sick me

i got sick yesterday... i mean, aside from the usual mental illnesses, yup! it is an actual event. (well obviously i can't think of anything better to say and i'm naturally bored at work.)

i can't really remember the last time i was that sick. i by 'that' i mean high fever that you actually feel the heat emanating from your body, chills - even when you're sweating profusely being wrapped tight in who-cares-how-many sweaters and jackets, unexplainable bodyache, headache, dry coughs and, the ultimate sign of illness, lack of appetite. the last sickness i had i just vomitted everything i ate for the 2 days (that's actually just one meal as the usual 'days' go by with me) then i was okey. that was what... last year?

my being sick seemed to amuse my sister who suddenly began poking at me with a thermometer and giving me medicine well-aware of my 'sensitive' reactions to medication. i mean, do i really need to take at least three types/brands of paracetamol to get well? plus the fact that i hate taking tablets especially when you wake me up from a hard to get state of catatonia.

anyway, i still usually go to work when i am sick. its part of that martyr/i'm-trying-to-kill-myself mentality i'm unusually fond of. but yesterday of all days, the call in hotline at work is not working leading to a very frustrating and nerve wracking evening. i thought of going to the office ust to say i can't make it but how stupid is that?

actually, i was feeling guilty not coming to work especially these days when FINALLY, weeks after i was transferred to this (quality control) department, i had something to do and i knew beforehand that someone from our dept has already taken the same day off for vacation leave. its a sickness, my conscience is crazier than i am.

after the whole hoola-baloo of the advising and admitting that, yes, i am human, i get sick. i went back to bed and tried to fall back to sleep. keyword is TRIED. after midnight and the crazy alarm (sister) saying i have to take my medicine, i gave up, sat up in bed and did what i usually do when i am sick: clean my room.

i'm still sick, slightly. although the fever is gone and all the outwardly signs of vulnerability has diminished in the glare of harsh sunlight and an hour or so of watching blues clues, i got the colds once again (as if i even missed it to begin with). and being less sick than i was yesterday i feel as if i'm already okey.

so back to work! (with an early detour to maridel's with leux, emsi and jamapi - whom i/we met last saturday) and as the jokes of 'sheena, tao ka pala!' and 'tinatablan ka pala ng sakit!' wore off, almost everyone is asking me why i didn't take today off too. well, sorryyy...

but maybe i should have taken their exaggeratedly late advice. (guys, don't tell me not to come to work when i'm already in the office and we're supposed to be having the pre-shift meeting.) after a few hours in this freezing cube, i'm feeling sick again...

oh well!

A letter never to be sent

This feels like a new lifetime. I'm not sure anyone is reading, but maybe I really would rather no one is. I just needed to air out the words.

Fill her

I'm in love with Sarah Kay.

Ok, so I'm more in love with her poetry than anything else and I love her for inspiring me to want to write again.

Watch the amazing-ness here...

aka: Hey, I just met you... and this is crazy

Anxiety

You unhinge me with your stare
Your eyes melting through the façade
I try to keep for you
to think that I am cool.

My carefully practiced charm
starts to crumble
and I start to mumble
just to break the silence of your stare.


I wonder what you see
looking at me so thoroughly
at quiet interludes of stilled conversation.
I rack my brain for one more story
one more thing that can shield me

from your eyes that pierce through
all the masks that I can wear.


I wonder if you can see through
all the lies I feel I need

to get me through everyday.
Am I giving myself away?

 

So I look back down on my plate
trace random patterns on the surface
trying to keep a burst of courage
Til I can meet your stare.

beatlemania

Oh, yeah, I'll tell you something
I think you'll understand...



I blame the Beatles' song

on repeat inside my head
as we walk along the crowded hallway
arms brushing against each other
my heart starts to flutter

tempted to stay or move away
as tune reaches its chorus

putting my thoughts into song.


I wonder how our hands would look
clasped together, palms touching

fingers intertwined
to better contrast your skin with mine.
Will it pull you to me
or can it pull me in,
into deeper understanding,
the lines of your palms confessing
the story yet to pass your lips
in a language i can't decipher.

Or at least, not yet.

row, row, row your boat; gently down the street...

A day with your old friends is like a day with your old self. Not the self you wanted to outgrow, or the self you can’t wait to get rid of, or that self full of angst and hate and teen-ridden anxiety... but that version of you that somehow drew these fairly-cool people into adding you into the circle of people they allow to share themselves to. And you share yourself in return. And though time and distance may get between you along with several un-replied to text messages and unending game of tag in social media, when you are with your friends, there’s a certain feeling of home.

So the past weekend has been an unending parade of rain. And unlike most people who were wise enough to stay home, I feel like i went everywhere with where the winds go. Note to self: no matter how desperate you are for a run, going 2 hours away while a tropical depression is in the country is never a good idea. No matter what Boom says.

So the last Saturday morning, I was up with the sun that didn’t really rise to indulge a friend’s running enthusiasm to get to a place near the ocean to eventually watch trees sway with the wind and catch a raindrops falling from almost every direction. We were witness to different levels of flood in different parts of the metro (thankfully, none reaching mid calf and that we were always somewhere a little drier). I came home like a drowned cat and with an incomplete story to tell – all primers, no plot. We achieved nothing that day.

Yesterday was curry and roti day. It was fun to hang out with Saberdey Buklab especially with how little we actually see each other these days. I don’t think I’m the only one who misses hanging out every Saturday in Booksale to hoard, exchange and talk about books over a cup of coffee and watch the sun set and stars appear in the fortified walls of Intramuros. Sometimes it sucks growing up. Anyway, I learned to make roti and realized how insanely fast kids actually grow when you’re not looking.

making bread with robin

well, she's not yet big enough to fit under the table...

Now for some great chopping music...

It has been raining for an entire day.... it's amazing except when you're out there getting pummeled by thousand of cold raindrops while being whipped around by the wind.

I feel like I had nothing done today... hahaha. In truth, I was out of the house for most of the day dancing around with the wind and embracing raindrops and leaving my nth cheap umbrella some place where it hopefully was available to help someone to avoid being dripping wet on the way home... unlike me, 

Rain is best enjoyed with music and coffee... and though my preoccupation with downloading the latest idiotic app on my new-old phone, enjoy one of the things that made me laugh and appreciate music all over again... (now, where can i download JS Bach...)

from the ashes...

"It made her wonder if you could know a person only at a single moment in time, because a year from now or a day from now, he might be different. It made her wonder if everyone reinvented himself or herself, if that was as natural as other animals shedding their skin." Jodi Picoult, 10th Circle

Two years since I’ve been here last. I feel like I grew to be a different person in the vast silence of more than 700 days. But I’m back. I feel as if I need to be.

I feel like I hardly know myself these days. Like there is this widening chasm from the person I once was and to whom I am becoming, I haven’t decided yet if it’s something I like. In one hand, I no longer have the urge to dig out a rusty blade and carve poetry in the inside of my wrists; on the other, I also stopped carving my soul in paper and shaping this confusing mass into something I can make sense of. In some way, I miss the sleepless moments I struggle with the voice inside my head for some sort of meaning – that tinny voice that answered back in Rilke’s question you need to answer in the deepest and darkest of your day… Now, I have successfully drowned out myself.

I look around here and wish I could start again. I have forgotten what it feels like to begin, to see the blank page as free and untarnished rather than a bandage to cover for all the empty days and pages.

But it might be braver to continue.

… and less of a hassle.