You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘writing’ tag.

 

Passing through a mountain where the paths wove

I saw a crow on the side of the road

Pick up a plastic bag and fly away.

I have seen a lot today.

 

The world around is glistening green

Some fog is curling in the air.

If I had only the time to spare

I’d stay. I’d fill my soul to its brim.

 

Note: This one is kind of old. I wrote this in March on a trip to my Dad’s hometown.

I was dissected within minutes

By all your questions.

You figured me out so easily.

I wonder how you were able to see me so clearly.

 

I who hate myself and fear everything

With all my walls and locks and secrets

I who cannot define

My dreams, my path, my life, myself.

 

I didn’t know the right questions to ask

But you did.

 

Here I sit with you

With my tear-stained cheeks

And the snot running from my nose.

 

I am horrified and disgusted with myself

But you’re kind enough to tell me

That I am still beautiful.

Image

I’ve forgotten all about this little WordPress blog of mine.  It’s been two years since my last post here, and I’m surprised at the fact that this blog still exists, and that it even gets any hits.

The last time I was here, I was still working for a prestigious hospital in Metro Manila, doing my rounds as a float bedside nurse in a different nursing unit everyday.  There were major changes in my life since then.

For one, I still work for a prestigious hospital in Metro Manila, but it’s not the same one as before.  And I am no longer a bedside nurse; I work as a clinical systems analyst (or nurse informaticist, if I really want to use “nurse” in my job description).  I moved out of the apartment that I was renting with my roommate, Lyza, and I am back at my childhood home.  Then I went through an ordeal with my family which I don’t want to get into details of.  I still have the sneakers in the picture of my blog header, but I don’t wear them anymore.  I still write poems and do sketches, but have not done any crafting for a long, long time.

I don’t know why I’m writing this (I’m pretty sure no one is reading), but I thought this blog deserved an update. I admit that I began using tumblr shortly after I stopped blogging on WordPress, and after two years, I miss WordPress.  It was, and will continue to be the place where I map out my thoughts.  With that said, I’m going to revive this blog.  I plan to migrate some of my tumblr posts, just to keep a somewhat “complete” record of all my posts for the past years (so I guess it will be safe to assume that any posts between February 2011 up to March 16, 2013 came from tumblr).

For anyone who’s interested, my tumblr is Salty Scribbles.

We walk, following the dead through narrow streets that could barely fit a car.  It is a procession, a solemn flash mob invading the small country roads.  People look at us as we pass by.

We continue along a small path that leads into the town cemetery.  Stone and gravel are crushed repeatedly under the shoes of almost a hundred mourners.  

In November, this same path must be covered with drops of candle wax, flower petals, and a mix of trash and dirt.

There are tall trees heavy with green mangoes.  I get a sudden thought that they must be well-nurtured by the dead.

They finally lay his casket down inside the chapel.  Sounds of weeping fill my ears, but I hear none from his wife.  She is not allowed to cry.

Outside, someone whimpers softly like a dog.  The wind carries the sound along with those of shovels scraping the ground, mixing cement.  When the cement has covered everything, the whimpering turns into howling.

A real dog comes along to sniff at our feet.

The sky is bright blue with barely a cloud in sight when they let white balloons fly into the air.  People start clapping.  

I hear someone tell a child, “look,” pointing up to the balloons with his lips.  ”Say goodbye to grandfather.”

Days go by so fast, it’s insane.  I can’t believe half of the year is gone (that’s probably how long I’ve been inactive here on tumblr).

I met a lot of great people who taught me some valuable lessons about themselves, other people, and myself.  I did things that I never thought I would or could do.  I found my curiosity for the world again.  I had fun and I’m no longer jaded.  

I’m alive and well.  I’m wiser, and apparently still as weird as ever (in a good way).  I’m ready for what the rest of the year has in store for me, whatever those things may be.

I hear the sound of metal hitting metal, of machines whirring, of these urban cicadas singing.  Day and night, the workers, they come.  I pass by them on my way home from work.  They oftentimes will say hello to you, but I always ignore them because they anger me.  That is, of course, through no fault of their own.  Displacement is what you call it.

The skeletons of their buildings have cast shadows over our homes, breaking the wind and slowly blocking the sky out as they grow.  They have taken up all the space along the sidewalk, with mountains of cement here, and mixers and trucks there.  I, along with other pedestrians, am forced to step out onto the highway at my own risk because their obstacle course of construction materials is impossible to pass through.

Their banging and clanging can be heard three blocks away at three in the morning.  Their buildings are an eyesore.  The fliers that they give out, with the tagline “be the better neightbor!  Own a condo unit for only XXXXXXX amount as downpayment,” insult me.  Does owning a flat make you a better neighbor than one who owns a regular home with a garden, gate, and a garage?  Fuck you and your marketing director.

—————————————————-

This is a writing exercise that I made this morning because I couldn’t attend review class.  All of the above is true though.  I do not approve of the construction projects around my neighborhood.