A reason to sleep eyes wide open

Subconsciously bothered, I was;
Now consciously knowing, I will

I was right all along; yet I was scared to assume
I was blissfully ignorant, and now blissfully confused

The only difference?
For a rational being, I've got a reasonto hold on to
A reason to last the early mornings

Memento Mori - a fiction

I've been writing this story for more than a month now. I can't seem to find an appropriate ending before and has got to stop until last week. Enjoy!

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Memento Mori

It was our fifth date; Just the right time for Sophie to ask me in her apartment. I did everything by the book. I'm a great writer after all.

She asked me to wait in the living room since she just need to get dressed. I thought it was romantic. I thought wrong.

I walked towards the kitchen. I was planning to help the mood with the champagne I took from the bar earlier. I got two glasses. Smoothly, I filled them with wine.

Everything as planned; and then I glanced at the refrigerator. Nothing unusual, It was posted with polaroid

pictures. I stopped filling the glasses and took a step closer to the pictures. Nothing unusual, it was just

pictures of Sophie...dead.


I. The older brother

I dropped the glass and was in the surge of running away from the picture when someone took me by my arm. I felt like the world was spinning and I ended up with the floor above me. I wasn't hurt but I can feel the coldness of death inches from my body. I was dead scared.

The man standing before me was bearded. He was in a formal black which reminds me of a gothic picture I just saw recently. he looked at the polaroid pictures on the refrigerator and then smiled at me.

"That was fast. I thought you're going to lay down with my sister first, before we could talk. Poor lad."

The man was trying hard to look friendly. He wasn't, and it scared me even more.

Who are you? Where's Sophie? What's the meaning of this?

I was shouting him questions as I stood up. It was the least I can do to buy some time before I can escape the lunacy. It did, since I was able to browse the kitchen for a butcher's knife. I clutched and pointed the knife at him.

Stay away or I'll be forced to use this.

He smiled and walked slowly towards me. "Let's see if you can do it"

He was 5 steps away - I can see the resemblance with Sophie; 4 Steps away - He was heavy shouldered and can easily outpower me; 3 Steps- I can smell his breath.

"Stop! Brother please stop!" shouted Sophie. She was standing behind the man. We all froze, waiting for someone to make a move. The man moved away from us; took the wine and the glass, and sat down on one of the sofa couches in the living room.

I stared at Sophie, and reflected in her eyes are the polaroid deaths.

II. The old story

In the manner of speaking, Sophie were the victims. Her brother is a serial killer for centuries. If you've heard of the Jack the Ripper, the Zodiac, The Alligator Man and Ripper Crew then you know how brutal his lust for blood is.

In some strange ways, he wasn't caught and accomplices admitted to crimes he have committed. His killing started since 16th century until now; however, it was in the late 90s that he changed the patterns of serial killing.

He began victimizing Sophie multiple times, experimenting on different tortures only the darkest of ones imagination can think of. Sophie, hopeless and bound to the love for his brother, accepted the fate.

Like any other routine, a polaroid picture stands as the evidence and witness of the killing.

If everything I mentioned seem strange then it would help to say that they are immortals; and no crimes were committed.

III. The Dark Intent

We were seated in the living room. I was placed in the couch in front of Sophie. Her brother seated on my left. He was eyeing me continsceously as if I was an object to be devoured sexually.

The silence was broken by his large nasal voice. "Elixir of life made from the philosopher's stone: the myth for immortality. You've heard it lad?". Yes I have. It's a myth as old as man's imagination but as fickle as a fairy tale.

"So do you believe it? ". Nope I don't. "Well let me enlighten you the reality behind the myth then. But first, let's drink to it."

He handed me a glassful of champagne. I drank it whole not, slipping a drop. I felt the rush of blood, the warmth inside my throat. it was enough to make me sober from the surreal situation.

Both of them, brother and sister, were staring at the glass of champagne while I drank it. Slowly, I emptied the glass; Then it dawned to me that I might have been poisoned.

IV. The Purpose

I dropped the glass. It did not shatter.

I felt the world revolve around me. There were sounds of laughter and strong high-pitched sound which was penetrating my brain through my ears. I tried to block the bright blinding light using my hand as a curtain. As I was about to get up, the floor beneath my feet crampled into a paper-fold. I jumped into my seat, and was back into the room again.

The glass shattered.

"We have no intent to poison or kill you. Please calm down." said Sophie.

"You are here as part of my sister's bidding. She wants you to write our story." said Sophie's brother. His face was expressionless like a dead man sitting on the couch. It was hard to believe him while he was holding the butcher's knife.

I will write your story.

Both of them smiled. "There's one more thing", he said as he stood up. Sophie looked down as if expecting something terrible to happen.

He was quicker than I expected. I deflected his hand, just in time for the knife to enter my chest.

V. The End

Blood splattered on the floor; My blood washed my hands. I tried to pull the red knife protruding on my chest.

I looked at Sophie's brother, then to Sophie.

You promised. I muttered. They promised not to kill me, and it was the last hope of security.

I was beginning to get numb when Sophie's brother pulled the knife from my chest. Like a fountain, I made a mess out of myself. I felt death swallowing my strenghts, so I kneeled down. I tried to close the wound, pushing my hands against it.

I closed my eyes waiting to faint and die.

Then suddenly, all things became normal. I can still feel the wetness of my hands, I can hear my screams of pain, though the pain was gone. I opened my eyes, and like a new born baby, I was immersed in my own blood kneeling on the floor.

"So I'll ask again. Do you believe in the elixir of life?", asked Sophie's brother. It wasn't champagne after all. He shook me from my shock and forcefully made me stand.

"Now the part of my bargain", he said. "I'm a bit tired of killing women", and then he smiled. His teeth showing a feature of satisfaction.

"From this day on forward, you'll run away from me..and I will haunt you like a mad dog. I will reap you into pieces and will kill you again and again and again. We have all eternity to spare anyway" He turned his back from me and walked towards the door.

"Run" he commanded. I followed like a lower creature. I ran as fast as I could even though my shoes slips from my own blood.

I have died before and I will run until all eternity haunts me.

Raining Angel

A week before Christmas, I was visited by a memory of attending an early morning mass.
I can taste the kotsenta, potobongbong and latik as my mouth-watering mind imagines.
I can see the bright colorful luminouscence

And then I saw an Angel floating from a height
Strings pulling her up and making her float
She was my neighbour, a playmate and a friend

And never have I seen how beautiful she was

But she's been hanging there for a long time
Since the priest was late or two

Tired from all the people staring, she cried

And there, a lonely crying angel floated above me
raining tears on my face

senseless morning muttering

I've been awake for more than 24 hours now; and yet I can't find to sleep. I tried to sleep a few hours ago but all I got was an Einstein hair style. I've been yawning for hours now; been scrubbing my eyelids; been stretching my arms so long...still, I'm miles away from Mr Sandman.

So I watched Knocked Up...and it kept me up. It was a great movie. Well the movie is over, I guess I should try my attempt once more...

or I'll watch another movie or two.

A Matter of Theatrics

An old man clinging on his walking stick asked for alms. His face was purposely disfigured, and instead of asking properly, he was showing his rolled tongue. I reached for my pocket and unfortunately found a 25centavo coin to spare. I gave the coin and before I can go further I heard a loud sarcastic "THANK YOU!". I smiled knowing that he was able to speak after all. I was in a hurry so I never looked back.

On my way back home, I was able to pass the old man. Instead of his usual pitiful feature he was sitting on the street puffing a cigarette with his back straight as if enjoying the jeepney scenery.

It was role playing, which reminds me of a scene in the french movie Amelie: Amelie was about to give a coin to a subway beggar when the latter refused to accept it and said that he wasn't working on a Saturday.

Begging for alms is a way of living. Like our usual day-to-day job, we wear hats and masks to play the role/position given to us. We play the boss, the employee, the co-worker, the doctor, the engineer; yet still we are all very much the same. We longed for that break from our theatrics.

The old man stood up from after the cigarette break. He arched his shoulder and started to limp with the support of the stick, he showed his rolled tongue once more. I waited and gave him an extra credit for the effort.

on Religin and Atheism

Aris' roommate posted a question regarding Religion, which unfortunately
I'm not good at. He asked me on what my reaction would be if ever Buddha greeted me instead of Christ after I died.

I responded "I'll probably take His hand and tell him 'Wow Jesus, you look healthier in person!'"

Being a devil's advocate that I am, I posted a question in return: "Well what if a bearded man in bright white clothing greeted you after you died? As he approached, you'll notice
the wounds in his palms. With booming voice, He told you 'Son, I'm a fraid that there is no God after all', and then he leaves you all alone."

The question made an effect since he looked at me awkwardly and immediately lay down to sleep. Aris on the other hand was trying hard not to laugh.

The Life of a Friend

This is a true story of a friend of mine. He asked that I write his story without naming names for the sake of related people's privacy:

MY LIFE IN A MOVIE

Have you seen a movie in real life? Well, I have; with my VERY own two eyes. The only difference is that I play different roles in the movie. I play the part of a son, a father, an ex-husband, a lover, a bestfriend and sometimes just an expectator.

I never had a middle name to start with. My mother served as my parent in everyway she can. That was why she was dumbfounded to hear about my reckless life. I guess she always sees me as the cute kid asking for milk: I guess all mothers do.

So where did I get my Y chromosome? Well, let's just say that I last heard of him 10 years ago, from a white envelope entangled with a static face of a stranger. The picture I kept as a reminder of his absence.

Since I tend to myself, I learned to be independent at a very young age. I never needed anyone else's help. You might portray me as the rebellious street-smart kid in a class. The anti-hero who happens to be a hero at the end. Yes, I'd like to think of it that way. But not the stereotypical one, I think I had a charisma to melt a girls heart back then .

But sometimes life gives you something to relate to. Someone to talk to: That's when I met my bestfriend.

It was 4th year High School. She was a year younger and was a transferee. We were introduced by common friends and there was nothing unusual about it. Like the usual students, we get to talk a lot about our angst in life; But mostly, she was sharing problems about everything. She became more than an acquiantance. Through time, I became her confidant and bestfriend.

Life was never complete without her. But the comforting words became physical intimacy. I'm not sure if it was the naive youth or just stupidity, but we enjoyed our relationship too much. Too much to maker her pregnant.

I only knew about the pregnancy after her abortion. Our world fell. I tried to rebuild the bridge connecting us, but the scar was so deep. Only time can heal such wounds. Time I cannot offer. She closed her door for me. Out of guilt, I never knocked. Once again, I was alone.

Confused with myself, I took the refuge of a romantic relationship. But this time I was sure about true love. She offered me more than comfort. We were soulmates. I love her with all my being; and she offered the same amount of love.

I had a second chance of redeeming myself when my girlfriend got pregnant. It was a shock for our families, but I've been in difficult situations before. It was enough reason not to be weak again. I was to become a father.

In a way, it was hard. Aside from being a young father, I never had a role model except of the 10-year old smiling picture I got. But I promised myself to do everything I can to be the best father I can be.

Then my beautiful daughter was born on a beautiful day; And I named her after a beautiful flower. For the first time, I saw myself in a family portrait. A father, a mother ,a daughter and a love to bind them.

I wish I could end my story in this part. I wish I can tell you that my wife and I would grow old loving each other, while watching our daughter grow up as well. But there are too many 'buts' in my story; and real life has no fantasy ending.

Three years after our marriage, while working responsibly as any father would do, my wife decided to go abroad. We had our ups and downs but the idea of being distant from her was unbearable. It was for our daughter's sake, so I had to say yes to the idea.

Then she fell for another guy while being away. He was there for her, she said.

I was niformed though a chat message: Lifeless and careless. I died the instant it hit me. All I can do was press the x button, wishing that our problems can be solved that way. Just like the button closed, my wife became my ex-wife.

It was maybe because she grew tired of me - and I can't blame her. I also happen to be my own demon. I wasn't a perfect husband nor a perfect father. I've done so many things worth regretting. I ended up blaming myself.

But would that be enough reason not to hold on to? Don't we deserve another chance? How can I fight a battle miles away from home?

Our daughter was too young to know and she deserved innocence. She deserves a
life better than my childhood. I never get to tell her about it.

Ironically, my bestfriend became my confidant during the time of sorrow. We have forgiven each other and promised to help one another once more. She's now happily married with kids.

Time heals all wounds, I'm afraid. No matter how I want to prolong this story, I can only hope for a better future ahead of me. I'm still learning to heal myself; To make the best out of life; To grow smarter and to love more.

I have not closed the doors to the people I love. I will still wait until another chapter in my story is to be told: Waiting and hoping for the a better day. Like a real-life story, I'll leave the ending to one's imagination. You can think of it as a tragedy, and let me suffer until the end; or you can give hope and make a happy ending with it. But no matter what happens, I know that I'm living my life to the fullest.

end

---------------------------------

How I Write:

I'm not a writer. I write passionately, but not naturally. I see, feel,
smell and experience things then I draw them in letters.

So i guess you won't learn anything from this post but this:

"If you want to write then stop reading. Simply write; Otherwise you'll
just be a couch potato in front of a TV getting fat from other people's
point of view. Go on have some diet and exercise...write."

Breaking the habit

Once in a while we tend to get loose of our routine. I remember a friend, who just woke up one day, gone straight to Jollibee in her pjs, ordered a breakfast meal only to find out from the Jollibee staff that it was afternoon. She confused dusk from dawn because it was never part of her routine to sleep in the afternoon.

I'm having the same confusion now: I thought it was a Monday morning since we didn't have a work yesterday. Confounded, it took me an entire minute to realize my mistake.

So I guess I should be happy. I only have to endure 3 more days instead of 5 just to get to weekend; And by Saturday morning, I'll wake up early to work, wait for a bus, ride it only to find the office empty.

JAS DO IT!

I. Jas learned sarcasm
One Sunday morning, as I got down the stairs, Jas greeted me with "DADA andito ka? wala ka sa work?". I responded by kissing him and telling him that it was a Sunday: a day without work.

"YEHEY" he shouted. He was jumping and stomping from happiness. Just before he run away from me, he formed his knuckle like a ball and took a hit on my crutch. He ran and left me grasping for air as he shouted "Yehey, walang work si Dada...Yehey".

It was surely a painful memory, and still I don't know why he did it.

II. Jas sleeping hour
Jajas is afraid with the sound of curfew which he refers as "Speaker". To him, Speaker is a giant robot walking everynight in the neighborhood, checking whether kids are sleeping. Once caught awake, Speaker will take the kid with him to wherever he lives.

This story seems to work since Jas really makes an effort to sleep before curfew hour; so as long as he won't have nightmares about it.

III. Jas cried wolf
One time Jas shouted "POPO". Like the usual routine, Jody and I hurriedly check whether he was really ready to poop; only to find him laughing and saying "Joke joke joke". Since what he did wasn't funny, I told him the story of the boy who cried wolf.

Jas listened contently while I made one of my most horrific story-telling. As I end the story, telling that the boy was eaten by the wolves, Jas looked at me silently.

I thought he was going to apologize for the behavior, instead he said "POPO", and he was seconds away from soiling his shorts.

IV. Family Potrait
Sometimes, when Jas feels emotional, he would embrace Jody tightly. Feeling sad about the situation, I would join the embrace only to be greeted by Jajas' "Hindi, dun ka" pointing outside the house.

Like an obedient father, I would resume my distance.

Our Friend Noton

My bestfriend Aris and I share a common friend...an imaginary friend.

His name is Noton, he was named after a decaying poster in one of the Tambayan near the UP Main Library. He was the closest thing to insanity.

It started when Aris and I agreed not to sleep over a weekday. We happen to be staying at separate dorms, and my dorm was strict on curfew matters. Equipped with a pack of Winston Lights and a lighter, we journeyed late at night at the Beta Way. The place was known for being a holdapers' area. But we dressed up like bums so we walked anyway; we care less of ourselves that time.

We talked about life, the philosophy of being "Prideless", our songs, our plan to ride a bus letting fate decide on our destination, mysticism, Sherlock Holmes & even the mosquitoes breeding and biting us as we tambay on one of the cemented tables there.

Feeling the presence of sleep, we agreed that one of us can lie down on the table to doze off, while the other would watch over; then we could switch places after 10 mins. At start, it seemed to work but the mosquitoes were merciless even to sleeping bums.

Again we walked and talked and puffed a cigarette or two. We stopped at the main library to drink some coffee. Cigarettes and coffee are the perfect match for insomnia back then. By that time, we've ignored the calling of sleep. We were laughing at simple matters. We laughed so hard, that I remembered crying over an erap joke. That's when Noton came in.

I'm not sure if it was Aris or I who pointed at the poster on one of the walls. The poster was badly made that the words "not on" became "noton". We laughed at it for a minute until Aris said "Sabi sayo tatawa tayo eh". We both imagined that a certain character named Noton said it.

Noton, as I imagined him, behaves like one of those side kicks in Filipino movies. He says the useless phrase "Sabi sayo eh", which we found idiotic since what's done is done; and saying "sabi sayo eh" is like pretending knowing everything AFTER an event.

Noton's life span was short. As the sun goes up, I remembered that we've agreed to bury Noton in our minds with a shoverl and soil. The last thing he muttered was "Sabi sa inyo lilibing niyo ako eh". At the end, he still won the annoyance. We laughed at this idea as we got up to have another round on the Acad Oval.

Noton, buried, was replaced by "WALANG TULUGAN" by Kuya Germs. I can't remember much what happened next except for the part wherein I had to attend the day's class with a very big eye bug.

Until now I still imagine Noton from time to time, just like now saying "Sabi sayo lalagay mo ako sa blog eh".

Ironies of Life

Why is it that we look forward to a Sunday, only to realize that we wake up so late and will celebrate half of the day? I guess that's the reason why it feels incomplete sometimes.

Why is it that my friends think I'm making a joke when I rediculously tell things with all honesty? I guess that's the trouble of being a joker, no one takes you seriously ;)

Why do I keep on asking too much, when all I want is to believe in the magic of life?

Why do I love art yet took Applied Physics as a course?

Why I feel sad despite the ends of mouth touching both ears with laughter?

Why do I have to ask these questions, when I already know the answers?

My College Exam Memory - Reviewing in bed.

It's 4 hours before en examination in one of my Master's class, and I can't help but remember an unforgetful review I made back in college.

It was one of my major classes, my Theoretical Physics subject to be exact. I remember cramming during that night. I bought a POP cola to keep me awake and biscuits to feed my brain. I reviewed lying down the bed, since my back hurts from my PE class that day. It was rainy, misty and cold outside.

I remember reviewing VERY well. I've finished the entire book actually, then I flew out of the window and fought a monster or two.. Well, you see I was reviewing in my dreams.

I woke up an hour away from me exam, and apparently failed it.

An Ode to Mr X on His Bday!

Moneto
----

I got another gift from Mr. X
A crimson memory of my childhood
I got it at 9:30, December 7.
Yesterday, at 2:00am
It was a smile from a special friend
The other day, a mist and rain

Like exchange gifts of some sort
I try to give a gift or two
And Mr. X, the same thing too
we communicate through gifts
Wrapped with colors of the people around me

For years I wonder who Mr X was
and how he chanced upon me
Why he gives and why he takes
where he lives
and how he lives
and why we live; like lovers
intertwined amidst physical contact

Then I saw a remark
A white noise
After childhood
A happy common line

Merry Xmas

It was Mr. X after all
and his birthday is nearing soon

Recording Session

It's a rare occasion for me to do covers, so try to be kind...you can click the mute to remove the noise :)

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The Melodramatic Me

I love romantic stories without kissing scenes and holding hands
I love to greet people's birthday without the cliche HPB!

I love waiting for something not arriving
I love riding the bus staring at the passing lights, without thinking about the destination
I love the silence of the early morning, thinking I was left awake by the peaceful sleep

I love staring into other people's eyes, even though they hate it
I love caring about the people, even though they're just beside me
I love awkward moments, and the reactions thereafter
I love crying alone
I love hating and loving myself at the same time
I love the idea of love, and the idea of loving it
I love life and the way I'm living it

I love this list
and how I'll end it

After The Emotional Ride

It's early morning, and once again, instead of writing my required paper, I'm at a break and thinking of something to ponder with.

My mind, heart and soul have been in a rollercoaster ride for this past few days. I took the ride, and there was nothing more to do but to watch and enjoy the thrill. I rode on an uphill, and my heart beats every incline; I took a plunge and my mind flashed all memories as I go downhill. I took a loop when all I thought was up, became down and all my weaknesses became my strengths. I ended at the beginning and started at the end. I enjoyed every bit of the experience.

I thought I was in control, but I guess life provides you more challenges so as to enjoy breathing and sensing.

I learned new things, met new people, remember old memories, found new places, and even saw myself differently. I destroyed my daily routine, though there was a price to pay.

I accepted defeat and was triumphant on its victory. I look into the eyes of fate and embraced it without fear.

I got depressed, I got overly-happy, I got emotional and numb; and I will treasure it forever.

But like all other rides, the fun has an end. I promise myself to be in control again. To mask my emotions on a straight face: to laugh in silence and to cry without tears.

Today, I will give birth to my better self.

Sleeping Insomniac

Why do I hate sleep
when it gives me reason
to wake up and change
for a better
tomorrow

So that I won't
be able to see the
transition of darkness
to morning

and see morning
brightly as it should be


Why do I wait for the sun
when I know that it won't wait
for me when it sets
while my work is unfinished

So why sleep less
when you can await
in slumber muttering
the letter z
above the jumping
white sheeps


good morning tonight

signs of depression

"Welcome to my world", a friend said. I told him that I wasn't in the mood to talk, and I was struggling to find the source of my sudden burst of loneliness. I thought hard and realized that the problem was simple: I wasn't in control of an incident which is nothing of importance.(weird)

People call it manic depression, bipolar disorder, or plain insanity:I call it soul searching. Reading Veronika Decides to die for the 3rd time, I can't help but admire the way Coelho created a world of a woman trying to rationalize her being by killing herself (which I really disagree in all aspects of life). Fortunately, she was placed in a care of the mental asylum, which was more sane than the world outside.

I have no intention of going to a fictional mental clinic, but I'm in that state right now. Floating in midair, thinking of astral projection to a place away from my body. This started because of a simple statement which I heard few minutes ago.

Welcome to my world, echoes in my ear again. This, too, will pass.