Toddler Trips

As a student, I enjoy travelling.

People see me as a homebody kind of person. Yes, I am. But I realized that the more you travel, the more you can get more insights about other people in other places. That is why as of the moment, i enjoy travelling. Commuting, that is. Riding buses and taxis. Just to go out from my comfort zone and explore different place on my own.

 

Streetroyers

Last week I went to Davao to buy some books and to do some personal business.  While in the bus, I noticed that there was a slight traffic somewhere – and I was intrigued why some people are renovating (sort of) the streets when they are perfectly – well – perfectly normal.  I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the road in that area really.  I thought they are going to expand and add some lanes but actually they are just destroying the streets for no reason other than political exposures.  And really, this one causes an inconvenience like traffic.

But if the people behind this think I’m happy with what they are doing, no, I’m not.  They should have done something more worthy that spending bucks destroying a road and fixing it again.

I’m just one of those people who are socially-conscious with what the government is doing these days.  It’s natural, since what they should be doing is public service that is worthy and useful.

It all boils down to the idea that election is coming up real soon for them.  Although for me, a year is quite a long time to wait, but the politicians out there (and poli-wannabes) are now doing their best to look good.

For the 2010 elections, vote wisely!

 

High School

It was half-past six in the morning, and I was walking in the school corridor sometime in March. The air was full of fragrance of freshly bloomed flowers. I stopped for a while, and smelled the familiar fragrance of someone quite akin to those flowers.

He caught up with me, and greeted me with a casual good morning. A passing glance – but still, I couldn’t find the right words to say straight to his face. I never thought talking to someone like him could be this complicated. I felt desperate to say something in the crucial moment. I saw him clutching his guitar. “You have brought your guitar.” I casually said. He just nodded and smiled.

***

I remember I was sleepy at the Chemistry lab room. The chemistry teacher was discussing the properties of elements. I knew nothing more about them, except from the fact that sometimes, they undergo changes, in some circumstances, they do not. They are always like that. And it made me sleepy. But at that moment his voice stunned me into wakefulness as he tried to impress the class with his seemingly poetic recitation of the periodic table. I didn’t oftentimes see him doing something like this. By the end of the period, we were grouped in pairs for individual reports, and I was the unfortunate one to be paired with him. It must have been a total fluke, but he didn’t mind being paired with someone passive and average like me.

***

How could I think of protons and electrons at a time like this? I heard myself say. He was in front of me, smelling like soap and sometimes smiling at me. He was still wearing his basketball shoes for he had just finished his regular play-off with his team. Oftentimes, I glanced at him, but he would only smile politely at me and ask if I understood his explanations. Oh yes, the protons – the positively charged atom, and electrons, the negatively charged ones. They stick. They should. Do they? I’m not sure.

We went on with extreme deliberations about our report, discussing the possible questions the class would throw at us, and clearing ambiguous scientific terms up. We also did a few final experiments. We didn’t realize it was nearing twilight. I knew he was expecting a lot from me, probably to keep up with his own standards, and I was more than willing to do so. Tonight, I would browse the internet about our report and I would sleep late at night, I told him. He patted my shoulder gently, and said, “You’re a different one.”

***

I was not like what he probably imagined his girl would be. That’s why, it didn’t occur into his

 

You Lovely People

The book “You Lovely People” written by Bienvenido Santos was first published in year 1955 by Bookmark Inc. It is a chronicle of the Bienvenido Santos’ experiences while he was staying in America during World War II. The book was written during the time when Bienvenido Santos studied in University of Illinois, Columbia and Harvard and worked in the Philippine government in Washington D.C.

The book includes 19 short stories, and in the 1991 reprinted copy published by Bookmark Inc., it included an introduction from NVM Gonzales. In the introduction, NVM Gonzales said that America, through different universities (Columbia, Harvard, Burnett, Richards) taught Bienvenido Santos English, but eventually the writer “studied the Filipino heart”.

The working title for the book chosen first was “The Hurt Men”, before the title “You Lovely People” was

 

Cut Off

One morning I woke up to find the stem of my plant dangling.

It was accidentally cut off, probably. I placed all my potted plants back at the veranda. I looked at the stem hanging loosely. Who could’ve done such thing? I imagine my mother’s voice in the background: cut if off completely so the plant wouldn’t die. I felt so intimate with this potted plant. It was a gift. And probably out of sheer curiosity too, that I decided not to cut it off. How could a mere situation such as that could

 

“Unstables”

Pre Valentine Post

I still don’t understand how love works.

Or whether it works, or just stay stagnant for quite a moment.

What happened between us is something that might happen to all the people in the planet. It’s just that we’re the ones chosen to undergo this kind of painful experience. We both knew it doesn’t work out, we felt love can be an abstraction, it’s a false idea uphold by many. They think love can thrill them to the core – yes, it can – but it doesn’t happen to everybody at least. But there is a certain kind of interconnection that we share with each other, a silent understanding, a touch of hand, a passing glance.

In the riverbank, I’ve decided (along with the rows of acacia trees and santan shrubs) that things between us should be over soon. It was never easy to come to grips with each other, especially if at the first place, we didn’t understand where should we place ourselves in line with the others. We don’t know. We both fear emotional confrontations. We just love being with each other, and dangerously, it breeds the kind of connection that is unstable. Our faults. We were much too young. And that is why I agree with Kahlil Gibran when he said, “Much of our pain is self-chosen.”

 

Sweeping Love

I felt that this ride was the longest ride I have ever taken with him. He was pedaling the bicycle very smoothly across the rough unsteady road. Probably because of his firm grips. Too much basketball really helps. Birds flew over us. Plums flew everywhere. Trees swayed. All in one ride.

We passed through the field without even talking. I was seating behind him, clutching his shirt. It reeks off sweat and smell of his bathing soap. The smell is really unique to him. I knew it for such a long time.

And I wish the road was endless. We may find sometime to talk while passing by. The wave of feelings swept across us, making us mute. Hopefully, the same breeze would brush over our tomorrows, should we forget.