God (heart) Manila

i walked from gym to home, last night.

energised by the tantric contortions of a late night yoga class, with frozen creamy drink in hand, i walked the busy streets of timog-tomas morato, reciting little poems to myself, singing little ditties, allowing headlights to provide passing spotlight to my singular performance.


i drink in the life of the street.

my poetic show was interrupted intermittently and i pause, without annoyance:

taxis slow down and honk reluctantly like a prospect to a whore; like mr. right or the hottest trick – always there when you don’t want them, nowhere in sight when you’re just wanting to be taken for a ride.

kids in skateboards try out new feats, unaware of the perilous boozy traffic, causing it even. only aware of each others’ ones-up-manship, congratulating and insulting each other in turn.

peddy cab drivers whistle and offer a ride with a smile, like their offers were more than something that involves their legs, almost hinting on an equally sweaty proposition.

my fake dvd dealer waved at me from a distance. running up to me to pitch a convincing spiel that the latest action movie of action stars from a bygone era is fantastic and actually not the shit that it is. i declined with a smile.

a child with flower leis walks up to tell me her sad story, wanting me to buy for a car i don’t own or an icon of a god i don’t believe in. for school, she says. i offered her my drink, she takes it and walks away.

i resume my act whenever i can. the sounds of the street providing accompaniment. cacophonic, discordant, oddly synchronized.

i am one with the life of the street.

and for several moments i can forget that i have to wake up in the morning to earn my keep, that while i am burdened by work – too many in this country can’t find one, that our swat teams don’t have bullet proof vests, that ‘major-major’ has found its way to popular lexicon to an irritating extent, that i am fighting the ills of society to which i am both victim and perpetrator.

i get sad then took comfort in my mother’s faith that i was created in His likeness. and since i love this city, this metropolis, this country – maybe He does, too.

losing you

this is something i wrote back in college. thought i'd just post something to break the silence.


if time would go back I would find you a person of no consequence.

in my life you were the only person who can tell me, “i know you.” it did not happen in a blink of an eye. we worked on it, little by little, like pasting plaster to a beloved statue, we’ve come to cherish our shared galatea. i treated you with more warmth, love and respect than any other person in this world.

did that frighten you?

well, it frightened me.

so i started hitting you with pretentious anger, pummeling fists of hatred that were intended to be more violent than they have ever been. so there were those terrible battles of two entwined souls confused and threatened by the onslaught of fabricated calamities sure to extinguish the flickering light of intimacy. “i’m scared, let’s stop this,” – i thought. “fuck, I don’t give a damn,”- i mouthed.

why did you not hear my unspoken plea for a truce? why did you not listen to the resonance of my bruised spirit unable to halt what it regretfully started?

i lost.

did you know that?

will you ever know?

in the final exodus of understanding coaxed by fear, pride and distorted sense of self-preservation, i lost you.

and in losing the being enmeshed to my soul i lost a part of myself bigger than is worldly possible. you cannot tell me, “i know you,“ now. for i am just an insult to the person you helped into being.

damn.

if time will go back i will find you a person of no consequence.