas for a huge sum even without an inkling of his or her job and life there, he or she may not linger especially upon reaching at the (big word) CROSSROADS.

One must be prepared whatever risk he or she may take whether in search for a greener pasture or for a meaning or purpose of one's existence.

I finished my breakfast not only with a full stomach, but a full heart and clear mind. Maybe, we all need even a single breakfast with a friend or someone who's not akin to us, to destroy some cobwebs in our minds.

Only to be reminded that amid pressures and anxieties, we are still normal. Live life each day!

(reveal your thoughts to me at lorie.cascaro@gmail.com)