Pagdadapit-hapon, kita'y magbabalik sa pinanggalingan,
sugatan ang paa at sunog ang balat sa sikat ng araw! Talagang ganoon... Sa dagat man, Irog, ng kaligayahan, lahat, pati puso, ay naaagnas ding marahang-marahan... (Idelfonso Santos)
jueves, septiembre 30, 2004
the end
there's nothing and everything to say. but you understand me far too well.
what more can i possibly ask for? you have already plucked the moon from the sky, for me.
* * * sorry. that message was personal. i just had to get it out of my system kahit hindi ko alam kung kailan niya mababasa ito. matagal na panahon ko nang sinasabi: ayoko nang umibig, ngunit ito lang ang dahilan kong mabuhay. (i don't care if my tagalog sucks. english doesn't quite capture my sentiment.) * * * gusto kong muling magsulat at magsulat pa para sa iyo. ngunit, ito na lang muna:
Live Poem
Anna Bernaldo
"Love is a choice," my mother always says,
But this time her spatula did not point
Pragmatically in my direction.
It stirred silence on the boiling broth,
Ripples matching the excited rhythm
Of the TV sports anchor’s voice
In a basketball game my father is watching. Now that I’m older, I’m forced to reconsider
You and my fixation on the Addams couple
As our role models forever.
One always hungry for the other.
I never listened to my mother,
But every day I see her.
And I’m older and love must be domestic,
Responsible, sensible as a haircut in summer.
Is it possible for us to make something more
Out of what we are about to have?
Of course, you do not know.
Even I do not know.
Why did I even begin asking questions?
I just wanted to write you a love poem
But I can only live one for you.
it's almost unbelievable for me to be online at this hour. then again, it's already unbelievable for me to be online at all. yli, sayang 'di mo ko naabutan ngayon. * * * i pretty much just woke up from my nap. i missed dinner earlier cos i felt really dizzy when we got home. so i'm having an extremely late dinner (or extremely early breakfast) of kfc chicken. i don't know how it can be a good thing to be eating commercial chicken at 1am but i'm hungry and there's nothing else to eat except for cello's donuts, which i've already eaten too much of. * * * as em says, le sigh. thursday's hell day for me: 1 reporting, 1 paper, 1 quiz, 1 long test + a homework. at sunud-sunod yan ha, from 9am to 4:30pm. gee, lucky me. can't wait. * * * on a (much) happier note, i'm finally getting published come first regular issue. yay! sama na ko sa sf! announce ko na lang kelan ang launch. not that i actually have to cos only heights people actually even know i have a blog. ahehe.
i really wish i had more time to waste on my blog. the pink layout is beginning to annoy me. then again, i've been extra moody these past few days. not to mention extra matakaw (yesterday's lunch: beef with mushrooms + rice + 3 cheese panini from Deck) ugh. at napapadalas na kami sa mang jimmy's dahil sa balara project. i'm actually glad i gained at least 5 lbs but i was looking at myself in the mirror last saturday and thought: kadiri, baboy na naka-leotards. (did i mention i've been taking ballet since july? well, now you know.)
resolution (that i doubt will hold for even a day): no more dessert for me. and, coach, 'wag kang BI. ;p
* * *
picking up from one of our "serious" discussions, i think poets and writers aren't paid (or recognized, if at all) as b-ball players because it is more rewarding to know that we (yeah, i wish) ACTUALLY contribute something of significance to humanity. basketball legends may live on in the hearts of their fans (sounds sappy but i bet it's true) but writers leave words and works that will undoubtedly reach far beyond recognition and awards.
hmm, am i making sense? somebody PLEASE tell me how to add people and a tag board to my blog. i can be such an idiot. shut up. don't comment on that.
jilly asked me to post my poetry here but i can't--yet. they haven't been deliberated on yet and the rest are still for revision. oh well. instead, i'm posting a poem i gave a friend a few months ago. coach, pain is a flower.
Lessons from a Revolution - Ramon Sunico
My father taught me this one thing:
that pain knows no size no breadth. It understands no bigger no smaller no more no less.
All pain blinds. All pain is intimate.
Have you felt it?
It is the same for both women and men. The rich feel it as much as the poor.
Pain: who do you blame when you feel it?
It has made everyone the saddest person in the world.
***
speaking of pain, my legs are killing me. it moves up from my calves to the back of my thighs. arggh. and again next week, apparently. more flowers, my friend.
i'm a real idiot when it comes to blogging. it took me awhile to figure out how to add a new post and i still don't know how to add people. help please! and can i get a tag board, too? paano ba? and what about all those emoticon thingies? help! help! help! * * * i had dinner at a chinese restaurant at the fort last night. it's called "zong" and i found it to be anyhing but chinese (they didn't even give us chopsticks! sob!) wala lang, i'm frustrated. chinatown talaga any day. * * * at 4:30pm today is the dreaded old EB meets the new EB meeting with sir larry (did that make sense?) sana talaga maayos na yung kay tagal-tagal na 2nd reg/sexuality issue from last year. nakakasawa na talaga. * * * i don't think anyone really reads this but kebs, i wanna write... i wanna write... i wanna write.
yay! i have my own blog! i've been pretty curious about this for a long time now. wait and see if my interest will last. :)
this morning, the first person i saw was my favorite theo teacher, dr. parco. (don't we just adore her, peach?) i was on my way into the chapel and bumped into her at the door. lucky me. so she takes me out by the arm as she is wont to to do and scolds me for missing class on most days and sleeping on others. whoppee. good morning, den! ;P
