Leave me on a desserted island with nothing but a pen and a piece of paper; with those, I shall create myself another world.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Another Goodbye

Today, I said goodbye to the person who my life revolved around for the past 7 months. Today, I spent the last day with him before another plane takes him away from me again. I woke up, got dressed and realized that for the last time - for a long time - I would be getting clothed knowing I will see his beautiful face...That face that sent a rush of comfort down my lungs, unsettling my breathing in the most wonderful way. I went down, opened the car door and there he sat. Everything was magnified today – his smile, the sun rays that hit his face making it glow and those features that conveyed sweet mischief. I was okay. I still had him. We sat in a cafĂ© and talked for hours until it hit me…I won’t be having that again. Everything felt a hundred times better than it used to. The feel of his hand holding mine felt safe…just like the first time we ever held hands. His laugh seemed to make the world a happier place…just like the first time it took me by surprise making me feel like it was my goal in life to keep him smiling. And his warmth...The heat emanating from his body while I sat next to him, warming my entire soul and taking my breath away. That was when I lost it. That was when my vision started blurring and my cheeks went on fire. That was when I began to feel this strong ache in my heart. You know, the kind that makes you feel that this organ within you is a human being torn into pieces; that unbearable pain that makes you gasp for breath? That was it. In an instant as if telepathic, he looked at me. I kissed his hand and told him I was okay. “I would be okay”, those were my exact words. But I knew I wouldn’t. I would not sense my lips pressing on his palm again. I would not see the sun hitting his face, making it shine. I would not get to touch his face when he had that irresistible laugh and I wouldn’t be seeing it anytime soon. So, NO! I AM NOT OKAY. How could I be? How will I be when I open my eyes every morning knowing that my life is void of him? I am not okay. All is not well. In fact, nothing at all is well.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Parasympathetic Wound

        Phase one: Struggle. For some bizzare reason, the me who used to drift asleep the second her head hits the pillow now wrestles to find a moment of rest. I became accustomed to my uninvited guest - insomnia - and so, I stayed up consuming my time in nothingness until my eye-lids felt like they were being forced shut by some superior power. Occasionally, I even pushed it until I got that piercing sting in the corners of my eye...you know, the one you get when you haven't slept for days? That's when I usually took the decision to finally go to bed, certain that I will face no troubles to go to this land of peace that I longed for so much. Nevertheless, the moment my head hit that plumped up pillow, I instantly become wide awake. It's like a rush of emotions, really, surging through my body. My eyes suddenly become unable to close, my breathing goes just three bits less smoother and I begin sensing bricks piling up on my chest - constricting my breathing even more. But that is only phase one of the daily episodes I've been seeing.
        Phase two: Hallucinations. As much as I loathed the previous struggles with breath and sleep, I loathed the next even more; for after hours of restlessness, I go semi-unconscious. Asleep yet awake, I begin to dream of things that I know are dreams..see things I know are not real and the thing is..my eyes are half-open. I can see my room shaded with those visions of mine - visions of myself being pushed against walls, bounced upon grounds, hitting the ceiling with my head and dropping down only to be bounced right back up. And...you get it. The cycle continues.
        Phase three: Paralysis. I'm never fully asleep to envision what I see as an actual dream and never awake enough to stop seeing what I see and feeling what I feel. It's like I've been caged in between bars of torture, I have the key out but I just don't have the strength to unlock that door.
        Phase four: I wake up. It always feels the same way. A headache so strong I could be suspected of a hangover. A body that feels battered after all the injuries I've been put through. Bloodshot eyes that only confirm they have not been shut for so long. And a damned attitude of someone disturbed, restless and impatient. An attitude of an insomniac. An attitude of a hallucinator.
        An attitude of someone with a wound that only seems to throb in the dark, only awakens in the cold silence and goes asleep in the morning, waiting for nightfall to revive yet again. 

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Wallowing In Self-Pity

Every now and then I hear a success story...a friend who got published, an acquaintance who opened her own magazine, a stranger who took his love to photography and turned it into a profession at a very young age ... and I frown. I pity all the things I always left undone. Never did I try to develop my photography. Never did I attempt to develop my writing or think of it as "professional material". Never did I consider that my creativity in design could actually progress into a work of art. And so, I always left midway. I'd always think "that's as far as I'll ever get". And now, here I stand..watching people fade away into the horizon and I stand still..with talents wasted because I never dared to dream.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

You Are All Outsiders To Him

A man who goes to war
Comes back a distant man,
Comes back a changed man
That you can not hope to understand.

A man who comes from war
Has seen what true terror's like..
Has looked death in the eye
And come back.

A man who had gone to war
Had gone with many
And come back with few
And thats what makes it so hard for you
To understand.

All the change he hoped to make
Seems lost amidst the lives raked

All the men he called his brothers
Were lost to the others

All the life he saw since birth
Was diminished by burnt bodies..
By men that have been cut in half..
By farewells said with a gasping breath
And a prayer he had to say on their behalf

Before they were gone..
Before he was gone..

Leaving behind a man inside of him-
A scarred man,
A battered man,
A man that you will never understand.


"I will go to the land of freedom
and be free to become who I choose to be"
That is what I told myself..

"I will challenge minds with the words I write
I will feed those whom hunger keeps them up at night
I will shoot every image with a new point of view
I will work every minute, take advantage of everything I can do"

"I will go to places I've never been
I will see everything I have never seen
and never will I forget hospitals and orphanages
I will visit the ill, the unfortunate"

those were the empty words
the promises
the vows I took upon myself a hundred times

With certainty I awaited
to become the self-accomplished version of myself

Two years later,
here I am..
more vacant of a person than I was back then

with one major difference

Two years ago, I had no choice.
Today, I am who I chose to be.
So much for certainty.

You've made your bed..Lie in it.

When you start to wonder
when all the years went under
why you're left alone
with friends that have disowned you
take a look in the mirror
it was all your doing

when you go to sleep at night
and all the thoughts race and fight
and the truth you submerge deep within
starts to unravel itself and undim for you
take a look in the mirror
it was all your doing

when you start to grow old
in shape but not in soul
and find that you're alone
with friends that have actually grown

grown too old to deal with your high school acts
grown too old to listen to you, defend or attack
grown too old and now you're just someone they once knew
cause they've grown too old to even know someone as small as you

take a look in the mirror
you chose to remain in junior high
all your fibs are no longer lies

take a look in the mirror
and see what they see
the teen-ager you were
the one you'll forever be

and know that it was all your doing

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Writer's Block

beep beep beep.
wake up
it's time
you're going to work on a rhyme
that talks about love
or hate
or friends
or maybe about making amends
lets make it about politics
or starvation
maybe something about
your growing frustration
or perhaps about that sight you just saw
try to describe it in words so raw
how about you write
just about what you know.
no inspiration?
what does that mean
you've always been a reader, a writer
and everything in between
the words arent expressive?
well, make them
isnt that what you always do?
what on earth do you mean
"you lost what made you you?"
you had a talent, where did it go?
you can't just say that you dont know
you see things everyday
and you feel all these things
how can you not turn them
into a piece of anything?
your writings used to be heartfelt,
strong and pure
how can you just believe
you've become an amateur?
tear this paper
let go of that pen
do as you wish
but what do you have left then?
just a weak unfinished story
of what you once had
a talent you let go
a writer gone bad.

In The Game of Love

We eyed the board game as we played
Silently, eachother we dared
Challengingly, we rolled the dice
And that was when our cards were laid

Darling, when did we become foes?
When did our talks turn into rows?
When did we stray from the path of love
to hit a bottom rock in the deep lows?

Honey, we used to be friends
Why don't we start making amends
Relax those shoulders and take a breath
instead of taking this obstinate defense

All i need is to understand
When did my voluntary supply turn to an un-willing demand
Why did you ball your fists so tight
When it used to be me and you, hand-in-hand

Who cares who wins, love? this is so lame
Why be wild when we can be tame
I'm sorry, I'll stop, I will say no more
I just wanted to remind you, this is just a board game

Channels of Emotion

Photographs! Poems! Quotations! Songs! Give me any form of human expression and I will tumble over and backwards. Any fragment of life simply puts me at awe. And isn't that really what these all are about?

A photograph can capture a certain moment..a look of longing..a sad shimmer in the eye of someone who is so tired of saying Good-byes.

Quotations. Just one line that could sum up all the words you were trying so hard to speak out but couldn't.

Songs. It's that heart-breaking song you come across only to realize that it exactly describes your emotion at that very moment better than you ever will be able to. Or that bubbly song you coincidentally listen to and feel like the singer had known what was keeping you down and knew exactly what to say to turn that around.

Then comes poetry...poetry that I have adored ever since I was a child. Nothing could come close to the sensation of feeling bricks being lifted off my chest as I unleash those words into paper. It's like a clean slate. Once it's all out there, it's like you've rid yourself of your sins that have been burdening you and suddenly..it becomes easier to breathe. It's that same exact feeling you get when you've done something horrible to a friend and no body in the entire world knows. It consumes you and eats you up, making it difficult to smile, to laugh from your heart or to feel like you're a good person. Then you meet your friend and spill it all out. She tells you it's okay..she tells you where you've gone wrong and what you've done right. You know the moment after? That deep breath that you feel like you haven't had in so long? That's me when I write.

I can breathe!

Going Under

In my dreams
I see lands collapsing
a population gasping
for fresh air to breath
for a nile that has gone dry
for conditions so wry
and a nation lapsing

In my dreams
people struggle for plain bread
underpaid and underfed,
they struggle for nickles and pennies
for a son who's crying
a family that's dying
barely hanging to life with a thread
In my dreams

I see lights going out
I hear shrieks and shouts
and endless disappointment
from a country that has given them sorrow
forgotten the leaders of tomorrow
a country in drought

I wake up
but I still see it all
men feeling so small
women weak and crawling
while big boys are lingering
in a masquerade ball

They pull the string
to a benefit of theirs
to a line of identical heirs
watching their so-called people..collapse
their once oh-so-glorious nation, feed on scraps

What else is left of us?
The nation has already lapsed.

Death Due To Natural Causes

A book was open and the first line read:
"Once upon a time, they were in love", it said
The wind passed by and the last page appeared
"They just woke up one day and it was dead"

And within the plot, the author quoted
"To him, I was once devoted"
"His name, once defined bliss"
"However, our relationship still floated"

On the surface they always smiled
But it was different, what was deep inside
They boasted their ever-continuing loving patience
while in their subconscious, the flaws compiled

This is not a story with a happy ending
It is a fractured tale that truly needed mending
It is the story of an emotional fluctuation
that is stuck on the low and still pending

A book was open and the first line read:
We loved eachother so much. That is what it said
Why don't you fix it then? Why not repair the broken?
"Because one day we woke up and the love was dead".