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.