Or Are We Dancers?

Somewhere outside the line,
You spilled the coffee onto a lady’s skirt
Somewhere outside the line,
I spilled the tea onto a man’s book.

Things we thought fell into places,
Thinking the best things in life happen by just accidents
Things we thought would go on smoothly
Thinking our own lobsters finally found us.

Apparently, they weren’t our own Romeo nor Juliet.
I, for one, found myself restless.
We hid ourselves in those sheets that once with them
You, for one, found yourself clueless.

Somewhere outside the line,
No coffee nor tea was spilled.
Somewhere outside the line,
Nothing clumsiness happened at all.

Somewhere outside the line,
A coincidence came out of an accident.
Somewhere outside the line,
Lobster breathe into the beginnings.

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Exercises

She’s the kind who isn’t struggling when something bad is going on because that’s what life taught her. She’s been through a lot that make her seem to look so easy when handling bad things. The downside, she doesn’t seem to care about anything at all. It’s just all about her now, no one else.

From the looks of it, she’s the stereotyped girl who’s happy enough in the company of a good book and a mix of good music. She acts like she doesn’t care on how she looks but she does.

All of these, I want to know more but it seems like she doesn’t want to.

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Lola.

I took off the bus and started walking in the side street for about half a mile. I reached home, my yellow victorian house with a blue roof. I passed my sunflower garden where Lolita, my Goldie, sleeps soundly. It’s 5am in the morning and my body wants to quit everything and just lie anywhere.

I am the kind who has routines. No matter what circumstances there are, my routines will still take place. Just like right now, I may feel tired but I can’t skip hot chocolate milk and waffles. It’s summer, by the way. I checked my email on my laptop and read through it. I don’t know why people still get answering machines. SMS and Emails are easier and more safe.

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This is what it sounds like when doves cry.

It is more than a guilt feeling. It’s even more than being so shameful for what I did. After a year of waiting, I finally got a hold of her. But then sudden conditions in my life occur and made me lose my grip. I’m now in hell.

She’s crying. Like an angelic baby, she still looks adorable when she cries. Her cheeks gone red, her eyes glitters with tears and it made me want to hold her tight. I tried but she pushes me away. She still looks beautiful but I never told her this, she’d only think I’m making up for my unmanly mistake. I see her so beautiful but it still crushes my heart into bits. I am the worst kind.

I am speechless, all I could this is bow my head. I have no words to say to heal her. I tried those 3 words and all I got is, “Bullshit!” This is becoming hopeless, I thought. I want to escape but how could I leave a woman crying? How could I leave HER crying?

You see, I love her. I am deeply, irretrievably in love with her. But I’m even asking my own potentials why can’t I prove that to her.

Now she’s walking away. I didn’t run after her. Unlike in the movies, I lost some balls. We should blame all the fictional men writers built into life, they made women expect more.

next…

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Watch.

It was a sunny afternoon when you saw me struggling with my tote bag, digging inside and looking for something. You thought I was looking so stressed out as if I was robbed with my gold bars. With my ears plugged with music, you think I have no idea what place I’m at because I was getting in the way of many passersby.

Right of the bat, you knew I didn’t care. I was wearing a plain shirt and ragged pants, boat shoes with loosely tied laces. I didn’t look at anyone going in and out of store.

And you just told me about this a little later. The little place we’ve been in, that fate allowed us, all at the same time. Look at the odds. Think about that.

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Red Wonder Walls.

Credits are rolling and she turned off the TV as Sex And The City 2 (Movie) ended. She grabbed all her stuff on their work desk and put them inside her blue pouch. Just like how all the other nights at home, she’s always the last one to go to bed. The one who turn off the lights.

She put down the pouch on top of the low wooden bookshelf, turned the TV and DVD player on. She didn’t care on what is in the player, she’s just not in the mood to have a battle with herself, to decide on what to watch.

She, with her scrub suit on (she uses them as her PJs now), lay on her bed. Lights off, TV on in her room with red walls. For now, no books will be read for she’s beaten up already. Not from work, but from all the punches that life threw at her recently.

This is how her nights would be for a few months. And it feels like a routine to her, that she’ll never get tired of. She hated change, but she’ll always forget that it comes with pleasant surprises. And like how the past few nights ended, she snatched her phone and typed all the thoughts running in her head. To make everything be remembered.

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FICTION: The Three-Year-Rule

Okay, so this is some fictional story that has been stuck on my head since the last 10 minutes from the moment I started typing. THIS IS NOT ME. I’m trying here, so shut-up. 🙂

How strange to see him in a day like this, in a place like this. It would be the last place where I’d expect to see him. What is he doing here?

He WAS never fond of books. Was–a more appropriate word for he is someone at the bunk of my past. To make everything real short, he’s like the one who got away. And after him, I never had the chance to date other men. Well, I had the chance, erase that. I meant, I never took the chance, which is kind of dumb. And it’s been three-whole-fucking-years.

It’s like, he took a lot of things from me, things [that] I needed to start all over again with someone new, but he just never gave them back. He’s just a mad thief who now looks good.

So what do you feel, what will you do when you see someone (like him) surprisingly?

I got PVCs. I didn’t have an ECG reading of that exact moment to prove to you, but I’m sure of it–I literally felt my heart skipped a beat. I had Premature Ventricular Contractions. There’s a small relief though, since then, there were times when I was wondering how he looks like now or what is he doing. But the real dilemma is asking myself if I will approach him. It’s like this:

Not being sure if he saw me, not sure if he has gotten blind and need eyeglasses or trying to act that he’s not seeing me. I hate that.

It made me forget the title of the book I have to look for, that I’m in a hurry for I have a meeting in just 15 minutes, that I’m also about to text someone. It made me forget everything and remember all the good things about him. Realizing this, it made me wish that I should have had try to remember all the bad stuffs and how he strangled this heart and let it burnt on fire. I was so stuck up in the moment, wishing someone had a remote control of me and press “play”, “forward” or “next” because feeling like being on pause, it’s exhausting when all you want to do is move on.

The more seconds and minutes that passes, the more stressful I have been. It’s like Panic Disorder came to me in an instant. Especially the time when you ask yourself if there’s a girl with him that time. Is she prettier? Is she more successful? Is she smarter? Is she fat or skinny? Then you realized that you haven’t had a pedicure for weeks now, his fetish is having a nice rosy feet. Then you realize you don’t look grand enough to show that you’re far better off without him. “You don’t.”

See? It’s a pile of stress being thrown all around me. All I wanted to do that time is talk to him. Ask how is he. If he still works at his father’s bank or pursued his dream of becoming a lawyer. If he’s been married or something.

But what I really want to ask are these: “Did you miss me?”, “Have you ever thought of me in the past three years?” “If you did, how often? What did you do about it? Because I seriously need some tips.” “Where did you put all the stuffs that I have in your apartment?” And some endless questions [that] I’m in dire need to be asking. It’s hopeless isn’t it.

So there I was, frozen as of that moment. But I don’t know, there’s something that made me wake up and walk fast to get out of that place. To breathe because the last 10 minutes made me exhausted.

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Destruction.

He gets mysterious every time.

A week of school works have passed. I am still not over with what happened last night. Tequila shots along with lime and salt, dancing with only boxers and shirts, horror films on the DVD player yet having no time to watch because all we ever did last night is a bunch of fun. Watching a movie didn’t pass our standards of having fun that night. We only woke up at 2pm, with my friends snoring and looking beaten-up from last night’s.

As I arrived in our apartment at 6pm, things went from loud into silence. Such a very usual shift every time I got home. I started my shower and brought along my phone with me. This era, I’m thankful of the technology of having a multi-functional phone. Playing music is my favorite part. The music paused for a second and I heard a beep, and then it continued playing Ke$ha’s ‘We R Who We R’. It must be him. As I finished my shower, including my night routine, I lay in my bed.

“When are you going to treat me?”, I desperately asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll just tell you when this jam-packed schedule ends.”

Story of my life. I must have been a masterpiece of the Lord of all failures. Because each time I step on the line, things get fuzzy. All of these come in perpetual exchange of messages, be it texts or from any social networking sites. But it never go further than that. Never did.

Narcissism is my guilty pleasure. I know I have this hunger for attention. I am aware of the fact that I use people, to drive them in my way, to get the attention. So as to let people talk about me. I’ve always had this desire to be envied by many. I wanted people to be in my place. I wanted to be loved, even if it comes in a share of shallow.

But what they do not know is that I envy them.

But every time I stumble to the constant ending of every scenario of my every actions like this, self-abnegation vanishes in my whole system and the embattlement starts causing myself to have this self-inflicted pain. The truth is, I have self-doubts. Low esteem, which irritates me that Maslow got it all right. I have to make him love me, to make me feel high. True as he says, Love and Belongingness comes before Self-Esteem. I don’t feel loved in spite of the efforts of getting the attention. I feel like I am not a part of this world, paradoxical to my actions of using people to be talked about.

*fiction

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Tumblin’ and Jumpin’

Shoes.

I was staring at my shoes I was wearing, with my arms both crossed and waiting for my next turn to log out and sign on the log book. Eight hours have passed again. Eight hours of going back and forth to pharmacy, of making rounds and checking the IVF levels of each patient, Eight hours of administering medications, be it oral or parenteral. Back to my shoes, I felt a pang of guilt for making them burn out. It’s not that they are ready for an early retirement already, it’s just a mere contemplation of wanting a new pair due to my greediness or wanting a more comfortable pair that could be a perfect featherbed for my feet. Well if it’s not one of the two, maybe both. After all these hazy thoughts, it was finally my turn to sign and log out.

Shiver.

It was cold as I went out from the hospital. I never expected this kind of weather and so, I didn’t scout myself with a sweater to make myself, at least warm. Of course, who could send  us with an admonishment on what weather to expect? It’s been years when they have warned us with what they called, “climate change”, but it wasn’t so long ago when people just started doing something with it. It was a late reaction, as expected, because as time goes by, people get more numb with problems like this as if it has become their hobby. Thinking they already have enough problems of their own, they’re missing out the realization that a big problem is arising that even their grandchildren will be affected. There must be something wrong with their Nervous System. Yes, I conclude that.

Jeepney.

Riding a blue-colored jeepney, with people who are just about to go to work and school, the attack of the wind made me shiver more with the coldness. I was, of course, a commuter for years. I have an expired driver’s license but never knew how to stir the wheel and use the clutch. I’m a fan of cars and trucks, but driving them is just an illumination in my head. I’m not yet ready to drive one. Aside from not being able to purchase a car/truck on my own, I also don’t have the means for its maintenance and with its high-priced gasoline. Traffic is not YET a problem here in our area, but 10 years from now, we’ll never know. Besides, my work is just a two-jeepney-ride. I can get there in fifteen minutes.

Phoenix.

I got down in front of McDonald’s and went inside. With my favorite breakfast meal and an apple pie, I sat and started eating. I could no longer bear being hungry and so, I decided not to wait for him. I put the set of earphones into its intent, played my Phoenix playlist and started eating. It’s him. Again, I felt delinquent of not being able to do my role as a sweet girlfriend of his, it’s no longer the hormones but I guess with all the things that are happening to me, I forgot being in tune with the true wave of life. As I was having these conscience-smitten thoughts, I unconsciously frowned and put down the Sausage Mcmuffin. I checked my phone and opened an unread text from him, “Nakasakay nakong tryk.” I grabbed my Sausage Mcmuffin again and started eating. What if we’ll break up again? What if it will be his turn to find someone else?  Common thoughts of every long-term relationships. Common thoughts of every relationship which will later on, turn into a long-distance relationship. I suddenly felt my heart skipped a beat. I don’t want an another guy anymore. I don’t like the idea of it. I have had enough. If it’s not him, it’s the end of my ultra-dramatic love life. I don’t want a relationship with him not in it. Oh, these constant thoughts I get everyday gets jaded too. Really. But being with that guy, I must have done something legendary with my past life. Literally, forget the cliché, I am the luckiest. To be honest, it is far better that hitting the 700-million-prized jackpot lotto. I started with my apple pie and he hasn’t arrived yet. With all the things we’ve been through and with all the years we’ve had, we are way passed with all the teenage-filled angst. I no longer get angry with him when he’s late nor when he failed to give me surprises on special occasions. Children, keep in mind that it’s more than those things. You’ll get there, but no need to have a new relationship with an another guy/girl.

Apple Pie.

“Next time the feeling is the same, don’t have to show it, A window of belief is where you own it, And as life goes on you know you have to face, All you find, ‘Cos baby, you’re my light.” A song from from Nick and Norah’s Playlist OST. I finished my apple pie already and started playing with the ketchup as I listen with the song. It must be the traffic, or he may just be leaving their house. I was just getting the book he gave me out of my bag when suddenly, I got startled when someone sat in front of me. He put down a tray on the table, filled with a pancakes, fries and two apple pies. Of course, who else could that be? =)

*HALF FICTION, HALF NON-FICTION.

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