walang title

hangin dalin mo ako sa isang lugar
kung saan ang langit ay umuulan ng mga ngiti,
…at halakhak.
itangay mo ako sa lugar,
na kung saan malayang makatatakbo
ang mga katanungang nakakulong sa apat na sulok ng aking isipan.
gusto kong lumipad kasama ka,
patungo sa buwan at mga bituin…
upang mangarap at matulog kasama nila.

©okemonster

mr simple man

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve known him as the “simple man.” He was indeed - simple (pardon my redundancy). I remember him as a feeble old man with a shabby patch of white hair who wore the same clothes…a white gauzy shirt and a pair of faded denim shorts. He's fair-skinned but he always looked flushed. He was a patron of our sari-sari store… and a very big fan of gin bilog.

One afternoon, I saw him by the window talking to my dad with his favorite bottle in hand. He was telling my dad that he was a simple man who would conquer the world. He‘d conquer the world and give half of it to my dad. Back then, I thought it was an amazing conspiracy.

Tonight on my way home, I saw him lying on the muddy pavement right outside the village’s gate. It broke my heart. This was the man who was supposed to conquer the world. Knowing that I couldn’t (& wouldn’t) carry him up or drag him home, I told Mr. security guard. But I was told that people from his house were already sleeping and they SIMPLY didn’t care.

And then I thought of my dad. If he was supposed to have the other half of the world, wouldn’t he end up just like this man?

Thank god he didn't.

My dad and I were never on the same wavelength, oftentimes we’d get on each other’s nerves. But we don’t hate each other. Let’s just say I’m no daddy’s girl. Despite our differences, I love my dad… and I wouldn’t want to see him turn into a simple man.

tired but smiling

I’m aching all over… it has been the most tiring weekend so far. Last Thursday, I played table tennis with raf & ems somewhere in boni… after sweating it off for 2 hours, we hurried off to jackie’s place @ cainta to make the team’s poster (which we barely finished -- blame encantadia, maalaala, if only, boy bawang & our blabbering mouths). We spent the night at her place, left around 12 pm the next day. I got home past 1, I took a quick bath, changed my clothes and met up with my bes around 2. As a post birthday treat, she brought me to the mall to have a foot spa… yay, TLC for my battered feet! Ü After having our feet scoured, we signed up a membership @ fitness first. A dream come true, since I’ve been itching to go to the gym for more than 3 months now. Dinner came, and so did her boyfriend Gino… I fed them buffalo wings and chicken alfredo @ Fridays. Yum yum. Went home around 10.

Woke up early this morning for our very first session @ the gym. I found out I was 2 pounds underweight, and was told I needed to build up some muscles. Nonetheless, I still feel fat. We spent an hour trying out most of the equipments.. I wanted to stay and do more, but lucky me I have work @ 11.

Work = ssdd…altho' we had less calls than other Saturdays. I see that tmw will be another stressful day… but I don’t mind..I welcome the feeling. I'm in the mood to be stressed. hehe.

twilight zone

It’s her 24th yawn… 17th sigh… 28th blink. Within the hour, about a million babies have already been born… another million yet to be made… while another million has already died. As the world changes by the hour, she sit unfazed in front of the black flat screen monitor, staring… frozen like an ice sculpture. The arctic air from the ac is blowing right through her head disabling her motor functions and preventing any intelligible thoughts to materialize in her brain. It happens mostly on weekdays, or whenever she finds herself seated away from her fellow human species disguised as zombies.

It was her ghost town. The faint sound of typing and vague murmurs hanging about the air seduced her to slumber. Her eyes were heavier by the second, along with her head. It’s time for some head banging…

* TOOT *

“Shit…” her brain screamed but she muttered mutely to herself. She adjusted her headset, placed her fingers on the keyboard instinctively, like a programmed robot.

ALT +1

[ part omitted due to confidentiality ]

Orig Disconnect. The ice sculpture has melted away. The tip of her fingers was a bit swollen from furiously pounding on the keyboard. Her mouth was still burning after reciting a litany of bleep words. Her eyes narrowed, a thin thread of white smoke almost seeped out from her nose like a raging bull. She was like a volcano waiting to erupt. The once rigid zombie was now restless.

29…30… and her 31st blink. She stared at the numbers blinking religiously at the bottom of her screen. It says: 16:31:18. An eerie silence suffocated the floor… no faint typing sounds, no vague murmurs, not even the slightest brush of movement. Stillness hang about the air like a calm before the storm. 16:36:59, her 18th sigh. The fluorescent lamps flickered like a light show of a thousand dancing fireflies. 16:51:48, the lights died out. A scream… couple shrieks…and anxious whispers drowned in the darkness. She yawns...her 25th yawn, the darkness dissolved. 32nd blink, her fire was extinguished.

At 17:00, her 19th sigh.

happy beerday!

As kids, we couldn’t wait to grow up…
As grown ups, we’d do anything to stay young forever…
ironic isn’t it?

I'm *cringe* 22. Today, several people asked about my age… It’s hard to tell the truth with a straight face, either I had to cringe or whisper. A symptom of aging? Maybe… Never mind the rules of addition, it’s time to master the art of subtraction….or denial.

In spite of the fear of growing OLD, I believe that a birthday is a time for celebration… I believe this so much, I had to celebrate mine 3 days earlier. ; - ) So the tradition continues… no drought this year. Last Thursday, I reserved a place somewhere in the planet earth… lots of booze, music, and laughter…. Went to eastwood after and danced the night away at the basement. It was all good. Tonight, I went to malate with a few co-workers… had a great time too… but I’m pretty beat (so I better stfu).

Sigh.

I just feel so blessed. I received the best gifts this year – life, love and friendship.

haunting

i am not afraid of ghosts,
of phantoms,
of the shadows that lurk in the dark.

rather, i fear slumber...

you haunt me in my dreams.

the world is a vampire sent to drain

On my way home last night, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. As I looked down, I saw a kid dressed in rags begging for a few loose change. It was a pitiful sight, the kind that brought a subtle pinch to my heart… yet I chose to ignore him. I felt guilty afterwards and the subtle pinch in my heart actually started to sting.

My friend and I were talking about this the night before. (You know how it is when people get drunk…it’s either they drop dead, or they become really mushy. In our case, booze got us into a reflective mood…)

How many times have you felt that gentle tap on your shoulder, or that nagging tug at your hem from somebody who begs for a little help… and you either brush them away or slap them with an apathetic face. If apathy doesn’t work, you flash them your “I’m-so-sorry-I’d-really-like-to-help-you-but-I-can’t” look… or you shower them with pity, hoping it would make a difference. But is it really enough? Does your pity ease their grumbling stomachs?

Tonight, I had dinner somewhere in Makati with Raf… The place was crowded with yuppies, spending loads of bucks on booze...cancer sticks…and some phony elite status… bitching and complaining about their lives or simply parading their flip top gadgets… then I saw myself holding the same bottle, the same stick. I guess that makes me one of them— the ones who call themselves the lucky few. It’s easier to whine and to point out the crappiness of things and find fault. I do it everyday. What we forget to do is to count our blessings.

I’m no Paris Hilton, but I know I’m blessed. I live in a house, while most camp out on the streets… I eat more than 3 meals a day, while some go by with just a piece of bread. I have a stable job while others are pushed to committing felonies to survive…and I have a supportive family, while others are orphans… I HAVE… some people just don’t.

Hard it is to count your blessings, choosing to play the good Samaritan is even harder… especially in a world where parables cease to exist. It’s frustrating when you genuinely want to help, but you’re so stuck on yourself. Our world is fast becoming a reality TV show with everyone turning into mere spectators. It’s like reading a good book… you empathize with the characters so much that you want to dive inside the pages, but you can’t… because it’s not your story. I want to write my own story. I don’t want to change the world (because I know I can’t). But I want to make a difference in my own simple way...the cokemonster way. ;)

it's just those rainy days...

Miss sunshine didn’t kiss me good morning today…she didn’t force me out of bed with her warm beams habitually poking my eyes wide open, as if telling me to get my sorry ass out of bed or else I was gonna be late for work again. Instead, I was roused by the chilly air liberally breezing through the open windows of my room. It’s a rainy Thursday afternoon and I didn’t have to go anywhere but in bed, buried underneath the warm blanket, as the scent of champorado and tuyo reeks from our kitchen.

When I was young, a string of rainy days was not what I would consider a ‘bad weather’ as Ernie Baron, or some other local weatherman would say on TV. For me it was the best weather because it entails the suspension of classes and a street party.

I would always beg my mother to let me bathe in the rain with my friends. After some minutes of convincing (and screaming and crying), she would allow me, by then defeated (most probably annoyed). Agog, I would run outside as fast as a lightning bolt, wearing only my undies (it wasn't kinky then). We ran wildly on the streets and played games until the rain stopped pouring. I didn't know why but it seemed that the rain had a funny effect on me. It's as if all my apprehensions and fears were washed away, leaving me with a renewed sense of spirit. I would always consider it a special day when it rains.

As I grew up, there were no more dancing or singing in the rain and no more begging sessions with mom. Maybe I grew out of it. The rain, the storms, and the wind blowing on an overcast day were not so special anymore… Rainy days are just like the other days, or even worst especially when u think about the horrors of commuting. It was nothing more than a bad weather. Ernie was right all along.

Or maybe that’s just how things change when you grow up. It’s hard to be at the mercy of something so powerful, something inevitable, something larger than yourself… like a bad weather. Maybe there is more to rain than the cold water pouring endlessly upon the earth… and maybe it’s good to keep that childlike faith once in a while.

"It's just those rainy days
Spend a lifetime tryin' to wash away
Until the sun comes out and shines again
Smile for me, smile for me "
- mary j blige

t.g.i.w

thank God it’s Wednesday... i’m free from work for another 2 days & i plan to lock myself up at home as much as possible. yes, even the bucket goes empty and there are days when you find yourself dead beat from painting the town red.

a while ago, I had my typing recertification. i can’t believe it’s been a year and I still get those butterflies waltzing in my stomach. isn’t it retarded to feel jumpy at the idea of taking a typing exam when all i did for the past 365 days was to type? nevertheless, I passed with flying colors ü. Well… I’m glad I did, or else i would’ve whacked my head off on all the keyboards on the production floor.

let the countdown begin. 10 days to go before my fourth 18th birthday (you do the math). it seems like tradition will have to be set aside this year. many throats will run dry, along with beer mugs that’ll stay empty. darn, why does it have to fall on a Sunday? (in a normal person’s work week, it translates to a Tuesday). i’m sure it wouldn’t be a good idea to do it on a Sunday, when everybody has to go to work… to school…or somewhere else the next day…that would keep everybody from drinking too much and that’d take away all the fun. (I want everybody to get wasted.) and while most people are free on the Saturday before, I am not… no celebrant = no party…so there goes the plan. i guess the merrymaking will have to wait till my birthday falls on a Friday (umm, that would be in 2009) and i hope to see u there! Nyahaha.

ssdd ii

how do u lose something you don't have?

losing something you don't have is like suddenly waking up from a good dream..
..it's like catching your favorite song on the radio,
only to hear the last few lines.
..it's like having to go to work on a rainy day,
when you could've just stayed in bed.
..it's like craving for chocolates
on the day you had a toothache.
..it's like catching a falling star,
then forgetting to make a wish.
..it's like capturing the most beautiful sunset on camera,
only your film had ran out...

it sucks doesn't it?

080805 [20:20pm]
© okemonster

ssh.

the world doesn't know i miss you
because i miss u as one would miss the subtle things...
...like the faint drizzle on a lazy sunday afternoon,
or the silent song of the wind at midnight.
...like the light that creeps into the sky at dusk,
or the first star that appears before sunset.

i miss you, as one would miss the last leaf
about to fall on a winter's day.
in subtlety and secrecy...
because it was in silence that i knew you...
it was in silence that i loved you...
and it was in silence that i lost you...

080605 [19:13 pm]
© okemonster

measuring love

how do u measure love?
for some people it is the number of heartbeats per minute,
or the rate of their pulse as it quickens
at the sight of a loved one.
it could be the number of times she smiles in a day,
recollecting happy thoughts
or the amount of shimmer in her eyes.
for some, it would be the dozen letters stacked in a shoe box
proclaiming an undying love,
or the petals of a dozen roses
kept between the pages of an ancient book.
it could be the cluster of stars he promised to pull out of the sky for her that night,
or the mountains he’d sworn he’d move.
for those who are apart,
it is counting the days till their hearts are reunited,
or for the lucky few,
it is counting the mornings of waking up in each others’ arms.

for me, love is measured
through the countless tears that fell from my eyes,
or by the hours I spent tossing and turning in bed
at a sleepless night.
it is counting the sunny days brought by his smile,
or the gloomy ones brought by his absence.
it is the thousand sunrise and sunsets that brings hope,
or a hundred shooting stars to wish upon
to help me find the one.
love is measured with every “hello”
… with every “I love you”
… with every “I’m sorry”
and with every “goodbye”....

080205 [16:50pm]
© okemonster