Musings, ravings, rants of a 20-something web designer/artist/musician/photographer about anything he can throw a tomato at.
Flashes
of faces passing
right through
in a place of
…nothingness.
The feeling
of obsoleteness
embraces you
as if
it came with the air.
Acid rain
You still wonder why
it doesn’t
burn you
as if you
the rain
were one.
Then you find out…
…you were just a cut-out.
He hoped for the unexpected, and it still caught him off-guard.
There she was. Two room divisions away from him, legs crossed, seated on the floor, donning his color of choice, yellow. He easily noticed her, remembering how she would stand out of a crowd that could be as big as the one in EDSA 2. She looked okay, same old, same old. The mere sight of her left him breathless, literally. Coffee didn’t do any good this time. Everything was fine. Until they saw each other.
He had flashes of scenes from his life. The type that they say you’ll always have when you’re about to die… even if you’re falling 50 storeys above the ground doing 120mph. (For the sake of keeping this entry short, we’ll skip that part). Everything was moving too fast, so fast he didn’t notice her right up his cubicle.
It was civil. Just like how regular ex-lovers would react when they see each other after a few months of being away from each other: say hi and give out their best, positive, feigned smile. To him, it didn’t matter. It has been half a year… but he still couldn’t forget her. He could still remember the first time they met. Yes, it felt somehow similar… the meeting they had that day. Everything in the world suddenly became nice. Negative energy was drawn out of everything… he was on cloud nine.
But the AC got him. His red jacket didn’t give enough protection against the absolute zeros.
Killer goodbyes. He felt that “bye” pierce through his emotional armor. She shouldn’t have said goodbye that way.
…his heart froze. And so did every feeling that he had.
There I was… looking at that poor creature trying to get back on its feet. It looked like it needed help, but hell, I wouldn’t touch a cockroach even if it had a million pesos on its head (a million dollars… hmm, probably). Okay, so it didn’t look like the dog you brought in after seeing it walking around your village one stormy night. Or that cat that you saved from the tree. Weren’t they the cutest? And here I am setting a cucaracha, if you will, side by side to these domesticated vertebrates.
Where was I? I was in the john (Avoiding filipinoisms here, Hi trainers!) doing my time on the throne of filth (sheesh. sounds like another cheesy demon movie starring those strange pornstars turned B-Movie leads). Smoke was filling the small room I was in, I thought it was a perfect place to create smokey-O’s… it was only after I felt like being in a gas chamber a few minutes later that I realized it wasn’t a good idea at all… considering the present state of my “well-done” lungs.
Just as I finished the stick, I felt the purpose of my trip smack the water inside and hit my butt like that orange juice commercial. Aah. Successssss… the fate of the roach being the exact opposite… and this time it ceased to wiggle its legs anymore. It could either be dead or tired… and its death would only mean less work for me and more food for the ants. Expect the ants here in our house to be in sight a few seconds after the lifeless form finally transcends someplace else (cockroach heaven?). But no, it was still alive. I’m not really a fan of chasing roaches around just as long as it doesn’t lay its super duper kadiri icky yucky legs on me, as in like, NADA! I’m a pacifist.
I feel like I was there for a reason. Was I destined to help the roach get on its feet? And what?! Let it eat through my clothes and food?! Crawl on my sleeping body and try something stupid, like nibbling on my eyelids??!!. Hell no. If destiny really was kind to the creature, it would at least give hints on how the creature would get on its feet without outside intervention… (Oh yeah. This is me on second-hand-smoke high.)
Finally, it happened. It got up. Crawled up the tiles, reached a level perpendicular to my awe-ridden face, and took flight. I was Neo dodging bullets. I was ready to beat the life out the creature when it suddenly slipped under the door and got away.
So what’s the point of my journey to the deep recesses of our dear washrooom?
Sometimes, when you feel like your on the lowest point of your life, remember that you can still get back on track, climb up, and spell R-E-T-A-L-I-A-T-I-O-N right on your Paquito Diaz’s face.
…only this time, its not retaliation that you spell… it’s more like L-O-S-E-R.
Thoughts