Coffee, Ciggy and Sympathy

(The title is borrowed from Robbie William’s song, Coffee, Tea and Sympathy)

A not-so-close friend of mine had approached me one mid-afternoon and asked me a very strange question. “Hey Beth!” (not my real name), “Have you quit smoking?”

Now, you might want to ask me why I find his question strange.

Two reasons. One, I am sure that I don’t know this guy too well for him to actually know me to be a smoker. Basing from his tone of questioning, it seems like he had actually seen me smoke a lot. (Or perhaps I’m just being paranoid. It could be one of the side-effects of these meds I’m taking these days.) The second reason is that... I have on the contrary, smoked like a chimney for the past few days. So I don’t understand why he would ask me such a thing.

But anyway, I chuckled as a reply to the guy and said, “Dude, I’m trying.”

This had made me remember Dok (not his real name), whom I had phoned just now.

I tilted my head a bit while waiting for him to pick up my call. His ring back tune, (Three Little Birds by Bob Marley) had kept me entertained. And as usual, he did not pick up.

Dok taught me how to smoke. I never smoked my entire life, until I met him. I never knew love, until him.

He laughed at my shippish way of smoking. I never knew that there’s a right way to smoke. Oh gawd, I can still hear his laughter echoing in my head when I coughed so hard, almost making me puke when I attempted to imitate the way he smoked.

“You… young lady is never gonna die young by the way you smoke” he said. He grabbed the stick (Philips, his brand) from my fingers. He made it touch his lips (that I loved kissing,) slightly sucked a bit of it, he looked at me in the eyes and it was the first time I noticed that no smoke is actually coming out from any of the holes in his appealing face. I don’t find Dok handsome. But he’s got charms.

“You have to suck it in, Beth. All the way here” he was pointing at his heart. I don’t know why he was pointing it there but in the midst of my tipsiness out of the whole bottle of wine I drank that night, I still remember how he taught me of the right way to smoke.

Like how he taught me the right way to live life. Of course, there is never the right way. But there is always your own, right way. And according to him, we have to inhale the love of the people until here, (he was again pointing at his heart) and don’t let that come out. Just let it rot you, let it spoil you, because their love is what will make you genuinely happy. Take risks, show people how you love, don’t be afraid to get hurt, and remember to never keep bitterness too long here (this time it’s his whole fist pounding his chest.) “Beth, it is important to die happy, you have to put that in here.” To emphasize his point, he stood up and rubbed my head.

I am never a jealous person and Dok, to be honest has never become my boyfriend… (You know that one with a commitment?) But I had, for a long time been silently mad at him ever since I learned that he had found the girl he will finally love. And that wasn't me. He knew about how I feel, but we never talked about it. He is good at pretending that nothing is wrong, but we love to believe that everything between us is so right. Perhaps, because I am never the sentimental, nagging schmuck who will blubber the littlest detail of my pain and agony, of my jealousy and anger. We survived this complicated relationship without much fight, but I know that there was too much of an emotional battle within.

Dok is five years more matured than me. He died six months ago at the age of 31.

I was driving, I drank too much. He was trying to make me smile by tickling me that night. I got the steering wheel out of control while trying to dodge his tickles that had made our car smash ruthlessly against a speeding truck. He was thrown out of the car because he was so stupid not to put his seatbelt on. Dok, by the way, had always been stupid.

Dok said, "Forgive easy, forgive easy, forgive easy." Believe me, I tried so hard to do that. But it is impossible if you have to do that to yourself.

It is a lot tougher because I survived with just a bruised leg, a single arm with fingers good and strong enough to dial Dok's number over and over again…...and a cold, dead heart still waiting for my calls to be answered.


Author’s Notes:
1. I write for my pleasure. I find it pleasurable to create characters in my stories who are free to love, free to hate and whom I can kill without feeling any guilt. Stuff I can't do in real life.
2. This is fictional. Any similarities to actual situations or emotions are purely coincidental.
3. This story started, when I realized I might have been smoking too much. And I dedicate this to all smokers especially to Micah, because I am always scared of loving you. So sorry, I have to kill you

S P L I T

Yen is holding her bottle of Pepsi with one hand, gobbling it up like she is never going to taste that drink anymore. Just like in the commercial, she finished drinking it with a big “Aaaahhh!!” and burped like hell.


Yen. That is what I call her. When I am in my nicest mood, I call her Yen-Yen and she loves it.


Yen went back to eating her noodles that I cooked for her, a little spicy, the way she likes it over a weekend morning. She eats it with a cold bottle of Pepsi. She is in the middle of writing a story and I know she can no way be disturbed for anything. So what I do is sit here in the bed and try to read my own favorite book. I have now finished Haruki Murakami’s 4th short story called Thailand in his book After the Quake. When I rest my eyes out of the book, I stare at her back, take my earphones off and listen to the tapping of her keyboards. It has become a sweet melody to me. And of course as usual, I wait and see if she turns around and gives me a smile. But that has never ever happened.


Yen leaned her back on her swivel chair. “Uh-oh” I said. “This is not good.” Yen never rests when writing. She is always glued on her screen. That is why she always complains about her back pain when she is at her normal state. (And that means, when she is out of the computer.) She said that if her momentum gets disturbed, she forgets what the story is about and then she becomes totally frustrated and depressed. As expected, she put her hand on her forehead and began to cry.


“Is everything alright?” I stood up and asked her. I wanted to touch her, but I can’t. She did not answer. I took the 2 liter bottle of water lying on the floor and gave it to her. She ignored it. She just kept on crying.


“Can you leave me alone?” she said to me.


I just stood there, surprised. This is the first she had asked me this. She would always want me to bring her water, get the power plug on, hand her earphones, take out her blanket because she’s feeling cold. But this… she wants me out of here. This is something different.


“Do you want me get a fork for your noodles?” I asked. “Shall I get you more coffee?”


“I want you to leave me alone.” I am not mistaken this time. She wants me to leave her alone.


“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, fuck it, just leave!” She is now out of her regular tune. I am sensing her voice shaking and angry.


“Did I do something wrong?”


“Please leave me alone, I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to break your heart, I don’t want you to get stuck with me forever. You should have a life.” She said.


“Is this going to be one of your stories again?” I said. I wanted to initiate a laugh. Laugh, like what we used to do when she is at her lightest mood. Laugh, so she would get the idea that I am not taking her seriously. I just thought that if I smile or giggle or tickle her, it might change the course of this conversation.


Yen is a frustrated writer, that’s according to her. Frustrated because her muse is her miseries. She can't write when she is not melancholic. But I believe otherwise. I believe she is going to have her break someday because she has the passion. I know that the big opportunity is just lurking around the corner for her. She has always wanted to publish her own book. I may not be the best judge but I am going to be the proudest if that happens.


I also know that writers like her have the biggest mood swings. They can be the happiest people on earth at one point and can be at their lowest of lows, when struck with with the big "D" - depression. It is always difficult to understand them. It is absurd though, that she is surrounded with a lot of friends. That’s not impossible because she is never boring when with them. She is fun, she is smart, she plays around like a fool and there can never be dull moments with her. Only few people have ever seen her serious, gloomy face. Only few people have seen her cry and I am one of them. But I am not sure if that is one that I should be proud of.


“Do you want me to call Yuri?” Yen can never be with a lover. That Yuri name… I just made that up. There's a lot of men in her life. Men can never understand a fucked-up crazy bitch like her. They are never going to take her seriously or worst it could be the other way around. Men can only be challenged because Yen ~ is not an ordinary girl. There is something sweet and annoying with her. She doesn’t like being teased of being beautiful, because she believes that she is not. She always gets embarrassed when she is told that she is pretty. But I have always thought that she is. Her personality says it so, it’s the whole package of her that makes her the most beautiful woman in the world. Plus the fact that I am always attracted with weird women.


She looked at me straight in the eye. The rage is burning me. It gave me the creeps, as I have been with her for the longest time but she had never ever looked at me in the eye.


I am the only one who stayed with her when she is at her despondent state. I believe that I am the one who keeps it together for her. She always said that she can tell me everything, without any force at all. She had never told me to stay with her, but I did. Even if I know that she can always choose to be with any men that she likes. Men who can protect her and love her and accept her for all the nutcase that she is. But she rejects them all.


“You are a hopeless, miserable emotional bullshit, yes that’s what you are!” I heard one of her lovers said that. “You are scared of your own self. You are in love with your miseries. You are fucking driving me insane! I love you, I love you. Please, I beg of you, love me too!”


But Yen just stood there. I know she wanted to cry, to pick that man up from his knees while weeping and tell him, “Yes, I love you too, I want you to own me. I want to be happy with you. I want to have a contented life with you.” But she remains standing and then she slowly walks away.


“If that is what you want, then I am going to leave you alone. Take care of yourself, Yen.” I opened the door and closed it behind me. I thought that maybe, it’s now my turn to leave.


And then silence.


But I can’t. I can’t leave her for just one second. I can’t breathe without her. She is my life. So I turned around at an instant. I opened the door again and turned the lights on which I don’t remember turning off. She is no longer in front of her computer. How can she move in bed in a split second? That was really quick! I began to wonder. I saw her cuddled inside her duvet and I assumed her to be peacefully sleeping.


“Rest well then Yen, I think you are just tired.” I told her. But she began shaking inside those sheets, like she is feeling cold or something. But it’s not cold, the AC is off, in fact, it’s really warm in her room. I called out her name, while I am wiping my own sweat.


“Yen-Yen?” she did not answer.


I saw a dark spot starting to form in the sheets. I wondered what that was. It is wet and is beginning to spread all over the bed. I touched it. A warm dark red liquid has appeared at the tip of my middle finger. I am not mistaken… blood. Right away, I uncovered the sheets from her. I saw her lying in her own blood. I saw the knife in her right hand and a small piece of muscle in the other hand. I am in total terror... I am uncontrollably shaking. Blood is still gushing out from her throat. I am calling out her name “Yen!! Yen!!” I am shouting at the top of my voice but nobody seems to be hearing me. Yen sliced her throat but before she did that, she first had cut her ear. They were all there, her ear and the knife.


I opened her cabinet, I am starting to feel cold and dizzy myself. I am looking for something to wrap her throat to stop it from bleeding. But the moment I did that, I saw my reflection in the cabinet door mirror, my face and chest all covered with blood…


One ear missing.

This Strange Feeling Called...

Let me know where your thoughts bring you
I want to be there, so I can make a stand


Will I hope to feel the stream that connected our breathing...
That I felt when we once kissed?
Should I hold the key to the secrets we shared
That made our bond worthwhile?
When we tried to untie all the complexities
Of this obscure world we are trying to escape?


We built our own worlds and we were confined with it.
I must admit, I loved it and I know you did too
But for once, when we are unleashed from our cabin of illusion
I want to feel the warmth from your eyes
That will look straight into my soul
And I will imagine that it is what you want
To protect and to control


The way I do
When I stare at you
Even if you try so hard
To disregard


But the sad thing is
I look at you for real


As I am a master of pretension
I convince myself that I am right there
Swaying with your heart beat
Even if I know that her smile is what you seek


And even if I want to stay
In your fragment of fantasy
I have to understand that I am just your today,
Never your tomorrow,
Never your reality


17Dec10

Me Love Miseries

You lay down now and I will wipe those tears
For with it, I will wash my face
Go to slumber now and I will shut these eyes
And play in my mind those awful lies
Weep!
Oh you meek one, my immaculate
You are so beautiful with your agony
I feed on your fears
I delight with your anguish
Seize seeking the truth
Because they are only full of filth
Caress vagueness and feel nothing
For that’s the only strength to keep
Dream in dungeons, bathe with fire
Serenade yourself with unending cries
Don’t breathe, it makes you gorgeous
Only with your death will I empathize



Author’s Notes:
1. One said, I take pleasure on my miseries, thus this poem.
2. This is also inspired by the song Gloomy Sunday sung by Bjork .
3. Btw, "fuck you", is what I replied.

Boooooo!

Gusto ko sanang isipin na hindi ako maiiyak habang sinusulat ko ito. Kaso ewan ko ba kung bakit mas mabilis pa sa alas kwatro, kada-dampi pa lamang ng mga daliri ko sa keyboard, inunahan na ako ng mga pesteng luha nato bago ko pa man matapos ang pangungusap ko. Hindi naman talaga ako iyaking tao. Bihira ang mga taong pinapakitaan ko ng ganitong kahinaan ko. Madali ko kasing pigilan ang luha ko. Hindi mo nga makikitaan na ako’y isang problemadong tao dahil madali kong ikubli ang totoong nararamdaman ko lalo na kapag kalungkutan ito.


Gusto ko lang sanang kumbinsihin ang sarili ko na bilog na naman ang buwan. Yun lang kasi ang excuse na maibibigay ko sa nararamdaman kong ito. Nang sa gayon iisipin ko na tumititig ka ngayon sa liwanag nito, kahit na alam kong hawak hawak mo ang kamay niya, subalit siyempre masaya sana kung sasagi ako sa utak mo. Maaalala mo na ako yung babaeng nagiging lobo kapag bilog ang buwan. At habang dumadaldal siya ng mga bagay na hindi naman masyadong interesante sayo, saglit ay tatanungin niya kung bakit ka biglang natahimik. At pagkatapos sasabihin mong, “Sarap kunan ng picture ang full moon no?” Dahil maaalala mo na higit na sa tatlong beses mong kinunan ang litrato nito. Tanging litratong hindi mo iisiping burahin sa celphone mo dahil alam mong hindi naman siya maghihinala kahit pa makita niya ito. Pagkat lahat ng litrato ko’y burado mo na at ang bilog na buwan na lang ang natitirang alaala mo sa akin.


Ang sarap sanang isipin… na habang hinihimas mo yang tattoo mo na mukha namang sticker, kumakandirit ka din sa tugtog ng “we No speak no Americano” ng Yolanda Be Cool. Tawa kasi tayo ng tawa sa kantang yun noon. Pagkatapos, bubuntung hininga ka, kasi maiisip mong tama ako… Na tama lang na hindi yung symbol ng YinYan ang pina-tattoo mo, kasi lalo lang akong tatatak sa isipan mo. Na sa tuwing makikita mo yun, ako ang maiisip mo. Ngunit siyempre, maiisip mo pa rin kahit papano na kasama mo akong pumili ng design sa tattoo mo ngayon. Ano nga bang ipinangalan ko sa kanya?!?


Maalala mo pa ba ang nag iisang pakiusap ko sayo? Ipinakiusap ko na sana kapag nagke-kwentuahn kayo ng mga kaibigan mo, o kahit na kaninong kapalagayang loob mo, (hindi ka naman kasi talaga madaldal by nature, madaldal ka lang sa mga taong komportable ka kaya halos buong buhay mo naike-kwento mo. Minsan nga napapaisip ako kung sino talaga ang mas madaldal sa atin eh). Na-realize ko ang galing mo palang mag-kwento, kaya ang tanging ipinakiusap ko sayo noon, sana huwag mo akong ike-kwento kahit kanino man. Gusto ko kasi sanang isipin na sana, kahit papaano, kapag napatungo ang usapan niyo sa isang bagay na makakapag paalala sa akin, matitigilan ka sa gitna ng iyong mga salita, at maalala mong, "Oo nga pala, ayaw niyang ike-kwento ko siya," at pagkatapos nun mapapangiti ka na lang.


Gusto ko sanang hindi na kita isipin, pero ewan ko ba kung bakit bawat sulok ng kwarto ko, bawat ikot ko sa kamang ito, bawat titik na tinitipa ko sa kwento kong ito, ikaw pa rin ang nagsusumiksik sa utak ko. Gusto ko sanang iwaglit ka na sa isipan ko dahil sa tuwing dumadapo ka dito, kinukurot ang puso ko. Para bang gustong magpumiglas at kumawala sa dibdib ko… Maniwala ka, sobra ang pagpipigil ko, dahil gusto nitong tumungo sayo. Pero dahil nga nasa utak ko lang naman ang mga ito, nararapat lang na ipikit ko na lang ang mga mata ko, itutulog ko na lang ulit gaya ng dati… Dahil bukas paggising ko, alam kong hindi pa rin naman magbabago ang katotohonan na hanggang dun na lang talaga tayo. Na siya na ang nagmamay-ari ng mga ngiti at puso mo.


*Ewan ko ba… gusto ko na sanang tapusin ang sulat kong ito, pero bakit hindi pumapasok ang mga tamang kataga? Ang dami ko nang salitang binura, parang hindi pa rin ito ang mga nararapat para sa pagtatapos ng kwentong ito? Para bagang gusto pa ring makipag-“wrestling” ng maligalig kong puso laban sa inaatok ko nang diwa

Road Trip

Part I

It was the weekend. Usually when it’s the weekend Jules is up to a lot of things. Lunch or coffee with friends, gym or poker nights. But this weekend is different. She’s cuddled up in her bed. What’s more strange is, she is not nursing a hangover. Her regular weekend starts with alcohols, survives with alcohols and most probably will end with an alcohol. This Friday, she is, for some reason… sober.

She’s buried under her sheets with her headphone on. Staring at the green prints of her blanket illuminated by her very bright lamp that she just bought cheaply from a department store in town. I must say, she is staring at the prints blankly. She is bored... and not to mention, at the verge of crying. Her heart is pounding so fast. She immediately wiped a tear that almost fell from the corner of her eye when her phone vibrated. A text from Dok.

“Quad biking” said the text

Right away replying to him, she typed “In 10”

She gave a big nudge using her right foot at the ceiling of her bed. She is sharing a bunk bed with Yogi, her friend. She stood right after that and pulled up her jeans and a turtle neck sweater while explaining to Yogi that Dok is calling them for quad biking.

“You guys are insane! It’s the fucking weekend! What could we better be doing than sleep?” he compained.

Jules ignored his whining and said “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“And you know that that will never happen!” Yogi immediately stood up and changed his clothes.

Jules and Yogi are not in a relationship. They are merely friends.

Jules is a stow away. She’s smart but had never finished her studies. She left her home when she started feeling that her father is going to molest her. She used to excel in school, used to be one of the top notchers. But when she was being harassed by her father, she gave up on studies. She can’t wait to leave her shitty house. So when the opportunity for her to get hold of some of her father’s cash, she right away packed her clothes and went to a place that is so cold called Labello. She has never even heard of this place before.

This is where she met Yogi and Dok. This is where she had started a properly crafted complicated life full of dreams… but these were dreams not meant to be fulfilled.

Part II

With the money Jules had, she was lucky to find a small place to stay right away. She lived with a family who owns a small convenience store that is very close to a bus station. The first house she approached when she stepped down from the bus when she ran away.

It was Yogi’s family. Jules intended to stay there only for a few months until she gets a job. Shortly thereafter, the store’s cashier left off and the family had her replaced by Jules. It was indeed a lucky move for her. And now she’s staying with that family for more than a year now. She has practically became a part of the family.

Yogi is 4 years younger than Jules. He doesn’t have any siblings so he looked up at her with respect with that of an older sister. And just the same, Jules look after him like a small brother. Instinctively, they protected each other like real brothers and sisters.

Until Dok decided to throw away his fridge.

...tbc

The Big D

Carnal desires, catastrophe
Wayward spirit, digressed
Oh sweet and stabbing pain
Stop wrecking me soul

I yearn to relish the soothing smell of liquor
As it rips every harmony built by silence
And by every piercing stare thrown at me

Smell the nothingness of this sad night
Snatch this thin thread holding my sanity

Because I am a crushed dirt, that’s what I am
Jarred flame, judged guilty by all
Exploited like a prostitute
Blinded like a slave
Tossed like a rug

Ay love, look what you have brought upon!
Look at what you have brought upon!!