Ye Of Little Faith.

Stop poking the ground.

Stop telling the seeds to sprout out and grow now now now!

Sigh... this is not my season yet.

But I shall be that late bloom.

That will stand in stark contrast to the whiteness of snow.

Only He.

Will make those stringed orbs float.

Whilst I stay on the ground.

I have to be the brown native of this earth first.

Before I can become the blue dweller of the ocean and the sky.

Haha, I Am The Cake.

No slice for you, my dear.

I'm keeping myself under that glass dome.

Away from the weight of your hands.

Away from the mist of your words.

Away from the heat of your perusal.

Opaque friend...

That Madding Crowd.

That singularly-plural force...

...Has no effect on the poles of my world.

I am as stubborn as the core of my planet...

This Orbit.

Brings in rain and snow and sun.

But... It will take me to my own season.

(The sweet pain of swirling in space.)

Punto Final.

At last

The lightest shove

Alas

The happy cliff.

An Afternoon With Jacques.

I shook my head after reading what you wrote.

And I silently whispered a word of thanks.

Dead men do tell tales...

Centuries Later...

                       Alice hopes
                        for
                       more
                           shifting rooms.

Childhood Summers.

In the belly of my little river, your own river molded itself with mine... In the eternity of my scratched and breathless childhood.

Under that old tree, I stared at the tombs of the villagers who were once as young and inexhaustible as me. Weren't they the ancient teachers of my childhood games? I never saw their faces. I only met them through words etched and painted on marble and cheap molded concrete.

Some days I chanced upon these unlikely ancestors' birthdates. My child's mind conjured up rural parties of native rice cakes and sweet broths and rare gift-wrapped packages.

That numb ached. That lost path. I am meeting them again.

Rediscovering them.

Reconciling with them.

Thanking them.

(and) apologizing for the unknown crimes I may have dealt them.

My twenty-six-year-old legs are beginning to feel like their old six years again.

I am once again floating in that river with my own belly of a little river. Staring at that same sky I've always thought was just an outstretched hand away...

These Slippers.

I stole them from my nephew... alright, I borrowed them then.

The aunt that I am.

I wish I can also borrow the paths they visit every weekend when school is blissfully THREE sleep(s) away!

When the best excuse for anything and everything was: "But I am only 6!"

Sigh... I'm forever in search of pixie dust.**

September Dragon Flies.

I'm learning the moods of my village.

I'm discovering how she is like when the roads are dry and dusty.

How she demands for rain.

How she can be both soft and temperamental.

He's Right Though.

But being so stubborn, I guess I just couldn't help it.

I know... I should look at it from a different angle and attack it from a different position.

Stop defeating them. Stop defeating myself.

I Think I Finally Understand...

They used to call me Perfecta.

And every once in a while, my mom would tell me of a three-year-old girl whose teacher described as "malawak ya isip... e ke pa sasabyan kaya ing lesson, ayntindyan na na..."

But somewhere along the _timeline, something happened...

I have always felt that something has been missing... or has been missed in my life...

At this point, I finally know that I purposely chose to underachieve... for everyone expected me to be always Perfecta...

And I hated every moment of it...

I Should Have Been Monumental.

But... not yet.

But.. in time...

For, after everything, the best thing that has resulted from all this is just the realization...

And... well.. it is enough...

As A Little Girl...

... I used to sneak out of our house to swim in the river.

... I used to steal mangoes, duhat, sineguelas.. and those grape-looking fruits whose name I never really remembered.

... I used to stay on the highest branches of trees and just daydream.

... I used to think that the holy water in our village church could heal childhood scrapes.

... I used to write letters to the Nazarene... and silently, whisper the song "One, two, three, Jesus loves me. One, two, He loves you, too..." for I thought that it would make Him smile (even impressed) to hear a little, eight-year-old girl sing a song that no one else in the village knew about...

... I used to bring my playmates to our home so that they could have bread and egg... and ketchup... (for they considered it a feast... though I considered it as just food.)

... I used to feel bad when classmates who I knew were smart, in my childish perception, were made to stay at home to help their families earn a living.

... I used to feel this ache that I knew not how to name...

And as an adult, I still feel it sometimes... and in just the same way as when I was a little girl... I still do not know how to name it...

Shifting Home Of My Childhood.

I remember watching a scene in "Alice in Wonderland" wherein Alice was falling falling falling... there were chairs and other odd furniture and now I finally understand why at that time I did not find such a scene peculiar... because, it resembled our house so much.

Until now, no matter how hard you try to pick things up and put them in their proper places- my mother is too much of a powerful force and too far in her years to change lifetime habits... habits that cannot be faulted, I guess, for she has successfully raised nine children- you never really can take over a castle that solely and rightfully belongs to my mom.

I am glad that I came home.

In this Wonderland of a home.

All a matter of perspective, right?^^

This is the perspective I choose...

How Does The Wine Taste?

I am waiting for the day when you'll finally say, "Okay, foreign mistress, it's time my lips kiss my homeland's limbs."

Make haste, love. You have to find me before another gust of wind takes you away from my waiting arms. From my too-dry shore.

Those waves are no longer touching this sand. Bid them come with you... so that those traces of _me can go back to that sea that has missed me... as you cradle me.

The Anywhere Room.

My sister is having one built right now.

It's such a delicious idea.

(and) My mouth's watering.:D

Measure For Measure.

I wonder what's gonna happen next...

What's the Duke planning next...?

I think I'll change my title to "Your Grace"

For I have one under my vestments... :D

Atrophy.

I have suffered worse deaths than this.:) I have tried to always look on the bright side of things. I make myself laugh when all I really want to do is get a pint of ice cream and sit somewhere dark and wallow and swallow.

Nobody takes a clown seriously. So I should stop finding something worth laughing about; but it is when I'm being a clown that I am actually most serious. Things are not always what they seem. Most people just don't know how much strength it takes from me to be weak. So that they may gather their own strength.

This is my sin. To the people I love. To myself.

I Make People Leave.

And I don't know how I do it.

Maybe my smiles are tiring.

Maybe my views are too askewed.

Maybe I have too much faith.

Bleed If You Must.

There is life coming into being.

I feel it.

My fingertips now understand the effort of my young limbs.

The battle scars of my knees.

They are forming their trophies now.

Listless And List-less.

I can hum a song while mouthing the words.

I read romance novels when I'm bored.

I am butterfingered.

I am hard to rouse.

I am hard to restrain.

When I am not too conscious about it, I can reach a high E.

I have a ****-face daw when I sing.

I know the reason now why the band was a hit...

I think Elvis Presley is damn sexy.

I feel hot when I sing "She Will Be Loved."

I feel hotter when I hear "Mustang Sally."

I tend to think too much.

And apparently, at this point, I've decided not to overdo it.

Random Blah. Really, It's All Blah.

There were kids playing lenten games this morning on my way to school.

I used to tie those same stems around my head when I was their age, too.

I saw this old, bent woman by the side of the road.

I wondered if she ever screamed at the height of passion in her youth.

I was thinking of doing what Fanny did.

Sing songs to the world and see if it will listen.

My dreams have been asking for a hand.

It is time I give it.

I am tired of sad faces.

I am tired of Sadness' visitations.

I will shoo it away now.

Try my best not to invite it back.

I have this secret that is wanting to burst out of me.

It wants to open its wide mouth and spread the word.

I'm telling it to shut up for now.

I remember what Kris told me.

I remember what dad told me.

There is an arrival that I am waiting for.

I do hope it comes.

This random blah now ends.

If you are now cross-eyed, blame me not.:D

...

From the same tree

All the world's children fall

Like cold leaves shivering

For the warmth of her embrace

Like ripe fruit

Kissing the earth

That fateful thud...

Lab Light.

All the world becomes a specimen under this magnifying glass emotion.

Time to turn off the light...

Crimson Joy!

My blood is dancing like a dervish around the home of my heart.

Oh but my heart is like a child that can't help but run around in the rain!

Today's profound letters: Ahihihi. ^_^

That I Love You.

({and} That you love me.)

(That I love me, too.)

'tis enough.

Enough not to deny Day's wooing(s).

To not help but partake in its festivities.

To not resist meeting it for sunbathed trysts.

To not help but allow it to carry me in (its) arms...

... turned smoky by its waning.

So You Said.

(But) You see, you don't really know the winds that pass through these walls.

You said, you'd gladly trade your mountains with this flat ground I'm on.

This tiny bit of earth where summer turns to sudden winter to sudden autumn...

These walls look weathered and cracked.. but look closely... there... I have mixed myself with the mortar of my home.

Morning Song.

(This morning, the power went out.)

(And) My nephew kept screaming "Ooohoo! Ooohoo!" when the the power came back on...

Little did he realize that his scream was in perfect pitch.:)