writing for sanity poem #2

i watched him as he drank in his demons. and i saw myself learning to pour. some more. the day i learned to be cruel, is the day i fell in love with a tortured soul


written September 9th, 2013, probably

writing for sanity poem #1

the sky has long fascinated me

my fondest memory 

of those i hold close is painted golden. 

the moments when i looked within,

in gray.

i'm happiest in the summer. 

peaceful when a thunder breaks the gloom.

this is how i've always been. 

i obeyed the sun, but i loved the rain.

written September 9th, 2013, probably

Travelling by bus

This is something that happens everytime I have a deadline. I want to start a blog, do fabric painting or open a restaurant. These are my distractions/ higher calling. Also, I want to travel to Spain. But my reality right now is I'm sitting in my living room, Manny Pacquiao fighting to redeem himself on TV, me fighting the urge to get up and fix something to eat because that chicken tinola is taking so long to cook. Cooking shows say that chicken cooks fast but we want chicken meat that willingly separates itself from the bone. I have a feeling that my description is not that appealing.

Another distraction is the concept of realities changing. I think I’m misusing the word realities. I do that. Yesterday I was travelling by bus. South of Cebu, where I like looking out the window because of the nice houses, beaches and landscapes. I like travelling by bus on this part of my island.

While singing to Jason Mraz, I was also remembering some people I used to travel south with. Jumping on a bus going South before deciding a destination is always a good idea, btw. Travelling by bus gets me nostalgic. A lot of good memories.

The thing with memories is that even the good ones do not always remain pure. Some good days are tainted by bad days that follow them. Sometimes they are hurt by bad discoveries. I have always tried to catalog memories. The good. The bad. The ordinary. I succeeded. Although now, I am different. I want to preserve my memories with everything that they came with. I feel that it makes them richer. It gives them layers so I don’t only regard them as mental pictures, I also have them as feelings. I soak in it.

The thing with memories. You can always make a new one. Make it awesome if not good or pure. The thing with you and I is that we can change our definition of good.

When I travel by bus I remember. I also have inner monologues with the words I could have said or should not say. Sometimes, I just have my earphones on because Mraz is better at saying or not saying how he feels and someones gotta listen to Lil Wayne with his Lamborghinis, bartendin’ and strippin’. I run the danger of rapping out loud in public transportation. Sometimes, I just read. Sybil's life and memories are way more interesting than mine.

I have finally written down the name of that bed and breakfast I always wanted to check. It faces the road on one side, the sea on the other--if I could just find my phone--Padalong Bed and Breakfast.

One of these days when I am prompt with my writing I will wake up to the sound of buses passing and the call of the sea.

-g

Here is a photo I took of the morning tea I enjoyed while in Alegria. As for the bus window scenery, go there to see for yourself.