A Tribute to Love

I sit quietly, gazing outside the window without really seeing anything. While in deep silence, he reads my “A Tribute to Love”.

“I seek comfort at the thought that You,
like so many who came before and after You,
were just another victim of the harshness and cruelty of what is real.
I take refuge on that thought.
I have to –
I need to –
I’ve got to –
I must…
For it is only through this that I remain clinging to sanity.
How the memories of You haunt me!
For when I finally summoned enough courage to look into Your eyes…
I saw…
Compassion –
Forgiveness –
I saw…
Love there --
Shamefaced, I turned away –
Weeping…
How could you love me --?
Despite the thorns –
Despite the nails…”

I heard him sigh as he placed the pages gently on the table.
And without saying a word he took my hand into his, quietly offering his comfort as we silently nursed our grief…
Cy09.28.05

How can one put sadness into Words?

“I can sense something in you,” he said.
“Really?” I smiled at him.
“Yes,” he said. “It is something too deep…something I cannot fathom.”
I raised a brow.
“Hmm, you’re making it sounds so mysterious.” I teased.
“I want to ask you – “he said hesitantly.
I laughed.
“What is stopping you now?” I asked unbelievingly, as if to say, ‘you never stopped at anything before’.
“I want you to tell me –“his voice drifted…
It was my turn to be silent.
How can one put sadness into words?
Cy09.18.05

What makes you Pensive?

"So tell me," he insisted. "What makes you pensive?"
I sighed, before placing the empty cup on the table.
"This rain," I said softly. “It makes me sad --”
'Why is that?" he asked.
"It is like the sky is crying and I can't do anything about it --"
"Hmm," he murmured and gave me a look that implied, 'you don't have to do anything about it'.
"It blocks the sun...the sky..." I continued.
I sighed again.
"All I can hear is the rain and the beating of my own heart --”
"It makes you sad to hear the beating of your heart?" he asked in disbelief.
"Don't be silly --" I said.
"What then?"
"It reminds me of how alone I am..." I confessed.
Cy09.15.05

In Knowing Others

"Why are you looking like that?" he asked, handing over a cup of tea.
I reached for it. Smiled my gratitude and took a sip.
Then sighed my pleasure, warmed by the tea.
"Look like what?" I asked, remembering his question.
"Pensive," he said. "It makes me wonder," he looked at me curiously. “What goes on inside you when you gaze out the window with a pensive expression on your face."
i laughed.
"You always wonder about me," i reminded him gently.
I t was his turn to sigh.
"You fascinate me..." he murmured.” I don't know --"
My face must have turned brick red for I felt the rush of blood through it. I laughed to hide my discomfort.
"You found me fascinating?' I asked incredulously. Me? Fascinating? Not on this lifetime.
"Okay, he said impatiently.” Maybe I am curious about you," he said sounding a little annoyed.
"Hmm," I murmured thoughtfully. "Curious? About what?" I asked hesitantly.
"About everything,” he said in admission. "Just when I thought I got you all figured out.." his voice drifted." Then it turns out that I don't know you at all."
"What do you hope to achieve in knowing me -- " I asked bluntly.
"I just thought that maybe it is easier to understand you when I know you...” he admitted.
"You can never KNOW a person, you know -” I said.
He raised his brow.
"You must accept that man is so complex by nature that to know one is almost impossible..." I explained. "You can predict...guess...about him but..." I drifted to silence.” It is not what is seen or heard, but what is hidden that tells man's truest story..."
He just continued to look at me in silence, a thoughtful expression on his face.
I covered his hand with my own and in a small voice admitted to him.
"How can you possibly understand me, when even I don't understand myself sometimes..."
Cy09.15.05

How can I possibly draw up Perfection?

"How can I possible draw up perfection?" I sighed in frustrations.
It was his turn to look at me strangely.
"You have done quite a few, if you ask me," he said.
I laughed.
"Why thank you, you mean flatterer," I said and hung my head.
He frowned.
"It was a compliment, if you must know," he said, obviously exasperated.
I raised a brow.
"I don't understand," I said densely.
He sighed.
"Here let me show you -- " he randomly picked one of my sketch pads and begun leafing through it puposedly.
He was intent and silent for a while.
"Hmm, who is this angel?" he asked in wonder.
"What angel --?" I rose to take a peek.
"I've never seen this before --" he said." She is exquisite....." he ran his fingertips through the image as if in an awe, then caught sight of the title."Kurama," he read out loud.
I burst out laughing.
"Hmm," he shook his head." Strange name for an angel," he murmured absently." Who is she?"
I stifled my laughter and said," Kurama is not a she, Kurama is a HE."
My laughter escaped me again.
"What?" he exclaimed, aghast, then took a closer look at the image."Oh, yes," he said after studying it for an entire minute." Kurama is definitely a male."
With narrowed eyes he looked at me curiously.
"You must love this person deeply to be able to project him in this exquisite image," he said almost to himself.
I nodded.
"I do," I admitted simply."He is a magnificent character, gifted with great talents and a brilliant mind."
I laughed again because it felt good, then sighed." He is as you've said, exquisite."
"Hmm, Kurama," a pause."Yes, I remember him now, " he murmured. "It is him," his eyes flashed with recognition. "You just added more laughter into his eyes .... interesting.."
Then he begun turning the pages again.
"Wow!" he exclaimed, amazed." Who is This?" a pause." Wait a minute," he frowned." I'll be damned --" he studied the image thoroughly." Louis de Pointe du Lac" he read the label." What the --"
I laughed at his expression. Priceless.
"Don't tell me you love this guy too," he said incredulously.
"Yes," I gulped my laughter." I'm telling you I love this guy too," I said in between laughter.
"How do you capture such beauty...?" he shook his head.
"That is easy," I said. "I drew those images from my heart. His is a pure soul, as immortal as he, and such gentle heart..." I sighed.
"I've read about him," he muttered under his breath. " Although I could never imagine him to be as ethereal as the image you've created out of him." he sighed."Women..." he shook his head in disbelief." But then again, it could be just you --"
I laughed.
"You make them so achingly beautiful," he said almost scornfully.
I laughed again. Harder this time.
"I just draft what I feel," I said almost apologetically. "I must admit that they entranced me."
"Hmm..." he said absently.
"And I'm held helpless by their magnificence that the enchantment almost makes me cry," I sighed.
"You are certainly weird --" he murmured again, sounding vaguely bored as he started to turn the pages again.
"This is strange --" he said, staring at the page before us.
I shrugged.
"Don --" he begun to read the label." I don't understand." he said after a pause.
"Why haven't you done any draft of him?" he probed.
Silence.
I stared at the almost blank page, then silently traced the single outline of a heart, shaped at the center of the page, with the tips of my fingers.
I couldn't suppress a sigh when I whispered.
"Tell me," I looked at him with frustrations."How can I possibly draw up perfection?"
cy09.08.05

Rosary Bracelet

"Rosary bracelet," I muttered under my breath, suddenly remembering it.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said. I must have said the words out loud without realizing it.
"Come on,"he urged. "What about it?"
I shot him a glance that meant to freeze Egypt.
He shrugged."What about the rosary bracelet?"he asked again.
I sighed my frustration.
"I've fallen inlove with one."
He sighed.
"Tell me about it,"he invited.
"I went to St. Paul with Jade today," I said. "It was beautiful."I smiled at the memory."Small white and pink beads stringed together to form one exquisite bracelet."
I laughed.
"It was perfect," I proudly announced.
He nodded and smiled too.
We savored the moment.
Then he said," I was surprise you haven't purchase one." Stating the obvious.
I sighed deeply.
"I couldn't afford one," I simply said.
"How much?" he asked.
I held out my hand for the figure.
"Hmm," he murmured. "Anything exquisite and perfect is."
cy09.07.05

Who Are you?

"Who are you?" he asked unexpectedly.
I looked at him strangely.
"You know who I am," I said with a laugh, as if to say 'are you kidding me?'
He shrugged."Humor me."
I sighed helplessly.
"You are hopeless, do you know that ?" I said, vexed.
"Yes, but I am not asking you about me,"he shook his head."Now answer my question."
I rolled my eyes and prayed heaven for patience.
"My name is Mer --"
"You are not listening to me," he interjected impatiently. "I did not ask for your name."
He straightened and held my gaze.
"Now pay attention," he calmly demanded. "Who are you?" he repeated ever so slowly as if to emphasized each word.
Silence.
His eyes bore through me like piercing bullets.
I gulped for air. Groped for answers and could have wept because I've found none.
Instead I sadly shook my head, looked directly into his eyes and silently implored his understanding.
And in a small voice, I confessed.
"I am a mystery to myself, as I am to you."
cy09.06.05

Self Denial

“Self-denial,” I said. “Is like a seed that has fallen into the ground.”
“What is?” he asked, a little confused.
“Self-denial,” I said again.
“Yeah, what about it?” he asked again distractedly.
I sighed.
“You are not paying attention to me.” I complained.
It was his turn to sigh.
“How is it like a fallen seed?” he asked.
“Ok,” I said. “ If a seed falls into the ground, it will die. It has to. Because only then should a plant sprout from it.”
“ If it won’t then it will be just another seed,” he said.
“Exactly,” I said.
“And we all die a little in each self-denial. And in our deaths someone else’s lives.” I said.
“Only if we deny ourselves something for the benefit of the others, “ he said.
“Hmm, yes, that is correct. And only if the seed dies to sprout a plant.” I said.
He nodded.
“Self-denial for the benefit of others,” I said. “Is like a seed that has fallen into the ground that has died to sprout a new plant.”
Cy09.05.05

Today I Imagine Myself Incapable of Love

“Today I imagine myself incapable of love” I said.
He raised an elegant brow and asked. “Why is that so?”
“So that the world goes around me while I am numb.” I said stating the obvious.
“And what do you hope to achive in being numb,” he asked puzzled.
I sighed my impatience.
“I hope to achive a state of indifference,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Ah, you hope to be devoid of any emotions,” he said as if comprehending.
“Exactly,” I said enthusiastically, glad that he finally understood.
Silence.
“ But why do you wish to be indifferent,” he asked, frowning in confusion.
“Because I cannot risk pain,” I said exasperated.
“Ah….”he said.
Silence.
“But do you honestly think it is worth it?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Think again,” he persisted. “You can do better than that.”
I sighed.
Shook my head and turned to walk away.
“I was just imagining myself incapable of love.” I said.
Cy09.05.05

Stupid things achieved in a Lifetime

“Stupid things achieved in a lifetime,” he said. Leafing through the thick book he cradled.
I looked up from my sketching and asked teasingly. “Your lifetime,I suppose.”
He smiled secretly, as if amused at my naivety.
“Yours of course,” he laughed.
“What?” I was aghast, how dare he….
I drew a deep breath, calming myself.
“Mine?” I asked, stoically. Feining indifference.
He laughed again, as if seeing through my façade.
“Yes,” he said. “Here,” running a finger through the page, he began his recital.
“It is written here that you finished a course you know nothing about.”
“Atleast I finished it,” I smiled, beginning to relax.
We might as well get over with it.
He raised an elegant brow and announced. “You, although I cannot,in my life imagine why, my dear, kissed a frog, a lizard and a mosquito.”
“Yuck!” I shuddered at the memory. “Please do not remind me….”
“But this is funny,” he laughed. “ This is sooo like you. Hmm, accordingly, you jumped straight into the frying pan without any ammunitions”
“Yeah,” admitting it. “That hurt though.”
“Swam in a quick sand..unbelievable,” he shook his head and laughed.
“And almost drowned…” I said.
“Whacked your hair,” he continued still laughing.
“Yeah!” I said enthusiastically.
“Burnt the ‘dilis’ with the intention of frying them. Accidentally dried the chicken soup, this is embarrassing,” he said. “Gave IT the wrong employee number.”
We were almost hysterical with laughter now, i am almost near to tears with my mirth.
“Looked for the pencil…”
“Which I forgot tucked behind my ear,” I finished for him. “So much for sketching…”
“And finally,” he said.
“Thought for a minute that I owned the world.Wow!” we both yelled simultaneously, before giving each other a high-five.
“Shhh,” somebody whispered behind our backs.
Embarrassed we looked around guiltily.
Red-faced I whispered. “ So much for my stupid things achieved in a lifetime.”
Cy09.04.05

What breaks the Heart?

“What breaks the heart?” he asked.
“Pardon me,” I’m not sure if I’ve heard him right.
“You heard me,” he said impatiently, but repeated the question nevertheless.
I looked at him strangely, as if to say, “why do you ask me this weird question.”
He just stared right back, as if to say, “ it is not at all weird.”
Silence.
I sighed; there is no escaping his question.
“What breaks the heart?” I tested the words with my tongue.
“Could be the open door to which friends no longer come.” I stared at him defiantly.
” It could also be the empty hall that echoes with deafening silence. It could be a single wish to the million stars that has never come true. A dream that has shattered into million pieces. A broken toy. A sad movie. An achingly warm smile of a stranger. A phone call that never came through. A lost friend. A prayer that is never granted. A beautiful and yet so sad sunset. A touching song. The sadness of other people.”
I wrung my hand and continued." War. Death. Disillusionment. A troubled soul. A lost time that could never be recovered…”
A pause.
“It could be to give your best only to realize it is not enough. It could be when the novelty wears off and you struggle so hard to deny it. A broken trust. A distance between two hearts longing to be one. Of hearts no longer beating in unison. Love….”
And then another silence.
A silence stretching between us for so long that I feared he heard the pounding of my heart.
And then to break the silence, I asked him bravely. “What breaks the heart?”
cy09.04.05

Nothing Beats This

“Nothing beats this.” I said.
“Nothing beats what?” he asked, puzzled.
“I did something extremely stupid today.” I said.
He sighed, as if to say, “as if you’ve done something isn’t.”
“Pray tell,” he said nevertheless.
I faced him squarely and removed my head band.
“I whacked my hair.” I groaned.
He smirked.
“Yes, you heard right. I took a pair of scissors, grabbed a handful of my hair and proceeded with the whacking.
I looked messier than ever.”
He nodded.
I sighed.
“The next thing I uttered after the whacking was, oh God! Grow! Grow! But nothing happened…”
He patted my hand, as if to sympathize.
“Then I started groaning, wake up! Wake up! Still nothing happened. Realization hit me, I am fully awake and what happened was as real as it can go.
I stared unbelievingly at the handful of hair and could not do anything…. “
I made a gesture with my hands, palms held up.
In unison, we both stared at my empty hands for a minute or so.
Silence.
“I rushed to the shower, combed my wet hair back, praying it would look the way it was, but no…” I gasped for air.
“I went to the office, hid myself and averted my face away from friends hoping they would not notice. But heck, the newly bangs were like banners announcing to the world another of my stupid act... aarggg… I’ve done so many stupid things in the past but gosh….. “
I hung my head.
“Nothing beats this,” I finished lamely.
He chuckled at my forlornness and said. “Nothing beats this.”
cy09.03.05

Who am I?

They all looked at me strangely. Finally one of them asked bluntly. “ Are you a writer?”
I smiled sadly at this and shook my head in denial. “ No,” I said.
Another one faced me squarely and with equal bluntness asked. “Are you a poet?”
I sighed, hung my head and said. “No, im afraid im not.”
“Then what are you?” the question was asked forcefully this time.
I stood to leave and said. “ I am neither a writer nor a poet. I am just someone who found so much freedom in writing.”
And with that I turn and left.
Cy09.04.05