I do not know whether the color in this part of Tacloban was always this vivid or if I may just have not cared too much before. Surprising how much detail goes by unnoticed until a familiar scene is placed before you after a while without it. I don’t think I ever cared much for how the clouds could leave shadows on a far away hill face—how you could watch them dance over the land, how the edges of the shadows seemed blurry because of the way they were cast over the trees. It was sort of a calming ballet amidst the noise.
I can only take so much before I break—like a string forced taut from both ends by heavy weights until it snaps in half. I am breakable, I am vulnerable, I get hurt; I am human.
I am awake when everyone else sleeps. I am a floating soul in the corridors at night. It is my voice that echoes off the walls when your eyes close. My footsteps are in tune to the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat. I am the ghost that bangs against the dome of your head as you sleep. My strong arms hold you, tenderly, sweetly; you are captive to my presence.
I am the silence. I am the dark. I am fear.
So this is sadness, to exist and to not feel alive; to be there and yet be somewhere else altogether.
Remember when I called you to say goodbye and you were on a bus to Rizal and couldn’t talk much? Remember how we cried on the phone?
It was funny because I thought you were at your apartment. The landlady even let me in because she still thought I was your sister.
You were supposed to help me with my computer. You thought I called to ask you about it. Then came my goodbye, then your silence.
I remember the promises. The “Promise to come back.” was the only one I couldn’t say yes to.
I told you I’d miss you and how ‘ew’ I felt about feelings. You said you’d miss that about me, you said you’d miss me. Then I cried.
I remember walking down the Acad Oval, thinking how much I’d miss the place. I realized then, I’d miss the people I left more.
I said distance was going to be the death of our friendship.
I can still feel the sensation of your skin next to mine. I remember wanting to fall in love but knowing I would never be what you wanted.
So I loved you like a sister. I slept in your room, you patted my hair, we would spend hours on end doing nothing together.
How your fingers would trace the side of my cheek to brush my hair back; I forget nothing. Those were my thoughts after I put the phone down.
I still miss you.
Let’s not celebrate Valentine’s Day. There are three hundred and sixty five days in a year. I would love you on every single one of those days. Why celebrate the ordinary? We celebrate something rare or special, but loving you is anything but rare.
I would rather celebrate you, because whatever it is I’ve found in you, that’s rare. So no more roses, no more chocolates, no more teddy bears. Let’s celebrate each other everyday.
Note: This is poetic me. I’m not really in a relationship. ;)
It’s a hot school day again and after my first period is a looong lunch break. I usually hang out in the school library where there’s air conditioning and wifi (that you have to hunt for), but today I went home because I wanted to get out of my clothes and take a cold shower. Right now, I’m lying around the house in my underwear (not meant to be sexual, it is just so humid).
I’m posting this because I wanted to talk about how much I hate hot, humid and sticky school days. First of all, if it isn’t summer, it means there’s a storm coming (I hate typhoons). Second, any amount of clothing is ‘too much’ clothing but you can’t really go to school naked (UGH). Third, too many people are sweating and sweaty-elbow-bumping in class is so not cool (I am not in the mood to share pheromones).
I’m also home because the food is better here. So yeah, catch you after lunch! :)