Finding Home

I used to have a personal spot where I write and read my favorite books over and over again. I would pile them on the table and admire their mere presence. Then Typhoon Haiyan came and drenched them and everything else to the core. So I had to throw them all away.  It would be accurate to say that my heart broke when I did what I had to do because it meant I was forced to cut off something that has been a precious part of who I was at the time. Yes, it was just material. Am I being shallow? Maybe. Am I being human? Absolutely. We all have things that are meaningful to us because in one way or another, they symbolize our identity. For some jewelry represents a luxury earned for many years of hard work. For others an array of clothes, shoes and bags represents a wholeness of what wasn't in one's past. And for the enlightened few, they've reached a point where they see all material things as mere mediums or vehicles, if you will, to take them to places of pur

Pack light. Bring only what is necessary to wherever you may go. Lay it all down. Spread it all out: tickets, passport, money, clothes; tops, bottoms, shoe wear, accessories. Ask the questions: For how many days? What places to go? Do I really need to bring those stilettos? Or would comfy flats do? Do I really need those many tops to go with those many pairs of jeans? One suitcase. Or a backpack perhaps. How to know that what you packed is enough? Wear your backpack. Can you still move around without straining your back? Lift your suitcase. Can you sustain carrying it for the duration of your travel without the aid of a porter? Pack light. In travel as in life. Such sound advice. Family. Friends. Virtues.  Family in blood or not. What matters is whenever you're with them you feel safe. You can be who you want to be, who you are without fear of judgment or reprimand. They root you to what is essential. Yet they give you wings to soar high. Friends. You don'

Three days ago, I was tasked by the Rotary Club of Ormoc to be part of our senior students' career orientation scheduled Saturday, November 29  to briefly talk about the field of Psychology. It has been a long time since I have spoken about my degree. It has been a long time since I have spoken to an audience of 70 plus or more. It has been a long time since I have prepared a speech. To be exact it was almost two years since the last training program I facilitated which entailed only five participants organized by the same club members who requested my help at the time. I prepared the speech yesterday in just under an hour. (This, I have to thank CrossFit for, which will require an entirely separate post). I had no time to do a more comprehensive research which I did not need to do anyhow  since I was instructed to prepare a 5-minute speech. Given the routine limited availability of my schedule, I did one rough run through of my speech in front of our three office s

Despedida. Leave taking. Parting of ways. I have lost count of the number of friends who have left for another country. It doesn't matter that I only have ten fingers and the friends who have left are less than ten. Because who I consider friends are the very few people who have moved me in remarkable ways. And one leaving is a tad too many. I don't do well with goodbyes. Like most people I suppose. I'd rather take it all in and write. So here I am again dealing with another friend leaving. Coach Chino, my only regret is that I was not able to take the opportunity to be under your wing, save for my elements classes, during your time in Pintados. But, they say there is a purpose for everything. Do know that whatever you have shared with Andro and me-- your passion, your commitment, the sincerity of your friendship, your "realness" as a human being,  will not be forgotten. When Keza informed us about the details of your despedida, and she said to bring food that

These words Will be the Last of leaves Landing on A patch of Earth next To your feet A parting gift If you will-- Landing. Falling. Fall. Before the coldest Time of the year But what do I know? We have no winter Here. Still, Fall. One's Flight from grace Like mine to yours Fall. as one does When one loves No matter how small Fall. "To descend freely By the force of Gravity." Secret names in Secret caves Fall. Apart. Break one's bones. Those nearest The heart Fall. Away. Change. Fall. Green leaves Turning red And yellow shades. Fall. Now, Get up.

Tap-tap-tap A knock that opened Pandora's box Tick-tick-tock The seconds announce With the deafening ding Of a grandfather's clock The eternal silence of minutes That turn into days And into weeks That turn into a year A year into a story, Untold Only through This-- Words that blur Overflow Into verses that Claim to be Pretend to be The very thing We were looking for What were we Looking for? That elusive fork In the tattered Road map? I loved you and You me. Let's leave it at that.

  It's okay. You don't have to do it all. You don't have to get it right away. Some of the best lessons are learned not the hard way but the best way you possibly CAN learn. Just because someone else yells "failure" into your ear doesn't mean you are. You are worth every single piece of you--mind, body, soul, heart. You are enough. Because you are striving to do better each day. You are beautiful in whatever angle, in however the light casts its shadows on you. Remember, your passions are what makes you. And you, my dear are one amazing human being. You are so worth it. You are worth fighting for. You are worth living for. Now go back to the first line, immerse, repeat.

A quiet yet imposing reminder that:  Transformation is the greatest thing that could ever happen to anyone. Miracles happen every single day.  And no matter where we may go in our personal journeys, though we face our own monsters, we are not alone. A friend is just around the corner. One needs only to look up, look around and ask for help. 

"I believe one writes so that one can create a world where one can live." -Anais Nin So this poem is A necessary sadness That you, my dear Shall be Immortalized in the words That bleed out of my quill's feathers In secret Always In secret.

They still drift to you   These thoughts Like paper boats Or airplanes Or feathers from My writing quill Such as this. When the wind Lifts leaves Off the ground Or from where they Belong in branches Of silent trees Letting them seem Weightless for a time Until it lands on a Patch of earth Next to your feet.

The back of  one's hand one's palm  kneading mine The graze made on The right side Corner of  My spine against  my better sensibilities One cradling  the back of my feet As if they were my heart How could I forget? And yet why do I feel like I'm a  business deal something one knows all too well Like secret sonnets of past loves memorized eyes wide shut Unspoken Truths Like Scars and veins that protrude and that which I know too well Like the back Of my hand. 

Some stories will  Stay that way. There is no beauty in finality. The pen shouldn't have to be thrown away. Words don't have to run out.   As if they ever will.  "I will have  Poetry in my life."   You just have to pick just one   piece of memory that particular fragment that stoked the embers of what was once called fire.  That pinpoint of a Life where  You allowed yourself to break, crack heal, become  beautiful, alive. "...and love..." If I were to choose  between  happy endings and  open ones, "...and adventure." Eternally unfinished is where I want  to be.

                Shall I love you like I love the sunrise Embracing all that Breathe life? Or As I do with sunsets Letting go of all That ends must end One way or the other? Or Should I love you as I love both? With its fickle moods Transforming by the hour, Minute and second Even nanosecond? One, or the latter I cannot choose How could I? As if it is life And death when Even death is a friend. Tell me, How should I love you then?    

Come see what I see.  Leaves that turn into blades  piercing the skies full of air,  knocking the wind off my lungs  until all that is left  is the piercing  which is only nothing  and everything.

Awake at midnight And yet there is no night Only the middle of nowhere Grasping air Questioning the dark, Berating the silence, "How can you put Your faith in something So deciduous, So ephemeral, so human?"

9-21-13 A weaving of Half taken breaths Hurried, urgent Deep, resonant Slow, deliberate Tasting the sun Or the wind if you will Filling the lungs With air but better To immortalize youth To feel life Running through Your veins To hear the beast That's your heart Pulsate To weep as eyes need When they're full Of everything To hold another When words Fall short... To kiss.

Are some things  not meant to be forgiven?  Such as leaves  that fall from grace  and yet emanate  a kind of beauty  never before seen  as when it hung green  on the branches of a certain tree?  Maybe there are things  only meant to be loved  and nothing more or less than that...

To fling oneself angrily  onto something  like waves crashing  on stones seemingly  immovable, stoic.  And yet in time  disarrayed, moved,  chipped away.

Sea foam on shores  speaking in hushed tones  even when we're all alone  as if each word  is too precious  to waste on unnecessary decibels  and our ears strain  to hear all the stories  that are hidden underneath  the very few that are being said.

     Bird call piercing through The air declaring Night has fallen The sun rests Quiet your heart now Remember what is important Be done with all the rest. 

Morning Daylight  Daybreak Sunlight Sunrise Birdsong Birdcall Bird speak Day breaking Birds breaking into song Everything must break  To become more beautiful. 

Ripples Comb running through Tangled strands Rake sweeping Away leaves Finger tips tracing In the sand Quiet vibrating, resounding In concentric echoes Be still. Be still.

If you listen close enough you'll hear them utter a cry as they burst open in full glory. And even as they wither and die, songs of lament will fill the skies. Drown out all the noise and hear the hushed tones. Look with your ears. Listen with your heart. The earth speaks. The earth speaks. 

The thing that cradles  the glory of yellow for all to see The thing that holds it  like fingers gathering  a clump of colored leaves. What do you call that thing that is often forgotten? That strength that holds  one creation of terrible beauty, if you will. That thing. I choose to See that thing.  Quiet, unmoving. That which holds it together Even when the yellow withers Into brown We all want that, don't we? Prefer that even. Sepal.  Such an unobtrusive Name for a thing that  allows other things to flourish. But maybe the things that Hold the most value are just That-  silent, still,  hidden,  forgotten. 

Things Cramped Locked away in A drab gray Closet My mascara Lipstick Underthings Secrets On Blouses With Buttons Torn open Handkerchiefs Washed rewashed So the stains Will come off An attempt To forget Tears that tell Their own story Running down In places One can never Reach That's what The mascara Is for Waterproof So that when What must Fall falls, No trace can Be seen That's what The lipstick A brilliant red Is for A clever Distraction From the Dark lines Underneath Tired eyes Underthings For some nuance Of decency and Self respect Left That's what Blouses are For with Numerous Extra buttons Sewn on the Underside to hide The scars of the best-kept secret Thing of all Still Beating Despite Relentless Beatings.

At the height of loss, When words disappear And poetry leaves, All that is left is faith.

Perhaps the lesson is in the aftermath,  when one sees how everything  is stripped bare and there is nothing left  to do but fall on one's knees, make amends and make peace.

Fireflies Miniscule Lights Skies At dusk Night Hushed Tones Conversations Silence Stories Thousands Of them Come Alive Telling of Solace And Weeping Rain Falling The wind On our Tired skin Illuminated By Moonlight On The Open Seas No past Or future Just this. To hold You like This. To have You Like This.

Can you hear it?  The sun softly whispering in dew drops,  "Wake up, wake up..."

Close your eyes. Open your arms. Take it all in. The wind. Let it take you where it will.

Hold out your palms  and feel it.  All of it.  The roughness,  sharp edges,  the imperfections  telling a story  only you know.  Listen to the story.  Now tell it.

Rough, gentle, smooth, sharp-edged The soles of Your feet Takes it All in Now try it With your Palms wide Open. Everything Is Necessary. Pain for Pleasure To be buried Deep as if A fist is Twisting your Lungs in So you Can finally Truly Absolutely Breathe.

Words roll off my tongue But i forget what they were All i can remember Is what yours tasted like As they inked my skin Like dew drops In the morning Or was it like Piercing needles With every prick Telling me Risk it Risk all Of it?

To hold the one true thing in life,  to hold it with a vise grip,  even when your arms are weak,  even when your knees are shaking,  and even with voice breaking, to say, "This, you will not take away from me."

To know life  in every sun ray,  in every shadow cast,  in every wind gust,  in every grain of sand. To embrace everything.  To breathe it all in and  To say to the Universe,  "Yes. I am yours for the taking."

Throw it to the wind.  Throw rocks  in place of your heart.  Because you cannot  lose your heart.  Remember that.

Change is illusory We are who we are.

Seeing this and  realizing All I really am  Is dust In this great  Big Universe.

"That is the nature of endings, it seems. They never end. When all the missing pieces of your life are found, put together with the glue of memory and reason, there are more pieces to be found." - Amy Tan, Saving Fish from Drowning-

Fiction. Its purpose is to find personal truth. The process of writing itself is an attempt to find truth that expresses human experience, which is always amorphous and changing. -Amy Tan  

To walk And know every muscle Contract, every square inch Of my skin react to the wind Kissing it To feel Each trickle of sweat As clearly as if I can see it Trace the dots from the temples of my forehead Down to the hollowed spaces To hear My breath, go in and out In and out, constant Steady, sifting Through all the noise Rubble, chaos, debris To see what is left When all is said and done To take and carry only What matters To leave behind what does not.

To lose a wink of sleep Is to see this...

Coffee shops. College professors And their lesson "plans" Students Flirting in And out of The classroom Lawyers And their cases In and out Of courtrooms Med Reps And their quotas In and out Of their Endorsements Sales Reps And their merchandise In and out Of their marketplaces Business Owners And their, well Businesses No business Like showbusiness Ordinary Citizens Just trying To make it Through the Day. Coffee Latte Capuccino Italiano Cake Blueberry Cheese Cigarettes Smartphones Wifi Thank God there wasn't any. Talk to each other. What to talk about? Plenty. How are you's Good, thank you's Tell me your story. How is life treating you? Questions, answers Inside Glass doors Windows Conversations Outside Iron chairs And tables Cold drinks Sweat beading Labels peeling Warm caffeine Smoke rising Hours passing Like fingers Snapping Tell me again. Tell you what? Your truth And I say We only hear

Out here,  the sun tells you  what time of day it is.  And each time, she says,  "Time to be in awe at life."

Unfetterred.  Bare.  Stripped.  The sea shying away.  Low tide.

The clouds hovered over The mountains shading  Some parts and leaving out  others basking under the  Florescent-like sun And so it was like this Light, dark, light and dark Your hands, my hands Reaching, grasping, covering Revealing, Holding,  unclasping, clasping Shadowed, hollowed Bare, clothed  Unclothed Light, dark, light, dark, And the light was just beautiful But the darkness is what I love,  what I always loved.

I left. You left. What's left? Fringes Fragments And the sun? It burns. Burned them all. What's there to burn? Nothing. Just words Unearthed, now Buried again. Just nothing. Poetry if you will. Yours mine Everything. Something. What was it? I forget. And what are these? Stunted phrases That claim to be Poetic. Pretend to be Poetic. Maybe it'll Come again. Maybe. For your sake Or mine Or February's. 

Shadows cast by  scant light showing  scars by wounds past Yet this is what makes You beautiful.  This is what  makes you undeniably worth it.

Rain Drops One By One From A Single Strand Of Nipa.

And when you look Beyond you find There are other places To go, other seas To traverse Other answers Maybe not the ones You are searching for Maybe it's not important. Maybe it's the questions Or exclamations Of awe, of wonder Of gratitude That matter more.

To find secret places,  nooks, crannies  and passageways,  for a few hours' respite  from all that is noise,  where one could lose  and find oneself,  where one could just... be.

Remember  even when you feel  you are not  important enough,  even when you think  you aren't interesting enough,  even when you are tattered,  bruised and broken,  you are still  so much worth it.  You. Are. Worth it.

Did you see the skies today?  Did you see the sun burst  through the clouds  her rays falling like rain?  And if you did,  did you realize  how loved you are  by the Universe  for having witnessed  all this even once  in the brevity of your life?