Of Icings ang Cakes (A Re-post)

A friend of mine brought over a chocolate cake he bought from a grocery bakeshop. It was reputedly one of the best undiscovered cakes in town. Supposedly very much under-rated.

I opened the box. It did look good. The ganache was all dark and glossy. I couldn’t resist but take a swipe at the icing. Not too sweet. Good. Yummy.

The Futility of a Dialogue

L'amour en rose

The solitary rose was lying on the table when I woke up. I had completely forgotten about putting it in the flower vase as my mind was preoccupied when I arrived home.

As I examined it, I noticed the blemishes were starting to set in. It was just a rosebud, its petals not yet fully open. "Now, I guess it'll never fully bloom," I mused to myself "just like you and I."

Two

A man offered to pay a sum of money to his twelve-year-old daughter if she mowed the lawn. The girl went at the task with great zest and by evening the whole lawn had been beautifully mowed-well, everything except a large uncut patch of grass in one corner.

When the man said he couldn’t pay the sum agreed upon because the whole lawn hadn’t been mowed, the girl said she was ready to forego the money, but would not cut the grass in the patch.

How the Sun Shines

Five Minutes

The light from the sun was gently streaming through the windows while I was having a leisure brunch around ten in the morning.  My phone rang all of a sudden, so I took a peek at who was calling.

I was in for a nice surprise.

It was Spice.

He asked if I was doing anything. I teasingly replied that he only calls me if he needs something. He laughed boisterously.

(I can picture how his laugh brings out his dimples.)

I told him, "Nandito ka sa Manila ano?"

"Oo. Eternal Wanderer, kung wala kang ginagawa, gala naman tayo," he sheepishly said.

It has been a while since I last saw him. I heard he was working out. I was curious how he looked like now. I was also looking for a reason to get out of the house.

I probably could have come up with a thousand and one more excuses to justify my meeting up with Spice. Perhaps, if I just acknowledged one thing, just one thing, then I would not have gone through all the trouble rationalizing my decision.

And that one thing was that I did want to meet up with Spice.

So I said yes.

-----

It was a bright afternoon while I was waiting in the car for Spice to arrive; a far cry from the dismal weather the city has been experiencing of late.

Then I saw him. He was down the street, walking towards the car from a short distance. The sun  was basking him in the light, making his dark blue jeans and light blue shirt take on a fair hue.

"He still cuts a dapper figure. And yes, he is still manages to take my breath away," I mused to myself.

The mellowness of a memory past rippled through the surface of my thoughts.  At first, I couldn't articulate the dim reflections in my mind.  My brows gathered as I tried to grab at the meanderings. All I knew that the scene playing right before me had a tone that was amicably familiar.

At that instant, I relaxed and smiled.

I smiled because I remembered.

I remembered as only one can when sun gently shines on the heart; as only one can when the mind's skies are overcast no more.

(I couldn't help but smile.  For it was a good memory after all.)

-----

We spent most part of the afternoon in a mall doing nothing and everything.  He needed a haircut. I needed to run some errands for my father. He also badgered me for some driving lessons, and I obliged willingly.  We wound up in U.P.; and soon enough, he was able to master the intricate balance of clutch and gas in the first gear.

I had a good time.  I really did.  And before sleep overtook me in bed that night, I realized why I enjoyed every moment of it.

It is because the day is beautiful when the skies are already clear and the rains are no more.

It is because now, I can truly see how the sun shines, warm and bright in my life.

The Bird

At the break of dawn, I arise from my slumber to face another day in my life.

As I go out to the fields, ready to toil under the soon-blistering heat, I spy a lone maya flitting through the rice stalks. Curiously, it does not flee as I approach.

"Well, hello, pretty bird. What a friendly fellow you are!" I say to it.

It cocks its head, and merrily chirps a response. Even if we speak a different language, it seems that we understand each other quite well.

It keeps me company the whole morning, sometimes flitting around the paddies, twice or thrice even perching on my shoulder. Under the shade of the lone mango tree in the field, I feed it bits of my simple lunch from my hand. It pecks away contentedly.

I am happy. I even fancy keeping the bird for my own. After all, it is a good respite from the solitariness of my drudgery in the field.

But I forget, it is still a bird. It is, by nature, a creature of fleetness and rebelliousness. I would have to keep it in a cage if I wanted it for my own. I could hold on to it tightly, perhaps even clip its wings for it to stay. Yet I chose not to, for it would not feel right to do so.

And as certain things are inevitable, the moment comes when the bird decides to go on its own volition. In the late afternoon sun, I look at it as it flees away, slowly tracing its path of flight as it melts into the horizon of the landscape.

It is now truly gone, and I am sad. It would have been nice to keep me company for a longer time, but that is how things turned out to be. The bird was never mine to start with.

The sun is setting and the day is almost over. As I rest under the fast-growing shadows of the lone mango tree, I reflect:

It matters not whether you have experienced joy or sorrow in the company of something even as simple as a bird.

In that one day of your life, what matters is that you have felt.

To You

"You are my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song."

- with apologies to WH Auden

I do not think there are enough words to describe how I feel about you. For what are mere words in capturing something that is only tangible to the heart? But permit me to make a feeble attempt to encapsulate them, even if I know it is merely a pale reflection of what I truly feel inside of me.

It is but strange that there is no tumultuous emotions raging within me. All is quiet, all is peaceful. You are like a balm that soothes the aching wounds, a cool caress upon a fevered soul. But I should not be surprised, since you are always there in your constantness, a presence freely given with love and lovingly accepted in return.

And it is that constantness that I truly appreciate.

For it is like the sun softly dawning in the east.
For it is like the eternal stars that shine brightly in the night's firmament.
For it is like the gentle murmur of your heartbeat as I lay upon your strong chest.

And thus, all of my heart responds to you as it whispers:

"I am yours, my beloved."

Of Icings and Cakes

A friend of mine brought over a chocolate cake he bought from a grocery bakeshop. It was reputedly one of the best undiscovered cakes in town. Supposedly very much under-rated.

I opened the box. It did look good. The ganache was all dark and glossy. I couldn’t resist but take a swipe at the icing. Not too sweet. Good. Yummy.

I sliced a piece of it. Wow, there’s even a fourth-inch custard filling in between the layers. Very, very promising, indeed.

I closed my eyes in anticipation as I lifted the fork towards my mouth. The icing slowly melted inside, exploding with a rich, and almost overwhelming taste of dark chocolate. Again, not too sweet. Perfect. Just the way I like it.

Then the crumb of the cake reached my tastebuds.

Urgh. Dry, tasteless. Not far from what a cardboard would taste, I imagine. Gawd, what the hell is this stuff?!

The custard wasn’t much of a help, either. Very, very stale. Very, very nasty.

I looked up to my friend. He had the same reaction, too.

We shared a laugh and a half agreeing how the cake tasted really awful. Off it went to the trash bin: two unconsumed slices, and the rest of the cake.

Drat. Drat. Drat.

A food tripping exercise that ended up in futility.

-----
Trust me, no amount of good icing can mask an awfully made cake.
At the end of the day, it’s the cake itself that matters.

On This Day, Revisited

I am but a fruit not fallen afar from the tree where it hence came from.

The tree, for all its imperfections, stands tall and proud despite the gales it has weathered. Its mighty trunk is firmly anchored on the ground, and on its sturdy branches , a place to perch is to be found.

But perhaps, most importantly, its shade provides respite from the wilting heat of the summer scorch, and a canopy for shelter from the lashing monsoon rains.

If the fruit can only spring into half of what the tree is, then I know I shall be well in life.

Happy birthday Pops. I may not say this often, but I truly, truly love you.

-----
a greeting post from a son to a father, albeit of the most belated kind.

Related link:
On This Day, Revisited

In the Eye of the Storm

"Nada de turbe. Todo se pasa."

Let nothing disturb you. All things are passing.

- St. Teresa of Avila

When the wind is high, and the turbulence in life seeks to overwhelm me, I say these very words to myself.

I try to remind myself that the raging storm around me is all but temporary. After all, the air is cleaned and refreshened after a tumultuous thunderstorm.

But Serenity, if you're out there listening, you are more than welcome to come in anytime.

Into my heart. Into my soul.

-----
juskolord, pakidalian ang unos. please.

On This Day

To the woman who birthed me many moons ago:

Your offspring has had you in his thoughts as his day of birth approaches. He may not be with you, but the engulfing distance does not prevent him from offering his totality as a gift on your natal day. It may not be enough, but that is all he can humbly give to you.

From my heart to your heart.

Happy birthday to us, Ma.

I love you.

Related link:
On This Day, Revisited

The Haunting

I was lost in thought as I was walking around the neighborhood well past midnight. I have always taken pleasure in these midnight walks. The solitariness of this nocturnal activity has consistently provided a certain measure of comfort; the relaxed pace of the strolling helping to clear away the sticky cobwebs in my thoughts. This particular occasion was turning out to be no different from what I have done in the past. Or so I thought.

It was a hot and balmy night, and the muted roll of the distant thunder was an ominous sign of an impending thunderstorm. I momentarily stopped to wipe away the glisten of sweat gathering on my brows. Then, from afar, I heard a dog bay mournfully. I looked up with a start, and immediately realized something wasn't right.

I took a wrong turn. I didn't know where I was.

The street was unfamiliar, partially hidden in the recess of dark shadows. A nearby lamp post was dying, its flickering light casting an eerie glow on the surrounding. The slow baying of the dog had stopped. The sudden silence was jarring, almost deafening. I felt the heaviness of the atmosphere suddenly weigh on me, so I decided to walk down the gloomy street in a more hurried pace.

My heart was already starting to pound when I saw it.

-----

It was all but a faint shimmer at first. Gradually, the light coalesced into a diaphanous figure. I couldn't help but gasp in chilling recognition.

"I know you!" I uttered in a quivering voice. "Why do you still come before me? Why are you doing this to me?"

It remained wordless and silent, its pale eyes stared directly at mine. Slowly, it raised its ghostly hand and beckoned to me.

"No! I will not come near you, do you hear me?!" My voice was rising almost to a fevered pitch. "I have already wrestled with you. I have banished you. Why do you come back to haunt me?"

My shirt was drenched, sweat mixed with fear and anger at the phantasm before me. I remained obstinate and defiant in my stance. When it sensed that I absolutely refused to approach, it started to go towards me, plodden in its movement. I saw its translucent lips opening, forming voiceless words I could strangely understand. I shivered uncontrollably at what it said.

I am you, and you are me. We are inevitably linked to each other by your the decisions in the past, the actions taken, and the choices not made. You cannot exorcise me. You cannot deny me. But what I offer you is peace, Free yourself from the shackles of what was, and the anxieties of what might have been. Accept me, and you will be granted the gift of peace. Accept me, and I shall be granted the gift of peace.

I closed my eyes, and sighed a deep breath as the phantom drew closer and closer.

-----

My eyes were still closed when I felt the first raindrops on my face. The rain had started to fall, and soon, the full fury of the thunderstorm was unleashed upon me. It was as if the heavens was one with my catharsis. I had taken it all in, and now, the rain was washing away all the grimy doubts and apprehensions built over time. When I finally opened my yes, I knew that the ghost would no longer be there, and that I would not find myself lost anymore.

As I made my way towards home in the rain, tranquility nestled within my soul.

-----

Why is it that the ghost of what-might-have-been suddenly haunts us at the most inopportune moment? Will we constantly berate ourselves for indecisions in the past and opportunities lost? Contentment, it seems, is as fleeting as the moment that was let by.

Scènes d'un Cinema et une la Vie Vérité

"Alright. Ready for standby. Rolling, three, two, one. Action!"

The klieg lights are shining brightly on the scene. The set is all quiet for the take. Two actors mumble their dialogues. I stay hidden in the shadows of my room, and let my eyes roam before the action that is unfolding before me. I am but a silent voyeur, seeing everything and yet uttering not a single word.

"Cut! That was a good take!"

"Make-up, pakipunasan nga ang pawis!"

"Set-up na tayo for sequence 52. Yung kabilang kwarto ang gagamitin."

All is a pandemonium as the gaffers set-up the new lights for the next scene. In a corner, an actor seats silently, his eyes closed as if lost in contemplation. His mouth is slowly moving, a litany of words that is to be his next dialogue. I do not hear what he says, nor, do I suspect, really care what it is. After all, I still play the role of the silent voyeur, seeing everything and yet uttering not a single word.

The minutes march progressively into hours, and the chaos settles into a routine. Rehearse, take, set-up. A repetitive drill broken only by an erroneous delivery of a dialogue or a sudden intrusion of an obtrusive background noise.

Then there is a noticeable lull in the activity. I arise from my desk to scrutinize what is happening. They are done with the shoot. The lights are already turned off and being dismantled. The crew slowly mills about, their glassy eyes betraying the fatigue of the long day just finished. They slowly file out of the house, zombie-like in their movements.

I close all the lights and lock the doors of the house. Darkness and quietude blanket my surroundings.

But even then, I remain a silent voyeur, seeing everything and yet uttering not a single word.

The Rendezvous 2

The Rendezvouz 1

It was a hot and cloudless day. I alighted from the bus, momentarily blinded by the glaring sun beating mercilessly upon the landscape. It was an hour or two before he would be off for his lunch break, so I tried seeking refuge from the sweltering heat. At the corner was some inconspicuous internet shop. "Might as well check my e-mails and do some surfing," I said to myself. However, my weary-laden eyelids had other plans. I dozed off in front of the monitor almost as soon as I settled on the chair. It was a brief but deep sleep, punctuated by hazy dreams and veiled, half-remembered images. I woke up with a start, unsettled and slightly agitated because of the vagueness of what my subconscious was trying to communicate to me.

Shortly before 12 noon, I stood outside the building, puffing away on my fast-dwindling pack of cigarettes. The cell phone rang, and I picked it up. "I'm off. I'll be there in a few," he said. I put the handset down quickly, and anxiously scanned for him across the street.

Then, I saw him.

------

He was a vision in red shirt and dark blue jeans, his dark shades blindingly flashing in the brightness of the noontime sun.

I had to avert my gaze and close my eyes. It was as if that very moment encapsulated a glimpse into eternity. My soul flowed over, both with infinite ecstasy and with much profound sorrow.

When finally I opened my eyes, time was standing still. All that my heart could see was him slowly crossing the street, walking towards me, the Spice of Eternal Wanderer's life.

------

"Gutom ka na?," he said as soon as he came up to me. He was still flushed and flustered by the short walk in the heat, but he still managed to flash his bedimpled smile.

(Be still, my heart.)

"Oo. Dito na lang tayo kumain, para mabilis," I said.

(I can't breathe. No. I can. But the only thing I can breathe is the scent you are wearing. The scent that you left on the pillow when you last slept in my bed.)

The lunch proved to be uneventful. He was proudly showing off his new I-Phone, and I teased him that he probably loves it more than me. He playfully threw a paper napkin at me with the comment. I threw it back at him with a matching smile. I told him about the misadventure at the bus station. He was sympathetic about it, and said it was really like that during the holidays.

All small talk. Nothing earth-shaking, no soul-shattering revelations. He soon had to go back to the office, and I, too, had to continue on with my journey. But in that fleeting hour spent together, I realized something.

270 kilometers and 6 hours are all but numbers.

They mean nothing to the heart.

And yes, for him, I still will go the distance.

More Midnight Tales

Three Questions

When will the moment come when you say, "Enough is enough?"

How is it that your heart hopes against hope that things will turn out differently?

Why do you even love?


The mind is absolutely resolute, but the soul is delusive in its refusal to heed what is. It conveniently re-interprets reality by awashing itself with the fleeting moments of happiness.

The sands of time are running out fast. Thoughts and emotions implode with impetous momentum. Collision of the Id and the Super-Ego seeks an inevitable resolution in the Ego. Even as the words are written down, the anima and the animus rage a furious battle within me.

Soon, I shall I have to make stand.

Soon.

I thank You God for this most amazing day (ee cummings)

The cool, overcast weather Tuesday afternoon came as a much-welcome respite from the unrelenting heat that has been besieging the city these past few weeks. It was a particularly languid afternoon, so I decided to sit by the veranda and watch the fine drops of rain fall gently from the grey heavens. "Now this is the good life," I said to myself. No unnecessary worries cluttering the mind, and enough downtime to linger and appreciate the fleeting moment that is the now and here.

Yes, I have a good life. A roof exists over my head, and my body is nourished by food at least three times a day. I have a quiet but caring father, and a mother who, despite our physical distance, loves her only son. My friends are constantly by side, supporting me through whatever endeavors I chose to undergo. Despite the seething emotional turbulence that has been rocking my world, I know I am firmly behind the reigns of my being, the captain of my own ship. And yes, I even have Spice, who has made me realize that I still have a heart that knows how to love with all truth and honesty.

Yes, I have a good life. I am truly grateful for it.

Day 2

"Ho tante cose che ti voglio dire, o una sola,
ma grande come il mare, come il mare profunda ed infinita:
sei il mio amor e tutta la mia vita."

"I have so many things to tell you, or rather only one,
but it is as huge as the ocean, as deep and as infinite as the sea:
you are my love and my whole life."

- Puccini's La bohème

Dear Beb,

As the minutes slowly march towards the inevitable breaking of day, I beseech the cruel sun not to rise upon the east and herald the moment of your departing. Just you lay upon my bed in fitful slumber, so is my heart restless within me. The sweet murmurs, the barbed exchanges, the gentle ministrations, the searing passion, all I already pine for. And yet as I despair, it is these fleeting moments of tormentous bliss that give fuel to the hope that time and distance will be gentle to us, and that soon, we shall once again be in each others' loving arms.

I do not question the machinations of fate that has brought you into my life. Nor do I question the constraining hurdles that have prevented us from joining our lives together. All I know is that I answer to my soul's eternal wandering that has traveled the weary road, the meandering path which has eventually lead to you.

You are my heart's refuge, and my soul seeks to commence its restless journey within you.

I love you.

It's the rose that's important

Accuse me of being too saccharine, but I love the simplicity of this song. It hearkens back to all the memories and experiences, both good and bad, of my life-journey with the Madz.

I had my moment in the sun, and what a gloriously shining moment it was. But at the end of the day, when the curtain is rung down and the footlights are turned off, all I am left with is the soul of the music, the lone rose which I keep close to my heart.

Perhaps it's the rose that's important, after all.

L'important, C'est la Rose

From one of my tours, a 2006 concert in Epinal, France.

Ramblings 2

The low, steady hum of the electric fan is lulling me to flesh out writing once more. Unstrangely enough, it's past one in the morning. It seems like the whole world is hushed, affording me the peace and quietude that is seemingly elusive during the light of day.

It's during these post-midnight forays that introspection comes into fore. I most certainly have been taking sweet time in enjoying my down-time these past few months. No regrets, because every decision in life is a choice. And I have chosen to hide myself from the world, to flee from all contact that has been my comfort zone all these years. Ironically though, solitude has been equally comforting as well. How long this will last, I have no idea. I shall let myself be whim to the tides of life and let it wash me over to wherever shore it fancies me to bring.