Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Waiting, Wishing and Wanting

She sits by the front porch of their little home, beneath the same sky he also sees. It has always been comfortable to stay under the canopy of those tall Acacia trees without anyone knowing what she's doing. She tiptoes every night for the fear of judgments and curfews and waits here until she cannot stand the chills of the night anymore. Other nights, she brings a shawl o a jacket, mostly when she can hear the snores of the others, a sign that they are deep and lost in their own paradise of make-believe and therefore she can wait a little longer than usual. Some nights, she brings nothing but herself and her guilt of broken promises.

He lies awake all night, until the sun eats the moon away and he'll get up to start working. He cannot stop thinking about the past, the present and the future, making him all restless and unhappy while everyone snoozes… well, except her, of course. This has been his life after she decided to just meet him there. He constantly checks his mobile phone for any message from her wrongly sent to him. He waits emptily for her broken promises. He is absently hopeful to meet her again, just hanging in that desire because he knows that he cannot just throw all those memories away.
Two years of absence. Two years since she saw his dark complexion, and who can tell, maybe he is darker now, but she likes his skin tone so much. Two years since they talked about what’s up, and she’s sure that his voice is now bigger, deeper, defining his manhood. Two years since she delivered her sad goodbye. She still doesn’t know how to make her promises real, or if she has to make her promises real. Who knows, as he aged, he might lose his interests as he lost his innocence. She doesn’t know if he’s waiting for her, like she patiently does, or he’s happily living the rest of his life without her. After all, there are no signs of him, except her instincts, except her feelings, but what good are those abstracts? She needed something real, something to convince her to be true to her empty words.

Two years of waiting. Two years since he saw her long and black hair and he doesn’t know whether she cut it short or it’s longer now. He hopes that it's longer, for it adds to her irresistible charisma. Two years since they talked about what’s up, and he hopes that she still talks the way she does, for it is distinct and melodious and very mature. She seldom speaks English and finds it humble about her. Two years since he delivered his sad goodbye. He still doesn’t know whether she remembers him, occasionally, or maybe frequently like he does. He doesn’t know whether he still needs to hope, to wait, to wish secretly for her. There are no signs that she’s coming back. No messages, no letters, no missed calls. She must have forgotten her promises, for people forget the things that don’t really matter. Some days, he will wake up and go on with his life, hoping that when the nighttime comes, he will not wait anymore… because it hurts, it really does. But everything changes when he sees the stars, because her smile is bright as those little sparks. There are no signs of her, except his instincts and the voice in his head that says “What if she comes back?”, but what good are those abstracts? He needed something tangible for a fresh hope of another day. He needed something to silence the other voice which whispers, “What if she doesn’t come back?”

And it took them two years… and counting, to do the nightly routine of waiting and wishing and wanting.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Still

Wake me from my deep sleep, awaken all of my quiescent senses. Shake me until I don’t feel the insensitivity anymore, until I feel the flux of my blood running in every little inch of my body. At least I’m alive, maybe not dancing but breathing. Shout loud noises into my ears until I am deaf of the silence no more, until your voice sends up and down shivers right into my spine. Open my eyes to the terrible circumstance of my reality. Show me the redness of the Earth. Show me other things than those I saw before I took the time to sleep. Show me that there’s more to life than those inevitable pain. Let me be familiar with your scent until I forgot his. Let me smell the fragrance of life, of new love, of hope so I’ll forgot about the scent of lost, of helplessness, of nostalgia and love, too. Teach me how to trust again. Teach me how to love again. Teach me how to live again. Because I forgot how.

Bring me some new diary… without the old scent of sunshine and longing and sweet forgiving, and I’ll try to write my life without him, without anything from him, without anything about him. Straighten the pretty stationery of those teens which know nothing about love. Make sure that the paper is of different shade, of different hue, just like my anticipated life now. Throw the key of my old little diary for no one remembers what happened, no one knows I’m already awake. Nothing should ever be the same as my bitter before. Nothing should ever be similar at some point or another. Bring me a pen and ink which doesn’t fit very well to my hand for if it does, I’ll just remember the bittersweet touch of his fingers tangling mine. And I will start sleeping all over again into that soft bed and comfortable pillows of isolation. I don’t know when I’ll wake up. I don’t know if I will ever wake up. I cannot lose the same battle twice. I just can’t.

Switch to a new song of a new beginning. Burn that mix tape. Break that music player. Destroy all of his notes, all of his painful chords. Close not just the chapter of that life but close the whole novel. Close the entire book. Tear every pages of that thing. Throw it to the fire. Never leave a thing for if you do, I might sleep again and I don’t want to be on that state of hopelessness, on that insensitivity, on that emptiness inside. Do not cure my amnesia. I want to stay this way. I don’t want those nightmares to control me again and hold me to my throat where I can hardly breathe and call for some help. I don’t want those ghosts of him to haunt me every night when it’s late and I am all alone and kill me with insomnia and excessive thinking and endless longing. Don’t allow them to see me once more. Don’t allow him to hurt me one more time. Never again… because for the long run, I feel so pathetic to run around the circles of his planet, never realizing that I am hiding from myself for he is still in my heart, in the core and essence of my being and existence. Never again… for in the long run, I feel so exhausted to sleep deeply and pretend not to be bothered or hurt or even notice but deep inside, I am all opposite. I don’t want to take those antidotes again. Never again… for in the long run, one look and one smile from him shall put me to a deep sleep again.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Christmas Vacation Plans

A week before Christmas day, I retire from my studies. Finally, the anticipated vacation is here.


This is my first and last vacation for this year. Last summer, I spent my everyday in school while last semester break, I spent it hanging like a spider in its web with books and scratch papers. Those were not vacations for something is not a vacation if it lies amidst school works. Truly, to finally realize that I’ll spend the following weeks doing only what I want and what I am not required to do makes me want to jump for joy. Hurray!


The last week of classes this 2009 really sucked all of my enthusiasm towards studies. There were exams here and there and so many activities that waits to be failed. I felt that I crossed my limits, trying to do what I cannot for the sake of staying on my course and graduating on time, and trying to put my feet on the ground when I feel like breaking into millions of pieces just to disappear and lose all the pressure. That week was crucial in a sense that everything must fall into proper places or I will again face the consequence of failing and repeating a subject. Now that the mentioned crucial week is done and vacation is sipping in, I can only cross my fingers and hope that my best was good enough to pass those examinations and not be too pressured next year. That won’t be a good start. For now, I will sleep late and wake up late and stay as idle as I can and refill my enthusiasm meter.


This vacation, I am also planning to write again, or to try writing again. I’ve read so many books this 2009 (and thanks to the people who gave me some) and unfortunately, I was not able to come up with a very satisfying post that shall reflect all of those books I’ve read. Truly, skills rust when you don’t use them or you take them for granted. Maybe it’s also one effect of Mathematics, that when you start liking Math and you start feeling that attraction towards numbers, you feel like words are too incomplete and cannot contain exact meanings, like they are all approximation. Math and English are two opposite fields that they really repel. This hiatus, I wish to regain all those precision in words. I am not anticipating to have oh-so-good posts but just to have posts again. I wish to express myself through writing again for it has really influenced the past years of my life, catching all those wanted and unwanted thoughts for future inspection. And so I am beginning right now and hopefully, I shall continue tomorrow.