Vertigo 

I can barely open my eyes

And the rectangular lamps that hang above me, promptly providing light are only making it worse

The loud bantering of people nearby are like a series of thunder in a sudden downpour

I want to just crawl, hide, cowl in the darkness

Take a deep sought-after breath, close my heavy eyes, lay in the peace that my pillows bring

Embrace the calm, everything is now quiet in its tranquil place. 

Notify

It’s a new day marked by the sun’s warm breeze

That slowly drifts in her room through the rainbow-tinted windows

She gently opens her eyes and quickly begins to have sweet fleeting thoughts of him

She wonders, also hopes and half-expects,

Do I have a message from him?

Knowing clearly well that a message meant he thought of her, too

And that he had greeted the day ahead with the same wish and hope that she had

She is not aware of it, but even before she had stood and gotten out bed

She had already decided on the kind of day she’ll have

Where a message meant the promise of the most wonderful day

And where none meant she’d rather not have stood and just slept the day away

This is how she lives

Day after day, after

Her happiness, her sadness, her life

All depending on the time and effort

He was willing to offer and give

So today, she reaches for her phone with great anticipation

Anxious and nervous

She reaches and struggles with her thumb

Unaware of the tragedy in her reality

How she relies on someone else for the inevitable

Happiness or sadness that’s yet to come.

Sanitize

I wake up and my hands wake up with me
I work, and yes, they work with me

The right writes endless strokes and dotted lines

Smoothly glides the tip of my pen against the vast white paper on my desk

It turns every page I lay my eyes on

And closes anything that needs to halt.

The left – – – it reaches, grabs, pushes and pulls, and serves as a cushion for my chin or my cheek, whichever is more comfortable

At some point, my right lets go of the pen

Tired and needing of some rest

It reaches for a small white bottle that rests in front of me

Its labels adorned with the daintiest pastels that easily catch the eyes

My right takes hold of the bottle and sprays some of its contents on my equally tired left palm

One, two sprays, and when I’m feeling a bit more generous, three, three sprays

A cold refreshing chill fills my palm

Complemented by a cool fresh innocent scent that can  soothe one’s weary soul

I gently rub my right hand against my left

Gently and softly, as if each one is giving the other a massage

Once I’m done, I allow the two unite

I lift them closer to my face, close enough for me to embrace their scent

And there, right at that spot, right at that moment

My hands and I allow ourselves a brief interlude from another day that’s about to end. 

What It Means To Be Present 

I’m sitting at a Korean chicken place waiting for my takeout. I am surrounded by tables of young students, some women dining alone, and families having their Saturday lunch. I am reminded of those Sundays mom and dad took my siblings and I out for lunch after hearing mass. I used to look forward to weekends because it meant not just a break from school, but more importantly, it’s time spent with family. It’s a time everyone listened to each one’s story, shared on food, and cared for nothing else but having fun. 
My trip down nostalgia is interrupted as I glance around me again. I see other people dining, talking momentarily, but quickly bowing their heads to tinker with their phones. I think maybe if the lights are switched off, and there’s no sunlight coming in from outside, the light from everyone’s phones would be enough to see in the dark. The faint laughter coming from a few tables is overpowered by the deafening music from stereo speakers. The picture I see now is the complete opposite of how it was before. 
Truly, being present is not just being physically there at that moment. To be present is to engage.
*photo borrowed from the internet*

Jitters

Every year since I finished high school, around March and April, I get constantly bothered by an uneasy feeling. I usually get fast and hard thumps on my chest and a troubled tummy. I get anxious, nervous, and fearful that something bad is about to happen even when there’s none. It has become so much of a normalcy that I already have a name for it — “End of the School Year or Graduation Season Woes.”

I finished high school in 1995, but I did not graduate. I studied at a non-graded school, from Kindergarten to Senior High, where students learn and master lessons at their own pace, and unlike other schools, students do not receive numerical grades (during our time, at least), but rather checks (if passed) and squares (if failed).

Unfortunately for me and to make a long sad story short, I was not able to finish all my (graduating) requirements on time and graduate with the rest of the batch because of poor choices and priorities. To make things worse, I kept everything from my parents.

I fooled around instead of prioritizing my studies. I lied to my parents even up to the point when I already knew things had gotten worse, and I already needed (their) help. 

I lied to my parents, humiliated them, and broke their hearts and trust in me.

In order not to repeat my graduating year though and still be able to enrol for freshman college on time, my mom had to practically beg teachers to allow me some time to finish all my requirements. I was given only a week and a half to finish a year’s worth of Physics, Trigonometry, and Geometry. A year’s worth in a week and a half. 

I was dang lucky enough to even be given another chance, so finish, I did. And I was able to enrol for college the same time as everyone else.

Every time I’d share this story, people are left in awe at how I was able to accomplish all those in less than two weeks. What they fail to see though is how and why it had come to that. I fooled around and lied. I chose to have fun and defy my parents. Plain and simple — there’s absolutely nothing amazing about that, at all. And if given the chance, I wouldn’t want to go through it again; I would do things differently. I may have learned lessons from it later on, but the difficulties and hurt I had put my parents in, are totally not worth it.

That’s why, after all these years, I still get these bothersome feelings around graduation season. It reminds me of a time when I was at my most foolish self. It reminds me of a time I hurt the two people, who despite the betrayal and lies, still chose not to leave me alone to deal with the mess I have made for myself, and forgive me for it.

And I guess that’s also why, after all these years, I continue to share this story, not just so that others may somehow learn from it, but also, in the hopes that with every re-telling and sharing of the story, I learn to forgive myself as well.

*Photo borrowed from the internet.

No More

I don’t think you have even the slightest idea

How much I hurt

How difficult it is to move on from the past

Because the pain, the pain you caused persists

No matter how many times I try and pick myself up

The countless times I tried to disguise tears with laughter

And the endless declarations never to think of you again, never to care

Are all for nothing because something always brings me back to you.

I hate so many things about you

Yet, I compare everyone, anyone to you

And no one, not a single one, comes close.

I’m angry at myself for doing that

I’m angry at myself for still having these feelings for you

After all that’s happened, after all you’ve done

I still miss you, love you

I will have to learn to forgive us

That time will come soon enough

Things may be uncertain right now

But this I am sure of – – –

It is because of the hate and love you’ve made me feel

That I don’t ever want you back.

During Ungodly Hours

When my older brother and I were kids, taking afternoon naps was a must. It was part of our daily routine. I never enjoyed them. I just wanted to get my toys and play with my neighbor friends. I always tried to look for an excuse to get out of it. One time, I tried tricking my grandmother that I had already gotten my afternoon nap. I remember scratching my eyes to make it a bit red, messing up my pigtails, and heading downstairs yawning and stretching. My grandmother greeted me with a big smile on her face, and told me to go back to my room and take a nap. I didn’t know that I had only spent a few minutes upstairs, and naturally, all the ‘preparation’ did not fool my grandmother, not one bit. 

As I grew older, I slowly lost the habit. Afternoon naps became a rarity – – – a luxury. An evening’s sleep most often eludes me. Now most of the time, I catch myself thinking about those afternoons I should have spent napping, but dreaded as a kid. 

I should have listened. 
Oh. Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda. Zzz.