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.