Lost in Intramuros

Another holiday happened, and so the wanderer inside me urged me (again) to travel to some place different from what I've always known. 

Yes, this isn't an art museum (technically), but I can't deny the fact that this place has a lot to offer: from the breath-taking views to historical places to its wonderful people and of course, the spanish era theme this place possess, I'm pretty sure Intramuros is another work of art. 

I never meant to get lost in this place, nor did I plan a day for this trip, but the moment I sat in the car's passenger seat I knew I had to get away. 

Hindi naman importante kung saan. Basta malayo... Basta malayo sa lugar na 'to. - is what I told myself.

And don't get me wrong, I do love my hometown. This (Binangonan, Rizal) is the place I've known since forever, and over the years, I have grown to get attached to it more and more.

But sometimes... It's just never enough. To wander is to discover more of life, and to live the beauty it has to offer. 

It's the feeling of getting to experience new things, different sights for my eyes to love, new faces to bump in to, refreshing views that'll take me away for the moment. 

The best thing I love about this place is the great distance it has from where I belong. The travel part was no less important, the long tiring road trip (especially the traffic from Buendia to Intramuros) was indeed part of my journey.

A journey planned in hopes that I would find myself... Although it seems like Intramuros had found me first. It found me and told me that Sometimes, it's okay to be lost.

Art is...

I swam in the depths of your soul, the mystery in your eyes, the beat of your heart and loved everything your sweetness has to offer. Every inch of your being, every speck of your imperfections I've grown to love. 

Then suddenly, art is no more a canvas. Art is not ink on paper, art is no more the colors of the sky and earth, it is no more photographs and paintings. Art is not defined by paintbrush or crayons, art is not brush strokes and drawings. 

Art becomes you; your soul and what you are. The only magic left on earth, the only bitterness with the hint of good. You've become the abstracts in my life, never perfectly beautiful - but filled with meaning in all aspects.

Lethal dosage

How do you

expect me to breathe

when your touch

feels like acid

on my paper-like skin

Your lips 

they're divine

your eyes, your soul,

your being

they creep into mine

You love me 

like the sun

who shines ever so bright

only to leave

when comes the night

To feel your warmth

is to risk it all

and to be kept at bay

So I guess it's true

- when people say;

You die a little bit

each day

for the one 

you love,

Until dying

becomes - 

your little pleasure 

d r u g

Debris

She was a real charmer, they'd say. People would stumble at her feet, they'd gossip. You'll see her walking on the streets with her head up high, and her heels even higher. Her lips as red as blood, and those eyes - proud and full of wonder, - they tell me to be brave. 

It's every girls' highlight, they said. A time in her life where she glimmers. It's when she had every spotlight on her, never having room for anybody else. It's when she had everything a girl could ever wish for. And it's her, living it up to her dreams. 

Until one day all that fades like evening during sunrise. She saw it coming, really she did. Because she was smart, and she knew nothing was meant to stay forever. Maybe she was prepared for the idea of it, but not for the weight of its consequences. The more she has, the more she has to loose. And so she did. Not all at the same time, but slowly - she lost everything. Until all she became are debris of what used to be the perfect girl.

No words could ever describe how much it crippled down her sanity. It's all she ever thought about at night, depriving herself from the hours of sleep she very much needed. 

And now here she is, sitting in a corner of a dimmed room, her bloodstream flooded by alcohol, with a cigar slowly dying in her left hands. Wondering where it went wrong, forever asking how she got there. 

"What happened to you", he asked.

"You used to shine like gold."

Empty sheets

What if one day I wake up at 2am, and all I could feel are the cold sheets pressed on my bare skin, and nothing more but the deafening sound of your absence. 

The room feels a lot colder, my bed a little more wider, and my heart - less alive, less beating.

I'll wonder how many hours had passed while I was sleeping, only to realize later that it doesn't really mater. Because at that point I'll be awake, and somehow I'll regret waking up in such a depressing hour. 

It's cruel, you know. How you kept breaking me every night, without knowing how much destroyed I already am. 

That's when I realized, that's the thing about you; You've always been sadistic.

Dead butterflies

you were the life

that shined in my perilous nights

bound by tears of love, false hope

and mostly - desire

you feed me with euphoria

deep down into my lungs

until it denies air

and air denies my breathing

no love, just lust

no mercy, just passion

and I was no more

than your helpless being

it was both terrifying

and undeniably sweet

to feel something so vivid

but depressingly quick 

you were the crooked hero

in this little kind of story

but I've never been the princess

and you never meant

to save me 

~~

to the boy I once knew,

and wished I never did.

Art appreciation day

Today is an official holiday (oo, official, hindi gawa-gawang holiday ng mga tamad pumasok tulad ko), so my sister Audrey and I decided to make this day a productive one. 

We went to Pinto Art Museum (@Antipolo, Rizal) in hopes that we would get some fresh air. Although art must be appreciated in all the days you've been blessed with, this one was a special sort of an art appreciation day for me.

Things have been a crazy combination of twist and turns in my life lately: pressure and panic building up in a matter of only one hell week. School works, social responsibilities, write ups and problems altogether were an inch away from driving me insane.

Luckily for me, that did not happen since I've finally decided that I am badly in need of a breather - which is of course, none other but to roam in a museum accompanied by no more than 2 people, to see artworks from different artists.

It was indeed a fun adventure, both in mind and in spirit, to see lots of creativity in a span of 2 hours while reflecting life within each paintings. 

Took lots of photos, but these didn't even reach half of what Pinto has to offer. I only got to capture some of my favorite pieces, while of course, adding my face in the picture from time to time. 

I am more than proud to say that this art exhibit is not only a place packed with canvases hanging on its white-painted-walls, but it is rather a home for every human being who clings to art like it's oxygen needed by their souls. 

I finally got the peace of mind I've been looking for... kahit panandalian lang.

Drunken soberness

I took a glass of vodka and drank it in three seconds straight. After my second, third immediately followed. You stared at me unbelieving, and all you could ever say was "You drink like you have to forget something". And I do. If only she  knew how many thoughts inside my mind I wanted to drain so badly. Of course she'll never know. There's no way for her to figure it out. She was not perfect, but I guess she's also not as messed up as I am. And so here's my fourth.

She had people. People she could trust and would love her all the time. People who would be there for her, and not her money, not her brain, not her looks. People who enjoyed being with her. People who understand. How could she know when all she's ever gonna be is a happy girl who's yet to know of my sorrows. 

As I downed my fifth glass of vodka I realized no amount of alcohol flowing in my blood stream could ever ease the pain. It only made it worse. So I went for sixth. This time I could hardly feel my lips and my arms are getting numb. But even when my vision starts to blur, I could still see your face ever so clearly in my mind. 

Seventh. 

It's the time when I started to talk about things - things she's never gonna fully understand in this wrecked of a lifetime - things I couldn't say when I am sober. This is why I hated being drunk, I kinda let my walls down. And no, this isn't the alcohol to blame. It's her. She tears down my walls in seconds that I have been building up for years.

So I downed the eight. In hopes that I would forget the reason why I was murdering my kidney, I drank every bit of it.

My blood-shot cheeks matched my glassy eyes, she said. Thousands of butterflies rose from my stomach, only to drown at my ninth shot. 

"You're beautiful." She said. And God how that sounded sincere in her voice. The flashing blue lights illuminated her face for a second, and that was enough for me to want her more. The room was pounding with music, lots of people dancing the night away - but my Lord she makes everything around us a blur. 

Tenth.

"You're beautiful too." I said. Her head fell down to her lap and I was disappointed. She should never hide that beauty of hers. It's not everyday that I see something that wonderful. "You're just drunk." She said in a soft voice. Yes, I am. But tomorrow I'll be sober and you'll still be beautiful.   

As I drank my eleventh glass I've realized I had been staring at her in awe for so long. "Do you come here a lot?" She asked, trying to bring up a topic. "Sometimes," I answered. "Define sometimes," she said back. "Sometimes when it all doesn't make sense. Sometimes always." 

This is the twelfth, so I asked her for a drink. She gladly took my half-finished glass and downed it all at once. She suddenly turned pink, and I love the way this vodka highlighted her beauty that's been lingering on her for so long. "I'm sorry, I'm not a fan of alcohol." She shyly said. And it was evident. But it was not something to be sorry about either. 

A smile is all I could ever give. And I guess that was enough for her. There was silence for a minute, and as I was about to drink my thirteenth shot she said "I wonder how many bottles of vodka it will take for you to realize that the boy you once held in your very arms are now lightyears away from your fingertips." 

With that one sentence I swear I felt all the alcohol in my veins drained from my system - and I was suddenly flushed but awakened to my senses.

"How did you know that," I murmured. "You don't drink alcohol like that for no reason." 

So I moved in closer to her face, only to find her moving even closer to mine.

The next thing I knew my lips were around hers so hard it starts to ache. Her warm soft lips got me drunk better than any liquor did, and I felt myself getting lost again and again.

We parted lips at last, but we both knew it was never going to be enough. Not when I've finally got a piece of euphoria. Not when I've finally found someone who could heal my broken pieces.

She looked at me with hopeful eyes. I figured this isn't possibly right, but how else could this be wrong? My mind is intoxicated and it was impossible to fight the urge to feel her for the second time.

This isn't the smartest thing to do. But her lips tasted like vodka so I kissed them again - My thirteenth.

Aftermath

I remember a night when I was alone with my father in our little home. I think I was 7 back then, and as young as I remember myself to be, my mind was curious - but innocent - and somehow, naive.

The sky was dark and the wind was roaring with rage. It was only 5pm, yet the sun was a total no-show. No kids were playing on the streets, no cars passing-by. Thunders occur from time to time, followed by the flash of lightning, the crashing sound making me hide under our little coffee-table. 

My 7 year old logic was able to guess what was going on: that a storm was about to happen. To which I later on figured that I was half-right, because it wasn't just an ordinary storm. It was a tempest.

My father gently pulled me out of our coffee-table with arms wide open, and his tone mild and securing. He tells me it's okay, he tells me he'll keep me safe.

When I was in his arms the first thing he asked me was if I'm afraid of the storm. As if it wasn't obvious, I nodded my head in response.

My father smiled. To which he replied, and I remember the exact words he said; the storm is nothing to be afraid of. It's not the storm that you should be worried about. For it only lasts for hours. Soon it will leave the certain area, ready to move on to another place to wreck. The storm is disastrous, but passing. 

What you should worry about, kiddo, is the aftermath. For unlike the storm - it lasts. The departure of the storm is only the beginning of the mayhem, not the ending itself. For when the storm is gone and all, the debris it leaves behind is much more painful to bear. 

My 7 year old mind could not quite make an understanding of what my father told me. I was young, and my mind was curious - but innocent - and somehow, naive.

Not until I was 19, and in love with you. 

Only then did I realize - having you in my life is more like a storm. Disastrous, but passing. And when you left - the aftermath was unbearable.

Broken Figures

There's always something special about her smiles. Not the kind of smiles usually described in books, you know - the sweet smiles, the ones with matching beaming eyes, the kind of smiles that would make guys drool.

No, in fact, her smiles were nothing like those. 

Her smiles were more like old photographs helplessly burning in bright red flames. Although it hurts to see them burn, you can't help but watch it turn to ashes anyway.

It was more like a grimace, actually. She smiled like she owned every heartache in the world. Which was in fact the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in decades. 

Her smiles were not a sign of joy, rather a mere reflection of pain. What an irony, I thought.

She just proved me that not all things needed to be happy for it to be beautiful. And oh God, how beautiful she was.

In that moment I've realized I've learned to love sad things because of her. We're all a little wrecked sometimes, and that's fine. Because it feels human. In a world ruled by material things, how often do you even feel human anymore? 

That's the time when I told her somethings are made broken, and they're beautiful that way.

"Like my smiles?", she asked.

"Like your soul," I confirmed.

Au Revoir

Goodbye, my dearest.

May you grow in to something far greater than this turmoil of a world, may you fill in the empty spaces left in your beautiful heart, and may you thrive for all that you deserve in this lifetime.

Please do so, leave what’s meant to be left behind. Erase the marks of your stained past, and finally – for once, let your mistakes be a blessing to your life. For one day, all these will make sense. All the heartaches of today, all the chaos in your wonderful mind - will eventually connect. Not in the sense that you've expected, but somehow more than what your mind could ever predict.

In this letter lies my farewell, in hopes that you may find whatever it is that may fulfill your spirit.

Adieu, my love.

And may we meet again, someday in God’s will; I will be waiting, more than excited to see what a wonderful person you have become.

Ps:

Prove to them me my love; that something beautiful ever comes out of the wrecked. 

An Epilogue

I write of you in paragraphs instead of sentences, of thousands of letters instead of a few. Each dull mornings and lousy afternoons, I write of you to fill in the spaces left by your absence. Perhaps, this is the closest I can get to ever holding you again. This is, at least, the only way I know to make the distance between us seem a little lesser. 

I take a piece of what's left of us, and mold it in to writing. Each words entangled in our senseless heartbreaks, each stanza longing for the love that was once here. My sentences - they seem to know you very well, like they're constructed only by your being, and by yours alone. My words though lacking, are all too familiar with the beauty in your visage. They know you better than anybody else, they keep you until the very end. 

Darling, how my sonnets sing to you and you alone. No line had ever slipped away to someone else, and even if one may had - I offer the thirteen left to you. My rhymes, how they crave for your warmth, your touch, your soul. They long for you in between my melancholy nights and wished for your return. 

But my love, no exact amount of poetry or prose, can nearly sum up all my heart-aching thoughts of you. 

Downfall

You say you love me.

And yes, I know you do.

With all sincerity and trust, I believe you my love. 

Because I know that you love me.

In my happiest times and in my loveliest form - you love me.

In my most beautiful smiles and in between my heartfelt laughters - you love me.

The way I glimmer like sunshine, the way I bring forth warmth like the mornings of summer, I am certain that you love me.

In my best form and all the good things found in me. You love me for all the reasons I am to be loved.

I know so, because loving someone for the better side of them is really that simple.

What's hard is loving me when I'm crying at my bathroom floor at 2 am, screaming so loud that no sound came out, because everything came crashing down on me at once.

You say you love me.

And yes darling, you do.

But I'm afraid,

You can't say the same

Now that I'm on my downfall.

Eventide

She was beautiful, like that of a horizon, specially when the sun leans down to kiss the edge of the sea. T'was a lovely romance, they'd say; 'bout a bright ball of yellow light who fell in love with all the beauties and dangers of the deep blue water. The sun would go down to meet the sea, even if it means its own death. And every day he would do this, every twilight and every sunset, he would constantly die for the one he loves. It's a wonderful piece of art, really. Only I can't seem to guess how many waking hours will it take before you realize that I am the sun, you are my sea. 

When wrong elements collide

Lips that die 
when they kissed
Flesh that burned
when they touched
Eyes that bleed
with tears every night
Souls that trembled
with every lie

Hearts that ached
to be set free
Hope that vanished
like dust in wind
Smiles that fade
a little too soon
Jokes that meant
a little half truth

Questions that got
a simple yes or no
Arms that always
need to let go
Wounds that never
seemed to heal
"I miss you's" that never
seemed to be real

I can't help wonder
how long will it take
Before you realize
We're 2 wrong elements
who've collided

not by chance,

not by choice,

but by mistake.

Farewells

Tonight I render

in my defeat

with sudden thoughts

and gritted teeth

I'll do my best

to ease the pain

May I request

you do the same

I'll miss your smile,

And those beaming eyes

My love, my dearest love,

This is good bye

So I wonder, 

before time's due

When will I ever see 

the unmasked you

18° F

Forever stuck in this freezing fahrenheit, 

his iced vodka as cold as her heart. 

No words could ever say, 

and no colors could ever match her hue. 

That's when I've learned 

why she always had a thing for blue. 

Breathe

But baby it's okay to breathe, 

calm your mind and learn to be free. 

The sun will rise at 6am, 

so watch the world light up with me. 

As the earth awakens like the child you are, 

the heavens will burn with the brightest star. 

For the darkness never lasts, 

and so will your sorrows. 

Here is where the sun meets the sky, 

a day they called tomorrow. 

But baby, it's okay to breathe. 

I'm here, always here 

- and never gonna flee.

             written and illustrated by Yancs (2014)

3:02 am

I let myself drift away in all the sentences I've ever written and in all the thoughts I have left unspoken. To all the words I've ever known and to the greater vast of vocabulary I have yet to learn. 

I succumb in to the darkness, and at the same time in to the light, where I gave in to all the things I am aware and unaware of. To all the things I've learned to love and grew to hate, to all the things I've ever acquired and yet to loose. To all the things I have touched, and to all the things I was never meant to have. To those all I finally gave myself in. Without misgiving, without resisting. 

I let the seas wash away what's left of me, just as how I let the wind take control of where it shall  take me. I allowed the stars to determine my path, hoping it would lead me to somewhere less messed up as to where I am now. 

I removed my guards and my defenses, which made me not just vulnerable - but weak and exposed to whatever lies unknown. 

I've finally learned to let go, to set free and to just be still. I stopped holding on to whatever I think I was grasping, and as my fingertips untouched all my desires and wonders - it all made sense now. 

But please, know this very well; That I did not stop trying because I gave up, instead, I gave in. I stopped trying not because I grew tired or weary.

I stopped trying, because I've finally learned to trust the world, to trust the universe, and perhaps  all the gods before me. 

I stopped trying, because for once, I wanted to know how it is to be alive. I wanted to trust in life, just as how I wanted to escape a world of worries and doubts. 

For once, just this once, I wanted to forget it all. I wanted to stop resisting, for it will only wound me. I wanted to stop pretending, for it will only rot me. I wanted to stop being control of everything - for eventually, it will drain my soul.

And then finally, when I'm all set for free falling; I drowned  myself in thoughts of you, and as I sank deep in this madness that they called love, I've learned to live without having to breathe. 

Marian Jane Nicolas

“I have this passion of putting words in to pictures. Naniniwala kasi ako na pareho silang makapangyarihang instrumento. At marapat lang na pagsamahin sila. When a wonderful painting and a beautiful constellation of words come together – wala na’ng mas lalakas pa sa dalawang pinag-isa.”   

~ Marian to Venice 

(Athena's School of the Cultured)

Espresso

You remind me of freshly brewed coffee in a Sunday morning. I fall in love with its scent the moment I step down the stairs with a hungry stomach waiting for a good set of breakfast.

Quite bitter with the tiniest hint of sweetness – that’s how I always wanted my coffee done.

When it’s all prepared I’d wait a minute or two to drink it so it would slightly cool off, but I’d make sure it’s still hot enough for me to feel the comfy warmth it brings in my stomach.

You remind me of coffee, I say. The first thing I look forward to in the morning, and perhaps the only thing that can keep me awake through out my day.

I always thought of it as a little reward for myself; like a prize after every achievement, or after every while when I got to finish my paper works. Sometimes, when things didn’t turn out exactly like planned, I run to a coffee shop for comfort.

It has always been a wonder for me, you know. How coffee could calm my veins in such a soothing manner that with just one sip – all the stress and anxiety of today suddenly turns in to pointless pieces of nothing. 

Sometimes, though, when I “accidentally” drink too much, it would keep me up all night ‘til I only got 3 hours of sleep.

You remind me of coffee, I say.

I remember a time when I got too addicted to caffeine until my body could no longer handle it. I felt my heart beating in a reckless manner, so much of it I found it hard to breathe. My palms were sweating cold and my whole body shivered. My lungs began to beg for air, and in that desperate moment of mine – I learned that no matter how much I loved something, too much of it would eventually destroy me.

You remind me of coffee.

You surely do.

A Combination

He looked at her
with burning gaze
filled with awe
in a wondering state

It took a minute,
but not long did it take
before he realized
she was not a mistake

She's everything at once
a hell in the calm
the night of the sun
and a billion of none

She's a combination
of black and white,
yes and no,
wrong and right

Subtle and strong,
outgoing and shy,
broken and bold,
quiet and wild

but mostly - 
he thought so very last
she is a combination
of what he loves the most
and what he can never have

never did,
never will,
and perhaps
not in this lifetime

not tonight,
not in those eyes,
and definitely
not in this sad rhyme



~ yancs  11/24/14

To heaven's mailbox

11/22/14


Dear J, 



How are you? I wanted to ask you that badly for so long. Lately I've been counting days, and to be honest, I lost track of time. I lost track not because I didn't care or that I forgot, but because I couldn't stop the sting in my chest whenever I count the days that passed since the last time I saw you.

I miss you. We all do. So much that none of these feels even real. When you left, you left everything behind. Right now I hope you're in a much better place. Right now I hope that you're in peace, and that the chaos of this world no longer affects you.

We're fine, really. In my off chance that somehow this message could reach you, I want to tell you that we're fine. We're fine, not in the sense that nothing's wrong, but thankfully, everything's still doable. Although our past month can be compared to that of a hell, right now I'm happy to tell you that we're currently in progress. I wanted to tell you not to worry because we're doing what we can to cope with the changes, with the loss, with everything you left behind.

We have our hard times, of course. Some days we didn't feel anything, or say anything about it, but the silence screamed your name so loud it didn't make a sound. I miss you. We all do.

Some nights I wished you should have held on a little longer.
But that would be selfish of me, wouldn't that be?

I remember you telling me before - in a letter you once wrote me - that I should not fear nor doubt for the Lord has His ways that we would never comprehend. You told me to believe because someday all these will make sense.

And to be honest, that's what keeps me going.

You're the sole reason why I'm still fighting the battle I didn't know I was ever supposed to take.

Because of you I held on to this tiny spark of hope that all these will connect, in the right time and in the best possible way.

You told me that I was given a gift that would serve a purpose to the ones we love, and that you told me to use it.

I promised you I would be strong. For myself, for you, for our family, for all that's left and for all its worth.

I wanted to tell you many things.

I wanted to fill this letter with every thing I wanted you to know but my words are lacking and I didn't think it will ever be possible to sum up all my aching thoughts of you. Not tonight, and definitely not this way.

Again, in my off chance that somehow this letter may possibly reach you;
I wanted to tell you that this is me, fulfilling my promises. 






Yours always,

B

Throwback Writes

PS: something I wrote last year. throwback to the days when my thoughts aren't really that organized. hahah anyway, too lazy to rewrite this one. 

The Beauty within Scars

       As human beings, we all had a time where we gained scars and have been wounded. For some, they spend their lives in hiding those marks, keeping them out of sight, because they have chosen to leave everything behind them. With all the imperfections and flaws brought by scars, somehow I still see them differently. There’s something in them that makes me admire the mark they leave on people. 

         Scars are reminders that the past is real. They remind us that we are people who get hurt too. Some scars remind us of our mistakes, even the lessons we’ve learned from them. Those marks remind us of the times we were defeated, and how we managed to get up and continue to fight. The scars serve as our motivation, a caution, and a source of courage. It tells us that there is always healing after injury, just like a new chance after defeat. Our scars simply make us stronger, wiser, and braver to face whatever lies unknown.

         Those marks imprinted on us make us whole, because it completes each of our personas, leaving a sign of our past. When everything from the past is gone, scars are the only evidence left they were real. Yes, we must leave the past behind and move on with our lives, but we must never forget where we came from. We need our past so we can learn from them to make us a better person.

         Our scars remind us that at some point of our lives, we fought for something. Those wounds engraved not only in our skin, but also in our hearts, are signs of our great love for others. Scars and wounds remind us of the pain we have felt, and tell us to help other people because we knew what it feels to be hurt. 

         One thing we should know is that we should not be ashamed of the scars that we gained. Those wounds represent the battles we have taken, and the times we have surpassed those trials. Out of suffering the strongest souls have emerged, and the most massive characters are seared with scars. Those marks are what make us great warriors.

         And just like scars, we all need to heal. Get over it and move on; because in this life, we all get hurt. We just have to choose our battles worth fighting for, and find a person worth having our scars for. At the end of the day, we must see all scars as beauty. For scars aren’t gained by the weak and quitters. Scars are marked to those who fought and survived.