She laughs out loud with her friends,
Her big smile belies the void inside her.
In her solitude, her thoughts fly
To her childhood in the land of white
Picket fences and green lawns, where she
Walked the streets with her small hands
Holding the big, strong, steady hands of her dad.
When she’s alone, she looks at her picture
With her mom by the Golden Gate Bridge of
San Francisco. Her dad took the photo when
She was seven. Much has changed since then.
There was a promise of endless love between
Mom and dad that is now broken.
Are all promises meant to be broken?
She now walks the cobblestone streets of London alone.
No strong and steady hands to hold her.
She takes photographs of Europe’s castles and palaces.
Could they live in one of those?
Once again, could dad be king and mom the queen
And she the princess? And could they live
Happily ever after? Or are happy endings
Really just found in fairy tales?
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Timelines and An Epiphany (finally!)
In how many ways could one end a friendship? And what could be the reasons for its end? In the past many, many months, I’d heard, or must I say, read (through text!), the most unbelievable lines that ended a friendship, lines that had me in shock as my mind raced with questions that were only answered recently.
Several days and nights had found me weeping, not merely crying, at the loss of such relationships. Friends, those who have stayed, had found me staring out into space during conversations. I had so many questions like “how come it was so easy for them to end the friendship as if with just the blinking of their eyes or the snapping of their fingers?” Behind all the questions was one big “WHY?” Why the betrayal, why the lies, why the end? With the passage of time, the questions had remained unanswered. No explanations had been offered, no “closure talks” had taken place. We’ve since gone on with our lives, changed addresses, met new people, gone places without the other, and made plans without thinking of the other. I’ve been attending to my enlarged, and still enlarging, territory.
One recent Saturday, in the midst of watching TV, trying to take a nap, and playing with the dog (talk about multitasking!), the answer came, in a voice so distinct, so clear that it made me pause—it was so easy for them to let go of the friendship because there was no friendship in the first place, or the friendship stood on a wrong and weak foundation.
And now that I have the benefit of hindsight, I believe the answer was right.
While I had felt that there was something amiss in the friendship while I was still in it, I just ignored the feeling, I being not the type to count the cost of sacrifices I make just to make a friendship work or to make it worthy of being called a “friendship.” But how foolish of me for having thought of those relationships as a friendship, and how much more foolish could I have been for having thought of those people as my friends when I myself consider the words “friends” and “friendship” as something so sacred that for me, it takes time and trials to know if a friendship is genuine or to even call someone my friend. Heck, at the slightest sign of pressure or strain, the other person just always decided to let go of the friendship while I would exert all effort to restore it. So much for being tested! And so much for keeping promises of friendship!
Lesson? When you feel you’re being shortchanged in a relationship, in small or big ways or worse, both, you’re probably right. When you feel you are the only one working to keep a relationship, you’re probably right. A friendship doesn’t have to be a burden; it doesn’t have to be difficult to keep if there are two people keeping it. The sad thing is when there is only one person holding it tightly while the other one is ready to let go of it any time the going gets tough. Then, it is not worthy of being called a friendship and the other person is not worthy of being called a friend. Just end the il/delusion and move on.
Several days and nights had found me weeping, not merely crying, at the loss of such relationships. Friends, those who have stayed, had found me staring out into space during conversations. I had so many questions like “how come it was so easy for them to end the friendship as if with just the blinking of their eyes or the snapping of their fingers?” Behind all the questions was one big “WHY?” Why the betrayal, why the lies, why the end? With the passage of time, the questions had remained unanswered. No explanations had been offered, no “closure talks” had taken place. We’ve since gone on with our lives, changed addresses, met new people, gone places without the other, and made plans without thinking of the other. I’ve been attending to my enlarged, and still enlarging, territory.
One recent Saturday, in the midst of watching TV, trying to take a nap, and playing with the dog (talk about multitasking!), the answer came, in a voice so distinct, so clear that it made me pause—it was so easy for them to let go of the friendship because there was no friendship in the first place, or the friendship stood on a wrong and weak foundation.
And now that I have the benefit of hindsight, I believe the answer was right.
While I had felt that there was something amiss in the friendship while I was still in it, I just ignored the feeling, I being not the type to count the cost of sacrifices I make just to make a friendship work or to make it worthy of being called a “friendship.” But how foolish of me for having thought of those relationships as a friendship, and how much more foolish could I have been for having thought of those people as my friends when I myself consider the words “friends” and “friendship” as something so sacred that for me, it takes time and trials to know if a friendship is genuine or to even call someone my friend. Heck, at the slightest sign of pressure or strain, the other person just always decided to let go of the friendship while I would exert all effort to restore it. So much for being tested! And so much for keeping promises of friendship!
Lesson? When you feel you’re being shortchanged in a relationship, in small or big ways or worse, both, you’re probably right. When you feel you are the only one working to keep a relationship, you’re probably right. A friendship doesn’t have to be a burden; it doesn’t have to be difficult to keep if there are two people keeping it. The sad thing is when there is only one person holding it tightly while the other one is ready to let go of it any time the going gets tough. Then, it is not worthy of being called a friendship and the other person is not worthy of being called a friend. Just end the il/delusion and move on.
Things I Never Said
I haven’t told you that I have finally completed the song we were supposed to collaborate on. The words are finished. They are just waiting for their melody.
Did you know that you were one of the reasons I happily decided not to go to France? I didn’t want to miss a single day with you.
I never told you that you were one of the reasons I loved the metaphor of the eagle.
…I saw the movie “Mamma Mia” and remembered the term “blue movie” that you taught me. I thought the movie, a musical, was something that you would love to see. Only that, you would probably see it alone or with someone new.
… I have never told you—my visa has finally arrived. I am off to London in a month. I will finally cross Abbey Road and imagine myself with the Beatles. I don’t know when I’m coming back or if there’s a reason for me to come back.
*****
Before our lunch last weekend, I had already forgotten the last time I saw you. You will find this funny--you once said that I am good at remembering days, at marking off the calendar. You also told me that I am very observant and that I remember what people said and did although I don’t talk about them. I would just often surprise you that I actually remembered things that you thought I just ignored. I never told you that I don’t actually remember everything. I only remember those that are worthy of being remembered. There are those that I choose to forget.
I remember our first date at the restaurant with a mini-orchestra. They played your song for me. I asked you how someone of your stature could love a shy, unassuming lady like me. You just looked at me and smiled as you held my hand. I stared back at you and looked deeply into your brown almond eyes and right there and then I knew I could spend forever with you. I knew I could dance with you in the rain and I would be the one to comfort you when you were in pain. After our dinner, you took me to your music studio. You smiled your dimpled smile when you saw me wide-eyed in amazement as you showed me your music studio. It was my first time inside one. We danced to your songs that night. We skipped and hopped and jumped like crazy to the fast ones and hugged each other while we danced to the slow ones.
Once, we were watching a singing competition. You were surprised that my comments matched those of the judges (there were a lot of flats). You said that maybe, beneath all the business orientation I had was a creative spirit waiting to be unleashed. Maybe. You believed in my writing skills and you encouraged me to write more often. You said we could be like Alex and Sophie in the movie “Music and Lyrics.” I would provide the words and you would provide the music. I haven’t told you that I have finally completed the song we were supposed to collaborate on. The words are finished. They are just waiting for their melody.
I remember our trip to Tagaytay where you taught me about photography. You were extremely happy with my shots. You said I had a natural eye for beauty. Again, you said that I had a creative streak waiting to be tapped. We were impulsive enough to go straight to Batangas after the photography session. We went to just have halu-halo at Aling Celing’s. Imagine that, a long drive to Batangas for a halu-halo?! The next time we were in Batangas was when you took me to your beach house. We went diving by day and at night we had a bonfire party for two. The white sand glowed under the moonlight and the cool breeze from the sea surrounded us. The only noise was our laughter and the lapping of the waves at the beach. I looked at you across the fire as you were fixing the food and drinks and I asked myself, “How could I not love you?” Did you know that you were one of the reasons I happily decided not to go to France? I didn’t want to miss a single day with you.
But, I never told you one thing: that whenever you would drop me off at my home, after the goodbye kiss, when the slightest whiff of your Bulgari perfume was gone, when the taillights and the sound of the engine of your car were gone, a nagging thought would surface—that fate had a different ending for us.
One afternoon, we were back at the restaurant where we had our first date. There was no music, only the clanking of plates and utensils. Everything seemed to be in slow motion—the waiters taking the orders, the other diners raising their hand to ask for the bill, everyone seemed to take forever to walk from the table to the kitchen, from the counter back to the table—everything in slow motion, a stark contrast to the beating of my heart. There was a decision that I had asked you to make and that day, you were telling me about it. You said you were letting me go. You said you were giving me the chance to soar, to find my own place under the sun, to have the world as my playground…because I wanted those…because while I wanted to spend forever with you, I also had dreams of my own, plans that I wasn’t ready to sacrifice then. You asked me for one thing and we both knew I couldn’t give it then. It was better for us to part ways. I always thought you were a good man. You had always been selfless. You allowed me to soar even if it meant parting ways. See, one thing I had always admired you—you had always allowed me to soar while keeping me grounded. I never told you that you were one of the reasons I loved the metaphor of the eagle.
Still, it was impossible for us not to see each other. We went to the same church. There was one Sunday when we attended the service at the same time. I didn’t see you but my friend said she saw you from afar looking at me with longing while my head was bowed since I was writing something. I never told her that I myself had had many accidental sightings of you in church at the usual time we would attend the service. From where I would always sit at the back of the hall, I sometimes would see you in your favorite seat—on the fifth row of the center front section of the hall. I had memorized your form even when your back was turned against me—when your arms were raised in praise, or when your head was bowed in prayer, and even when you were seated and listening intently to the preaching.
Many months after we had parted ways, I saw the movie “Mamma Mia” and remembered the term “blue movie” that you taught me. I thought the movie, a musical, was something that you would love to see. Only that, you would probably see it alone or with someone new.
The invitation to lunch last weekend came as a surprise. And so we went to our usual place, sat at our usual table. It was too early for the mini-orchestra. And you asked a question that came as a bigger surprise—you asked if I could welcome you back into my life. I just looked at you and smiled. I didn’t tell you that I hoped fate would give us a different ending this time, a happy ending--so I could finally dance with you in the rain--or would it?
By the way, I have never told you—my visa has finally arrived. I am off to London in a month. I will finally cross Abbey Road and imagine myself with the Beatles. I don’t know when I’m coming back or if there’s a reason for me to come back.
Did you know that you were one of the reasons I happily decided not to go to France? I didn’t want to miss a single day with you.
I never told you that you were one of the reasons I loved the metaphor of the eagle.
…I saw the movie “Mamma Mia” and remembered the term “blue movie” that you taught me. I thought the movie, a musical, was something that you would love to see. Only that, you would probably see it alone or with someone new.
… I have never told you—my visa has finally arrived. I am off to London in a month. I will finally cross Abbey Road and imagine myself with the Beatles. I don’t know when I’m coming back or if there’s a reason for me to come back.
*****
Before our lunch last weekend, I had already forgotten the last time I saw you. You will find this funny--you once said that I am good at remembering days, at marking off the calendar. You also told me that I am very observant and that I remember what people said and did although I don’t talk about them. I would just often surprise you that I actually remembered things that you thought I just ignored. I never told you that I don’t actually remember everything. I only remember those that are worthy of being remembered. There are those that I choose to forget.
I remember our first date at the restaurant with a mini-orchestra. They played your song for me. I asked you how someone of your stature could love a shy, unassuming lady like me. You just looked at me and smiled as you held my hand. I stared back at you and looked deeply into your brown almond eyes and right there and then I knew I could spend forever with you. I knew I could dance with you in the rain and I would be the one to comfort you when you were in pain. After our dinner, you took me to your music studio. You smiled your dimpled smile when you saw me wide-eyed in amazement as you showed me your music studio. It was my first time inside one. We danced to your songs that night. We skipped and hopped and jumped like crazy to the fast ones and hugged each other while we danced to the slow ones.
Once, we were watching a singing competition. You were surprised that my comments matched those of the judges (there were a lot of flats). You said that maybe, beneath all the business orientation I had was a creative spirit waiting to be unleashed. Maybe. You believed in my writing skills and you encouraged me to write more often. You said we could be like Alex and Sophie in the movie “Music and Lyrics.” I would provide the words and you would provide the music. I haven’t told you that I have finally completed the song we were supposed to collaborate on. The words are finished. They are just waiting for their melody.
I remember our trip to Tagaytay where you taught me about photography. You were extremely happy with my shots. You said I had a natural eye for beauty. Again, you said that I had a creative streak waiting to be tapped. We were impulsive enough to go straight to Batangas after the photography session. We went to just have halu-halo at Aling Celing’s. Imagine that, a long drive to Batangas for a halu-halo?! The next time we were in Batangas was when you took me to your beach house. We went diving by day and at night we had a bonfire party for two. The white sand glowed under the moonlight and the cool breeze from the sea surrounded us. The only noise was our laughter and the lapping of the waves at the beach. I looked at you across the fire as you were fixing the food and drinks and I asked myself, “How could I not love you?” Did you know that you were one of the reasons I happily decided not to go to France? I didn’t want to miss a single day with you.
But, I never told you one thing: that whenever you would drop me off at my home, after the goodbye kiss, when the slightest whiff of your Bulgari perfume was gone, when the taillights and the sound of the engine of your car were gone, a nagging thought would surface—that fate had a different ending for us.
One afternoon, we were back at the restaurant where we had our first date. There was no music, only the clanking of plates and utensils. Everything seemed to be in slow motion—the waiters taking the orders, the other diners raising their hand to ask for the bill, everyone seemed to take forever to walk from the table to the kitchen, from the counter back to the table—everything in slow motion, a stark contrast to the beating of my heart. There was a decision that I had asked you to make and that day, you were telling me about it. You said you were letting me go. You said you were giving me the chance to soar, to find my own place under the sun, to have the world as my playground…because I wanted those…because while I wanted to spend forever with you, I also had dreams of my own, plans that I wasn’t ready to sacrifice then. You asked me for one thing and we both knew I couldn’t give it then. It was better for us to part ways. I always thought you were a good man. You had always been selfless. You allowed me to soar even if it meant parting ways. See, one thing I had always admired you—you had always allowed me to soar while keeping me grounded. I never told you that you were one of the reasons I loved the metaphor of the eagle.
Still, it was impossible for us not to see each other. We went to the same church. There was one Sunday when we attended the service at the same time. I didn’t see you but my friend said she saw you from afar looking at me with longing while my head was bowed since I was writing something. I never told her that I myself had had many accidental sightings of you in church at the usual time we would attend the service. From where I would always sit at the back of the hall, I sometimes would see you in your favorite seat—on the fifth row of the center front section of the hall. I had memorized your form even when your back was turned against me—when your arms were raised in praise, or when your head was bowed in prayer, and even when you were seated and listening intently to the preaching.
Many months after we had parted ways, I saw the movie “Mamma Mia” and remembered the term “blue movie” that you taught me. I thought the movie, a musical, was something that you would love to see. Only that, you would probably see it alone or with someone new.
The invitation to lunch last weekend came as a surprise. And so we went to our usual place, sat at our usual table. It was too early for the mini-orchestra. And you asked a question that came as a bigger surprise—you asked if I could welcome you back into my life. I just looked at you and smiled. I didn’t tell you that I hoped fate would give us a different ending this time, a happy ending--so I could finally dance with you in the rain--or would it?
By the way, I have never told you—my visa has finally arrived. I am off to London in a month. I will finally cross Abbey Road and imagine myself with the Beatles. I don’t know when I’m coming back or if there’s a reason for me to come back.
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