Poetry

Shipwreck

Only when a heart ruptures
do we hear the rending sound.

—Doris Trinidad, Breakup

It begins with a booming sound
inside us, some machines,
a part of us
malfunctions.
The reason, we can never understood
despite the time we engineered
our ship before
going to the sea.
And it wasn’t the sea’s fault.
Because we chose the sea
for us to cruise on.
And even it is the raging sea
that engulfed us,
it is still chiefly because of a failure
of our engines
(which made us believe
we’re unsinkable).
But here we are in a trench
taking a look at our ship
wrecked, submerging,
wretched, devoured
by too much water inside.

Our ship touches the bottom,
but it will remain there
forever.

Soon it will be another ruin
we will stare and remember
and we will sink in the sea again.
Yet someday, though our
ship is under the sea,
the water will never get inside us anymore.

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Poetry

Walk

Sincerely, I remember this.

We selected similar trajectory, but we had our own ways of treading. And then our footprints somehow—or rather unintentionally—meet and match. So we walk together, happily.

Admittedly, I say this.

While we traipse, I wanted my footprint to left standout among the rest of us. And I was eager to walk faster.

Eventually, I came to a realization.

Walking would not wholly show that I would win—for this was not a race. We move in our own pace and learn along the way.

Honestly, for that, I have never said sorry.

For wanting to leave and get ahead, for not helping when one of us fall, for saying you slow my speed, for seriously wishing to walk on my own.

Yet, truly, I am grateful for this, for you.

You hold my arm as we walk to let me know I should not be alone. You help me every time I stumble.

Yes, I really remember everything.

I may always looking straight to the end of the pathway, but I never forget the footprints we made, our falls and runs, and our hands never loosening its grip no matter the obstructions or the variance of our pace.

I know this.

We have our own trajectories now, but I also know, soon we will share the trace of our footprints when our trail intersect and reach the destination.

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Personal

Monsoon season had aroused me to express sentimentality.

Nevertheless, I know that I should not—it displays a vain and apathetic craft. Frankly, however, I’m still trying to work on my senseless romanticism.

Rain had always fascinated me especially during my late teenage years. Alongside the cold breeze, there were cup of coffee and good book. Eventually, I would be motivated to put saccharine words on a paper. Now, I have sworn that I should not waste my creativity only on personal benefit since I am aware that words contain a power to fix the turmoil in our current state. My maudlin thoughts are thus undeniably futile.

Furthermore, I also vowed to myself that after college, I would initiate (or at least attempt and practice) writing pieces in my vernacular tongue. Language holds similar ability in resolving the present issues as well. Hence, imagine the substance of such writing for this reality.

I’m working on it, really. I may have posted some sentimental writings here but I’m still trying to fulfill my word. Soon, when I’m ready, this space will not be that useless anymore. This will be filled of writings, and not only during the monsoon season.

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Poetry

to be named

her mind whispering
hatred, cling,
succumbing,
and wanting
for erasures.
she tried to correct
the lies laid in
long monologues,
everything,
even herself.
leaving her now with
no name. each time
her mind
or someone
murmurs madness,
without words
her body also urging
to say
i want to be loved.
so say it in a seemingly way
she will be named.

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Poetry

Writing/Speaking

I learned to write at the age of three, and since then, I cannot speak properly. No, it’s not that I stutter; but yes, there is difficulty—I can speak clearly, but not completely. Yet at eighteen, I discovered the art of poetry. Thus, I turn to poetry. I write poems but I still ponder if it is poetry I am creating. I speak and write like a poem, and I still don’t know if properly.

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Poetry

Left Turn

Returning is meant for amends but I am readying
for recurrence as we cross the road again.
We remember the radiance of the city lights
surrounding the obstructed transportations—
nothing new. But unlike then,
I am wearing my eyeglasses now.

I can finally see where the road
once again lead us—not nowhere, but certainly
not to your home nor mine.
And I can see that there’s no need for amends
but rather clarity to see that the road’s radiance
flickers from forsaken lampposts
and tarnished buildings and jammed cars.

We still cross the road with laughter and loathing
like before—merely recovering the delight
of not crossing the road alone.
Although we know the road turns
somewhere we would want to leave again.

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Stories

Inevitability of Eternal Sunshine…

 

“Was this our place before?” He asked, pointing at the table where we hang out the last time.

“Yes, maybe.” I laughed. “But, really? This place again?”

He did not respond. He just sat there comfortably and then scanned the menu. So I did the same.

“I’ll order what I ordered before.” I said.

When he took the menu and went to the counter, I mused. No one would have thought that I would return to that café, to that place. But I have dreamt of returning there.

“Hey I have a story to tell.” I told him as he sat back. “I had a dream about you just recently.” He looked at me as if it was odd. I laughed and admitted that I have seen him in my dreams for five times already. But the one I would tell him was different.

“It was a long dream. Yet I remember it thoroughly because I immediately narrated it to my friend after I woke up. And frankly, that dream was mawkish.”

He snickered, and gestured for me to commence on the telling.

“Perhaps that was around six p.m. In a sudden, you messaged me to meet you in your college because there was something you wanted me to see. However, my friends, they demanded that I should ignore your texts.”

“Unbeknownst to my friends, I replied to your message and informed you where I was. Then, a friend of mine insisted that we should stay in our org room, so I followed them. The weird occurrence was when we arrived at the room and took our seats, I looked around and my friends disappeared. All of them.”

“When I realized I was alone in the room, you messaged me again and you told me that you were there at the place where I was. Surprisingly, a classmate of mine texted, letting me know that you were there.”

“I left the room hastily. As I went down to the stairs, another weird thing happened. My feet didn’t touch flatly on the ground. Like there was no gravity. And the surroundings, it was dark, and there were a lot of people everywhere, they were chattering and cackling. Then I looked up, and saw that the only light in the place was fixated at me. Everything’s weird as I went away from the building, and that was when I realized I was dreaming.”

“It is a peculiar characteristic of mine. Usually and easily, I become aware that I am dreaming. Sometimes, if I want to, I control my dreams.”

“Anyway, when I finally stepped out from the building, my walk was normal again. I saw you there, but you were looking at a different direction. The classmate who texted, she approached me and asked, ‘Why is he there?’, and I replied, ‘he is waiting for me.’”

“I moved towards you and said, ‘let’s go.’ It was funny, you know, we walked together like nothing happened before, like we are okay.”

“We were having our dinner when suddenly I was disturbed from my sleep because of my mother. I wanted to scream my annoyance. But I forced myself to go back to sleep and continue the dream. I couldn’t allow it to end without telling you something.”

“Fortunately, my dream resumed and that time we were standing on the middle of the street. That was around eight p.m., I think. I don’t know where that was but in my dream I was certain that we were at one of those streets where we used to wander seven months ago.”

“The lights around the street were blurry, perhaps because I didn’t have my eyeglasses on. I don’t really know, but actually I prefer not wearing my eyeglasses at night because the lights from the lampposts and the stores look beautiful when blurry.”

“Since I was aware that I was dreaming, I faced you and I finally revealed, ‘I know this is only a dream…but I hope this won’t end?’”

“It seems like I was referring that my dream would not end. But that’s not what I meant.” I looked at him as he rested his head on my shoulder. “I hope you get it.”

Our order took too long to arrive. While we were eating, he told me the dreams he had. “It was so ordinary.” He shared. “Sometimes I dreamt I was taking a shower or I was opening the door of my classroom or I was walking inside the university. And they would end just like that. They are similar to what take place in real life.”

I smiled. “That seemed difficult.”

Afterwards, we talked about how our lives have been. As we exchanged stories, I thought, it was just last week when I have dreamt that we were together again, and this week he messaged me if I wanted to talk about how an event went wrong seven months ago.

We stayed at the café for a while after we ate. Then I thought of the dream once again. It still wasn’t the end.

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