dispocheck

dyornal

Kumusta ka?

Ayos lang, hindi pa naman pinanghihinaan. Kinakaya pa sa kabila ng mga hampas ng alon at lakas ng daluyong. Nakakatayo pa, kahit sugat-sugat na ang binti’t tuhod sa daming beses na nadapa, natapilok, nabuwal habang naglalakbay. Binabagtas ang daang inaakalang kadiliman ang hantungan, dahil wala nang makita. Ni isang kutitap ng alitaptap ay walang masilayan.

Ayos lang?

Hindi. Natatakot, sa totoo. Hindi rin alam kung bakit nasisikmura na sa araw-araw na pagtatanong ng ‘kumusta’ ay laging kasinungalingan ang inilalahad. Laging binubulag ang mga nag-aalala, pinapakita na kinakaya pa, lumalaban pa kahit ang katotohanan ay bunbunan na lamang ang wala sa hukay. Todo pa sa pagsuporta, pag-angat, pagsigurado na ayos lang sila, ngunit lingid sa kanila, o hindi kung nahalata na, patuloy na lumulubog, kinakain ng dilim na isang kumunoy na hindi makatakas. Kahit hindi gumalaw, manatili lang, lulubog at lulubog pa rin hanggang nasa ilalim na ng walang hanggang dilim.

Natatakot?

32 Tinta 2020

Marami. Maraming kinatatakutan. Hindi mabilang na pinangangambahan. Dinadala na lang lagi sa bartolinang tawag nila ay kalungkutan, lalong sumisikip kada buntung-hininga at hindi na kailanman lumuwag. Sa oras na lisanin ang lugar, pagbalik ay mas maliit pa. Sinasakal, pinipiit hanggang hindi na makahinga at ubod lakas na mananaghoy sa alapaap. “AYOKO NA!” “TAMA NA!” Laging sinisigaw. Ngunit walang makarinig kundi sarili lamang...

Ayoko na.

Mabuhay? Oo. Makulong sa ganito? Sigurado. May ginagawa naman ba upang kumawala? Lahat na yata, ginawa na. Ngunit sa ganitong uri ng sigwa, wala nang kawala, at kung makaraos man, dadating na naman muli ang panibagong unos at ang pagtatapos? Kalunos-lunos. Tila wala nang buhay, pilit na binubuhay kahit ninanais na lang wakasan ang lahat dahil hindi naman na nakikita ang pag-asa.

Lumaban ka. Ayawan na. Huwag kang sumuko. Bakit pa? Nandito kami. Sigurado ba?

Kapit lang.

Kapit lang?

Matagal na akong bumitaw. Pasasaan pa ba?

Kaya kung may magtatanong pa kung ano ang lagay, isipin muna kung itutuloy pa.

Kumusta ka?

Ayos lang, lumalaban pa. Maniwala ka na lang. Ayaw ko nang magpaliwanag pa.

LITRATO ni alpas

‘till we meet again, mr. space head

sputnik

The most beautiful boy I know was in love with the universe. I remember how he always gushed about how beautiful the cosmic space is, eyes brimming with passion and voice filled with awe. I would listen to him discuss black holes, celestial dust, anti-matter, and the Milky Way, even though my mind would frequently wander on how he talks with his hands, how the dimples on his left cheek show up when he laughs, how amazing the world is to come up with someone as beautiful as him. He made all the nerdy blabbering seem interesting.

He once told me that we could be whichever constellation we wanted to be. We could be the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor — whatever they call us, wherever they find us, people would look up and think that we belong together. While I listened to him say this, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he was my Polaris, my Northern Star, because he was my fixture in this vast sky, my point of reference. Because he stands out. Because when I get lost, I could just find him and feel on the way home.

One night, we were lying on his bed, staring blankly at the unlit glow-in-the-dark star stickers plastered on his ceiling, when he suddenly turned to me and asked: “how lucky are we to be alive in this universe?”

34 Tinta 2020

I couldn’t understand him at first until he explained to me William James’ Multiverse Theory, which posits that physical laws prove that there exists the Multiverse, containing every possible permutation of reality. Back then, I couldn’t care less about the infinite number of universes for I was perfectly content with the one where the two of us were lying on the bed together. Yesterday, I read on the news about a large breakthrough in astronomy. Scientists discovered the largest void ever in space, which might just be the entry to the multiverse. I admit that now and then, I picture in my mind the universes where he and I end up together in perpetuity.

Maybe there’s one universe where he and I both study in UP and we wait for each other at AS to walk home together. An alternate universe where we live in a small, dainty studio apartment and fall asleep next to each other every night. Another one where we own a cat named after his favorite constellation and Harry Potter character, Sirius.

Perhaps he and I just landed on this one, where our time together is momentary.

If this multiverse theory holds true, then it’s like he did not do anything wrong to me at all. It will somehow soothe my pain and I can finally let him go. I can make myself believe that the reason why he left me for someone else is not that I wasn’t enough or that his love faded.

We just found each other in the wrong universe; that’s all.

Lirip 35

under a seattle weather

soul

Today, I feel as though I am driving under cold Seattle weather, showered by endless rain.

I feel like I’m seated in the driver’s seat of a car looking at the windshield blurred by constant precipitation. The wipers offered a clear view but only for a moment, always just for a moment.

Outside, people are walking in the streets but they are merely apparitions in my view. All of them were passing in a hurry.

From my seat, the sound of the rain seemed like a piece of incessant racket. It started slowly by dropping a few heavy notes in long intervals before erupting to a full-blown strain of uneven beats in staccato.

Without warning, my legs slowly felt numb in the gas pedal while my hands were resting in the wheel, unwilling to move.

The paralyzing numbness reached my mind and I feel like slowly being blanketed by fog -- as if any second I will be receding into a deep slumber. While lying on my bed this early Monday morning, I felt like driving under a cold Seattle weather.

Inside my tiny bedroom apartment, the sunlight pierced brightly through the window. The sound of the alarm clock rang in repeat penetrating the thin walls of my room.

By this time, I should have been inside a cramped MRT train if I wanted to spare myself from the litany of my boss for latecomers.

But still, I am on my bed, stripped of any will. It’s a sunny Monday morning yet I feel like driving under a cold Seattle weather.

36 Tinta 2020

LITRATO ni soul

Lirip 37

38 Tinta 2020

ukay? okay.

lung hiya

One man’s trash is not always another man’s treasure when the wearer is presented with minimal choices fit only from their ribs to the extra cup of rice that’s mounting down their thighs. There is added guilt both in consumption from glutton and of cheaply sold fabric, yet your pride can be easier adjusted to the means of your wallet.

LITRATO ni lung hiya

Lirip 39

40 Tinta 2020

LITRATO ni sputnik