Ramblings from 2003 III

Bjork
7/21/03

What impressed me much about 'Dancer in the Dark' is that it is so twisted that you canot help but see its beauty. I guess there's no more striking character than Bjork. She is so annoyingly, blessedly naive. She's forever optimistic and you cannot fault her for lack of purpose. Brave? Nah. Just out of this world.

She makes music from the sounds produced by mundane matters such as the tapping of the nails, the grating of metals, the clicking of the heels, the hush of whispered words. In her blindness, she sees visions that are so ordinary that they are beautiful. She takes refuge in dancing with the wind. She draws strength from a world that breathes of grace, and she finds comfort in the fluid steps and movements that produce twirls and moments of pure bliss.

The world hailed the film -- and Bjork as well -- as the best of its kind. Not all could appreciate it, true. But the twisted? Oh, they'll find something disturbingly familiar about it. And that's the sheer beauty of it.


****************

In answer to Karenjen's "Kamusta na?"

like the life line of a dead man
the world here is undisturbed by any high or low
boredom drips like honey from my tired mind
and my senses crave of wandering passions

sigh. and yet.

i'm already past dreaming
for time is busy with its own matters

but every once in a while,
i give in to a thought or two
and wonder about my lovely friend
across the miles :)


***********

there is truth in a carelessly uttered joke
there is joy in a fallen tear
there is laughter in calamities
and sorrow in wealth

there is betrayal in close friendships
and comfort among strangers
even heaven has its bitter flavor
and hell the tang of sweetness

to wish, to pain
to sing, to break
to dance, to fall
to love, to lose.

the placid sea dreams
and d' sky cries
the waters flow
and the hills build a dam

letting be is letting go
and the time waits and goes.


************

in the stillness of monday's 12th hour
the joy rushes from vein to vein
a tingle, a shake
and the warmth of sweet caress

tap, tap, the feet go
swish to sway, the body flows
click to clack, flick and smack
in breathless motion, the sticks and drums
deliver the joy so fast

a scream, a squeak
a bang, a clap
a boom that booms
cheer the hands to play.

Ramblings from 2003 II

7/17/03

Somehow, there is comfort in the quiet hum of the slender cold air blower to my left, of busy fingers tapping with a tang of frustration, impatience, or boredom.

My heavy head struggles to wake up my sleepy eyes connected tomy numb brain. My officemates desperately try to make small talk, anything to keep the face from going stiff and the fierce scowls from becoming permanent fixtures on our otherwise lovely countenance.

Hearing Ronald's rich baritone is quite soothing, making me, I'm afraid, all the more sleepy. Donna and Emi's high-pitched girly giggles prick the ears to curiosity but it isn't quite enough. Bernadette's deep mumblings is a sharp contrast to the absolute silence of the people in front.

A question thrown here and there. The rumble of laughter. And I continue to write just as my head moves closer, almost snuggly, to the table top.

**************

Sometimes, I think I edit too much -- my thoughts, my speech, my penned words. There is an exhilarating freedom in writing as the ink flows-- with no rules, no eyes, no critics, no turning back choice to make me stilted and unnatural.

I write, conscious still of errors, of grammar that fall short or go beyond the accepted, of a penmanship that will take time to decipher. But I let it all be. I let the errors be.

For what is perfection without errors? What is life without colors? What is a line without the ramblings of the dots? For even the trivial has its purpose. Even the unacceptable has its point. Boredom is a heavy burden and it is life's sense of humor to make us long for the trivial and unaccepted to make it all a little lighter.

I envy those who don't allow themselves to think too much, to dream too much, or to imagine too much. For to do so would mean being discontent. But what is life without these?

Oh, balance! Such a tricky thing!

Ramblings from 2003 I

Sunset
7/14/03

Sunsets makeme thinkof my brother. It could be uncomfortably hot, very much fickle, lazy, and easily gone in a moment-- if you're not careful enough to monitor the clouds that hover around. And yet, it is so breathtakingly beautiful. It triggers a yearning in yourself that prods you to look for it after bouts of missing it.

The sun shines through the thick, eye-curing leaves that faithfully try to shield me from the harsh rays. It will meet the sea soon, coloring the world with flashes of red, pink, lavender, and whatever else its mood may see fit.

Not so distant away, the cow moos, preparing to find shelter before darkness falls, panicking as its young child does not heed the call. The birds chirp, singing their lovely songs, simply grateful for not being eaten alive by higher predators in the food chain.

The chicken cackles so, desperately fleeing for its life as the gleam of the sharp knife pursues it for dinner. The rooster warns of time as it senses the fading light.

A frail-looking woman briskly sweeps her backyard, quietly cursing the little insects trying to invade her territory. She desperately tries to remeber her mother's words that that they're no enemies, that like us, they too are trying to find their place in this world.

A child plays quietly by the sea dotted with little islands. She takes measure of the lad that looks for food at the sea for supper.

Oh, the sun setting is simply glorious. And as I take this picture, I'll keep it in my head and heart to remind me that in moments like this, life is simply beautiful.

I gotta go catch the sun before it fades into the night.


*************
On a Bus to Nowhere
7/15/03
Through the thumping speakers of the crusty, old CBL bus, a boy band croons about love and the longing for it. And, as apparently, when no answer came, it fades into the bright heat of the midday sun only to be replaced by the false declarations of another misguided singer. Songs like these and the people who foolishly sing them remind me of the world I'm going back to. I just hope somehow that amidst the shallowness, I can find something real, something worth staying for.

I have wanted to cut myself away even for just awhile but it seems even the remnants of that throbbing life can't be swallowed by the trees that line and lead me to the world of retreat. It seems that no matter how I try to forget, it'll always be a part of me. I can only pray that as I go back, I'll be ready to face the same issues, and somehow, be able to finally make sense of the chaos, the shallowness, the rush, disappointments, pain, hurt, the fleeting happiness, the laughter of the world that I'm used to.

I hope I can grab on to something substantial, to find that one true purpose that would make me give of myself, to love unconditionally, to give and find that joy and finally, contentment. And I hope that when I do, it wouldn't be as fleeting as the sunset. That it would only be as glorious, as exciting, as breathtaking, as lovely as giving...

And I rest in His rainbow of promise that before I meet the ax of death, He'll bring it all to be. And unlike Solomon, I'll be able to declare that life is not at all meaningless. It may be elusive, but not meaningless.


************
I Wonder
7/15/03

I wonder what goes on in the mind of the curly-haired girl as she stares at me as if I'm an unusual specimen before her microscopic eyes.

I wonder if the long-haired lady with the brown tank top and tight jeans is truly happy being the glorified helper and bedmate of the aging, stiff-necked American.

I wonder if the chicken tied to the seat and securely held on the old man's lap thinks of murder and mayhem, of escape, of sorrow for the life and freedom left behind.