Tuesday, February 24, 2004

desert nights

sweeping in like ghosts in this balmy evening the wind kisses my skin to life. opening my eyes i see blackness, i've forgotten to put on a lamp. laying on my stomach i stretch my arms up, reaching for pillows i didn't use. what time is he coming home, i wondered.

hugging a pillow to my side i inhale to take in his smell. it sends tingles down the skin on my back. thoughts of him seem to open my skin's pores to the warm desert breeze. i flip over and look up at the darkened ceiling. my bare legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, languidly moving to and fro. my well-worn white t-shirt hikes further up my hips. i crave his touch so much, i thought. what is taking him so long?

the door slowly creaks open and i hear his keys. footsteps slowly approach the room i am in. he enters the pitchblack room and instantly senses me on the bed. i feel his hands first on my knees, stopping my legs from swaying. slowly he slides up his roughened hands rasping against my skin. his palms are cold against my warmth.

thumbs on the inside of my thighs crawling up inch by inch is torture. i gasp, but i say nothing to hurry him. he loves taking his time. they stop on my hips. in a quick motion he pulls me further down the bed. he nudges my legs open and stands in between. did u miss me, he says. i dont say anything and pretend to still be in slumber. it is a familiar game we play every evening when he comes home. he clenches his fingers tighter, his hips come close.


my back aches from her scratches. red welts, proof of her passion. the warm evening breeze hurries me home to her, to have her put marks on me, to feel her sink her short nails everywhere on my body.

slotting my house key in is taking forever, i thought. my hands shake as they manage what seems to be so difficult a job. the thought of her, laying there on the bed awaiting me is enough to make me shiver all over. pushing the door in i see it is dark. has she forgotten to turn on lights, i wonder. making my way quickly to the bedroom i catch a whiff of her scent. it is heady and sweet and enough to make me come..closer.

there is a soft light flickering in from the moon and it outlines her body. her white t-shirt is so thin it plays illusions on my eyes. the motion of her swaying legs catches my eye. reaching out, my fingertips find their way to her knees. she is so warm and soft, like butter. standing between her legs, i slide my thumbs inside her thighs and crawl up..up..up. her skin is so smooth it is enough make me cry. my hands stop at her hips and i hear her breathe in gasps. did u miss me, i say. she says nothing. it is a familiar game we play, her pretending sleep each evening i come home. i squeeze her hips and pull her close.

i love you, i say. her white teeth seem to glow in the dark. they answer in smile. her legs raise up and wrap me in heaven. red welts are simple enough penance for the sins we commit each time.

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

On Love

I have come full circle it seems. Faced with the question "Do you have any plans of immigrating?" my answer has remained the same faced with this question almost seven years ago. No. At least, not yet.

This summer I am spending a few weeks in that country which is consistently among the Best Countries to Live in Ever. It is a huge territory of only 30+ million inhabitants. It is a country with a GDP of $27,000 per capita (as compared to the Philippines' measly and highly distorted $3,800--owing to the huge gap in income distribution). It has an excellent social welfare program. It is paradise to Filipinos wanting to immigrate. It is perfection incarnate. I could move to this country. It speaks both foreign languages I speak. I have tons of family there. I could easily fit in. I could marry me one of them citizens and live happily ever after. Which is really a wonder why I, usually a rational being, would automatically respond to the question above with such an irrational, highly idealistic "No, I have no plans of immigrating as of the moment. I don't think my conscience will let me leave this country."

And so I am faced with a familiar demon tempting me to make a non-issue of immigration. Most Filipinos would not agonize over it. Most Filipinos would take it for granted. For some, it is an ulitmate goal. I'm afraid it isn't as simple for me.

Seven years ago, as a fresh high school graduate, I was mainly excited to finally board a plane and fly thousands of miles above the stratosphere. I had no expectations, no notions of what a foreign land would look like. I was excited to see long-gone uncles, aunts and cousins, not-yet-seen new cousins and cousins' off-spring. I wanted to see snow.

And so I did all of the above. I saw how well people lived in some places on the planet. I saw how "beggars" there could be dressed up so properly, clutching a musical instrument of choice, looking extremely well-fed. I saw how owning a car could be such nuisance because mass transportation could get you places as easily, as efficiently, if not more so. I lived in chilly perfection for a while. I breathed the unpolluted air and drank the sweet flouride-laden water. I ate the abnormally shiny fruits and grotesquely proportioned meats. I luxuriated in the vast unspoilt spaces, the uncrowded streets, the prettified sights. Everyone was so incredibly polite and friendly. It was heaven indeed.

A few weeks after I returned home. The humid June air greeted me good evening and I was transported back to earth. The noise, the smells, the congestion welcomed me back with such gusto I felt disoriented for a while. Looking out the car window I took in the familiar sights of Metro Manila. Except this time, what had been normal to me for 17 years looked different. Everything looked dirty. Everyone looked dirty. I felt grimy in my turtle-neck top. People were exceedlingly rude. No artificial smiles here. I was happy to be home.

That trip started it all. Seven years ago almost. Some weeks inhaling European air a few years later only magnified the puzzle forming in my head. It ignited queries my youthful mind was eager to answer. It made me ask why is it that way over there, and this way over here? Why is it "this" way over so many places across this planet and "that" way over so few?

Hunting for the Holy Grail is what its like. Looking for my answers. Piecing together the pictures in my head. Searching for "because." In the meanwhile, standing in booth 14 being interviewed by the nice man behind the shiny glass window for my tourist visa, I tell him him why my conscience won't let me leave this country. He stares back at me careful to leave his face blank and then types a little something in his keyboard. I am to come back at 2 o'clock to pick up my passport. I will miss this hellhole.

Saturday, February 07, 2004

u've got 24 hours left to live (only u know that ur about to die). what would u do with it?

i would:

00:00-1:00 -- do drugs finally...take ecstasy and get high with julia my bestest friend in the whole world :)
1:00-3:00 -- have threesome with 2 willing acquaintances...hmm..let see...who's always been rumored to be well-endowed?

3:00-3:30 -- set afire my old high school, religious of the virgin mary suck.
3:30-6:00 -- parachute over tagaytay and land..err...splash in the lake
6:00-10:00 -- snorkel in puerto galera with friends and immeditate family, hopefully see a shark, swim up to it and poke its eye with a stick

10:00-12:00 -- eat at an ultra expensive restaurant with my closest friends. pig out and chitchat
12:00-14:00 -- slap silly everyone who annoys me. the list isn't too long
14:00-14:30 -- rob a bank, metrobank along timog avenue seems like it would have lots of moolah in it
14:30-15:00 -- buy my brother a new phone
15:00-16:30 -- shave my head and get a huge-ass tattoo of the philippine map on my back
16:30-18:30 -- buy mom a new house
18:30-21:30 -- try to assassinate fpj and ping

21:30-00:00 -- tell my family i love them and give them my old stuff, will see as many people as i can and call those abroad. will give away books and clothes. burn incriminating documents.

00:00 -- die in peace :)

Monday, February 02, 2004

now that im not angry. it pains me how my brother always makes it seem like he's being oppressed and made to feel little. i have always believed in his abilities and ive always told him so. but what does one do when one's sibling is so sensitive of his shortcomings and does nothing about it? ive expressed to him my belief and support of his endeavors. the thing is, he does nothing. in the meanwhile, his potentials lay fallow. going to waste.

i do not want to baby him. i do not want to give him special treatment and tiptoe around him every time. i want my brother to become a man. how does a woman go about teaching that?
i don't know what the fuck my brother is upset about now. its like i'm walking on eggshells with him. why is it he's the fragile one in the family? the one we always have to worry about, the one whose sensitivities we must understand and give way to? boo-hoo. spineless little shit. he's all of 21 and he can't even wipe his own ass. if he's so insecure with me then why doesn't he stop screwing around and get his fucking life in order?!?

why should i feel guilty for being myself?