Thursday, July 10, 2008
Cheery Lane
She got off the walk-alator, not knowing what to expect. the airport was a sight to see, but she was too pre-occupied with remembering those she left behind. Homesickness was starting to gnaw at her, like the cold that was wafting through the airconditioning vents. hours before she had said good-bye to her family, and like her other countrymen, she was leaving the country to look for better opportunities abroad. She had a nice, rewarding job and her friends. But the wanderlust and the opportunity to start something new in a different environment was to good to let go. She had thought about leaving for a long time, and there were times when doubt aboutthe future and the place that she is going to would creep in. There were times when herdeparture was delayed by some more important things. Nevertheless, she was here now. She knew that one way or another, she would eventually pack her bags and book that ticket. As she got off the walkalator, she knew that there was no turning back now and that her destiny lay ahead and not behind. She paused and waited for ate, who she got acquainted with just before their boarding time. At least she has someone to talk to during their stopover, she mused. She afforded herself to look back behind her shoulder for one last time, and she was glad she did...
He got on the walk-alator, not expecting anything. It had been na un-eventful flight, save that he was able to find someone who was going the same destination and somehow knew the directions to the gate where they were supposed to board for their connecting flight. This was his first time to fly outside the country and he had put up a cool demeanor so his nerves would not get the best of him. "ate" had been his seatmate and had asked her where his destination was. upon learning that they were both headed for the desert and that this was her nth time to fly, he had asked her for the details of the trip - what to expect and what not to do. So far, so good he thought. His trip was a long time coming. Friends abroad had been inviting him to come over for years now, but he was either too tied up or too happy planting his roots when these invites came. The time is perfect now, he can feel it. So he said good-bye to his family, friends and his job; packed his bag and strapped on his travelling sandals. when his plane ticket came with his departure date stamped into it, he knew that there was not turning back now. His fate was sealed, and he was giddy where it would take him. He woke from his reverie when walk-alator neared it's get-off point. He looked up ahead, and he was glad that he did...
He got on the walk-alator, not expecting anything. It had been na un-eventful flight, save that he was able to find someone who was going the same destination and somehow knew the directions to the gate where they were supposed to board for their connecting flight. This was his first time to fly outside the country and he had put up a cool demeanor so his nerves would not get the best of him. "ate" had been his seatmate and had asked her where his destination was. upon learning that they were both headed for the desert and that this was her nth time to fly, he had asked her for the details of the trip - what to expect and what not to do. So far, so good he thought. His trip was a long time coming. Friends abroad had been inviting him to come over for years now, but he was either too tied up or too happy planting his roots when these invites came. The time is perfect now, he can feel it. So he said good-bye to his family, friends and his job; packed his bag and strapped on his travelling sandals. when his plane ticket came with his departure date stamped into it, he knew that there was not turning back now. His fate was sealed, and he was giddy where it would take him. He woke from his reverie when walk-alator neared it's get-off point. He looked up ahead, and he was glad that he did...
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Kalot
The old wrinkled hands patted the worn purple cloth that was sitting on her lap, a bittersweet smile curled on her lips as she reminisced the memories that was kept within it. After all these years, those memories screams out at her everytime she would come in contact with that old rag. She saved it from burning, she remembered. That time it was too precious for her to be immolated together with all the memories that she was trying to forget. Her head hurts at the thought, as does her chest.Old age can do that to you, she thought. She tried to distract herself by looking out of the window and admire the streetscape below as the train passed by. At one stop she looked longingly at the crowd that was waiting for their ride home, hoping to see a familiar face that she has not seen in many moons now. Decades ago, he would have been there waiting for her. He would be lost in his thoughts while sitting at the stairs leading to the exit, his face would always light up upon recognizing her in the crowd. A lump was forming in her throat as her fingers found the knitted lumps and bumps on the cloth. She had known them like the back of her hands, she had clung to same worn rag when she cried herself to sleep. They were young then, full of dreams and promises and hopes. They had never said goodbye, she remembered. Maybe it is about time. She closed her eyes, and dreamed of the time that he was clasping her hands as they were sitting behind that fallen log so many years ago...
The boy ran to the seashore, hands full of black glittering sand. He squatted where the sands meet the waves, and began scooping out the wet earth. Sweat was dripping on his brow as he surveyed the darkening horizon, he does not have much time. The storm is going to be here soon, he huffed. I have to finish the castle before the tide comes, and with it the deluge. He stood up and ran towards the ever-rising mound that he has been laboring on all morning. This is his last sandcastle, the best that he ever made. It's moats were like cement itself at it coils around the turrets, lovingly whetted out of the sand to pierce the sky. Slowly the boy's sculpture rose from the featureless sand dunes into a form even the sea nymphs would stare at in envy. This was going to be his last work, his totem to her. He was working on the castle's last turret when the beginnings of a shower tore him away from his thoughts (of her). In a few minutes the sky was darkening and the sea that has been calm all morning now shudders as the sky began to vent it's fury. His hands patted the last piece of the sculpture and place, the boy stood up, facing the sky and letting the rain soak his being. Thunder and lightning clashed with the waves of the sea and the mountains of the land. She was calling out her name amidst this deluge, fearful that that which he labored hard on would never fulfill its purpose. He has finished the sandcastle, he had fulfilled his promise. Now it was all up to her to see that sacrifice. She remembered her face now, still clear to his memory after all these years.The storm was at it's peak but the boy is silent now - lost in the memory when he had her hands in his as they were sitting behind that fallen log so many years ago...
They finally said their good-byes. She sat down beside his bedside, the old rag in her hands. The doctors and his family allowed them a little time together. For a long time they just stared at each other, still connected after all these years. They never said a word and yet there was as understanding in all the looks that they exchanged. Finally he closed his eyes and breathed his last, a smile curling on his lips. On the seashore, an old rag with a crescent moon embroidered on it lay half-buried in a mound of glittering, black sand.
The boy ran to the seashore, hands full of black glittering sand. He squatted where the sands meet the waves, and began scooping out the wet earth. Sweat was dripping on his brow as he surveyed the darkening horizon, he does not have much time. The storm is going to be here soon, he huffed. I have to finish the castle before the tide comes, and with it the deluge. He stood up and ran towards the ever-rising mound that he has been laboring on all morning. This is his last sandcastle, the best that he ever made. It's moats were like cement itself at it coils around the turrets, lovingly whetted out of the sand to pierce the sky. Slowly the boy's sculpture rose from the featureless sand dunes into a form even the sea nymphs would stare at in envy. This was going to be his last work, his totem to her. He was working on the castle's last turret when the beginnings of a shower tore him away from his thoughts (of her). In a few minutes the sky was darkening and the sea that has been calm all morning now shudders as the sky began to vent it's fury. His hands patted the last piece of the sculpture and place, the boy stood up, facing the sky and letting the rain soak his being. Thunder and lightning clashed with the waves of the sea and the mountains of the land. She was calling out her name amidst this deluge, fearful that that which he labored hard on would never fulfill its purpose. He has finished the sandcastle, he had fulfilled his promise. Now it was all up to her to see that sacrifice. She remembered her face now, still clear to his memory after all these years.The storm was at it's peak but the boy is silent now - lost in the memory when he had her hands in his as they were sitting behind that fallen log so many years ago...
They finally said their good-byes. She sat down beside his bedside, the old rag in her hands. The doctors and his family allowed them a little time together. For a long time they just stared at each other, still connected after all these years. They never said a word and yet there was as understanding in all the looks that they exchanged. Finally he closed his eyes and breathed his last, a smile curling on his lips. On the seashore, an old rag with a crescent moon embroidered on it lay half-buried in a mound of glittering, black sand.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Breakfast in Hong Kong Airport
the moon is waning
this month is getting old
the darkest part of night is over
fingers warming in the cold
the desert howling in the dusk
as if mourning for a long-lost lover
hoping that the tears of the past night
slumber in the sands forever
the mirages are dancing
right before your eyes
the backdrop turns to crimson
as the first light stabs the sky
out of the vision came
the brightest eyes, unclouded and fair
a thousand miles and a third of a lifetime i gave
just to be caught in your stare
the sun is waxing
melting down the sands of time
the brightest part of the day is yet to come
because your fingers can and will always find mine
this month is getting old
the darkest part of night is over
fingers warming in the cold
the desert howling in the dusk
as if mourning for a long-lost lover
hoping that the tears of the past night
slumber in the sands forever
the mirages are dancing
right before your eyes
the backdrop turns to crimson
as the first light stabs the sky
out of the vision came
the brightest eyes, unclouded and fair
a thousand miles and a third of a lifetime i gave
just to be caught in your stare
the sun is waxing
melting down the sands of time
the brightest part of the day is yet to come
because your fingers can and will always find mine
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Venus in my Hands
I was rummaging through rows upon rows of dusty shelves, I was looking to purchase a new phone in this dusty room. The house was dark, the boarded windows and weather-beaten doors kept the light out. It would not have mattered anyway, in this dream-state I could not tell wether it was night or day.
From a corner hunched a watch-repair man, pre-occupied with his craft. A woman was sitting beside him, her head was resting comfortably on the watch-maker's broad back. From a shelf beside these figures, I was able to make figures of fully-assembled model kits. Finally! something familiar (and interesting) in this place, I drew a sigh of relief. Me and my friend (which I do not remember being acquainted with and who suddenly appeared out of nowhere) began to lift out the models from their cases to be able to appreciate them more closely. I was looking into a gun-turret-shelled Gundam model when a girl began tugging at my sleeves. She had a disshevelled look that always belonged to this place. Beneath her grimy face are the brightest eyes that dimmed even the slivers of light that filters into the room. I began telling her the reason why I was there-that I was looking for a new mobile phone. Her eyes never left my face, always sincere through all that absurdity.
When I told her that I was leaving to look for a phone somewhere else, she told me to wait then disappeared around the dusty shelves. She later came back and put a sliver of broken crystal in my hand. This is a piece of Venus, she said. My father (the watch-maker) used to be a scientist working with the government, but politics and corrupt officials robbed him of his job. The piece of Venus was his greatest find, and now it is yours.
I looked at the thing in my hand, and felt the sharp edges of the glowing white thing as I close my fingers around it. It was white as the moon, yet it had it own kaleidoscope of color when you stare at it long enough (very much like a very faint pixelation of digital images). Later I would put it in a purse of rags and never see it again. On my way out, the woman beside the watch-maker started yelling in Japanese while I was stopped by the family's butler at the door. We were talking in French.
From a corner hunched a watch-repair man, pre-occupied with his craft. A woman was sitting beside him, her head was resting comfortably on the watch-maker's broad back. From a shelf beside these figures, I was able to make figures of fully-assembled model kits. Finally! something familiar (and interesting) in this place, I drew a sigh of relief. Me and my friend (which I do not remember being acquainted with and who suddenly appeared out of nowhere) began to lift out the models from their cases to be able to appreciate them more closely. I was looking into a gun-turret-shelled Gundam model when a girl began tugging at my sleeves. She had a disshevelled look that always belonged to this place. Beneath her grimy face are the brightest eyes that dimmed even the slivers of light that filters into the room. I began telling her the reason why I was there-that I was looking for a new mobile phone. Her eyes never left my face, always sincere through all that absurdity.
When I told her that I was leaving to look for a phone somewhere else, she told me to wait then disappeared around the dusty shelves. She later came back and put a sliver of broken crystal in my hand. This is a piece of Venus, she said. My father (the watch-maker) used to be a scientist working with the government, but politics and corrupt officials robbed him of his job. The piece of Venus was his greatest find, and now it is yours.
I looked at the thing in my hand, and felt the sharp edges of the glowing white thing as I close my fingers around it. It was white as the moon, yet it had it own kaleidoscope of color when you stare at it long enough (very much like a very faint pixelation of digital images). Later I would put it in a purse of rags and never see it again. On my way out, the woman beside the watch-maker started yelling in Japanese while I was stopped by the family's butler at the door. We were talking in French.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Jazz My Luck
I'm singing...
My One and Only Love
Sting
The very thought of you makes
My heart sing
Like an April breeze
On the wings of spring
And you appear in all your splendour
My one and only love
The shadows fall
And spread their mystic charms
In the hush of nightWhile you're in my arms
I feel your lips so warm and tender
My one and only love
The touch of your hand is like heaven
A heaven that I've never known
The blush on your cheek
Whenever I speak
Tells me that you are my own
You fill my eager heart with
Such desire
Every kiss you give
Sets my soul on fire
I give myself in sweet surrender
My one and only love
The blush on your cheek
Whenever I speak
Tells me that you are my own
You fill my eager heart with
Such desire
Every kiss you give
Sets my soul on fire
I give myself in sweet surrender
My one and only love
My One and Only Love
Sting
The very thought of you makes
My heart sing
Like an April breeze
On the wings of spring
And you appear in all your splendour
My one and only love
The shadows fall
And spread their mystic charms
In the hush of nightWhile you're in my arms
I feel your lips so warm and tender
My one and only love
The touch of your hand is like heaven
A heaven that I've never known
The blush on your cheek
Whenever I speak
Tells me that you are my own
You fill my eager heart with
Such desire
Every kiss you give
Sets my soul on fire
I give myself in sweet surrender
My one and only love
The blush on your cheek
Whenever I speak
Tells me that you are my own
You fill my eager heart with
Such desire
Every kiss you give
Sets my soul on fire
I give myself in sweet surrender
My one and only love
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Sandshower
The flashing light as the train door closed took me out me out of my reverie. I shifted my position, shielding my eyes as the last glare of the sunset hit my eyes. It gonna be night soon, I mused. Already the crickets are welcoming the coming dark and windswept dry leaves collecting at the train floor each time the door would open at each stop, as if seeking shelter from the dusk. This coach is almost devoid of people, except for an elderly man and a pregnant woman, each lost on their own thoughts as I was a few moments ago, longing at the setting sun. I settled more comfortably in my seat and tried to sleep, my stop is still 3 more stations anyway. Might as well take the time to absorb the sensations that come with this flesh of a shell before I cast it all off after I finish my job.
I dream...
I woke up to the shuddering of the train coach as it comes to a halt. My stop, I yawned. i began to collect my things and lazily made my way to the exit door with the flashing light. Gone were the old man and the girl who's too young to be a mother, in their place was a wino and more dried leaves who'd made their way into the train. This was the last stop, not much people to be expected here. I was whistling out loud. The time for the reaping is come. I shook the last sands from the boots that I was wearing and proceeded to the exit tunnel, swallowed by the gathering dusk.
The woman standing at the train platform froze. The shock was too great that she totally missed the train, the last ride to the city. She caught a fleeting glance at the figure at the other side of the platform before it was gone but it was the familiar prickling at the back of her neck that caught her by surprise. She knew that silhouette, and the familiar haunting that came with it. it was 27 years ago when she first felt the same presence, when she saw the same shadow of a figure before her fiance met a car accident. She always thought if IT (he does'nt seem human to me) as a harbinger of bad luck, and yet she (thought) she felt the same presence when her mother finally found peace after a long battle with an unknown disease that ate away at her memory. Her mind is whirling now, as she stands rooted in the darkening train platform. Can it be possible that the ravens that brought all the mourning in her life is the same as the birds that signal each morning when she cared to watch the sunrise, when she was happy? She saw this same figure twice in her life and as she was recalling the events that came after each appearance, she was sure that each one is somehow related. Behind all the confusion, she was sure that the appearances mean something. Something so basic that it was tickling the back of her throat. The ravens are cawing in her mind again, and there was something else - a different sound that came with it. It was the blaring of a trumpet, faint at first but its regular throbbing finally drowns out the blackbirds. Then it hit her, her eyes widening in disbelief. The sands...It is time to collect, she was silently mouthing the words. She could feel the dust in her mouth, smiled and bit her tongue until the saltiness filled her senses.
Then she slept...
The whistling of the last train has long been gone, the bustle of the crowd has died away into the night. The woman sitting on the grimy bench finally stood up, shook the sand off her sandals and took to the exit.
My job here is done...
I dream...
I woke up to the shuddering of the train coach as it comes to a halt. My stop, I yawned. i began to collect my things and lazily made my way to the exit door with the flashing light. Gone were the old man and the girl who's too young to be a mother, in their place was a wino and more dried leaves who'd made their way into the train. This was the last stop, not much people to be expected here. I was whistling out loud. The time for the reaping is come. I shook the last sands from the boots that I was wearing and proceeded to the exit tunnel, swallowed by the gathering dusk.
The woman standing at the train platform froze. The shock was too great that she totally missed the train, the last ride to the city. She caught a fleeting glance at the figure at the other side of the platform before it was gone but it was the familiar prickling at the back of her neck that caught her by surprise. She knew that silhouette, and the familiar haunting that came with it. it was 27 years ago when she first felt the same presence, when she saw the same shadow of a figure before her fiance met a car accident. She always thought if IT (he does'nt seem human to me) as a harbinger of bad luck, and yet she (thought) she felt the same presence when her mother finally found peace after a long battle with an unknown disease that ate away at her memory. Her mind is whirling now, as she stands rooted in the darkening train platform. Can it be possible that the ravens that brought all the mourning in her life is the same as the birds that signal each morning when she cared to watch the sunrise, when she was happy? She saw this same figure twice in her life and as she was recalling the events that came after each appearance, she was sure that each one is somehow related. Behind all the confusion, she was sure that the appearances mean something. Something so basic that it was tickling the back of her throat. The ravens are cawing in her mind again, and there was something else - a different sound that came with it. It was the blaring of a trumpet, faint at first but its regular throbbing finally drowns out the blackbirds. Then it hit her, her eyes widening in disbelief. The sands...It is time to collect, she was silently mouthing the words. She could feel the dust in her mouth, smiled and bit her tongue until the saltiness filled her senses.
Then she slept...
The whistling of the last train has long been gone, the bustle of the crowd has died away into the night. The woman sitting on the grimy bench finally stood up, shook the sand off her sandals and took to the exit.
My job here is done...
Friday, May 16, 2008
14th of May
A year ago today I started working with my current employer, deciding to go back and re-kickstart the career that I parted ways with some 15 years ago. A year ago today I re-kindled my love affair with Architecture. It's not that I totally turned my back to design and drawings, and all that stuff that is usually related to Architecture. I look at it as eating the pie-crust but not really indulging on the filling. My previous work still involved design, but on a smaller scale (which suits me just fine, by the way). But as fate would have it, I was meant to make bigger drawings and grander plans (literally and figuratively). I am back to re-stocking my knowledge of anything Architecture. Needless to day, I have regained this how-is-this-stuff-put-together perspective that I had back when I was still in school. I am back to going around knocking structural sheets at the mall, feeling the texture of any wood items that I come across, looking under the furniture that I am sitting upon just to see how it is supported. Everytime I do these things, I am glad that I've finally come full circle. Some 15 years go, I jumped overboard the ship called Architecture (Philippine-style). A year ago today I decided to give the Architect in me a chance... and it has not been that disappointing so far.
