Realize

“Thank you, but you know that I like someone else, right?”

“I know,” she replied with a smile not reaching her eyes.

She holds onto her composure as they bid farewell.

Away from prying eyes, she locks herself in the shower, letting the cold spray hit her. Everything falls apart as her emotional dam breaks, making her sob, tremble, and gasp – for air, for understanding. She slides down to the cold wet floor, dry-heaving, pressing her palm to her closed eyes until she sees colors burst, as if not seeing the world will make her invisible.

“No more what-ifs, then.”

Bachelorette's Pad

I was lounging on my couch on a Tuesday night. With the television off, I could hear the humming of the air-con unit, the quiet drip of the still-faulty faucet (note: get that fixed, again), and the barely audible whoosh of a distant passing car. It was oddly quiet in my flat, but I accepted it as reprieve to finish reading my paperback. A faint shuffling of tiny feet brought me out of my reverie. Then, my black-and-white piebald cat with claws out pounced onto my belly, rubbed her cheeks everywhere and meowed stubbornly, as if saying: “Feed me, human!”

What about death?

I have always wondered:
How will I die?
Getting stabbed, shot,
hit-and-run, poisoned
Or falling, probably,
from the thirteenth floor,
Or, God forbid, slipping
(on a banana peel).

Dying is certain,
I know, but still,
an enigma in itself
sends chills down my spine.
It’s our finish line.
What happens after?

 Envelope of darkness,
blanket of cold?
Or the pearly gates,
St. Peter a-waiting?
We cross the bridge
when we get there.

 But, say, given a sign
“Death in a month’s time”
What do we ought to do?
What we can do: live.
Dying celebrates life,
seemingly reminds people:
living is a journey.

 Live life to the fullest:
Listen to music, taste every flavor
dance, sing, or kiss everyone’s lips
For when death comes a-knocking,
nothing can ever be
certain as dying.

#

This is a slightly edited version of a free-verse I submitted last year as a requirement in a philosophy class.

Pebble

There was a pebble at the top of the stairs. I don’t know how it got there, so I kicked it to return it to the ground where I thought it supposed to belong. I watched it as it rolled, tumbled, bounced, going down easily. It spun; it flipped; it jerked. My eyes followed its effortless motion: down, down, down.

A knot at the pit of my stomach tightened, overwhelming all my other senses, both numbing and sensitizing. I blinked, and then an intense pain enveloped my body. My face became merely inches away from the pebble, just as easily.

I confessed to you...

And then I kissed you on your right cheek. Surprised, you faced me with questioning eyes. I smiled – the one that I thought was awkward but you said it was lovely anyway. Your expression changed– a mix of anguish and guilt – as you saw my eyes fill with tears. "You can’t do anything about it anymore," I whispered as I caressed your face. I have already stabbed you seven times – your lucky number you said. I even found out that your blood in my hands feels warmer than you can ever be – than you will ever be. As your eyes went blank and your hand felt limp, I learned to be free.

Sinking Feeling

There was a ringing in my ear. No matter how hard I tried to stop it, the high-pitched buzz went on. I covered my ears with my hands, but it did nothing to help.  My eyes shut close, brimming with tears that I couldn’t hold back. Somehow, I was on the floor, twisting and turning, mouthing the words “Make it stop.” I couldn’t hear myself, though I felt my throat getting hoarse.

There was a lump in my throat, sprouted unnoticed but grew until it hindered my airway. I gasped for breath. My heart raced from pain and panic. My body stopped squirming, but my hands touched my ears then my throat. I was frantic, not knowing what to do anymore. As a last resort, my eyes flew wide open, hoping to get a glimpse of the world for the last time. Nobody was around. I was in an unfurnished room all by myself. Only the light bulb on the ceiling was my audience.

“So this is how I die, huh?” I humored myself despite it all. Must have been the lack of oxygen in my brain. This would have been my last thought.

Rooftop

The sun was setting when Amy climbed up their flat rooftop – a solitary chair waiting for her as it had some two months now. Every day, she brought a book and read until the natural light dimmed to dusk. Amy was grateful for the open space; near the sky, it seemed appropriate for the journeys she shares with heroes and friends. She finds both book and rooftop respite from what she finds an unexciting, routine-living life.

Today, she sat on the warm seat without a book. Amy was staring at the raised edge of the flat rooftop and thinking what-ifs. Then, she decided that she was not high enough.

Flying in water

The sun was just above the horizon-- high enough to paint the world with golden sunbeams and confirm that dawn is over, low enough to only feel the soft warmth of the blazing ball of fire. I once read that the sun's light takes eight minutes to reach the surface of the Earth. I find it amazing that something from the past would be the very thing that can enlighten people to see the present and help pave the way toward the future.

A cool morning breeze blew.

A bit of water swelled into a small wave, encircling something invisible, growing a bit as it moved away, and instantly replaced by another small wave as soon as it left. One, two, ten, twenty, a hundred waves, and possibly more if they were left in peace, moved across the blue chlorinated water in uniform intervals like the tick and tock of a clock. Ripples. They have the same effect as dominoes falling down consecutively, only the waves become widespread, growing in all directions, instead of one linear motion.

Sandman's Visit

The clock ticked and the clock tocked yet the Sandman has yet to visit me tonight. I have turned off the lights in my room to help me doze off. It was not completely dark; moon beams shine through my window, as if a car was parked directly outside with its headlights left on. I stare at the ceiling as I lie on my bed. Sooner or later, my eyelids will become heavy; I pray it's sooner.

As the silence fill my room, my ears become more accustomed to the sounds of the night-- quiet rustling of the leaves (whether by wind or animal, I do not know), hissing of the fan as it rotates and revolves, an occasional vehicle passing by, hooting of an owl, laughter outside my-- wait, hoot and laughter? I might have mistaken the hoot for a sound of another bird (for there are no owls in our area) but laughter?

I listened harder. It was faint. There was a shrill laugh, there was a deep laugh. There was a laugh that can be mistaken for crying but I was quite sure that it was a laugh. It was getting louder. There was even a laugh that makes you laugh as well. Then the laughter stopped, as suddenly as it begun. I frowned and decided, though half-heartedly, to sneak a peek.

No Choice

I watch Ruby as she washes the dishes. Get a dirty plate from the left side, soap it, rinse it and stack on the right. She does it a few more times. Then it's the silverware's turn, which makes a lot of jingling noise. Next, the glassware. She puts them all properly in the rack dry and wipes the rest of the sink and the counter.

I just looked at her, not even daring to start a conversation.

In my mind I think of what my father told me. She is just my age. Like me, she graduated last March from high school. However, she does not plan to go to college. Instead, she would like to work. Slash that. She needed to work.