Time

It passes by so swiftly.
One day everything seems mundane that we have gotten used to embracing the habit of taking some things for granted. They are there, in front of us, staring us right in the eyes - beautiful episodes and milestones of our lives and amazing people who continuously show us love and attention.
I do tend to procrastinate in grasping the essence of time. It's not that I am inconsiderate. I just get overwhelmed by my daily engagements and when that happens I swerve my thoughts to the humdrum around me. Somewhere along I get lost in between. And that is utterly sad because then I miss the chance to do right by my loved ones and those who care about me. I think it's unfair for them. I think it takes away the exquisiteness of life. It knocks off the beauty of time.
I need to be more grateful. I need to be more attentive to TIME. Life only comes once, right?

Now if you'll excuse me, I feel the need to smell the roses.

JULY FIRE

You do not know

why burned trees

seem decadent to your senses

why you want the clamoring

wind with its

thick

strong smoke

to linger

longer

why inhaling it

brings back

staggeringly familiar

recollections of

an old home

you smile as you

look at the

luminous sky

thinking vividly

of women burning

trees while

half-naked men

with golden thighs

watch

sucking deeply

the strong

thick

smoke from that

huge July fire.

First Kiss

The boy:

I remember his face being peony-red from the sun. His skin was exceedingly dark for he spent his days swimming in the ocean. He possessed an aura of intimidating conceit that I thought was thoroughly masculine. His eyes were hard like obsidian. He came from a poor family, but that did not make him look like less of a human being. His rigid petulance made me quiver inside which later on left a rush of delicious shame down my young bosom.

The girl:

I was this skinny girl who bordered on ugliness. I was awkward and timid for there was nothing appealing to my appearance. To make things even worse, I was an utter nincompoop most of the time. I wanted to look confident, but deep inside I was wallowing in self-pity. I knew boys thought I was too plain for a girl so they always regarded me as part of the gang, one of the boys. The girls, on the other hand, were meaner. They pretended I didn't exist.

It was summer of '87. The kids in our neighborhood were playing hide and seek under the fierce summer sun. While I was trying my damnedest to conceal myself behind a tree, I saw this boy (who was a friend of my brother) arrogantly strutting to where I was. Without a word of warning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him. A spasm of mixed emotions gnawed me raw to the very core. I was terrified and thrilled at the same moment. With certainty he held my face with his calloused hands and planted a swift kiss on my trembling lips. It seemed to me like the world froze. Nothing stirred. A deafening silence followed, intensified by the slow, rhythmic rustle of the trees around us. I stared at him. I wanted to mutter something, but words failed me at that moment. I was stunned, confused, and pretty much disoriented. When I looked up, I saw him placidly studying me. And it was hard not to notice the slight smile of amusing distance on his lips.

Before I knew it, he was gone. And with his absence came an unexpected wave of happiness.

Even up to this day, the prolonged echo of that particular summer day of '87 still brings a smile to my face. What's odd is I do not even remember the name of that boy anymore.

A Decadent Addiction

This craving that I almost always have: to mutter, to scream, to write, to bleed words is so strong, so intense, so insistent that I sometimes feel like I will explode if I let everything go by without jotting down the wonderful things, the exquisite words or the stinging and biting rhetoric that I happen to hear in my everyday engagements. My mind goes numb as I urticate trying to find the right consonants and vowels in my head. Yes, it is a constant struggle --- gathering all the abbreviated thoughts I mean to write. But when everything has been written down, when everything is said and done, that's when I get to enjoy the god-like satisfaction of writing.

And silently, oh so silently, I listen to the liberating sound of my thudding heart.

WILTED

A distasteful mental stagnation creeps up on you. An unbearable emptiness thrums inside you. It does not let up. You wonder why the voracious need to crawl away from the world lingers. And deep in your heart you know that the fractious energy you used to have is gone. It melted a long time ago.
Now you feel like a candle ready to get blown out any time soon.
Day after day you rage and try to find your vigor, your willingness to laugh at silly things, your vivacious inquisitiveness, and your youth. You are hoping that they would rouse in you the desire to deliciously consume your passion for life… once again.
 But the more you try, the harder you find everything to accomplish.

 At the end of the day, you have to admit that you have now become a complete cliché in this world.

I ain't NO vegan!

I want to let you in on a little secret: I have a naked contempt for vegetarians. Actually, I want to take that back. I do not want to offend my vegetarian friends (I can think of two as of the moment) so I’d rephrase that one into something like this: I have a naked contempt to the idea of being a vegetarian. Yes, I tried it once or twice and sad to say I failed miserably. I thought I was going to die of starvation after 16 hours of not eating anything except fruits and a bowl of stinky salad. Yeah, I couldn’t even last a day. In a nutshell, I am the biggest carnivore probably known to the Hampton area. Oh, I can feel the frisson of disgust from some folks I know. Well, I believe that there are people out there who are totally against eating animals (yeah, that’s brutally speaking) because of their religion and who knows what other hang-ups they have, but life doesn’t always have to be politically right or dull or spotless. I mean, to all of you vegans who are out there: more power to you. I think it’s great that you are against eating meat. Please don’t change your eating habits any time soon. I don’t want the meat value to skyrocket before I get my full share.

Anyways. Have you heard of the proverbial American Dream? Well, living the American Dream for most people means having a four-bedroom-home with the white picket fence and a two-car garage to boot; owning an expensive car or two, or being able to send their kids to an Ivy League school. Good for them. I, on the other hand, have a simple way of looking at my American Dream. Mine is simply enjoying a mouth-watering, juicy steak that is thicker than my thigh.

Yeah, I stink as a human being. Tell me something I don’t know.

Moonstruck

There is nothing more beautiful on a quiet night than watching the yellow moon, round and low, as it untangles itself, silently, uncomplicatedly, from the branches of a tree. Caught by the succulent glow of the night, by an upsurge of roaring joy, you pause as you fill your lungs with the exhilarating cool, crisp air. The city sleeps in utter silence. Tonight especially it is so poignant it brings a spasm of swooning seductiveness to your sated heart.

Kissing Dead Poetry

No one understands my pain whenever I say "I can never write poetry". Of course in admitting that truth, I always experience a thousand deaths. I try my hardest, mind you, but I guess my hardest is not good enough.
No one understands the sorrow that assaults my heart when I am stumped between tangled sentences. The brittle coldness of my uncertainty mocks me with callousness as I accept defeat from the Woolfian knowledge of the arrogant and those I consider creative prigs. And no matter how hard I stab into hell's veins to bleed it with the finest rhythms of metaphors, I could never howl with eloquence (the way others do) because deep in my heart I know that my thoughts are perversely mute. But no one cares. I am alone.

All that's left is me and my wretched poetry.

What Good is a Wish?

What good is a WISH if it does nothing but break your heart to pieces? Distracted questions shapeshifting within paragraphs of a forced empathy. They dangle it before your eyes & surely thinking you are caught by their slender-throated lies, they leap like stubborn dogs, mad in the head, howling without dignity. These stillborn shadows, they emptied my heart and left me horizontally carved, lurching backwards, fading into the lush dark of the abyss...
So, what good is a wish?

Parasitic Tendency

Who does not want to be one of those plumed people, smart as hell, who speak seven languages - drunk from the beautiful slurring of borrowed words sans inhibitions, the braided catch of the tongue at the roof of the mouth is a fastidious slum of savagery - dragging vowels and consonants at the tip of the tongue, teeth grinding at every syllable, the exquisite tempo of the words uncurls, pinning down every letter lithely, deliberately accomodating a language that reminds one of a volcanic spew?

Blackbird

When I die, I do not want to be buried in the ground for my panicked, living flesh retches at its sentimentality. I shudder imagining myself trapped in a desperate box, dark-carved wood - solid as hell; my arms all stiff not wanting to budge even for a second, not even to reach for the skies; worms feasting on my putrid body; fat stubborn maggots crawling my eyes; sand in my fingers; water seeping in lightly tickling my feet; water the color of blood.
Here, now, in the middle of the night a cobbled thought was born: I do not want to be buried on this godforsaken ground. I'd rather burn and have my ashes scattered all over the seven seas under that awning they call the sky; where I would feel free; thin as air, liberated; not dreadfully trapped.

Promise Me

How do I say "I miss you" without the rupture of distance tearing apart the tenderness of those words? How do I tell you to stop aging for at least another decade? Outside my window the roses are blooming, the trees are showing vigor to the thrilling murmur of a pending spring. Another season is about to begin - telling me that time flies by. I want the clock to stop from flailing to the endless drone of its ticking hands. I want to tell the gods to pause time until that next time I see you again. I wonder if they would grant me that.
How do I ask you to promise me one thing? You loathe promises. I am still going to ask you, though. Promise me not to go just yet. Promise me not to let sleep break your spirit. Wait for my return for I want to gaze at you when you close your eyes after I blow out the candle. I crave to sit by you to comfort you and hold your once strong but now weak and withered hands. I do not want to see the solitary confinement of your vacant eyes. Instead I wish to see magic written all over them like that time I saw you dancing the boogie at dusk. I want to cuddle your head in my arms, gently stroke your soft, gray hair while I hum the lullaby you used to sing when I was but a child. It maddens me that I am not beside you to wrap my arms, to connect our waists while walking on that sandy beach watching the slate-colored waves as twilight ends.

I dream of staggering back home to tell you how I feel right now... for there is that yearning to snuggle next to your fragranced breast, heart thrashing from the joyous derivative of being a babe once again.

SPOONING

there is so much beauty when flesh collide
skin to skin touching
on a soft midsummer night
heads sprawled on silk pillowcases
slant beating of hearts
resonating as one
the moon-shaped metaphors
of partially-owned urges
remains as a steady balm
palms tighly clasped
united in a blasphemous
fetal-like bend

then there is that
kiss bestowed at the nape of the neck

how can i not miss you?

Indulgence

On a balmy night in Cartagena, while huddled with friends, I drank glass after glass of their tangy local wine - its taste made loops in my mouth leaving a succulent residue on my pruned lips; my spirit was captivated by the full moon rising that was filtered between the slats of the carved door facing us; the summer wind made a soft ripple at the bottom of my skirt, the slightest tug of enthusiasm was resolute on my feet; the stubborn hissing of the decaying burden of our time was pushed aside, half-forgotten, matted in a nebulous form of a breaking silence that was not even a syllable.
There, in that old town, above the rectangle of soft glowing lights, I had to pause to taste the sweet joy throbbing at the base of my throat. Indeed, it is an amalgam - swallowing the lure of the likeness of home.

Moored

I woke up this morning deliberately snuggled next to you. Your protective arms were holding me in the most delicate way; your legs tangled with mine. There, at that moment, when I looked at you while you were in deep sleep, I realized that I am you and you are me. We have become one.
It is a great feeling. It is a comforting sensation. You and I living life as mates. I couldn't imagine myself living without you. I mean, I know I could... but it wouldn't be the same.

So here's the thing... I still get tickled by how my knees feel like jello when you kiss my nape or when you brush the edges of my face with your fingertips. I still blush when you give me a compliment. I still feel giddy when you kiss me without inhibitions. Funny that we have been together for eleven years now and I am not sick of you yet. That was one of my fears before we got married - that we would fall out of love after a few years. So far, we're still crazy about each other. And I have my fingers crossed that we would stay like this forever... now and in the next lifetime. Would you search for me there? I would. And who knows we might just get lucky. We might just be mates again. We can only hope, eh? Thinking of it that way just warms the cockles of my heart. I am here... sighing in contentment, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time in knowing that I have you and you have me.

Woman

I saw you the first time
standing tall
faithfully unblinking
on your weightless bones
in a pale studio
wearing a pastel dress
with a frilly collar
your decorous sweetness
glided in and out of the room
you looked no different
from the bourgeois
girls of Berlin
your nose bore no
trace of Jewishness
and yet you could not
hide the temperament
of Auschwitz crowding
your eyes
the ghost of your past
is decadently untranslated
its imploding roar
raced in my ears...
Blossom and snow

they have no knowledge of you.

Death Cometh at Night

There is fury in the silent kill that happened at dawn. The guttural screech of the pavement was ambiguous; the fretted dust came down to the womb of a mother in Utah who did not know that her heart will break to pieces the next day when she hears the news.

The fractured purr of the wheels turning bore no joy to it. The absolutes of ambling feet were not amusing to the petrified crowd who witnessed the fathom-frozen taunt of the ghastly shadow himself.

One does not point words at the dead. The petering out of half-wishes and bloody hopes had been completely asphyxiated.

Then there was the numbing silence...

Wandering Rain

Sometimes I wonder if a time would come that I would finally settle down in one place - build a home, claim ownership on things, establish long-term friendship with neighbours, etc. I wonder how that would turn out. Maybe I'd get the hang of it. But then again, would I find that adventurous enough? The truth is: I am a gypsy and I love living the life I lead right now. I (with my hubby) do not own a house I can call my own because I tend to move after a few years of being in a certain location. I get all antsy when my three year mark comes up. What's with that?

I remember a neighbour in Illinois when we used to live in that brick ranch off Highway 51 telling me once over a barbecue party that she could never in her life imagine leaving her home, moving somewhere else at a drop of a hat and leave everything behind including family and friends. She said she couldn't even muster the courage to move to another state. Dear sweet Wanda. I respect her for that, for being loyal to her roots and all. We all have our ways. We do the things that make sense to us - be it eccentric to some or even if it is the simplest thing on earth. Me, I am all about hitting the road all the time. I am all about traveling and taking in a mishmash of different cultures. It's hard to explain, but I really do get that thrill of experiencing a wildly-chaotic-yet-beautiful-in-it's-own-sense hopping around the globe escapade. Yes, I do dream of one day finding a place I can finally call home, but right now I am content with this search, with this ever-changing experience of a life-time. I am all up for this ride. And so is my mate, and so is my son. That's all that matters to me because I know I can conquer everything with these two guys on my side. I would move anywhere even to the far-flung corners of the world as long as I am with them.

Vertigo of Surrender

I remember when I was in college in a dormitory where smoking was not allowed, I would wait when everybody was gone from our room and as soon as the last person steps out that's when I would grab a pack of menthol cigarettes from my book bag and I would light it unhurriedly at the cuddled shadow of sunlight. I would smoke in that pristine room without any trace of guilt. One thing I loved about that experience was blowing smoke rings in the air - pretending that I was one of those cool movie stars in some cowboy movie. That fascinated me. It was like skirting the underworld in a peculiar way. Everybody knew I was a problem child, but moments like that I felt wise just gazing at the ceiling, bobbing my head in understanding the beauty of freedom and at the same time chasing the circled epiphany of youth. I loved forgetting the crashing sound of restrained minds. From the air I inhaled the fallen constellations witnessed by my delicate and glazed eyes. And I had to ask... softly ask: "Would I ever return again?".

Rubbish

It's been a while since I had written anything. Indeed, shame on me. I dunno what happened. I guess I got a little busy with all the crazy things going on with the move and all. Don't even think for a second that I did not miss blogging. I sure did! But I did not have a laptop with me. I just couldn't write without my laptop. I'm glad my hubby finally decided to get me a new one instead of waiting for our old one which is still in transit (by sea) as I write this blog. So I guess I'm back to writing. My sister's been bugging me about this, too. I guess this is my way of updating her on what's going on with us.
Moving on then.
First thing, I am glad that I was just in time to get off my old ship before the hurricane hit the East Coast. Otherwise, we'd still be stuck in VA right now. And the worst part of that would be me being on the ship, underway, trying to ride it out. To my old family on the IWO, I hope you guys are just fine.
In case you do not know it yet, we are officially out of the United States. We have been in Spain for almost a month now, but this place still amazes me no end. Of course I constantly think I lucked out getting this billet here. For me and my family, it's just like winning the lottery.
Today is one of those days that my heart is just fat with contentment. As we were driving around base earlier today, we noticed AGAIN for the umpteenth time how beautiful this side of Spain is. I do not understand why some people would consider this paradise a boring place. (Yeah, do you believe that? I mean, come on! That is almost blasphemous to my ears.) Maybe its the laid-back lifestyle that some hyper folks just couldn't take. Maybe it's too slow for them. Or maybe some people are not used to being "un-Americanized". That's I guess the reason why they have to move off base - so they would always have time to experience the chaos of being always in the middle of some partying till morning neighborhood. Yes, the Spanish folks know how to party. I would've loved it back when I was in my younger years. I do not want that kind of lifestyle now though. Over the years, I have calmed down. The things that I treasure the most now include - sitting at the library cafe while sipping our cafe con leche, walking in flip-flops on narrow "calles" when the sun is just about ready to set, ensconcing my butt on white sand beaches while watching tourists go by, etc. Yes, I find tranquility in all those simple things I just mentioned. And I think after leading a somewhat hectic schedule back when we were in the States, I think we deserve this. Do not, do not, do not think otherwise.

I have more to say, but it can wait until next time. I just wanted to let you guys know that I am still around and I have not forgotten you. Ta ta for now. Or I guess I should say Hasta luego!

The Other Side of Silence

At the age of thirty-six I am starting to truly enjoy the stretched silences in my head. I am grateful that in a world that thrives on inappropriate noises I get to block all the fermenting ache of chimed phantasms behind me. I do not have the patience to do such... to embrace what I consider gruff, ugly. I let all the annoyances of my time glide easily like a tongue curled at the tip of my mouth- ready to be swallowed or be spat out. What I might do or I might not do, I have to tackle in the midst of spindly wakefullness to even just get a glimpse of that valley that leads to evasiveness. I think I deserve this opaque transformation, this mesmerizing show of vivid apparitions that I have breasted for a while now. Let me love this language that is an octave higher than yours. I love this stillness, this innocence of time, the sirens mouthing the steadfast burning of swishing hearts - all the bluntness forgotten. 

Rambling

My stay here in this absolutely beautiful place is a blessing. And because of that, I have decided I will document our stay here by blogging. I have been looking for a site to post my work, but I really haven't gotten to it just yet. My schedule has been awfully hectic the past few days so I have been slacking on my writing. I'll get back to it soon, though. I noticed this morning that my laptop has been staring at me in the face, almost begging me to whip something up for today. So here I am - succumbing to that call. Nothing fancy to talk about, really. Just more of rambling.

My sister has been telling me I should post my blogs somewhere instead of just posting them on some random site. I really have no problem with this - posting a note or two once in a while. This is just to let some of my friends get a glimpse of my life on the other side of the world. I do love it here, have I told you that yet? Love love love the gorgeous weather. It's totally to die for. I wish we could just stay here for good.

Dreamer

My name is Rain and I am a dreamer.
I know. We all dream. A close friend of mine dreams of owning a BMW. Another friend dreams of settling down in NY as a freelance writer. A co-worker dreams of owning her bakery shop.
Mine is simple. It is so simple you would think I am the lamest, dull, predictable, and most boring person on earth. But it is what it is - this dream still presents itself to me from time to time. It may sound corny to others, but it is what my heart desires. And I do not think anybody is qualified to judge the content of my dream. So here goes...
I dream of parking mine and my family's bones in a tiny-dot-on-the-map, tropical island. I want to have a little house by the beach and have a hammock outside where I can rest my old bones when I am feeling tired. That is all. Nothing else. Actually, there's one more thing. I just want to not go to work anymore. I don't want to be a bum. I guess the word is "retired".
The thing is, I love simple things. I am not fond of the word "complicated". Everything works for me when I go for something small, something irrelevant, something inconspicuous, something simple. I find peace in all that.
Easy does it.
Now if I have a magic wand, then that's a different story.

Big Spender

That's one thing I am not. I lived a poor life back when I was a student ( and mainly it was because I was so shitty when it came to handling my finances) and that economic status really left a nasty taste in my mouth that I have become very watchful when it comes to money matters. Of course being married to a great finance advisor (my own) also helped in getting me all squared away with my moolah. Some might think I am tight on the purse strings sometimes (accent on the TIGHT), but I really take comfort in knowing that I am saving money for the rainy days.

Dear friends. I am not a tightwad. I'd rather call myself WISE. Needless to say, I am proud that I am that. At least even when it just comes to pennies and such. Hey, they all add up, ya know.

Living life in Spain

Tapa n. pl. tapas A variety of small savoury Spanish dishes, often served
as a snack or with other tapas as a meal.

I am looking forward to tomorrow's trip to town. Since it's a Sunday and Monday is a holiday, we decided we're going "tapa" hopping (known as "el tapeo" in Spanish). We've tried this escapade before when we just got here, but it didn't really work out because we didn't have our car yet at that time and we had to walk from our hotel to town just to get to the little bars on the strip. By the time we reached town, it was already time for the stores and bars to close for their siesta. So it was kind of a failure the first time we tried doing it. However, tomorrow's date with my son and my hubby is well-planned. Plus, we already have our car here so we do not have to walk a couple of miles or so just to get to town.

My mouth waters just thinking of those damn good appetizers my co-workers keep on talking about at work. I imagine myself savoring the taste of every dish in front of me while sipping a drink or two of sherry wine. In one of our tours two weeks ago, our favorite tapa dish was deep fried peppers. I love those things. As a matter of fact, I could have eaten more than one serving of those. They are delicious! But of course I am pretty sure there's more to discover tomorrow. Oh, yeah. Utterly looking forward to a wonderful dining experience in the middle of these vibrant Spaniards.

PALM TREES

I can never have enough of them in my life. I do not mind being completely lost in a foreign land as long as I see palm trees around me. I am not sure why, but these green beautiful creations just warm the cockles of my heart. They somehow remind me of home - very tropicalish, really.

My husband and I are big palm tree lovers. Having three in our yard is quite awesome! On weekends we open the sliding door of our dining room as we sit and drink our coffee while sedately breathing in all the calmness, the serenity of this palm-tree- covered-paradise.

Translation and a Half

It's hard to explain but I do enjoy the thrilling sensation of being in a foreign land. I love immersing myself in a totally different culture. I admit that sometimes I still have to try and figure out a lot of things, but I think everything will eventually seem normal to me. I just need a little bit of time. Give me a month or two from now and I'll blend in perfectly.
Walking in town yesterday made me feel a little bit awkward because I know nothing of the language just yet, but at the same time I was ecstatic for I know that I was putting myself out there to experience the buzz of being in a crowd of tourists and locals - wanting so bad to get my point across to the people I was talking to (using my "poquito" Spanish) as I asked for directions on how to get to a place or when I ordered food at the tapa bar. (And you're right. I sure did butcher the language, but I got some nods and winks from some locals for trying my best to speak their language.)
There's one thing I noticed about the Spaniards. They are very warm and friendly and they do not believe in what Americans always want to have - personal space. A hug or a kiss is customary when greeting someone here. (The first time a guy we met grabbed my shoulders and planted kisses on my cheeks, my hubby and I were totally flabbergasted by his action because I was not expecting such from someone I barely knew. But apparently, that's common here.) Indeed, personal space is something that someone would eventually learn to set aside while living in Spain. Hey, when in Rome, do what the Romans do. Don't get me wrong, I have no hang-ups when it comes to that. In the PI where I lived my twenty six years, it was pretty much the same thing. Come to think of it, Spain and the PI have so many values and traditions that are very much the same. Geez, I wonder why.

I know one thing - every single day I have this constant desire to scrape something from Spain - something new and something wonderful. I do not even mind it that I am most of the time lost in translation.