Showing posts from August, 2014


There is a guttural sound, an almost violent disengagement as the plane struggles with gravity. Inside, I feel the weightlessness of my emotions as if my love had sprouted wings. I am flying away from you, unrequited, unhinged. Without you wanting to tie my heart to the ground, it flees from the hurt. I pray that it never kisses the earth again, that it will fly tirelessly, relentlessly. I fear that if it ever forgets and lands even for a second it may want to perch on your heart again.
Up in the air I stare at the clouds and wonder if I could dump all my sorrows in the sky. But I knew I was being dramatic (and corny) so I thought maybe the plane could do a pirouette instead? I looked down and saw this beautiful mountain covered in trees. I asked my seatmate if he knew the name of the mountain. “Sierra Madre,” he said. Isn’t that where Magsaysay’s plane went down? No, it was in Mt. Manunggal in Cebu.
The instructor teaches me how to balance myself on the surf board, how I should …

The Giant

I thought about Goya’s The Giant last night. I imagined him wandering into the desert alone seeking solitude. It is not because he is inherently detached from the people he left. Quite the opposite, I think maybe it was because he has become too attached to them. Perhaps these attachments carry a great burden even for him who is a giant. And so there he is, in the desert, surrounded by emptiness, just the moon and the stars above and the infinite sky that lets him breathe more deeply. I could see him sitting with his mind slowly spilling thoughts like sand spilling in the wind.  There is a sense of unburdening, a sense of bleeding. Perhaps after his mind has been emptied he would be left with nothing but sadness that is ultimately comforting. And though he has turned his back, he is compelled to steal a melancholic glance from where he has been. He does this not in anticipation of anything and definitely not out of regret. He is simply looking back before he finally looks away.

Imagine yourself in an island

Imagine yourself in an island, alone, with thoughts of a life blooming inside your head. It is dusk or midnight or high noon and you feel unsheathed with no shade or blanket for comfort. You’ve been on the island for a very long time but you refuse to make it your home. Every cell in your body refuses to acclimate and you want, above anything else, to live in another place where you think you can breathe. You believe the island has become inhabitable. You are dying in this island, you think, you are bleeding. But as thoughts blossom inside your head, as they take a life of their own, you feel more and more marooned, chained in a place of no escape.