Now

You realize there is no tightrope.
There is a basket.
But there are no crabs.
No spines, no eight legs, no claws.
But there are hands. There are feet.
You notice the opening above.
The air outside is the air inside.
There is mind. There is heart.
There are no crabs.
There is no tightrope.

Closer to home

When we were young, we'd sometimes wish of having super powers. Some pick the power to fly, while others pick telepathic abilities. I used to think that the power to teleport wherever I wanted was the best power to wish for. I shared this idea with my mom and she told me that it was a selfish power to want. I agreed with her; until now, I still do. Being the severely optimistic child I was (not sure if I'm joking here. whatever), I decided to wish for the power to be able to take other people's pain or sickness, because the ability to completely obliterate someone else's suffering is absurd.  I thought it was a noble power to wish for. Also, I was at the age when the main objective was to impress my parents and I concluded that being a "thoughtful" kid would wow my mother. So I said I wished for the power to be able to feel the suffering of others instead of having to feel it themselves. Mind you, there's nothing noble about being arrogant - I was convinced that I could handle everyone else's suffering. Of course now, I don't believe in super powers and don't wish for any (unless the occasional daydream requires it).

Today, however, to my dismay, I feel as if an imaginative childhood desire translated into reality. Today is my mom's 50th birthday. I greeted her this morning rather sheepishly. She never expects much from me, or from any of her children. A hug and greeting is always fine, she'd say. I could not hug her today, on her 50th birthday. In place of that hug, I remembered my childhood desired super power and was convinced that it came true just for today, even without me knowing it at first.  Mom, in place of that hug, I hope that today: whatever was meant went as planned, you felt no physical or mental stress, and you did not feel embarrassed for whatever reason, because today I think my childhood super power became a reality.

Forgive me for blogging this. I am truly happy for my mom that today is her 50th birthday. I write this blog because there's no other place to express what I can't help but feel. It's probably just one of those days. I don't know.

We're outnumbered by those who take no pride

I am stubborn. I'm not one to write paragraphs about matters of the heart (actually, it hasn't even reached that yet. This is a matter of the mind (?) for now). This will be a first, and most likely the last. I probably should allow my thoughts to wash over matters of the heart (or mind) more because doing so would be for my own good. I refuse to do this. Admittedly, I am in a perpetual tantrum. A whining brat in desperate need to be told off. I cringe. I am stubborn.


I'm a little like you
Ugly on the inside


You've led me through a couple of weeks of dreaming and ear-to-ear smiling. You're hardworking, endearing,  sweet, and honest, and irritatingly mysterious. You enchant me with what I don't know about you, and not with what other people tell me of you. You're not some thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle to be solved within a couple of days. Seeing the seriousness your countenance can sometimes display, I enjoy the thought of possibly being close with someone so enigmatic, the guessing, the making sense of your mystery. Never did it occur that you have to reveal all your secrets to me; doing that would take away the charm I'm so drawn to. I realize that, perhaps, liking you was simply a break from all the frankness and brutal opinions I surround myself with. You are, for lack of a better term, malabo to me. Sadly, I admit that I was once like this to a significant someone. I was unfair to her, but only because I was unfair to myself. A good friend once said that you and I are really alike. I agree. I am malabo. We have created our own sense of stability, a haven in chaos, a deep slumber in all things malabo. As far as I know, you offer what I already have.


But while I dive into the gritty
You just stand by


It is unfair that I judge you so easily. Forgive me for being critical. I try not to assume, but I am only human. Thinking about you is like thinking about me. That is something I cannot do. It's quite vain of me to conclude as such, but allow me to be a little selfish by letting me take comfort in this conclusion. It makes it easier for me to decide, to maintain my chaotic haven. For some reason, when I say "you" a little part of me thinks "I". That's how I know some things shouldn't be, and me liking you shouldn't be.


My thoughts are at a loss for words. I don't know if that makes sense. I'm malabo anyway.


When I look at you
Heaven's on fire


I think I know why you are in love with photography. Photography is not an art. It is like a happy person smiling or a sad person frowning. Each photograph is an extension of how you feel - all your thoughts and emotions captured in one still frame. With that photograph, you look at it over and over again. You smile at being able to do something so profoundly simple. If at a loss for words, you have this extension of yourself to share with other people. This is photography for me. If this is your reason, then that's one more thing we have in common. Perhaps, like me, one day, with your aperture and shutter speed settings, you wish to capture the most elusive of all things and make it an extension of yourself - just like the smile of a happy person and a frown of a sad person. Exactly what this "thing" is, I wont say. I cringe just thinking about it.


Heaven's on fire

P.S. The Radio Dept. is an awesome band, by the way. He he

Note to self:

No blogging after drinking. Suffice it to say that that last post was unnecessarily corny.