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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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