[ s h o t s ] Bleeding Words

A piece written during an emotionally tumultuous time. Somehow I feel weird posting stuff like this.  I am known for having a  bright and cheerful personality, but I am excellent at melancholic writing, a total Downer. I am a apprehensive for posting this since my blog looks quite cheery. I am a cheerful person, except that I really write sad stuff better.

I was reading past pieces I’ve written, it’s quite depressing. Like my Le Love piece last 2009, Like Death Without The Sleeping Part

The sound of a heart breaking isn’t poetic. It is hollow. It is tragic. It calls for rituals – the denial, the shock, the anger, the disappointment, culminating in hopelessness. Just like a shrinking white star slowly collapsing inwardly, with memory drawn from every breath a blow. It’s like death without the sleeping part.

I also read the comments that followed how beautiful and honest they thought it was. I really have no idea why I can project this “inner pain”, I have had my equal share of heartache and loss (as if heartache, loss, and other sad things are equally distributed) but most of the time I can shrug it off.

But in moments of silence, when I am not listening to a song or when my mind is not preoccupied with tasks these words and metaphors – beautiful but sad and haunting beg to be written.

They say that you can be an effective writer if you write what you know, part of me feels doubtful about this statement because if we go by what I have written so far my life must be something Dickens wrote.

I can’t refuse the Muse but I don’t want to make people sad. A friend of mine suggested that maybe my writing doesn’t need to inspire or entertain, maybe  my writing can make a person feel that they are not alone, that someone has experienced what they are experiencing and that these emotions are normal. In a way I think she may have a point.

I will continue to write and maybe someday I will write something that brings warmth and happiness.

[ r e f l e c t i o n ] From Tea & Company

 

Combined work and play today who knew that it would be possible in my life right now? A group of us settled over at Starbucks and I shared a table with a good friend. Both of us ordered a grande green tea latte and we sunk into our own work – she was preparing for an exam while I was writing up proposals for a skit. Occasionally one of us would look up from what we were doing and engage the other for a chat, but then we’d also return to our tasks. We were distracted by a cute little boy and his equally adorable older sister, I am guessing they were between the ages of three and five, they were quite well-behaved and had the most infectious laughter and heart-melting smile that more than once I found myself directing funny facial expressions at them to elicit their giggles instead of focusing on my own work.

The green tea latte did wonders for my creativity, or maybe it has been a long time since I really sat down and wrote something, but I wrote four proposals. The one thing I realized and surprised me today was – there were still stories inside of me.

I have been reluctant to write lately because I feel my well of creative inspiration has run dry. It seemed like whenever I set down to write something, whether it was a poem, a story or even a piece of microfiction, I couldn’t draw it out from me. I was struggling through putting my thoughts into paper that I turned my back on my morning pages because I felt it was a futile exercise. There were times when I caught slivers of a “voice” or a vague story but they would be quick to disappear just like mist, if I didn’t  write it down as soon as the idea presented itself in my mind. Even blogging has become a chore for me, and I couldn’t think of anything to blog about. Aside from scarcity of ideas, I was paralyzed by a fear of not being able to say anything worth saying.

When I was offered to write a skit, I had mixed feelings. Where would I find ideas? Specifically fresh ideas? I have not written a script in almost a year, and  probably the only serious writing I ever did was “Last Farewell” which has been in “draft” mode since I posted it.

Turns out I had nothing to fear, maybe the Muse has once again looked favorably on me or it was because I had really struggled and mulled over the theme that not just one nor two but four ideas came in. What is strange is that they did not enter merely through a string of words but they came as pictures and sounds in my mind, like trailers or teasers.

In fact I was writing feverishly of what I was seeing that I didn’t realize that I was depleting the power on my netbook. I didn’t bring the power cable because I didn’t think that I would be busy typing!

I really hope that I can write more in the coming days. Two  of my goals that I really want to take seriously before the year ends are to write more and to take more photos.

This script will be the start of re-igniting my passion for writing, and maybe just to be on the safe side, I will drink more tea!

[ w r i t t e n ] Bitter Aftertaste

I still remember. You poured tea for me that afternoon. Of all the memories that day, all that remains in me is how the clear, honey-colored liquid that seemed to stream down from your very arm, while your words fall on my ears like balm. How gentle you were preparing it for me, I watched transfixed at the calculated motions – sweeping, catching, slowly pushing the cup away.

The tea was warm when I placed the cup to my lips but like your words, it too, turned cold. Though you mixed in milk and sugar I tasted gall, and in that instant I knew you poisoned me. My mind in shock made my tears hesitant but slowly they found its way to the cup. Your tea and your words mingling with my love and my tears, a mix for the perfect sorrow.

I don’t remember, if I did drink it all. Did I leave some over? Or did I drink at all? Were my hands trembling when I set the cup down? When did the tears stop flowing? What happened next became hazy, the memory so altered over the years, left a stain on our history and haunted my memory.

When I drank your potion how was it that I forgot my words? How was it that I forgot my questions? Sitting across you, looking at you, what I mistook for serenity was actually coldness. Now, that the effects are wearing off, I wonder if you can hear me, if you can answer me this…

How can you smile while breaking my heart?

[ w r i t t e n ] One Star, Two Wishes

Do you remember still the falling stars
that like swift horses through the heavens raced
and suddenly leaped across the hurdles
of our wishes–do you recall? And we
did make so many! For there were countless numbers
of stars: each time we looked above we were
astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,
while in our hearts we felt safe and secure
watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,
knowing somehow we had survived their fall.
– Falling Stars, Rainier Maria Rilke

There is always something romantic and yet tragic about a clear night sky. He thought to himself, on this night, stars seem to hang brightly from a distance. He slid out of the hammock and walked towards the edge of the balcony, looking at the tiny diamonds that were scattered over the dark canopy of the sky. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a shooting star blazes across the darkness.

“I want to know what love is, I want to know what love is!” , he shouted over and over with cupped hands over his mouth, chasing after the star until it disappeared from his sight. Breathless, a smile spread over his face, he walks back to the hammock, and climbs in. He was always a believer, most people will call him a dreamer, but he knows that dreams √ and even wishes can come true.

Little did he know, that on that same night, at the same time that the shooting star appeared across the sky, another wish was made.

“Bring me back what I’ve lost”, a bitter whisper from a broken man this time. He doesn’t watch the stars but turns around and steps back towards his bedroom. In the darkness, he stretches across his bed for another sleepless night.

And this story begins with one night, one star and two wishes, which one will be fulfilled?

[ w r i t t e n ] Fire on Fire

Because you are

the place where I really need to be.

With you I am airborne, indestructible

a blazing comet passing through the dark inky horizon.

You light up everything in me.

I can be who I used to be,

who I am,

who I’m supposed to be,

all at once.

You strike against my soul,

we make sparks, that give birth

to sparks,

going on forever

across the universe and back

to kindle us again.

You fire me up.