lester tan

Labing-siyam na segundo. Higit pa kaya ‘yon do’n? Hindi ko alam. Alam ko lang gusto kong manatlili do’n. Labing-siyam na segundo.. Ni hindi ko akalain na mangyayari ang gano’n. Ni hindi sumagi sa isip ko kahit minsan. Oo, puwede nga na paminsan-minsan (O parati?) eh naiisip ko na makakasalubong kita. Sa LRT, sa kalye, sa bilihan ng kape, sa overpass, sa sinehan, sa pila, sa karinderya, sa bilihan ng waffle, sa bilihan ng C2, sa bilihan ng kendi, sa bilihan ng tiket sa tren, sa jeep, sa fx, sa simbahan..

Sa simbahan.

Tapos kaninang pasado alas-sais ay ayun ka. Naka berdeng t-shirt at tsaleko at khakis at tsinelas. Naka-sukbit pa rin ang unggoy na key chain sa bitbit mong bag na green na Adidas. Tumatawid sa harapan ko. Mas mahaba na nga ang buhok mo sa akin. Ang kulit na ang lumanay ng bagsak ng ulan. Ang kulit na parang bumagal ang takbo ng lahat. Totoo pala ‘yon. Akala ko eh ine-editlang nila un sa mga pelikula. Ginagawa lang na drama. Pero hindi pala. Kusa pala talagang bumabagal ang mga pangyayari. Kusa ka palang mapapa-tulala. Hindi pala kunwari yung ulan na pumapatak pag merong nangyayari na gano’n ka-drama. Kusa pala ‘tong nakikipag-laro. Ang kulit na nasa loob ako ng fx at ikaw, naglalakad ng mabagal sa harapan ng sasakyan na para bang binigyan ako ng ilang segundo para matitigan ka ulit. Ang kulit na matapos ang kulang kulang dalawang buwan eh nandiyan ka bigla sa harapan ko nang hindi natin sinadya. Na para bang napagbigyan at napagkatuwaan ng pagkakataon. Na parang gusto kong bumaba at yakapin ka at kamustahin ka at ewan ko kung anu-ano pa. Pero andun ako, nanatili sa kinauupuan ko. Walang magawa. Walang nagawa. Hindi pa rin makapaniwala sa pangyayari.

Hanggang ngayon ay hindi ako makapaniwala sa nangyari.

At parang ang gusto ko lang ngayon eh ang ibalik ang sarili ko sa pagkalunod sa ilang segundo na un.

buendia sunrise

and in the morning we'll just simply say, yeah, it has been a good night

atp

Get past the reasoning of the mind and just indulge in grace amazing.

The funny and amazing thing with God is that he never condemns us. That scrap is for fulfilling the purpose of the enemy. Conviction is far different from condemnation. The latter taunts us like hell, making us feel that He will never forgive us. On the other hand, conviction reminds us that the Holy Spirit is inside us. It reminds us that we are in God. It searches our tiny brain and looks for a way to tell us over and over again the fact that the enemy has indeed been defeated a couple of thousand years ago.

Not being in guilt is not an excuse to pursue sin. There is never an excuse for sin. Self righteousness is one of the worst mind sets that could happen to man. Knowledge is already in us. Love is already exposed. How the heck can one sin, then?

That’s just the way it is.

sweet animosity

Can a man lose his soul?

If he can, or if he does, how then is he supposed to search for it? How is he supposed to bring it back? Can man survive without it? Without his soul, can a man still feel? Can he still appreciate? Would he still know nostalgia and anxiety? Without his soul, how can man hold on in faith that his soul would come back to him? Can he mourn? Or at the very least, sense desolation? Wouldn’t he end up as some zombie? Wouldn’t it be better if man were dead without his soul? Then again, how would man wish to be dead without the very soul that makes living probable, without him knowing that that’s actually what’s missing?

On the other hand, would the soul be desperately seeking man, too?

backspace

I hate talking. I hate it when someone asks me how I feel. It’s an emotion, for crying out loud. I hate it when I’m taking my time staring blankly then some callous person starts gabbing. I hate it even greater when people try to talk to me the minute I wake up - some nightmare at dawn. I hate it when someone tells me what to do. I am no moron. I hate it when someone starts to tell stories when I’m not in the mood to listen. I hate it even more when I’m not actually reacting and still they continue to annoy me, persuading me to give some stupid comment that’s supposed to compliment the way they think so that they’d be proved right. I hate it when people tell me things that I have no business in knowing. I give no interest in slander. I hate it when I feel weak then someone tells me that things would be alright. Oh please, of course I know that all would be fine. Just give me some time to use my license to pour out so called emotions and to think, if you know what thinking actually means.

I like it when people don’t pretend to know the right words to say. I love the boldness, the honesty. After all, I listen not to make my self feel better, but to lose ignorance and see rationalism. I love it when someone simply listens, and love it even more when we both know that there’s no real need of talking.

Ironic enough, the person with the very words that I have to hear at that particular moment is the same person who shares my appreciation of silence.

Then conversation begins.

cominatcha

You talk about things ‘til it becomes overrated. You discuss things with yourself and darn, all ends up in an argument. Trying to clear things up, trying to reason, trying to defend only to end up ever blurry. Or worse, you end up blank.

You’ve wanted to break down. You’ve anticipated breaking down. Then the same thing disappoints you. Anxiety got its way again, only better. Something like sad that it isn’t sad, that kind of better.

If you may call that better.

in front of some bank in buendia ave

manong is so funny

city hall time, 18:20

Often do we find ourselves looking for things to amaze us
For things so rarely beautiful that it haunts our deepest passions
Lusting for joy and craving for it most evidently
Searching for things that would caress your deepest senses
As if introducing pain and love, and depriving it, too, at the same time
Even instantly.
We soak ourselves in calmness and ecstasy
Trying to bring back days immemorial
Trying to live with both suicide and immortality
And to find the art of beautiful comfort in sadness?
I doubt anyone can try any more harder.

snapped ginger

once again you spend your day dreaming about fairies from a not-so-distant land
of rainy thursday afternoons and warm cacao
of where things would take you,
or where they'd bring you back
of purple inks and black parchment
of sling bags and shooting stars
of brown paper bag memories and yellow brick road destinations
uncertain whether you would want again or not to wake up with the same nostalgic sigh.

preliminary oranges

Sometimes you just get too tired from several
things that's supposedly happening and functioning
well. Things put in rather nicely.

You get shards from every little thing that you do.
You get crazy - happy and wawawa from things
that make you dizzy, and feel ridiculous when you
feel like it.

Vicious cycles, whatnot's and several etceteras, on
certain times you just want to take a break, or
perhaps even stop. But then again, what would the
whole point be, anyway?

Between you and me, I’m the happier one.