CXX.

I have not forgotten who I am, my abilities, my perspective, and the things that I can do. Don't make me use them. Let me remind you again,

I have not forgotten who I am.

Lie.

Your stings are but shovels digging your own grave.

Behave!

CXIX.

12:00am on a Tuesday night. He was kneeling by his bedside, out of breath. He was waiting and silently screaming. He has already forgotten how to sleep. He got up and left his bed all creased and stained with excess salt. He picked up his keys, a few lights and a yellow lighter. He switched off the fan, switched off the TV, switched off the light and closed the door behind him. He wanted to walk. He needed to walk. Past a half empty dinner plate with cold rice and a few pieces of ham, past a newspaper lying on the counter, he went straight out to the gate and out into the dark resting night. Figuring out where to go, he looked around and saw the world in lens flares and a bit blurry (probably from the excess salt). He made a step, then another, and another. He just let his feet do the thinking. He went on to the shadow laden street with patches of amber light from lampposts. Past the dog barking ferociously behind a gate, past a drugstore with a lady in blue watching late night news, past the glistening eye of a cat purring in rhythmic beat, past men sitting and whispering on cardboards eyeing him as he walked past by (or so he thought), he kept on going. He was looking for something, a sign maybe, a friend, a familiar stranger, a fox, or probably just some meaning or nothing at all.

He kept on walking exponentially increasing the speed of his steps. He was wearing a dark green sando and boxers as his shorts. The night winds gave him a tingling chill.

He stopped on a bridge and looked over. Below, a dead river was creeping, a void waiting for its meal.

He looked to his left and then to his right. Silence was in perfect timing.

He got up on the ledge. He balanced himself then thought it didn’t really matter. He was ready to face death.

            “Or so you think.”

            “What?” He said.

            “You aren’t deaf. Come down there and gimme a light.”

He looked behind him and saw a lady putting a cigarette in her mouth. She was young by his judgement.

            “Who are you? I didn’t see you come here.”

            “Nobody sees me coming.“ She said, “Light please?”

Lost. He had lost his momentum like a deflated red balloon.

He stepped down and took his lighter from his boxer shorts.

            “Here.” He said, irritatingly.

She lit her cigar and took a puff. She was wearing a black shirt and dark maong shorts and boots for her feet. Her skin was pale as old chalk and her long hair was clipped up from behind. She looked at the lighter and handed it back.

            “Cute lighter.”

            “It’s not that special. There’s a lot of them in convenience stores.” He said.

She took a puff and leaned on the bridge wall looking at a distance.

“You aren’t ready to face me.”

He looked at her puffing her cigar and tried to understand what he just heard. He was thinking its funny (and was amused at himself for finding something laughable at this certain moment), some lady pretending to be death and talking him into not being dead. He didn’t notice he was already showing a quizzical smile.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

He decided to ride along.

“Does death really smoke?”

“Not really, but it’s cold out here and I just feel like it.” She said taking another puff.

“Why am I not ready to face you?” he said, jokingly as he faced the young lady.

She looked up at him with her knowing eyes.

“Because you aren’t. You’re just tired, that’s all.” Her voice was sober and sincere.

He fell silent and his smile faded away like the light of a setting sun. He heard her clearly, and each word weighed deep in his heart. He leaned on the bridge beside her looking down on the dark asphalt road.

He took a light from his pocket and put it into his mouth. He brought the yellow lighter to light his cigarette and flicked. A small glow. A puff of smoke. It felt like eternity.

            “Perhaps I’m tired of telling myself not to get tired," He began as he felt his chest burst open like a dam. ",tired of fighting up for things by myself, tired of thinking too much, tired of telling myself not to think too much, tired of .. ”

            “Counting sad days over happy days.” She took a puff.

A glowing cigarette caught off guard, He was sure he felt numb and shocked. He dared not show nor tell anybody that he crosses and circles his calendar every night. X’s for sad days and circles for happy ones, the former bleeding in his calendar. He dared not even share it with this lady, but…

He was at a standstill and the world around him began to flood. Everything was like a washed up painting.

She put her hand round his shoulder. She knows he is greatly comforted by just that act. She blew her last and threw her cigarette to the ground, and stepped on it. She faced him and put her hand on his cheek.

“You know, I don’t know what else to tell people like you.  Just, ‘You aren’t ready yet’. Don’t go looking for me. Ill find you-- that’s my job.” She smiled with assurance.

She turned around and walked away. A few moments went by before he could make himself look up. He glanced and saw her, now nearing the corner of the street. She stopped at the center and picked up a sleeping cat (or so he thought) and cradled it into her bosom. She turned left at the corner and was gone. 

He looked down on the burned cigarette in his hand. Ashes remained clinging to the end of the stick. He wasn’t sure how long he was at a standstill. By impulse, he started to walk again and felt every step he made on the ground. Now he was sure where to go.

Past the men drinking and laughing, sitting on cardboards, past a silent bush missing a purring cat, past the drugstore with a lady in blue sleeping on a chair with the TV still on, past the dog barking ferociously behind a gate, He walked nervously. His feet racing with his mind. He opened the gates of his house, went up to his room, switched on the light, searched for his pen, scrambled for some used paper and started to write.

CXVIII.

I was trained to voice out my opinions. I grew up fighting for what I believe in. I dared do the unthinkable and the unknown.

but sometimes...

==========================================

CXVII.

Aboo, Arms, Chard, Ann aka Hun Lee Park, Kirvy, Nik, Mon.

Salamat!

pero bakit nga ba hanggang ngayon magkakaibigan pa rin tayo?!?

CXVI.

F*ck.

When anything is taken away from anyone without any notice or warning, whatever it is...it's just not right.

Say a loved one who died from a car accident, your new pair of shoes hidden away by your friends as some sort of prank, losing your significant other to another person, life of a snail taken away by a foot of a person mistaking the snail for a lone rock on a clear asphalt walkway, homes of families in squatter areas demolished by some big foreign corporation. You cannot not think that the world is such a cruel place to live in. It's just not safe anymore.

I just lost her today.

So here I am munching timtams and gulping free piñacolada from my officemate's midnight snack, still trying to comfort myself and rationalize what had just transpired early this morning...

F*ck.

She's gone.

She was my third and among the three, she was the one I am proudest of all. I worked hard for her, toiling day and night just to get her. First time I saw her was instant love. She was beautiful and I knew if I had her we were going to have the best times together, whether in bright sunshiny moments or dark, angsty, gloomy, sad times. And the best times we did have.

She would sing me songs of lfe, joy, love, sadness, death, and a whole lot of other things.

She would tell me stories of diffrent kinds and comfort me with her words.

She wakes me up every morning (or anytime I needed to wake up) and help me sleep at night ( or anytime I needed to sleep).

She would create memories in pictures about  my life.

She would help me cry. She would wait, patiently, shining brightly in the dark until I recover.

She was just there. Most of all...she knew ME.

F*CK.

I'm terribly missing her.

In return I gave her my trust. I helped her discover her worth. I gave her life.

I also gave her precious things, a magickal fire, a smiling pumpkin, and a dragon's tail.

I protected her.

But my protection was not enough

F*ck.

In an instant she just disappeared, slipped away into somebody else's hand. I know without a shadow of doubt that I can never get her back.

I am really terribly missing her now and I could say that a great part of me was gone, torn away, shattered, mercilessly cut off. A precious bond vanished.

When knowledge came to me that I lost her all I could do was just tremble and perspire in fear. I could do nothing. I wanted to cry and shout at the people around me but I just couldn't. I was rendered helpless.

Bear with me for I am just pouring out my feelings. I just lost a great friend, my confidante, my comforter, my fellow traveller, my singer, my photographer, my phone, my R.I.V.E.R.

Call me insane or weird but this is just how I feel and it f*cking hurts to lose her. It just f*cking hurts.

snatched. rush hour. train station. sleepy. pocket. f*cking perfect timing.

Donnie, a very good friend, tells me it happens for a reason. Cliche but its true and I believe him but as we all know reason just doesn't come to us overnight, or after you've poured out all your feelings in cyberspace, or after several pieces of timtams and a can of free piñacolada, or after almost a box of cigs, heck it might not even come after a year. Thinking about it just makes me realize the other things in my life that I have yet to find reason. For now, I'll just think about R.I.V.E.R.

Wanna get a picture of how I'm feeling? watched Transformers lately? Remember the scene when Sam Witwicky was separated from Bumblebee? Precisely. Even worse for me I guess.

It just hurts but I have to accept it. I leave it all to Karma. Destiny, and Fate because they're all I could believe in right now.

I'm so sorry R.I.V.E.R., I'm so sorry.

=,(