“I’ve snatched so much happiness and locked it in our fingers.
I found a happy ending in the middle of my story.”
I found a happy ending in the middle of my story.”
Today is two days towards the end of April. Life has been exceedingly eventful and has been continuously happening. Love has flourished and blossomed with feelings of fluff. It’s been endowed with the purity of bliss that I didn’t have the space in the span of all these heartbeats to sit back and write, or just write some highlights. And so even a little, I’d try to weave and tailor the happiness I had into writing, to match with some unworthy words -- my dreams, my reality, my whims.
I will miss the aloneness I’ve been so used to. Now that it’s real, I’ll miss my fantasies, and the frequency of those fantasies that gave it verisimilitude.
The April weekdays were the almost just the same since there is work to be endured, which just makes the days more grinding. Tucked in the weekdays are days when I get to see D. after work. All this time devoted to her and all the seconds in time imparted with worth, plunged deep in love that finally filled me with the meaning of voluminous dictionaries.
What makes weekdays less agonizing and endurable, is just there thought of going out with her on weekends.
And I fall into deep sleeps, paraphrasing Neruda, with someone “pure beside me as a sleeping amber…” With someone I can call mine. With someone to rest with her dream in my dream.
Good Friday. What made Good Friday the best ever is staying in the room with D. all day while listening to chillout.
On my 23rd birthday, D. and I joined the Panay Crowd’s trip to ___’s place in the province.
After a day of swimming on the beach, getting sufficiently drunk, watching D., sharing our sentiments and a lot of laughs, everyone scrapped the idea of sleeping in the rented rooms and we all slept on the beach. Our backs to the sarong-covered sand, we were blanketed by a million stars flung like little white gems, sung for by the silent hum of water ripples, with the sea’s infinite, invisible horizon in front of us.
We took an hour-long boat ride only to miss the spectacled sandbar due to the rise of tide. On the way back to ___’s place from the island tour, the sun was setting as the afternoon fell and dissolved into evening. As a new palette paints the sky, the music in my mind thumps my head with something from Chicane.
Twenty of us were crowded on a little, wooden boat. We sang and Anya sang like a madman. There wasn’t any light on the boat and for all we know we can just hit one of those mangroves or hit another island, or just helplessly --- sink. Strong waves from the sea splashed against the sides of the boat and the water that came in stopped the engine once or twice. The fear in everyone was so fierce and ferocious, that if you convert it into a mass of heat, it could dry seawater into salt. This group of twenty found themselves singing “Take me out of the dark my Lord” aboard a lightless boat in the middle of sea wrapped in the evening’s darkness. D. and I laughed at the voice of fear singing.
I was also afraid. But then I was already too happy with D. along, I could have just died, that day after the sun had set, singing, my voice bubbling as I drown.
I’ve snatched so much happiness and locked it in our fingers. I found a happy ending in the middle of my story.
Even my parents sent me a text greeting. “Happy Birthday. Mama and I wishing you all the best.” I really felt it. All the best.
And one thousand other thoughts that I lose to oblivion since I didn’t have enough time to write them.
