Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Quarter-Life Sailing

There's this infinite feel that I am left out by the universe. It's like everybody has gone places, lived separate and cooler lives and have taken up courses that will ultimately make their passions their professions. It's a sickly spell of envy that's rotting my skeleton and I feel decomposition every day, as the sunrise and sunsets of the world happen.

Maybe this is what they call quarter-life crisis. The pondering of the future. The assessment of the past. The consideration of the present and whether these three factors will pinpoint to where I want my life to be. Come to think of it, what do I want to be? Why am I sailing this directionless voyage?

I may have lost tract of where I want to be. Gasp.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Kitchen Sink Confidential

There's an unspoken magic with dishwashing soap bubbles that conjures an imagery of sea foam, frothing your tendrils-the cells of your skin, as you sat on that shore listening to the forlorn waves as they whisper forgotten memories assigned to oblivion. Your feet would be soaked and that little wish of a jacket to combat the icy breeze reverberates. The sky would be russet then. Salmon waves would glitter against the backdrop of grey twilight and every kiss on the shore is a breathtaking waltz of nature's prowess.

You imagined him sitting beside you, tall and lanky and sharply handsome. And the preliminary silence brought about by the unexpectedness of his actions lasted eons.

"I'm sorry", he would finally say.

And you would give him a crooked smile-or any version of that fake facade-saying everything's fine, that your planet is laid intact, that your universe is perfectly normal and things are better now that you've broken up, certain of the fact that you do not know if you really are. Or ever will be.

"Things are better now", you repeated, dabbing extra drops of kalamansi-scented dishwashing soap on your yellow sponge. And the imagery retracts to the moment he would sit beside you. A silent longing for the impossible while you lather your third plate with soft whiteness.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013


Let the soft pitter patter of rain
wash away the pain.
Watch it sooth the scorned
and carry forlorn tears on its trail of ebony.

Let the dream of rain,
sprinkle on the ends of your universe.
Long for rain,
to travel on the endless kilometers of your skin and stars
to replenish your desert of thoughts
and wash him away from your system.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Frustrated Housewife

My Aunt delivered her third baby last night and I am left at home delivering dishes to the sink. This new 'housewife' role is apparently quite difficult to play and the loads of laundry I washed yesterday and all the sweeping and wiping is making me doubt if I really can make it if I have my own kids to feed, a husband to take care of (LOL) and a beauty queen image to maintain (bigger LOL).

And no matter how much I try to sugarcoat it, I cannot change the fact that I am not, and will never be, a kitchen goddess. The only light of hope I have though is the fact that my fried pork last night wasn't burned nor did it contain unnecessary concoctions that might ultimately poison the family. And thank God there's rice cooker! Otherwise we'd be eating grains or something.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Another Break-up Post

One month. And my days are still pregnant with thoughts of you. You're like a recurring dream that perplexes and scares me at the same time-the pain that you've cause was rather difficult to cope with.

But I am feeling better though. The load is getting lighter as the days roll by and I have accepted the reality that some love stories end with partings no matter how much the protagonists may love each other. It's a matter of making the person you love happy even if that means them being in another person's arms or whatever the case may be.

"Letting go can be scary. But it's also liberating." And indeed it is.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Wallowing And Waiting

These days, my thoughts of you are random technicolor-ed images that ripple my universe. Varying shades of missing you are apparently prevalent. Sometimes the dark depression swallows any form of light in the abyss. Yet most times, there is a calm emptiness that contributes to the placidity of this wallowing. The resolution that I'll support anything that makes you happy is the silver streak of optimism that keeps me going.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Dear Future Reimond

Tonight you realized how much of a mess you are. You have fallen madly in love with G and your break up is ripping you apart. By the time you read this though, I hope the pain has already disappeared.

Tonight, like many other nights before, you cried. And the river of tears, you wondered, could have nourished an entire tribe in a barren land. Your heart is breaking, no, it's broken out of sheer despair, desolation and disappointment. You have loved deeply. And sadly, that love was not enough to keep him. In fact, it may have driven him away.

There are two angles at which you view the situation now. One is the possibility that he already has found someone new (before or after the break up). Or two, he was suffocated by your unquenchable thirst for affection and handling his affairs. Either way, he doesn't want you back and it pains you to the core.

He was a good man. And I hope this realization does not change as you transverse through life. Maybe you both were simply too immature and too young to handle something so serious. Maybe you were not really meant to be together or you both loved at the wrong place and time. Who knows?

By the time you read this again, I pray that you've already grown out of your needy shell and have become the independent person you deserve to be. I pray that you haven't gone emo and bitter. I pray that the lessons you learned now made you wiser. Remember. Never forget. Move on. Do not let the shadow of the past hide you from what happiness and joy you could possibly get from basking in the sun. Smile. You're prettier when you smile.

And if you're reading this now, congratulations. That means you haven't killed yourself and did not let this depression take the better off you. Celebrate life. Always.

Yours truly,

Reimond, October 2013

Friday, October 4, 2013

Canon in the Rain

And I will always remember this moment: the uncried tears, 4:30 in the afternoon while I walk home to the tune of Pachelbel's Canon, an ode to hopeless hopefulness. I will always remember how pathetic I am, how desperate I am to love you and have you love me back. I will remember the monotony and desperation of this futile existence, how every song seems to mock me at the desolation of my love affairs and of this whirlpool of sadness that's taking me deeper and deeper in the abyss.

I will remember. Because soon enough, these will all be nothing but memories.

Thursday, October 3, 2013


I have resorted to silence. I'm scared that the voices inside my head would make way for more suffering. Sitting. Contemplating. Days have passed like a distant blur only to be interrupted by memories of you that ripple this lake of sadness that I am immersed in.

You have no idea how painful this is.