tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86660984881282670912024-03-13T10:06:28.072+00:00revelations of an inconspicuous mindwhere her excess thoughts flow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-77804056458143037582015-02-26T04:31:00.000+00:002019-08-01T18:44:07.965+00:00Illusion<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FeWmMln8bY1V8H11a7UEa8jwCGyO83yDaEY2P_24KYrfr7PIFxXuHFsUPaJ1SB0k9kyZKIkKEyIIyPNdZ8r7aL8XOaowaEN6ujZgApIVvDlkFgk4dIk-DK0gzfnhPMgmQv42Dkk2Wys/s1600/vanilla+sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Vanilla sky PHOTO BY Lorie Ann Cascaro" border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FeWmMln8bY1V8H11a7UEa8jwCGyO83yDaEY2P_24KYrfr7PIFxXuHFsUPaJ1SB0k9kyZKIkKEyIIyPNdZ8r7aL8XOaowaEN6ujZgApIVvDlkFgk4dIk-DK0gzfnhPMgmQv42Dkk2Wys/s1600/vanilla+sky.jpg" title="Vanilla sky" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wan Chai, Hong Kong</td></tr>
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Illusion, why are you deluding?<br />
You crawl in to my sheet like cold feet<br />
Teasing<br />
Taunting<br />
To embrace defeat<br />
<br />
Why do I come here?<br />
Strawberry, pear and tangerine<br />
Winter<br />
Is it just the weather?<br />
Perhaps, the bed for queen<br />
<br />
Illusion, I know<br />
You're clear as daylight<br />
Vanilla sky<br />
But why<br />
You're still in sight<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-82372252521014258922012-12-11T15:52:00.001+00:002019-08-01T19:05:19.811+00:00One death and a thousand moreMy grandmother let go of life fom her shriveling body, while death's toll was rising at 200 by night time on the second day since Typhoon "Pablo" made landfall in the provinces of the Davao region.<br />
<br />
She had a relief as well as everybody else in the family who had been anticipating her permanent rest rather than suffering, either from a thought of separation from all worldly things or the pain that hid under her fragile skin.<br />
<br />
Almost a week had passed and Pablo continued to devour lives and properties, especially in Compostela Valley and Davao Oriental. Authorities reported that as of Tuesday noon, 850 people were killed and nearly a thousand are still missing who might soon increase the count if search and rescue operations failed to save them.
<br />
<br />
Death comes to us all, subtly or radically.<br />
<br />
Losing a beloved brings an unfathomable grief like a conditioned reflex despite the science and philosophy about life and death, despite one's resolve that Death had been waiting at the betrothed doorstep.<br />
<br />
My grandma's death was a confirmation of a nagging thought that she would not last.<br />
<br />
But, a death that comes swiftly as the strong winds and flash floods and landslides that hit the poor communities without knocking at their doors brings not only sorrow, but also compunction that one does not have to feel for a bed-ridden grandma or a seriously-ill father.<br />
<br />
It is a kind of death that is unnecessary, if death could sometimes be a need for the unconventional.<br />
<br />
As days moved forward, lost lives reduced to numerals like in counting sheep to draw a sleep. Bodies became objects, non-living things like the rocks, mud and felled trees and ripped houses. And, missing persons became subjects of a hunting game.<br />
<br />
No more eulogies nor funerals for them unlike that of my grandma but they'll all be buried on the ground and will become a part of the soil.<br />
<br />
No matter how they'd lived and died, death comes to everyone, no matter how, when, and whether or not it's necessary.<br />
<br />
And, what matters most then is the life that remains here, and how to resolve the guilt that will surely bother if transformation doesn't follow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-79187111450522619912012-12-03T17:53:00.000+00:002019-08-01T16:43:44.137+00:00Of storm, death and dyingA storm "Pablo", stronger than last year's Sendong that killed more than a thousand people in the cities of Cagayan de Oro and Iligan, is expected to hit this town anytime soon.<br />
<br />
While everyone is preparing for the grave impacts of the typhoon, death continues to take its toll just like an ordinary day of living and dying.<br />
<br />
Last Sunday, my dear friend lost his father and on the same day, I saw my grandmother in her bed as if lifeless if not with intermittent breathing through her mouth. Her teary eyes can no longer see, and I doubt if she could still hear my whisper.<br />
<br />
Some lives ended yesterday, while some are diminishing today or waiting to be taken by a storm tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Although life's limit is relative, life is arguably short.<br />
<br />
And, when being reminded with the reality of dying, one begins thinking about living and loving.<br />
<br />
Tonight, my friend bared how much he loves his father while listening to eulogies, and I listened to the crescendo of rainfall overlapping the music from my headphones.<br />
<br />
Then, we started exchanging stanzas of a great poem ever written in between two towns that are 220.6 kilometers apart.
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-50487601389527826082012-11-18T09:51:00.002+00:002019-08-01T16:42:32.242+00:00Alkansya vendor<script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({ google_ad_client: "ca-pub-4948445833704821", enable_page_level_ads: true }); </script>
It was the heavy traffic in Uyanguren Street on Friday afternoon that I noticed a kid selling "alkansya" or cylinder coin banks made of wood, covered with printed papers like that of gift wrappers. He displayed his products in front of a big food chain here, the one with a big red bee mascot.<br />
<br />
While the coin banks were neatly filed according to sizes and placed on top of a used sack or was it an old cloth that marks his turf, the boy was squatting at the side, facing the wall, his hands on the head, grasping his hair in a frequent manner.<br />
<br />
The jeepney slowly moved along and I had not seen his face. Until now, I am imagining how his face looks like, or what was its expression at the time when he was pulling his hair with a bit of force.<br />
<br />
It was about 3:00 PM, when I saw that boy. Then, I said a short prayer, I wish someone would buy one of those coin banks that day. Before Christmas, I will buy my godchildren those alkansya from that boy. Hopefully, I will find him again on the same spot so that I will not only finally see his face, but share with him my smile.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Ace Morandante / www.davaotoday.com</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-36512271686675210192012-10-23T19:24:00.000+00:002019-08-01T16:43:05.871+00:00From Bertolucci to Bob Dylan<script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({ google_ad_client: "ca-pub-4948445833704821", enable_page_level_ads: true }); </script>
Bernardo Bertolucci's The Dreamers reminded me of a song I used to listen when I was living in Quezon City in 2009. I thought I heard one of Bob Dylan's songs, although I wasn't sure if it was his, but his voice was so nostalgic.<br />
<br />
It felt like sitting at a table near the window at the third floor of an apartment I shared with my colleagues. There was nothing to see outside but another building, but I could smell the garbage and life of Payatas dancing in the breeze.<br />
<br />
It was like at this time---two hours and forty minutes past midnight. I was a bit sleepy, but my head wouldn't sleep. I was just listening to "Mr. Tambourine Man" more than four times (apart from what I said in my previous post as I wrote exactly after listening to it four times).<br />
<br />
But, until the movie ended, I tried to figure out who was the artist and what was that song I used to listen to all the time. I failed. I felt so betrayed by myself. How could I forget something that I like? Something that I listen to all the time only three years ago?<br />
<br />
I had to open this blog to check on my blog post. Yes, the one that's entitled the title of Dylan's song. And, I so I listened to it again and to some other songs of Dylan and Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin and so on and on...<br />
<br />
Then, I realized there are so many movies that I want to watch but I don't have the leisure to download all those movies. If only that friend I used to watch movies with (usually in his home on weekends) and who has all the enthusiasm in the world to download movies from the internet were still my friend... Sigh.<br />
<br />
I'd like to watch more movies of Bertolucci's and that of Lino Brocka, have all discography of Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, and... Well, that's too much to ask for now. But, because I don't have the luxury to make this happen, I tend to comfort myself with Mr. Tambourine Man until I fall asleep.<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OeP4FFr88SQ">Listen to Mr Tambourine Man</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-62999529331067179842012-10-14T02:28:00.000+00:002012-10-14T03:51:07.627+00:00University of the Waves<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skimboarders wait for bigger waves at Dahican, Mati City.</td></tr>
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It was five o’clock in the morning on Sunday in a fine weather when players of Team Amihan, a Filipino term for northeast monsoon, gathered at Dahican Beach.<br />
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Carrying their skimboards in different sizes and designs, the children of this poor fisher folk village lined up at the shore while waiting for their mentor’s call.<br />
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George Plaza, 40, also known as Jun or Botchok for the Amihan members, has been their mentor and trainer in a sport that poverty does not limit them to engage in.<br />
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Here, there is neither tuition nor miscellaneous fee as the long stretch of white shore and the waves are for everybody.<br />
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One needs only a piece of oval-shaped wooden board with two pointed ends that will carry a slim body as it skates away along the waves.<br />
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This side of the Pacific had just produced a champion, 19-year-old Sonny Boy Aporbo, in the 6th Penang International Skimboarding Competition in Malaysia.<br />
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Bayogyog for most of his friends, Aporbo has quit schooling several times to focus on what he does best – skimboarding.<br />
<br />
“There is no course in college for skimboarding,” he said, while grilling fish for everybody’s breakfast.<br />
<br />
He started Grade 1 at eight, but immediately stopped as he was itching to become a pro in skimboarding at an early age.<br />
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He came back to school after four years of learning more tricks, but quit school again after finishing Grade 4 when he was 14 years old.<br />
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It took him another four years to finally complete elementary through the Alternative Learning System (ALS), a program of the Department of Education for every Filipino, regardless of age, to be able to complete basic education by passing some examinations.<br />
<br />
Bayogyog passed the exams that made him a first year high school student without going through two more years in elementary.<br />
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But, he quickly told MindaNews, he does not want to finish the school year.<br />
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He needs to practice more to champion again another international skimboarding competition on October 16 in Hong Kong. He said in February next year, they will compete in California.<br />
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Bayogyog had won two championships this year – one in Leyte aside from the one in Malaysia.<br />
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His goal now is to look for sponsorships to play in other countries and raise the banner of the Philippines in this water sport.<br />
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He is adamant about not taking up any course in college, but finishing high school, yes, he will.<br />
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“I can finish high school even when I’m already 50,” he said and grinned. By then, he would have achieved his dreams of becoming the world’s best skimboarder, he added.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sonny Boy "Bayogyog" Aporbo takes a break from a his practice for the Hong Kong competition. </td></tr>
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<b>Read, write and compute</b><br />
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Unlike her brother Bayogyog, who is the only son among five siblings, Julieta Aporbo or Lang-Lang, 14, has been diligent in studying.<br />
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In fact, she is now in second year high school at Doña Rosa G. Rabat Memorial National High School, where Bayogyog used to attend.<br />
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But, like him, she does not want to take up a college degree anymore.<br />
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“High school is enough,” she said in a pensive mood. “As long as I can write my name, read and compute, I can surely find a job.”<br />
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The only female in the Amihan Team, Lang-Lang admitted that studying in school is tiresome, but she never gets tired playing with the waves every day.<br />
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“I want to become a champion like my brother,” she said, while chilling out in a makeshift lifeguard station after a bountiful lunch of fish and rice.<br />
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She thinks winning in a competition is better than getting a job somewhere in the city.<br />
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She revealed that Bayogyog’s prizes had helped their family economically. For one, in the 2010 annual skimboarding competition held in Dahican, he won a boat that their father, Ricardo, 50, uses for fishing.<br />
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At a similar event in 2011, Bayogyog won a motorcycle; and in Leyte this year, he won a cash prize of about P20,000.<br />
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Lang-Lang said they spent some of the amount to buy them a television, while saved the rest for rainy days.<br />
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His P6,000 prize from Malaysia was used to pay their debts and for some household needs, she said.<br />
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Her family saved most of Bayogyog’s cash prizes to build them a more decent house and to support their daily needs, especially that their mother, Teresita, 52, stopped selling fish in the market. And, there were times when their father returned home with a few catch as the sea would not yield so much fish.<br />
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Lang-Lang began competing in the 2010 annual skimboarding competition in Dahican and won third runner-up among some 20 male rivals for beginner’s category.<br />
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Hers was not so much for a prize, but she thought it was a good sign for reaching her dreams like how her brother did it.<br />
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That’s why she would rather continue learning skimboarding than going to college when she finishes high school.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja5AV0ye1pQpjcxvE7uajnQQJIkMO7m8v4H7PHZnBYHXM_fVK6lmz7oUOULKGeyFulPbbvmPj61kcR7UOPC8fhvvZJVh7N2QXRVBT6twivy4lIJSsJPOvD5L3eCvYI4Wnffkxe1QurZwU/s1600/Lang-Lang+(left)+poses+with+fellow+Amihan+members.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja5AV0ye1pQpjcxvE7uajnQQJIkMO7m8v4H7PHZnBYHXM_fVK6lmz7oUOULKGeyFulPbbvmPj61kcR7UOPC8fhvvZJVh7N2QXRVBT6twivy4lIJSsJPOvD5L3eCvYI4Wnffkxe1QurZwU/s400/Lang-Lang+(left)+poses+with+fellow+Amihan+members.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lang-Lang poses with her Amihan team mates.</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>If all else fails</b><br />
<br />
Jonilo Catubig or Anjot, 11, seems to be the youngest Amihan member because he is barely three feet tall.<br />
<br />
Unlike the Aporbo siblings, he wants to become a soldier when he grows up, let alone his stunting.<br />
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“My father was a soldier a long time ago,” he said, waiting for a cue from Jun, the mentor, to play on the waves again.<br />
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“But if I won’t become a soldier like my father, I’d rather skim. I want to become a champion like Bayogyog,” he added.<br />
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Anjot is the sixth of 11 siblings, and he is in Grade 4 at Don Luis Rabat Sr. Memorial School.<br />
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He knows that education may sail him away from poverty, but to become a champion in skimboarding by training with Amihan is his contingency plan.<br />
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That’s why he practices with the team every day after school, and helps in maintaining cleanliness in the beach.<br />
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He regularly joins the team for dinner, washes a couple of coal-stained pots that are used for cooking their meals, and then goes home to his parents’ house.<br />
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But his parents were not in their house on that Sunday night. His mother, pregnant of her 12th child, had been sick for almost a week and was later admitted in a hospital.<br />
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Richard Villacorte, Mati’s city administrator, worries about these children who chose not to continue their studies. He is concerned about “what happens when they grow old, which is the usual dilemma of athletes, actresses and singers.”<br />
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“With or without skimboarding, these children are out-of-school,” he said.<br />
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Three years ago, the local government of Mati offered scholarships for the kids in Dahican. But according to him, it did not work because some are too old to be Grade 1 or Grade 3 students.<br />
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“They were ashamed to go to school,” he said, adding that they were introduced to ALS to bring them to a certain level where going to school is viable and practicable.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anjot smiles for posterity.</td></tr>
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<b>Lessons: way of life</b><br />
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For Amihan member Winston Plaza, 28, skimboarding and surfing is a way of life.<br />
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“Here, one learns self-discipline, healthy lifestyle, endurance that can be applied in real life situations, and friendliness among players,” he said while gathering coconut husks, which he would use later to build a fire for cooking.<br />
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He finished a vocational course after graduating high school, but he decided to quit his job in Davao City to become a full time skimboarder and surfer.<br />
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He won second in a stand-up category during the recent international skimboarding competition in Malaysia, along with Bayogyog, and will also compete in Hong Kong this month.<br />
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Jun, his brother and mentor, strictly prohibits the Amihan members to indulge in alcohol, smoking and unhealthy diet.<br />
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He also makes sure that everyone learns to be responsible of the natural environment, which has not only been their place to learn the sport, but also a source of livelihood for their families.<br />
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Jun and the children in Dahican have been guarding the sea from illegal fishing, and cleaning up the shore for more than a decade now.<br />
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Because of their efforts to bring back the balance of nature in Dahican, the sea turtles, locally known as pawikan, have returned to lay eggs here again.<br />
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Along with his wife Bing, Jun welcomes everyone who wants to learn surfing and skimboarding with the Amihan.<br />
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“Everyone is welcome to come here even to simply enjoy the beach with their family and friends,” he said.<br />
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He himself quit his job in the city to live here and continue training the children.<br />
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Empowering the community by educating them on how to take care of their environment and living by example has been his greatest achievement.<br />
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He believes that someday, these sons and daughters of the northeast monsoon will be champions in their own chosen fields.<br />
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Whether or not they will pursue skimboarding in the future, they will surely come out as professionals in maneuvering greater waves that will come into their lives.<br />
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For the Dahican skimboarders, the actual experience of life and struggle is the best course one can learn in the University of the Waves.<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/AMIHAN-SA-DAHICAN-skim-and-surf-team/100851436621334?ref=ts&fref=ts">Photo by Freddy Allan Uy/Facebook: Amihan sa Dahican</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mindanews.com/feature/2012/10/08/university-of-the-waves/">Posted in MindaNews</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-55536588235817248462012-07-02T15:17:00.000+00:002012-07-02T15:17:13.222+00:00Therapy<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10pt;">Happy new year! </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10pt;">The first semester had passed and yet
it's my first time to post something here. Maybe, journalism has taken much of
my time to write personal stuff. And, I was too busy (the way my gay friend
always commented everytime my relationship status is changed), too busy to contemplate
and write my thoughts. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10pt;">I have a feeling that in the next
months, this blog will once again perform its role as my sanctuary. I have a
feeling that writing here again will help bring me back to myself or should I
say pick up the pieces of me (if there's still something left)... </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10pt;">C'est la vie... As my friend<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://jeftupas.com/"><span style="color: blue;">Jef</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>said "dawat dawat"
(acceptance).<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span> </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10pt;">See you in my next session.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-37924450061401481232011-12-13T01:46:00.004+00:002012-03-26T10:48:36.712+00:00Christmas and Broken Marriages<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hQy606JLjZJlFuk8DUcp2_U3dBPqwE8KmraQadWg2s9PvLUcJryJidh0kKN1W2NTf_bSUVZK8VM8FYKLw_cA8u8qV-mrgCsK737iREFbj7xlL8hEVIHsSkpCz2u5aEcA2z1hxgJ9h_c/s1600/The-Mistletoe-is-a-parasite-of-sorts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 345px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hQy606JLjZJlFuk8DUcp2_U3dBPqwE8KmraQadWg2s9PvLUcJryJidh0kKN1W2NTf_bSUVZK8VM8FYKLw_cA8u8qV-mrgCsK737iREFbj7xlL8hEVIHsSkpCz2u5aEcA2z1hxgJ9h_c/s400/The-Mistletoe-is-a-parasite-of-sorts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685442353920673410" /></a><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. "<span style="font-style:italic;">Kabalo ko naa na siyay laing gibalay nga pamilya diha. Paluoy-luoy lang na siya og dagway pero daghan kaayo nag babae</span> (I know he's been living with another family there. He only appears meek but he is a womanizer.)," she told me. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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."<br /><br />She asked if our company's big boss can be reached anytime because she decided to raise their issue to some legal matters.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />Until words and cry were hard to distinguish. Then, a wail followed and she ended the call by saying goodbye... <br /><br />I only prayed that the call served its purpose; that it wasn't another wasted long distance call. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />Merry Christmas to all!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-22871179457017771112011-10-05T08:15:00.006+00:002011-10-07T09:27:48.901+00:00Impulse<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxBDKyAgxu_yLdbh1xd8Dc1gy0HEMx8vYiwPxwNpImI7hxuebGmAc4B2UxUg_RDwkePFwqTnDy-SInty56Ctl-ccsqpxJJ2K5pbuPTJV4Y9qf2fX9DIr8YVKt5btxrucaFcULexaC0LQ/s1600/kite.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxBDKyAgxu_yLdbh1xd8Dc1gy0HEMx8vYiwPxwNpImI7hxuebGmAc4B2UxUg_RDwkePFwqTnDy-SInty56Ctl-ccsqpxJJ2K5pbuPTJV4Y9qf2fX9DIr8YVKt5btxrucaFcULexaC0LQ/s320/kite.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660678403923231794" /></a><br />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. <br /><br />(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.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.)<br /><br />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!)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-81954300230905212792011-10-04T01:49:00.004+00:002011-10-04T02:36:22.468+00:00October<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9wlq3fCNQhMEuPQY-wLQ620e3zXldr52CoefTzK0DnXhAtKQI5l9HNllnS8I0882a0nYXLsOWx0-LogbVp56IyDlWfW5Pmr_cVc5WJWw20GYURp9KD-IEP9_sAbbZoq1aCORsd0FT_g/s1600/grapes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9wlq3fCNQhMEuPQY-wLQ620e3zXldr52CoefTzK0DnXhAtKQI5l9HNllnS8I0882a0nYXLsOWx0-LogbVp56IyDlWfW5Pmr_cVc5WJWw20GYURp9KD-IEP9_sAbbZoq1aCORsd0FT_g/s400/grapes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659459943585074162" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">October</span><br /><br />by Robert Frost<br /><br />O hushed October morning mild,<br />Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;<br />Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,<br />Should waste them all.<br />The crows above the forest call;<br />Tomorrow they may form and go.<br />O hushed October morning mild,<br />Begin the hours of this day slow.<br />Make the day seem to us less brief.<br />Hearts not averse to being beguiled,<br />Beguile us in the way you know.<br />Release one leaf at break of day;<br />At noon release another leaf;<br />One from our trees, one far away.<br />Retard the sun with gentle mist;<br />Enchant the land with amethyst.<br />Slow, slow!<br />For the grapes' sake, if they were all,<br />Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,<br />Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--<br />For the grapes' sake along the wall.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-24569483971089307442011-10-03T00:57:00.005+00:002011-10-03T01:45:47.173+00:00Apples<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1R4A2YseAcGVqLpYKsRc-dUWsxfMCU02R_cAxOFizGj8BrrZa9PJ2PcarRAgXirw6BdGGJkkb7UHRU7XN8vbwa0Muger0tpVzoIp0VSDnnXtQ2y3VIJmWLI0mpAPkO2qAcRMcYfP-StU/s1600/apples.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1R4A2YseAcGVqLpYKsRc-dUWsxfMCU02R_cAxOFizGj8BrrZa9PJ2PcarRAgXirw6BdGGJkkb7UHRU7XN8vbwa0Muger0tpVzoIp0VSDnnXtQ2y3VIJmWLI0mpAPkO2qAcRMcYfP-StU/s200/apples.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659076109594633650" /></a><br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-71524832211009366562011-09-30T08:49:00.003+00:002011-09-30T09:21:01.417+00:00Writing workshop<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0N88BYsRTHaOidx4eVcRy8e-CSRZRL3DIaaxOgu6re4RikG52HN8xpMAMS3G2zdmOqyQ_ZpaWYdZFOyoLXG10fpyrYqbHfyFElLQzNkysSjU3hgUhCQecALQlrZe9CMusIns11L3vUMY/s1600/pen.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0N88BYsRTHaOidx4eVcRy8e-CSRZRL3DIaaxOgu6re4RikG52HN8xpMAMS3G2zdmOqyQ_ZpaWYdZFOyoLXG10fpyrYqbHfyFElLQzNkysSjU3hgUhCQecALQlrZe9CMusIns11L3vUMY/s400/pen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658079852584235346" /></a><br />At last, I am one of the fellows of the <a href="http://dagmay.kom.ph/2011/09/30/fellows-to-the-davao-writers-workshop-2011/">Davao Writers Workshop 201</a>1 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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />I'm biting a pen while fingers are crossed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-38148735080085248662011-09-29T04:38:00.003+00:002011-09-29T05:02:35.325+00:00Rewind<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLR3okDDh64HwiyEIalps0vW1JomOvzAVBgroQK-NFBjgN5gM58nrBu1BMgwg0ecwGGrJ0nCjq-CrkYZs5MC_30P_P72_J4X2tmq8YXh9s-VqkQwiXW8JrNutg_RFvYgZuMAVl_uolAt4/s1600/rewind.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLR3okDDh64HwiyEIalps0vW1JomOvzAVBgroQK-NFBjgN5gM58nrBu1BMgwg0ecwGGrJ0nCjq-CrkYZs5MC_30P_P72_J4X2tmq8YXh9s-VqkQwiXW8JrNutg_RFvYgZuMAVl_uolAt4/s400/rewind.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657641623376115842" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I'm glad he started his own blog <a href="http://blognidenis.blogspot.com/">Omertà</a> , 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.<br /><br />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...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-85739298391380748942011-09-28T00:47:00.003+00:002011-09-28T01:32:46.042+00:00Nothing to write about me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXAR8ftqVOK6bwEBqS115agVKc2RK8p-RstU98TZLJqb-gO9aT8Z6PQDlElWRBS5Um3ogmiclf2yv83RXt6I7FimjG_xA-wqmPjXz8xEbJedA-6uXhL_I3usiY94aID9916CJbe5-_3Q/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXAR8ftqVOK6bwEBqS115agVKc2RK8p-RstU98TZLJqb-gO9aT8Z6PQDlElWRBS5Um3ogmiclf2yv83RXt6I7FimjG_xA-wqmPjXz8xEbJedA-6uXhL_I3usiY94aID9916CJbe5-_3Q/s400/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657217274795546450" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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." <br /><br />I'm only keeping my humor to minimize the pain. In the meantime, let me stay in this sanctuary until I recuperate.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-86006479622627972652011-09-27T06:57:00.003+00:002011-09-27T07:20:56.489+00:00Perhaps My Last Poetry<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAr9jDJbHvurBCi9x-Tzc4NHzIIUyVAOeSrDU3udqmLgdcJ5V41UI92s3GBExtDsHsekF2YDstW9SrV7vi-sE681udVre2jGdJgh4-WnkKNalqFrhiFW-BtulKO2Lr7hpWBKm62HgaRE/s1600/Sunset_Walk_by_hamkahatta.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAr9jDJbHvurBCi9x-Tzc4NHzIIUyVAOeSrDU3udqmLgdcJ5V41UI92s3GBExtDsHsekF2YDstW9SrV7vi-sE681udVre2jGdJgh4-WnkKNalqFrhiFW-BtulKO2Lr7hpWBKm62HgaRE/s400/Sunset_Walk_by_hamkahatta.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656935544531297122" /></a><br />Sometimes, a river is not<br /> <br />enough<br /><br />to water the seed we planted;<br /><br />Sometimes, the sun is not <br /><br />enough<br /><br />to burn the fire we started;<br /><br />Sometimes, the mountains are not <br /><br />enough<br /><br />to add weight to the "thing" we chose to carry,<br />which oftentimes we call relationship;<br /><br />Sometimes, poetry is not <br /><br />enough<br /><br />to make a good love story;<br /><br />Sometimes, I can never be <br /><br />enough<br /><br />for the one I chose to <br /><br />love<br /><br />and always end up <br /><br />sorry;<br /><br />But, I want you to know my <br /><br />love<br /><br />that you were always <br /><br />enough<br /><br />for me to live each day <br /><br />happy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-87662262534067665682011-08-01T03:48:00.002+00:002011-08-01T03:53:51.659+00:00Ocean and the Shore<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXHmgAzkcOoEdpiXK-8ez9bu6S_Yd4qc3kM1myypbMV3Bv45ZQDFqzZZ5MPbV_89J4YAPm2WEfIw5z8CEvA2PToze7raVqdeAqtWylOvNY4hfTvFrSteSanTasLeqPssCQbHdYJrqSr8/s1600/waiting.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXHmgAzkcOoEdpiXK-8ez9bu6S_Yd4qc3kM1myypbMV3Bv45ZQDFqzZZ5MPbV_89J4YAPm2WEfIw5z8CEvA2PToze7raVqdeAqtWylOvNY4hfTvFrSteSanTasLeqPssCQbHdYJrqSr8/s400/waiting.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635730657367940242" /></a><br />The ocean ceases to be <br />what it had been for<br />the waiting shore---<br />A light years gap between <br />her and the hazy terrain<br />from afar, where <br />an unlaunched boat lingered,<br />like her, waiting;<br />Indifferent to her longing<br />that one day, its waves<br />will not just come and go...<br /><br />The ocean ceases to be<br />what it had been for the cynical shore;<br />Now, it cradles the boat<br />that unleashed itself from <br />its deep anchor.<br />And, the waves still <br />come to the shore,<br />but, only to bring her<br />when they go with the boat...<br />In a journey to the abyss<br />where everything is unknown<br />except love.<br /><br />-- LorieUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-25998794848169010462011-07-11T01:15:00.002+00:002011-07-11T05:10:18.009+00:00Random poetry<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8q0eGSrhLtnMswfLTS33-PLfOnxotu_K2zHrbUED5PjF69F4Ry4VXG3zC-c0hKhUxSbiwDBp3R69ZOWE608N7U2Amp70_Du1q5gQUJJR6pXTptTRNLZuUeacNJc_BXYHLiEDDyOF2pj8/s1600/kids.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8q0eGSrhLtnMswfLTS33-PLfOnxotu_K2zHrbUED5PjF69F4Ry4VXG3zC-c0hKhUxSbiwDBp3R69ZOWE608N7U2Amp70_Du1q5gQUJJR6pXTptTRNLZuUeacNJc_BXYHLiEDDyOF2pj8/s320/kids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627957643152288434" /></a><br />These are a few quotes I received recently from a Capricorn friend.<br /><br /><br />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.<br />11.07.2011 2:18AM<br /><br />The vain beauty cares most for the conquest which employed the whole artillery of her charms.<br />10.07.2011 11:06PM<br /><br />Beautiful may be the lies from the deceiver's lips, but when revelation descends with full force, his grossness is undraped.<br />06.07.2011 1:42PM<br /><br />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.<br />03.07.2011 3:43AMUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-57632751927321218072011-05-04T07:05:00.004+00:002011-05-04T07:37:47.350+00:00Fallen leaf<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-_2ZwW3xGiTE5yqTbiVykqXKHZqUPt4UgS5AtP5nn4TiXsiEbR6EJCpS9FzdXE3eJKkv1upUmDEOOO4wxy_55a0PTg9NjScyJ5xX1qAQjVtmaq1lUxXehz2iqNxY3MFDW81l8Cd1-7yQ/s1600/bonsai_fallen0090.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-_2ZwW3xGiTE5yqTbiVykqXKHZqUPt4UgS5AtP5nn4TiXsiEbR6EJCpS9FzdXE3eJKkv1upUmDEOOO4wxy_55a0PTg9NjScyJ5xX1qAQjVtmaq1lUxXehz2iqNxY3MFDW81l8Cd1-7yQ/s320/bonsai_fallen0090.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602761495931177986" /></a><br /><br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />In the meantime, I'll let Pablo Neruda express my feelings with his poem, If you forget me...<br /><br />I want you to know<br />one thing. <br /><br />You know how this is: <br />if I look <br />at the crystal moon, at the red branch <br />of the slow autumn at my window, <br />if I touch <br />near the fire <br />the impalpable ash <br />or the wrinkled body of the log, <br />everything carries me to you, <br />as if everything that exists, <br />aromas, light, metals, <br />were little boats <br />that sail <br />toward those isles of yours that wait for me. <br /><br />Well, now, <br />if little by little you stop loving me <br />I shall stop loving you little by little. <br /><br />If suddenly <br />you forget me <br />do not look for me, <br />for I shall already have forgotten you. <br /><br />If you think it long and mad, <br />the wind of banners <br />that passes through my life, <br />and you decide <br />to leave me at the shore <br />of the heart where I have roots, <br />remember <br />that on that day, <br />at that hour, <br />I shall lift my arms <br />and my roots will set off <br />to seek another land. <br /><br />But <br />if each day, <br />each hour, <br />you feel that you are destined for me <br />with implacable sweetness, <br />if each day a flower <br />climbs up to your lips to seek me, <br />ah my love, ah my own, <br />in me all that fire is repeated, <br />in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, <br />my love feeds on your love, beloved, <br />and as long as you live it will be in your arms <br />without leaving mine...<br /><br />--Pablo NerudaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-40411771860028561052011-02-15T13:56:00.004+00:002011-02-15T14:06:31.915+00:00Thinking 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.<br /><br />If You Forget Me<br /><br />I want you to know<br />one thing.<br /><br />You know how this is:<br />if I look<br />at the crystal moon, at the red branch<br />of the slow autumn at my window,<br />if I touch<br />near the fire<br />the impalpable ash<br />or the wrinkled body of the log,<br />everything carries me to you,<br />as if everything that exists,<br />aromas, light, metals,<br />were little boats<br />that sail<br />toward those isles of yours that wait for me.<br /><br />Well, now,<br />if little by little you stop loving me<br />I shall stop loving you little by little.<br /><br />If suddenly<br />you forget me<br />do not look for me,<br />for I shall already have forgotten you.<br /><br />If you think it long and mad,<br />the wind of banners<br />that passes through my life,<br />and you decide<br />to leave me at the shore<br />of the heart where I have roots,<br />remember<br />that on that day,<br />at that hour,<br />I shall lift my arms<br />and my roots will set off<br />to seek another land.<br /><br />But<br />if each day,<br />each hour,<br />you feel that you are destined for me<br />with implacable sweetness,<br />if each day a flower<br />climbs up to your lips to seek me,<br />ah my love, ah my own,<br />in me all that fire is repeated,<br />in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,<br />my love feeds on your love, beloved,<br />and as long as you live it will be in your arms<br />without leaving mine.<br /><br />Pablo Neruda <br /><br />And, I'm glad you didn't forget me...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-88469564182430047502011-01-27T06:04:00.002+00:002011-01-27T06:09:37.778+00:00Cat's Dream<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8an6znvOB9tS08XJvM7eJGlR7In0KBLoNw649SOqz3mZEi-lccQ8cxM0VeciImRAB9x-AuK1yQIN1qb9ldCYxwRzScNJ1u96fTMVna2cLeDmWgAbYz5ec5o9IbIY8jcugZ-Lve4LJ4sE/s1600/cat.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8an6znvOB9tS08XJvM7eJGlR7In0KBLoNw649SOqz3mZEi-lccQ8cxM0VeciImRAB9x-AuK1yQIN1qb9ldCYxwRzScNJ1u96fTMVna2cLeDmWgAbYz5ec5o9IbIY8jcugZ-Lve4LJ4sE/s320/cat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566743901929881538" /></a><br />How neatly a cat sleeps,<br />sleeps with its paws and its posture,<br />sleeps with its wicked claws,<br />and with its unfeeling blood,<br />sleeps with all the rings–<br />a series of burnt circles–<br />which have formed the odd geology<br />of its sand-colored tail.<br /><br />I should like to sleep like a cat,<br />with all the fur of time,<br />with a tongue rough as flint,<br />with the dry sex of fire;<br />and after speaking to no one,<br />stretch myself over the world,<br />over roofs and landscapes,<br />with a passionate desire<br />to hunt the rats in my dreams.<br /><br />I have seen how the cat asleep<br />would undulate, how the night<br />flowed through it like dark water;<br />and at times, it was going to fall<br />or possibly plunge into <br />the bare deserted snowdrifts.<br />Sometimes it grew so much in sleep<br />like a tiger’s great-grandfather,<br />and would leap in the darkness over<br />rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.<br /><br />Sleep, sleep cat of the night,<br />with episcopal ceremony<br />and your stone-carved moustache.<br />Take care of all our dreams;<br />control the obscurity<br />of our slumbering prowess<br />with your relentless heart<br />and the great ruff of your tail<br /><br />by P.N.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-79751692619069215382011-01-20T08:49:00.002+00:002011-01-20T09:03:32.549+00:00Only when I writeLike right at this moment, finally done with four stories (my quota for this week).<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-61731326598380888072011-01-12T10:01:00.006+00:002011-01-12T13:11:21.076+00:00You're still normal!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q3uGLd6u5QC-nuFxIr2CE7CXmpnjoOw0glcx8FtfE7RAfSGyFYUSqYzXjuQdsS6VJHy8e3E5d0wLE3TeCdXkKIY_s8mvCcfy7dXvAYRlZkPXIDjjhZzgfe8lvpJSKJQ1ximCXKu8Gl0/s1600/woman-eating-money.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q3uGLd6u5QC-nuFxIr2CE7CXmpnjoOw0glcx8FtfE7RAfSGyFYUSqYzXjuQdsS6VJHy8e3E5d0wLE3TeCdXkKIY_s8mvCcfy7dXvAYRlZkPXIDjjhZzgfe8lvpJSKJQ1ximCXKu8Gl0/s400/woman-eating-money.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561285485574560882" /></a><br /><br />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. <br /><br />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?<br /><br />Then, he told me, "You're still normal."<br /><br />He said if I would receive a million right then and there, I might be ruined. <br /><br />True enough, I don't know what to do with such big amount of money!<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />Only to be reminded that amid pressures and anxieties, we are still normal. Live life each day!<br /><br />(reveal your thoughts to me at lorie.cascaro@gmail.com)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-91442578182701391872010-08-13T04:47:00.002+00:002010-08-13T04:56:49.799+00:00Moving on<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsuzKONkIvZN_-Ujpz0foBebfoVKVfB0jJDRZxgqKAhszNNsTHJgjymB-CwjD4O6VNC-z3_UN4yRhhz-16MIghPiLxIkCSwBdJwO5wt0BPvnBIsTpwN6Ki9JxtOK0303jX8Wbi1Zd9CM/s1600/Laptop_with_Hands.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsuzKONkIvZN_-Ujpz0foBebfoVKVfB0jJDRZxgqKAhszNNsTHJgjymB-CwjD4O6VNC-z3_UN4yRhhz-16MIghPiLxIkCSwBdJwO5wt0BPvnBIsTpwN6Ki9JxtOK0303jX8Wbi1Zd9CM/s320/Laptop_with_Hands.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504753824567122354" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOA9-gQPP-QhEq-d3ykF-MABJ6u7rFrqKVNwzLaiphhiPdux1tMUQbtr9ijrsEj97qkqT4vS20oeUi4gmPONUJZJsIjTpCdR57AqEPIOJCU3y-EFpU8oB99LhKMedSP_pQEbBjsttQFU/s1600/better-writing-4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOA9-gQPP-QhEq-d3ykF-MABJ6u7rFrqKVNwzLaiphhiPdux1tMUQbtr9ijrsEj97qkqT4vS20oeUi4gmPONUJZJsIjTpCdR57AqEPIOJCU3y-EFpU8oB99LhKMedSP_pQEbBjsttQFU/s320/better-writing-4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504753145010962626" /></a><br />It's time to do the real thing now that you already know what you really really want to do for the rest of your life.<br /><br />Just wake up early, read and read, write and write, laugh and laugh, run, swim, climb and bike, then get enough sleep.<br /><br />Experience life today!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-16187630641145043942010-04-03T16:48:00.004+00:002010-04-03T17:03:53.657+00:00Fairy tale as it is<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyW2UfP-SxNGJjJ5rMVBO5bZaDfALulI5Q-y2y2HoJ5HsRUHbKdu2B1rMKP2BME5Pba384Nq5fJEHdMINjsywOIJxY72fijvust6TV7Bim8uqvFtV5AYS0fOo9j95wdCk9u1ywwwwaBc/s1600/snowhite.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyW2UfP-SxNGJjJ5rMVBO5bZaDfALulI5Q-y2y2HoJ5HsRUHbKdu2B1rMKP2BME5Pba384Nq5fJEHdMINjsywOIJxY72fijvust6TV7Bim8uqvFtV5AYS0fOo9j95wdCk9u1ywwwwaBc/s200/snowhite.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455958018845454706" /></a><br />They said fairy tales are for children. They believe in them but when they grow up, they started to discover reality. <br />I'd never believed in fairy tale even when I was a child. But, it just dawned on me that if I were to choose to believe like a child again, I would believe in fairy tale. After meeting once again someone from a long lost childhood, I decided to keep that child in me. <br /><br />But then, reality never fails to slap my face! Fairy tale is just as it is... If you want to avoid nervous breakdown then keep your feet on the ground and GROW UP! So as part of being sane and appearing to be mature, I suddenly summed up everything there is in a song.<br /><br /><br />Fairy Tale<br /><br />It seems what I believe is not true.<br />There's really no "Me and You".<br />It's nothing more than just a dream.<br />No amount of hope could make it real.<br /><br />Maybe the chance came too late.<br />Everything's in place. We can't change fate.<br />Meeting you is not a chance at all.<br />It's just to see how high my hopes fall.<br /><br />Let me swim into your thoughts.<br />Let me stay there for awhile.<br />Let me hold your hand to feel your soul in me.<br />Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory.<br /><br />Sometimes I'd like to think<br />that we could make North and South meet;<br />we could swim through the ocean;<br />we could walk through the clouds.<br /><br />Sometimes I'd like to believe<br />that you're the prince in my dreams;<br />that what I believe is true;<br />certainly, it's me and you.<br /><br />Let me swim into your thoughts.<br />Let me stay there for awhile.<br />Let me hold your hand to feel your soul in me.<br />Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory.<br />Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory.<br />Let me keep this fairy tale in my memory...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666098488128267091.post-41475080725107396532010-03-07T05:08:00.003+00:002010-03-07T05:25:38.231+00:00Maggots in my mind<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNP39spIVvO6P4_liDPt5TwCSpxHtkqYI8dwseAYL4DEwMdhpHDNANvkBtNJeBwqeI8ihGnZvwCr7xVqqtXyFeAhUQ7urbu_sYMQbEZnS8j3rfV_EwliBo9lJWoXS2pqlZBsTiAFEnWY/s1600-h/maggots-wiki-sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNP39spIVvO6P4_liDPt5TwCSpxHtkqYI8dwseAYL4DEwMdhpHDNANvkBtNJeBwqeI8ihGnZvwCr7xVqqtXyFeAhUQ7urbu_sYMQbEZnS8j3rfV_EwliBo9lJWoXS2pqlZBsTiAFEnWY/s200/maggots-wiki-sm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445757688676369714" /></a><br />Leave as much as you want to stay<br />Eat up all my preoccupation until nothing's left<br />As you take my brain, include my heart.<br />Race through my lungs until I stop breathing.<br />Seep through my veins until every strand is blue.<br />Clog my heart until it stops beating.<br /><br />Leave as much as I want you to stay<br />Take away all of you that's left<br />in my heart, in my mind.<br /><br />As you decide to leave, leave me a scar<br />like the tattoo on my calf.<br />Leave it black, black as my lungs.<br />As you leave, leave at once.<br />Never leave a couple of squirming worms<br />in my veins...<br /><br />Because it doesn't matter now<br />If nothing's left as you leave.<br />A single memory that you've been here<br />is enough souvenir<br />like the tattoo on my calf<br />forever embedded in my skin.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0