Intramuros

Bakit kailangan pang subukan ang isang bagay na alam na alam mo naman ang kahahantungan? Hindi ba puwedeng matuto ka na lang sa mga kwentong paulit-ulit mo nang narinig? O kaya nama’y sa mga sarili mong kwentong may pagkakatulad din naman ng takbo sa kasalukuyan. Kailangan ba talagang madapa ka na naman para lang matutunan ang isang bagay na alam mo na rin naman talaga sa kaibuturan mo? Katangahan ba talagang matatawag ito? O sadyang ang puso ay walang pakialam? Walang patawad. Paasahin ka, araw-gabi, dahil lang nginitian ka nya nang pagkatamis habang sambit ang pangalan mo. Dahil lang hindi mo makuhang limutin ang init ng kanyang yakap, ang tamis ng kanyang halik. Dahil isang gabi, ipinaramdam nya sa’yo kung gaano ka kahalaga sa kanya. Subalit sapat na ba talagang dahilan ang lahat nang ‘yon? Upang sa susunod na mga araw ay mangulila ka sa tunog ng kanyang boses? At ang mga gabi'y magmistulang araw na rin, dahil sa tuwing pagpikit mo ay ang liwanag ng kanyang titig ang bumubungad sa'yong gunita? Sapat na bang umasa ka sa isang bagay na magkatotoo man ay magdudulot din ng di masukat na sakit sa iba pang mga tao, na parang kailan lang ay sila ring nagpalundag sa inyong nahihimlay na mga puso? Sapat na bang isantabi, kalimutan ang lahat para lang malaman ang sagot sa’yong mga katanungan? Sapat na bang subukan mong punan ang pagkukulang na ni sa hinagap ay di mo inakalang naroroon? Sapat na ba ang minsan para sa kailanman?

IN THE END.. [This Ain’t A Love Letter, Pt. 2]

“Do not think of my Love as old and tarnished, but constantly growing and renewing in its own midst. To this very day, I love you. I simply and truly do.” I still remember how I felt back when I wrote that part. I remember being filled with an overwhelming need to convey what I was feeling then, possibly for fear of the emotions escaping me, rendering me without a memory of that particular instant. And when it comes to you, Beng, I don’t ever want to forget. You are my rock. Always have been, always will be. With you around, I know it can’t be that bad. I know I can make it through whatever. Damn, I swore to keep this mush-free, but I just can’t help it. Now that you’re gone. 

They say it’s just one year, that it will simply fleet by, that you’d be back again before I know it. But all I know is I can barely get through the day without stopping in my tracks and clutching my chest at the thought of you being so far away. They say it just takes some getting used to, that I will be alright in no time. But I don’t want to get used to this. I can’t be alright like this. I don’t want us to become just another two people initially parted by distance and time and eventually by our own mutual desistance. 

I suppose all this blabbering is really just about me missing you so much like this. I never thought it could still be possible. That I’d go back to that same place from years before, when the mere thought of you could cut through my soul like nothing else could. That I’d once again feel lost without you. After all these years. After all those lovers after you. Love is one twisted dance, the steps to which I can’t ever seem to get right. Not without you. Tell me, why did we have to be apart the way we were? And why do we still have to be apart the way we are? 

Right now I’m flooded by memories of time spent with you and by reminders of time I could’ve spent with you. I don’t even care to think about other people. On your side or on mine. I’d rather think back on the time when it was just you and me, and everyone else was just instrumental to the story we were weaving together. I’d rather think back on that time when you sang to a crowd of total strangers about dreaming of being in love with me again, at a time when I was with someone new. And that same crowd slowly realizing that you were singing not to them but to someone standing right by the back door. And that someone being me. This way I am assured, even if only in the faintest of my recollections, that I’m still the one for you. Because you’re still the one for me. 

And while I've always told you that I’ve never stopped counting our years together, I now feel that it’s time I stopped. For I’ve realized that counting is only for things that are finite. And our love just isn’t so. That being said, I want you to know that I’ve come to a decision. Much like the one I made a few years ago. I’m staying put, at the same time braving it out alone. I can't promise to be right where you left me. After all, time has a way of moving us all in a thousand strange directions. But nevertheless, I'll be awaiting your return. Yes—no matter what it takes, or how long it takes—I’ll be waiting. For my Love will never get old and tarnished, but will keep on growing and renewing in its own midst. For, to this very day, I love you. I simply and truly do.

Between

It’s the most surreal thing. Knowing that he is now on his way out of your life. Yet remembering how, just last night, you were sharing some of the biggest laughs in recent memory. Yes, surreal is what you call it. When something feels unreal, much like a dream. Or a nightmare, for that matter. When the one thing you saw coming but never quite believed would, finally came. Crashing into the present, from the future that was merely yesterday’s imagining.

It’s like waking up in the morning, thinking it’s a brand-new day but feeling disappointingly familiar. It’s like going to bed at night, wondering where the day went, uncertain where the evening will go.

It’s like having coffee on a roof deck after a long day at work. The stranger in front of you awash in soft yellow light, his smile tantalizing you with promises of what could be, his eyes conveying a sense of relief. Or was it anticipation? You wonder to yourself, but only he knows.

It’s like holding his hand, now no longer a stranger, amidst new strangers. And you don’t care what they might be thinking. Hell, you care about nothing, not even yourself. His soft skin grazes the back of your hand in a trance, and in an instant you’re done. All is lost and regained at the same time.

It’s like kissing him for the first time, your breathing heavy upon the cold air between your faces. His, light as a feather. You try to conceal your excitement, but your trembling fingers show their betrayal. He smiles, eyes closed, and tomorrow becomes an object of great disdain.

It’s like sleeping next to him, his head cradled snugly upon your flimsy chest. The scent of his hair, you breathe in like life itself. You stare into the dark and say a little prayer, that his dreams be sweet and tender, much like your love for him, and that yours be one with his.

It’s like everything and nothing colliding in slow motion, consuming each other in a soundless explosion. You wonder what you did right to deserve someone so good. You wonder what he did wrong to make you feel so bad. You keep on wondering, finding no answers.

It’s like being in a free fall, sensing it but never really feeling anything. It’s like being in complete darkness, taking one bold step forward that amounts to nothing. It’s like living before you first saw his smile, took his hand, kissed his lips, held his soul in yours. You remember it all. A little too vividly, like it was just yesterday.

But it’s now as distant a memory as any.

Surreal, yes. A dream, a nightmare. One you must, but cannot, wake up from.

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