Of winter and of song

She was singing, just like she always did when the fear seized all our hearts and rendered our men powerless. But somehow we knew that tonight, she was going to sing her last. Her small chest was rising and falling with every breath, her melody echoing unto the night, and her song haunting us even in slumber. This was how she sang. But at that night, there was something in her song that froze the hearts of even the bravest of us. There was death in that melody; no, it was heavy with it.

I remember that night all too clearly. The last of the autumn leaves had fallen, silently marking the coming of the cold. Boots trudged heavily up the mountains to the old forest, freezing hands scoured for firewood and plucked berries in preparation for the harsh days to come. Voices came barely above the whisper, and bodies huddled close together in an attempt for warmth. Eyes looked towards the sky, awaiting for the dreaded fall of first snow. The winter’s dawn arrived in stealth, sneaking upon us during our slumber. Winter has always been cruel to our people. The sun was shining brightly that day but the cold had seeped deep into our skin, wrapping itself tightly around our bones. There was no comfort for us that morning. The cold mocked us—blowing harshly when hands and feet wer busy trying to make crops grow, calling forth snow when there was no warmth to be found.

Our souls were frozen.

All we looked forward to was the night. Ironic as it was, evening brought forth the greatest comfort for our weary souls. For it was when the sun had set and the moonlight illuminated the world that she sings. That night, defeated we were as we stood waiting for her song. She walked silently. Her footsteps were light, barely making an imprint on the thick layer of snow, as she approached all of us. Her beautiful head bowed low, her hair falling gently across her face. Her lithe form gracefully walked towards the elm tree, that which stood oldest among all the trees in the forest. She had always walked on a calculated pace—she would reach the elm tree just exactly when a moonbeam had fallen upon it.

I could not forget that night for it was then that she stopped suddenly in front of me and lifted her head to face me. The split second that we shared was also when the moonbeam had touched the elm. When both our gazes landed upon each other, everything fell into chaos and into order. I saw the unraveling of the world, and the birth of destinies. I felt the rush of a thousand years pass by and a million memories flash right before my eyes. I saw that she was my fate, my destiny, and I was letting her walk away.

Then it was over.

She continued walking and it was as if nothing had happened. She had reached the elm at the same time the moonbeam did, just like she had always done. She lifted her head, gazed upon us, gave us a ghost of a smile, and began to sing. She was singing, just like she always did when the fear seized all our hearts and rendered our men powerless. But somehow we knew that tonight, she was going to sing her last. Her small chest was rising and falling with every breath, her melody echoing unto the night, and her song haunting us even in slumber. This was how she sang. But at that night, there was something in her song that froze the hearts of even the bravest of us. There was death in that melody; no, it was heavy with it. Eyes began to close and as I closed mine, I stopped to look. And somehow, I knew I was going to gaze at her for the last time. It was only for a split second and in that split second, I had her face etched unto memory.

The last note was sung.

The moonbeam had drifted off.

Dawn was breaking.

The cold had won.

They say the threads of fate are strung together by the hands of one all-powerful, and that the only choice we have is what kind of thread we would like our fate to be. But what they forget to say is that we are all given an opportunity to change that. But it comes by so quickly, and in a span of a split-second I had missed it.

Bittersweet

Author’s Note: This post is one close to home. I tried to make this as personal as possible while still keeping my anonymity intact. As you begin with this post, reader, so do you begin to know me.

I was born into and raised in a religious family. My earliest memories were of family prayers in the evening or of completing the rosary while on a car ride. My parents, I realize, always strived to incorporate our religion’s teachings into our lives. They began with our names which were derived from the many variations of the Blessed Virgin Mary. My sister and I were enrolled in a school where catechism is taught (a euphism for preached or instilled, if you’d have it) and given premium on. Our household was also never short of anything religious: from a series of miniature altars to various icons of saints and of the Lord that adorned almost every corner of our home. My parents also never fell short of reminding us of the importance of keeping a strong, personal relationship with God, reinforced through the attendance of the obligatory Sunday Mass and prayer three times a day. Everything in our life was, should, and must be rooted in our faith and connected to our God. The process of religious inculturation that sprung from our childhood continued to our present, of which my sister and I are both on the cusp of adulthood. But my present is different from my past, as is the case with everyone else. For more than a decade, my perspectives and beliefs have all been seemingly set on stone. Deviation from the norm equaled punishment. Freedom, for me then, was just the vastness of the cage I never even knew I was in. My choices rested on the premise that they were all in accordance with my religion, whether I agreed with them or not. I was living my life with my eyes half-open.

But nothing is never constant in this world, and that was a fact I counted on. I knew it was only a matter of time before the wind of change blew and turned my world upside down. It came in the form of a choice, as it always does. Thinking about it now, years later, I believe I made the right decision of choosing to study in a state university rather than a private one. It made all the difference for there, all they gave you was freedom. There were rules, yes; harsher and stricter ones that those I was used to but it was only natural given that our freedom was handed to us on a stick. There, we could make our own stand based on what we believed in. Staying neutral was an option, yes, but not one that lasted for long. You either make a stand or the unending tides of opinions washed you away. There, the once taboo issues were laid out openly in front of you, one need only to look to know what they were. There were many things a little bird is curious of. This curiosity is a restless being, if unanswered, leads one to explore dark paths. Being the curious little bird that I was, there were many questions that plagued me and all I remember wanting then were answers. Answers, I knew not where to get. And being part of an extremely religious family didn’t help satiate my curiosity. Instead, it fueled it even more. I discovered things I didn’t understand then. But I kept my questions, I knew somebody out there was bound to have the answers. Books, reader. Books, not people, have the answers we seek. I found my refuge in books, and I found my books while I was in university. I studied under the tutelage of many great teachers there, and I did not find not all of them in the classroom.

There is a difference between independence and freedom. What was “handed” to me was the latter but it was not what I truly craved. But then I realized that freedom is not handed nor granted nor given. We all have it. What we need is the independence to use it. While I was still the little bird, I wanted to be independent enough to think my own thoughts, to make my own choices and have my own stand on things, to express myself, and to explore every nook and cranny that the world offers. But independence is bittersweet, and freedom is just too sweet. Coupled with the independence I craved for was a heavy bag of responsibilities I must be ready to carry, and consequences I must be ready to face. Being the little bird was easy because it wasn’t life, not yet. Then, I was allowed to spout opinions and not be fully accountable for them for my thoughts weren’t entirely my own. Then, I could wander off without the fear of getting lost. I could count both on the fact that I was still in my cage and that my family would always be there to lead me back. But I am no little bird, not anymore. I wandered off into life and getting lost could mean never finding your way back. But the taste of life is too tempting to resist. There are so many things to see, to learn, to discover, to teach, to take part of, to share. A single bite of life offers a whirlind of experience that a cage could never match.

Gee, this is bittersweet.

Only in secret

I am a writer, but only in secret. I fear the consequences of the things I write about because I write about people and life, real ones—people I know personally and experiences I’ve had. I know that I should not be afraid to write but I am. I am not ashamed, I’m just terrified. What’s worse is that I can’t share my achievements as a writer with anyone I know. Just recently, my works got published in an actual book. A book! My pieces were chosen and I can’t share my happiness to anyone, not my family nor my friends. How can I be completely happy when I cannot share my happiness with the people I care for the most? I’ve just realized that I’ve chosen a lonely road to lead. It’s a hole that can never be covered up, try as I might. I can only walk around it and always remember its there so I do not fall in.

La Lune

It was a different night.
The stars were out but their faint tinkling provided no light for his darkness. They were shining but offered no warmth for his freezing heart.

There was a roaring silence.
He felt himself breathe yet he heard no air escape. He felt his heart hammer within his chest like an animal trying to escape its cage. It was odd for he was sure the noises his body made were loud enough to wake the world from its slumber. And yet, there was nothing but the deathly chill of the cold evening.

He was lost in his thoughts.
Everything was happening at the same time. He lost himself in the world just as he lost himself to her. He lost his heart when he fell hard for the creature that ruled the night. She was not a star yet she shone bright. But her love was cold as the evening gale. Her hands, her palms, her fingertips, her touch all left burns on his already tortured soul. Her pains were real yet her smile never fled. She would rise as he fell. He slumbered as she whispered sweet nothings to him; he awoke to an empty sky.

She was far away.
His yearning heart was ready to thaw the cold that surrounded her heart. He was ready to burn for the thing they called love. He broke the cycle and reduced the world to ash. He let the planets fall and the galaxy crumble. All this for his La Lune.

Smiles

Early morning, Saturday
The Liberal Arts Hall never looked this alive on a Saturday morning. It was an unusual sight given the fact that it was a day of rest. Even the joggers (and at times, the cars) slowed down just to see what the fuss was all about. There were about a hundred of us gathered there. The marble steps were cold to the skin and the wind still carried the cold smell of the dawn. We were all going on a trip, an adventure camp was what they told us. I could feel everybody was anxious, but the excitement fueled by the mystery trumped the unease in our bones. The sun was just beginning to rise when I arrived. I knew not how many minutes passed, only how many people have arrived. My eyes wandered, trying to find a familiar face. Call it coincidence. Call it fate. Call it anything you want. But then, my eyes landed on you. My gaze must have lingered on your face for I remember our eyes meeting. Oh, I think my breath must have hitched at my throat.  I don’t know what drew me to you and what made me react in such a way. Who would have thought eye contact could elicit such an unusual response from me? Your eyes were smiling, and I believe mine were shining.

Midday, Saturday
The sun was at its peak. Sweat trickled down my cheek, to my throat, and right down to my sternum. My shirt clung to my back like a leech would. Mud covered my jeans and my once-blue sneakers were now of a delicious shade of chocolate brown. But I cared little about how I looked; the adrenaline was coursing through my veins. Our shouts were loud and our cheers echoed through the pavilion. We were celebrating for our team had won. Call it coincidence. Call it fate. Call it anything you want. But then you were in front of me. Your eyes were shining, and I believe mine were glowing. Your mouth curled up and broke into a smile. My heart melted, and I smiled back.

Evening, Saturday
She clung to you and she didn’t want to let you go. What was I to do but to back down? Her eyes, perfectly traced with eyeliner, bore holes unto my skull. Her lips, painted rouge, formed a smile that sent chills down my spine. The evil queen. But I silently thanked the Lord for her tongue and her ego. She probably berated herself for spilling the beans on the movie marathon she was having with you that caused her to invite everyone else. The movie had started when I sat down. Call it coincidence. Call it fate. Call it anything you want. But you were sitting beside me. The horrors of the movie fell away and revealed something sweet. I must have a habit of staring for our eyes met once more. Your eyes were glowing, and I believe mine were beaming. You must not be good at stealing glances either, for I caught you too. My smile was sheepish, but yours was confident.

Evening, Sunday
There were no stolen glances nor were there quick smiles for the day. The trip was over and the road home was bringing us back to reality. The Liberal Arts Hall was silent, a stark contrast to what it was just yesterday morning. We stood by the steps, waiting for our rides home. The night breeze was sharp and I drew my jacket closer. One by one we took our leave and exited the university. I left the university with a friend and I forced my thoughts to leave you behind. But life has a funny way of telling us things. The traffic within the campus was terrible and as the car slowed down, so did everything else. I saw you by the waiting shed, trying to hitch a ride. I once again gave silent thanks to the Lord for giving me a friend with enough guts to ask you to ride with us instead. Time and measurement were irrelevant afterwards. Your eyes were smiling, and I believe mine was too. The sky was dotted with stars that twinkled in the night but none of them shone like your eyes did. I’m quite certain my face glowed like a red Christmas light in the night. But I cared little. Your smile was just of true happiness and mine was of pure bliss.

This was Charlie.

She was a dreamer. Yes she was, she told me herself.

I haven’t seen Charlie in a long time. But it seems as if time was still a completely foreign concept for someone like her. We sat in silence for quite a while; I was staring at my coffee, and she was staring at the sky. I’m not entirely sure who spoke first; it was probably Charlie, she always does. I do recall her saying, “I’ve missed you, James.” And her face broke into a toothy grin. Oh, Charlie. Her voice reminded me so much of bells that softly tinkle in the warm afternoon. When she spoke I felt time slow down for a few moments, allowing me to marvel at the woman that sat before me. I couldn’t believe that I was talking to her, after all these years. She wore her hair down on that day and her auburn mane shone in the afternoon sun. Her clothes told me nothing except that she was trying to be nondescript. But this was Charlie, and try as she might to avoid the spotlight, she would always fail. Attention, wanted or not, followed her doggedly, much to her dismay. But how couldn’t it? She was beautiful, in every sense of the word.

I gave her a smile of my own. Speaking would only break the spell. “A smile, James? If that’s all I’m going to get from you, then I’m leaving.” Her face fell and a frown marred her beautiful features. I almost reached out to touch her, if not for the wink that soon followed her frown. She laughed at my reaction. I leaned back into my chair, smiling. Oh she was a temptress, there was no doubt. I had almost forgotten the reason I met with her in the first place. This was Charlie’s spell. She could make you forget everything and anything. She could, and she would. But with the passing of time, I eventually realized that it was a spell and it had to be broken. So I did. I took a steady breath and finally let four words escape, “How are you, Charlie?” Her laughter came to a stop and her lips pursed into a thin line. The spell was broken and tension hung in the air, clinging unto our every word. She knew what I was asking from her. I wanted an explanation; anything that would justify what happened that night. She gave me a weary smile. For the first time, I saw that time hasn’t been becoming for either of us. There were dark circles under eyes, proof of how well she slept at night. There were thin lines on her forehead. She was weary. Life has not been kind to her. But dear God, she was still beautiful. My hand reached up to touch her face. She smiled as her cheek leaned into my caress, her eyes closed.

“Straight to the point as always, James. I wouldn’t say I didn’t expect it though.” She chuckled and opened her eyes. I was quick to pull back but she was faster. She gripped my hand as if it were her lifeline. “Hush, darling. It’s been years since I last held you. Let me, please, even if it’s just your hand.”

“Your answer, Charlotte.” That was cold. But I couldn’t help it. She was going to make me go through hell again if I allow myself to fall. Her face contorted in pain and her grip on my hand tightened.

“Such callousness, James.” Her voice was laced with anger. I knew I was treading on thin ice. I was provoking her, but I needed to know. I needed answers. “I hope you don’t want me to apologize. You and I both know I would do no such thing. I warned you, not too long ago, that I was a dreamer and I would leave to pursue my dreams. That is not something I am sorry for, Jaimie.”

It felt weird for her to call me by my real name. I was always James and she was always Charlie. “Hush, love. I’m not looking for a fight. I… We need closure. I need to move on. I’m getting married in a few weeks and I don’t think I can go through with it without talking to you first. But how could I? You left without even leaving a trace, not even a number. We need to talk, Charlie.”

Her eyes widened. She didn’t know I was getting married. Her grip tightened even more. “Marriage? Congratulations, James. I’m happy you’ve finally found someone that can give you the home I couldn’t.” Her voice was small but she was smiling. This was bittersweet. “I’m just sad that it wasn’t me.” She added in a rushed whisper. I closed my eyes. It was my turn to grip her hand.

“Your answer, Charlie. Please.”

She smiled knowingly. “Stop saying my name like that, James. You know I’ve no control over myself when it comes to you. I can barely stop myself from taking you here and now, babe.” My eyes widened. My breath hitched at my throat. She gave me another smile. Oh she was enjoying this. “But yes, we do need to talk. This is a decade overdue, don’t you agree?”

I nodded. I couldn’t answer; not with my hammering heart like this. In a flash, Charlie’s face turned serious. Capricious as always. Her eyes turned misty and I knew I had lost her to her memories.

…

We stood outside. This was goodbye, it would seem. But in a flash, my woman ran to my arms and enveloped me in a desperate hug. This was Charlie. “Stay with me, Jaimie. I fear the night will take me away.” She whispered into my ear, slow and sensual. A shiver ran down my spine. She broke away and stared at me, longingly. “Even if it’s for the last time… Before I let you go.” She added in a sad voice.

This was Charlie, how could I refuse?

We left. Her hand still gripping mine. Our shoulders barely touching. Her heart beating a steady, slow, sure pace. Mine was pumping wildly, erratic, excited even. Going home with Charlie was wrong. That night with Charlie was wrong. But two wrongs make a right, don’t they?

The dawn was quick to come. I left Charlie that day. I came home to my fiancé with tears in my eyes. We had our wedding two weeks later. I sent her an invite, more out of courtesy than anything else. I didn’t expect her to attend. But she did. I should’ve seen it coming. Charlie was, if anything, unpredictable. Immaculately dressed and smiling, a lone tear escaped from her sad eyes. That was my Charlie. The ceremony was agonizingly slow. My husband looked at me lovingly but his eyes lacked the passion that I found only in Charlie’s eyes. I love my husband, he is a good man. My future is with him. But my soul will always be with a dreamer.

“My soul will forever be yours, James, and along with it my dreams, my life, and me. I stand before you now to apologize. I am sorry you fell in love with a dreamer as I. But believe me when I say, I would more than gladly give up my dreams to be the one standing beside you at that altar. I love you.” The world has not been kind to either of us. She pulled me away from the crowd, not even bothering to think that she was taking the bride with her. She pulled me into a fierce hug, only to break away and kiss me instead. Her kiss was passionate, sensual, desperate. Her tears fell, heavy with unsaid emotions as it began to mix with mine. This was Charlie, and this was her goodbye.

Take heed. Falling in love with a dreamer is, perhaps, one of the best things that can ever happen to a person. Charlie was a dreamer, and I fell in love with her. But dreamers don’t last long in this world. For they are shot down before they learn to fly, and forced to succumb to the world’s view of reality. Those who refuse, simply disappear, never to be heard from again. Charlie never yielded, and she was taken away. And along with her, a piece of me. I think I died a thousand deaths on my wedding day. But life goes on and one does eventually learn to live again. I can only hope that Charlie has found her dream as I have found mine. This is life. C’est la vie.

I am not immune to you.

Before I begin, let me tell you that this is not a love story. Proceed at your own risk.

I am not immune to you, darling. I thought I was. I thought I should be, after being acquainted with you for more than a decade. It was stupid on my part to actually believe that you could get used to a person. But annoying things are still annoying even after ten years. Frustrating things are still frustrating, even all the more, even after ten years. And you darling, you are still the same, even after ten years. I have tried my best to understand you, to appreciate you, and to look past what others see as ugly. Are you really ugly, my dear? This is so much more than the physical now, to be clear. Ugly is a state of being more than that of appearance. Believe me, darling. I have been trying to look past everything, to numb myself and just accept you for who and what you really are. But how is one to do that when some things are just not acceptable? I am not judging. I’m through judging. I try to understand before I try to judge. And at the moment, I am stumped. I can not understand you.

I am not immune to you, darling. Your words and your ways are too much for me. I silently thank God that we are not together everyday. It is a fact that too much pressure on anything will cause for it to snap. Humans are no exception, my dear. Please, please distance yourself. You are not healthy for me anymore. I do not understand, help me understand, why you think the world revolves around you. Why do you think that everybody is out here to please you and serve you. The world doesn’t work that way. I will tell you something, darling. I notice this one thing about you. Believe me, this is true. I have more than a decade to back me up. You thrive on putting people down. You like the feeling of superiority that it gives you. You like seeing the inferiority eat others up. You know you’re capable of doing this, and being the greedy, little, human that we are, you capitalize on it. And you, you do this to me. I am your friend, a friend amongst many who claim to be. I write for you because I want you to hear my plea. You pull me down. You know I’m insecure and yet to continue with your words. I remain silent for I know just how insecure you are too. I always believe that you do this to make yourself feel better, and that is a cause I am willing to sacrifice for. I remained silent. But not anymore. Listen, darling, for I have a lot to tell.

I am not immune to you, darling. It’s time to get treated.

Life is full of fallacies

Many have said that to really live, one must be willing to experience the raw essence of life. They keep on telling us that we should welcome and embrace the imperfections, the pain, and the rejection that life has in store for all of us. They boast that once we get past all the crap that is piled upon us and we emerge victorious, we are changed. They speak of winning battles as if we were soldiers trained for war. They beseech us to fight, to take up our arms against enemies we weren’t even sure existed. They murmur in their sweet, baritone voices, they talk us into submission. For as long as I remember, I have been filled to the brim with fallacies about life. I was to accept, with arms wide open, everything that it has to offer.

But dear God! They never said that doing so will leave you broken, and sometimes beyond repair. I think they forgot to include the part in their manual (the one they so enthusiastically shove into our faces) that warns us that survival is a stigma, like a scar that will never fade. They didn’t tell us that we will emerge, oh we will, but wounded, bloody, and wild. To those who cannot survive this battle, they fade painfully and agonizingly slow as they join the mist that shroud life. They convince us, they encourage us, they implore us to keep on living. Oh but what is living when you die as you live? Oh but where is the beauty in life when you cry yourself to sleep, when even in your dreams you are haunted!

Oh dear child, life is full of fallacies! The truth is buried so deep, many have died in search of it. Oh dear child, I implore you: live, not for the fallacies but for that glimmer of truth they have not yet managed to bury. Live, for that truth that life is a fallacy waiting to be set straight.

enlighten me please

I opened up and it was a mistake on my part. My gut was nagging me, telling me it was not going to turn out well if I express my thoughts. But I was troubled, oh so confused. I didn’t know where to go, what to say, which to believe, and I thought you’d be able to help. But, no. You shot me down even before I had managed to explain why I feel this way. I believed that you would hear me out and you would do your best to understand since for all my other preoccupations, you’ve done so. But, not this time you didn’t. You say that I shouldn’t question them because they were appointed, because it’s not something we doubt. Oh but why? They are humans too. Their views are, however you deny them, biased too. They can be subjective, and most of the time they are.

Why can’t I disagree?
Why can’t I question them?
I don’t want to obey just because.
I want to understand what exactly it is, and who exactly I am, following.

Veneration without understanding is a worse mistake than blind obedience itself.

I want to cry. I weep more so because I was not given a chance to speak than because I was judged. I am doing all I can to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. I am so hurt, so wounded. This is such a bittersweet ending. I got what I wanted, I was able to express my thoughts. But for what price? To have been hurt so badly in the process. Oh dear me, I need enlightenment. I need to understand. I have to. This limbo I’m floating in is not going to last long. Soon I will have to decide and when that time comes, I want to be able to choose.

I’m
alight,
looking for
the
dawn