A New June

2010 June 7
by Kim

Hello there. You’re reading my daily life as it unfolds, though I must ask, why it should interest you to read about it at all. You can tell me in private one day.

Perhaps we like to peek into the other world and be able to see what joins or separates it from our own. Let me open this window for you.

Today is Saturday. I woke up today having the intent of leaving the house early to catch school before the enrollment cutoff. Woke up from a dream, with nebulous imagery. I can only recall that it is about a friendship with an unlikely character. Someone I know. It was a happy dream.

When I woke up, I kissed her face. I realized how affectionate I can be. Sometimes, I just forget everything in a cumulative way. I have to say, I’m thinking less and less of you. Your face does not superimpose in my mind when I am kissing someone else. People have different faces. Do you recall me telling you that women should be loved differently for they are each different from one another? I left out the part that they should be loved as they are.

***

I trailed off about two days ago. I fell asleep writing. It’s almost 4 o’clock now. I still have things to do in school tomorrow. I always wonder who I’ll see in school. How their faces will be when they see me. It does not interest me how we will discuss the banalities of life in the university, however, I still talk and try to appear engaging. My friend Byron told me to always have a smile on your face. It’ll start making one feel more cheered up, he says, no matter how bored, sad and angry you might be. I tend to believe him. And so I’ll try it later.

***

When I was on my way home, it began to rain hard. It was like a small outburst from the heavens. About two minutes later the rain suddenly stopped. Cosmic staccato? Funny. Just when I was quietly thinking to myself how people would manage to go home when they’re stuck in a commute. I know how that is, living very far away from the heart of the city. That used to be my life… I remember those times when I’d pack extra cloths and figure out where to sleepover the next day. Years I found it unbearable to live with my father. One night it was raining, I had planned to sleepover at Marj’s apartment. I was foolish enough to think that a few shots of rum in my body would warm me up. I get cold easily, you see. I need warmth to doze off in to the night. Marj said she understood. She’d let me sleep on her bed while she spent the wee hours playing Zeus on the computer, lording over some virtual colony. This rainy night I’m talking about: it rained hard enough that I lied there with my eyes open, feeling some droplets spit at my face through the jalousie. It was wonderful. I was chilling and gritting my teeth, but was smiling actually. The rain seemed like a companion to me that night and I welcomed her. She tells me “Life is fickle”. Weather, weather lang – as Kuya Kim would put it.

Now, I have my own bed.  It is a place very far away from my dad.  Sometimes I miss him, just to look at his face and see if I still feel absolutely nothing.  Not hate.  Not love.  Nothing.  I feel sad about it.  He used to pick me up in the rain sometimes, when he doesn’t feel lazy.  Drive all the way to wherever I am after a night of sleeping over at a friend’s house.  And he’ll ask me nothing about me.  And I would tell him nothing.  Instead, he likes to whine about my mother in these long rides, how she left us and left him to take care of “everything” and I’d sit quietly, not quite listening.  Looking out the window from the front seat of his car.  Leaning on the glass, stoically.

Stranger

2010 May 20
tags:
by Kim

I sat with your sorrow, I know
when a heart is loud,
and that a glance
can steal
no words, only
puzzles of how a
body moves
when it
broke its link

And a gait
can tell the story
of what you had
for breakfast
maybe salty lips
eyes shut, wishing
for the sea
in your hometown
I know you
when you are sorrowful

I look away from
you
but stare
inwardly
back to
a nightmare call
a shudder
back to
a bittersweet ride
in the cool sedan
through that dark stretch
that led you home
every night
I’d make sure you
get home
despite the rain
then I’d know
you are lying in bed
having slight thoughts of
me

And if you think
for a second I had
thought less of you
I dove
into a woman’s body
looking for a scent
her sweat is
perfumed
her kisses expert
surgically precise
the body rushes
my mind runs far away
remembering a
name

You chat me up
on light subjects
this and that
I haven’t
quite
forgotten but
you are
standing there
talking like a
stranger

On writing

2010 May 17
by Kim

Don’t mind me I’m just going to talk about myself again.  Talk to myself about myself.  Let’s see.  You know, I really fancy myself a writer.  But am probably too lazy to finish anything substantial.  A book?  Incredulous.  A pamphlet, maybe.

***

When I was a kid I used to draw people. I draw them quite well.  Sometimes with a cartoon-like quality.  Other times, I like to make faces out of geometric strokes.   And tell everyone – it’s a face.

My mum once forced me to join a drawing contest that had a US dollar cash prize.  I told her I would lose as I’ve seen the caliber of sketch artists who probably are well trained in to the physics of shading and blurring, and depth perception.  Whereas I was just a preteen hobbyist who happened to use a great deal of rear end notebook pages to draw the story of a fictitious character – which is not tantamount to skill.  I initially refused.  I was so embarrassed to even send an entry!  She was persistent to the point that she posed a threat that she will never support my drawing as a hobby if I don’t enter this contest. Come to think of it now, it was a really twisted and very cruel thing to say to an 11-year old.  But at that time, I thought that there was no way to go around it and that I had no choice.  Why would I want one of my favorite things taken  away from me?  And so I drew.

And that was the last time I remember drawing a great deal.

I’ve always thought of publishing my work.  But I’ve read the caliber of writers out there.  Sometimes, I’m afraid to write.  Not because of the work that is out there already.  There are stories that will write themselves, eventually, through time.  We will always leave imprints of historical memory through written work.  If I do not publish my work, the world will not be missing any great literature.  Great literature will always be there.

I’m afraid to lose the will to write.  It may sound absurd however, writing is not something I wish to do for a specific endeavor.  I wait for it to come to me like a dream.  Unexpected. Unforced.  Like a woman you woo.  You can never know when she will come.  You can never force her to come.  But you have to be prepared when she does.  You can’t chase her off and suck her dry like an enterprise.  She won’t like that.

***

I guess, I am not ready yet.  But my goal at the moment is to shape up.  I will work to deserve the craft.  To possess her and rightly so.

I will be made

2010 May 14

Mark my words: I will be made. I will get out of this slump and I will have forgotten how terrible I feel now. I will make a mission of myself. In five years, I will be doing what I love. And no one will stop me.  NO ONE.

***

According to Tito Cube, the great philosophers never settled down with one person because they are married to the world.  A person has only so much love to give.  It appears to me as a reasonable choice.

***

I’d love to spend my birthday somewhere very far from home.  I am seriously putting together the possibility of traveling abroad to Malaysia to visit my friend Kye. Yes, just need to file for my lost passport etc…basically put up with the mindless bureaucracy to what end I desire.  It seems very near, at the same time far off.  Consider also the funds I have to raise for such an endeavor.

However, if not at all possible I still plan to fly a considerable distance from here.  There are some events in Dumaguete come July which appear to me as the perfect excuse to go there.  Excuse, being the operative word.  Albeit, my old teammates from the debate team are encouraging me to join their adjudication pool and the idea does have some appeal.  You know, my favorite part of these conventions are the socials.  Meeting like-minded delegates from different parts of the country…and possibly new love interests, hahaha.  But on a serious note, no, I am not looking for love interests at the moment.  Shouldn’t I be at this stage of exorcising such ridiculous thoughts of love?  Yes, I am projecting my friend R who says that one can do stupid things now and justify it later with cynicism.  Whilst I dwell more at the latter portion of that thought.

There is just something about traveling that stirs the soul.  The sky shifts above you and yet you feel the oneness of the terra firma. The singularity of the world no matter where you are.  Just a new perspective.  New smells. New sounds. New images.  One beautiful subject.

Yes, the things you hope for to be content with one’s lonely freedom.

Margins

2010 May 11
tags: ,
by Kim

I crawled to the center of your page, to be read and exposed, and authored halfway. Leave me softly. End your thoughts of me with an ellipse…

If you must leave me before the margin, kiss the large space that you’ve left empty, but not with a guilt that comes with a frustrated poem due for discard.

I ask that you hold this theme and rewrite when you are ready to begin another page.

Flamma

2010 May 8
tags: , ,
by Kim

A fire starts
from the things we love, care not
to hold out a hand
it talks back
with a scar
The remains charred
we make out the outlines
of what once was
amidst black chips
brittle to the touch
care not to reduce
them to trivial ash

What gets lost in the fire
hides from view
by turning it to pieces
so small
and elusive to the eye

When a love dies
it is compacted in an urn
with bereaved hearts
a display revisited
for mourning
what once was

My Big Brown Shoes

2010 May 3
by Kim

For an hour I paint my face
over the blemishes and the dark restless eyes
for submission to the curator – you
It is reticent and contrived
Such is the impression I aspire
that of Manet’s Olympia
staring on stoically
Naked but unfazed
Coquettishly embellished yet
unmarred

For an hour I wait by the shade
while the sun unleashes its ire
With care I cover my face
that you may take a look
as though I was relaxed
and had arrived about the
same time as you

And time laughs insolently
for the fifteen minutes I
was finally near, you
stared down and admired
My Big Brown Shoes

Grow

2010 April 30
tags: ,
by Kim

Note: Rough, still.  Thank you for your criticisms.


I hid your roots
from the sun
In the darkness
Of the earth
It grows:
a love

Your finger burrowed
Like the head
of a worm
Tucked in my
Hole

The seed
shifted
as the soil
rearranges
As the worm
wriggles
around looking
for food -
The sap which gives it
Life

Time
counts itself
backward
And implodes -
The shell cracks

Then
the soil forms
a crevice
and it spurts the
moist head
of a seedling

Sea and desert

2010 April 16
tags: ,
by Kim

You held my shoulders
calmly, after a long time
of being grabbed
and shook to be
understood

Our hearts sank
but were caught
on the sea of
compassion
like a buoy

***

Finally, we know
that there are
other things
unturned
and that we need not
insist
living in each others’ desert,
in its extremities
whether
night or day

It was worth that
one trek
I can say I knew
that desert well
its hot dunes
its biting cold
its beauty
its threats

But once I leave
I shall never return
unless I
fly
over it;
looking down
from the
sky

Dumaguete

2010 March 29
tags:
by Kim

Note: I’m gradually dabbling in to poetry.  Truth is, I’ve always been partial to prose as I feel that I lack the skill and literary orientation to be able to produce read-worthy poetry.  This is just a stab in dark.  Novice steps.  I welcome your criticism, good or bad – I don’t consider this the final product, yet.


There is a place
I’ve been invited to go to
for many reasons
from various people
in different episodes of my life

They often say
You’ll like it there,
just a short visit
smell the air, write, read
start over, breathe

Found myself sold, then I said, “One day”
Yet one day never came

I’ve egged a friend
to chase her love
Told people, “You’ll like it there”
Loaned money to someone
who wanted to go so bad
And acted surprised when
he never came back -
him and my money

What’s so great about
Dumaguete?
I’ve met people who’ve been there
Read people who called it their home
Said goodbye to those on their way
I feel it is all real to me
The people, the stories
but the place

I promised myself, “One day”
One day I will go
and no one will know

And if you happen to pass me on the street
I imagine how your face would look:
Perhaps you can tell
That I’m not just visiting
That I’ve lived there
without letting you know

I’ll say to you,
“Isn’t it great here?”
Like I nursed those words
and held it up to you
like your lovechild.